Draco:
A flicker of a smile, even that was enough to send me over the edge. How vibrant he looked, how utterly content. He was the fire, soothing, warming on my skin. The flame that could burn, scorch my fragile fingertips.
And that horrible hair. You'd think the Golden Boy would have enough decency to use a brush once in awhile. No, he leave it like the because he knows it drives me wild. That fucking annoying half grin, as he watches me shudder every time he runs a mocking hand through his hair. I want to reach forward, grab it, and pull him to me. I want him to whimper, struggling under me. Want him to beg me to fuck him. I'll make him beg, make him want me so much he'll sob when I finally make him mine.
But, gods, does he know how to tease. Every time I'm around he struts. Flirting with the girls, glancing at me all the while.
If they only knew the boy who lived was a fucking faggot.
Harry:
He's everywhere.
I can't get away, it's starting to drive me crazy. If I have to see those beautiful, luminescent eyes one more time. . .
I want to touch that moon-lit skin, see how my dark body contrasts with his milky-white canvas. It's too perfect, not a single scratch, not a single hint that he's human. Gods, I want him to take me, let me defile his divine beauty. He haunts my dreams. Every time I close my eyes, I picture it. Me, writhing under him, gasping and trembling under his touch.
He reminds me of the night, the way you're breath comes out in wisps of smoke when you stand in the snow. I can see him, standing in the forbidden forest; holding himself for warmth. Snowflakes sticking to his eyelashes, he shivers, the green sweater too thin for that kind of weather. I want to save him, forget everyone else, I want to be his Golden Boy.
I want him to make me real.