The Hogwarts students were gathered at the Quidditch pitch, bundled in excessive amounts of their house colors to stave off the frigid air, their silvery breath clouding in front of them. Excitement hung in the air – thick, almost tangible, for the match today would determine the outcome of the Quidditch Cup; if Ravenclaw lost by more than 100 points, Gryffindor had won.
Remus gazed at the field, his eyes slightly glazed. His attention was not on the game. He could feel the heat radiating from Sirius' muscular form next to him. Sirius shifted slightly; his thigh was now pressed firmly against Remus'. Remus swallowed nervously. He could feel his companion's pulse throbbing slightly out of rhythm with his own. He wondered faintly if, in the heat of love, their pulses would find each other and beat in sync. He blushed furiously, for he could feel heat rising from his groin with a tingling sensation and beginning to spread across his body. He could feel the pain rotting away at the base of his heart, festering slowly, simmering in its own patheticness. Unannounced love was too slow and too unsure to create heartbreak; it simply made the heart rot slowly.
Forsaking all attempts to pretend he cared about the game, his eyes found Sirius' lips. They were full and soft and velvety. They would taste like rose petals and bring him almost unbearable ecstasy with gentle words and hard kisses.
Suddenly, his entire attention was focused on the two Seekers rocketing through the air, green and blue shining profanely against the subdued gray sky. It was then that Remus understood, for in his hopelessness he always created games on which the future hung: he could have Sirius' love if and only if the Ravenclaw seeker caught the Snitch. His breath stopped in his throat; all fell silent in his world save for the rapid hum of the Snitch in flight. The Ravenclaw Seeker's nails scraped the bottom of the golden orb. His fingers closed on nothing and two perfect flecks of gold paint fell, miniature suns barely shining against the angry sky. The Slytherin closed her hand on victory and pulled her broom higher into the air, her curly black hair flying wildly about her. Her crimson lips were curled in a wicked imitation of joy, white fangs bared, inky eyes glittering. The golden wings of the Snitch flapped feebly, struggling against her possessive grip.
The Gryffindors were on their feet, laughing and cheering and roaring; they had won.
Remus rose slowly to his feet, his mind blank and numb. He had lost.
Author's Note: Ahh, this chapter was really short. But don't worry my little slash fiends, the next one will be longer. By a little. My attention span really doesn't do long chapters.
Kay anyways, PLEASE REVIEW unless it's one of those "theyre gay? ew. you sick beast." ones. I don't listen to those; it's gonna take more than that to reverse my sick beastie livelihood.
Thanks for reading )