Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea and this manifestation.
Warnings: Unbeta'd, raw story; angst. Slash.
… x … x … x …
"What are you smiling at?" Teasing, always teasing. This nymphet was a tease through and through.
"Nothing." A lie. "If your hair gets any longer I may have to start calling you Rapunzel." I mustered a light, joking tone, locking my heart away — the key will not turn.
"Don't deny it, you love my hair!" Oh, I love more than just your hair. Your eyes, your smile, your laught. I could go on and on. It's sickening, how far I've fallen.
Why wouldn't it lock?
"I certainly do not hide my fascination so I cannot possibly lie. I just wanted to point out how feminine the hair makes you." Another lie. Even if he chopped those long silk locks, his appearance would remain unaltered — would remain effeminate, beautiful; achingly young and innocent.
With a sigh he curls against me, laying his head in my lap, pressing a lingering kiss on the pulse point of my wrist.
"We'll always be friends right?" The hopeful look made his youth, his innocence, his naïveté more apparent.
"Always." You dirty liar. You want to be more than friends. You want these touches, these kisses, to mean something — much more than mere friendship. You disgusting pervert. You want to ravage that nubile body, claiming and marking and possessing. You want him.
"Love you, Charlie." He gifted me a sleepy smile that still managed to steal my breathe.
No matter how bad the urge, the want, the need, I will do whatever it takes to keep him. Even if it means pretending.
"Love you too, Harry."
Liar.