It was cold that night, colder than it had been in a while. The sharp wind froze his face pink, the only thing visible being his silver orbs and his pointed nose. A warm wool green and silver scarf was wrapped tight around his neck, chin, and mouth while a matching cap fit snuggly to the round shape of his skull.
Expensive black dragonhide gloves hugged his hands that where shoved as deep as they would go inside his heavy winter robes. Hogwarts was really very bitter this time of year, but he'd never remembered it being this cold before.
It was the boy's eighth year at the school, and now that it had been completely rebuilt minus a few lesser wings it was running like a well-oiled machine once more.
This made the young wizard happy, but there was something he'd been missing.
The bundled up student ducked into the broom shed for only a moment and pulled out a sleek, black Nimbus 2001. He smiled as the medium weighted wood filled his hand and seemed to complete him if only for a few hours a night.
When he arrived to the Quidditch pitch he found that he was not the only student who enjoyed a nightly flight. Technically it was far too cold for any student not of age, so that means it must have either been a seventh or eighth year student. Man, in this case.
Because who was up there was definitely not a boy.
The Slytherin shivered. He was bent, and he knew it, but now was not the time for that story.
The man on the broom high in the sky was chasing a snitch…but he wasn't chasing it…he was playing with it. Like it wasn't a competition of who was smarter, fast, and more cunning.
The man's untidy black hair bulged from under a gold and scarlet cap that didn't have a chance and he was bundled up with a scarf, but the soft wool didn't hide his gorgeous smile, and, thank Merlin, the wire rimmed spectacles didn't hide those beautiful, entrancing, deep, soulful green eyes.
The Slytherin absolutely adored those green eyes.
Suddenly, those green orbs were getting closer and close until they were an inch from his own grey ones besides a small height difference on the Gryffindor's part, and heavy boots landed in front of him with a slightly tattered Firebolt in hand; a snitch in the other.
The Gryffindor smiled and lifted onto his tip toes to deliver a sweet, slow, wet kiss to the Slytherin; it was returned fully with a small moan. Lips clashed and moved languidly against each other, searching for the heat and glowing light in each other on this absolutely freezing night at Hogwarts. A fire burned low in their bellies as all items were dropped to grasp the other's bundle up body.
The night suddenly didn't feel as cold.