- Rating:
- R
- House:
- Astronomy Tower
- Characters:
- Ron Weasley
- Genres:
- Romance Slash
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Stats:
-
Published: 07/24/2002Updated: 07/24/2002Words: 531Chapters: 1Hits: 1,088
Better Than Ice Cream
Serene-bean
- Story Summary:
- Late-night musings, furtive rutting, and the finally-acknowledged soul of a poet. Okay, so it's just Draco/Harry. At least it's good D/H! I promise.
- Posted:
- 07/24/2002
- Hits:
- 1,088
- Author's Note:
- Beta'd by the lovely Alex, or "Little Alex," as she is commonly known. Reviews are welcome, and if you want to read anything else of mine, you can head on over to beyond the shadow of grace, my fan fiction site, or Suckerpunch, my Hanson commentary site. And yes, you read that correctly. Enjoy the story, I know it's short. But if you like it, you'll review and tell me. And then maybe I'll post the semi-long fic I'm working on. Well? What are you waiting for?
Better Than Ice Cream
He has to see me. In the class we have together, year after year, I am aware of his presence at the desk two rows behind mine, the feel of his eyes on the back of my neck practically boring through me, as I shudder, shiver, and raise my hand to answer a question.
He's standing in front of me when I finally leave the room, and I have to fight the urge to meet his eyes, meet the challenge I see in them, push him up against the wall and challenge him. Whatever it takes to make him see me.
It's the flare in his eyes when they meet mine. Bottle-green, glaringly green, and they flare, flare, flare as our eyes meet, drop, and meet again. Fire-green eyes.
They challenge me, anger me, love me, hate me, and most of all, harbor me. Only those green, green eyes know how I feel. In the entire school, only those eyes understand. Not the two pairs of common brown that accompany me almost everywhere I go, or the hard black eyes of my surrogate father.
Those brown eyes only see the food set before them at breakfast, dinner, and lunch, not the glances cast my way or the glances I am casting. And the black eyes lifted across a steaming cauldron assume I am doing right (or wrong, rather, depending on my blood-father's goal), and if gray eyes meet green a little too often it goes unnoticed, or at least, unremarked. One pair of blue eyes is dangerous at times, hard to distract, to fade away from, that prying hanger-on. Blue-eyes must be jealous. At least, I would suspect he was, if I thought he knew.
But there is a flare in those green eyes, green flecked with gold, gold you cannot see until you are close, so close, close enough to touch, to ravish, to caress, to kiss every inch of that Quidditch-browned skin.
Blue-eyes in the daytime, and Gray-eyes in the night. I wonder what he thinks of it all. Hard to tell, hard to wonder, hard to breathe - hard for him and everything forbidden and especially that mouth making its slow way up my neck. Hard for his biting kisses, his teasing tongue-baths, his hurried striptease and most of all the sense of completion when he fills me and we are a moment or two of stillness, then movement, and then we are ice cream and chocolate and fireworks. We are here and now and always and forever and whatever Blaise thinks next door I don't care because I just don't want my Green-eyes to leave.
"My Green-eyes," I say possessively, one arm wrapped around his neck.
"My Gray-eyes," he responds gently, tenderly, better than "I love you," because this is his way of telling me he'll never leave, not ever.
A choking noise, from the doorway, as he drops a kiss on my forehead. We look up.
Blue-eyes.
He makes another choking noise, like an animal dying, and runs from the room.
Neither Green-eyes nor I make a move to untangle ourselves. There will be hell to pay when we can think again.