Behind Closed Doors

Behind Closed Doors

By: Melanie

The Annoying Little Evil Writer Girl

*~~~~~*~~~~*

In the purest sense, he is my muse. So delicate and so beautiful. The simple way in which his eyes shine when I kiss him is enough. I love the way his sleek body arches to my touch in the night, the way he weaves his fingers into my hair and pulls. It is here, behind closed doors that his sensual side shows itself and he and I may finally be happy. And alone. But then again, there is no one like him when he is witty (as witty as he can be; that's more my suit than his,) nor when he is and angry, leaving silence in his wake. For he is always intense, on the field, in the halls, even in bed.

One day, I will claim him as my own in public--let them all see. He and I will be happy, even with the obvious attached controversy. I know our friends and families will not understand--well his friends might, but they won't like it; it will be difficult, true. Yet, he is my life, my love, and my soul. How could I give him up without a fight?

He reminds me of his devotion to me every time he smiles. And when he blushes as I gingerly take his glasses off of him, I have no need for long, windy declarations of love. His hair, ever so wild, is better than my own. For no one ever notices that I have messed it with my hands in the middle of our passionate encounters. And just as wonderful is that it is so normal for me to be scarred that the nail marks he leaves on my back are not questioned; though I'm sure some in my house can tell that they are new.

While everyone thinks I despise him, they are blind to our love. We do hide it so well. I truly do love him, though, even when he is violent (especially when he's violent), even when he is angry, even when he cries.

So here I am, the first day back from the holidays, waiting for the door to open, waiting for him to come inside. And not believing that something so simple as the turn of a door handle could make my heart flutter. And as he stands there, in the doorframe, with the light shinning in behind him, I know he loves me. He is mine, just mine; my Harry.

And he smiles as he shuts the door and draws near. He leans down to me ever so slightly and kisses my lips. I lean into him, stroking his arms, and inhale deeply. He smells like grass and oranges and something I can't put my finger on. He kisses me again. "I have missed you Draco," his voice is like music to hear.

I can't help but smile. "I'll make it up to you." He kisses me again.

And he is all mine. Behind closed doors.

~fini~