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*glrg*
Here's the little ficlet I promised Regret, since she was so nice to tell me how she got the yogurt licking inspiration for her ficlet, so yeah.
He turns another page, his fingers tapered and elegant against the ancient vellum. I want to reach over and stroke the skin of his knuckles, to turn that hand over and caress his palm. To map the path of the pale blue veins beneath that alabaster skin with my lips. The flesh of his throat gleams as he tilts his head toward Blaise Zabini, his laugh sounding out like a bell in amusement.
How is it possible to fall so hard, so fast? How is it possible to be so captivated by someone so cruel? It isn't just the beauty of his casual grace, the storminess of his moonstone eyes, but something more. A shiver, perhaps? A glimmer shining through his masquerade?
Does anyone ever see behind that mask that he so carefully cultivates? Do they see the brief flash of pain in his eyes just before he laughs, the trembling of those fingertips? The slight recoil of disgust that he can't deny every time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is mentioned?
Doesn’t anyone see anything anymore?
In some moments, I wish that I was the only one that sees this, sees him. It’s something that’s mine, just mine, and I don’t want to share it. And then, in others…
…I‘m glad that there are others. That other eyes flicker toward the beautiful boy with the same intensity as mine. Yet he deigns not to acknowledge anyone.
I wish he would permit someone to touch him, someone to care.
Because he will never allow it to be me.
I stumble against him in the hallway, and he steadies me with a hand on my shoulder, none of his trademark sarcasm making its way past his pale, perfect mouth. My gaze travels longingly up his pointed face, taking in that aristocratic nose and the sharp angles of his cheekbones.
His eyes are empty.
“Draco--”
“Watch where you’re going.”
He breezes past me without another glance, and I follow him into the classroom, sliding into a desk behind him. He glances back at me, frost crystallizing in his eyes, and I see pity and contempt before he calmly turns back to the front of the room. He is beauty and starlight, and shadowed mystery echoed in light, everything and nothing, all at once.
His disdain doesn’t hurt, not really. He knows me--he looks at me. And if there are times when I wish he would touch me, take me, make me and break me… well. The dreams on those dark nights are my secret, and mine alone.
If I can't be with him, I want to be as close as possible.
I just want to breathe the same air that he breathes.
And that will have to be enough.
Because he won't let me have anything else.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Blarg. *pouts* I don't know what it is with me and shitty ficlets lately...
He turns another page, his fingers tapered and elegant against the ancient vellum. I want to reach over and stroke the skin of his knuckles, to turn that hand over and caress his palm. To map the path of the pale blue veins beneath that alabaster skin with my lips. The flesh of his throat gleams as he tilts his head toward Blaise Zabini, his laugh sounding out like a bell in amusement.
How is it possible to fall so hard, so fast? How is it possible to be so captivated by someone so cruel? It isn't just the beauty of his casual grace, the storminess of his moonstone eyes, but something more. A shiver, perhaps? A glimmer shining through his masquerade?
Does anyone ever see behind that mask that he so carefully cultivates? Do they see the brief flash of pain in his eyes just before he laughs, the trembling of those fingertips? The slight recoil of disgust that he can't deny every time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is mentioned?
Doesn’t anyone see anything anymore?
In some moments, I wish that I was the only one that sees this, sees him. It’s something that’s mine, just mine, and I don’t want to share it. And then, in others…
…I‘m glad that there are others. That other eyes flicker toward the beautiful boy with the same intensity as mine. Yet he deigns not to acknowledge anyone.
I wish he would permit someone to touch him, someone to care.
Because he will never allow it to be me.
I stumble against him in the hallway, and he steadies me with a hand on my shoulder, none of his trademark sarcasm making its way past his pale, perfect mouth. My gaze travels longingly up his pointed face, taking in that aristocratic nose and the sharp angles of his cheekbones.
His eyes are empty.
“Draco--”
“Watch where you’re going.”
He breezes past me without another glance, and I follow him into the classroom, sliding into a desk behind him. He glances back at me, frost crystallizing in his eyes, and I see pity and contempt before he calmly turns back to the front of the room. He is beauty and starlight, and shadowed mystery echoed in light, everything and nothing, all at once.
His disdain doesn’t hurt, not really. He knows me--he looks at me. And if there are times when I wish he would touch me, take me, make me and break me… well. The dreams on those dark nights are my secret, and mine alone.
If I can't be with him, I want to be as close as possible.
I just want to breathe the same air that he breathes.
And that will have to be enough.
Because he won't let me have anything else.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Blarg. *pouts* I don't know what it is with me and shitty ficlets lately...
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::sniffles::
it was beautiful and raw and just, i...
HOW DOES HARRY KNOW??????
draco might... draco might let him touch him.
right??
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WHAT?????
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ron? hermione??
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HMPH....
I know you won't like this but there is a reasonable margin for another Mione one. *ducks* Please don't hit me. *hides*
Besides that sets it up for an interesting emotional turmoil if Harry ends up with Dray. Who says that the main character has to get together with Draco anyway? *smiles mischievously* Hehehehe... *Loves being Evil* Hehehe.
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Hermione. *sighs*
Honestly.
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But really you should write more on it.
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Re: HMPH....