Alone

Disclaimah: Harry Potter does not belong to me. If it did, I wouldn\'t be living in hell, and a lot more of the chars in the series would spend a lot more time together... between the sheets... ahem. So it\'s not mine. On to the fic!


Alone
by: The Goldfish of Evil

Sighing softly to himself, a young man slipped into the Slytherin common room and made his silent way to the circular dormitories – it was nearly two a.m., now, and any of his year mates that weren’t making trouble were asleep, allowing Dimitri Eliora unbarred passage. Not that it mattered, of course, if anyone caught him now – McGonagall had already beaten them to the punch. The one night he had sneaked away to Hogsmede... the one night... Of course, he had decided as he stepped into the dormitory and moved to his bed, it was completely worth it, getting caught – for who he had shared a great deal of the evening with, and would be sharing his detention in the Forbidden Forest with.

Akina.

The thought brought him to pause in the motion of unclasping his cloak, and Dimitri flushed lightly at the thought – he had to forcefully remind himself to finish removing his robes. Another sigh slipped out to join the soft sounds of sleep in the dormitory, as the Slytherin slipped out of his clothes and into his pajamas quickly, giving the impression of a peep show in fast-forward – each glimpse of his slim pale body smoothly disappearing under the loose pants and shirt he wore to bed. The slightly cold air in the dormitory hurried him along, making him shiver as he messily collected his things and climbed into bed, burrowing under the covers. In the stillness when he had found a comfortable place to lay, listening to the even breathing of the three or four young men sharing his room, Dimitri closed his eyes...

And thought of Akina.

Hiiragizawa Akina was the most beautiful person he had seen, ever, and the Slytherin loved him, had loved him, since he first took notice of the dark-haired Gryffindor. Akina was sweet, funny, and spirited, and Dimitri would have liked nothing better in the world than to admit that he worshiped the ground the other boy walked on, but there was a problem. Well, many problems, actually. One was that Akina was almost always seen with Sayer Rhys, another Gryffindor. Sayer was handsome, friendly, and seemed to fear nothing, and he had become an object of Dimitri’s slight dislike, because he seemed to miss the fact Akina had something of a crush on him. And the Slytherin knew that he was no competition against Sayer, for Akina’s attention, had he even possessed the courage to tell the Akina his feelings. That was because of one of the other problems – if Akina ever knew about Dimitri’s feelings, he would laugh in his face. No one would – as his father, and, more recently, Draco Malfoy frequently reminded him – ever want anyone as pathetic as Dimitri Eliora. He felt unworthy of even walking on the same ground as was frequented by someone as perfect as Akina, and thrilled at the very chance to talk to the Gryffindor. Even if he posed like any good Slytherin, and pretended he hated “Hiiragizawa”. Acting mean, rude, and as biased as most of his house was a performance he had perfected, and it was the only way he could keep from blurting out the fact he loved Akina whenever he saw the other boy. At least it meant that the Gryffindor hated him for an act, and not himself, which Akina surely would, if he ever found out about the “real” Dimitri.

Sayer seemed to know.

Dimitri opened his eyes, and frowned softly. Tonight Sayer had accused Akina and Dimitri of... flirting. He seemed to have figured out that Dimitri’s vitriolic attitude was only skin deep. The Slytherin flushed again – he didn’t even know how to flirt, and Akina would never... he hated Dimitri. He was probably dreading the detention they had tomorrow night, as much as it thrilled the Slytherin. The chance to be alone with Akina.... That brought on a deeper blush, and Dimitri rolled over, burying himself under the covers again. It never would have happened if he hadn’t dropped the little enchanted Snitch-ball his mother had given him... and he never would have dropped it if he hadn’t seen Akina... dressed like.... Dimitri flushed completely, closing his eyes tightly. He had heard rumors about Akina, of course, but until last night, he had never actually seen the Gryffindor... cross-dressing....

The memory of Akina in that cute little skirt was speeding up what mere extended thought of the Gryffindor usually did – Dimitri’s loose pants promised to become a lot less unrestricted in a few minutes. He didn’t even bother trying to banish the thoughts, tonight – he had done enough of that earlier, in order to keep from flushing (or drooling) while he spoke to Akina in drag. But now... he just reached out a pale hand for his wand, and closed the drapes around his bed, murmuring a quick silencing spell. In the three years since becoming aware of physical attraction, he had become quiet proficient at bringing himself off – an obligatory feeling of shame had been banished long ago. Touching himself was a punishment in itself. He couldn’t stop himself, of course, because now he was thinking of Akina, and that led to more thoughts about Akina. Which led to...

He settled in bed, sighing softly once again, as he let a hand slip beneath the bedclothes to rub his rising arousal through his pants, teasing himself. ‘Akina...’ Dimitri knew the other boy would be disgusted if he ever found out, about this, about any of it, but he didn’t care. His other hand slipped up his thito hto his waist, and both hands were employed to allow him to wriggle out of his pants and boxers, the cloth bunching up at the foot of the bed. Unbarred beneath the covers, he curled his fingers around his half-hard length, and stoked. A soft whimper, and the Slytherin’s head fell back against his pillows, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. His free hand moved up and over his stomach, his chest, disappearing beneath his shirt to tease at the skin beneath – he paused to let his fingers circle a nipple, making him shiver, before his hand was removed from his shirt. The things he wanted to do... He could imagine himself, bent over the Gryffindor’s lap, tasting the other boy as some rare and exquisite dish.... Dimitri slid a finger into his mouth, sucking on the digit to help his fantasy along, as his hand continued to move over the hard flesh between his legs. Not to receive, but to give Akina pleasure – the finger slipped out of his mouth, now, and that hand was moved down his body – that was his ultimate fantasy. Illusions of pleasure... he was bent over a desk – yes, desk, he mentally clarified, as he spread his legs and paused to give his sac a small squeeze that made him shudder – and Akina was behind him, thrusting into him. Whispering teasing little demands in his ear... with another whimper, Dimitri slipped his wet finger into the small, puckered opening behind his balls – a little at first, and then the rest, quickly, in time with illusion-Akina’s thrusts. The pale Slytherin gave a little cry at the intrusion, his hand on his arousal speeding up, as he withdrew that long, angular digit, just to thrust it back in, another finger joining it. “Akina~!” He was surprised to hear his own voice gasp the name – he was lost, writhing under his own ministrations. The rapid movement of his hand on his weeping arousal was eased by the precum coating his slender fingers and the hard flesh they were wrapped around in a thin sheen. And then his mind provided the most taboo of his sexual illusions – Akina, spread out before him, legs wide and face twisted in pleasure as Dimitri took him. It just took an almost half-glimpse of the mental picture and the Slytherin’s body gave into the rising tide of pleasure – he gave a choked cry, arching up as creamy desire soaked his hands, his thighs, his bedclothes...

He stayed frozen like that for a moment, before collapsing against his bed, panting softly and staring at the top of his four-poster bed. Eventually, his sticky hands were withdrawn and wiped on the sheets; his wand was taken up again, and he murmured a sleepy cleaning spell. Dimitri reclaimed his shed clothing, and curled up in bed – completely without trace of what had just occurred – to close his eyes, still slightly flushed. Touching himself was punishment in itself, for giving into his physical need only sharpened the loneliness within. Painfully acute... Dimitri closed his eyes, again, and shivered. A hand came up to press over his heart, as if that could quell the ache in his chest, and that’s how the exhausted Slytherin fell asleep.