Hook and Eye
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,936
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,936
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Hook and Eye
DISCLAIMER: JKR\'s universe, JKR\'s rules. JKR\'s money, if there were in fact money changing hands. Which there isn\'t.
NOTES: This is a brief and pointless vignette I wrote for use in a larger experiment. It utterly failed to work for my purposes, so rather than toss it out entirely...
***
you fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
--Margaret Atwood
When the day is over, when the lights are out and the prefects have made their last rounds and the quills and parchments and Quidditch talks are put away, readied for use as soon as first light hits the eastern walls of Hogwarts, we prowl the halls like specters and spies. Slipping into cloaks and around corners and finding the next private space to be alone. Supply closet, empty classroom, unused seventh-floor corridor. One memorable night, pressed up against a far wall of the spotlessly clean kitchens, feeling oddly like giants among all the specially shortened work tables, your hand over my mouth to stifle my moans, don\'t want any house-elves to come investigate.
Wherever we are. It doesn\'t matter, that\'s not the important part. That's the setup, the prep time, anticipation building for journey\'s end. Here\'s what happens next, once the final destination has been reached:
We tangle, limbs like long adhesive ribbons of spellotape in the dim light, pale glow from moon or wand barely illuminating features, maybe a glimmer from an open eye or shimmer from a stray hair, no discernible expression on faces in light this unfailingly dim, no clean lines with my glasses set aside. So we rely on other senses, the slide of abdomen against abdomen, the whisper of breath headed straight up the spine, the imprint of teeth against pulse points, nipples, anywhere, everywhere.
The pace quickens with our breaths and heartbeats, our intent hardens along with our cocks. We gasp against each other\'s mouths, tongues slicking hotly, wetly against each other, fingers stroking and probing and preparing. \"Okay?\" you murmur, your lips moving against my shoulder blade, and you don\'t wait for an answer because it\'s just a part of the ritual, and I don't bother to answer anyway, and you lean forward and I lean back and we move and we are One, as they say, until we are Two again and staring silently at each other over the wreck of clothes and other people\'s plans on the cold stone floor, separating our belongings as we\'ve separated our bodies, cleanly and quickly, with a minimum of talk. The only evidence of the ripping of the hook from the eye in the wash of saline fluid over my skin and on my tongue.
But that\'s not the important part either. This is the important part, the inevitable and welcome part after all these months: every step I take away from you makes me feel cleaner, makes me glad for my lonely bed and my solitude, makes me welcome the light of day and the next Transfiguration class, for the easy first conscious breath without you near, for the glass of water to clear the bitter taste of solution and dissolution out of my mouth, before it all happens again, maybe tomorrow night or the next, you waiting for me in the dark like my dreams of Voldemort.
END
NOTES: This is a brief and pointless vignette I wrote for use in a larger experiment. It utterly failed to work for my purposes, so rather than toss it out entirely...
***
you fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
--Margaret Atwood
When the day is over, when the lights are out and the prefects have made their last rounds and the quills and parchments and Quidditch talks are put away, readied for use as soon as first light hits the eastern walls of Hogwarts, we prowl the halls like specters and spies. Slipping into cloaks and around corners and finding the next private space to be alone. Supply closet, empty classroom, unused seventh-floor corridor. One memorable night, pressed up against a far wall of the spotlessly clean kitchens, feeling oddly like giants among all the specially shortened work tables, your hand over my mouth to stifle my moans, don\'t want any house-elves to come investigate.
Wherever we are. It doesn\'t matter, that\'s not the important part. That's the setup, the prep time, anticipation building for journey\'s end. Here\'s what happens next, once the final destination has been reached:
We tangle, limbs like long adhesive ribbons of spellotape in the dim light, pale glow from moon or wand barely illuminating features, maybe a glimmer from an open eye or shimmer from a stray hair, no discernible expression on faces in light this unfailingly dim, no clean lines with my glasses set aside. So we rely on other senses, the slide of abdomen against abdomen, the whisper of breath headed straight up the spine, the imprint of teeth against pulse points, nipples, anywhere, everywhere.
The pace quickens with our breaths and heartbeats, our intent hardens along with our cocks. We gasp against each other\'s mouths, tongues slicking hotly, wetly against each other, fingers stroking and probing and preparing. \"Okay?\" you murmur, your lips moving against my shoulder blade, and you don\'t wait for an answer because it\'s just a part of the ritual, and I don't bother to answer anyway, and you lean forward and I lean back and we move and we are One, as they say, until we are Two again and staring silently at each other over the wreck of clothes and other people\'s plans on the cold stone floor, separating our belongings as we\'ve separated our bodies, cleanly and quickly, with a minimum of talk. The only evidence of the ripping of the hook from the eye in the wash of saline fluid over my skin and on my tongue.
But that\'s not the important part either. This is the important part, the inevitable and welcome part after all these months: every step I take away from you makes me feel cleaner, makes me glad for my lonely bed and my solitude, makes me welcome the light of day and the next Transfiguration class, for the easy first conscious breath without you near, for the glass of water to clear the bitter taste of solution and dissolution out of my mouth, before it all happens again, maybe tomorrow night or the next, you waiting for me in the dark like my dreams of Voldemort.
END