disclaimer: jkr owns the souls of harry & draco.
warning: if slash scares you, phone home now
a/n: um. this may not make sense, and if so, tell me, i was too lazy to write a plot anyway ^.^
~~salt and desire
Once again, there was only sky, and the sound of waves, and the salt on their tongues, and the need between them, pushing them in different directions. So they walked.
A step, and another, and another, and it was a surpise to both of them that with each step one of them made, the other matched it. The rhythm had to break, that much was always obvious. Just one more moment, one more, and another, and then there would be none. This was the end, and they weren't looking at each other. Again and again, Harry fought the urge to find the other boy's fingers, memorize the grooves and textures of those hands, rest for one more moment in that softness. He clenched his fingers and did nothing, instead. Draco walked with a sway to his hips, rocking slightly on his heels, his steps sure and his pace constant. Harry just walked. Home was too far away and too near to rush to. Now, now that it didn't matter, now he remembered everything, with complete, excruciating clarity. He could taste every moment, clear and piercing and always strangely mixed with the inescapable, pervasive tang of salt, whether tears or ocean or both.
The sky was smooth and grey, arcing above them, translucent and opaque at once, in its different ways. Harry was reminded of the silver screen in a huge theater, with scenes of possible destinies playing themselves out, larger than life, while they weren't looking, while they stole glances at each other. The thought didn't make him smile. He didn't know quite what was real, and what was desire, not anymore, not exactly, and it made him distrust a lot of things, most of all himself.
Need creates possibilities, opens windows to worlds only just imagined. They had both needed to believe, in their different ways. They had walked away, one step and another and then, looking back, they didn't even see shadows, and all they could hear was the ocean beating inside them, all around them, the song that called them away into watery oblivion. It was just a matter of time, they'd both known it, and by unspoken agreement, it ended where it began, on a deepening breath and the smooth, endless lilt of blue ocean. They were still walking, and finally Harry, of course, had to ask.
"Where are we going?" he said, as softly as he could.
"Just walk."
"But...."
"No more need to play the victim, now," Draco said, as quietly, then.
So they stopped, still standing side by side, still not looking at each other. Harry walked the two steps to be in front of Draco. He had no idea what to say to him anymore, now that it seemed everything they'd ever said to each other, good or bad, was a lie, couldn't be trusted.
Harry stared into misty grey for a long time, before he remembered. Yes, he was going to lean forward, yes. He was going to put his hand on Draco's cheek, yes. "But...." Harry swallowed, painfully, his throat parched and not a trace of moisture in his mouth. The ironies didn't escape him, of course. His mouth worked, but all that came out was a broken whisper. "You... touched me."
His thumb was tracing the pale contours of Draco's mouth, slowly, ever so slowly. He thought his heart might stop. "It means nothing, Potter," Draco said, in a voice as raw as his own, because that was what they said to each other.
His cheek brushed against Draco's, and he trembled, balancing on this moment, knowing any second now he'll fall. He could feel Draco's eyelashes fluttering against his skin, delicate as a feather drifting down to earth.
"Fuck destiny," he mouthed against the soft curve of Draco's ear.
He could feel the cool, even surface of the other boy's skin sliding past his own, and then it was gone, and Draco had broken away, and Harry was still leaning forward, wanting, needing, suspended in thin air. He licked his lips, and tasted salt and a tiny hint of pale, translucent skin.
Draco's fingers were lightning-quick and surprisingly gentle as he turned Harry's head around to face him. Their eyes locked once again, and this time, there was no doubt. There was no missing this moment, and what it entailed. Their faces inclined at the same time, slowly drifting closer, painfully closer, until their lips were but a breath apart. Even now, Draco smiled, and it was no longer clear, whether it was with pain or sadness or his old, stale arrogance, though the lines were almost always blurred.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, his lips nearly upon Harry's now.
Harry couldn't have replied if his life depended on it. His hands were scrambling to find purchase at the back of Draco's head, pulling him forward, smashing their mouths together with sudden force. Harry was tired of waiting, of balancing. If he was going to fall, he was going to do it like he meant it. He devoured, he plundered, he consumed. Draco was gasping and moaning and melting, just as he was, and that was all that mattered. Their bodies were fluid and jagged and infinitely soft and inviting, all at once, and they were all those things in harmony, together now. Harry's fingers were moving of their own volition across Draco's chest, burrowing into the rough fabric stretched across it, finding purchase and pulling, tearing, ripping.
His mind was a fog of desperation and need and a sudden, blinding-hot desire the likes of which he had never imagined being capable of. His tongue was dipping swiftly down the slope of Draco's jaw, finding all the sensitive spots to make Draco gasp and shiver and bare his neck in wordless surrender. His tongue on Draco's neck, his hand splayed on Draco's ribs, his hip wedged between Draco's thighs--
And so it ended. They rocked together, Harry's salt-streaked face buried in Draco's shoulder, and he was smiling, and he was dancing, and he was flying, and it was everything, because it was like nothing else. Harry could feel the surf pounding in his ears, still, drowning out everything else, drowning him, and he welcomed it. He was lost in salty oceans, and his need only grew, his desire as ravenous as in the very first moment he tasted the other's skin and tears and the salty tang of the blood of his heart. And so it began.
~~
warning: if slash scares you, phone home now
a/n: um. this may not make sense, and if so, tell me, i was too lazy to write a plot anyway ^.^
~~salt and desire
Once again, there was only sky, and the sound of waves, and the salt on their tongues, and the need between them, pushing them in different directions. So they walked.
A step, and another, and another, and it was a surpise to both of them that with each step one of them made, the other matched it. The rhythm had to break, that much was always obvious. Just one more moment, one more, and another, and then there would be none. This was the end, and they weren't looking at each other. Again and again, Harry fought the urge to find the other boy's fingers, memorize the grooves and textures of those hands, rest for one more moment in that softness. He clenched his fingers and did nothing, instead. Draco walked with a sway to his hips, rocking slightly on his heels, his steps sure and his pace constant. Harry just walked. Home was too far away and too near to rush to. Now, now that it didn't matter, now he remembered everything, with complete, excruciating clarity. He could taste every moment, clear and piercing and always strangely mixed with the inescapable, pervasive tang of salt, whether tears or ocean or both.
The sky was smooth and grey, arcing above them, translucent and opaque at once, in its different ways. Harry was reminded of the silver screen in a huge theater, with scenes of possible destinies playing themselves out, larger than life, while they weren't looking, while they stole glances at each other. The thought didn't make him smile. He didn't know quite what was real, and what was desire, not anymore, not exactly, and it made him distrust a lot of things, most of all himself.
Need creates possibilities, opens windows to worlds only just imagined. They had both needed to believe, in their different ways. They had walked away, one step and another and then, looking back, they didn't even see shadows, and all they could hear was the ocean beating inside them, all around them, the song that called them away into watery oblivion. It was just a matter of time, they'd both known it, and by unspoken agreement, it ended where it began, on a deepening breath and the smooth, endless lilt of blue ocean. They were still walking, and finally Harry, of course, had to ask.
"Where are we going?" he said, as softly as he could.
"Just walk."
"But...."
"No more need to play the victim, now," Draco said, as quietly, then.
So they stopped, still standing side by side, still not looking at each other. Harry walked the two steps to be in front of Draco. He had no idea what to say to him anymore, now that it seemed everything they'd ever said to each other, good or bad, was a lie, couldn't be trusted.
Harry stared into misty grey for a long time, before he remembered. Yes, he was going to lean forward, yes. He was going to put his hand on Draco's cheek, yes. "But...." Harry swallowed, painfully, his throat parched and not a trace of moisture in his mouth. The ironies didn't escape him, of course. His mouth worked, but all that came out was a broken whisper. "You... touched me."
His thumb was tracing the pale contours of Draco's mouth, slowly, ever so slowly. He thought his heart might stop. "It means nothing, Potter," Draco said, in a voice as raw as his own, because that was what they said to each other.
His cheek brushed against Draco's, and he trembled, balancing on this moment, knowing any second now he'll fall. He could feel Draco's eyelashes fluttering against his skin, delicate as a feather drifting down to earth.
"Fuck destiny," he mouthed against the soft curve of Draco's ear.
He could feel the cool, even surface of the other boy's skin sliding past his own, and then it was gone, and Draco had broken away, and Harry was still leaning forward, wanting, needing, suspended in thin air. He licked his lips, and tasted salt and a tiny hint of pale, translucent skin.
Draco's fingers were lightning-quick and surprisingly gentle as he turned Harry's head around to face him. Their eyes locked once again, and this time, there was no doubt. There was no missing this moment, and what it entailed. Their faces inclined at the same time, slowly drifting closer, painfully closer, until their lips were but a breath apart. Even now, Draco smiled, and it was no longer clear, whether it was with pain or sadness or his old, stale arrogance, though the lines were almost always blurred.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, his lips nearly upon Harry's now.
Harry couldn't have replied if his life depended on it. His hands were scrambling to find purchase at the back of Draco's head, pulling him forward, smashing their mouths together with sudden force. Harry was tired of waiting, of balancing. If he was going to fall, he was going to do it like he meant it. He devoured, he plundered, he consumed. Draco was gasping and moaning and melting, just as he was, and that was all that mattered. Their bodies were fluid and jagged and infinitely soft and inviting, all at once, and they were all those things in harmony, together now. Harry's fingers were moving of their own volition across Draco's chest, burrowing into the rough fabric stretched across it, finding purchase and pulling, tearing, ripping.
His mind was a fog of desperation and need and a sudden, blinding-hot desire the likes of which he had never imagined being capable of. His tongue was dipping swiftly down the slope of Draco's jaw, finding all the sensitive spots to make Draco gasp and shiver and bare his neck in wordless surrender. His tongue on Draco's neck, his hand splayed on Draco's ribs, his hip wedged between Draco's thighs--
And so it ended. They rocked together, Harry's salt-streaked face buried in Draco's shoulder, and he was smiling, and he was dancing, and he was flying, and it was everything, because it was like nothing else. Harry could feel the surf pounding in his ears, still, drowning out everything else, drowning him, and he welcomed it. He was lost in salty oceans, and his need only grew, his desire as ravenous as in the very first moment he tasted the other's skin and tears and the salty tang of the blood of his heart. And so it began.
~~