The Snitch: Teaser
Feb. 14th, 2004 03:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
logansrogueunbetad.
Part Two.
Discovery.
That night he dreamt of cinnamon hair and gentle little kisses. Beguiling perfume and delicious soft curves, things that were blissful and sent him mad all at once. When he woke his breaths were heavy, and the thumping tingling crush of arousal had claimed him completely. In his mostly-asleep state he let his hand drift down into his pants, just to get rid of the feeling, just to utterly surrender to it. It wasn't until an orgasm crashed through him that he realised that he was thinking of those brown eyes that had watched out for him since childhood. That he'd grown frenzied and released himself over the closest friend he'd ever known. Hauling himself to his feet, he cleaned himself up and retreated to his own bathroom, guilt beginning to build up in his chest over what had just happened.
Not in your right mind, Harry. Had far too much to drink. Nobody drinks that much tequila and has normal dreams. It's the worm that does it. Makes most people dream of the silliest things, certainly.
The shower was cleansing, relieving, relaxing. His mind continued to work through the logic, that nagging guilt that chased him ever gaining.
It's perfectly natural, he reasoned. Men are sexual animals, they have naughty dreams about all sorts of people.
But it wasn't a dream, came a dark little voice. It was desire, a waking desire clear as day. In your half-asleep pawing you thought of her, Hermione. Specifically everything about her, her hair, her eyes, her pert little boobs and her perfect arse. You thought of it all and you wanted it. You wanted it so badly you spent yourself on it. Face it.
You want to shag her.
Harry was horrified with himself. He'd known her for so long, she was so very special to him. He wasn't sure what had brought it all on, this strange idea that he wanted to have sex with Hermione, of all people. Hermione!
He'd always thought her pretty, and she was. Perfectly lovely in that pixie-like way, not a flawless beauty, certainly, but a sort that he thought was really quite exceptional. With make-up, without, she was utterly breathtaking. At least he thought so. He'd never felt bad about thinking that because he always accepted it as a sound fact; Hermione was gorgeous.
He was utterly mystified, however, where this roaring blinding urge had come from, that swelled in his sleep and had consumed him upon waking. He'd never done anything like this in regards to Hermione before. He felt just a little bit dirty about it, and God damn it if that wasn't a little bit of a turn on somehow.
I'm sick, he thought. I am so very sick.
Done with his shower, he walked into his room, sitting on his bed in only his towel. Without any warning there was a pop! and Hermione was by the door, looking horrified.
Harry's mouth popped open. She was half-dressed, wearing a pair of jeans and a powder-blue blouse that was unbuttoned from top to bottom. It hung mostly closed, but he could still see suggestive shadows of her bra. To his shock he saw that it was the flimsiest excuse for a bra he'd ever seen. They were sheer, lavendar, transparent, and each time she paced back and forth, the shirt would flutter open and he could see her nipples. Her pink, rosy soft looking nipples. His lips and tongue itched, guilt blasted through him and he felt he was going insane. Grabbing his clothes off the bed, he pulled them into his lap to hide his embarrassment. Hermione seemed oblivious to the fact that he was only in a towel.
In fact, she was pacing back and forth and babbling with a horrified look on her face. He'd heard absolutely nothing she'd said. He gulped and blinked.
"Uhm... What?"
"Oh honestly Harry!" she snapped, "Haven't you heard a thing I've said?"
He could only shake his head.
"I was so bloody drunk I let her talk me into it and dear GOD of all the things to put there!"
"Put where?"
"HERE!"
And then she did it. She tugged open her jeans and pulled them down about her hips. He was enlightened to the fact that her knickers were as see-through as her bra was, and dear God he could see her fuzz. It was dark and soft looking, he just wanted to nuzzle it and - holy shit. Stop. Thought. Now.
Pulling his eyes up, he saw what she was so worked up about, what had made her pop into his room in such a way.
Peeking out of those tantalising panties was the most delicate little piece of body art he'd ever seen. It was a tattoo, but like none he'd ever seen on a Muggle before. It was intricate, a life-like etching of that gold fluttering little ball he was so instinctively attuned to. The colour of it positively gleamed, and the little wings were tiny slivers of silver, just like the real thing. His gaze was captured, and he was shocked to see the wings flutter restlessly.
"It moved!"
"Yes, it does that!" she said, sounding annoyed. "It's attuned to my mood!"
Harry found it hard to drag his eyes away from it. It was enchanting, utterly beautiful.
"W-why?"
She frowned.
"Why did you get a Snitch on you?"
She blinked, and pulling up her pants, she zipped them shut and hid the tattoo. Some part of him felt terribly disappointed.
"I have no idea! No idea at all!"
Talking was hard. He managed to get the next sentence out, however.
"Why'd you show me?"
Those brown eyes were on his, neat black brows knitting together as she frowned. Pulling closed her blouse, she sighed.
"I don't know."
Without another word she popped out of the room.
~~*~~
Part Two.
Discovery.
That night he dreamt of cinnamon hair and gentle little kisses. Beguiling perfume and delicious soft curves, things that were blissful and sent him mad all at once. When he woke his breaths were heavy, and the thumping tingling crush of arousal had claimed him completely. In his mostly-asleep state he let his hand drift down into his pants, just to get rid of the feeling, just to utterly surrender to it. It wasn't until an orgasm crashed through him that he realised that he was thinking of those brown eyes that had watched out for him since childhood. That he'd grown frenzied and released himself over the closest friend he'd ever known. Hauling himself to his feet, he cleaned himself up and retreated to his own bathroom, guilt beginning to build up in his chest over what had just happened.
Not in your right mind, Harry. Had far too much to drink. Nobody drinks that much tequila and has normal dreams. It's the worm that does it. Makes most people dream of the silliest things, certainly.
The shower was cleansing, relieving, relaxing. His mind continued to work through the logic, that nagging guilt that chased him ever gaining.
It's perfectly natural, he reasoned. Men are sexual animals, they have naughty dreams about all sorts of people.
But it wasn't a dream, came a dark little voice. It was desire, a waking desire clear as day. In your half-asleep pawing you thought of her, Hermione. Specifically everything about her, her hair, her eyes, her pert little boobs and her perfect arse. You thought of it all and you wanted it. You wanted it so badly you spent yourself on it. Face it.
You want to shag her.
Harry was horrified with himself. He'd known her for so long, she was so very special to him. He wasn't sure what had brought it all on, this strange idea that he wanted to have sex with Hermione, of all people. Hermione!
He'd always thought her pretty, and she was. Perfectly lovely in that pixie-like way, not a flawless beauty, certainly, but a sort that he thought was really quite exceptional. With make-up, without, she was utterly breathtaking. At least he thought so. He'd never felt bad about thinking that because he always accepted it as a sound fact; Hermione was gorgeous.
He was utterly mystified, however, where this roaring blinding urge had come from, that swelled in his sleep and had consumed him upon waking. He'd never done anything like this in regards to Hermione before. He felt just a little bit dirty about it, and God damn it if that wasn't a little bit of a turn on somehow.
I'm sick, he thought. I am so very sick.
Done with his shower, he walked into his room, sitting on his bed in only his towel. Without any warning there was a pop! and Hermione was by the door, looking horrified.
Harry's mouth popped open. She was half-dressed, wearing a pair of jeans and a powder-blue blouse that was unbuttoned from top to bottom. It hung mostly closed, but he could still see suggestive shadows of her bra. To his shock he saw that it was the flimsiest excuse for a bra he'd ever seen. They were sheer, lavendar, transparent, and each time she paced back and forth, the shirt would flutter open and he could see her nipples. Her pink, rosy soft looking nipples. His lips and tongue itched, guilt blasted through him and he felt he was going insane. Grabbing his clothes off the bed, he pulled them into his lap to hide his embarrassment. Hermione seemed oblivious to the fact that he was only in a towel.
In fact, she was pacing back and forth and babbling with a horrified look on her face. He'd heard absolutely nothing she'd said. He gulped and blinked.
"Uhm... What?"
"Oh honestly Harry!" she snapped, "Haven't you heard a thing I've said?"
He could only shake his head.
"I was so bloody drunk I let her talk me into it and dear GOD of all the things to put there!"
"Put where?"
"HERE!"
And then she did it. She tugged open her jeans and pulled them down about her hips. He was enlightened to the fact that her knickers were as see-through as her bra was, and dear God he could see her fuzz. It was dark and soft looking, he just wanted to nuzzle it and - holy shit. Stop. Thought. Now.
Pulling his eyes up, he saw what she was so worked up about, what had made her pop into his room in such a way.
Peeking out of those tantalising panties was the most delicate little piece of body art he'd ever seen. It was a tattoo, but like none he'd ever seen on a Muggle before. It was intricate, a life-like etching of that gold fluttering little ball he was so instinctively attuned to. The colour of it positively gleamed, and the little wings were tiny slivers of silver, just like the real thing. His gaze was captured, and he was shocked to see the wings flutter restlessly.
"It moved!"
"Yes, it does that!" she said, sounding annoyed. "It's attuned to my mood!"
Harry found it hard to drag his eyes away from it. It was enchanting, utterly beautiful.
"W-why?"
She frowned.
"Why did you get a Snitch on you?"
She blinked, and pulling up her pants, she zipped them shut and hid the tattoo. Some part of him felt terribly disappointed.
"I have no idea! No idea at all!"
Talking was hard. He managed to get the next sentence out, however.
"Why'd you show me?"
Those brown eyes were on his, neat black brows knitting together as she frowned. Pulling closed her blouse, she sighed.
"I don't know."
Without another word she popped out of the room.
~~*~~
