Oblong Shadows - PG - Harry/Draco
Title: Oblong Shadows
Author: sympathetic_ink
Rating: PG
Summary: The sun sets on one of Harry's dreams.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and other trademarks are © by JK Rowling, Little Literacy Agency, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Arthur A. Levine, & Warner Brothers. No profit is being made, it's all good clean fun. Really.
Oblong Shadows
- for my beloved kasi -
The sun hung low on the horizon, until all there was for the world to see was a blaze of surreal orange light that poked its tendrils over the damp ground and kissed all that it touched. The far mountains were a purple blue, spreading and longing and wise in its branches of beyond.
Harry's stomach gave a low and hungry growl, registering its complaint for anyone to hear and take notice; but Harry himself chose to ignore it, giving into the fading light and his aching, stretched-out muscles. He was tired and dirty and sore, but it was built now, and all there was left to do was paint it, three coats of warm grey, just to be on the same side. It was glorious: its roof reaching high in a pinnace, the metal own on the up-most point, poised in perpetual flight, turning noiselessly in the light evening breeze.
The slats sent long shadows across the clipped grass, lattice-light oblongs covered the floor that was crisp in their newness and ridged.
He had done it: designed it, built it, toiled with bare hands and persistence and he had done it. And it was beautiful, a masterpiece of his own creation, and he felt like an artist and his best work.
A figure, lithe and blonde, crouched beside him, avoiding the dirt with practiced ease, pulling back from the sweaty, familiar hands that searched for him.
"So it's built then?"
It was met with no answer, just searching fingertips and yanking grasps. The figure toppled with an undignified squawk.
"Harry! Watch my suit."
Harry had no patience with the fine, clean suit today, digging searching hands and nuzzling lips into the bareness of chin that smelt like strong coffee and the lingering bitter taste of aftershave. He ran his tongue up the pale, sun-kissed throat and hummed vaguely, acknowledging this minor inconvenience of proper and polite behaviour.
His stomach decided that this was the appropriate time to interrupt again, becoming more than politely vocal in its demands. The figure in grey pulled away again, the purple haze glowing around him like the sun.
"Hungry?"
He was pulled forward again, hands binding themselves with still straw-coloured hair. The other retreated calmly.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
Harry's voice rumbled for a moment and then vanished with the blaze of the sun behind a cloud. He felt risen, kissed, doused in flame and burnt to a crisp with the fathoms of longing. Objections melted away as bare skin, layers of it, miles of it, were unfolded and unwanted fabrics were discarded and gathered grass stains as they were used for a makeshift bed in the lengthening dusk and sunshine.
The gazebo stood on guard, pointed and proud, the metal own swinging in the breeze while Harry, a faint smile burning on his lips like an unforgivable sin.
He stood, stretching his protestations out of him and hummed faintly under his breath as he wandered inside, to help with dinner.
- finished -
Author: sympathetic_ink
Rating: PG
Summary: The sun sets on one of Harry's dreams.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and other trademarks are © by JK Rowling, Little Literacy Agency, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Arthur A. Levine, & Warner Brothers. No profit is being made, it's all good clean fun. Really.
Oblong Shadows
- for my beloved kasi -
The sun hung low on the horizon, until all there was for the world to see was a blaze of surreal orange light that poked its tendrils over the damp ground and kissed all that it touched. The far mountains were a purple blue, spreading and longing and wise in its branches of beyond.
Harry's stomach gave a low and hungry growl, registering its complaint for anyone to hear and take notice; but Harry himself chose to ignore it, giving into the fading light and his aching, stretched-out muscles. He was tired and dirty and sore, but it was built now, and all there was left to do was paint it, three coats of warm grey, just to be on the same side. It was glorious: its roof reaching high in a pinnace, the metal own on the up-most point, poised in perpetual flight, turning noiselessly in the light evening breeze.
The slats sent long shadows across the clipped grass, lattice-light oblongs covered the floor that was crisp in their newness and ridged.
He had done it: designed it, built it, toiled with bare hands and persistence and he had done it. And it was beautiful, a masterpiece of his own creation, and he felt like an artist and his best work.
A figure, lithe and blonde, crouched beside him, avoiding the dirt with practiced ease, pulling back from the sweaty, familiar hands that searched for him.
"So it's built then?"
It was met with no answer, just searching fingertips and yanking grasps. The figure toppled with an undignified squawk.
"Harry! Watch my suit."
Harry had no patience with the fine, clean suit today, digging searching hands and nuzzling lips into the bareness of chin that smelt like strong coffee and the lingering bitter taste of aftershave. He ran his tongue up the pale, sun-kissed throat and hummed vaguely, acknowledging this minor inconvenience of proper and polite behaviour.
His stomach decided that this was the appropriate time to interrupt again, becoming more than politely vocal in its demands. The figure in grey pulled away again, the purple haze glowing around him like the sun.
"Hungry?"
He was pulled forward again, hands binding themselves with still straw-coloured hair. The other retreated calmly.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
Harry's voice rumbled for a moment and then vanished with the blaze of the sun behind a cloud. He felt risen, kissed, doused in flame and burnt to a crisp with the fathoms of longing. Objections melted away as bare skin, layers of it, miles of it, were unfolded and unwanted fabrics were discarded and gathered grass stains as they were used for a makeshift bed in the lengthening dusk and sunshine.
The gazebo stood on guard, pointed and proud, the metal own swinging in the breeze while Harry, a faint smile burning on his lips like an unforgivable sin.
He stood, stretching his protestations out of him and hummed faintly under his breath as he wandered inside, to help with dinner.
- finished -