Updates and Whatall
Ok, I lied (just a bit).
For anyone who cares to read, I'm simultaneously writing two chapters of Identifiable. They're getting longer as I go along.
Here are portions of what I've got so far.
Chapter 6
(Draco-centered)
Draco Malfoy learned quickly that his bedmate tended to hog the sheets. Not that it bothered him much, seeing as he felt somewhat claustrophobic in four walls when he was alone. Still, being out in the open wasn’t much appealing either. He had a tendency to feel bothered by it-a side effect of being a single child, he supposed. He always got what he wanted, whether he needed it or not.
It was disconcerting how she took his things when they spent time together like this. She sometimes slept in his shirts-all of those happened to be the ones she’d gotten him out of in the first place. She tended to exert control over things that pleased him-rough kisses, nails dragging over his skin, loud breathing.
It should have bothered him more than this, but he couldn’t even feel annoyance. An odd contentedness washed through him in the aftermath of their rough meetings.
Carefully (though he wasn’t sure why), he extracted the bunched up fabric around her arms.
She was exceptionally warm to the touch when her hands unconsciously drew around him. He didn’t look away when she turned slightly to the side and he caught sight of her curve of her breast. The room had never been quite this warm before, he noted in the stillness.
Pansy Parkinson sighed in her sleep when she felt a momentary gentle pressure below her ear.
Chapter 7
(Hermione-Harry)
She lay down, facing the fading orange light cut across the smooth white ceiling. A light knock at the door. The fading headache returned, as did the arm to cover the top half of her face. The light behind two eyelids turned from a dull red to a faded black.
She didn’t answer.
A moment’s hesitation. Waiting, as usual.
Steps made themselves heard as she made an effort to breathe coherently. In. Out. Repeat.
A dip in the mattress moved her to the side slightly.
“You OK?”
Concern.
“I’m going to commit murder,” she stated. “And soon.”
No laughter. Not even a chuckle.
“I don’t blame you,” he said calmly.
For anyone who cares to read, I'm simultaneously writing two chapters of Identifiable. They're getting longer as I go along.
Here are portions of what I've got so far.
Chapter 6
(Draco-centered)
Draco Malfoy learned quickly that his bedmate tended to hog the sheets. Not that it bothered him much, seeing as he felt somewhat claustrophobic in four walls when he was alone. Still, being out in the open wasn’t much appealing either. He had a tendency to feel bothered by it-a side effect of being a single child, he supposed. He always got what he wanted, whether he needed it or not.
It was disconcerting how she took his things when they spent time together like this. She sometimes slept in his shirts-all of those happened to be the ones she’d gotten him out of in the first place. She tended to exert control over things that pleased him-rough kisses, nails dragging over his skin, loud breathing.
It should have bothered him more than this, but he couldn’t even feel annoyance. An odd contentedness washed through him in the aftermath of their rough meetings.
Carefully (though he wasn’t sure why), he extracted the bunched up fabric around her arms.
She was exceptionally warm to the touch when her hands unconsciously drew around him. He didn’t look away when she turned slightly to the side and he caught sight of her curve of her breast. The room had never been quite this warm before, he noted in the stillness.
Pansy Parkinson sighed in her sleep when she felt a momentary gentle pressure below her ear.
Chapter 7
(Hermione-Harry)
She lay down, facing the fading orange light cut across the smooth white ceiling. A light knock at the door. The fading headache returned, as did the arm to cover the top half of her face. The light behind two eyelids turned from a dull red to a faded black.
She didn’t answer.
A moment’s hesitation. Waiting, as usual.
Steps made themselves heard as she made an effort to breathe coherently. In. Out. Repeat.
A dip in the mattress moved her to the side slightly.
“You OK?”
Concern.
“I’m going to commit murder,” she stated. “And soon.”
No laughter. Not even a chuckle.
“I don’t blame you,” he said calmly.