Ficlet - Tangled Child Soldiers
Who: Harry/Hermione/Ron
Rating: PG-13. Nothing explicit, but the imagery is sexual.
Word count: 177
Notes: it's not my usual style, but I really like this ficlet.
Fingers moving silky sweet across smooth skin. Tips touching scars, both the forgotten and the fresh. How had it ever been anything else but this? Darkness against sunset against autumn’s branches, three figures intertwined for a single instant, moving in surreal choreography against the backdrop of a groaning bed.
Dimpled feminine skin sandwiched between freckled and scarred, arms and legs twisting just so. Watery sunlight leaking through a dusty window, framing the moment. Her head angled back, his red lips kissing his pale ones across her shoulder, her moans, his groans, his thrusts.
Adults in children’s bodies, mature long before their years could accommodate their needs. The war had driven them to this, the insistent and calm moments of sure slickness, captured in oh yes and please and don’t stop.
Childhood gone forever, the innocence none of them had experienced. All they had was this and now and sweet mercy oh gods.
When the war is over, there will be no place in it for the child soldiers or their tangle of bedroom memories.
Rating: PG-13. Nothing explicit, but the imagery is sexual.
Word count: 177
Notes: it's not my usual style, but I really like this ficlet.
Fingers moving silky sweet across smooth skin. Tips touching scars, both the forgotten and the fresh. How had it ever been anything else but this? Darkness against sunset against autumn’s branches, three figures intertwined for a single instant, moving in surreal choreography against the backdrop of a groaning bed.
Dimpled feminine skin sandwiched between freckled and scarred, arms and legs twisting just so. Watery sunlight leaking through a dusty window, framing the moment. Her head angled back, his red lips kissing his pale ones across her shoulder, her moans, his groans, his thrusts.
Adults in children’s bodies, mature long before their years could accommodate their needs. The war had driven them to this, the insistent and calm moments of sure slickness, captured in oh yes and please and don’t stop.
Childhood gone forever, the innocence none of them had experienced. All they had was this and now and sweet mercy oh gods.
When the war is over, there will be no place in it for the child soldiers or their tangle of bedroom memories.