[Harry Potter] [Godric/Salazar] Proximity
Title: Proximity
Rating: R
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Godric/Salazar
Summary: It's the proximity that gets to him.
Note: ...technically fanfic of The Song of Ilium? Fic of my own fic?
It's the proximity that gets to him, the fact he can feel Salazar's hip bones pressing against his, the grind of their knees together, the warmth of their skin, becoming one, becoming separated at the same time, their breaths together, in rhythm.
It's like training, again. Pushing into mud now pushing into mattress. Grappling at each other's skin, fingertips bruising pale skin, searing marks onto each other, obscuring marks made by someone else, because they have no right to be there, no right.
It's like fighting, but better, without knives edging too close to ribs, or punches slamming home a little too hard. It's better, because Salazar is holding onto him, not trying to get away, and this is right and good and perfect and so wrong.
They're getting too loud, breathing a little too harsh, bed from knocking back against the wall. Godric can't remember who's in the room next to theirs, and he doesn't care, not right now, not with Salazar's heels pressing into his calves.
He thinks, for a moment, that he should move away, catch his breath, calm down because this is becoming too much like an overload, too much like an overdose of Salazar, just like it always is, even when they're sneaking biting kisses in dark corners, lingering a little too long in the mornings so they can put their faces on for the rest of the door and pretend they're just buddies.
He tosses that thought, back into a dark corner with "we shouldn't be doing this" and "this is a bad idea" and "there's probably rules about this".
There's not any rules, he knows, because Salazar checked, poring over dusty books, scanning every single line for a hint of something he could cling to, something Godric could ignore, and nothing.
It's electric, like a rush of adrenaline. Salazar sighs beneath him, whispers swear words that roll off his tongue like honey. They kiss, and it's sweet like sugar, rough like a win.
They roll together, and Godric presses his hands to Salazar, and doesn't let go, because it's the proximity that gets to him.
Rating: R
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Godric/Salazar
Summary: It's the proximity that gets to him.
Note: ...technically fanfic of The Song of Ilium? Fic of my own fic?
It's the proximity that gets to him, the fact he can feel Salazar's hip bones pressing against his, the grind of their knees together, the warmth of their skin, becoming one, becoming separated at the same time, their breaths together, in rhythm.
It's like training, again. Pushing into mud now pushing into mattress. Grappling at each other's skin, fingertips bruising pale skin, searing marks onto each other, obscuring marks made by someone else, because they have no right to be there, no right.
It's like fighting, but better, without knives edging too close to ribs, or punches slamming home a little too hard. It's better, because Salazar is holding onto him, not trying to get away, and this is right and good and perfect and so wrong.
They're getting too loud, breathing a little too harsh, bed from knocking back against the wall. Godric can't remember who's in the room next to theirs, and he doesn't care, not right now, not with Salazar's heels pressing into his calves.
He thinks, for a moment, that he should move away, catch his breath, calm down because this is becoming too much like an overload, too much like an overdose of Salazar, just like it always is, even when they're sneaking biting kisses in dark corners, lingering a little too long in the mornings so they can put their faces on for the rest of the door and pretend they're just buddies.
He tosses that thought, back into a dark corner with "we shouldn't be doing this" and "this is a bad idea" and "there's probably rules about this".
There's not any rules, he knows, because Salazar checked, poring over dusty books, scanning every single line for a hint of something he could cling to, something Godric could ignore, and nothing.
It's electric, like a rush of adrenaline. Salazar sighs beneath him, whispers swear words that roll off his tongue like honey. They kiss, and it's sweet like sugar, rough like a win.
They roll together, and Godric presses his hands to Salazar, and doesn't let go, because it's the proximity that gets to him.