your dancing is like terrorism (riotact) wrote in weasleys_wood,
your dancing is like terrorism

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Yay, P/O fanfiction!

Title: No Need To Cry
Author: [info]dragon_baby19
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 325
Notes: I just wrote this, it was a spurr of the moment type thing. I have no idea where is came from or why it's so sad. It just is. I hope you like it, it's a wee bit short. The title is a song by Neko Case, I was listening to it when I got the bunny.

Oh, and I live for feedback! :D Even if it's nitpicky.

It’s a flash of red hair, a touch of the skin, a laboured breath on his neck. Feelings that have pulsed through Oliver before. The dark room, illuminated by only the moonlight pouring through the window. When Oliver catches a glimpse of Percy’s face and sees the concentration, the pleasure, the slight regret.

Oliver lays back, the regret, the regret. It echoes in his mind, he doesn’t want to be a regret; he doesn’t want to be a mistake in the morning. He doesn’t want the awkward, stale air between them, he wants kisses feather light and teasing.

Percy’s hands hover over the draw string of his pyjama bottoms, hesitant. Oliver bucks his hips, the want, the need rushing through him. Percy’s hands slide under, cool and paper dry.

Oliver is lost in a pool of bliss, nothing but the rhythm of his body against Percy’s. Movement, movement, movement. Nothing is anything, everything is something, Oliver begin to mutter words, anything. Random words, words he doesn’t under stand, he muffles his scream in Percy’s damp hair. When he breathes in he smells Percy, the wonderful smell he never wants to forget, but always does.

They lay together, panting. Oliver wants this moment to go on forever, doesn’t want this intimate moment between them to shatter. Like every other time, it does.

Percy gets up, mutters a cleaning spell and climbs out of Oliver’s bed and hastily retreats back to his own bed, with the certain air of realizing something horrible. And Oliver is left alone, empty and sad, with nothing but the blankets and sheets around him that still smell of Percy to ease the fire in side his chest.

Oliver mutters, “I love you.” a small sounds that would barely fit in a shot glass. A sounds that is filled with hate, sadness, and love. Because that’s what he always says afterwards, so it’s not inside, a little less pain to have to bare.


Hope you liked it! :D

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