nekare

I'm finally starting the pirate fic for pink_faerie81, and my mind is full with plot bunnies, along with another drabble I'm writing, Harry/Ron, that came to me in a dream (quite literally, too).

So, Drabbles for queerditch_pub.

So Close

Harry is starting to get tired of this, he thinks as he punches Draco in the jaw after Ron barges unannounced to the almost empty Charms room. Ron too, is also getting suspicious of all of these supposed fights he’s been getting in with Draco, and well; Draco himself isn’t very happy either.

(But then again, there’s something akin to the slow boiling of revenge churning in his stomach everytime crimson blood stains that snowy skin.)

So he tries leaving subtle hints to Ron, but the next time he has to hide red swollen lips from a confused Ron; he realizes subtlety wouldn’t reach it even if it hit him in the face. So against Draco’s advice (which in all honesty, he doesn’t even hear; he likes him more when his mouth is too preoccupied with Harry’s skin to speak), he decides to be truthful.

In all honesty, that doesn’t work too well, but the angry handjob Draco gives him in the potions dungeons afterwards (petty vendetta against Snape and bruises on Harry’s hips) makes Ron’s terrified expression worth it.

Eventually, Hermione is the one who has to keep Ron from finding them, and Harry couldn’t be more thankful of that as Draco’s mouth goes further and further down along feverish skin; as his glasses just dangling on the tip of his nose allow him watch the fair hair tickle him in his belly; as he moans and arches and forgets about every other person in the world.

(Draco wipes his mouth afterwards, and as Harry slides to the ground, he feels so alive it hurts.)


And my first time ever at femmslash, which still feels somewhat odd, 'cause I don't really ship the pairing.

Dreamy Sigh

The breeze leaves Hermione’s skin tingling, cold and smooth and bringing forth every ounce of forbidden feelings that leave a sweet taste on the tongue. Ginny turns to her, red hair freed from its ponytail and dancing freely in the air with the freedom they both feel running through their veins as the castle and the forest and just everything dissolves in the spring scented season.

They smile at each other, three steps away and three steps too close; the lake shimmering at Hermione’s back. Ginny’s skirt is blown by the wind, and freckled legs are shown for Hermione’s eyes only; pure temptation tinted with the Gryffindor tie that slithers in the air (oh irony) caught only by two of Ginny’s fingers. Ginny’s eyes stray lower, and Hermione’s cheeks burn as she feels her own skirt ride up.

(Up, up, up; she feels as if Ginny could lift her up to the sky.)

“This is a dream,” Ginny says with her head tilted slightly to the right.

“Yes,” Hermione admits, as she outstretches her hand and feels her hair tickle her neck. “But I don’t feel like waking up.”

“And yet you must,” Says Ginny with a smirk and that mysterious tone she must have learned from Luna.

Red hair whips against a freckled face one last time, Hermione’s fingertips hunting for the locks as the vivid colors swarm her and bend her heart, and the lakes’ shine makes Ginny’s skin glow and then,

then she’s awake; alone in the darkness in Gryffindor tower. Hermione sighs and shifts, and as she struggles to go back to sleep she can feel the longing burning within her.