Voting Post: Sexiest Ficlet
Sexiest Ficlet (501-1000 words)
Complete rules and procedures can be found on the main voting page. To summarize:
1. To submit your votes for this category, copy and paste the code below into a comment to this post (will be screened), or send it in an email to dramioneawards[at]gmail[dot]com. No anonymous comments allowed!
2. You must vote for your top THREE favorite fics, and rank them with your top favorite fic in the #1 position.
3. When casting your vote, please use the number assigned to the fic, rather than writing out the whole title.
CODE (4c):
4c - Sexiest Ficlet:
1. (TOP CHOICE)
2.
3.
Return to Main Page
Nominees:
-1-
Langourous, by drcjsnider
For the first time in over a year Hermione felt good… and satisfied… and sexy.
Sexy? Where did that come from?
She looked over at the blond sleeping next to her and grinned. Definitely, sexy.
She stretched her arms above her head, loving the feel of the expensive cotton sheets against her bare skin. It was liberating to realize that she was finally ready to move on - ready to stop sitting around moping about her life. After Ron had left her the previous August for some chippy with big breasts and a fondness for fucking war heroes, Hermione had thought that she would dry up. She had been certain that no one would ever again find her desirable or attractive. Last night’s episode, however, had blown that theory out of the sky.
She gone to the Leaky Cauldron after work with Mafalda Hopkirk and Padma Patil to discuss the Wizengamot’s complete and utter failure to convict anyone for violating the new legal protections for House Elves. While ordering a Fire Whiskey at the bar, she’d been approached by Draco Malfoy. “Granger, ditch your co-workers and come join me for a drink.”
“You’re not serious?” she’d asked. Hermione and Malfoy had developed a civil relationship from serving together on the Hogwarts’ school board, but they were by no stretch of the imagination friends.
“Of course I’m serious. I’m bored and want company.”
“There are tons of people here tonight, pick someone else to bother,” she’d told him. She looked around the pub and motioned with her head toward the entrance where a group of interns from St. Mungo’s sat. “That table full of witches would probably love the attention of a successful older man.”
He glanced toward the group and his upper lip curled up slightly as his nose crinkled in disgust. “I don’t like my odds of ending up with a dud. Some of them look lovely, but with you, I know I’ll get both an attractive companion and entertaining conversation.”
She’d rolled her eyes at his blatant flattery. Determined to turn him down, Hermione impulsively changed her mind after Padama came to the bar and informed her that she and Mafalda were leaving.
Draco had grinned and led her to a booth at the back of the pub. Hermione suspected he was up to something and was determined to figure out his secret agenda. After about an hour of conversation, it finally hit her. He was interested in her.
“You’re trying to pick me up!” Hermione had gasped in shock.
She thought Malfoy blushed at her words, but his cheeks might have just been flushed from the alcohol. “Well spotted, Granger. I’ve only been trying to get you to notice me on a more personal level for the last three months. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”
“Why?” she demanded, ignoring his insult.
“Why what?” he responded sardonically.
“Why are you interested in me?”
“I told you earlier,” he replied with the lift of one sculpted eyebrow. “I find you smart and attractive.”
She looked at him, unconvinced. “There are numerous intelligent, pretty witches in the world. Why me? Our history isn’t exactly encouraging.”
He smirked, reached across the table, and trailed a finger lightly across Hermione’s hand. “Haven’t you ever wondered whether the tension between us is just misdirected sexual chemistry?”
Hermione had shaken her head. She had never suspected that there was any type of chemistry between her and Draco, especially not one of a physical nature - unless wanting to haul off and hit someone was some kind of chemical reaction. However, now that he’d mentioned it - said it aloud - she couldn’t stop imagining him kissing her, touching her, and fucking her.
“You’re looking a little hot under the collar, Granger,” Draco had told her, his smirk growing wider.
“How far away is your flat?” She’d replied before thinking. He wanted her. It had been such a long time since she’d been close to anybody and he wanted her.
Just seconds later, he had Apparated them into his living room. After that it was all lips, and hands, and hot flesh on hot flesh. When it was over, she hadn’t had time to be embarrassed because he’d pulled her into his bed, held her, kissed her, and whispered the sweetest things until she’d fallen asleep.
Releasing a contented sigh, Hermione turned again to look at Draco. He was staring back at her, his lips curved upwards. “I was hoping that I hadn’t dreamed last night,” he told her huskily.
Hermione shook her head. “It’s all real. However, I could pinch you if there is need of any further evidence.”
“Completely unnecessary,” he drawled, snaking a hand around her waist and pulling her tight against him. “I prefer a more enjoyable method of reassurance.” He then pressed his lips against hers in a slow, wet, kiss. It was everything that she needed - comfort, desire, and a promise that this wasn’t just a one off. She sank into it. She sank into him. Before long, she was unable to think about anything except just how good they felt together.
The End
-2-
Masked Lover, by solas_divided
She could feel his eyes on her. The scrutiny behind them seared her skin beneath her elaborate ball gown. Her fingers trembled slightly around the thin stick attached to her silver mask. The metal felt cool against her flushed face as she held her disguise securely in place.
He stood somewhere in the shadows. She’d only caught quick glimpses of him throughout the night, always just out of her line of vision, and always gone before she could get a better look. This game he played excited and frustrated her senses. The thrill of being watched was overpowered by the overwhelming feeling of desperation. There was only ten minutes left before midnight when all faces were to be revealed, and she wanted a dance with her mystery watcher before reality took a hold of her.
The annual Ministry ball was tedious at best. Most of the guests had long since removed their masks, revealing their faces and breaking the magical atmosphere provided. But Hermione refused. There was something… exciting about being mysterious. She liked the way the men watched her floating around the dance floor in her white silk and lace gown. She thrived on the soft, questioning whispers, all wondering her identity. But what amused her most was the fact that not even the people who had known her her entire life had any idea who she was behind the mask.
Now, she wondered the same: who was he? And why wouldn’t he show himself?
“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”
Her breath caught in her throat at the husky drawl just behind her. Her entire body tingled responsively to the warm breath tickling her ear.
She slicked her lips and steeled her nerves before turning to confront her mystery man.
“I could be,” she answered smoothly, letting only the slightest grin to touch her unpainted lips.
He seemed to take this as encouragement and moved a step closer, finally presenting himself beneath the soft glow of lights radiating from the candles flickering in the wrought iron holders circling the room.
Tall, that was her first impression of him. She had to tilt her head back to peer up into the black mask concealing his face. He wore his cloak hood up, obscuring the sight of his hair. The light material fell over his broad shoulders, nearly hiding his dark, velvet robes from sight. But even if she had no idea who he was or what he looked like, there was something about his presence. It was dominating, powerful… dark. She could almost feel the heat radiating off him.
“Should I be concerned?” he asked, his chiseled lips - the only part of him she could fully see - tilted in the left corner in amusement.
“I don’t see why you would be,” she answered slyly.
He took another step closer, nearly on top of her now. “Dance with me and I’ll tell you.”
Giddy with excitement, she wasted no time in accepting the black gloved hand he offered. The powerful fragrance of musk, sandalwood and man engulfed her the second she was drawn into the folds of his arms and held there with such gentleness, it was overwhelming.
“So, tell me,” she murmured, breathless.
He lowered his head, brushing the side of her face where the mask didn’t reach with his smoothly shaven jaw. “I would hate to have to kill them to get you all to myself.”
If she hadn’t been so adamant to cherish every second she was in his arms, Hermione would have swooned at the guttural purr tickling her ear. Goose bumps were already littering every inch of her body.
“So, do I?” he asked, bringing her semi-back to reality.
“What?” she asked, still ridiculously dazed.
He chuckled, the husky sound sending shivers down her spine. “Do I have to kill someone?”
She shook her head, unable to coherently string two words together.
“Good.”
She could blame it on the two glasses of wine she’d consumed earlier, or the lack of food in her stomach on which the alcohol now rested, but the second he surprised her with the crash of his lips on hers… her head was one giant, pink fuzz. Nothing else mattered. She sank into the kiss like a starved man before a banquet, winding her arms around his neck and arching up on her toes.
Somewhere in the background, someone shouted midnight for all masks to be removed, but Hermione paid them no mind as she continued to respond eagerly to the man stealing her heart and soul with just a kiss. It was all just so impossibly magical and it felt so right…
He held her possessively against his front with one arm hooked around her middle while raising his free hand to remove his mask without ever ceasing the kiss. She was barely even conscious of lowering her own mask.
Then, he pulled away and she had no choice but to leave that enchanted place and focus on the face hovering above hers.
“Malfoy?”
Draco smirked. “Hello, Granger.”
Still too lightheaded to function properly, Hermione could only frown slightly in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” he answered simply, before dropping his head and doing just that.
-3-
Straight Flush, by Derek Zischke (M)
Hermione felt the cold night air brush her hair from the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was dark, but the full moon gave off enough light to see clearly. She could see all the castle, the grounds, the deep black of the lake. All were still. She could see a light guttering in the window of Hagrid's hut. Would he be able to see her, if he stood at his window and looked her way? She fancied he could, and a whisper ran through her stomach.
This made her think about getting caught here, out of the dormitories in the dead of night. What if Professor McGonagall found her? Or Filch, led by Mrs Norris, slinking around the corner with her demon eyes? The whisper returned, redoubled, feeling like the rippling leaves on a tree in the wind.
Although the stillness of the night transformed the castle into something unrecognisable from the same castle in the day, this place, this time, was familiar to her. Hermione had been here before. Had waited here before - in the dark, in the moonlight. She was waiting for that one sound, a steady beating rhythm that started low (low noise, low in the stairwell, murky and lurking) and rose where it became clear and loud. It was the sound of something else, but it was also the sound of footfalls, and she could hear the footfalls now in the silence of the night. They stopped. She turned from the vista of the grounds.
Draco Malfoy stood at the top of the stairs. His arms fell by his sides but he stood confident. Hermione became very concious of how she was breathing. It was heavy. He could probably hear it. The moonlight was in his eyes. It was in his hair too, making it bright, making it a defining feature of his face - glowing hair, burning eyes, and the shadow of a smirk.
"Disrobe," he ordered. Commanded. His voice came from somewhere far away - or maybe it was close, too close. Maybe it was the wind that made her stomach ripple.
She did. Her robes melted away in a single fluid motion and fell to the cold slabs in an inglorious heap. She wore nothing under them (except white socks and flatheel Mary Janes, and didn't that just serve to highlight the rest of her nakedness?), and she felt the night air come again. Her skin froze. Her skin burned.
Draco's eyes didn't move (unless there was just a flick, just for half a second, that couldn't be seen in the night). His voice came again from that nowhere-place: "Turn."
Hermione could see the grounds (castle) (black lake) again, and she remembered the flame in Hagrid's hut and knew, knew somehow in a perfect moment of realisation, that they were not alone. That there was a third party, silent, hidden (like the night, silent and hidden) underneath his Invisibility Cloak. Harry was here, because weren't the footsteps (heartbeat) different this time? He would hold still, maybe even almost shoulder to shoulder with Draco, and he would be silent but his eyes behind his glasses would be wide.
She thought about breakfast the next morning. Would he be normal, except for just a second when his guard came down and she could see he knew? Would he ask, and she would tell (confession) everything that happened on the Astronomy Tower on moonlit nights? What if he pulled her by the wrist and dragged her, exposed her in the centre of the Great Hall (oh God...), her deeds naked like her skin? She could no longer feel the cold.
"Bend over," came the directive, and she leaned against the parapet, soft skin against rough stone. She felt that roughness against her nipples, and gasped (groaned) (exhaled). No further commands came, but she knew what to do. Hermione had been here before. Her hand moved between her legs, and she knew again in that way of knowing without seeing that Harry would mimic her, mimic but not mime, their actions twins but not siblings, joined but not connected. But Draco would be still (like the stones, like the night) - he would stand with his arms by his sides and his hands balled in fists and a hardness that strained him. When she was finished (complete) he would find Pansy (his whore) and take her and kiss her and fuck her with such savagery that she would cry out (and break the stillness of the night) but she would not even be there for him, he would (have the savagery on his face) be thinking of her, of herself, of
Hermione, and the wind came (came!), came like a hurricane, and all she had to focus on was her heartbeat (like footsteps) and warmth that radiated from her and heated her skin.
Hermione let out her breath, and opened her eyes. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, but there was little at the moment worth seeing. She turned in her bed, closed her eyes again, and dreamed of nothing memorable.
Love is love is love is love
But this just isn't that.
- Brooks and Mitchell
Return to Main Page
Complete rules and procedures can be found on the main voting page. To summarize:
1. To submit your votes for this category, copy and paste the code below into a comment to this post (will be screened), or send it in an email to dramioneawards[at]gmail[dot]com. No anonymous comments allowed!
2. You must vote for your top THREE favorite fics, and rank them with your top favorite fic in the #1 position.
3. When casting your vote, please use the number assigned to the fic, rather than writing out the whole title.
CODE (4c):
4c - Sexiest Ficlet:
1. (TOP CHOICE)
2.
3.
Return to Main Page
Nominees:
-1-
Langourous, by drcjsnider
For the first time in over a year Hermione felt good… and satisfied… and sexy.
Sexy? Where did that come from?
She looked over at the blond sleeping next to her and grinned. Definitely, sexy.
She stretched her arms above her head, loving the feel of the expensive cotton sheets against her bare skin. It was liberating to realize that she was finally ready to move on - ready to stop sitting around moping about her life. After Ron had left her the previous August for some chippy with big breasts and a fondness for fucking war heroes, Hermione had thought that she would dry up. She had been certain that no one would ever again find her desirable or attractive. Last night’s episode, however, had blown that theory out of the sky.
She gone to the Leaky Cauldron after work with Mafalda Hopkirk and Padma Patil to discuss the Wizengamot’s complete and utter failure to convict anyone for violating the new legal protections for House Elves. While ordering a Fire Whiskey at the bar, she’d been approached by Draco Malfoy. “Granger, ditch your co-workers and come join me for a drink.”
“You’re not serious?” she’d asked. Hermione and Malfoy had developed a civil relationship from serving together on the Hogwarts’ school board, but they were by no stretch of the imagination friends.
“Of course I’m serious. I’m bored and want company.”
“There are tons of people here tonight, pick someone else to bother,” she’d told him. She looked around the pub and motioned with her head toward the entrance where a group of interns from St. Mungo’s sat. “That table full of witches would probably love the attention of a successful older man.”
He glanced toward the group and his upper lip curled up slightly as his nose crinkled in disgust. “I don’t like my odds of ending up with a dud. Some of them look lovely, but with you, I know I’ll get both an attractive companion and entertaining conversation.”
She’d rolled her eyes at his blatant flattery. Determined to turn him down, Hermione impulsively changed her mind after Padama came to the bar and informed her that she and Mafalda were leaving.
Draco had grinned and led her to a booth at the back of the pub. Hermione suspected he was up to something and was determined to figure out his secret agenda. After about an hour of conversation, it finally hit her. He was interested in her.
“You’re trying to pick me up!” Hermione had gasped in shock.
She thought Malfoy blushed at her words, but his cheeks might have just been flushed from the alcohol. “Well spotted, Granger. I’ve only been trying to get you to notice me on a more personal level for the last three months. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”
“Why?” she demanded, ignoring his insult.
“Why what?” he responded sardonically.
“Why are you interested in me?”
“I told you earlier,” he replied with the lift of one sculpted eyebrow. “I find you smart and attractive.”
She looked at him, unconvinced. “There are numerous intelligent, pretty witches in the world. Why me? Our history isn’t exactly encouraging.”
He smirked, reached across the table, and trailed a finger lightly across Hermione’s hand. “Haven’t you ever wondered whether the tension between us is just misdirected sexual chemistry?”
Hermione had shaken her head. She had never suspected that there was any type of chemistry between her and Draco, especially not one of a physical nature - unless wanting to haul off and hit someone was some kind of chemical reaction. However, now that he’d mentioned it - said it aloud - she couldn’t stop imagining him kissing her, touching her, and fucking her.
“You’re looking a little hot under the collar, Granger,” Draco had told her, his smirk growing wider.
“How far away is your flat?” She’d replied before thinking. He wanted her. It had been such a long time since she’d been close to anybody and he wanted her.
Just seconds later, he had Apparated them into his living room. After that it was all lips, and hands, and hot flesh on hot flesh. When it was over, she hadn’t had time to be embarrassed because he’d pulled her into his bed, held her, kissed her, and whispered the sweetest things until she’d fallen asleep.
Releasing a contented sigh, Hermione turned again to look at Draco. He was staring back at her, his lips curved upwards. “I was hoping that I hadn’t dreamed last night,” he told her huskily.
Hermione shook her head. “It’s all real. However, I could pinch you if there is need of any further evidence.”
“Completely unnecessary,” he drawled, snaking a hand around her waist and pulling her tight against him. “I prefer a more enjoyable method of reassurance.” He then pressed his lips against hers in a slow, wet, kiss. It was everything that she needed - comfort, desire, and a promise that this wasn’t just a one off. She sank into it. She sank into him. Before long, she was unable to think about anything except just how good they felt together.
The End
-2-
Masked Lover, by solas_divided
She could feel his eyes on her. The scrutiny behind them seared her skin beneath her elaborate ball gown. Her fingers trembled slightly around the thin stick attached to her silver mask. The metal felt cool against her flushed face as she held her disguise securely in place.
He stood somewhere in the shadows. She’d only caught quick glimpses of him throughout the night, always just out of her line of vision, and always gone before she could get a better look. This game he played excited and frustrated her senses. The thrill of being watched was overpowered by the overwhelming feeling of desperation. There was only ten minutes left before midnight when all faces were to be revealed, and she wanted a dance with her mystery watcher before reality took a hold of her.
The annual Ministry ball was tedious at best. Most of the guests had long since removed their masks, revealing their faces and breaking the magical atmosphere provided. But Hermione refused. There was something… exciting about being mysterious. She liked the way the men watched her floating around the dance floor in her white silk and lace gown. She thrived on the soft, questioning whispers, all wondering her identity. But what amused her most was the fact that not even the people who had known her her entire life had any idea who she was behind the mask.
Now, she wondered the same: who was he? And why wouldn’t he show himself?
“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”
Her breath caught in her throat at the husky drawl just behind her. Her entire body tingled responsively to the warm breath tickling her ear.
She slicked her lips and steeled her nerves before turning to confront her mystery man.
“I could be,” she answered smoothly, letting only the slightest grin to touch her unpainted lips.
He seemed to take this as encouragement and moved a step closer, finally presenting himself beneath the soft glow of lights radiating from the candles flickering in the wrought iron holders circling the room.
Tall, that was her first impression of him. She had to tilt her head back to peer up into the black mask concealing his face. He wore his cloak hood up, obscuring the sight of his hair. The light material fell over his broad shoulders, nearly hiding his dark, velvet robes from sight. But even if she had no idea who he was or what he looked like, there was something about his presence. It was dominating, powerful… dark. She could almost feel the heat radiating off him.
“Should I be concerned?” he asked, his chiseled lips - the only part of him she could fully see - tilted in the left corner in amusement.
“I don’t see why you would be,” she answered slyly.
He took another step closer, nearly on top of her now. “Dance with me and I’ll tell you.”
Giddy with excitement, she wasted no time in accepting the black gloved hand he offered. The powerful fragrance of musk, sandalwood and man engulfed her the second she was drawn into the folds of his arms and held there with such gentleness, it was overwhelming.
“So, tell me,” she murmured, breathless.
He lowered his head, brushing the side of her face where the mask didn’t reach with his smoothly shaven jaw. “I would hate to have to kill them to get you all to myself.”
If she hadn’t been so adamant to cherish every second she was in his arms, Hermione would have swooned at the guttural purr tickling her ear. Goose bumps were already littering every inch of her body.
“So, do I?” he asked, bringing her semi-back to reality.
“What?” she asked, still ridiculously dazed.
He chuckled, the husky sound sending shivers down her spine. “Do I have to kill someone?”
She shook her head, unable to coherently string two words together.
“Good.”
She could blame it on the two glasses of wine she’d consumed earlier, or the lack of food in her stomach on which the alcohol now rested, but the second he surprised her with the crash of his lips on hers… her head was one giant, pink fuzz. Nothing else mattered. She sank into the kiss like a starved man before a banquet, winding her arms around his neck and arching up on her toes.
Somewhere in the background, someone shouted midnight for all masks to be removed, but Hermione paid them no mind as she continued to respond eagerly to the man stealing her heart and soul with just a kiss. It was all just so impossibly magical and it felt so right…
He held her possessively against his front with one arm hooked around her middle while raising his free hand to remove his mask without ever ceasing the kiss. She was barely even conscious of lowering her own mask.
Then, he pulled away and she had no choice but to leave that enchanted place and focus on the face hovering above hers.
“Malfoy?”
Draco smirked. “Hello, Granger.”
Still too lightheaded to function properly, Hermione could only frown slightly in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” he answered simply, before dropping his head and doing just that.
-3-
Straight Flush, by Derek Zischke (M)
Hermione felt the cold night air brush her hair from the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was dark, but the full moon gave off enough light to see clearly. She could see all the castle, the grounds, the deep black of the lake. All were still. She could see a light guttering in the window of Hagrid's hut. Would he be able to see her, if he stood at his window and looked her way? She fancied he could, and a whisper ran through her stomach.
This made her think about getting caught here, out of the dormitories in the dead of night. What if Professor McGonagall found her? Or Filch, led by Mrs Norris, slinking around the corner with her demon eyes? The whisper returned, redoubled, feeling like the rippling leaves on a tree in the wind.
Although the stillness of the night transformed the castle into something unrecognisable from the same castle in the day, this place, this time, was familiar to her. Hermione had been here before. Had waited here before - in the dark, in the moonlight. She was waiting for that one sound, a steady beating rhythm that started low (low noise, low in the stairwell, murky and lurking) and rose where it became clear and loud. It was the sound of something else, but it was also the sound of footfalls, and she could hear the footfalls now in the silence of the night. They stopped. She turned from the vista of the grounds.
Draco Malfoy stood at the top of the stairs. His arms fell by his sides but he stood confident. Hermione became very concious of how she was breathing. It was heavy. He could probably hear it. The moonlight was in his eyes. It was in his hair too, making it bright, making it a defining feature of his face - glowing hair, burning eyes, and the shadow of a smirk.
"Disrobe," he ordered. Commanded. His voice came from somewhere far away - or maybe it was close, too close. Maybe it was the wind that made her stomach ripple.
She did. Her robes melted away in a single fluid motion and fell to the cold slabs in an inglorious heap. She wore nothing under them (except white socks and flatheel Mary Janes, and didn't that just serve to highlight the rest of her nakedness?), and she felt the night air come again. Her skin froze. Her skin burned.
Draco's eyes didn't move (unless there was just a flick, just for half a second, that couldn't be seen in the night). His voice came again from that nowhere-place: "Turn."
Hermione could see the grounds (castle) (black lake) again, and she remembered the flame in Hagrid's hut and knew, knew somehow in a perfect moment of realisation, that they were not alone. That there was a third party, silent, hidden (like the night, silent and hidden) underneath his Invisibility Cloak. Harry was here, because weren't the footsteps (heartbeat) different this time? He would hold still, maybe even almost shoulder to shoulder with Draco, and he would be silent but his eyes behind his glasses would be wide.
She thought about breakfast the next morning. Would he be normal, except for just a second when his guard came down and she could see he knew? Would he ask, and she would tell (confession) everything that happened on the Astronomy Tower on moonlit nights? What if he pulled her by the wrist and dragged her, exposed her in the centre of the Great Hall (oh God...), her deeds naked like her skin? She could no longer feel the cold.
"Bend over," came the directive, and she leaned against the parapet, soft skin against rough stone. She felt that roughness against her nipples, and gasped (groaned) (exhaled). No further commands came, but she knew what to do. Hermione had been here before. Her hand moved between her legs, and she knew again in that way of knowing without seeing that Harry would mimic her, mimic but not mime, their actions twins but not siblings, joined but not connected. But Draco would be still (like the stones, like the night) - he would stand with his arms by his sides and his hands balled in fists and a hardness that strained him. When she was finished (complete) he would find Pansy (his whore) and take her and kiss her and fuck her with such savagery that she would cry out (and break the stillness of the night) but she would not even be there for him, he would (have the savagery on his face) be thinking of her, of herself, of
Hermione, and the wind came (came!), came like a hurricane, and all she had to focus on was her heartbeat (like footsteps) and warmth that radiated from her and heated her skin.
Hermione let out her breath, and opened her eyes. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, but there was little at the moment worth seeing. She turned in her bed, closed her eyes again, and dreamed of nothing memorable.
Love is love is love is love
But this just isn't that.
- Brooks and Mitchell
Return to Main Page