(Fic) In Your House, I Long To Be. By Redwarfer PG-13 SS/GL
Title: In Your House, I Long To Be.
Pairing: Lockhart/Snape
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Voyuerism, sort of
Summary: Lockhart's life on the closed ward.
Disclaimer: JKR owns the Potterverse.
A/N: This was sort of experimental, this drabblyficlet. The title is from "Like A Stone" by Audioslave.
For elanor_isolda. OMG You shouldn't have. Thank you oh so much.
He sits there in the ward and feels the distant tendrils of memories past tease his consciousness. They sit there, just beyond reach, and taunt him. He sits and stares at the vials in the medi-witch’s hands and wonders why he needs to feel them on his lips.
He likes it at night because he feels eyes watching him always and it makes him feel safe. He doesn’t know if it is real or just his imagination, but he likes to think that there is someone out there that fantasizes about him. He wants someone to want him. To desire him.
He knows that he is a beautiful man. But he is all alone. He hates it. It makes him curious why he, someone who receives mail from fans and admirers, never has visitors. He waits for somebody to take him home. He senses that there should be someone to do this, but no one comes.
He yearns for someone to touch him. To caress him. He wants his dreams to be real. He dreams at night of things that he doesn’t realise are his memories. There is a tall man with long black hair and a large nose. Lockhart doesn’t care about how he looks, surprisingly. He cares about how he makes him feel.
The man in black, as Lockhart likes to think of him (makes him more mysterious and romantic, Lockhart decides), moves with undeniable grace. Lockhart looks forward to these dreams. He lusts for them. He wants the man in black to strip him bare. Make love to him on forest green (Slytherin) sheets. He wants the warmth of the fire contrasted with cold of the stonewalls (dungeons) against his skin.
Lockhart smiles genuinely when he slumbers. He dreams of duels and basilisks and heroic young knights and prays that he can remember when he wakes. If he could only remember, he thinks, he could write it down. Stories of fantastical proportions. He smiles widely. He wants to be famous. He already is but he doesn’t know why. He imagines that the quiet man in black from his dreams knows and is keeping it secret because he doesn’t want to share. Doesn’t want share him.
He loves this dream in particular. Skin. Endless skin. Skin touching his. Kisses on his face. Long black stringy hair tickling his back. Lips mapping out his neck. His shoulders. Yes. Arms wrapped around him. Holding him ohsotight. Whispers. Promises. (I love you). He wakes from this dream, dripping with sweat and something else. He looks widely around the room. Someone is there again. Watching him. Staring at him.
Lockhart breathes in and shudders slightly, “I miss you.” He lays back down and almost misses the sharp intake of breath before he falls back asleep.
Pairing: Lockhart/Snape
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Voyuerism, sort of
Summary: Lockhart's life on the closed ward.
Disclaimer: JKR owns the Potterverse.
A/N: This was sort of experimental, this drabblyficlet. The title is from "Like A Stone" by Audioslave.
For elanor_isolda. OMG You shouldn't have. Thank you oh so much.
He sits there in the ward and feels the distant tendrils of memories past tease his consciousness. They sit there, just beyond reach, and taunt him. He sits and stares at the vials in the medi-witch’s hands and wonders why he needs to feel them on his lips.
He likes it at night because he feels eyes watching him always and it makes him feel safe. He doesn’t know if it is real or just his imagination, but he likes to think that there is someone out there that fantasizes about him. He wants someone to want him. To desire him.
He knows that he is a beautiful man. But he is all alone. He hates it. It makes him curious why he, someone who receives mail from fans and admirers, never has visitors. He waits for somebody to take him home. He senses that there should be someone to do this, but no one comes.
He yearns for someone to touch him. To caress him. He wants his dreams to be real. He dreams at night of things that he doesn’t realise are his memories. There is a tall man with long black hair and a large nose. Lockhart doesn’t care about how he looks, surprisingly. He cares about how he makes him feel.
The man in black, as Lockhart likes to think of him (makes him more mysterious and romantic, Lockhart decides), moves with undeniable grace. Lockhart looks forward to these dreams. He lusts for them. He wants the man in black to strip him bare. Make love to him on forest green (Slytherin) sheets. He wants the warmth of the fire contrasted with cold of the stonewalls (dungeons) against his skin.
Lockhart smiles genuinely when he slumbers. He dreams of duels and basilisks and heroic young knights and prays that he can remember when he wakes. If he could only remember, he thinks, he could write it down. Stories of fantastical proportions. He smiles widely. He wants to be famous. He already is but he doesn’t know why. He imagines that the quiet man in black from his dreams knows and is keeping it secret because he doesn’t want to share. Doesn’t want share him.
He loves this dream in particular. Skin. Endless skin. Skin touching his. Kisses on his face. Long black stringy hair tickling his back. Lips mapping out his neck. His shoulders. Yes. Arms wrapped around him. Holding him ohsotight. Whispers. Promises. (I love you). He wakes from this dream, dripping with sweat and something else. He looks widely around the room. Someone is there again. Watching him. Staring at him.
Lockhart breathes in and shudders slightly, “I miss you.” He lays back down and almost misses the sharp intake of breath before he falls back asleep.