(no subject)
For greeksong. Happy Belated Birthday!
H/D, PG, 450 words
Distraction
It sat there on the collar of Potter’s robe, smirking at him.
Well, he reasoned, inanimate objects don’t usually smirk, but the pesky thing was blinding him with its audaciously white hue. It also tipped precariously into Potter’s messy hair whenever Potter bent his head over his parchment, threatening to disrupt the black-on-black tones that Draco had grown accustomed to staring at. Well, maybe staring wasn’t the correct term. Glaring, he reasoned, was a far more appropriate description.
When Potter stretched his arms over his head, Draco was seized with utter panic as the obscene item shifted out of focus, caught up in clean, tousled hair. Draco could only stare, glare, at the back of Potter’s head until his arms dropped safely downward and the item was back where he could keep a close eye on it.
And it was still smirking at him, still glaringly white, still disrupting his concentration as he attempted to chop up an ugly, green root. He shoved the gnarled object at Goyle and fixed his eyes back on Potter, on Potter’s collar.
Potter twisted his head from side to side and it was more than Draco could handle. He reached out and brushed his fingers along the edge of Potter’s collar, his skin prickling when soft hair tickled the top of his hand.
Potter’s stupid head whirled around, and Draco felt his face grow hot. “Stay still,” he hissed.
Potter froze, his green eyes growing wide. “What is it?”
Draco paused momentarily, his fingers curling over Potter’s shoulder. It was amazing how his skin shone against Potter’s black robes, Potter’s crazy hair.
“What is it?”
Potter’s lips were thin, white lines and Draco tore his eyes away to focus them where they belonged. He quickly plucked the appalling item from its distracting location and held it up for Potter to see. “Lint.”
Potter studied the rough cotton between Draco’s fingertips, his lips parting slightly. Then he glanced up at Draco curiously. “Is that all?”
Potter arched a suspicious eyebrow and Draco had an urge to punch him squarely in the face. “It was distracting me.” When Potter grinned, Draco had to look away.
“Thanks, Malfoy.”
Draco brushed the lint from his fingers and watched it flutter downward onto the desktop. “Don’t be ridiculous. You owe me now, of course.”
Potter leaned in close, his voice low. “Then I’ll just have to figure out a way to repay you.”
When Draco looked up again, Potter had already turned around, bent over his parchment. He stared at the back of Potter’s robes and disheveled hair and the angular plane of Potter’s neck, and tried to ignore the absurd butterflies twirling around his stomach.
Sequel: Denial
H/D, PG, 450 words
Distraction
It sat there on the collar of Potter’s robe, smirking at him.
Well, he reasoned, inanimate objects don’t usually smirk, but the pesky thing was blinding him with its audaciously white hue. It also tipped precariously into Potter’s messy hair whenever Potter bent his head over his parchment, threatening to disrupt the black-on-black tones that Draco had grown accustomed to staring at. Well, maybe staring wasn’t the correct term. Glaring, he reasoned, was a far more appropriate description.
When Potter stretched his arms over his head, Draco was seized with utter panic as the obscene item shifted out of focus, caught up in clean, tousled hair. Draco could only stare, glare, at the back of Potter’s head until his arms dropped safely downward and the item was back where he could keep a close eye on it.
And it was still smirking at him, still glaringly white, still disrupting his concentration as he attempted to chop up an ugly, green root. He shoved the gnarled object at Goyle and fixed his eyes back on Potter, on Potter’s collar.
Potter twisted his head from side to side and it was more than Draco could handle. He reached out and brushed his fingers along the edge of Potter’s collar, his skin prickling when soft hair tickled the top of his hand.
Potter’s stupid head whirled around, and Draco felt his face grow hot. “Stay still,” he hissed.
Potter froze, his green eyes growing wide. “What is it?”
Draco paused momentarily, his fingers curling over Potter’s shoulder. It was amazing how his skin shone against Potter’s black robes, Potter’s crazy hair.
“What is it?”
Potter’s lips were thin, white lines and Draco tore his eyes away to focus them where they belonged. He quickly plucked the appalling item from its distracting location and held it up for Potter to see. “Lint.”
Potter studied the rough cotton between Draco’s fingertips, his lips parting slightly. Then he glanced up at Draco curiously. “Is that all?”
Potter arched a suspicious eyebrow and Draco had an urge to punch him squarely in the face. “It was distracting me.” When Potter grinned, Draco had to look away.
“Thanks, Malfoy.”
Draco brushed the lint from his fingers and watched it flutter downward onto the desktop. “Don’t be ridiculous. You owe me now, of course.”
Potter leaned in close, his voice low. “Then I’ll just have to figure out a way to repay you.”
When Draco looked up again, Potter had already turned around, bent over his parchment. He stared at the back of Potter’s robes and disheveled hair and the angular plane of Potter’s neck, and tried to ignore the absurd butterflies twirling around his stomach.
Sequel: Denial