blamebrampton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blamebrampton) wrote2008-06-22 01:45 pm
blamebrampton) wrote2008-06-22 01:45 pm
Entry tags:
Serpentinelion drabble mini-fest
I think this is probably the first short short story I have written since I was about ten ... For ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
serpentinelion's mini-fest, and do check out other entries from pushdragon, sansa1970, lillithium, liriaen, potteresque_ire and rickey_a. They are all brilliant!
Title: Decline and Fall
Author: blamebrampton
Rating: Soft R
Words: 500
Summary: The inside of her head was not where they ought to be.
A/N: Thankslegomymalfoy, and pushdragon and the fiendfyre girls for the idea, encouragement and help.
Warnings: Ginny POV.
“Where is it this time?”
“Rome, but I’m not going.”
Harry kissed the top of Ginny’s head as he walked past her chair. “It’s too much fuss.”
“But all the others will be there.”
“S’pose. I’m off to shower. Coming to bed?”
“In a minute.”
Ginny watched him walk away. She glanced back down at the table, where the Prophet’s front page was dominated by news of the upcoming conference. Hermione smiled shyly out of a photograph. Behind her Draco Malfoy walked purposefully across the frame. He glanced towards the camera, august and imperial, then stalked away. She watched it three times.
She turned the paper over, and walked to their bedroom, where the rest of this conversation always happened.
The first line was hers. “Are you sure?”
Harry’s damp head poked out of the bathroom. “Sure of what?”
“Missing the Senate, it’s a chance to network.”
Look down from the Palantine hill for him.
“You know I don’t care about that.”
There was the smile, and those honest eyes. He tucked his towel around his hips as she slid past him, reaching for her toothbrush.
“But you can talk to other Aurors about your reforms.”
Walk down narrow streets, following a fair head.
“Kingsley can do it.”
“Harry, you know you’re the one they want to meet.”
Meet with that other in an ancient hotel.
“That’s just fame.”
“It’s your triumph.”
Over her, over him.
She put her toothbrush down and smiled at him in the mirror.
“You want to, admit it.”
“I want to stay here, with you.” He stood close behind her and nuzzled her hair.
She only knew about the once. Before he had come to find her, in the weeks after the war ended. When everything was insane. When people turned to each other blindly. Neville had let it slip over too much drink, a secret so incomprehensible it couldn’t be kept.
“You should go.”
There were many times she didn’t know about, could not be sure of. Every time she let him leave, she imagined him wrapped around that pale, straight form.
“You should come to bed.” He dropped the towel, and she felt his cock begin to rouse, nudging her from behind as his hands slipped the sundress from her shoulders.
She went. And while he murmured gentle words and made soft movements, she pictured him hard and desperate, bruising cool whiteness beneath hands he never let be strong with her. Saying cruel things, and being loathed in return. An eternal contest, dictated by need. Not the peaceful concord of their home.
The pictures in her mind played their part. She pulled him tight, and wondered if he would notice if she tilted her hips too far, moved him to that place strange for her, perhaps familiar to him.
And tomorrow, when he would go, but with her scent on him, she wondered if the other would know it. And whether she would haunt his bed as surely as he haunted hers.
serpentinelion's mini-fest, and do check out other entries from pushdragon, sansa1970, lillithium, liriaen, potteresque_ire and rickey_a. They are all brilliant! Title: Decline and Fall
Author: blamebrampton
Rating: Soft R
Words: 500
Summary: The inside of her head was not where they ought to be.
A/N: Thanks
legomymalfoy, and pushdragon and the fiendfyre girls for the idea, encouragement and help.Warnings: Ginny POV.
“Where is it this time?”
“Rome, but I’m not going.”
Harry kissed the top of Ginny’s head as he walked past her chair. “It’s too much fuss.”
“But all the others will be there.”
“S’pose. I’m off to shower. Coming to bed?”
“In a minute.”
Ginny watched him walk away. She glanced back down at the table, where the Prophet’s front page was dominated by news of the upcoming conference. Hermione smiled shyly out of a photograph. Behind her Draco Malfoy walked purposefully across the frame. He glanced towards the camera, august and imperial, then stalked away. She watched it three times.
She turned the paper over, and walked to their bedroom, where the rest of this conversation always happened.
The first line was hers. “Are you sure?”
Harry’s damp head poked out of the bathroom. “Sure of what?”
“Missing the Senate, it’s a chance to network.”
Look down from the Palantine hill for him.
“You know I don’t care about that.”
There was the smile, and those honest eyes. He tucked his towel around his hips as she slid past him, reaching for her toothbrush.
“But you can talk to other Aurors about your reforms.”
Walk down narrow streets, following a fair head.
“Kingsley can do it.”
“Harry, you know you’re the one they want to meet.”
Meet with that other in an ancient hotel.
“That’s just fame.”
“It’s your triumph.”
Over her, over him.
She put her toothbrush down and smiled at him in the mirror.
“You want to, admit it.”
“I want to stay here, with you.” He stood close behind her and nuzzled her hair.
She only knew about the once. Before he had come to find her, in the weeks after the war ended. When everything was insane. When people turned to each other blindly. Neville had let it slip over too much drink, a secret so incomprehensible it couldn’t be kept.
“You should go.”
There were many times she didn’t know about, could not be sure of. Every time she let him leave, she imagined him wrapped around that pale, straight form.
“You should come to bed.” He dropped the towel, and she felt his cock begin to rouse, nudging her from behind as his hands slipped the sundress from her shoulders.
She went. And while he murmured gentle words and made soft movements, she pictured him hard and desperate, bruising cool whiteness beneath hands he never let be strong with her. Saying cruel things, and being loathed in return. An eternal contest, dictated by need. Not the peaceful concord of their home.
The pictures in her mind played their part. She pulled him tight, and wondered if he would notice if she tilted her hips too far, moved him to that place strange for her, perhaps familiar to him.
And tomorrow, when he would go, but with her scent on him, she wondered if the other would know it. And whether she would haunt his bed as surely as he haunted hers.
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