Temptation
Feb. 22nd, 2008 04:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darnedchildRating: PG-13
A/N - This is meant to be a companion piece to a drabble I wrote some time ago, the link is found at the bottom of the page.
Anything you recognize, I don't own. The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowlings.
Temptation
I touch my hand against the faded wallpaper - the warmth of my palm accentuating the chill in the wall - trying to ground myself in the reality of my surroundings.
Fighting not to lose myself in the fantasy of you: your coy smile, the seductive light in your eyes, the wistful tone in your "good night."
Once again I find myself contemplating thoughts that would better be left alone.
Perhaps you think I don't notice the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching, how you've made a point to include me in conversations when others would have been content to leave me be, the way you suddenly grow tired when I begin to make my way upstairs for the night.
I can only hope that you haven't noticed how slowly I take those stairs or how careful I've been to make sure you're always nearby before I make my intentions to retire for the evening known to the room at large.
In the light of day it's easy to remember that you're so young, barely out of school, and I'm old enough to know better.
Old enough that I shouldn't wake, gasping and spent, with the whisper of your name still on my lips.
It's as if my common sense deserts me with the setting of the sun. The darkness brings madness. Corruption. Desire.
As much as I value our talks and your intellect during the day, that is not what fills my mind now. Instead there are images of what you might be doing on the other side of this wall as you prepare for bed, what I could do to you, with you, if only I were to knock upon your door.
Would you welcome me with open arms? Open lips? Open thighs? I think you would. Perhaps not at first, but I can be most persuasive when the mood strikes and I do not believe you would require much coaxing.
My breath comes in soft pants as I struggle to calm my wayward thoughts and my body's reactions to them.
Even a man with an iron will would find his self control tested by the temptation of you.
I press my hand against the wall, nails scoring the fragile paper before my fingers curl into a fist to keep from reaching for the doorknob.
How many more nights before I give in?
Reflection
A/N - This is meant to be a companion piece to a drabble I wrote some time ago, the link is found at the bottom of the page.
Anything you recognize, I don't own. The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowlings.
Temptation
I touch my hand against the faded wallpaper - the warmth of my palm accentuating the chill in the wall - trying to ground myself in the reality of my surroundings.
Fighting not to lose myself in the fantasy of you: your coy smile, the seductive light in your eyes, the wistful tone in your "good night."
Once again I find myself contemplating thoughts that would better be left alone.
Perhaps you think I don't notice the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching, how you've made a point to include me in conversations when others would have been content to leave me be, the way you suddenly grow tired when I begin to make my way upstairs for the night.
I can only hope that you haven't noticed how slowly I take those stairs or how careful I've been to make sure you're always nearby before I make my intentions to retire for the evening known to the room at large.
In the light of day it's easy to remember that you're so young, barely out of school, and I'm old enough to know better.
Old enough that I shouldn't wake, gasping and spent, with the whisper of your name still on my lips.
It's as if my common sense deserts me with the setting of the sun. The darkness brings madness. Corruption. Desire.
As much as I value our talks and your intellect during the day, that is not what fills my mind now. Instead there are images of what you might be doing on the other side of this wall as you prepare for bed, what I could do to you, with you, if only I were to knock upon your door.
Would you welcome me with open arms? Open lips? Open thighs? I think you would. Perhaps not at first, but I can be most persuasive when the mood strikes and I do not believe you would require much coaxing.
My breath comes in soft pants as I struggle to calm my wayward thoughts and my body's reactions to them.
Even a man with an iron will would find his self control tested by the temptation of you.
I press my hand against the wall, nails scoring the fragile paper before my fingers curl into a fist to keep from reaching for the doorknob.
How many more nights before I give in?
Reflection