Moonlight

Disclaimer: I don\'t own Harry Potter or any of the characters portrayed below, even though they\'re not even mentioned by name. There you have it. J.K. Rowling is the goddess of her very own HP-world, who am I to steal it?

A/N: Well, shameless smut, what can I say? Please review, you know you want to ;) I\'m really curious what people make of it.

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He hadn\'t arrived yet.

The black-haired man perched on the windowsill was staring at the world outside intently, his gaze straying every so often to the pale, gleaming light that was the moon amidst the black sea of stars. The sun had long sunken beyond the western horizon, leaving behind a world full of grey shadows and silvery moonlight. It was as if the day was not only absent in this twilight dimension, but totally unimportant – all the small worries and thoughts of every-day life just had no meaning under the never-blinking eye of the moon.

Silver, just like his hair when it was sprawled on the pillow, the face below relaxed and peaceful and so beautiful that it almost made his heart stop because he couldn\'t think of anyone or anything he\'d rather look at than that face, rather feel than the silky strands under the pads of his fingers...

No, he shouldn\'t think of it, shouldn\'t worry, shouldn\'t think at all for surely he\'d arrive any moment now, and he\'d feel ridiculous for making such a fuss, because he always arrived.

The man sighed and rested his head on the cold glass of the window. He couldn\'t help it, he was worried, but he had no reason to, and if he kept on like this he would ruin the mood. He shouldn\'t care; after all, neither of them did.

He couldn\'t tell how much time had passed when finally the door opened with a sound almost too quiet to be heard, and a shadow more solid than the darkness in the room slipped through. As he stepped forward the moon shone on fair skin and pale hair. To the man at the window it seemed surreal, like a black-and-white photography of days long gone.

But this was Now.

The black-haired man hesitated. They never talked - for words seemed to always ruin things these days -, but he was worried, and so relieved at last.

\"You’re late.\"

The man frowned upon hearing his own voice breaking the silence of the room. He didn’t like the sound of it; how it betrayed his feelings, his anxiety so easily. And feelings were better left unspoken these days.

It wasn’t safe, not for him, not for his heart, not for anyone.

\"I’m here now.\"

The voice was quiet, but firm, and bare of any emotion its owner didn’t want to reveal. It was no explanation, but then again the other man hadn\'t really expected one, and it said all there was to know.

The man at the window sighed; he loved the sight in front of him. Every so often he wondered what a picture the two of them together must be – he, with his pale, perfect hair and fair skin, and he himself tanned, with his usual unruly black hair mercifully covering his forehead. They were so unlike each other in so many things, and yet – there was something that had always drawn him to this colourless man who came walking over to where he was sitting.

They didn’t need more words, since there was no topic either of them felt comfortable with. All they needed were hands and lips and skin on skin and bodies conveying what they never voiced in fear of breaking it.

The dark man smiled as his companion lay one pale hand on his cheek and brought his face close to his. This first contact of lips on lips was almost the best, when his whole being filled with the wonderful warm emotion of coming home at last.

It started out gentle, almost hesitating, never quite sure if what they were doing was right, but as neither of them drew back their kiss became more intimate, demanding, expressing so much and more through the slow, sensual dance of lips parting to let tongues caress each other.

When they parted at last, both were breathless. Grey eyes met brilliant green in a silent question, answered by a lean body standing up and enveloping the other in a tight embrace. It was always a slight shock, at least to the black-haired man, how well they fit to each other despite all their differences, bodies perfectly aligned as they kissed again, hands entwined in silvery hair and drawing closer, afraid of letting go because you never knew if letting go meant waking up from a wonderful dream and being alone again in the harsh reality outside these walls.

Without breaking the kiss they stumbled over to the low bed, graceless and rushed, but oh-so-perfect nonetheless. Nimble fingers ripped at clothing, bodies parting only long enough to free themselves of the barriers between them. When they fell on the sheets at last, after a moment that felt like eternity, they gasped in unison, drunken from the sensation of skin on skin, and for what seemed like a long amount of time they simply lay there, arms and legs intertwined, savouring the feel of another heartbeat so close to their own.

Sometimes it ended here. Sometimes they lay that way for hours, motionless except for chests rising and falling with their breathing and fingers stroking through tousled hair, until the moon faded and they had to part ways, and it was enough for both of them.

This time it didn’t end. Their kiss wasn’t gentle anymore, the longing for contact overwhelming, but when his blonde companion rose on his knees to straddle him, the black-haired man didn’t mind at all, nor did he complain when warm lips trailed down his jaw and neck to plant feathery kisses on the hollow of his throat. He gasped, trying to hold onto his last semblance of rational thought, and lost it completely when that mouth found his left nipple. Often it was he who rushed headlong into action; he loved to feel smooth skin heating beneath his touch, loved to reduce the other man to gasps and moans and screams, but on the rare occasions his lover chose to dictate the pace, he went along with equal passion. Sometimes he couldn’t decide which he enjoyed more.

And oh, the lips travelled further down, tongue flicking out to his navel, and he knew any moment now he’d be in heaven and wouldn’t remember his name, but just as he held his breath in anticipation of what was coming next, he heard a low chuckle and that mouth ignored his erection to kiss his inner thigh, eliciting a groan of protest.

No murmured vows of love, no encouragement, no pleas or words, only quickened breathing and touches and it was enough and more and ah, at last those lips engulfed the tip of his cock, and he moaned deep in his throat and tried to buck up, demanding more.

Gentle, yet strong hands held his hips down, fingers finding the sensitive spots just above the hipbone while soft warmth covered his erection, hot tongue circling the head, and he screamed and forgot where he was, lost in the sensation of sucking, licking, pleasure.

Watching that pale hair on him, tickling his spread thighs, was almost too much, the only thought in his head that of moonlight so unbelievably beautiful on his lover and his limbs writhing no matter how much he tried to be still, to lay back and enjoy his lover’s ministrations, barely aware of the desperate moans coming from his own lips.

He was near, very near, just about to reach completion, and his pale lover seemed to sense how close he was, because suddenly the wonderful sensation stopped as that mouth left his cock, leaving him panting and groaning his protest, travelled up his body again to close around his nipple, tongue licking gently, slowly, nurturing the arousal still coursing through his body like wildfire.

There was no way he could lie back any longer, not when he was teased so shamelessly, and he pulled his lover up to share a deep, passionate kiss, closed his arms around the thin waist and rolled them over. He couldn‘t hold back the moan as their erections brushed against each other, and was rewarded with an answering whimper of the blonde. Now it was his turn to set the pace, to control.

The smug grin on his companion‘s face told him that this was just the intended effect, but he didn‘t care, was too far gone to care. He moved his hips once, twice, rubbing against the blonde‘s cock, savouring the moans he caused in his lover. Nothing could compare to this sight, not the moon, not hair made of woven silvery light, to his lover‘s flushed face, eyes closed and lips parted, his breath coming in short gasps, as he continued to move against him.

A mischievous smirk grazed the dark-haired man‘s lips for a moment as he considered torturing his lover as well, but he was far too close to last that long. He moved down on the bed, ignoring the mumbled, incoherent protest at the loss of contact. The sound turned into a shuddered groan as he licked the pre-come of his lover‘s cock, teasing only for a moment before taking him in as far as possible. He enjoyed this every time he got the chance, feeling the lithe body writhe beneath him, listening to the unconscious whimpering of the blonde, his whole attention focused on his task and not on his situation, his person, the role he had to fulfil every day, nothing but the mindless pleasure of the cock in his mouth, and when he felt his lover tense he went down on him completely to the base, closing one hand softly around the other‘s balls.

He heard the blonde scream, a raw, almost animalistic sound, felt the pale body shudder as he came in his mouth, and swallowed, barely aware of his own laboured breathing.

When the body of his lover relaxed he let go off him, slithered up again to gather the limp blonde in his arms. He was rewarded with a lazy smile and a slow, sensual kiss that tasted of sweat and salty come, but was perfect just because. The gaze they shared as their lips had parted again was almost as if looking straight into the other‘s soul, no barriers between them, no false pretence of every-day life, no doubts. Nothing but the simple knowledge that this, this moment, was worth everything they had done to each other over the years, only to end up in this place at this time.

It took his lover a few minutes to recover and catch his breath, when his lips curved up again in a grin. He pushed the black-haired man back onto the sheets, his mouth working his nipples once more as he closed his hand around the other‘s erection.

The dark man closed his eyes, torn between watching his lover and the desire to let go completely, to forget everything except for Now. It didn‘t take long, he hadn‘t forgotten the blonde‘s earlier actions, and after a few strokes he came with a shuddered gasp, for a moment totally detached from their surroundings, floating in mindless bliss and he knew no one, no single person in the world would ever be as perfect for him as the blonde man next to him.

When he opened his eyes again, his blood rushing in his ears, his lover smiled - an open, unreserved smile that was so unlike him - and curled up next to him, blonde head resting on the other‘s pale shoulder.

He loved this part. This was better than sex, certainly better than talking, for words seemed to always ruin things these days. Simply lying with the other man in his arms and feeling the warm, smooth skin beneath his own and knowing that not one single person in the world could ever intrude on this. This was completion, and in the morning they would return to reality, would return to hating each other and shout and insult and make each other as miserable as possible, and they wouldn’t talk about it.

They never did.