A/N: I don't pretend to own any character from Harry
Potter, or for that matter, Casablanca (one of the best
movies ever). Casablanca is gorgeous. Tragic lovers rule my world.
This story is another exercise in non-epicness – 2000 words in
total. Seven short pieces dedicated to my favourite tragic slashy
couple in the Harry Potter series.
Warning: S L A S H !
With one mild sexual reference.
While their first attempts at making love have been awkward, rough and, there is no other word for it, messy, tonight their relationship is consummated. Perfectly. Like a dance to which they have finally both learnt the steps (after a lot of practises and a lot of trodden-on toes).
Entirely spent, the two of them lie together under the mild summer air and are soon lost to sleep.
The older one is the first to open his eyes. He runs his hands down the other boy's back, tracing the bony ridges of his shoulder blades and the hollows of his spine. With his long fingers, he gently parts the golden curls, which have blended on their pillow with his own russet locks.
He whispers in his soul-mate's ear, "I love you."
But then a warm, moist breeze makes him twitch. He opens his eyes, and realises that he has been dreaming. Well, almost. The boy – Gellert is his name – he has been calling it out all night – Gellert is beside him, sky-clad, and it is his breath that has awakened Albus. Gellert is so aware of the effect he has on Albus.
They exchange broad smiles, and lean in for another round of kisses. Albus thinks how pointless it would be to repeat himself; Gellert does not need legilimency to know precisely how he feels.