Title: One Evening
Author: Dancing Rain
Author Email: dancingrain7@yahoo.com
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

His shirt's ridden up underneath my hands now. It's really rather cute, how it's bunched up more on one side than the other, revealing just a wedge of his white skin. His right hip. I long to run my finger over the edge of his waistband. To touch that skin. Gently, cautiously, I allow one hand to slip. Willing him to believe my touch is an accident.

Was that a moan? I keep kneading his muscles; I can feel the aches as if they were my own. Right here, underneath his left shoulder. Press down, twist... yes. He wriggles lightly under my touch. I can feel his body relaxing, opening into my hands. I wish I could tell him how much I love the feel of him, his muscles beneath my fingers.

There's an ache at his hips. I can feel the tension like gathered knots, just under that delicious swath of bare skin at his waist. Do I dare? Keeping one hand firmly on his back, I trace two fingers over his ribs, down past his slender hips, and lightly press against his buttock.

That, that was a moan. I can hear my breathing quicken, as I allow more of my hand to touch him, as I ever so daringly allow my palm to flatten against the curve of him. One gentle squeeze.

I can't help myself. My body is already leaning against his, leaning into him. I slide one leg over his, lightly straddling his legs. Desperately trying to keep it innocent. Holding myself far enough away from him... maybe he won't notice. Maybe he won't care. Finally, enough leverage to work out that knot at his hip....

"Harry."

I can't tell what the tone of his voice will mean. It's light, and he doesn't sound angry. But suddenly I am afraid. I've crossed a line. Our friendship....

"Yes?" I run a finger lightly down the right side of his spine, my left hand softly caressing the skin at his waist. Holding my breath. Unable to break from his touch.

Suddenly, he turns beneath me and our eyes lock. Time stops. I can see his chest rise and fall and I realize with a start that he too has been breathing hard. I open my mouth but find no words and then he breaks the silence.

"I love the way you touch me."

Oh, god. My heart is tripping against my ribcage and I'm no longer sure if I am breathing at all. Oh, god.

And then, his eyes never leaving mine, he slowly pushes himself up on his elbows, until our faces are just inches apart. I can't move. I can't think. Finally my eyes remember to blink and as they close his arm is rising to my face, his fingers tracing the edges of my cheek. I can't speak, but he moves with a certainty that tells me he can read my pounding heart and hitched breath better than any words. And finally, when I think I can't bear it any more he's there, his lips, meeting mine.

I've never tasted anything so.... He tastes better than I've ever imagined. And now I realize my hands have tangled in his hair and he's pulled me close to him, so close I can feel his chest against my own, and the bare skin of our necks touches lightly as we move together.

When the need for air becomes, for just a moment, even stronger than my need to taste his mouth, I break our kiss and trace a path to his ear with my lips. Running my tongue over the curves and arches, feeling a tremor in my torso as he giggles under my touch.

I pull him closer to me, closer than I've ever dared. Placing one firm kiss between his earlobe and his cheek, I finally whisper the words I've known I felt for months, the words that have been a current running underneath my every thought for what seems like forever. I've spoken these words so often in my sleep, in my dreams, in the thoughts that remain unshared that form the hidden layers of each conversation between us. Each unanswered glance.

I need to see his eyes. His beautiful, blue-gray eyes. Eyes so light they might seem trivial, might seem no more than a passing cloud, but that they are clear like water, and achingly deep as the dusky sky. And in his eyes I see the answer before I hear it from his lips.

"Harry, I love you, too."

Story is © 2002 by Dancing Rain and may NOT be archived without prior permission of author.