The stares. The silences. The sly touches that lingered on the skin…

The stares. The silences. The sly touches that lingered on the skin long after fingers moved away. The banter that now didn’t resemble banter at all but flirting. How long had Tom wanted him that way? When had it begun? When, in the deep recesses of Harry’s own mind, had a matched longing sparked into life? A longing he would have sworn had never existed and yet the moment Tom’s lips were against his Harry melted, a door seeming to open inside him, releasing a person Harry did not recognize, a person who’d taken charge of his mind and body with a euphoric, drawn out yes.

Of Your Making

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