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icon by dandelion, art by ursula vernon

_regarde


[[ rocks fall. everyone dies ]]


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Be Perfect for Me // PG, HP/SS
icon by dandelion, art by ursula vernon
_regarde
Title: Be Perfect for Me
Author: hikaru / _regarde
Archive: Please ask permission.
Feedback: If you so desire.
Rating: PG
Pairings: HP/SS
Disclaimer: They're all J. K. Rowling's, and I've got the feeling that she'd have my head for this.
Summary: Harry observes his sleeping lover.
Notes: Written for 15minuteficlets. Challenge word of the week was "perfection." Unbeta-ed.



Harry sat and stared in wonderment at his sleeping lover. He was perfection in every sense of the word, but only Harry would ever say that. The sallow skin and greasy hair, hooked nose and inky-coloured eyes were features that Harry, over the course of time, had come to love. Severus may not be conventionally attractive, like that outlandish fop Lockhart, but Severus was beautiful in his own unique way.

Harry ran his index finger down the curve of Severus’ spine, feeling the dozens of tiny scars that criss-crossed his back – scars nobly earned, Harry thought inwardly. Adjusting his glasses, Harry snuggled closer to his prize, planting a delicate kiss between the elder man’s protruding shoulder blades.

“Perfect, my beautiful one,” he whispered against the other man’s skin. He snuggled for an instant against Severus’ sleeping form before pushing himself back up to a sitting position.

“Perfect, my prize,” he whispered, running his hand up and down Severus’ crooked arm.

Harry smiled, absentmindedly pushing the bridge of his glasses further up on his nose. He cocked his head and gazed at Severus, watching his ribs rise and fall with each shallow breath he took. Since the War, he had lost a great deal of weight. Winning did not come without its price, apparently, and Severus’ health – and sanity, it seems – was it.

The younger man stood and stalked around to the other side of the bed, so he could watch Severus’ face, calm and at peace for once, as he slept. “My wonderful servant,” Harry muttered, seating himself on a plush armchair adjacent to the bed.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully, the look on his face much harder than someone of his age should ever had. Severus was still, save for his slow, rhythmic breathing. Harry crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair.

“You’ll serve me well,” he mused, not daring to speak loud enough to wake the other man.

Casually, he ran his thumb over the reddened flesh of his left forearm. As he stared at Severus, eyes narrowed in concentration, the markings on his arm became much more clear.

A serpent and a skull, and the rise of a new Lord.

“You will be perfect for me, won’t you Severus?” Harry smirked at the sleeping man. “You have to be.”