He made no comment when the boy started shivering. He adjusted his grip, his hand moving steadily. His nose brushed the boy’s hair. His own excitement wasn’t much more than a trickle of heat. The hour was too late and his leg was paining him. But it felt good to hold onto someone.
When he was young, he said, as if he wasn't still soft-skinned and hardly able to grow a beard even after three days of idling in bed. Aberforth was old enough to want to smile at such a thing, and not enough of a knob to actually do it.
His arse was the only part of him with any meat to spare. Not even the thriftiest butcher could find a good chop on him, but he had enough to grab on to in back.
Some of my favorite lines. As a rule, I do not care overmuch for boyslash or crossgen.
This story is as close to perfect as anything I have ever read. I know of very few people whom I think are capable of producing something like this.
If you are not on this tiny list, you have a new fan.