Secret Snarry: POEM: The One Title: The One Author:ladydeth12 Gift Recipient:asnowyowl Rating: PG Word count: 500 Content/Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) * Poetry!!! Non-Magic AU. Unsure!Snape.* Summary/Prompt:Prompt #22. Maybe Christmas won't be so lonely after all. A/N: This took a completely different turn as writing a poem totally called to me for this prompt, so I hope you like it. It seems I got in all your prompts; however, if I missed any it is purely by mistake. Thanks to everyone who had a hand in this.
The One
He's been The One since that first day this past September after he graduated from the Academy at the top of the class. As the captain was leading him about the station introducing him as my new partner, I could not take my eyes away.
He had a build and face and hair so familiar - like someone come direct from my rather angst filled teenage years. His smile was confident, and his stride quite sure. Knowing his cocky smile would glare at me each day from across the desk, I could not be certain that I would be able to endure it.
But his eyes - those eyes! When I looked up, penetrated my very soul to the core. A particular shade of deep emerald green as I've only seen once before and never thought I would again shone back at me with such intensity, luring me in.
Closer.
Then he smiled. And I was lost instantly.
He'd always arrive just after shift change once everyone else was hard at work finishing up reports from the night before. Oftentimes, he'd stroll in, hair - sex? - rumpled and glasses always slightly askew. Then he'd plop himself at his desk, and rest his feet up on the corner. Mismatched socks always peeking out from the gap while he unfurled the day's paper and began to read, pausing only for a sip from a tea-filled paper cup.
He wasn't shy but rather the opposite - unafraid to comment on the previous night's activities. A blush rose to everyone's cheeks except his as he detailed an evening of heavy drinking and even heavier grinding against a tall dark-haired man. Told all while staring directly into my eyes. "No rise from me this time, Mister Potter," I called to him as I quickly turned away. And I felt his stare burn my back as I went about my business.
I can't recall when it started. Was it that one moment when his fingers lightly brushed mine while handing over a report from the latest bust? Or was it when he’d start to linger behind and wait until everyone else was gone - after hours when he’d sit behind his desk with his feet propped up and those eyes staring directly at me with - pent up lust? - while I finished up the day's paperwork? It might have even been something entirely too subtle even for me to recognize.
Lately he seems more taken to offer up himself as a challenge, arguing every point I make – a change from the mindless drivel that comes rolling in.
It's there - I'm sure - in the way he looks me in the face and smiles, trying so hard to be tempting – trying so hard so no one else in the station would notice. And me – not sure I'd be noticed by him would smile back secretly.