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Jun. 18th, 2003 10:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
person410:34-10:49
Word: Uncomfortable
Percy pressed his lips softly against Harry’s, partly as a thank you for a wonderful date, partly just because it was so wonderful kissing the other young man that he didn’t know why he ever stopped. He leaned in, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him close, the rest of the world falling away from them--
--then he saw the familiar flash through his eyelids and heard the whir of film. He pulled away hastily, glaring at the photographer’s retreating back. Harry groaned and fell forward, burying his face in Percy’s chest. “God damn it,” he groaned softly. “I’m sorry Perce, I wanted this night to be perfect. Damn vultures.”
Percy absently raised his hand to stroke Harry’s hair, replying, “Don’t worry about it Harry. It was perfect up until then, and we can’t let one idiot ruin our night.”
But the mood had been shot. Percy couldn’t just relax and let himself enjoy being in his boyfriend’s company again until they’d gotten home for the night.
He’d known what he was getting into when he started dating Harry Potter. He knew the media’s obsession with Harry, known that his personal life would no longer be personal. Still, knowing that logically just hadn’t been preparation for the sudden barrage of photographers that had suddenly started appearing whenever they left the house (though it had thankfully finally died down recently), for the flood of howlers that had been sent in the first few days from women (and a few men) who were enraged at him for ruining their (non-existent) chances at someday being with The Man Who Lived and some of who blamed him for somehow “corrupting” Harry with his “perversion.” Nothing could have prepared him for the filthy tabloid stories about the two of them, most of which were written by a gleefully vengeful Rita Skeeter.
He wouldn’t give Harry up for anything, not even to regain his privacy, but he wished it could be different. He wished they could go out like normal people without the world watching, wished he could take Harry’s hand, or hold him, or kiss him, without someone suddenly popping out of no where to snap a picture.
He felt guilty, in a way, over how uncomfortable the whole thing made him. He knew Harry had had to deal with it far longer, that even if they broke up one day Harry’d still need to deal with it. He’d even offered to leave when he’d first realised how much Percy hated the attention, for which Percy had called him an idiot and dragged him down onto the bed to prove how much he wanted him to stay.
Still, was it too much to ask that they could just be granted a normal life?
Word: Uncomfortable
Percy pressed his lips softly against Harry’s, partly as a thank you for a wonderful date, partly just because it was so wonderful kissing the other young man that he didn’t know why he ever stopped. He leaned in, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him close, the rest of the world falling away from them--
--then he saw the familiar flash through his eyelids and heard the whir of film. He pulled away hastily, glaring at the photographer’s retreating back. Harry groaned and fell forward, burying his face in Percy’s chest. “God damn it,” he groaned softly. “I’m sorry Perce, I wanted this night to be perfect. Damn vultures.”
Percy absently raised his hand to stroke Harry’s hair, replying, “Don’t worry about it Harry. It was perfect up until then, and we can’t let one idiot ruin our night.”
But the mood had been shot. Percy couldn’t just relax and let himself enjoy being in his boyfriend’s company again until they’d gotten home for the night.
He’d known what he was getting into when he started dating Harry Potter. He knew the media’s obsession with Harry, known that his personal life would no longer be personal. Still, knowing that logically just hadn’t been preparation for the sudden barrage of photographers that had suddenly started appearing whenever they left the house (though it had thankfully finally died down recently), for the flood of howlers that had been sent in the first few days from women (and a few men) who were enraged at him for ruining their (non-existent) chances at someday being with The Man Who Lived and some of who blamed him for somehow “corrupting” Harry with his “perversion.” Nothing could have prepared him for the filthy tabloid stories about the two of them, most of which were written by a gleefully vengeful Rita Skeeter.
He wouldn’t give Harry up for anything, not even to regain his privacy, but he wished it could be different. He wished they could go out like normal people without the world watching, wished he could take Harry’s hand, or hold him, or kiss him, without someone suddenly popping out of no where to snap a picture.
He felt guilty, in a way, over how uncomfortable the whole thing made him. He knew Harry had had to deal with it far longer, that even if they broke up one day Harry’d still need to deal with it. He’d even offered to leave when he’d first realised how much Percy hated the attention, for which Percy had called him an idiot and dragged him down onto the bed to prove how much he wanted him to stay.
Still, was it too much to ask that they could just be granted a normal life?