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He's more myself than I am

Summary:

"I want to make him mine until he is part of me, I want to fuck him until I cannot distinguish my body from his. Because he’s more me than myself. To die together and rise together, again and again and again, to return to dawn and life purified and shaped into a new, perfect, complete entity – one in spirit and heart."

Collection of seven short stories.

Notes:

Hello everyone!
This was by far the first Grindeldore collection I wrote. I started it in late 2018 (right after seeing The Crimes of Grindelwald), and finished it in early 2019. It consists of seven very short stories, all set in Godric's Hollow in the summer of 1899. The tone is quite light and self-indulgent, the intention being to "spy" on those few moments of tranquility and "love bubble" that these two unfortunate boys must have experienced. I hope you may enjoy them; I got so excited writing them at the time. Let me know, if you like ^^ In the meantime I have translated two of them, I hope to update soon with the remaining ones.

P.S: I warn that for purely aesthetic purposes, lit fireplaces will appear at times, even though it was summer. After all, it rains often in England (as Placebo sing, english summer rain seems to last for ages), and the humidity of a country house, particularly at night, must somehow be driven out. Please forgive me this umpteenth poetic license.

Alternate POVs

Chapter 1: Interlude

Summary:

Godric's Hollow, summer of 1899, Gellert POV

Chapter Text

Wilt thou be gone? Is it not yet near day.

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,

That pierce’d the fearful hollow of thine ear.

Nightly she sings on yound pomegranate tree.

Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

(William Shakespeare – Romeo and Juliet)
 
 
 

 

 

 

"Hear my call, I want it all.
Roses in the wind, bridge from falling in;

may not always know you're there,
but all I am I share with you."

 

 

 

«Hey...»

His voice slides velvety over me, light and sensual as the caress of a feather. I smile with my eyes closed, as I feel his fingers sweetly brush against one of my cheeks. I cling to him even more tightly, snuggling against his chest, letting myself be cradled by the fiery, secure warmth of his arms. Albus steals a kiss from my lips, another, the umpteenth, and it is as if it were the first – as if, all night long, our mouths had not been chasing and devouring each other – it makes my skin ripple and my heart tremble: it urges me to desire more, so much more, to cancel the distance, again, until I cannot distinguish my breath from his. I barely lift my eyelids, just enough to drown again in the hypnotic depths of his gaze. Shrouded in the slight dimness of the room, his irises, as blue and transparent as spring skies, glow like steel blades, while on his face, barely illuminated by the gentle flare diffused by the dying embers of the fireplace, hovers an expression of pure and irrepressible wonder.

«Do you have to go?» I ask, roughly, sinking my face into the cozy hollow between his neck and one shoulder. Scent of tea, sunshine and white roses intoxicates my senses.

«No,» he chuckles into my hair, clearly amused, before whispering softly against my forehead, «it's a long way to sunrise».

«Then why on earth would you wake me up?»

«Take a guess, bredhu

He searches in the sheets for my hands. He finds them. He entwines them firmly with his own.

No quivering. No uncertainty.

They recognize each other. They belong to each other.

As we do.

May the morning never come for us, my blue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SoundtrackThe Call, Ruu Campbell.

 

You can find my original italian work – first published on December 04, 2018here.

 

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