Post by Benny-poo Finnigan on Jan 13, 2007 16:37:19 GMT -5
Sweet, sweet frosting. Your sugary goodness has sent me to a place that must truly be heaven, a young boy, about the age of 12 years old, thought, before his face screwed up in concentration. Of course, he mused, silently, that would have to mean there is such thing as this 'heaven'. And that won't do, will it? His face remained as it was for a few more moments as thoughts of Heaven, God, and Hell rolled through his head. Finally, he just mentally shrugged, deciding to take the subject up later, when he didn't have something oh-so lovely and sweet to occupy his time.
The current object of his affection was, indeed, frosting. Chocolate frosting. Sweet, sugary chocolate frosting. It was his secret desire. It was all he wanted. Well, at least at the moment. He had been craving it all week, [actually more sugar than anything, but, if he was going to do it, he was going to do it right], and finally broke down and got some from the Kitchens.
Ah. The Kitchens. His current setting. House Elves currently rushed around the large room, the mirror to the Great Hall above, as they prepared the evening meal: the four long tables were filing up with the delicious food the students of Hogwarts ate daily. Well, most did. The boy who was enjoying the rare intake of calories in the corner of the large room rarely, if ever, ate the food prepared by the folk rushing around, who had already forgotten him.
The small frame of Benvolio Valentine Finnigan was smooshed into the corner of the room, farthest from the door. His head rested against the wall next to him, blissfully; his index finger in his mouth as removed the remaining frosting from his finger.
Satisfied that it was clean, he pulled it out of his mouth and scooped more of the chocolately goodness out of the small, glass bowl that was the same size if he put thumb to thumb, index finger to index finger, ranging in diameter from about an inch and half to about a diameter of two inches.
A voice in the back of his mind reminded Ben that he would have to punish himself later for this, but he ignored it, closing his eyes, savoring the taste.
"Beautiful," he whispered, opening his eyes a bit to watch as he scooped more of the frosting into his mouth, careful not to let any drop on his tight black pants, bright pink shirt, that was mostly covered with a black zip-up hoodie, with 'The Used' written where a breast pocket might be, with their heart thing.
His ice grey eyes closed, his finger left in his mouth, to help savor the taste of the quickly emptying, half-empty bowl of his desire.
The current object of his affection was, indeed, frosting. Chocolate frosting. Sweet, sugary chocolate frosting. It was his secret desire. It was all he wanted. Well, at least at the moment. He had been craving it all week, [actually more sugar than anything, but, if he was going to do it, he was going to do it right], and finally broke down and got some from the Kitchens.
Ah. The Kitchens. His current setting. House Elves currently rushed around the large room, the mirror to the Great Hall above, as they prepared the evening meal: the four long tables were filing up with the delicious food the students of Hogwarts ate daily. Well, most did. The boy who was enjoying the rare intake of calories in the corner of the large room rarely, if ever, ate the food prepared by the folk rushing around, who had already forgotten him.
The small frame of Benvolio Valentine Finnigan was smooshed into the corner of the room, farthest from the door. His head rested against the wall next to him, blissfully; his index finger in his mouth as removed the remaining frosting from his finger.
Satisfied that it was clean, he pulled it out of his mouth and scooped more of the chocolately goodness out of the small, glass bowl that was the same size if he put thumb to thumb, index finger to index finger, ranging in diameter from about an inch and half to about a diameter of two inches.
A voice in the back of his mind reminded Ben that he would have to punish himself later for this, but he ignored it, closing his eyes, savoring the taste.
"Beautiful," he whispered, opening his eyes a bit to watch as he scooped more of the frosting into his mouth, careful not to let any drop on his tight black pants, bright pink shirt, that was mostly covered with a black zip-up hoodie, with 'The Used' written where a breast pocket might be, with their heart thing.
His ice grey eyes closed, his finger left in his mouth, to help savor the taste of the quickly emptying, half-empty bowl of his desire.
