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He twists uncomfortably, tilting his head slightly and wincing at the pain it causes. It's very tempting to laugh out loud, to stand on my chair and point, to scream "I hurt him, he's in pain because of me!" and to bask in the glory this would earn from my fellow Slytherins. But I can't. Because I would have to admit he hurt me more. A hell of a lot more. * I didn't want to come to Transfiguration the next morning. I stayed in bed for as long as possible, bitching to myself (quietly so nobody would hear) and planning my revenge. By the time I decided that not showing would be admitting defeat, it was twenty minutes before the lesson and I was still in my pyjamas. I was determined to not let him think he'd won, but by the time I stumbled into the lesson, only five minutes late, tie still hanging loosely around my neck, robe barely on one arm, face flushed from the run and absolutely dying for breakfast, the smirk on his face told me the effort had for nothing. He mouthed "Sleep late?" at me and I knew he'd already won, before I even stepped through that door. He'd effected me and my routine. That was enough of a victory for him. Bastard. * We're pretty evenly matched - same height, same build. Both rather under-nourished, though not by choice. His family apparently starves him, my mother insists we all suffer whilst she submits herself to yet another fad diet. That's probably what makes it so humiliating. One of us had to give in, or we'd still be in that room, rolling around on the floor, snarling and kicking and spitting like tom cats, so alike in size and temperament are we. But why did it have to be me? I never give into anything. Never! It's not in my nature, what I want always becomes mine and I never back down. * Every time he rubs his aching neck the rug burn on my back stings in sympathy. * "Give it up, Malfoy." Hissed into my ear. Followed by a warm tongue and scorching breath. And a shiver that runs through my entire being. And I actually said yes! Hell, I didn't just say it, I moaned it. * I'd never noticed how hard the chairs in the Transfiguration classroom are until the day after. * It was cheating. No doubt about it. By that point we were mostly undressed, flesh being forcefully pinned against flesh and it was hot but the room was cold but the carpet was burning against me and he asked me, no, told me to surrender to him and then he had my hips in this iron grip and he pushed down against me and the carpet didn't hurt so much any more and the room was anything but cold and how could I say anything but yes?! * I heard a rumour once that he was almost Sorted into Slytherin. To think, I dismissed it at the time at lies and gossip... * And he knew what he was doing, God, he knew, and there were fingers, and I didn't even think the human hand had that many fingers on it, and breathless rambling in my ear, reassuring but patronising at the same time, because it should have been me doing it to him, it was how it was always meant to be, from when we first met, he thought he was too good for me, I was supposed to show him different, and the fingers were leaving and I know I cried out, and I wanted to die, and then it was something else there and I wanted to die all over again but in a completely different way. * "I hope it hurts like a bitch." Mouthed silently, to the back of his head. * And I exploded, flew, it was all black, I don't remember it, and yet I'll never forget, and he stroked the hair out of my eyes and looked down at me and smiled and when I blinked at him and began to focus he had this tender look in his eyes that didn't belong there, and I shoved him, and he moved away, and he didn't look shocked and I told him that it would never, never happen again, never, and he, never, he didn't look shocked, never, and I've never gotten dressed so quickly in my life, never, even the next day, before Transfiguration, and I had to stop, never, stop myself running away. Had to walk out with my head held high. * God, just thinking about it makes me feel flushed and angry and, how embarrassing, close to tears. And he laughs and jokes with his friends at the Gryffindor table and they don't notice or don't acknowledge the obvious pain in his neck and shoulders and I want to tell them, tell them why he's hurt, tell them what happened last night in the Quidditch stands, between the benches, cramped and pained yet still flying and delirious and him inside me and...
Oops, did I say never? |