Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, plots, themes, and devices are property of JK Rowling. I'm not making one single brass Knut off this, folks.
This is Hermione/Remus. Told from our local werewolf's point of view. Personally I think that Ron and Hermione constitute the perfect One True Paring ideal (they belong together, folks) but Remus is a sweetie and I couldn't resist. Please tell me what you think. Thanks.
Wild Honey
Have you ever seen wild honey? Wild honey on a warm summer day is more precious than the metal that shares its warm golden color. Wild honey is tempting...you want to reach out and touch it. You want to stretch out pale, cold fingers and dip into it. You want to taste it and feel its earthy warmth flood to your toes and wash over your whole body in waves. You want to feel it flow over you and cover you in a scented blanket of sweetness. It floats over your tongue and coats you in a syrupy heaven.
It's...intoxicating.
I would know. I am addicted to wild honey.
I'm addicted to her.
Her eyes are wild honey. Golden brown and deep, glistening in the sunlight like a prism. I want to lose myself in them every time I see them and not come back. I want to fall in them and forget who and what I am in that one feeling.
Her skin is wild honey. Warm...tempting...I want to reach out and touch it. I want her to lie across me and cover me in her own flowing form. I want to touch every inch of her. I want the feeling of wild honey imprinted on my chest and hands and tongue and mind.
Her lips are wild honey. I want to taste her and feel her warmth spread over me, washing me in her. I want to be coated in her and find heaven. I want to kiss her senseless until I can't find the strength to go on any longer.
Her scent is wild honey. I want to get close enough to her and her scent...that tempting, powerful, incredible fragrance that comes off her in waves. I want to tangle my hands in her hair—soft flowing chestnut hair. I want to nuzzle her and hold her and smell her for an eternity.
I want wild honey.
I want her.
I can't have her. My wild honey is protected by bees. Bees with stingers disguised as wands. Bees by the name of Harry and Ron. They'd have every right to sting me.
I'm old enough to be her father. I'm a werewolf. She could never love me.
There are loads of ways I could get stung, but right now I don't care.
I don't care, because I can't resist her. I don't care that other's think it's wrong. I don't care that I can't control myself. I don't care that I'm hopeless with her and dead without her.
I don't care, because my temptation is coming towards me, floating on the summer breeze like a spirit.
I don't care, because I'm in a heaven made from her skin and her eyes and I never want to leave.
I don't care, because five seconds later I taste wild honey.
You've taken the time to read, so please take the time to review.
Cheers,
Aly
