I've been a bad, bad girl. I've been careless with a delicate man. And it's
a sad, sad world when a girl will break a boy just because she can.
-Fiona Apple
Her mouth was dry, her plush lips cracked, and quick tongue seemingly cut-off. She stood dumbstruck, gaping at his face looking down on her in shock and disgust. He ran out of their bedroom in a hurry, without so much as a word, just a painful gasp.
Malfoys don't cry.
"Please, give me another chance." His voice came hoarse in the darkness. This statue of perfection and suave-strut was crumbling. The fine marbles of his eyes were now a dull gray color, and his alabaster skin was blotched with tears.
He always came crawling back.
Truth be told, she was quite tired of him. He was her first love, her first tormentor, her first everything. And his flavor had worn out. It was just a dull game of cops-and-robbers now. He would always be the one to come on his knees, begging for another chance. She would scoff and sigh, and take him back. Then the facade would grow tedious once again, and she flew back to the arms of another, any other, anyone but him.
His hands trembled with the rays of moonlight shining on them. He loved her; needed her. She was like a drug and she knew it. It was pathetic really; he would beg and plead with her, crying and groaning just to touch her perfect skin. She would yawn, and look at him as if it pained her to be in his presence. He scoffed. Why should he, Draco Malfoy, allow anybody to control him like that?? He was nobody's marionette. Yet, somewhere deep down, he knew she had him by the heartstrings.
She didn't mean to keep using him, but it felt so good. He was in complete control of his body when he was with her. He was a picture of perfection, stark white, glistening, and he completely adored her. She had him in the palm of her hand.
Nobody would've ever guessed that she would turn out like this. No one could predict that she would become so addicted to physical contact. Even she didn't think she would become a slave to passion. There was a new guy in her bed every night. He didn't know of course; at least, he pretended not to. And why should he be allowed to run her life like that? It was him who introduced her to pleasures of the physical world in the first place. The pain soon became replaced with pleasure, and she thirsted for it all the time. She couldn't help herself.
"Please, stay. I can give you everything you've ever wanted. I don't care about your mistakes, but please, please stay. I need you." He pleaded with her. It was almost a weekly occurrence. She had to admit; he was better than any other she'd been with (and there were a LOT of others).
"Fine, fine. Just, don't sob like that, I can't stand to see you in pain." She knew that was a lie. She loved to see him in pain. The Great Draco Malfoy, at her mercy. He was wrapped around her finger, at her beck and call. She relished in the thought that he was her slave like that. She gingerly ran her hands over his ample lips, and he shivered. She smirked inwardly, and drew the satin sheets over them.
The next week, he crumbled at the top of the Astronomy Tower, tears flowing freely from his eyes, flecked with pure silver. He was huddled in a ball, wracked with sobs. Mostly, it was at the thought that no matter how she treated him, he would always come back.
Elsewhere at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger moaned and writhed under a sweaty sculpted form. The only light came from the glint on his glasses.
Her mouth was dry, her plush lips cracked, and quick tongue seemingly cut-off. She stood dumbstruck, gaping at his face looking down on her in shock and disgust. He ran out of their bedroom in a hurry, without so much as a word, just a painful gasp.
Malfoys don't cry.
"Please, give me another chance." His voice came hoarse in the darkness. This statue of perfection and suave-strut was crumbling. The fine marbles of his eyes were now a dull gray color, and his alabaster skin was blotched with tears.
He always came crawling back.
Truth be told, she was quite tired of him. He was her first love, her first tormentor, her first everything. And his flavor had worn out. It was just a dull game of cops-and-robbers now. He would always be the one to come on his knees, begging for another chance. She would scoff and sigh, and take him back. Then the facade would grow tedious once again, and she flew back to the arms of another, any other, anyone but him.
His hands trembled with the rays of moonlight shining on them. He loved her; needed her. She was like a drug and she knew it. It was pathetic really; he would beg and plead with her, crying and groaning just to touch her perfect skin. She would yawn, and look at him as if it pained her to be in his presence. He scoffed. Why should he, Draco Malfoy, allow anybody to control him like that?? He was nobody's marionette. Yet, somewhere deep down, he knew she had him by the heartstrings.
She didn't mean to keep using him, but it felt so good. He was in complete control of his body when he was with her. He was a picture of perfection, stark white, glistening, and he completely adored her. She had him in the palm of her hand.
Nobody would've ever guessed that she would turn out like this. No one could predict that she would become so addicted to physical contact. Even she didn't think she would become a slave to passion. There was a new guy in her bed every night. He didn't know of course; at least, he pretended not to. And why should he be allowed to run her life like that? It was him who introduced her to pleasures of the physical world in the first place. The pain soon became replaced with pleasure, and she thirsted for it all the time. She couldn't help herself.
"Please, stay. I can give you everything you've ever wanted. I don't care about your mistakes, but please, please stay. I need you." He pleaded with her. It was almost a weekly occurrence. She had to admit; he was better than any other she'd been with (and there were a LOT of others).
"Fine, fine. Just, don't sob like that, I can't stand to see you in pain." She knew that was a lie. She loved to see him in pain. The Great Draco Malfoy, at her mercy. He was wrapped around her finger, at her beck and call. She relished in the thought that he was her slave like that. She gingerly ran her hands over his ample lips, and he shivered. She smirked inwardly, and drew the satin sheets over them.
The next week, he crumbled at the top of the Astronomy Tower, tears flowing freely from his eyes, flecked with pure silver. He was huddled in a ball, wracked with sobs. Mostly, it was at the thought that no matter how she treated him, he would always come back.
Elsewhere at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger moaned and writhed under a sweaty sculpted form. The only light came from the glint on his glasses.