This story portrays femmeslash - girl/girl, lesbianism, call it the way you preffer. Don't like it? Don't read it.
Well, if you choose to continue, I would like you to know that this story is a translated version of something I originally wrote in portuguese. There was another fanfic called "Interlúdio" that actually showed the background for this one, but I haven't translated it yet. Well, this one is understandable anyway.
English is not my first language, so sorry for any grammar mistakes (:
Sh...
Don't say a thing, this time.
Just this time.
Because when it's up to you, saying anything in this moment would implicate in using your rational side, and we got in a point that we are so hurt that even thinking about it may exacerbate this pain.
Besides, you should try not to think about him that much. I can see how much it hurts you, and simultaneously, I also feel a terrible sensation in my chest - a mix of pity and jealousy.
Yes, jealousy, even if it sounds really selfish. It comes with an impotence feeling - after all, he disdains you so long, but you keep on exchanging me for fantasies of what you and he could have been.
Forget it, Hermione. Don't think about it.
Just this time.
Don't think about it so the tears won't fill your eyes, blurring the shades of brown that I learned to like so much. Don't think about it so you can be free again, getting rid of this aspect of unwary bird whose wings got tied into some terrible trap - don't think about it so you can fly again. Fly with me.
Sometimes I ask myself if it would really be possible. You're complicated, my dear; I do everything I can so you can be mine, but yet, you don't seem to love me.
Would you be capable of loving me?
Would you be capable of pretending you do?
I shiver when I think about this last option, quickly putting it away from my mind, preferring to float in my comforting illusion than accepting that it all was unbearable. But then I see your innocent face over my sheets and I smile, taking my thumb to your warm cheek.
It was pathetic that I was, once again, choosing to fool myself instead of accepting the absence of something. But there you are, with your usual captivating docility, always looking so fragile by my side.
Make your role, Hermione. Make me feel alright.
Pull me to you, let our mouths meet, let our tongues tangle, saying their fluid desires. Don't you retract when my hands wander through your slim body, feeling your satiny skin under my fingers, wanting to feel you under me, being mine.
Surrender to me, with your body and soul, without hesitation or insecurity, just this time.
And after our ardors, don't you separate from me, don't. After our carnal acts, nestle in my chest, let me caress your wavy hair while your face meets the curve of my neck, inhaling my perfume, your sweet breath easily touching my skin and making it shiver.
Return my affection, pretend there isn't a world around us, forget all the rest, let me be your world.
And then, pretend that you love me, Hermione.
Just this time.
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