hello everyone. This is just a little oneshot that I came up with. I don't know where it came from...

this is definitely the raciest thing I've ever come up with, but it's not extrememly bad...so don't let that fool you

oh, and please, tell me what you think. If you like, I might write a sequel, or a one shot, or a prequel...

you'll see why I want to write a prequel when you read. I think it'd be cool!

Thanks

Kirsten

People say I'm crazy to keep doing what I'm doing. They say I'm absolutely insane; that she wants my brother, not me.

But I fuck her anyways. Over and over, night after night, until neither one of us can take it anymore.

It's not that I've diluted myself into thinking that she wants me, because I know she doesn't. I know she doesn't, because it's not my name she screams when she comes. It's his.

But frankly, I don't care. I want to fuck her, despite the fact that she's using me, despite the fact that it's not me she's thinking about.

She's my fantasy.

And she's hurting; I'd do anything to help her.

I remember when it started, right after the funeral. She was sitting in the kitchen of the burrow, alone. When I walked in, she was crying, for him. At that moment, I almost envied him…almost.

She told me then, that she had wanted him, and I told her that I wanted her. And the next thing either one of us knew, she was on the table, her skirt bunched up, her underwear ripped off, and my pants down just enough.

That was the first time we fucked. That was the first time I heard her scream his name. It didn't bother me as much as it probably should have…

After that day, we fucked whenever we could, wherever we could; in the bathroom, the backyard, my dad's shed, our old room…nowhere was safe. And we loved it that way.

Each time, when she came, it was his name on her lips, not mine…never mine. But it never stopped me from coming back for more.

Somewhere along the line I came to realize that I was in love with her. I was in love with her, but she would never, never love me. She couldn't, she wouldn't.

I cherished every time together, every sound that she made, because I was afraid that she would come to her senses and realize what she was doing was wrong, completely insane. I treated every time like it was the last. And it never was.

The last time we fucked, I really thought it was. She ran out of the shed, tears streaming down her face, repeating I'm sorry over and over. I couldn't tell who she was apologizing to; my brother, for betraying him, or to me, for using me.

What she didn't understand is that I wanted to be used.

I'll thank whatever God there is that it wasn't the last time, that she came back to me. It was nearly a week later, but she came back.

I'm sitting in the drawing room, staring at the fire, so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear her come in. But then I heard it, so softly that it could have been in my mind. She said my name. It was then that I realized that might have been the first time she had said my name at all, since that first day.

I didn't move, I would let her come to me. And she did, slowly, agonizingly slow, in fact. When I was sure she had left, I felt her hand on my shoulder.

I didn't stir. She stepped in front of me; I didn't move.

She straddled me, and I looked into her eyes.

Her lips brushed mine, lightly; I couldn't take it anymore.

I crushed her to me with all the force I had. A week had been a long time.

Clothes were torn from our bodies; we didn't even try the buttons; there was no time. Her fingernails were digging into my back so hard that I could feel them pierce my skin. I bit her lip and could taste the metallic tang of her blood.

That seemed like an eternity ago, though in reality, in had probably only been minutes.

We were on the floor now, slick with sweat from the fire and the heat of our bodies. Her moans filled my ears as I thrust into her sharply. She clawed at my shoulders, my back too far out of reach for her to reach in this state. I was balanced on my hands, one by her head, and one on her thigh, pushing her legs open farther for me. She couldn't wrap them around my waist, so I made up for it by pushing harder, sliding into her farther than I had ever done before.

It still wasn't enough for her; she cried for more. Harder, faster…it became like a mantra for her. Who was I to deny her what she wants?

I could tell when she was close to coming. The words turned to incoherent babble before they even left her mouth. And I could read her body better than anyone will ever be able to. She was shaking, her back arching, and her head thrashing about. The nails in my arm only dug in further, and I could feel the blood on dripping down my arm.

I knew exactly when she was going to lose it, the exact moment, down to the second. I thrust into her impossibly harder, impossibly faster. She was going to hurt tomorrow; she would have bruises. But neither one of us could think about tomorrow when we were so wrapped up in the moment.

I opened my eyes, staring down at her face; I wanted to see her when she came; I wanted to commit it to memory; this surely would be the last time; she wouldn't come back to me after this.

He would never have been to fuck her like this; she didn't see how we fit together perfectly, like we were made for each other. She only saw that I looked like him. I wanted to show her, I wanted to prove it too her. So I went harder, faster.

Three…two…one…and she came, hard, her walls tightening like a vice around me. She screamed louder than I had ever heard her before.

"Ngh…aahhhh….GEORGE!"

I had been prepared to hear his name, but not my own. I came suddenly, unexpectedly…without a single sound.

It was the hardest I've ever come; all because it was my name that came out of her lips. My arms fell out from beneath me, and I knew that I had to be crushing her but I couldn't make myself move.

Her arms snaked around me, pulling me closer to her, silently telling me not to move. She had never done that before either.

I moved my head to her ear, whispering the one thing that's been on my mind for so long. "I love you."

She didn't say it back; but she didn't push me away either. I figured that maybe, just maybe, that was a start.

I felt that maybe one day, she would say it back.

People say I'm crazy to keep doing this, to let her use me. And maybe they're right. If fact, I know I they were. Was I crazy when I started this? Absolutely.

But now, there's a difference. It's not my brother she wants anymore.

It's me.