AN: I don't know what happened here. It just sprang on me, all of a sudden, and I started writing. It's probably just a bit disturbing, since that's kind of the way I wanted it to turn out. So...ignore the fact that it was written in about five minutes, and enjoy, please?
WARNINGS: Ambiguous consent (Not quite rape, but kind of...)
Disclaim Her: Not mine, obviously.
Want This.
I don't know what I'm doing here.
That thought ran through his mind as he unbuttoned his shirt in between kisses with the man in front of him. His tie had long been removed, and was currently decorating the far corner of the room.
He doesn't even like me.
He tried to dismiss it, tried to ignore the nagging in his head that this was not right, that he shouldn't be doing this, not here, not with him.
This not what I want.
But the teeth nipping at his neck distracted him, and he groaned, leaning his head back, arching forward into the arms of the enemy.
Traitor.
He moved forward to catch the man's lips with his own, and it quickly turned from a kiss to a competion, a fight for dominance; teeth clicking against each other, tongues battling, the exchange heated and reeking of not love, or anything similar, but of pure hatred, and the need to hurt.
Why?
He felt a smirk against his lips, and the hands that had been skimming his abdomen dipped lower, trailing down his thighs, then traveling upward once more, to-
NO.
The thought echoed once in his scattered and sex fogged brain, and he tried to push the hands away, breaking off the kiss, whispering, 'No, I can't, I can't-'
But the hands continued, stroking him, and he gasped, falling backwards into the wall he was so crudely pushed up against, knowing that he would do whatever was asked of him, even though-
I do not want this.
But whether he wanted it or not didn't matter, since even he was unsure of what, exactly, he really did want. He gave in, throwing himself completely into the act, despite the fact that he felt a bit more like a whore every moment those hands touched him; despite the fact that he felt less human with every touch of those lips, dirtier, unclean.
The hands were lower now, more intimate, and he felt powerless to resist, writhing helplessly against the man, clinging to him desperately, whispering, pleading, begging him to-
please stop-
-keep going, to never let go. He bit back a scream as he was breached, tears streaming from his eyes, and he clawed at the man, pleasure coarsing through him-
I do not want this.
But that was a lie, had to be, or else why would he be here?
I do not want this.
There was no other reason for him to keep coming back-
I do not want this.
-to this place-
I do not want this.
-to this small, dirty room, and to-
I do not want this.
-Harry Potter.
No...