Rain III
By darkmosmordreheart
Summary: D/H. I always need him when it rains. After Hogwarts.
Warnings: Sad Harry. Harry, why are you so sad?! . . . And, oh yeah, sex.
Disclaimer: The author doesn't own Harry Potter. It's not her fault, though. Cruel, bitch ass world.
Author's Note: I wrote it, yay! I've been wanting to write it forever (well, since Tuesday), but I had a Sociology midterm to study for! Damn you, science of the study of human society! –DMH
I always need him when it rains.
I need him so I go to him. When I don't I hurt. I stare at the rain, listen to it, and try to feel it on my skin, anything to remind me of him. I need his tongue against mine, his hands tracing my body. I need him under me, grasping at me, begging for me, loving me . . .
I need him like had him that night. I need him to cleanse the memories from me. He washes me. He purifies me and I only feel that oblivion when I'm in his arms.
That night when he found me, my tears had blended in with the water burning down my dirty face, but he saw them. He knelt before me and wiped the tears from his own rain stained cheeks before commenting on mine. I was frightened by his sudden change in nature. Hadn't this been the boy screaming and cursing at me for sending his father away? Wasn't he the one that truly hated me? So, why now was he the only one that understood?
I cursed him. I cursed his name and everything it stood for and he just remained on his knees before me, pleading for me to listen.
He told me that others couldn't see past the rain. Others couldn't see into me. They couldn't see my tears, but he told me that he was the only one who could. He was the only one that knew. And when I looked into his eyes in that moment; when I saw those sweet tears of his being washed away with the rain . . . I realized that I needed him. And I kissed him. And we made love.
I'm going to him now. She's asleep and I can hear the rain beating against the window. I pull on my boots carefully, quietly so not to wake her. My tears start, I feel them burning and prickling behind my eyes, daring me to let them fall, but I don't. I walk to my desk and grab my thin jacket from the back of the chair, careful not to make a sound. My broom is right against the wall beside the backdoor. I take it and leave.
I rush to him; my broom vibrates roughly because I push it so hard, but I must get to him before this beautiful shower ends. I can only be with him when it rains. I made a promise to myself and I made a secret promise to her.
Truth be told, I love her. I do, I really do. I love everything about her, so I don't want to hurt her. So I lie.
When she asks me where I'm going in the middle of the afternoon with the light drizzle right outside the door, I tell her there are a few loose ends at work that need to be tied up and I'll be back for dinner. When she looks at me as I stare out at the rain during dinner, I tell her I'm just preoccupied. When she wakes up as I leave her in the middle of the night . . . I say nothing. There is nothing to say, no lie good enough. She knows.
I can't hurt her more than I already have. I can't flaunt my discretions in her face. I cannot let her think that she is nothing to me.
But she's not everything.
My hand shakes as I knock on his apartment door. I can't remember the last time I've been with him and my body is all too ready to get reacquainted with his. The door swings open and we stare at one another. The door snaps behind me, and he's in my arms; my broom clatters to the floor as his kisses consume me. I want to take him against the wall. I want to mount him on the floor, but I cannot hear the rain.
I pull away from him and we watch one another; he inspects me, frowning slightly at the wet mess I'm leaving in his foyer and I take in his angelic form. His hair is unusually messy, as if he had been lying around or running his fingers through it, and he's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a tight white tank. He is beautiful. He holds out a pale, slender hand to me and I take it so that he can lead me to the bedroom. I smile at how short he is, but he doesn't see because his back is to me.
We reach his room and he sprawls across the giant bed and looks up at me expectantly. I strip slowly for him, starting with my dripping wet jacket. I drape it across the back of his desk chair and I almost laugh at the way his face contorts in annoyance, but I'm careful not to get the papers on his desk get wet, so he says nothing. I continue to strip, all the way to my boxers, and then I walk to him.
His skin is actually smoother than hers is. So much smoother, softer, paler, and free of blemishes. I smooth my hands across that perfect skin, tracing his thin body with the tips of my fingers and my own body rejoices as his legs wrap around me.
And, the entire time, I cannot stop comparing him to her. Even with his pale hair fisted in my hands, I think of her fiery mane, caressing and tangling my fingers within it. I think of her moans as I hear his. I think of the way she grits out my name as he groans it out himself. I think of my secret promise to her.
I will only be with him when it rains, when it was like that night, because the rest of my nights are now hers and I owe her at least that much. I cannot count the number of times I've left him because it has stopped raining. I cannot remember the number of tears he's shed because of this. I begin to lick at the new tears streaming down his face, they taste so unbelievably sweet.
These are tears that he cries for me, tears that I hate and love all at once.
I sit up and pull him close. I need him to touch me now, so I encircle his wrists with my hands and trail them all over my body until finally he pulls away and directs his hands to the one place I wouldn't put them. My groan of pleasure echoes as he caresses my hardness. He teases my body with his lips, ignores me as I occasionally shush him so that I could hear the slight tapping of the shower outside, and continues down my body.
I arch against him almost shamefully, just begging for him to do more to me, but when I cannot bear the teasing any longer, I over power him and pull him onto my lap. Our breathing is harsh, only noticeable when our lips part and the sharp noises of our desperate inhalations rattle through the room. I drag the clothing from his trembling frame, throw them carelessly to the side before I mutter a spell and throw my wand into the wind, as well.
I am inside of him.
I look into surprised platinum eyes. He didn't realize how badly I needed him. He clutches at me almost desperately. I feel his tears against my neck and face. He cries out my name and I don't think that I'll hold much longer. My thrusts quicken, and I say words to him that I do not mean and he explodes. I lie to him more than I lie to my wife and, still, he explodes in my arms, probably unaware of the words of love spilling from his own lips.
His body pulls at mine and soon, he's bringing me into the oblivion I sought after. I feel nothing but him, hear nothing but him, see nothing but him, breathe nothing but him . . .
His sweat dampened forehead presses against my rain dampened shoulder as we struggle to catch our breath, each failing miserably. I lift his head and look straight into his eyes; my hand comes up automatically to wipe his tears.
"Why do you always cry?" I ask, stupidly. Why wouldn't he cry? I think. Don't you always cry? Even though you hide the evidence?
He's completely silent as he snuggles against me, until he nuzzles my neck.
"Why can't it always rain?"
I cannot answer him. I merely tighten my hold on his trembling body as he cries and ponder the question to myself. The same reason that we can never be together, I want to answer. Because the rain cannot last . . . and there are other things beside the rain . . .
I remain silent, but my mind rings with the screams of my heart. I love him, at least that is truth, but . . . I love her and her stability. With her I know that nothing will go horribly wrong. With her I know that we will never be questioned. Our children never ridiculed. With her I know that we will be accepted.
I continue to kiss away the endless tears as his unanswered question hangs in the air between us. I cannot let it go on this way, but . . . I need him. I love him and until he tells me that we need to end, I will keep appearing to him with the rain. No matter how much it destroys us inside.
I lie, only because the truth of this will destroy me faster. I can lie now and still be able to sleep, knowing that my wife will wake up beside me, that my children will smile at me over breakfast, and that my lover will still wait for me in the emptiness of his apartment. I can lie now and avoid looking into the future, when I have to choose. Do I want my life with her or my love with him? Honestly, I cannot choose. But, for now, there are four facts that I am sure of. I love the life that I live. I love my children. And I love my wife.
But I need the rain.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Hopefully, you read the first two and you understand this one. I don't know why, but Harry's perspective made me so much sadder than the other two. I'm beginning to wonder about relationships like this one, where everyone aches and pretends and lies and I want to know why. Why is love so strong? Why does it make us do such stupid, stupid things? Why do we deliberately subject ourselves to situations that will only make heartache inevitable? Oh God, I'm crying now, but tell me what you think, either about the story or the questions I asked. Thanks again for reading. Hope I didn't depress you like I just depressed myself. I'm calling my boyfriend now to cheer me up. Don't worry, I'll be fine. -DMH