Author's Notes: Trying something new stylistically… Am also mourning the fact that I have no voice. My voice is gone baby gone.
I'm not crazy about the title, but it works. And I wrote it as a Charlie/Tonks, but if you squint, it is applicable to any pairing.
SORRY ABOUT THE FALSE START. I noticed a serious point of view issue in the last few lines and had to fix it. Sorry. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
This isn't a fairytale.
(Lips to lips and nose to nose and eye to eye we stare at each other, barely breathing, scared to make a move. I'm on top of you and your arms and hands are around my waist, stroking at my shoulders and back and driving me nine kinds of crazy.)
This isn't happily ever after or white horses or towers you get to come down from.
(We open our mouths at the same time and you whisper my name and it trails down my spine, leaving goosebumps.)
This isn't first kisses and shy glances and smiles and meeting under the oak tree out back to whisper I love you and revel in the feeling of being loved and loving and, hell, the word love.
(I move against you and you grunt and then sigh and I sigh and then we sigh together and you're moving back against me and this has never felt so good.)
This isn't beautiful or perfect or puzzle pieces.
(It feels right, though, right and good-in-a-bad-way and your lips are at my neck and god don't stop, please don't ever stop.)
This isn't daydreams and diaries and nights you lay awake, scared to go to sleep because then, it all might vanish.
(Your hands meet my hands and our hands tangle together in the sheets and I move once, twice and you gasp and sigh and moan and I am intoxicated by the sounds you make, here in the dark.)
This isn't awkward first dates and uncomfortable small talk and being so crazy in love with the other person the words you want to say are lodged permanently in the back of your throat.
(You shudder and cry and gasp and are so beautiful, your head thrown back in ecstasy, mouse brown hair trailing along the sheets, it hurts so good but then I'm right there with you, shuddering and crying and gasping right alongside.)
This isn't sleepy smiles and warm coffee and curled toes in the sunshine streaming through the window.
(I lie to myself so we can sleep at night, tangled in the sheets that smell like you, as you crawl out of them and pull on your clothes and touch up your makeup and go home to another man's arms. I don't love you. I don't.)
This isn't a fairytale or anything even remotely close. It's desperation and brokenness and pain and lies and deceit and bitterness but it sure as hell isn't love or anything like it.