For Amber who is an amazing person. I wish I could write you something better than this because you deserve so much more than just a drabble, but alas, my dear Clara wouldn't let me. Happy birthday, love! I hope it's a good one.
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A smirk crosses his beautiful features as he traces silent words into your skin. The touches, however, are too light, too gentle to be anything other than those learned young. The way he's touching you is a sort of compassion that is taught at a young age, taught by people that shouldn't be teaching it but do anyways.
When you shiver at his touches, he is pleased. It makes you wonder if it's his first time being dominant, if he's always played the part you have – submissively giving yourself to him, even though it's never what you wanted; it just always hurt less when you did that. You wonder if it was consensual, if it was out of love. Or if it was forced upon him like it was forced upon you.
But the more you think about it, you can tell that what he had it was heartfelt touches and meaningful kisses between two people who loved each other. You know this by the way that he is never rough even when he's mad, the way that he is always careful as if you're going to break at any time.
He cares about you, though he'll never tell you that. Because he's been broken by the person that he trusts the most, all because he cared so much, too much. And you know that he never wants to go through that pain again. So he closes himself off to everyone because that hurts less. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't guard himself in these intimate moments. The love and care he once held – and probably still does – for his brother comes breaking through the surface, shinning so brightly that he can't deny it nor can he hide it.
He does, however, pretend that it's not there, that he didn't learn these too soft touches at a young age. That his whole world doesn't revolve around the brother that left him. And you pretend that you don't know that it's not you he's thinking of because that's what he wants.
It's easier than admitting that it hurts you just a little more every time when it's not your name that he whispers before he falls asleep next to you.
A/n – so many thanks to Paula, who beta'd this for me. For the Slytherin bc: shiver