Disclaimer: Characters property of J.K. Rowling. Story by me. Poetry by John Donne. Harassment by the FBI.
A/N: Hmm, I seem to be into writing stories around poems. I've been studying John Donne for a while now and when I read over Loves Alchemy, something clicked. There will be a companion piece written around Loves Growth pretty soon.
Summery: Some people have never been shown love...HP/DM slash.
Rating: R – deal with it.
I have lov'd, and got and told,
But should I love, get, tell, till I were old.
I should not find that hidden mystery
Oh, 'tis imposture all.
Loves Alchemy ~ John Donne.
I have never really felt like I was truly cherished, loved. My earliest memories are of being made to feel like some terrible intruder in my aunt and uncle's home. That there was something terribly wrong with me, or that I had somehow done something to make them feel such hatred towards me.
It took a long time for me to realise it was they who had the problem.
I became angrier with them, but even so I was often troubled by a horrible thought – what if my parents had never loved me either?
Of course, I would find out they did – more than I could ever have conceived. Hard as I try though I can never recall them or the feeling of their devotion to me.
I shift with sudden impatience. Where is he? The ever-punctual Draco was late and it was making me really angry. It was the one thing that ever made me feel truly alive – sex with my worst enemy, another one of life's cruel jokes played on its saviour, Harry Potter.
Neither of us has experienced real love, only abuse. His was never physical, it was emotional – he has always been denied love and even true friendship. His two thuggish friends only serve to make him feel safe and also to prove to the curious that Neanderthal man is very much alive and well. His words, not mine.
All the people who have ever loved me seem to leave, and it feels so much like a punishment for a crime I still obviously am unaware I committed. I don't love Draco and he doesn't love me – true love is what everyone seeks but it seems neither of us are destined to experience it.
Oh wait, here he is...
"Sorry I'm late," He whispered, padding across the scarlet carpet, scowling at this flagrant show of Gryffindor pride in the decorations of the room. "Hope you weren't forced to erm...do anything in my absence."
"No. I don't look forward to you that much," I sneered back.
"Liar."
He sneaks behind the hangings and whispers something (a silencing charm) and then takes off his robes. He wears nothing underneath, and despite my attempts to adamantly conceal my lust for his beauty, my breath noticeably quickens, and I feel stirrings of arousal. He laughs at this, obviously enjoying his control and he lays down and bites my neck in just the right place, just to prolong my torture.
He knows my every reaction, whimper, moan, so intimately. And to make love to him is the best feeling in the entire world. My whole body is on fire, and I finally and truly feel alive.
It's not long before we are moving fervently with such need that out grinding hips will assuredly cause bruises. But that doesn't matter, nothing matters.
He screams in pure ecstasy, and it doesn't take me long to join him. We even call each other by our first names, something that never happens outside of our joining.
But we never say 'I love you.' It's not love, it's lust and need, and they are entirely different from love and desire.
We like what we have, therefore we will keep meeting and fucking and leaving and then doing this all over again.
Because we'll never know love.
Only how to feel.
And that's fine by me.
~The End – For Now.