Their First Last Time
It's just like he's never been away.
He remembers where to touch, remembers where to kiss, remembers where to whisper Moony, my Moony.
It's like the past few months didn't happen; like he never stopped trusting and you never stopped believing. You card one hand's fingers through his tangled hair and the other hand grips convulsively at the sheets beneath your body, and you don't think about after and you don't think about before you just think about here and now and him.
His breath mingles with yours and his eyes are closed but yours are open and you are staring; staring at the gorgeous face that was yours for years and is yours for a while now.
He is panting and sweating and he looks so raw and passionate and your love for him is overwhelming and you refuse to think about later because right now is happening.
Words are futile when your bodies are communicating so well – remembering first times, quick times, languorous times.
His lips brush your forehead lightly and he whispers a sweet 'Moony' as his hands caress your body as if you are too precious not to touch and to hold on to.
He is close and so are you but you don't want this to end, can't let him leave again, and your nails are digging into his back and if it hurts him then at least he'll know that this is real.
But then it's over, and he's coming inside of you and you are coming in your own hand and you realise that it isn't really how it used to be at all.
He pulls out and rolls away from you straight away, refuses to look at you and remains stoically silent as he stands instantaneously and searches for his clothes in the room you used to share.
There is no affection anymore and there is no love remaining and it hurts so much that you can feel it burning its way up your spine. You stay still, on your back, staring soundlessly up at the dirty ceiling in the flat that was once your home but is now just a place full of scarring memories.
He stalks out the room without a word and you contemplate calling his name, softly calling him Padfoot and asking for forgiveness and hoping that things can change. But the words get caught in your throat and the fear of rejection from the man you love keeps you voiceless.
The front door slams shut and it reverberates through your body like he has physically hit you.
It was just like he had never been away. But he had been away, and he is going away again, and you hate him.
You hate him because even through all of this, and even through the next twelve years, you will always still love him.