Steel Knife
A.N. Thank you very much for the reviews, especially the last anon one .
You're in my bedroom, and to hell with it, I don't care anymore. If I'm to be hanged, I must as well have fun first eh darling? Not that this is fun, having you rip my insides apart with that sexy little smile, the way you smell, young and alive and warm, fucking perfect but you don't know it do you sweetheart? You need him to tell you for it to mean anything, isn't that right? I won't die with you screaming my name, or with you sobbing into my chest will I darling? Because Ron will always be first. So I'll have my fun, and my agony. Because I can.
Because I will never see James' face again, because I have already let Harry too far down to redeem myself, because I'm trapped here and if I don't find some release, I'll fucking kill someone, because-
Because I'm slamming you into my bedroom door, kissing you hard enough to make you moan and squirm against me, your breath catching in your chest, your pink little tongue flicking against mine, and God I want you, it must be worth it, feeling something, feeling someone soft and warm against you in the night, it's not like I've forced you into it, you come to me every night, your fine boned hands fluttering up to my chest, inviting me in, begging me to do it and I can't stop now, I want you too much, I want to see your chest heaving, your thighs quivering, your hands clutching and clawing at the sheets in ecstasy, I have to, and I'm the only one that can make you feel like you do now, I know just where to suck and bite at on your neck, I know how it makes throaty little moans sneak past your lips, I know how you like me to press up against you, to suffocate you in kisses till you can't see or think of anything but me, my name, not Ron's, I can see him vanish from your eyes, the pain, when I kiss you like that, I think you might almost love me.
But it will only ever be almost, and that makes me kiss you harder, pressing you back so fiercely into the door that it will surely break, and you'll be splinters and bone, it makes my hands grip at your hips, your wrists, your breasts so hard that you whimper, but then your hips are bucking up into mine, and we both know that you want me to hurt you just a little bit, because a few small bruises are a relief, a pain you can handle, a pain that distracts from worse things. And your legs are wrapped around me, and I'm inside you, inside you head, your breath, your very bones, and I love you, I love you sweetheart, I want to crawl inside and never leave, but I can't, can't tell you that, what would be the point? So that you think it best to leave, to stop coming to me at night till I have to seek you out, and then I really am the monster, the predator in the night, and I'll hate myself all the more, and you for making me do it, for making me love you, want you, need you so much it claws at my insides, leaves me pacing my room at night, unable to sleep, to think or breath anything but you. Have you any idea sweetheart what you do to me?
Do you know that when you stare up at me like that it makes my cock so hard it hurts? That when I see your soft creamy white skin in the candle light I want to kiss you and make love to you and make you love me? That when I see you at dinner laughing and talking to Ron and Harry I don't whether to grab you and fuck you then and there on the kitchen table and wipe that fucking grin off Ron's face, or to beg on my knees for Harry's forgiveness? That I fucking adore you, and I can't let you go, I can't, I can't, I fucking won't, I can't bear the thought of him touching you, of him seeing you like this, naked and under him, moaning and writhing and gasping, because it's mine, this is mine, you are mine, these moments, stolen as they are, will never fucking be his.
Never.