a/n I only just wrote this, really, so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense, or whatever.
for Blue - happy Valentine's, gorgeous
warning: cousincest, heavy sexual implications, run on sentences that are absolutely intentional.
listen to the sound of our heartbeats intertwined
It's after midnight when he enters your room, and you're so happy to have him seek you out that you don't want to waste precious minutes wondering why.
"Hey," you say, your eyes downcast and you're biting your lip and pretending you're shy, because you read somewhere that this was a genuine seduction tactic. You smile, your gaze flicking to his expressionless face, and you want him to look at you like he looks at the pretty girls that follow in his every footstep, because you've stopped lying to yourself about how much you want him. How much you love him, regardless of the fact that you're technically related and your feelings are every shade of wrong and right and everything in between. "Albus?" you ask, half afraid and half strangled as he finally looks at you, and your breath catches in your throat at the darkness in his eyes.
"Molly," he returns; his voice is hard, fierce, and you can't help responding to it in a way you should be ashamed of but aren't. You take a step towards him, one single involuntary step, and then everything is movement and lust and sound and touch, and you're dying, you're dying.
(You don't ask why now, why you, why not Lucy with her soulful eyes and dancing steps and dreamy ways. You can't bring yourself to hear the answer.)
You wish he'd kiss you, but his hands are moving up from your waist and your skin is hot and your shirt is sliding up over your head until you can't see anything but inky black. You are breathless, his fingertips dancing over your sensitive skin, teasing you until you give up pretending that you don't feel anything. You stretch up to kiss him, your hands fisted tightly in his shirt, but he turns away and presses kisses to your neck instead, and you forget what you were doing in the first place.
("Kissing is intimate," he says, and you don't understand what could be more intimate than this.)
You fall to the ground in a tangled heap, and you aren't sure which fingers are yours or which legs are his as you move together, and you wonder if you're dreaming. He breathes deeply and you sigh, trying to connect your eyes with his, but he looks pointedly away.
(You feel your fantasies fall to pieces along with your heart, but you ignore it because you don't have any other choice if you want to keep from shattering completely.)
He stands up and walks away, his shirt untucked and his hair barely ruffled, and you are breathless, lying on the floor in a crumpled heap because you don't mean anything to him.
a/n Please review! Feedback means a lot, especially because I've never written Albus/Molly before =]