I was confused, to say the least. For five years I've hated Malfoy,
every insensitive taunt and arrogant gesture. And now in just two weeks,
I've begun to feel… something else. I know it can't be love or anything
like that. I love Harry, I think about him and immediately the image that
flickers across my mind's eyes is of his face, passive in angelic sleep,
hair lightly brushing his eyelids. What I feel for Malfoy is completely
different. I think of him and I feel this burning in my chest; a
conflagration of lust, violence, exasperation, and even a touch of, dare I
think it?, fondness. Instead of a single frozen moment, when I think of
him its like a hail of images bash my senses. I see him, kneeling between
my wantonly parted thighs, his wicked smirk when he knows he has uttered
one insult too many, the triumphant glint his eyes posses when he feels my
physical response to his rough possession of my flesh. Most remarkable,
perhaps, is the way my eyes burn unexpectedly at the ambivalent expression
on his face when we come face to face in the harsh light of day. Its at
times like those I am reminded that this is all a game, a sad farce in
which I have made an utter ass of myself by believing so gullibly. Its at
times like those I resolve once again not to fall prey to his seductions.
Then he pulls me into his embrace and does that simple service which not even Harry, in all our years of friendship, has ever provided. He listens to me. While he runs his fingers through hideous red hair and nuzzles an atrociously speckled neck, he provides an environment so reassuring I feel as if I cannot help but unburden my mind to his attentive ear. It seems odd he chose me of all people on whom to bestow his physical affection. I mean, I have eyes, I have seen the specter which peers back from the harsh mirror and thusly have no delusions I might be considered mildly attractive to either Malfoy nor Harry. Yet, despite this, it is I whom he kisses nightly. My unattractive form he finds pleasure in laving with tongue and touch. And I cannot help but be both flattered and intrigued.
I know I have neither George's charm, Fred's humor, nor Percy's achievements, but, nightly in the arms of Draco Malfoy, I feel as if I have that which I never before possessed.
Worth.
***
When will he cease his worthless babbling? The question reverberated through my mind as I watched Carlos cloth himself at the foot of his bed, his mouth never ceasing its insufferable movement, although I had long since tuned out. Sprawled naked atop the sheets, I employed a skill I had long ago mastered: the art of feigning attentiveness. So certain was I of my ability to appear interested, I allowed my mind to wander through many topics before settling on that which most occupied my thoughts as of late. Ron Weasley. The image which was immediately conjured in my mind's eye threatened to spill my lips into a fond expression, however I stifled the urge before it made itself present.
"Are you even listening?"
"Of course I am," I dutifully responded.
"Of course you are," he parroted. "You always listen. Then, perhaps, you will agree with my last statement."
"Certainly." I promptly said, figuring I had a fifty percent chance of being correct.
At my assent, Carlos waved his wand over his knuckle, muttering some charm that didn't quite reach my ear. Stalking to my reclining side, he raked his eyes across my body in a distinctly predatorial manner. Lingering at my eyes, I only had a moment to realize his own had taken that sickly yellow shade they turn prior to doing something particularly violent, before he was holding me down, his accursed family ring brutally digging into my hip. What started as an uncomfortable warmth swiftly sifted into a scalding heat. As he held it there for several minutes, I resolutely stared at the draping above the bed, my clenched jaw and fists the only reaction to the searing pain.
When finally he let me go he brushed a swift kiss across my forehead before saying "I'm so glad you agreed to take on my mark." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving me to my suffering. As my mind gradually accepted the pain, I gingerly maneuvered my body until I could better examine the wound. There, marring the pale flesh of my right hip, the white beginnings of a blister was swiftly rising from amidst the redness of abused skin. An elaborate "J" glared tauntingly, daring me to disprove its existence, labeling me as if I were some type of livestock.
My mind screamed as my heart resignedly accepted I now had tangible evidence I was property of Carlos Jaggers.
***
A.N.- I would like to apologize to all my readers for my tardiness in this latest installment. I have had a lot on my mind, including a lengthy debate on whether I should discontinue the writing of this story. After a particularly in depth conversation with my latest muse (that freakin genius) I resolved to finish my story. I'm sure most of you are glad by that decision, lol. Yes, I intend to complete my story, never you fear, gentle readers. The next chapters should come out swifter then its predecessor. Also, I would again like to thank all who reviewed this story. Whenever I read a review, it inspires me to continue writing, no matter how hard a literary predicament I am in…hint hint. ;-)
Then he pulls me into his embrace and does that simple service which not even Harry, in all our years of friendship, has ever provided. He listens to me. While he runs his fingers through hideous red hair and nuzzles an atrociously speckled neck, he provides an environment so reassuring I feel as if I cannot help but unburden my mind to his attentive ear. It seems odd he chose me of all people on whom to bestow his physical affection. I mean, I have eyes, I have seen the specter which peers back from the harsh mirror and thusly have no delusions I might be considered mildly attractive to either Malfoy nor Harry. Yet, despite this, it is I whom he kisses nightly. My unattractive form he finds pleasure in laving with tongue and touch. And I cannot help but be both flattered and intrigued.
I know I have neither George's charm, Fred's humor, nor Percy's achievements, but, nightly in the arms of Draco Malfoy, I feel as if I have that which I never before possessed.
Worth.
***
When will he cease his worthless babbling? The question reverberated through my mind as I watched Carlos cloth himself at the foot of his bed, his mouth never ceasing its insufferable movement, although I had long since tuned out. Sprawled naked atop the sheets, I employed a skill I had long ago mastered: the art of feigning attentiveness. So certain was I of my ability to appear interested, I allowed my mind to wander through many topics before settling on that which most occupied my thoughts as of late. Ron Weasley. The image which was immediately conjured in my mind's eye threatened to spill my lips into a fond expression, however I stifled the urge before it made itself present.
"Are you even listening?"
"Of course I am," I dutifully responded.
"Of course you are," he parroted. "You always listen. Then, perhaps, you will agree with my last statement."
"Certainly." I promptly said, figuring I had a fifty percent chance of being correct.
At my assent, Carlos waved his wand over his knuckle, muttering some charm that didn't quite reach my ear. Stalking to my reclining side, he raked his eyes across my body in a distinctly predatorial manner. Lingering at my eyes, I only had a moment to realize his own had taken that sickly yellow shade they turn prior to doing something particularly violent, before he was holding me down, his accursed family ring brutally digging into my hip. What started as an uncomfortable warmth swiftly sifted into a scalding heat. As he held it there for several minutes, I resolutely stared at the draping above the bed, my clenched jaw and fists the only reaction to the searing pain.
When finally he let me go he brushed a swift kiss across my forehead before saying "I'm so glad you agreed to take on my mark." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving me to my suffering. As my mind gradually accepted the pain, I gingerly maneuvered my body until I could better examine the wound. There, marring the pale flesh of my right hip, the white beginnings of a blister was swiftly rising from amidst the redness of abused skin. An elaborate "J" glared tauntingly, daring me to disprove its existence, labeling me as if I were some type of livestock.
My mind screamed as my heart resignedly accepted I now had tangible evidence I was property of Carlos Jaggers.
***
A.N.- I would like to apologize to all my readers for my tardiness in this latest installment. I have had a lot on my mind, including a lengthy debate on whether I should discontinue the writing of this story. After a particularly in depth conversation with my latest muse (that freakin genius) I resolved to finish my story. I'm sure most of you are glad by that decision, lol. Yes, I intend to complete my story, never you fear, gentle readers. The next chapters should come out swifter then its predecessor. Also, I would again like to thank all who reviewed this story. Whenever I read a review, it inspires me to continue writing, no matter how hard a literary predicament I am in…hint hint. ;-)