Author – Yisreal
Warnings – Very large age differences between the two males? Prosy annoying
thought processes.
Spoilers - Not that I can think of.
Disclaimer - I just wrote the story, everything Harry Potter is not mine.
Summary - Harry contemplates his feelings toward his professor and wonders
what to do with them when the need to do something becomes more powerful
than the need not to. Harry/Remus, a lot of thinking and contemplation.
Feedback? Yes... definitely.
A/N - A heck of a lot of long prosy thoughts about an attraction that is not supposed to be.
I lay my head upon his chest as my arms curl around his neck and his own find their way around my waist. I find that I have practically crawled into his lap and yet he doesn't object. But then, he doesn't know that I'm a terrible little liar. He doesn't know that I need to be held by him, to be here in his lap, to feel his breath soft upon my hair, to have the warmth of his chest radiating through my pajamas merely because I want him. I want to feel those soft, thin and yet perfectly peeked lips upon my own. I want to hear that warm and yet controlled voice whispering commands in my ear while he pressed his body against mine and holds my wrists high above my head. He is my friend, my teacher, my father, my crush, my love, my comforter, my god.
He says soft words into my hair. "Talk to me." He commands. "Tell me what's on your mind." Indeed, always my protector, always there to ask what is wrong, always there to know something is awry. Always there for me. I almost feel dirty at moments like these. Not for wanting him, but for lying to him. I make up these excuses so that he will do this for me. So I can know that he feels so tenderly about me.
I reply, weaving my romantic tale deeper, damning myself for my sins once more, lying to him while I enjoy the encompassing feeling that his near proximity gives me. His scent is like a drug, his warmth is like a blanket, his words sound more like confessions of his love to my ears in my dazed state. I talk about nightmares and stress and pressure and that I don't think I can handle it all anymore.
He can never know, never, that I feel for him the way I do. That the world as I know it slips slowly from my fingers as I loose concentration on things I used to think were important. He can't know that my nights are not restless because of nightmares but because of other more pleasant dreams. He can't know that I find it harder to concentrate during classes because I can't keep my mind from straying to him. He can't know that I feel overwhelmed by the need to hold all these feelings in.
His hand rubs over my back in large, soothing circles. He makes me feel so special. The fact that he even cares as much as he does in intoxicating. I nuzzle lightly at his neck in affection and he holds me tighter. I wonder sometimes if he feels it too, this need I have for him. I wonder if he knows this is all wrong. But it doesn't really matter, just as long as he doesn't push me away. He can think what he want, just as long as he still holds me like this.
I was taking advantage of him, yes, of him, of my current situation and his kindness. And should he ever figure out I could only hope that he wouldn't hate me for it. It wasn't that these things I told him weren't true, simply quite a bit exaggerated.
I still my mumbling lips, for effect of course. I have become the perfect actor. I can play his every emotion and I both love and loathe every moment of it. Every time I walk away I feel more guilty and every night I lie in bed alone I feel more needy and every time I come to him like this I feel as if he might feel for me like I do for him. These moments are always the most dangerous. The times where my heart's true confessions could come tumbling from my lips at any time, my lips that tremble from fear of him finding out my sordid little secret. My eyes close softly not only from his warmth but also to hide that defeated look within my eyes that tells that I have allowed myself at last to fall. May the gods help us all, there is no doubt that the great Harry Potter has indeed fallen from the heavens and does not even try to call for the angels to catch him anymore. The reason for falling is too great and all too persuasive. But by Merlin, I hear his voice and it sounds more like an angel sighing than one coming from a mere wizard.
He wraps his fingers around my arms and holds me away from him slightly to look at my eyes. "Are you okay now?"
::God no::, I think, ::don't send me back yet.:: I nod slowly and say yes softly, hoping that it looked pitiful enough for him not make me leave yet. It took so much damn courage to even walk into his door that I didn't want to walk back out of it so quickly. He smiles slightly, I know he can't contain it even though he tries to suppress it. I don't let it show but his lips look so very delectable when curved into a smile. I can imagine just while looking at them: my eyes growing heavy-lidded as I lean in to gently touch those delicious looking lips. His eyes widening in surprise as a response, though they soon fall shut as well and he responds warmly to my kiss, taking over and pulling my tense body closer to him. His hands sliding lower until... Oh lord, I'm going start blushing or becoming aroused if I go on. Focus, Harry, focus.
There are some moments where I can swear to you and everyone that it's all perfectly okay and that he doesn't make me begin to feel that huge hollow within my heart that seems to grow heavier like a black hole inside of me. And as it become heavier its gravity begins to become too much for me to withstand and my whole life begins to revolve around it. He is my star and my love is in the last stages of it's hiding; I just have this ineffable belief that this whole little secret will show itself soon. And, perhaps for once, my gut feeling will be proved wrong. But then, most "gut feelings" I've ever experienced before were never really felt by my "gut" but rather my scar, and this is such a different matter.
He wriggles out from under me and I know, now that I am no longer crying in his shoulder, that he's beginning to feel that his current situation is somewhat uncomfortable not to mention suggestive. I instantly regret being pushed away from his warmth and yet I cannot feel hurt that he pushes me away, I've been too prepared for too long. I'm more ready than any person should rightfully be to be pushed away and yet I'm still not half as ready to be rejected. And somehow, I know that if it all ends right now, if I tell him right now that I love him and he doesn't love me, it's all going to be all right in the end. I just don't to stop; I want to pretend longer.
Sometimes... Indeed, sometimes I begin to wonder if I was to just lean in and... But... There is always a 'but'... however, this time ... Indeed, this 'but' is different.
But before I can finish my thought process that would most surely have stopped such a 'but' as this from coming to mind, I've leaned forward towards that momentarily missed heat that seems to always radiate from him and my lips are pressed softly to his.
A/Post Note – Heh-heh. I guess you figure out what happens next, eh? Why did I stop there? Not to be just plain mean, no, and not because I got lazy, just because I'm not quite sure how I want it to end, do I want a happy ending or an ending that simply seems more likely? So, why not simply let you decide. You decide whether Remus pushed Harry away or not, not me. Lol. I now know how the writer of The Lady or the Tiger feels.
Feedback? Yes... definitely.
A/N - A heck of a lot of long prosy thoughts about an attraction that is not supposed to be.
I lay my head upon his chest as my arms curl around his neck and his own find their way around my waist. I find that I have practically crawled into his lap and yet he doesn't object. But then, he doesn't know that I'm a terrible little liar. He doesn't know that I need to be held by him, to be here in his lap, to feel his breath soft upon my hair, to have the warmth of his chest radiating through my pajamas merely because I want him. I want to feel those soft, thin and yet perfectly peeked lips upon my own. I want to hear that warm and yet controlled voice whispering commands in my ear while he pressed his body against mine and holds my wrists high above my head. He is my friend, my teacher, my father, my crush, my love, my comforter, my god.
He says soft words into my hair. "Talk to me." He commands. "Tell me what's on your mind." Indeed, always my protector, always there to ask what is wrong, always there to know something is awry. Always there for me. I almost feel dirty at moments like these. Not for wanting him, but for lying to him. I make up these excuses so that he will do this for me. So I can know that he feels so tenderly about me.
I reply, weaving my romantic tale deeper, damning myself for my sins once more, lying to him while I enjoy the encompassing feeling that his near proximity gives me. His scent is like a drug, his warmth is like a blanket, his words sound more like confessions of his love to my ears in my dazed state. I talk about nightmares and stress and pressure and that I don't think I can handle it all anymore.
He can never know, never, that I feel for him the way I do. That the world as I know it slips slowly from my fingers as I loose concentration on things I used to think were important. He can't know that my nights are not restless because of nightmares but because of other more pleasant dreams. He can't know that I find it harder to concentrate during classes because I can't keep my mind from straying to him. He can't know that I feel overwhelmed by the need to hold all these feelings in.
His hand rubs over my back in large, soothing circles. He makes me feel so special. The fact that he even cares as much as he does in intoxicating. I nuzzle lightly at his neck in affection and he holds me tighter. I wonder sometimes if he feels it too, this need I have for him. I wonder if he knows this is all wrong. But it doesn't really matter, just as long as he doesn't push me away. He can think what he want, just as long as he still holds me like this.
I was taking advantage of him, yes, of him, of my current situation and his kindness. And should he ever figure out I could only hope that he wouldn't hate me for it. It wasn't that these things I told him weren't true, simply quite a bit exaggerated.
I still my mumbling lips, for effect of course. I have become the perfect actor. I can play his every emotion and I both love and loathe every moment of it. Every time I walk away I feel more guilty and every night I lie in bed alone I feel more needy and every time I come to him like this I feel as if he might feel for me like I do for him. These moments are always the most dangerous. The times where my heart's true confessions could come tumbling from my lips at any time, my lips that tremble from fear of him finding out my sordid little secret. My eyes close softly not only from his warmth but also to hide that defeated look within my eyes that tells that I have allowed myself at last to fall. May the gods help us all, there is no doubt that the great Harry Potter has indeed fallen from the heavens and does not even try to call for the angels to catch him anymore. The reason for falling is too great and all too persuasive. But by Merlin, I hear his voice and it sounds more like an angel sighing than one coming from a mere wizard.
He wraps his fingers around my arms and holds me away from him slightly to look at my eyes. "Are you okay now?"
::God no::, I think, ::don't send me back yet.:: I nod slowly and say yes softly, hoping that it looked pitiful enough for him not make me leave yet. It took so much damn courage to even walk into his door that I didn't want to walk back out of it so quickly. He smiles slightly, I know he can't contain it even though he tries to suppress it. I don't let it show but his lips look so very delectable when curved into a smile. I can imagine just while looking at them: my eyes growing heavy-lidded as I lean in to gently touch those delicious looking lips. His eyes widening in surprise as a response, though they soon fall shut as well and he responds warmly to my kiss, taking over and pulling my tense body closer to him. His hands sliding lower until... Oh lord, I'm going start blushing or becoming aroused if I go on. Focus, Harry, focus.
There are some moments where I can swear to you and everyone that it's all perfectly okay and that he doesn't make me begin to feel that huge hollow within my heart that seems to grow heavier like a black hole inside of me. And as it become heavier its gravity begins to become too much for me to withstand and my whole life begins to revolve around it. He is my star and my love is in the last stages of it's hiding; I just have this ineffable belief that this whole little secret will show itself soon. And, perhaps for once, my gut feeling will be proved wrong. But then, most "gut feelings" I've ever experienced before were never really felt by my "gut" but rather my scar, and this is such a different matter.
He wriggles out from under me and I know, now that I am no longer crying in his shoulder, that he's beginning to feel that his current situation is somewhat uncomfortable not to mention suggestive. I instantly regret being pushed away from his warmth and yet I cannot feel hurt that he pushes me away, I've been too prepared for too long. I'm more ready than any person should rightfully be to be pushed away and yet I'm still not half as ready to be rejected. And somehow, I know that if it all ends right now, if I tell him right now that I love him and he doesn't love me, it's all going to be all right in the end. I just don't to stop; I want to pretend longer.
Sometimes... Indeed, sometimes I begin to wonder if I was to just lean in and... But... There is always a 'but'... however, this time ... Indeed, this 'but' is different.
But before I can finish my thought process that would most surely have stopped such a 'but' as this from coming to mind, I've leaned forward towards that momentarily missed heat that seems to always radiate from him and my lips are pressed softly to his.
A/Post Note – Heh-heh. I guess you figure out what happens next, eh? Why did I stop there? Not to be just plain mean, no, and not because I got lazy, just because I'm not quite sure how I want it to end, do I want a happy ending or an ending that simply seems more likely? So, why not simply let you decide. You decide whether Remus pushed Harry away or not, not me. Lol. I now know how the writer of The Lady or the Tiger feels.