Night lift up the shades let in the brilliant light of morning

But steady me now for I am weak and starving for mercy

Sleep has left me alone to carry the weight of unraveling where we went wrong

And all I can do to hang on, to keep me from falling into old familiar shoes

It's morning, and I want to scream at you for daring to trespass into space that doesn't belong to you, but instead I roll over to smell the traces left of you on the pillow next to mine. I bury my face in it, smothering that familiar feeling of wanting to go find you, pull you into some hidden corner of the school, and do all in my power to leave you whimpering for me on the floor.

Even though it usually ends up the other way around, with me on the floor trying to suppress the cries that threaten to tear out of my throat while you tease me with your fingers, your tongue, even your presence.

It crosses my mind that this is entirely all wrong, but—not for the first time, probably not for the last—I brush the thought aside. Savior of the Wizarding World and the son of The Dark Lord's Right-Hand-Man sneaking about with each other at odd hours, doing the unexplainable... Let's hope that one never gets out to the presses. They'll have a field day.

I miss you already. I can't tell you off for daring to make me love you if you aren't here. I inhale deeply, as if being able to smell your sweat on my sheets might cause you to exist here again. Instead, I find myself smiling as I remember how that sweat got there in the first place. I was partly responsible for that. You were the one sweating, but I was the one provoking you. Your body shone in the light from the candle on the bedstand, tempting me to lick you, and I have a hard time resisting temptation. That spot of flesh just above your collarbone, the hollow place to the left of your neck... You moaned and thrashed a little, because I was caressing you so lovingly up and down your shaft, and you were so close to coming but I wasn't quite doing enough to push you over that edge, to send you crashing down.

It's the only time I feel like I'm manipulating you, like I have you—heh, truly have you—in the palm of my hand. I relish in that feeling, and I could almost come from that alone.

Almost.

I'm awake now, and I'm aroused because of you. Fuck you for turning me on without even being in the same room. Only you can do that to me. It's only ever been you, though I'm sure Pansy tried. Poor Pansy. I almost feel bad not telling her she doesn't have a chance.

My life can never be normal because of you. Bastard. I hate you for making me love you. This is all your fault, and I still can't figure out how you did it or when it started.

Well. I know when 'we' started. You learned to read my expressions, and finally cornered me about it. You were so close, and the wall behind me would NOT give way, and then you said “You've got a crush on me” and the floor would NOT just swallow me up out of sympathy. You didn't even have the decency to make it a question, which I might've been able to deny; instead, I froze. But you were still so close, and I was still so afraid to look up, and I couldn't challenge you when I could feel the heat of your body in that cold hallway on my face—on my face, you prat! Do you realize how close you were?!

You were so pleased with yourself, too. You had me cornered, literally and figuratively, and—as you so kindly pointed out—for once, I had no sarcastic response.

You stepped in, and I made the tiniest whimper of alarm before you leaned in and pressed your lips to my mouth. I would've melted, but in the act of stepping in you had put a thigh between mine. There's no melting from that sort of action. Quite the opposite.

Then you pulled back and walked off as if nothing extraordinary had just happened, and with your life I suppose it wasn't, but you had just turned my world inside out, pulled it in directions that aren't supposed to exist, and I couldn't do anything but stand there in shock, gradually running later and later for my next class. I couldn't even remember what class I was supposed to be going to.

How stupid could I be

A simpleton could see

That you're no good for me

But you're the only one I see

For two and a half days, I was utterly useless in just about everything. I couldn't focus in class, I forgot to eat—even when Mum sent a package full of sweets—and during Quidditch practice, I only sailed around on my broom. Uselessly. Aimlessly. My thoughts were far, far above, lost in a cloud of fantasy and desire where you and I did more than just kiss. A lot more. I fantasized with such focus that I could almost feel your hands on my skin.

You were such a distraction that I should have known better, that I should have forced myself to refuse your presence had any sort of affect on me, that I should have refused you in every way possible, even that you existed.

That same afternoon, I decided to take a few extra flights around the Quidditch pitch while the rest of the team went in to shower. I was too turned on to trust myself under a stream of hot water that might feel just a little bit like fingertips running over my skin. When I was sure my team mates were done washing up, I landed and headed for the showers myself.

Wanking seemed like a very good idea, and I planned to think about anyone but you.

I'd gotten my gear and my shirt off and was working on the button and zipper to my trousers before I heard footfalls coming from the doorway, and I looked up in mild disappointment, thinking “Well there goes my personal time,” when I realized it was you standing there and staring at me.

It was like some, albeit corny, fantasy from there.

I know I looked stunning, expression still surprised with my hands holding my trousers open, preparing to pull them off. I know, because your pupils had dilated to the size of dimes, and while you had that triumphant look on your face that said you had caught me off-guard and knew it, your mouth was hanging open oh-so-slightly with desire.

“What are you doing here?” I sneered, desperate for some sort of recovery from my shock.

“Looking for you.” The words coupled with that look of pure desire on your face shot a hole through my defenses; that wasn't what I was expecting. Then you were walking towards me in something that felt so much like being cornered in the hallway again, only there was no wall behind me to hold me up. I held my ground, and I stared at you as defiantly as possible.

“I have to shower,” I informed you, but from the look on your face, this idea hadn't escaped your attention. You smiled.

“So do I.”

You stripped your shirt off, and I realized I had never seen so much of your skin at once. Like me, you're built for being a Seeker. The exercise has been lost on neither of us.

My pants started to feel a little too strained, and it occurred to me that we were about to do something I had a very high chance of regretting later.

But I still did it.

Love has made me a fool set me on fire and watched as I floundered
unable to speak except to cry out and wait for your answer

I continued removing my clothes, ignoring the sheen of fresh, nervous sweat that was beginning to form on my skin. I wrapped a towel around my waist before taking off my pants, and I turned away from you to walk over to the showers. I was too shocked to respond any other way. You aren't supposed to stand up to me, or act so aggressively sexual. Until that day, you were barely supposed to have a sex-life outside of my late night thoughts, thoughts that only happen when the lights are out.

I turned on the water and set the towel aside, determined to lose myself in the stream of water flowing down. For the most part, I must've succeeded; when you murmured “You forgot the soap” directly behind me, I was genuinely startled, and made it half-way through giving you a dirty look when you put your lathered up hands on my back and began rubbing.

“What in hell do you think you're doing?!” I snapped, and almost turned around, realized you were naked and turned back.

“Doesn't it feel good?”
“Yes, but that's not the point!...”

Your hands worked lower, and I sighed as you hit a tender spot. I jolted in surprise as you wrapped an arm around my chest as a support, still rubbing that spot with the other hand.

After several minutes of that, I felt the arm supporting me against the firm back rub glide down my stomach, the water still beating on me, and I felt every muscle in my body tighten as your hand found my manhood. You leaned in close to me, pressing your own shaft against my back.

You tightened your grip on my glans and began to fist it, and I felt the sensation explode in my brain and trickle down to every other nerve in my body. I steadied myself with one hand against the wall. When the sensation hit my toes, it scrambled back upward again, settling into my stomach.

With an uncharacteristic timidness, I reached a wet hand behind me and ran my fingers down your stomach, wrapped my hand around your own length, and began rubbing my thumb over the head. Your head tipped forward and rested on my shoulder as you eased into the pleasure, and—as if you were feeling a little loss of control and were trying to get it back—you bit at the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I grunted, my stomach muscles clenched, and I felt my fingertips and toes start to buzz from the pleasure. I cried out when I came. So did you.

It was so sweet of you to wash my back after that, then wash everything else. You ran your eyes and hands over every muscle as if you were committing them to memory.

But as soon as we were both finished bathing, you dressed, gave me a kiss that made my toes tingle again, and disappeared up to the castle.

It hurt to watch you leave.

and you come around in your time speaking of fabulous places create
an oasis that dries up as soon as youre gone
you leave me here burning in this desert without you

That night, I went to bed early only to stay up half the night trying to wrap my brain around everything that had happened. I was so confused, but I didn't want it to never happen again. I wanted it to happen over and over, and worse, I wanted to see you and talk with you and connect with you without having to do that, too. Or anything like it.

There was no opportunity over the following four days for either of us to talk, which was infuriating and cause for one of the worst moods I have ever been in. My life became pointless, empty and barren and dull because of how little involvement you had in it. When we did finally have the time to talk, the first words I said were, “What the hell is going through your head?!”

“You,” was all you said, and the anger and frustration I had been so ready to unload on you dissipated.

I swallowed, as if that would help me hold onto my rage. “Why?”

“Because of that look on your face in the shower,” you said with a sly smile, and I resisted the urge to hit you. No one besides you has ever seen that, and sometimes I still want to smack you and scream “How dare you?!” for knowing me that well.

We talked. Our feelings towards each other weren't mutual; to say they were mutual would be saying that you and I were both in love with each other and doing our best to hide it. I certainly tried to hide it, but you figured me out and decided to prove it to me, to rub my weakness in my face. You weren't scared of approaching me.

The only time it's a problem, of course, is when you aren't here. I can't get mad at you for being the object of my affection when I can see you standing there. When you're with me, all I want is to feel you against me, to hear your voice. It doesn't matter if we're fully dressed or stripped bare, though there's a clear difference of intention. Either way, when you're with me, the rest of the world is just background noise.

When your gone, everything is dull, empty, and without reason. I hate being without you.

Everything changes

everything falls apart

I can't stand to feel myself losing control

in the deep of my senses I know

I am so lost in you. It almost hurts, knowing that. I want to hate you for it, for having so much power over me and for being able to manipulate me and for being so difficult to manipulate in return. You murmur in my ear that you adore me, you worship me, that I am the most beautiful thing, and I love to hear it because it makes me feel like I still have a grip on where this is going. I don't tell you that you've become the focus of my world. I refuse to admit to you that you hold that power over me because that would be acknowledging that you have, once and for all, defeated me.

You're the only one I see