Midnight visitor

Harry pulls me under the water with him, the rivulets of warmth caressing my skin in a sensual dance made more unbelievably erotic by his nearness to me. He captures my mouth with another kiss and plunders everything there. I briefly wonder if he's just trying to keep my mouth busy so I can't talk sense into us. What was done is done, but do we have to make it worse by compounding the problem? Just at this moment, my senses are being overrun by the feeling of wet skin on skin with the disorienting affect on the senses that flowing water over one's head and back brings. His gorgeous body is pressed up tight to me, my breath is stolen from me by hot kisses, water, steam and the slightly crushing tension of his arms around me. We're both panting, nothing else exists in the world but the shower, this heavy feeling, and us. Every nerve ending is alive, his hands scraping along my back, kneading muscles there.

I give in to all the urges pressing at me from all sides- the need to touch him back had been plucking at my fingertips. With a groan I give everything I've been receiving and let the magical timeless moment sweep me- with him- away completely. Everything is humming, so hot and deliciously... pressure, pleasure, desire... gods, just lips and teeth and arms- his chest, so hard, my breasts pressed against hard muscle, ripped... that's what he is, just unbelievably corded and hot and wanting ME... the hard length of everything about him, thighs pressed, cock pressed, abs pressed, pecs and arms, is it possible to be this close? All these parts of us colliding and together, sliding in slickness that makes it seem all the closer. Breathing ragged, I could come just from this, I could live like this, ravenous for him and sated in the heat and reality of him.

I cannot stress just how perfect all of this is- aching, tormenting, completing, compelling, another edge, another place between where we were and where we are. I thought I knew him, but now, I feel as if I AM him, with all the confusion that these desires and emotions bring because it's all too much, all too real and piquant and STRONG. The human mind wasn't meant for the processing- mostly it's just quick transition. Here in the between, in the paradox, this is where we live now, where we are nearly... but not quite... there. Where we are right and happy and nothing can touch us, not time, not outside influences, not temperance, not restraint.

And yet it's all an illusion. Somewhere, we break contact- so we can breathe. So we don't just die where we stand in the name of the edge. A few quick rasps and he reaches for me again. I am addicted to his touch, to his emerald eyes boring into mine- drilling- to my soul. We dance in the dark places a while longer, in the places that are meant to be momentary. Dimly I am aware that he lifts me and I feel the cold tile of the wall on my back, soothing me, bracing me, and he slides his shaft home, sheathing it in my core.

Another plateau, another timelessness, nails biting into shoulder blades, torrential longing, a storm of desire, raindrops pouring in a private universe. He moves in me, firmly, deeply, agonizingly intense eyes keep my gaze. I frame his face with fingers as he moves us, my legs wrapped around lean hips. I try but can't keep the wonder, the longing, and the amazement out of my expression. His eyes smolder as he eats up my every emotion with his hungry gaze. I cannot help it- I want this, want him, need him, love him. It only serves to prove to him he is right. It fuels this course of action. It presses him closer to me, when I am poison to him. He is stubborn. He will do what he wants, what he thinks is best, and I cannot stop him any more than I can stop the orgasm that is winding its way through me, gripping at his plunging erection, pulling at the seed within him in waves of contracting lust as I throw my head back and moan loudly.

But he holds on, despite my body's efforts to make that not the case. He wants more from me, needs the loss of control that is coming, needs to hear me shout his name, will not be satisfied until I bare my soul to him and show him just how depraved I really am.

Here it comes.... "Oh, Harry... Oh Gods, yes, Harry! Harry! It's getting hot... I think I'm going crazy, your cock, oh gods, yes, so hard, so fast, inside of me... So deep, Fuck me! YES! HARRY!"

He comes with a rumbling shout, building inside, torn from his lips as his hips piston in and out, faster, harder, grinding, binding, taking away all the sanity in me. He doesn't pull out, lets his damning semen pour in to storm the gates of my womb as he forces his way deeper into my soul. I feel the dregs of it seep out around his still hard erection as he holds me in place against the wall. I'm trembling, so is he. There are no words... no words to describe.

Heaven and hell walk hand in hand. Redemption and damnation two edges of the same sword, what feels so right is wrong, what feels wrong is so very compelling. We do this because we cannot help it. He pulls his cock from me, eases me down the wall, and kisses the thoughts right out of my head.

We are doomed.

And still, nothing is resolved.

And still, so many questions and conflicts remain.

But I know this isn't the end. We'll do this dance again.

I follow him into my bedroom again, swirling thoughts and confused logic. I love him but I must push him away. But he will never let me. Because he's Harry and the only way that this will end is if he decides it is so.

He picks up his clothing strewn on the floor by my bed, gives his pajamas a sniff and makes a weird face. Drops them in the chute. Rummages in my closet, a jovial smile on his gorgeous face. How can I crush that lovely happiness? How could I possibly let him down? So I keep my horrid torment to myself and resolve to trust in Harry. Harry can fix this. Harry can make it right, he'll save us all one day, so he must know what he is doing. Right?

He finds a pair of jeans in the back, transfigures them to fit his slightly taller frame, magically lets out the width of the legs so he doesn't look ridiculous in them. Does the same to a white tee shirt of mine. He does it without effort, and I am proud of him for a heartbeat. He slips into it all and the sight of him fully clothed is only slightly less arousing than the sight of his nude body. The jeans hang off his lean hips and the thin material of the shirt clings to the muscles of his chest and abdomen.

I am damned. I am lost. How can I say no to Harry? The years of quiddich and the manly form he grows into is not lost on my hormones, which at the moment prompt me to rip the clothing right back off him. Thankfully, he's slightly thick in the head after our bout of awesome sex in the shower, so he doesn't notice the look of all-consuming lust on my face and the fact that my mouth is slightly open from its dryness. I manage to tear my eyes away in time for him to come up to me and kiss me quickly, my arms uselessly holding the towel to my breasts.

"See you at breakfast, yeah?" He waves to me from the door, blushing slightly as I simply nod and wave back.

I'm going to hell. I just know it. But, gods, I'll enjoy the ride.
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Breakfast happens in a sort of uncomfortable silence that only seems that way to anyone who feels guilty about something. Ron is single-mindedly tearing into whatever sustenance he can get his hands on. Ginny makes moon-eyes at Harry who self-conciously fidgets while he shovels food into his face. I, for one am attempting to gauge the reactions of everyone while looking anywhere but at Harry. I forget myself and catch the eyes of one of the people I normally do my best to ignore: Draco Malfoy. He notices my interest and makes lewd gestures with his fingers and tongue. I turn my gaze to the seat beside him and watch the perfectly painted Pansy Parkinson cackle with glee at my discomfort.

It is all becoming quickly to much to bear this early in the morning. I excuse myself and retire from the table to sit in the library amidst the stacks of books that want nothing from me... well, nothing more than to be read and understood, for that is the purpose of books. An hour later and I feel the disconcerting tingly feeling on the back of my neck that says I am being watched.

I nonchalantly slip my hand into my pocket and feel the familiar smooth wood handle of my wand. Pretending that nothing is amiss, I brush the tendrils of hair out of my face that have escaped from the loose bun I tied them in. I stand and stretch, working the kinks out of my neck before wheeling around, wand at the ready.

Nothing. There is no one there.

Instead of being reassured, I am doubly wary. There are so many reasons why I should not drop my guard, so many ways to fool the sight. My awareness reaches outward as I close my eyes. I sense no malice, no evil intent, only the strange feeling of a pair of eyes watching me, weighing my actions, waiting. "Impervio," I murmur, thickening the air around me to guard against magical attack.

Through the magical barrier, I see a shimmer. I latch onto it with my eyes and follow the blur to the door. There is no sound, only the pounding of my battle-ready heart and the soft whisper of my steady breathing. I drop the barrier at the same instant that I cast an "Immobulus" charm at the shimmer. I feel the power of the spell catch and bind whatever is hiding behind a disillusionment. My wand still pointed at my watcher, presumably bound by the power of the charm, I cautiously make my way to stand before the place my spell hit.

"You can drop the disillusionment, now, or I will find out who you are any way, and believe me, you don't want me to have to find out for myself." I wait a heartbeat or two, when nothing happens. For all my bravado, I am not entirely sure if I could cause any one any real harm. After all, no evil intent was being pushed my way. I reach out to the place where the mystery watcher should be and encounter something soft, but firm. It takes me a moment or two of feeling around before my mind wraps around what it is I am touching... rather, Groping.

If there was any doubt in my mind, it is now completely gone as a soft, feminine sigh of pleasure reaches my ears. "Ah, umm...." I stammer... "That's your breast, isn't it." I state kind of matter-of-factly, still stunned at the feeling of a nipple straining against my palm under a thin layer of fabric.

"Yeah," the girl says in a breathy kind of whisper.

Why haven't I let go yet? "Well, umm... right then." My hand drops to my side and a sound that is suspiciously like disappointment comes from the vocal chords of my mystery girl. "Drop the disillusionment," I try to gather my wits from out of the embarrassed confusion, coupled with some other elusive emotion that I can't rightly fathom at the moment...definitely don't want to think about it. NOT desire. I'm a- well, I think I'm straight. Completely beside the point, really. This is just not as important as finding out who's been watching me and why.

The blushing visage of my best girl friend surfaces out of thin air, looking as confused as I am. The one I've been betraying with my best guy friend. So heap guilt atop embarrassment, confusion, desire, and relief. "Ginny... what?" I wave my wand and she is free.

"Sorry... I um... gotta go. Don't tell Harry, yeah?" She dashes out before I can so much as blink. Don't tell Harry? Oh that poor, naive, young, nubile, firm - stop it- red head... if only she knew the secrets that Harry has been keeping from her, that I've been keeping.

Kinda puts the whole mistaken groping thing into perspective.

Still doesn't answer the question of WHY she was watching me. Probably suspicious. Who could blame her? Or maybe spying for Ron.

And then there's the fact that I still feel as if I am being watched.

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A/N Back to plot after all the lemons... there should be more interesting developments soon, as I am getting bored with just Harry and Hermione. Too much WAFF not enough Anguish and Strife.
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