Trash

Title: Trash
Author: Abyss
Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP, angst
Warnings: Dark themes, slight language, violence, rape, slash.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, and all those other people I don\'t know about, and stuff.

Summary: … but I still can\'t help but wonder, what do you think about when you do this to me? Sequel to \'Shrouded in Black.\'

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You roughly push me against the wall, your familiar gaze cold, deadly almost. Every time it\'s the same; you try to hurt me, and you do. Fuck, you\'re so good at it. I doubt you\'d ever realize how hard the stone walls are, cold and sharp, just like you. The bruises on my back only grow, the skin sometimes breaking; the layers of clothes on my back can\'t protect it, not that I really mind. Now, how long ago was it that this had started? Weeks? Perhaps even months, but I can\'t exactly recall a time when you hadn\'t been there at night; I can\'t recall a time when there hadn\'t been bruises on my back, or there hadn\'t been torn fabric and ripped seams to fix.

I\'ve always wondered what went through your mind, as you rip off my plain, white button down shirt, letting it tumble to the stone floor, to be forgotten about until we\'re finished. Your cold hands travel, like they always do, across my chest; your blunt, bitten fingernails leaving red, embossed trails whenever they scrape across my too thin torso. That gleam in your eye never goes away, the pleasure I know you get from being in control, but I still can\'t help but wonder… what do you think about when you do this to me?

I can hear you moan loudly as you press your hips into mine. e nie nights, they\'re always the same. It\'s ironic, you know, that I can find comfort in knowing that these encounters will never change. You always smile when you see how hard I am, because we both know that I shouldn\'t be. It\'s interesting, how you have complete control over everything. You shouldn\'t be able to control my body, but you can, and you do, and I can see it in your strange eyes how much you enjoy it. It\'s not just the control you like, I think knowing that makes you more enraged than anything else. It\'s not about control; it\'s not even about revenge anymore, and I\'m not even sure that\'s the reason you started to begin with.

My breath catches as you take the lobe of my ear into your mouth, sucking as your hips violently grind into mine. The thick fabric in between both of us, making me uncomfortable, and you can\'t enjoy the feeling, so it confuses me why you do it for so long. Your lips pull away from my ear, replacing them with your tongue, it slides its way along my jaw. I sharply inhale, I hate it when you do that, I hate it.

A shaky breath comes out of my mouth when the fingers of your right hand trail down my unclothed torso. The light touches make me more uncomfortable than the painful ones; it puts thoughts in my head that shouldn\'t be there, makes me feel things I don\'t want inside of me. Your fingers play lightly at the top of my pants, my stomach involuntarily twitches at the sensation. I hear a low chuckle before your fingers deftly unbuttons my slacks single handedly. The noise of my zipper as you drag it down seems unbearably loud. At the moment, it\'s the only noise in the hallway, aside from heavy breaths. Both of your hands slide to rest on the sides of my hips, pushing down just enough to get the thick material of my uniform to fall from its resting spot. It falls into a rumpled heap, pooling at my feet. I could try to push you away, but I don\'t. The situation has settled in my head enough that I don\'t even try anymore. I can see the smirk that plays on your lips, like you understand the thoughts that go through my head, I don\'t think I\'d be surprised if you could, you\'ve invaded everything else, why not my mind?

Hard lips crashed against my own, persistent and unforgiving. I always loathed the mouth that pushed so violently against my own, but I never seemed to question why I could always feel my lips moving against yours, never questioned the almost unnoticeable submission on my part. Never.

The kiss was brutal, as searching hands groped at slender hips in ways that promised more bruises tomorrow. An audible moan fell in between both of us, one always did. I could never tell whose it was, but in my mind, I always blamed you. People in my position wouldn\'t moan, therefore it couldn\'t be me, although, when the lips against mine turned into a smirk, sometimes I\'d almost think otherwise, but, no… that can\'t be right.

\"You fucking whore,\" you growl into my mouth, my bottom lip being pulled lightly as your head moved away from mine.

I never noticed the moments between you being clothed, and you forcing me onto my knees, suddenly being naked. I never noticed your mouth curving into a smirk when I closed my eyes, taking in a shaky breath.

I always hated this the most.

Hand tangled into my hair, and you push my face towards the one piece of anatomy I never wanted my mouth to come into contact with. Knowing better than tg tog to back out of the situation, a tentative tongue comes out of my mouth and slides itself against the head of your already hard cock. I can feel eyes burning down on me, no doubt knowing the complete feeling of disgust coursing through me, but I won\'t look up at you, I won\'t. I remember the first time you made me do this, that was the first night I had realized how much power you had over me, you owned me, and knowing that terrified me. Your feet shift, which means you\'re growing impatient. I cringe at the thought of being able to pick up on that, the fact that I may know you just as well. I clear my head and press the tip of my tongue against the slit of your cock and you sharply inhale, the sound makes my stomach churn. My movements turn to automatic, knowing if I put too much thought into what I was doing; I\'d probably break down into tears.

Bobbing my head, I feel your fingers grip my hair tighter, the feeling of tiny pieces of hair being ripped out is noticeable, but that\'s not what bothers me. The slowly growing ache in my jaw becomes more and more noticeable, though, the pain is nothing to the feeling of humiliation that burns throughout my entire body. That\'s why you do this to me, it\'s not about you; it\'s about you being able to push me down, physically and mentally.

I hear you moan and tears sting my eyes, I\'m not so sure I can handle much more of this. As the thought passes through my mind, I hear a growl, which is followed immediately by lips off of your cock. The movement creates a sharp burning pain that floods through the right side of my neck, making me gasp. You chuckle lowly when you see me move my jaw, the audible crack not doing much to alleviate the soreness of the ache.

You roughly shove me down onto all fours, your hands digging into my bony shoulders, fervently wanting to continue. I hiss in pain and I can feel you grin. A conveniently placed lubricating charm is the only preparation that you think I need before roughly pushing inside of me. The sharp pain and the distinct feeling of skin being torn makes me cry out in both shock and pain. Though, for the latter of the two, I doubt I could admit it aloud.

You stay there for a while. At one point I almost thought you did it so this would be more bearable for me. Funny, how easy it is to lie to yourself. I can feel blood sliding down the inside of one of my thighs, even if it\'s an awkward moment, it tickles the sensitive skin and I squirm.

\"Eager?\" I hear you breathe, and I\'m not sure how I can tell, but your eyes are closed. I bite the inside of my cheek, the sick irony making my skin crawl. I remember speaking that simple word to you once; thinking about it made me sick. I never knew what an effect one stupid word would have on me, and that hurts. It hurts more than physical pain ever could, because I feel like I brought all this upon myself, and I did. I know I did.

Seconds pass and you start to pull out again, slowly. You stop before you pull out completely and I hear a long breath come out of your mouth. I begin to feel strangely empty, and I don\'t like it. Without warning, you thrust back in, forcing an embarrassing squeak to come out. You\'re fast and relentless, the burning pain being numbed by something that could almost feel like pleasure. You can tell when that slow transition starts to become more evident, and you slow down. Slow down just enough to make sure I feel every single inch of you. Your hips twist and push back in, and my breath catches. My knees grate into the cold stone floor, tearing at the skin, but the pain is gone, buried under the feeling that\'s something close to ecstasy.

You roughly grab my hair, ripping my head backward at an impossible angle and I fight back a moan. I hear you chuckle, making it obvious I didn\'t stay as quiet as I\'d hoped. \"Have you grown accustomed to being used?\" you lean down, whispering harshly into my ear, \"Or do you really like it that much?\" My breath catches in my throat again, making another awkward squeak come out of my mouth. You thrust in viciously, pulling my head back with you, making my spine crack as it\'s forced into an unnatural position before your hand lets go, deciding to settle one hand on an already bruised shoulder, and the other on my waist.

Your pace quickens, how, I\'m not so sure, but it does. Your breath hitches, too, and I can hear the small noises you\'re trying to hold back. You\'re close; I know that because you\'re starting to lose control. I feel you come, moaning loudly as a sickening warmth floods inside of me. It burns just enough to remind me that it shouldn\'t be there… it always does.

You stay there, hunched over my back, breaths hitting the side of my neck; I don\'t dare move, even when my arms begin to shake under the weight of your lax body. I know you do this on purpose, letting long minutes of silence pass with your relaxed form over mine. It silently forces me to stay still. Every once in a while you shift, accentuating the feeling that you\'re still inside of me. Moments pass, you let me grow more and more uncomfortable. You revel in the emotions you know I feel and a lazy, self-satisfied smile in plays upon your lips because you know I\'m still hard.

A strong hand slides from my back, down my side and grips onto my hip before traveling to the front of my body. You pinch the tip of my cock over and over, making me cry out softly. The word \"stop\" comes weakly out of my mouth after my head drops, hating the feeling of your hand traveling up and down my shaft. You don\'t hear me.

You never do.

And in spite of everything, I\'m glad you\'re oblivious to that show of weakness.

That\'s when it happens; I come all over your hand. It\'s a weak climax, it always is, the humility of the situation never allowing for anything better. That\'s not the point, though. The point is, is that no matter what, you always make sure to finish me off, like a final \"fuck you\".

You lay atop me, you\'re still panting slightly, and your breathing starts to slow down along with your heartbeat; I can feel it beating against my bruised back. It\'s almost comforting, comforting in the same way that I can feel light puffs of breath sweep across my neck as you lift yourself off of me. \"You sicken me,\" I hear you say, the roughness of your voice making it sound deeper than it should be. I collapse and fall the short distance to the floor. You get up, but I don\'t move, I never do, and although I can\'t see you, I can hear you pulling your clothes back on. You try to be quick about it, but you always end up struggling with something, is it because your hands are shaking? Perhaps you\'re just trying to make your body move too fast. I hear the soft whirling noise of your robes as you swiftly pull them on over you. I know you\'re ready to leave, but you always stay for a moment, I know you\'re staring at me, whatever _expression is in your eyes, I can\'t see it, I\'ve never been brave enough to turn around and look at you. Every time I almost think I will, I hear your departing footsteps, they\'re loud, deafening almost at first. They always are.

I lay on the floor, broken, used, and in my own sick mind, satisfied. I don\'t know how things ended up like this, and I\'m not so sure I\'d even want to know. A sick, wary smile fell upon my swollen lips as I watched your silhouette disappear into the empty darkness, your stride is sharp and determined, but I know you\'re tired. Only when I hear the last of your footsteps fade, do I pick myself up off the cold, stone floor and pull myself back together. Once I\'m fully clothed, my steps, albeit a little shaky, take me back to my room.

And the only thing that runs through my head as I slowly walk back into the dungeons is; how did you find out?

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End
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