Persistence

*I do not own these characters. Joanne does. 'lucky sonofabitch, that one'...*


Persistence

I’m pushing his dark robes off his shoulders. He’s watching me with hooded black eyes, and I don’t care what he’s thinking anymore. I need to touch him, need to see his skin, to feel him. There are so many layers, literally and figuratively, to this wizard. Just as there are so many layers of my emotion for him. About him, I am a jumble of fear, hostility, desire, hate, affection – and dare I say, love? I don’t know how we got to this point.
His dungeon feels warmer now than it ever has, though I attribute this to the heat radiating from our bodies, our breathing. He is being passive with me, and I am taking advantage, unbuttonhis his long black waistcoat with trembling fingers, desperate to get to the heart of him.
“So warm…” I’m whispering, “…so unbearably warm.”
With a quivering breath, he raises one hand and rests it on my unruly head, letting his fingers play at my mussed hair. My eyes slide shut and I bring my face forward, brushing my cheek against his. I am much taller now than when I first laid eyes on him, and I capable of handling him now. The mere difference of a couple of inches in our heights is almost completely irrelevant, and I have a sudden burst of frustration. Why won’t he touch me!
Our eyes link in the dark, and the candle flames seem to sway a bit. “I want this.” I affirm, for no reason. It’s pretty obvious – since I cornered him during a would-be detention. Oh well. It isn’t like he hadn’t expected it. He’d hoped for it, in fact. I’m almost positive of that.
“I know you want this.” He murmurs, silkily. “But why do you want it?”
I swallow unsure how to answer. “I don’t know. It’s…it’s you. You…make me feel…”
He closes his eyes, and I find I am unable to finish the sentence. Instead, I reach up and tangle my fingers in his dark hair, pulling him down into a kiss.
His hand is on my face, cupping my cheek and a current of electricity buzzes throughout my body. My tongue is seeking his and finding it, teasing it, and I am pressing closer to him. Nothing has ever felt so good. Still, I need more.
“Professor…”
In answer, he exhales, slowly, ceasing my unbuttoning action with one hand, tugging me forward so our bodies press tight together, and my erection is pressed between our bodies, trapped almost painfully inside my slacks. I am fifteen years old, and I need him. I need it. Suddenly meeting his uncertain apprehensive eyes, I feel as if it won’t happen.
“Potter, this…” He’s struggling to maintain composure – even as I feel his hard body against mine, hot and yearning. “…can’t happen.”
I am breathing deeply, angry, unwilling to leave it this way. “It can happen.” I insist, tugging him closer to me. “Let it happen.”
With a sudden force, he is pushing me away and then almost as quickly yanking me against him, me facing the opposite direction, his belly against my back, his hand on my hip, fingers painfully erotic, digging into my skin through robes and cotton.
“Oh Merlin…” I’m whispering as his warm breath tickles my ear.
“Is this what you want, Potter? Me treating you like my servant?”
I’m nodding, impatient. Touch me, damn you! “Yes…yes, please…like a servant, sir. Exactly like that…”
I can’t see him sneering, but I can tell he is. Smirking at my desperation, and I am losing it as his hand squeezes my hip, tight. My eyes slide shut and I press my backside against his pelvis. I don’t know why, but I want him inside me. I want to feel him.
“You don’t know what you’re asking, Potter.”
“I don’t care…” I murmur, rubbing myself against him.
“You might regret this.”
“I won’t.” I’m practically moaning. “I won’t regret it.”
His large hand travels inward, against my thigh, very near my crotch but not touching. Teasing.
Agonizingly slow, he starts to unbutton my slacks, all the while muttering, ‘Colloportus’ a locking spell for the door. Whatever happens here tonight, we won’t be interrupted by McGonagall or Draco or even Ron or Hermoine. I feel a faint chill of fear creeping up my spine, but my erection is tender when his hand reaches it, and he starts to play with it, gently, startling so.
With weakened knees, I sigh and press against him wanting to thrust into his hand but afraid he might stop. It feels so sweet – almost affectionate, his gentle caressing, and I am near tears with emotion. His entire hand encompasses me and I realize how soft his hands are as they slide up and down on my erection, occasionally pausing to play around with the head.
“Professor…” I’m whimpering, wanting to turn in his arms and kiss him but unwilling to lose what we’ve got going, unwilling to sacrifice my own pleasure.
“Don’t move.” He instructs me in a soft voice as I still my hips and let him stroke me forward and back. I am too close, but he keeps stopping just in time – just before I lose myself. His other hand is on my hip clutching me to him, and I wish I could feel his skin instead of his thick heavy robes. I wish I could touch him the way he’s touching me, but I am too close and throbbing to worry about that. I am grateful for what I have right this moment.
My knees are trembling as I realize he is trying to urge me to walk, a near impossibility in my state, but I move as he moves.
“To the desk.” He says in one of his colder voices. It makes me tremble against him, but he stops again – right as I near the brink, and I am suddenly pushed forward, over his desk. My slacks have fallen around my ankles, and my backside is exposed. I don’t know what to expect, but when it comes, I gasp in surprise and in pleasure. His warm wet finger is sliding inside me, and I am surprised to find I am pushing against the protrusion.
“Slowly…” he says in the same voice he uses during class. “…or you’ll injure yourself.”
I barely hear him, though. “Deeper.” I whisper. “Feels…so…ahh…deeper…”
He seems to ignore my pleas, but soon, his other hand is stroking me again while he drives a finger inside and out, and I am wincing in pleasure. His fingers working inside me, brushing a sensitive area deep inside my body as well as his hand sliding steadily up and down my erection forces me to cry out as I stto sto shudder and soil my robes and the desk over which I am strewn. Coming seems to last so much longer than it usually does when I lie alone in bed, stroking my own penis in the still darkness of night. My body feels drained as I continue to lie here, making a sound in the back of my throat as he withdraws his fingers and releases my now flaccid organ.
“Get up, Potter.” He says in a quiet voice as I struggle to stand and turn to face him. His face is uncharacteristically flushed, and I reach out and touch his skin, surprised at the heat. He averts his eyes.
“You were my first.” I whisper, feeling foolish but still wanting him.
He nods, indifferently. “Yes. I am aware.”
Now my cheeks redden. “How did you…”
“Properly dress yourself…” he murmurs, turning his back to me. “…so that you may return to Gryfindor t.”
.”
I am suddenly angry. “I don’t want to return.” I am indignant. “Talk to me, damn you!”
He doesn’t look at me, but I can see he is conflicted as he speaks in an agitated voice. “About what, Potter? The weather, perhaps? Or maybe Quidditch scores…yes, of course…”
“You miserable bastard.” I whisper, feeling my eyes burn with tears. “How can you be this way?”
He snorts and turns to face me again. “I was this way when you came to me.”
“After we…”
“Mr. Potter…”
“I want to make love with you.”
The s has hang in the air between us, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
Finally, he speaks. “That would be an irreversible mistake. I’ve already jeopardized…”
“I don’t care.” I whimper, coming close to him. “I want to touch you. Want to feel you…”
He places a hand against his temple, as if to ward away a headache. My scar seems to throb in this instant, but I hardly care.
“Potter,” He sounds weary. “You’re an insufferable…”
My lips find his in the candlelight, and his arms come instinctively up to hold onto me. If he wishes to play games, then I’ll play with him. I’ll try and keep the upper hand – at least for right now. Keeping his tongue busy, I reach down to rub my hand against his crotch, letting my palm fondle the hardening bundle of flesh there. I sigh as he gasps into my mouth. His size frightens and excites me at once, and I want to feel it, want to wrap him in my hand the way he did me several minutes ago.
Our lips come apart a pul pulls away from me suddenly, seizing my hand.
“No…” He says, licking his lips. “…No. I’m sorry. I can’t. We’ve done all we can. There is no more. I won’t permit it.”
But I’m holding onto him, clutching him close, my hand rubbing insistently. ove ove the feel of him through the black fabric of his slacks. I wonder about him naked, wonder about his pale, firm skin. I’m thinking of a dirty magazine I saw once during a Hogsmead trip, and I am suddenly dropping to my knees in front of him. My fingers are working fast even while he tries, in vain, to tug me off the floor, muttering spells while I mutter counter spells, miraculously deflecting him as I press my face into his crotch. Freeing his member, I am awed by its size as well as its shape, and I stuff him unceremoniously into my mouth as he gasps and nearly crumples forward in surprise.
“Potter…” His voice is cracked and uneven, startled. “…what are…you …”
It’s a difficult task, but my mouth encompasses him successfully, and I get myself into a rhythm now. As I dance my tongue along his shaft and head, I’m marveling in the musky sweet scent of him, losing myself in the strange sound of him holding his breath, the bitter sharpness of his nails biting into my shoulder.
His hips are perfectly still, and I bob my head forward and back, gripping the base of him with one hand to steady myself. He is surprisingly sweet as I get a first taste of his pre-cum, and before long, he is shooting inside my mouth, a long stream of warmth and sweetness. I feel myself getting hard again as I swallow him and endure the dig of his nails into my skin, knowing I am bleeding but uncaring of it. It is worth it.
When his subtle trembling has subsided, I slide him from between my lips, and chance a gaze up at him. Already, he is tucking himself back in and fastening his slacks, and I can only watch as his black eyes shift from place to place, actively avoiding me.
“Sir…” I inquire, still down on my knees. “…Pssorssor…”
“Did you get what you wanted?” He asks coolly, still not meeting my eyes? “I trust your thirst has been quenched, Potter?”
I close my eyes, frustrated. “Is it so horrible that I love you?” My voice is small, birdlike. “Can you accept that?”
He goes to where his robes are lying in a heap on the floor and mutters some cleaning spell before draping them back over his shoulders. “It is past time you left for your house, Potter. Professor McGonagall will have a few choice words if you are discovered to still be in a detention with me at such a late hour.”
I am filled with an immediate sadness. I’m not thinking of McGonagall or Gryfindor or anyone but him. Why can’t he let me love him?
“Is it because I’m your student?”
He merely glides to his desk and begins to thumb through a small stack of parchment. In a weak voice, I make another inquiry.
“Is it because of my father? Because you hated him?” When he doesn’t reply, I blink back tears. “Because I’m not him, Professor. I’m not James; I’m Harry. I’m not like him.”
“To your dormitory Potter or I will have to send you along in a portkey.”
“I won’t leave until you tell me.”
“You are getting dangerously near to pressing my wrong buttons, Potter…”
“I don’t care!” I cry out. “Talk to me or I’ll…I’ll…”
“You’ll do what?” He asks, softly. “You’ll tell?”
I am taken aback, shaking my head, slowly. “No…I wasn’t going to…”
“I cannot reciprocate your feelings, Potter. Now or ever. Your attempts to persuade me will be fruitless at best.” He pauses as I stare at him, his silky black hair and depthless onyx eyes. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks painfully unsettled, unsure of himself. “I was…foolish…to give in to your advances. When Dumbledore realizes, he will undoubtedly…” His voice trails off as his eyes burrow into mine. “…Anyway, since you continue to resist, I must take matters into my own hands.” Taking out his wand with lightening quick ease, he waves it and mutters unintelligible words as I realize I am standing in my dorm room with Ron Weasley, my best friend snoring loudly in the adjacent bed. For several seconds, I wonder if I have dreamed up the encounter, but I can still taste him in the back of my throat, still see the drying cum on my robes.
Hastily undressing and preparing for bed, I consider his words and the trouble I may have caused for him. I consider that maybe I should not try to pursue him any longer – but as I replay the events of the evening in his detention, I can’t help but to become erect again. My heart swells along with it. Part of the importance of loving him is knowing that he needs it. As I lie back in bed and tug the blankets up over my naked body, my hand wrapping around my stiff dick, I know in my heart that I must redouble my efforts. In more ways than one.

8incal