Happily ever after
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,778
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,778
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Happily ever after
Disclaimer: Hers. Not mine. Sob.
Genre: horror, kind of romance
Warning: slash, murder, violence, blood. Cannibalism. Necrophilia. Madness.
Author's note: This seems a grand idea now (at 4 am, after a sleepless night). Written for the First Kill Project. Warning: this is dark. See warnings, be warned! Easily squicked, begone, and if not, do not complain afterwards.
Summary: Unanswered love demands its toll.
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
I hate him.
He has everything: family in abundance, good looks, brawn, brains, the love of somebody I fell in love with and never will have.
He nags about his family, ridicules his parents, complains about his brothers, treats his sister like dirt.
He says he's ugly, that his hair is awful, his skin flawed.
He goes into fights without fear, and thinks he's a coward, because he believes himself to have no enemies.
He's so clever, he never learns anything, and still moans at exams he'll flunk for sure, but passes with flying colours again and again.
If he had the nerve to look in the eyes of his friend, he'd find a love not equalled by any, but he runs after some stupid girl and moans about not being loved.
Me, I only have a crazy grandmother, some lunatic uncles and aunts, and two insane parents.
I'm a coward, I always run when a fight threatens. I work like a house elf to scratch by in school. I'm fat, unelegant, round-faced, watery-eyed. I love somebody to distraction, and he doesn't even notice me.
My hate has grown over time, until it has pushed me over the edge "“ or so people will say, later, when they find out. To me it is very clear: if I absorb what makes him what he is, perhaps my beloved will see me, love me instead of that short sighted excuse for a human being.
So, I take the knife I am so desperately clumsy with in Potions, and elegantly stab his heart while he sleeps. My hands seem engaged in a ritual dance as I cut out his heart, the freckled skin of his face, a lock from his bright, fiery hair, the brain out of his head, and eat it all. The taste of him makes me gag at times, but I must continue until all is absorbed.
Reeking of blood, I go to my beloved one's bed, naked, with a proud erection. I use my beautiful knife to cut his nightwear to strips, use the strips to gently tie him up. He sleeps so deeply, my beautiful one, he has those awful nightmares you see, and then they give him potions to make him sleep and not dream. How I want to take all his nightmares away with my love, bathe him in it, and soon he'd forget those bad dreams. I caress his lovely face, shake his pale shoulder, want him to wake up and celebrate the realisation of our love.
He wakes up drowsily; the potion still has its venomous claws in his brain. His lovely green eyes are clouded still, and he has difficulties recognizing me. As I draw nearer, to finally kiss him, he breathes my name. "Neville..." It sounds like a blessing, coming from his lips. As his mouth is covered by mine, he writhes under me, feels the ties, tries to loosen them. I tell him there's no need to struggle any more, I love him, and have taken all the properties of Ron to make sure he loves me too, and now all would be good and we'll live happily ever after, together at last, thanks to my offering. He starts to sputter something, b can cannot allow that, and bury my tongue in his open mouth. I start caressing his body all over, and he is more than perfect, he's more than I dared to dream of. My hand touches his cock, teases it into its full, glorious erection. I caress it, moaning at the silken feel of it. He bucks under my hand, he does want me after all. My magic has worked then. I steal the drops of precum on both his and my erection, use them to lubricate his entrance, let my fingers get to know what he feels like inside. He moans, writhes, bucks his hips, spreads his legs further apart. I stab my fingers deeper, touch a strangely hard spot in the middle of all the softness there inside, and he moans even louder, his cock jumping with the pleasure I provide.
The tone of his moans alters; it sounds more like begging now, I can't be sure as we still are kissing. I assume he is ready for me now anyway, and slowly enter him. He shudders, and now it is my turn to moan. He is so tight, so warm. His muscles don't cooperate with what we both want, and I have to push real hard to make them yield. Their resistance suddenly fades, with an odd, tearing sounds mus muffled screams disturb me for a moment, but surely it is in extreme pleasure he cries out. I go in all the way, start making little movements, let them grow into bigger ones, until I draw back nearly completely and push back in very deep again. And again and again, and as I feel my orgasm nearing, I wildly pump his cock, draw his orgasm from him, and the strong clenching around my cock causes my release. He lies very still now, breathing shallowly, and I slump down on top of him. He seems so small, so fragile, I'll always be here for him, protecting him, using my heavy body as a shield against all who want to do him harm. As I feel my limp cock slip out of his arse, I fall asleep, doing just that: defending this fragile creature from the cruel world outside.
I awake at the sound of panicking voices from our roommates. Seamus and Dean are screaming loudly, it seems they have found what remains of Ron. I remain where I am, after all I know what they see, no need to worry. What does worry me is how quiet my beloved lies under me, and how cold he is. Surely he needs warming up, waking up. I caress him again, and my erection quickly finds the way to where it was buried last night. His arse is still slick with my come, but oh so cold, even colder than the skin I feel under my belly. I want to bring some heat into it, and vigorously pump my cock into him. He does not react. No moans, no erection neither. I quicken the pace, perhaps if he gets warmer inside he'll feel better, and the moaning and writhing from last night will be back. All my efforts stay unrewarded, and it is a joyless orgasm I have in his cool, cool body. He hasn't come with me, hasn't moved, hasn't screamed"¦ he just lies there, so very very silent. I want to look into his face and see what is wrong, how I displeased him. I look at his unseeing, glass-like green eyes, notice at last he doesn't breathe, and start howling my pain as I realise I have killed him with my love and fucked his poor dead body this morning.
Perhaps they have family rooms in St. Mungo, perhaps I'll stay with my parents now, as I join them in their madness, and we shall live happily ever after.
Genre: horror, kind of romance
Warning: slash, murder, violence, blood. Cannibalism. Necrophilia. Madness.
Author's note: This seems a grand idea now (at 4 am, after a sleepless night). Written for the First Kill Project. Warning: this is dark. See warnings, be warned! Easily squicked, begone, and if not, do not complain afterwards.
Summary: Unanswered love demands its toll.
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
I hate him.
He has everything: family in abundance, good looks, brawn, brains, the love of somebody I fell in love with and never will have.
He nags about his family, ridicules his parents, complains about his brothers, treats his sister like dirt.
He says he's ugly, that his hair is awful, his skin flawed.
He goes into fights without fear, and thinks he's a coward, because he believes himself to have no enemies.
He's so clever, he never learns anything, and still moans at exams he'll flunk for sure, but passes with flying colours again and again.
If he had the nerve to look in the eyes of his friend, he'd find a love not equalled by any, but he runs after some stupid girl and moans about not being loved.
Me, I only have a crazy grandmother, some lunatic uncles and aunts, and two insane parents.
I'm a coward, I always run when a fight threatens. I work like a house elf to scratch by in school. I'm fat, unelegant, round-faced, watery-eyed. I love somebody to distraction, and he doesn't even notice me.
My hate has grown over time, until it has pushed me over the edge "“ or so people will say, later, when they find out. To me it is very clear: if I absorb what makes him what he is, perhaps my beloved will see me, love me instead of that short sighted excuse for a human being.
So, I take the knife I am so desperately clumsy with in Potions, and elegantly stab his heart while he sleeps. My hands seem engaged in a ritual dance as I cut out his heart, the freckled skin of his face, a lock from his bright, fiery hair, the brain out of his head, and eat it all. The taste of him makes me gag at times, but I must continue until all is absorbed.
Reeking of blood, I go to my beloved one's bed, naked, with a proud erection. I use my beautiful knife to cut his nightwear to strips, use the strips to gently tie him up. He sleeps so deeply, my beautiful one, he has those awful nightmares you see, and then they give him potions to make him sleep and not dream. How I want to take all his nightmares away with my love, bathe him in it, and soon he'd forget those bad dreams. I caress his lovely face, shake his pale shoulder, want him to wake up and celebrate the realisation of our love.
He wakes up drowsily; the potion still has its venomous claws in his brain. His lovely green eyes are clouded still, and he has difficulties recognizing me. As I draw nearer, to finally kiss him, he breathes my name. "Neville..." It sounds like a blessing, coming from his lips. As his mouth is covered by mine, he writhes under me, feels the ties, tries to loosen them. I tell him there's no need to struggle any more, I love him, and have taken all the properties of Ron to make sure he loves me too, and now all would be good and we'll live happily ever after, together at last, thanks to my offering. He starts to sputter something, b can cannot allow that, and bury my tongue in his open mouth. I start caressing his body all over, and he is more than perfect, he's more than I dared to dream of. My hand touches his cock, teases it into its full, glorious erection. I caress it, moaning at the silken feel of it. He bucks under my hand, he does want me after all. My magic has worked then. I steal the drops of precum on both his and my erection, use them to lubricate his entrance, let my fingers get to know what he feels like inside. He moans, writhes, bucks his hips, spreads his legs further apart. I stab my fingers deeper, touch a strangely hard spot in the middle of all the softness there inside, and he moans even louder, his cock jumping with the pleasure I provide.
The tone of his moans alters; it sounds more like begging now, I can't be sure as we still are kissing. I assume he is ready for me now anyway, and slowly enter him. He shudders, and now it is my turn to moan. He is so tight, so warm. His muscles don't cooperate with what we both want, and I have to push real hard to make them yield. Their resistance suddenly fades, with an odd, tearing sounds mus muffled screams disturb me for a moment, but surely it is in extreme pleasure he cries out. I go in all the way, start making little movements, let them grow into bigger ones, until I draw back nearly completely and push back in very deep again. And again and again, and as I feel my orgasm nearing, I wildly pump his cock, draw his orgasm from him, and the strong clenching around my cock causes my release. He lies very still now, breathing shallowly, and I slump down on top of him. He seems so small, so fragile, I'll always be here for him, protecting him, using my heavy body as a shield against all who want to do him harm. As I feel my limp cock slip out of his arse, I fall asleep, doing just that: defending this fragile creature from the cruel world outside.
I awake at the sound of panicking voices from our roommates. Seamus and Dean are screaming loudly, it seems they have found what remains of Ron. I remain where I am, after all I know what they see, no need to worry. What does worry me is how quiet my beloved lies under me, and how cold he is. Surely he needs warming up, waking up. I caress him again, and my erection quickly finds the way to where it was buried last night. His arse is still slick with my come, but oh so cold, even colder than the skin I feel under my belly. I want to bring some heat into it, and vigorously pump my cock into him. He does not react. No moans, no erection neither. I quicken the pace, perhaps if he gets warmer inside he'll feel better, and the moaning and writhing from last night will be back. All my efforts stay unrewarded, and it is a joyless orgasm I have in his cool, cool body. He hasn't come with me, hasn't moved, hasn't screamed"¦ he just lies there, so very very silent. I want to look into his face and see what is wrong, how I displeased him. I look at his unseeing, glass-like green eyes, notice at last he doesn't breathe, and start howling my pain as I realise I have killed him with my love and fucked his poor dead body this morning.
Perhaps they have family rooms in St. Mungo, perhaps I'll stay with my parents now, as I join them in their madness, and we shall live happily ever after.