Scatter Her Pieces to the Wind
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,327
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,327
Reviews:
3
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.
Scatter Her Pieces to the Wind
Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe is the property of JK Rowling. I, sadly, make no money from fanfiction.
He plunged into her again and again, grunting his question over and over as she thrust back violently, refusing to answer him. He\'d never done this before and he never thought - or rather, he always hoped - that she had, either. But now he wasn\'t so sure that she hadn\'t, because she could fall into a rhythm with him as easily as she could recite any page from Hogwarts, A History one moment and fall terribly out of sync in the next - which is what she did whenever he moaned. Most of the time, though, instead of moaning, he grunted and cursed and demanded things of her, things she refused to oblige. Then she angled her hips and impale herself on him, reaching a hand down to grab roughly at the base of his cock and squeeze until he yelped. She had a firm grip and it absolutely ached.
Retaliation for that came by way of tweaking, twisting, and nipping at her nipples. When she keened and gasped in pleasure, he changed his attack to biting and sucking hard at the tops of her breasts, increasing the pressure until she cried out. Blinded by rage and confusion, all he wanted was for her to feel, to understand why he felt the way he did, why he needed to know the things he asked of her. Sometimes she could be so thoughtless and methodical, but never before today had he thought she could be inhuman. She had to be inhuman to not crack, to not give in and tell him. He would make her crack somehow. He would break her. He loved her, he had for years, but he would break her down and scatter her pieces to the wind if needs be to get what he wanted. All he wanted was to be able to understand.
In the past, whenever he had thought about what it might be like to be like this with her, he imagined it would be slow and warm and gentle, that they would have all the time in the world to come together and explore one another. Their joining would be about love and respect, if it would ever happen. Not that he\'d ever given himself permission to think that it actually would ever become a reality, because he could never bring himself to tell her how he felt about her. So he always resigned himself to his fantasies, as safe and wonderful as they were.
This was anything but safe or wonderful. This joining wasn\'t about love or respect. It was about power, about wrong and right. It wasn\'t even a joining. It was a power struggle. When she\'d come into his dorm earlier that night, he hadn\'t expected this to happen. But it had. It happened and it was her fault. It really was.
He\'d lost track of time, his mouth marking and teeth scraping across the senstive skin of her breasts. He could have been tending to her for a few minutes or a few hours; he really didn\'t know. Caught up in her taste and the feel of her around him and beneath him, he was taken by surprise when fingers twisted in his hair and pulled. Up his head went and then her mouth latched on to his, sucking the breath right out of him. His lungs burnt and his head spun but he could not push her away. He could not find purchase on her because of the burning and the spinning and the sudden coppery rush of blood in his mouth startled him. She\'d bit him. She\'d bit him and he roared, yanking her from against the wall and pushing her down onto their best friend\'s days-old empty four-poster. He pounded into her then, pushing the tang of copper and the burst of crimson into her own mouth, thumb pushing and moving against the spot he never thought he\'d ever get to touch. And then she clenched down around him, pistoning her hips against his, milking his orgasm, his anger, and every ugly thing he\'d been intending to do over the course of their this right out of him. His head fell forward and his body slumped over hers and he gasped for breath, the realisation of what he\'d- what they\'d just done and why weighing heavily on him.
Her fingers twisted in his hair again, but gently this time, and he could hear her breathing - peppered with gasps and a shuddering sound he knew could only mean that she was crying - against his ear.
He tried to tell her he was sorry, that he didn\'t mean it, that he just wanted to know, but he couldn\'t get the words to come out. He couldn\'t get the words to come out and he didn\'t want to hear the sound of his own voice just then. Disgusted with himself, disgusted with the knowledge that he\'d just done all that to her out of some twisted sense of his own needs, he didn\'t think he could bear to hear himself try to say something to her. He was making her cry; he\'d hurt her.
Against his better judgement, he raised a hand to her cheek, smoothing some of the hair that was stuck to her cheeks with sweat and tears. Raising his head, he could see that there were definitely tears; they flowed freely down over her flushed skin. He closed his eyes and bowed his head again; he couldn\'t do this, he couldn\'t--
Crack!
His face stung where her hand had met it. Stunned, but knowing he deserved it, he blinked and stared down at her for a moment before lifting up his hips to slip out of her. He\'d just leave her. He\'d go somewhere. The owlery. The dungeons. The library. Anywhere but near her. He hadn\'t broken her. He\'d broken himself. He\'d broken himself and--
\"Don\'t you leave me,\" she choked, reaching up and curling her fingers around the back of his neck. She yanked hard on him and he had no choice but to lie atop her, his nose bumping against hers as she pulled him closer still.
More than anything, he wanted to tell her that he wasn\'t, that he wouldn\'t, but he couldn\'t do anything but just stare at her, waiting for her to go on.
\"That\'s why, Ron,\" she sobbed, and he could feel her entire frame shuddering beneath his. \"That\'s why I didn\'t tell you Harry was going, because I knew you\'d leave me, too, and I couldn\'t bear the thought of losing the both of you.\"
Suddenly he saw. He saw that she had felt all along, that she understood him better than he thought, that she needed to not tell him because his four-poster would be days-empty now, too.
He saw. He knew. He promised.
\"You won\'t lose me, Hermione,\" he swore. \"Ever. We still have each other.\"
Although he was still angry that she hadn\'t told him, he somehow knew, then, that Harry would have wanted it this way. Harry would have wanted them to have each other to hold onto. Harry would have wanted that, and Ron would to do his damnedest never to let Hermione go.
He plunged into her again and again, grunting his question over and over as she thrust back violently, refusing to answer him. He\'d never done this before and he never thought - or rather, he always hoped - that she had, either. But now he wasn\'t so sure that she hadn\'t, because she could fall into a rhythm with him as easily as she could recite any page from Hogwarts, A History one moment and fall terribly out of sync in the next - which is what she did whenever he moaned. Most of the time, though, instead of moaning, he grunted and cursed and demanded things of her, things she refused to oblige. Then she angled her hips and impale herself on him, reaching a hand down to grab roughly at the base of his cock and squeeze until he yelped. She had a firm grip and it absolutely ached.
Retaliation for that came by way of tweaking, twisting, and nipping at her nipples. When she keened and gasped in pleasure, he changed his attack to biting and sucking hard at the tops of her breasts, increasing the pressure until she cried out. Blinded by rage and confusion, all he wanted was for her to feel, to understand why he felt the way he did, why he needed to know the things he asked of her. Sometimes she could be so thoughtless and methodical, but never before today had he thought she could be inhuman. She had to be inhuman to not crack, to not give in and tell him. He would make her crack somehow. He would break her. He loved her, he had for years, but he would break her down and scatter her pieces to the wind if needs be to get what he wanted. All he wanted was to be able to understand.
In the past, whenever he had thought about what it might be like to be like this with her, he imagined it would be slow and warm and gentle, that they would have all the time in the world to come together and explore one another. Their joining would be about love and respect, if it would ever happen. Not that he\'d ever given himself permission to think that it actually would ever become a reality, because he could never bring himself to tell her how he felt about her. So he always resigned himself to his fantasies, as safe and wonderful as they were.
This was anything but safe or wonderful. This joining wasn\'t about love or respect. It was about power, about wrong and right. It wasn\'t even a joining. It was a power struggle. When she\'d come into his dorm earlier that night, he hadn\'t expected this to happen. But it had. It happened and it was her fault. It really was.
He\'d lost track of time, his mouth marking and teeth scraping across the senstive skin of her breasts. He could have been tending to her for a few minutes or a few hours; he really didn\'t know. Caught up in her taste and the feel of her around him and beneath him, he was taken by surprise when fingers twisted in his hair and pulled. Up his head went and then her mouth latched on to his, sucking the breath right out of him. His lungs burnt and his head spun but he could not push her away. He could not find purchase on her because of the burning and the spinning and the sudden coppery rush of blood in his mouth startled him. She\'d bit him. She\'d bit him and he roared, yanking her from against the wall and pushing her down onto their best friend\'s days-old empty four-poster. He pounded into her then, pushing the tang of copper and the burst of crimson into her own mouth, thumb pushing and moving against the spot he never thought he\'d ever get to touch. And then she clenched down around him, pistoning her hips against his, milking his orgasm, his anger, and every ugly thing he\'d been intending to do over the course of their this right out of him. His head fell forward and his body slumped over hers and he gasped for breath, the realisation of what he\'d- what they\'d just done and why weighing heavily on him.
Her fingers twisted in his hair again, but gently this time, and he could hear her breathing - peppered with gasps and a shuddering sound he knew could only mean that she was crying - against his ear.
He tried to tell her he was sorry, that he didn\'t mean it, that he just wanted to know, but he couldn\'t get the words to come out. He couldn\'t get the words to come out and he didn\'t want to hear the sound of his own voice just then. Disgusted with himself, disgusted with the knowledge that he\'d just done all that to her out of some twisted sense of his own needs, he didn\'t think he could bear to hear himself try to say something to her. He was making her cry; he\'d hurt her.
Against his better judgement, he raised a hand to her cheek, smoothing some of the hair that was stuck to her cheeks with sweat and tears. Raising his head, he could see that there were definitely tears; they flowed freely down over her flushed skin. He closed his eyes and bowed his head again; he couldn\'t do this, he couldn\'t--
Crack!
His face stung where her hand had met it. Stunned, but knowing he deserved it, he blinked and stared down at her for a moment before lifting up his hips to slip out of her. He\'d just leave her. He\'d go somewhere. The owlery. The dungeons. The library. Anywhere but near her. He hadn\'t broken her. He\'d broken himself. He\'d broken himself and--
\"Don\'t you leave me,\" she choked, reaching up and curling her fingers around the back of his neck. She yanked hard on him and he had no choice but to lie atop her, his nose bumping against hers as she pulled him closer still.
More than anything, he wanted to tell her that he wasn\'t, that he wouldn\'t, but he couldn\'t do anything but just stare at her, waiting for her to go on.
\"That\'s why, Ron,\" she sobbed, and he could feel her entire frame shuddering beneath his. \"That\'s why I didn\'t tell you Harry was going, because I knew you\'d leave me, too, and I couldn\'t bear the thought of losing the both of you.\"
Suddenly he saw. He saw that she had felt all along, that she understood him better than he thought, that she needed to not tell him because his four-poster would be days-empty now, too.
He saw. He knew. He promised.
\"You won\'t lose me, Hermione,\" he swore. \"Ever. We still have each other.\"
Although he was still angry that she hadn\'t told him, he somehow knew, then, that Harry would have wanted it this way. Harry would have wanted them to have each other to hold onto. Harry would have wanted that, and Ron would to do his damnedest never to let Hermione go.