Resistance

Resistance

I love your resistance. You have grown wiser and stronger over the years. You resist being manipulated, played with, lied to. You resist being used. You resist being owned. You resist being anybody's man but your own. You have resisted the Dark Lord, stubbornly and defiantly, until your obstinate, unyielding resistance had helped seal his doom, saving the wizarding world.

I hate your resistance. You haven't changed a bit. You fucking resist everything. You resist criticism, you resist compliments, you resist persuasion, you resist my attempts to woo you and romance you. You resist affection. It takes forever for your lips to open to me whenever I kiss you. You still stiffen each time I draw you into the most relaxed, the most nonthreatening embrace, and you resist the pleasure of being held, as if you still don't trust it, as if you still think that if you come to enjoy it too much, you'll become too vulnerable, too exposed.

I love your resistance. I see you in a different light these days. I love that you keep me on my toes. I love your biting sarcasm, your tactless spite, your obstinate, pointless pride. I love that you don't let me take you for granted, I love to be reminded of your strength. I love feeling your body against mine when we wrestle. I love seeing your fists clench, I love hearing the sound of chains clanging against the headboard of the bed, when lying face down, bound and and trapped, you still continue to resist.

I love the muttered obscenities under your breath when your body begins to yield to my touch, when your arousal takes over your reason, and when your defiance begins to ebb away. I straddle your hips and lean forward, kissing your back, licking along your spine and your shoulderblades, tasting the salty, overpowering flavor that is distinctly yours.

When my fingers reach into you, your channel welcomes them. I focus on you, and I find that little nub of pleasure inside you, and press against it, again and again, causing you to buck your hips and mutter incoherent pleas and insincere threats under your breath. Those small, obligatory tokens of resistance don't matter then, and I pay them no heed. I simply continue to indulge us both, until I am nearly blind with desire and need and until you yourself are faring no better.

When my erect member finally slides into you, there's no resistance. There's only acceptance, and your body finally welcomes mine, in a perfect union of need and satisfaction. And then, your body more than welcomes me, it calls to me and demands me. You struggle against your restraints then, and you resist your bonds, as they hold you back from responding to me fully, like you want to in the moment. I thrust hard, but I make no move to free you. “I think I'll never release you,” I whisper, and I almost mean it. I love your resistance.

~Fin