I Wanna Make You Cry

A friend of mine recently challenged me to write a song fic ... which is something that generally does NOT appeal to me. But she said I didn't have to incorporate the song into the fic, just use it for inspiration and write something that seemed to fit the circumstances of the song.

On the way to work one morning, one of my favorite songs came on the radio, and suddenly I was inspired!

Just to be absolutely clear, what I've written is pure fiction. I wanted to emphasize that fact because it is written in first person, and because the only familiar character will be Harry (because he is always going to be my leading man), but there is no mention of him being a wizard and the two other male characters mentioned are not from Potter.

I'm afraid you'll have to cut and paste the links, but for full effect, before you read the story, go here to read the song lyrics:
http://cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/bates-jeff/i-wanna-make-you-cry-2721.html

and go here to hear the song (which I should warn you is country, but it really is beautiful):
http://new.music.yahoo.com/videos/--2170533


I Wanna Make You Cry

It had been twelve years since Scott died, but it still felt like twelve days. The pain was so raw, so fresh, so insistent. And one day, I couldn’t take it any more.

My head knew that part of the pain was self-inflicted. I wouldn’t allow myself to heal and move on because of the guilt I carried with me. Could anything I did have caused this? On a practical level, I knew it wasn’t me. It wasn’t anything I could have controlled because Scott's demons were his own, magnified by looking at the world through the bottom of a liquor bottle.

Still, it hurt. I’d loved him since junior high, when we were young and innocent, and even when I went to a different school in senior high, I thought of him. Maybe I should have stayed with Greg, but all it took was that one kiss at the senior prom and I was hopelessly in love with Scott all over again. Damn Greg! He should have said no when Scott asked if we could have just one dance.

We’d dated less than a year before Scott proposed, and I’d said yes immediately, despite the protests of my parents that we were too young. We were married in the fall and found jobs and a cosy little rented house, and we were happy, or at least I was and I thought he was. And if he drank a little too much, it was okay. He worked hard and needed to unwind.

I never saw it coming. The bright and sunny Saturday morning that I’d left early to do the shopping so we could go to the beach turned out to be the darkest day of my life. I’d come home and cheerfully unlocked the door with one hand while I struggled to hold the grocery bags in the other, and then I walked into hell. There was so much blood! Scott was sprawled in a chair facing the door and the gun still hung from his limp fingers.

So when I announced that I had taken a job in London, no one was really shocked. In fact, everyone said it might be the best thing for me to get away, make a fresh start.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The chemistry was unmistakable when I met Harry, but I resisted. It wasn’t because he was so much younger than me, or even because he was so popular and attracted the kind of attention that I was desperate to avoid. It wasn’t even because I felt some misplaced obligation to be faithful to a husband who’d been dead for more than a decade. It was more, I think, a fear of the unknown. The loneliness had become my constant companion and I wasn’t sure now how to let it go.

But Harry was nothing if not persistent. He sent text messages and emails and he called. He showed up at the shop where I was working temporarily (contrary to what I’d told my friends and family, I didn’t actually have an offer when I moved here), and he sent flowers and balloons. And then one night, he showed up on my doorstep with take away and a bottle of wine.

I told myself it would have been rude to turn him away when he’d already bought the food. It would have been cold by the time he could have gotten home to eat it, and there was no real harm in sharing a meal with someone.

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was just that he was so damn charming, but I finally talked about Scott that night. Harry was an incredible listener, and when I worried out loud that maybe somehow it was my fault, maybe I wasn’t enough for Scott, Harry just smiled sadly and said “Scott was a damn fool if he couldn’t see what he had,” and he kissed me before I had a chance to protest.

God, it had been so long! So long since a man had touched me like that, and there was something in Harry’s eyes when our lips parted. In that moment, I couldn’t have denied him anything.

He took my hand and lead me into the bedroom without ever breaking eye contact. And then he sat down on the mattress and pulled me into his arms as he lay back on the bed. We just kissed for what seemed like hours and my world was so centered in the taste of him that I never even noticed him undoing the buttons on my blouse until his lips left mine and closed over a nipple.

I arched into his touch, giving him the perfect opportunity to push my panties over my hips and down my thighs. I whimpered in protest when his mouth left my breast, but the soft kisses he was pressing to my belly seemed to pacify, until he pushed my skirt up in the way and moved his head down between my thighs.

The feeling when Harry’s mouth closed over my clitoris was indescribable. It was like my entire universe was centered in that one spot and his tongue had the power to mold and shape my destiny. He was relentless, he was ravenous, and by the time he finally slipped two fingers inside me, I was writhing in pleasure and crying out his name, dripping with the need for more.

I have no idea how he got his trousers open or pushed down out of the way, but when he crawled back up my body to let me taste myself on his tongue, I felt the head of his cock tease its way through my folds and I knew this was the man I’d dreamed of all my life. His kiss was both tender and urgent as he supported his weight on one hand to cup a breast in the other. I hadn’t realized there was any tension left in me until I relaxed into his touch, and that was the moment he sank into me, sheathing himself deeply inside.

I lost count of the times he pushed me to the brink of ecstasy, speeding and slowing his strokes and thrusts until my release ebbed and flowed like the ocean’s tide, finally coming with me over the crest of a particularly intense wave, but it was when he whispered that he wanted to make love to me until the lonely was gone that I cried.

~Finite Incantatem~