Empty Paradise

Kaze

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 06/12/2003
Last Updated: 06/12/2003
Status: completed

[dark fic/one shot]His eyes dwell on her lips again, so damn round and so damn pink. He aches for sensations, rather than a discussion. He aches for pain and pleasure rather than words. Words hold no meaning between the two of them.

Chapters

1. Empty Paradise

1. Empty Paradise

empty paradise

“You think that you’re the only one fighting a losing battle?”

She stands before him, basking in the faint candlelight of his private rooms in nothing but a flimsy nightgown. She is ethereal almost; wave after wave of corkscrew curls tumbling down her shoulders and against the falling straps of her nightgown. He is afraid of the intensity of her smoldering eyes and prefers to linger on her lips, perfectly round and perfectly pink. He wonders vaguely what it would be like to taste them, to bruise them and to dominate them. Would they haunt him too? If he could will himself to believe in a god, he would believe her he decides. If only he could---

“Hermione,” he murmurs as if he were in a feverish prayer. “Please don’t make me talk about this.”

He hears a rustle of fabric and his fist clenches at the thought of silk brushing against skin. Suddenly she is standing beside him, a soft hand against his naked shoulders.

“Hermione…” He groans. “Please.”

“You think that you’re the only one fighting a losing battle,” she murmurs. “…But you’re not.”

His eyes dwell on her lips again, so damn round and so damn pink. He aches for sensations, rather than a discussion. He aches for pain and pleasure rather than words. Words hold no meaning between the two of them.

“Fuck,” he growls finally. “Fuck.”

He grabs her hand and crushes her into an iron embrace. He yanks a fistful of her hair and holds her chin in a bruising grip. He searches her eyes for any signs of fear, but there is none. She was daring him.

He devours her lips with his own in the midst of an angry growl. Her arms wind around his neck and her fingers curl painfully in his hair. He slants his lips in efforts to deepen their kiss and moans as she runs her tongue against the seam of his lips.

Finally, his sanity breaks completely.

His hands grab and pull so that her nightgown falls to her feet with a satisfying rip. His hand threads itself back into her hair and pulls her head back, exposing her neck to be at his mercy.

“Harry,” she whimpers as his lips bite into the crevice of her neck.

He is determined to make her ache. He is determined to make her drown. He is determined to make her bleed. If he falls, then he will take her with him.

Heart, mind, body, and soul---

HIS.

He slams her against the foot of his bed and she cries out, whether in pain or pleasure he no longer cares. One hand cups a breast and his tongue darts out to sample a rosy nub, his senses on overload by her cries. His free hand draws a teasing path from its place at her waist to the tufts of her curls between her legs and without warning plunges a finger into her warmth.

She wretches out a sob and arches violently against his hand. “Oh God!”

He tears himself away from his assault of her breasts and crushes his lips to hers once more. “There is no god in this room,” he hisses against her lips. “I sold my soul long ago.”

But all she responds with is another half-sob of pleasure.

Touching her, he finally decides, is not enough. They have to be joined; he has to be inside of her. He withdraws his hands to free himself of his pajama bottoms and without any hesitation, he enters her swiftly.

“Mine,” he growls, gripping her arms and forcing them above her head. He thrusts brutally into her and she arches against him with a loud cry. He ensnares a breast in his mouth.

“Say it, Hermmiioone,” he orders.

“Ha-r-rr-ee!”

He thrusts harder and she cries, the passion in her eyes feeding his madness.

“Sayyy itt.”

She screams and he collapses against her, buried deep inside her.

“Yours,” she whispers, trembling violently beneath him. “Yours.”

There in the midst of the blood, sweat, and silk sheets, he finally cries.

Author’s Notes

So when it snows and Kaze can’t go out and play like the nice nineteen year-old female that she is… This is what happens. *shrugs* It’s being cooped up and driven mad by cabin fever that this little cookie came about.

Anyhow, in all seriousness this actually a part of something much larger that I’m going to start posting after Hues. Oh well, suppose it’s back to be bored.