Carmilla's fanworks

WARNINGS: Some dark content.

~

Harry woke to warm lips on his mouth; startled, he gasped and nearly choked. Immediately, hands were around him, soothing, apologising silently... there were words he would never say aloud. One of them was sorry. The others were -

"I love you."

What? He could barely believe that he's heard it. He was given no chance to respond as those lips closed over him, demanding, hot.... a contrast to the freezing fingertips that were burrowing under his shirt, scrabbling, ripping, getting to his skin in any way they could. His mouth tasted strange, a tang of something sharp he couldn't quite place; probably some obscure potion he'd been working on. Every sensation was magnified by the complete absence of light. He wondered if Severus had used some sort of charm on him, as he had once before, to act as a blindfold, but he wasn't touching him as if he was playing games. Those hands were the most earnest he had ever felt them. So as his eyes were no use, he closed them, and surrendered to the sensation and the lips and tongue which seemed to have lost all their reserve.

It was only when the touches slackened and stopped, and he conjured a light to find out why, that he recognised the taste in his mouth as blood.

WARNINGS: Some dark content.

~

You love me. Hah. Don’t try to hide it; you can’t hide anything from me anymore. That’s your fault, you know. All your fault. You open up, you spread yourself to my eyes.

And I take what I want, and I leave.

And you knew that.

Sometimes I wonder why I ever wanted to fuck such an idiot. But there’s something….. intriguing about you. About the way you give yourself up to me. Some masochistic impulse, perhaps? After all, I’ve never been anything but honest with you. You knew I was going to hurt you. You knew I was going to tear you up and glut myself on your blood and your pain and then leave you there. You knew. And still you followed.

Pathetic, really. Beaten dog trailing along at his master’s heels. You stupid little bitch. You don’t really think your devotion will make me care for you, do you?

I don’t care. I could leave you tomorrow. Maybe I will. But then again, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll stay and watch you rot from the inside out. Is that why you stay? Do you just want to know how long I’ll stick around?

Or how long you can take it?

Is this your punishment to yourself, perhaps? Are you atoning for some sin here? Bad move, motherfucker. Don’t you dare try to use me. There’s no forgiveness here, just sin and sin and more sin, forever and ever, amen.

But I was forgetting. You don’t want to use me. You love me.

It’s almost funny. The one person in the world…. the only one who ever loved me. And it’s you. Not my father, not my mother, not my mentors, not my friends. You. You pathetic little son of a bitch. The irony’s thick enough to choke on.

Get up and leave, why don’t you? What have you got here? I’m only going to hurt you again. And you don’t want that. You hate it when I’m cruel, however hard you bite your upper lip. However many tears you refuse to cry for me.

Moron. Don’t stay. Don’t love me. Get out and never come back, before I tear the place down around your head. But you won’t, will you? No, you’ll stick around. You’re far to keen to be a martyr. A martyr to your love. Hah.

Fine. Have it your way. Get on your knees again, bitch.