A Sin As Any Sin Ever Was One | By : LilithConnor Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2199 -:- Recommendations : 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. |
A Sin As Any Sin Ever Was One
I stand beneath the shower, feeling the
cold waves strip away the sweat and grime of a hard-fought Quidditch match. We
won again, but barely, and the team is proud of their victory. The Quidditch
showers are split into male and female, not the different Houses, and both teams
are showe tog together amicably, chattering about our male teammates; who is the
best looking and who will be available at the after-match party later. I am
silent, leaning into the water, knowing what is to come and feeling the familiar
mix of loathing and excitement rise within me.
Soon the showers are empty, door banging
as everyone exits in a laughing, noisy group. Except for me and her. I have not
been able to resist sneaking peeks at her; she deliberately chooses the shower
opposite me, knowing I am too weak to ignore her. I close my eyes fiercely,
refusing to acknowledge her. I do not need to see, she is burned into my memory
like a torch, every curve and shadow and gleam. I hear her turn off her own
shower; hear the soft splashes made by her footfalls as she comes closer. I can
hear her breathing, lightly panting. She stops just out of my body space but I
can feel her presence anyway. I lock my eyelids, desperate to hold to my
resolution; this time will be different, this time I will say no. I don’t want
this.
She places gentle hands on my waist. I
can feel the calluses from playing so much and so often - Quidditch does not
make for milky white skin. She does nothing more, makes no movement, merely
stands silently, hands light on my hips. I wish she was more forceful, more
aggressive; it would make it easier for me to be able to tell myself that she is
the one forcing it, that it is not really me at all. But, as always, she is
asking without words. She would not dream of pressing me, of taking from me what
she wants. She is good and kind, and if I stay still long enough she will
understand and walk away, never to touch me again.
At that thought, my treacherous hands
stir of their own accord. I open my eyes in horror, watching my long fingers
rise from my side to skim her slim hips and lightly tanned skin. I hate myself
for succumbing to the hunger that stirs within me, hate myself for being so weak
and for having such little self-control, but I look into her face and her eyes
are wide with need and lust and I close the distance between us.
She tastes of the cold water, of fresh
air and warm sun. She tastes like flying, as stupid as that sounds, of utter
freedom. The lust in both of us is too strong for any long, languid embraces; we
kiss furiously, desperately, plundering each others mouths, her hands tightening
around my waist, bringing our bodies together. Weak as I am, I moan aloud as we
come into full contact, hard nipples rubbing against each other. Greedily, she
is already reaching between my legs, our time is short before we are missed and
though I hate it, I am ready for her, wet and aching and as I thrust my own
fingers between her folds I find that she is too.
She finds my sweetest spot quickly, and
begins to rub hard and fast, as she knows I want it, gasping as I mimic her,
standing now cheek to cheek, breath coming in sharp pants as the pleasure builds
within us, rising stronger and stronger until I can no longer hold on and my
muscles lock as I plunge into my climax, her free hand clamped over my mouth as
I shriek with ecstasy. Soon, she follows and we remain still, allowing the cool
shower to wash away all trace of what we have just done.
As the bliss fades I come back to
myself. I pull away sharply, creating much-needed space between us. I close my
eyes again and resume showering, as if she had vanished completely. Of course
she has not and I know her well enough to see the expression on her face without
looking at her. The lazy smile shatters, the stajoy joy in her eyes fading to
anger and confusion. And pain. I cannot see but I know that her eyes are filled
with tears and my mental image of the anguish in her face stabs me to the quick.
There is a muffled sob and then quick footsteps as she races away, that she
might be gone before I return to the changing rooms.
I twist and open my eyes, staring into
the torrent as icy needles pound my head. I hate this. It is wrong and sinful
and disgusting, and what is worse is that I know what she wants from me and it
is even worse. Unlike me, Alicia Spinnet has accepted this disease as part of
her and refuses to see it as unnatural. She says she is normal, and that there
is no shame in love between women. She has stupid, Muggle ideas about many
issues and she is always wrong, what the hell do Muggles know about anything? We
know that anything other a man and woman joined in marriage is a sin. I asked my
mother about this once and the look she gave me…she made it absolutely clear it
was not something that was ever discussed and that it was a terrible, terrible
wrong to even think about it…
The rumours
a Ali Alicia started in her fifth year and with typically Gryffindor bravery she
chose to confront them head on. Stood up in the Great Hall and announced it to
the whole school! Part of me wishes that I had that kind of courage, to face it
head on, but most of me knows that is foolish to think of such things. This is
something dark, to be ruthlessly exterminated from me, and that I must never
tell anyone. It is a sin as any sin ever was one. Alicia has made it obvious to
me that what we do when no-one can see is not enough for her…I have tried to
tell her to leave me alone, that I am not what she is, but I can never get the
words out…
It is disgusting and dirty and wrong.
They have told me that.
But no-one ever told me it would feel so
right.
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