Sugar-Coated


Notes: For contrelamontre's opposites challenge in 61 minutes. Also belated birthday present for Rachel. Hope you like!


She's beautiful. She has beautiful long red hair and gorgeous blue eyes, and you know you can't compare to her because you are ugly, with your dull brown hair and banal brown eyes and your disfiguring nose. You've heard what they call you behind your back, and if you want to be honest with yourself, you can't deny what they call you.

[You bite down hard on her tongue as it enters your mouth, and the ferric taste of blood seeps between your mouths like some delicacy shared and exchanged. You think maybe it is because they call her a princess, and isn't a princess's blood always something wonderful and strange and special, at least in fairy tales?

You break apart from her, and a single trail of blood flows from the corner of her perfect red swollen mouth, so much more beautiful than your pale pink one. You lick the blood away, and she utters a soft moan as you move to her neck, pushing her robes out of the way and off of her body and biting down right above her collarbone.]

You were taught to hate her and her family ever since you were just a small child because they're Weasleys, the scum of the purebloods, and you did. You did until the day she became beautiful, and then, you wanted her more than you hated her.

She hated you, too, because she was taught to hate your family for being a no-good pureblood Death Eater family. You don't know when, or really, if, she stopped hating you, and you don't think it really matters because you are pretty sure you still hate her even though you are fucking her.

[She gasps, and her hands push your robes off of your body with your help. She frantically tears at your blouse, and she ends up wrenching off some of the buttons in the process. But she doesn't care, and she hurriedly takes your blouse off of you before unclasping your bra and sliding it off.

She breathes above a nipple, and you can feel the moisture in her breath as her hair sweeps silkily against your bare chest. She watches your reactions, eyes raised to your face as she finally takes your erect nipple into her mouth, nibbling and licking and sucking, and you moan softly.]

You are a Slytherin, and she is a Gryffindor. You are acquaintances with Draco Malfoy, and she was in love with Harry Potter. And everyone thought that Potter would eventually sweep her off her feet, like a knight in shining armor with a damsel in distress while you and Malfoy would marry after years of arranged engagement.

But Potter went and fucked her youngest brother instead, and Malfoy went and involved himself with Blaise Zabini, whom people said was insane. And the two relationships everyone was sure of shattered just like that, even though you always knew you and Draco never had anything, even though you were sure she would never be with Potter and thought that she was certain, too.

[When she lifts her mouth, you push her back and lift her shirt off of her, followed by her bra, a red thing much more delicate and flimsy than your plain black one. You kiss the freckles dotting her chest but never her nipples, and she moans impatiently, wanting you to stop teasing her.

You finally acquiesce to her wishes and take a nipple into your mouth while you pinch the other one, and she arches up like a graceful swan, something an ugly pug like you can never be.

You stop to lay kisses down her belly, soft lips touching even softer, pale, unblemished skin, and you feel her shiver underneath you as your lips flutter upon her for a mere moment, like a butterfly, before moving on.

When your mouth reaches the top of her skirt, she pushes your head away. You look at her, confused, and she pushes you down until you're lying on the bed.]

The two of you are mortal enemies, or, at least, you are supposed to be. You are not supposed to want her, and not just because she's a girl, either, but you do. You don't exactly understand why the two of you fuck or really even know how it started, but you are long past caring.

You are everything she's not, or you used to think so, anyway. But now, you are probably more intimate with her than she is herself, and you think that that's probably not right. When you think about it, you are fairly certain that you were definitely wrong. Otherwise, why do the two of you have whatever this relationship between you is called? You think of everything you are, but now, you see them in her, too. And you think

[She slides your skirt down your legs, then draws your knickers off and tosses it on top of the rumpled skirt sprawled on the floor. She looks down at you, a not-smile on her lips, and she then spreads your legs, followed by your labia, before sticking a finger into you. You arch your body off the bed at the intrusion, and you want more. She doesn't move, just smiles that odd little smile of hers.

When you finally writhe down onto her hand, she inserts another finger into your cunt, and you see her other hand disappearing underneath her skirt. You can imagine her fingers seeking the waistband of her knickers and moving past them, moving past the curly red hairs below her belly, to rub at her cunt.

You see her start, and you know she's slipped one finger in. She continues to thrust her fingers into you while you watch her other arm move underneath her skirt. She breathes harshly as she writhes upon her own hand, and you pant loudly.

You know that you are almost at the edge, and you watch her half-lidded eyes as you insert a finger into your cunt alongside hers. When she feels your finger, she opens her eyes to look at you, and you see your overwhelming lust captured within her eyes.

When you start to move your finger, you lose control, and you close your eyes and moan her name loudly as the high of ecstasy takes you. When you open your eyes, you see her mirroring the you of a moment earlier, eyes closed and hands immobile as she all but screams your name. And when she opens her eyes and looks at you, you think]

that you aren't so different from her after all.

04.05.10


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