Breakfast in Bed

Breakfast In Bed

By Regret

He never stays. I never ask him to. But I know that he sees the constant and silent plea in my eyes, perhaps it is what makes him turn away. Knowing that he is needed, fearing that he needs me too. Too proud to admit it, "Love is for the weak" being his mantra. It cuts me deep, does he think me weak? Weak because I love him, weak because I need him to love me? Need him to tell me he does instead of coming in the dead of night, always on his terms, leaving before the daybreak, as if my bed is his prison by day. Playground by night? I know that he cares; why else would he come? If it was just for the sex he would have grown bored long ago. I try and console myself with that thought, but it is all too often the one that brings me to tears. And here he is again. Who am I to deny him?

Why do I come here, night after night, to *his* bed?!? I know that I hurt him when I go. It hurts me to hurt him. But something in his eyes never ceases to drive me away. It scares me that he needs me, that he _loves_ me. Love is for the weak, and I am anything but that. A Malfoy has no weaknesses. Yet that is exactly what he is. A weakness. A habit. One I cannot seem to break. My feet lead me here (or is it my heart?), like the moon heralds the tides. All the while my head screams that I must turn back, turn away from him. And afterwards it makes excuses, allowing for my behavior, but just this one last time. But will it ever end? Can it? Do I even want it to? Of that I am not sure. I don't want to hurt him…

He comes for me, slipping quietly through inky darkness. My pulse roars in my ears, breath catching as he reaches for me softly. So softly, all without words. His manner thorough and gentle, as if this were the first time (or the last?). The thought of him leaving scares me more than I care to admit. He's taking pains to make sure that I enjoy it, enjoy him. Taking his time before fully loving me, his mouth leaves light, teasing kisses along my stomach. Unbearably long eyelashes leave a tingling path in their wake as I arch to meet him halfway. Never before has he spent so much time ensuring that I’m ready, ensuring that he has taken full advantage of my heightened senses. He doesn't usually allow me to touch him. But something barely perceptible has shifted and I take pains to return his sentiments. I take him slowly into my mouth, trying return the pleasure he has always given me. I find he is both the sweet and the sour. Afterwards he shows me his appreciation. Taking his time sliding into me, he murmurs humming little nothings. Slowly he brings me to the cliffs edge, and waits until we are both crying out for release. Then, unexpectedly, he drags me over along side him. I'm desperately trying to hide how afraid I am, he has never held me like this. Cradled me as if I might break, as if the pieces of me might slip from his grasp. He shouldn't worry; he could ravage me mercilessly; I would forgive him anything; I already have. I find myself sated, content, as he holds me. Clings to me as a drowning man does his last breath. Perhaps he is ready. Perhaps he is trying to tell me that he loves me, that he can stay this time. As I slip into slumber, warmed with him still inside me, I whisper, softly, but clearly, "Stay". Dear gods please let him be here tomorrow.

"Stay…"

The small word snaps me from my reverie. Did I hear him right? Did I hear him at all? Tonight was different. Tender; heartbreakingly so. Soft and slow, like the first time, our last time? It frightened him, I know. Not knowing what to think of the change in me. I don't even know what to think of it. Touching him, being inside him, holding him, I felt at peace. For the first time. For always. He wonders why I do not stay, why daylight never fails to frighten me away. He is purity; he is the light. And I have no right to it, to him. For I am the dark, his solemn counter part. And I cannot make myself stay. Make myself meet him on his terms. Slipping from him, from his embrace, I remove myself from his bed. Standing at the window, staring blindly out, I think about how night and day always, only, edge each other. I turn, hearing him shift behind me, and catch him as he whispers my name, reaches out for my warmth. Into the void I have left. Watching him reach for me, my name soft on his lips, something inside me breaks and I understand it now. Tears steal down my cheeks, forbidden and unnoticed. I return to his side, lean in and kiss him softly, sweetly. Reveling in the contented sigh escaping his lips. Just once, I would like to give him breakfast in bed.