~Mine~

Anyone would think I'm in love with him, from the way I can't stop staring at his face. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that, but I'm not the only one who was instantly ensnared by a glance from those honey-gold eyes. Corruption is the only thing on their minds, though... I can tell. Davey Gudgeon just wants to use him, to break him -- at least, he did before the Willow almost had his eyes out -- and Malfoy and Snape and... yes, okay, I admit it. Even I want to use him sometimes. Frequently. Gripping his hips tight enough to leave Sickle-sized bruises in his pale skin as I position him above me and pull him down. Hard.
I don't love him. Just want to take him. Keep him. Love him... no!

~*~

My head hurts when I think about him, but my body hurts when he's not here and my heart hurts when I ignore him, because he looks so hurt, so upset. Nothing's more important to him than his friends. Only the blasted moon, of course, but he has no choice about that.
Poor guy gets called all sorts of sickening names, especially when his eyes become more yellow than normal and his nails grow and grey begins to streak his butterscotch hair just before the days of his transformation. "Queer" is one of the most popular, usually as the prefix to something like "bastard", and I get so angry, so fucking furious with them, because they can't see that being slightly different doesn't mean he's worse -- on the contrary, he's a far better person than they could ever hope to be.

Rather than acting upon the murderous urge inside me, though, I've taken to copying Remus and just walking away. So I've unclenched my fists a few times to find bloody crescents where my nails have sliced my palms open... so what?

~*~

Truthfully... now I have him... I don't know, I honestly have no fucking clue what I feel for him, what I want from him. (Unless I'm completely honest with myself, which really doesn't happen all that often). Varying degrees of 'friend', 'lover' and 'fucktoy' are all blending and merging together in a confusing reel of blurred images that are repeatedly projected onto the miniature cinema screens inside of my eyelids. Why am I avoiding this, for god's sake? X-rated images, utterly graphic pictures of things I've never even dreamed before, all right?
You can judge me on it if you want, but I really don't give a fuck -- I'm not in love with him... but he's mine.

Zealous and jealous rhyme... isn't that funny?

~END~