A Sorta Fairytale

Sometimes I try to compare, us to the other relationships I’ve witnessed. Somehow though this isn’t like anything else I’ve seen, we don’t have the tender passionately love Willow and Tara had, this isn’t just for fun and maybe a little more, like Xander and Anaya, it isn’t the once in a life time love of Buffy and Angel, or I hate your guts when where not shagging each other like bunnies of Buffy and Spike. This, this just is. Sometime we get along, talking of history, magic, and monsters, sometime s we don’t speak to each other for weeks, busy with our own lives. However I know that there will always be the times when we find each other in a bathroom, the back rows of the library archives, a particularly dark dungeon hall and then it will be all hot lips and needy hands.
Her lips are soft and her hips are round and full where mine are small and bony. She already takes a C cup bra and I’ll probably always be flat-chested as a boy. She gasps and whimpers when I touch her. Her own hands press me to her body, push my hands into her robes, down her pants. She always wants to go fast, a quick fuck in an empty classroom then back to the library to get a little extra research in. I wonder if she’s ashamed. Ashamed of me, because I skinny, flat-chested and a Muggle. Ashamed because I’m not a boy, not her hunky Quittich star, not a handsome prefect, or even one of her best friends. Ashamed because she needs this, wants this, wants me.
I refuse to go fast, to please her and do it her way. She might be ashamed of me, ashamed of us, but I’m still in control here. The one place, the only place, where I call the shots and make the rules, is when I have her up against a wall my knee between her legs, my hand on her breasts or down her pants. I wonder if that’s why I do it, why I fallow her when she leads me into the empty classroom or bathroom stall. I’ve never been in control before, never been the one to make the rules, I’ve only ever taken orders never given them, but this is different. This isn’t about saving the world or averting an apocalypse. This has nothing to do with Buffy; this is just about me, my body, my life, my needs. I feel the emptiest when I need, when I’m with her, the most out of control I’ve ever been in my life is when I’m controlling her. Sometimes I wonder if this is what growing up feels like.