A Confession

You are what love is.
Before I proceed you must understand this: I am a Slytherin and proclaiming love is not something we do. The word 'love' seldom make it past our lips for that very reason. Love is a weakness exploited. As the future, at Hogwarts, we must keep ourselves harm free. Our future wives will live at home, out of harms way and our children in the safety of a worthy school.
I am of such heritage and for me to hand over this proclamation of weakness will be my doom eventually. I leave nothing to chance, thus leaving no names, nor specifics. This is for you to understand. These words are for you alone – read them if you must. Any other prying eyes hold no business here.
All I can say is that I love you. I cannot begin to word how much. Even my mind seem incapable of sorting out these many feelings that seem to arise whenever you are near. Like a hunger, I long for your soft skin against mine, even if it is but against my palm. It soothes my aching chest for a short while. A while long enough to rip you to a place where it is but the two of us – hid from prying eyes. What is between should stay between two alone. It is but for us to see. To feel. To understand.
My second hunger will follow shortly after; that of your taste seeping between my lips; trickling against my tongue, leaving it prickling. You always leave me sated, yet urging for the next taste of your poison. That is what your taste is. Poisonous; and yet I crave more with every drop my tongue is to touch. These are but words of a Hufflepuff, but even a Slytherin needs lay off his chest once in a life.
To point – no matter whom I am, no matter my words nor my house, you will always be there. Thus am I led to believe is the magic of this longing feeling called love. Am I sad, you will not let me let you go? You will let me hold you tight until my knuckles turn white. Am I happy, you will let me flaunt you on my arm. You will let me caress you with a thumb as our skin connects once more in a tender touch.
You are all for one can ask. I am often driven to the desire of sinking my teeth into your smooth, tasteless skin. However, it would hurt so, simply taking a bite of you – that thought always playing in my mind as my lips fall on your skin. Thus, I caress you with my tongue, soothe you with my fingers that know your every nook and cranny so well I do not even have to think. Then, slowly, I will sink my teeth into, careful not to hurt you. Slowly let my eyes slide closed as I hope for that taste of you that my mouth is so blessed to know so well. Not a whimper will escape you as I assault you so gruesomely to sate my own hunger.
Yet always it seems you are begging for me, yet never you speak a word. Never do you stare longingly nor beckon with your movements. You stand so very still, like a grass on a still morning. This simplicity of your presence is a beckoning call all in its own. It is an art form, a dance so to speak, of everything within the attraction, to which only you know the steps. I am but a man, led by your intoxication, my feet stumbling as my mind and being is poisoned with your sweet liquids, rendering me nothing more than an animal cub. Needy. And thus, we dance. Dance to the melody of the sound that we create together. Perfect harmony amongst the world of discord that will never understand this passion. This melody that is but for our ears to hear and our hearts to feel. I am at your very mercy.
There is no other. Do not ever be jealous of those others who have tasted my lips. There is no other taste on my tongue quite like yours. No other silken soft skin like yours. Nobody that fits with such precision in my palm. Don't ever forget.