Fic: I Hate Myself For Loving You (James/Lily, James/Regulus, R) Title: I Hate Myself For Loving You Author:iamisaac Established pairing(s): James/Lily Infidelity pairing(s): James/Regulus Rating: R Genre: Angst Word Count/Art Media: ~1000 Warnings: erm... infidelity? ;) Summary: James loves Lily. Regulus loves James. How can James resist the heady power of being adored? Notes: (prompt: 9. Established: James/Lily Infidelity: James/Regulus Prompt: "I hate myself for loving you")
I hate myself for loving you. I hate myself for loving you, Lily, because I will never love you as you deserve. I hate myself more for declaring my love: if I had kept it to myself (but how could I? I love you! I love you more than any one person could possibly love another) then my betrayal would only be in my heart, in my mind. Now, when I go to him, when I have him on his knees, my cock in his mouth, I know what you would say if you saw.
You would say I had betrayed you. You would say that I could not possibly love you if I could turn to another. How can I explain?
How can I explain that loving him is nothing like loving you? You are confident, demanding, content in your femininity – and I adore that in you. He... he is learning about himself, he believes I have something to teach him. I have taught him what it feels like to have someone go down on you, what it's like to be buggered, or to bugger another man until you hit the prostate with such sensitivity that your partner can do nothing but scream out his needs. I have shown him the tips and tricks to make a man practically swoon from the movement of your mouth – something you have always known, it seems. He looks up to me, adores me. I am his mentor.
I am his mentor and your pupil. When I see myself in your eyes I know that you see me as unreached potential; as someone who might be, with your help, the man you choose to stay with. I am, I think, “the closest you might find”. Not adored beyond belief (as I adore you), but someone to be moulded into the shape you think I ought to be.
Regulus looks at me as I look at you. As if I am... if not perfect, the next best thing. As if all he wishes from life lies in my arms, in my cock. As if I am all-powerful, all-knowing, a god among men. (God, Lily, if you ever looked at me like that – but you don't, you can't. You know me too well. You know my weaknesses, you know that I am human, mortal, fallible. I live up – no, down – to that understanding because it is all you can give me.) He makes me feel super-human. You look, sometimes, as if my cock is a humorous appendage that no one would wish upon someone they love. Regulus... he worships it. He will kneel between my legs as if in prayer as he takes me in his mouth. I am imparting a favour, not accepting a gift, when I allow him to suck me off. I have seen tears in his eyes, seen him broken down and re-made simply by his love of me, of my body.
And yet – and yet I do not love him as I love you. When I tell you that I love you, I do not lie. I hate myself, because I know every time I say it that I will betray you. I will bring Regulus to my bed, I will do whatever I please with him: tie him down and fuck him till he begs for mercy, order him to obey my smallest whim, make him grovel at my feet and kiss his way up from my toes to the crown of my head. I could not do any of these with you. My love... my – my respect – for you makes it impossible. I am aware, always aware, that you grace me with your presence. I know – you can't imagine how much I know – how lucky I am to have you.
But sometimes – oh, Lily, sometimes... Sometimes the pressure of being 'nearly enough', of being 'acceptable' – it wears me down. I know – and my dealings with him are another sign of it – that I am lucky to have you in my life.
“Potter,” you said the other day (still I am 'Potter', not 'James': a differential that means so much more than simple semantics), “you really are a tosser. I don't know why I put up with you.”
I don't know why you put up with me. You don't know why you put up with me. Your friends don't know, my friends don't know. Everyone who has been in the presence of us both do not know why you put up with me. I am dragging you down. I am dragging you into the dirt. Before I loved you, I used to think quite well of myself. I was a Potter, from a well-respected Gryffindor family. I knew my worth. I knew my worth and you threw it in the dust at your feet and stamped on it. Every time I asked you to date me and you turned me down, every time I heard my name on the lips of your friends, followed by derisive laughter. Every time I saw that smirk on Snivellus Snape's face as you rejected me and chose him... I felt my ego, my inner self, shrivel.
With Regulus, I get my self-esteem back. I see that expression in his eyes of love, of dumb adoration. He would do anything – anything, do you understand, Lily? - to be with me. Every second of my time that I give him is precious.
I hate myself... not for loving you, perhaps, but for not being good enough. I never was good enough to love you, Lily – never. You are right – Regulus is wrong – in your assessment of me. But how can I resist? How can I resist the adoration that I'll never have from you, from the one person I desire it from? Until you love me as I love you, I will betray you. And whilst I betray you, how can you possibly love me as I would wish? I do not deserve your love. But oh, how I want it.