His face falls under his own words, beautiful and tormented, yet
still perfect. When did I begin to notice his personal kind of
magnificence? His lips seems to shine of a light of their own as with
croaked words blood of barely sealed wounds comes out as to show the
pain of his soul.
*Beware of your sins, sinner.*
And I know it's a mere sin to stay here not listening to him (even if a muggle recorder and a quill are releasing me from doing this) nor comforting him. I suddenly feel a strange hunger for blood on my lips, on my tongue, for caressing his open cuts in half-healing half- lust. His eyelids hide the lost light of his golden hazelnut eyes, as his fingers do for nail-scarred palms- and I want to touch them with lips and caress the flesh around the beautiful soul of Severus Snape. "-and then he killed-"
Why did I let you go there, why didn't I protect you from your own
sense of duty? Because of *mine*, maybe? Because I'm a coward old
fool, a coward indeed, that send the man he loves away not even
saying him the truth. Not even comforting that yearning stolen
glances of yours, adoring, arousing, breathtaking- and my soul and my
body do know how much I want you.
You weep. Like a destroyed man, you crouch on your chair. The quill lies down on the word-covered parchment, the black ink still sparkling here and there. In the silence the only sound I can hear is the soft whisper of the recorder's head on its dying tape and your sobs broken by your own hands on your mouth, as in shame. You pull them away, shocked to see blood on them, looking towards me with red eyes that are too exhausted to shed a single tear.
Coward.
*You're not better than a coward if you don't stand up and-*
I bend over my desk, taking in my hand your hands- how thin, how
delicate they can seem now, in despair.
"I- I'm so- Severus" I
stammer a sigh after my soft, disrupted words. Your unknowing breath
on my hand, the agony in your eyes once again make me want to take
you into my arms and trace long, slow patterns on your skin that
would bring you elsewhere, away from your misery, into our bliss.
*So *why* don't you do it?*
I close my eyes and try to find an excuse, poor coward that I am, to
break this strange moment between two different futures, to send you
away from me, so I won't give my life into these beautiful hands of
yours. But I can't. The path was decided long before now, by
ourselves, by my own movements and actions. I open my eyes again,
feeling a new light in them, feeling reborn hope on their blue gaze.
Now, you. For real.
I stand up and take you into my arms, memorizing your warmth, the
soft sounds you're making on the skin of my neck, immersing yourself,
I feel, into my embrace. You smell of fear and loss, you smell of
yourself, love, of a life someone else rotted then left you in shame,
of clean skin under the shadows of death. I dare to caress your
shoulders, not as a friend would do, but as a lover, softly murmuring
circles around your tension-steeled flesh, tasting with my fingertips
its texture under the worn out velvet.
"I want you so much."
It's a whisper you muffled as a cry on the skin of my neck, in a child-like voice, without hope or want to be heard. I don't have the right to catch your cry, I don't have the right to claim your life- but I do. Your skin shivers under my lips when I caress the spot on your throat just under your ear. I feel your eyelashes on my neck when they shut your eyes, with a movement I can only guess in its grace. You feel so warm, so desperate, so soft in your oddly calmed breath, your hands not daring to climb on my body to rest where your touch and our pleasure led them.
"so much"
It's a breath I can listen only because I feel your jaw's moves
between my lips, as I slowly conquer your chin, then your mouth. I
taste the blood on your lips, I taste that soft skin again and again,
each time changing position, each time avoiding your answer, ignoring
your pleas, smothering your moans. "so much" like an echo, moist of
your burning breath, and I fully kiss you. Your hands trace the
centre of my sides, your body gets warmer against mine, as insistent
as I desire you, the ghost of the man I love alive again. Suddenly we
are increasing the tempo of our kiss, stumbling on the floor, and I
discover the pure lines of your shoulders, the plain sight of your
chest, your legs, your whole body, bathing in the last fading rays of
sun, as we don't need any kind of light to know each other, as we do
know each other from a time we don't remember, whose remembrance is a
mere evocation of our golden present.
"you're light"
Together we create again the world, the physical matter, the soul, pleasure, in a way I never dreamed and I never hoped to share with you. You're again shivers, sensations on my skin that mirror your own sensations, you're the teeth that mark my skin and the tongue that possesses my mouth, you're the hands and the body and the breathe that feel me, that delight and I delight, you're the light of our climax and the warm radiance of the aftermath.
And together, we're home.
"so I love you, I love you Albus, I love you- and I need you more
than you'd think, than I'd think, you're my sun and my moon, my love
and my beginning and my end, and" And you radiate again, my Severus.
In Bliss.
Title: Coward
Author: Ceitlin Malefoy
Rating: R
Pairing: Snape/Dumbledore
Author's Notes: The fic is basically Dumbledore's thoughts
during a debriefing session with Snape (remember, he's a spy) that
led them to the blissful moments of seduction and lovemaking (don't
worry, I don't usually speak like this, I just studied too much :().
He's not listening to Snape, he's only paying attention to what
they're doing (guess why), and that explains the half-phrases here
and there.
