featherxquill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
featherxquill) wrote2004-05-19 02:35 am
featherxquill) wrote2004-05-19 02:35 am
This Flesh Is Only Flesh
Above Hogwarts castle, a full moon burst forth from the clouds.
In the Eastern wing, a scream rent the stillness of the hallways.
In the Divination tower, a shawl clad, insect like figure’s head turned suddenly as a grey light lit the room. In one of the polished crystals on her mantle, two shadowy figures emerged, and she turned in rapt attention to watch the full moon work its magic upon them.
It is dark when I enter the room, too dark to see. But there is a rug upon the floor, and then the stone stairs leading up to his chambers, and then carpet, and my toes cling to it as though I am guided by a rope. I know not what I am doing here, how I managed to end up here, or what I am expecting from this encounter. I know only that I care not for the consequences.
I seem to feel him as I come closer, as the bed emerges from the surrounding darkness as though there is light to illuminate it, but there is not. All is in shades of blue, the bed with its dark sheets, and the sleeping man within it, lying on his back, one arm above his head, black hair fanned over his face like the brushy tail of an animal, visible only a nose, lips – a boyish expression.
I wake with a start to moonlight, everything tinged blue. To a face I know very well, too well, staring down at me. Ludicrous! How did she enter my chamber?! No one can pass my wards, and even if they managed to, my sleep is light. But these thoughts are drowned by a heavy mind, and silenced by a kiss upon my lips. I feel satin skin and liquid hair upon me, and all thoughts are gone, killed, destroyed by this lush murderess.
“Lucretia…” I whisper as our lips part… “What…?”
But my fingers are upon his lips to silence his question. I do not want to hear it. All I want is him. All of him. No matter, anything else. I kiss him again, and it is both languid and demanding.
“Severus…” My own voice is a hiss, hardly recognizable, but it twists and undulates about him and draws him to me, against me. I slide about him over the bedclothes, and he rises to meet me, and our arms go about each other.
Voices, hisses, fragments. She is at once a spectre and a beast. Is she real? A hand over her cheek, sliding down over her throat to cup a breast, twirl my fingers about a nipple. Liquid gasp in my ear. Yes, she loves that. I feel a smile upon my face. First blood, perhaps, first gasp, one to me. A sly expression overtakes her eyes, blue tinged pools of darkness in this tangible moonlight.
She pushes me back into the sheets, and climbs atop me, grinding her body against my growing hardness. Throwing her head back to bear that pale throat of hers. Breath caught in mine.
Yes, this is like coming home.
Tossing me backwards onto the bed with a thrust of the hips, atop me in an instant, and a handful of hair in his hand, pulling my head back and devouring my throat with lips, tongue, teeth. I melt against him and he feels it, and smirks, as though he has won.
I grab his wrists with both hands and lift them above his head, so he must support himself over me lest he fall upon my form, and I bind him there not with scarves or chains but with the sheer strength of my will. Our gaze meets, and a challenge ensues.
Merlin, she knows exactly what I want. She knows just how much I want to dominate her and submit to her at the same time. And her hands… Merlin’s mistress! Sliding down beneath me, one hand twisting my nipple, licking it, blowing cool air against it. The other hand against my…
By Merlin, I’ve missed the feel of his warm manhood in my hand, missed everything about him. Missed those intense eyes that devour me. Missed that quivering self control and that stubbornness. But he gasps as I roll his balls in my palm then stroke up and down on his shaft. This game is all but over.
I can’t hold myself like this much longer. My muscles are straining to hold me up and I just want to dissolve into her. Saucy wench. She knew I’d not want to lose. I shan’t…
I bring one knee up between her legs, forcing them apart, bracing myself above her, and move one elbow down to support myself. My fingers trace over the satin nightgown she is wearing, as though she came straight from her own bed to mine. My mind begins to question this again, but is beaten down by the animal in me, in her, the single divided animal that wants to be whole again.
She knows how I love satin, how I love the textures of her, skin, clothing, hair, tongue. I pull the hem of the shift up and tear her panties away, finding her clitoris and pushing my thumb against it, fingers hungrily slipping into her depths.
He chuckles when he hears my gasp, conceited bastard. He feigns nonchalance but his body betrays him, as always. His rock hard cock means more to me than the smirk upon his face.
My hands on his shoulders, pushing him up, back onto the pillows, onto his back. I sit before him, and lift the satin shift from my form, pull the sheet out from between us, then climb atop him, onto his lap, bend to kiss him. Our tongues do battle, fighting for dominance. When I pull away, our eyes meet with such fierce intensity that it brings back memories of the vehement words we exchanged in anger. An anger that has abated but not been resolved.
I push all that away.
“Severus.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to fuck you.”
“Really. I hadn’t figured that out yet.”
“No. I mean I’M going to fuck YOU.”
And she does. She moves further up my legs toward me, and lowers herself to within inches of touching me. Then her hand wraps about me, and pulls my foreskin back. I watch her actions with fascination, and for a moment am distracted from the heady pleasure of this encounter enough to be intrigued, as she pushes herself against me and lets go the skin.
By Merlin! Her clitoris is inside the skin, against the head of my cock. She is inside me. She fucks me.
No nonchalance anymore. Finally I have him within me, against me, and I gyrate my hips slowly against him, careful to keep our bodies joined. My hand tangles in his hair and I pull him toward me. My breasts against his chest as I kiss him, sucking his tongue and pulling his lips between my teeth. Devouring him. He twists my nipple between his fingers. He knows I love it.
Why does she want me? What has made this overconfident, arrogant, ageless being want me? A question I’ve never been able to answer, and always one that has bothered me, no matter how much I want to banish it from my thoughts. As though there is always a miniature dark lord in the back of my mind reminding me that I am not good enough.
But I’m good enough for her. If this is not proving it to me, then what is?
He gasps under my ministrations.
“Why do you want me, Lucretia?”
Why do I want him? How can I possibly form an answer when my mind is so painfully, blissfully blank with such pleasure?
She smiles at me, and kisses me once again, not viciously but passionately.
“I want you because there are so many things wrong with you that you’re perfect.”
“Are you just telling me what you think I want to hear?”
“Probably. Just shut up. I want you to fuck me now.”
There are so many things wrong with me that I am perfect. If that is logic, then she is so perfect that she’s too perfect, and so she is even more flawed than I. Perhaps that’s why I want her so.
He throws me back onto the bed, then, and his eyes are alight with something like fire. His kisses ravish my mouth, and his cock pushes within me, fills me up and worships me. His fingers trail over me with the same fire I can see in his eyes. My eyes flutter closed for a moment as he grinds against me and my breath leaves my body, but I can still see his eyes on mine when they are closed.
She is velvet, then, velvet around me, and liquid beneath me, like molten gold, beautiful and luminous and moulding herself around my form. I feel her fingernails in my back and her legs about my waist, and I push deeper within her as though there is something there I might find, the deeper I go.
And the moonlight and the pleasure encircle us, and lift us from the ground, and we swirl in it. We are one beast, contorting and moving in a complicated dance, as the music in our ears grows louder and louder until it reaches a crescendo. We shatter.
Everything shatters.
In his chamber in the dungeons, the Potions Master wakes with a gasping intake of breath, hot all over, the sheets a mess with the product of such a heady dream. Euphoria quickly turns to bitterness, and he strips the linen from himself and pulls up the duvet, curling his body about itself and trying to quell the aching desire to not be alone. Trying to forget just how right everything felt, in the dream. He scowls into his pillow.
Across the castle, Lucretia LeStrange’s eyes shudder open and her vision adjusts to the darkness of her chamber. Drenched in the bedclothes, shaking from the aftermath of a powerful orgasm. Peeling the soiled sheets away from herself, she climbs from the bed and wraps herself in a gown, a shield against the cold coming now from both without and within. Wide awake, she walks to the window, and stares out at the full moon that illuminates the grounds with silvery perfection. Eyes come to rest on the Slytherin wing, the Potion Master’s chambers. It takes her several moments to register that the wetness on her cheeks is tears.
In the eastern wing, the howl fades to a whimper as the werewolf retreats to a silence inside his mind.
Professor Trelawney shakes her head and lays a palm upon the cool glass of her orb.
No doubt they will believe it was not real, now, that those things they felt were lies. When will people realise that it is the inner eyes that really see, the mind that really feels? This flesh is only flesh.
Author's Note: Lucretia fucking Severus was not my original idea. There is a similar scene in Peter Hoeg's Smilla's Sense Of Snow
In the Eastern wing, a scream rent the stillness of the hallways.
In the Divination tower, a shawl clad, insect like figure’s head turned suddenly as a grey light lit the room. In one of the polished crystals on her mantle, two shadowy figures emerged, and she turned in rapt attention to watch the full moon work its magic upon them.
It is dark when I enter the room, too dark to see. But there is a rug upon the floor, and then the stone stairs leading up to his chambers, and then carpet, and my toes cling to it as though I am guided by a rope. I know not what I am doing here, how I managed to end up here, or what I am expecting from this encounter. I know only that I care not for the consequences.
I seem to feel him as I come closer, as the bed emerges from the surrounding darkness as though there is light to illuminate it, but there is not. All is in shades of blue, the bed with its dark sheets, and the sleeping man within it, lying on his back, one arm above his head, black hair fanned over his face like the brushy tail of an animal, visible only a nose, lips – a boyish expression.
I wake with a start to moonlight, everything tinged blue. To a face I know very well, too well, staring down at me. Ludicrous! How did she enter my chamber?! No one can pass my wards, and even if they managed to, my sleep is light. But these thoughts are drowned by a heavy mind, and silenced by a kiss upon my lips. I feel satin skin and liquid hair upon me, and all thoughts are gone, killed, destroyed by this lush murderess.
“Lucretia…” I whisper as our lips part… “What…?”
But my fingers are upon his lips to silence his question. I do not want to hear it. All I want is him. All of him. No matter, anything else. I kiss him again, and it is both languid and demanding.
“Severus…” My own voice is a hiss, hardly recognizable, but it twists and undulates about him and draws him to me, against me. I slide about him over the bedclothes, and he rises to meet me, and our arms go about each other.
Voices, hisses, fragments. She is at once a spectre and a beast. Is she real? A hand over her cheek, sliding down over her throat to cup a breast, twirl my fingers about a nipple. Liquid gasp in my ear. Yes, she loves that. I feel a smile upon my face. First blood, perhaps, first gasp, one to me. A sly expression overtakes her eyes, blue tinged pools of darkness in this tangible moonlight.
She pushes me back into the sheets, and climbs atop me, grinding her body against my growing hardness. Throwing her head back to bear that pale throat of hers. Breath caught in mine.
Yes, this is like coming home.
Tossing me backwards onto the bed with a thrust of the hips, atop me in an instant, and a handful of hair in his hand, pulling my head back and devouring my throat with lips, tongue, teeth. I melt against him and he feels it, and smirks, as though he has won.
I grab his wrists with both hands and lift them above his head, so he must support himself over me lest he fall upon my form, and I bind him there not with scarves or chains but with the sheer strength of my will. Our gaze meets, and a challenge ensues.
Merlin, she knows exactly what I want. She knows just how much I want to dominate her and submit to her at the same time. And her hands… Merlin’s mistress! Sliding down beneath me, one hand twisting my nipple, licking it, blowing cool air against it. The other hand against my…
By Merlin, I’ve missed the feel of his warm manhood in my hand, missed everything about him. Missed those intense eyes that devour me. Missed that quivering self control and that stubbornness. But he gasps as I roll his balls in my palm then stroke up and down on his shaft. This game is all but over.
I can’t hold myself like this much longer. My muscles are straining to hold me up and I just want to dissolve into her. Saucy wench. She knew I’d not want to lose. I shan’t…
I bring one knee up between her legs, forcing them apart, bracing myself above her, and move one elbow down to support myself. My fingers trace over the satin nightgown she is wearing, as though she came straight from her own bed to mine. My mind begins to question this again, but is beaten down by the animal in me, in her, the single divided animal that wants to be whole again.
She knows how I love satin, how I love the textures of her, skin, clothing, hair, tongue. I pull the hem of the shift up and tear her panties away, finding her clitoris and pushing my thumb against it, fingers hungrily slipping into her depths.
He chuckles when he hears my gasp, conceited bastard. He feigns nonchalance but his body betrays him, as always. His rock hard cock means more to me than the smirk upon his face.
My hands on his shoulders, pushing him up, back onto the pillows, onto his back. I sit before him, and lift the satin shift from my form, pull the sheet out from between us, then climb atop him, onto his lap, bend to kiss him. Our tongues do battle, fighting for dominance. When I pull away, our eyes meet with such fierce intensity that it brings back memories of the vehement words we exchanged in anger. An anger that has abated but not been resolved.
I push all that away.
“Severus.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to fuck you.”
“Really. I hadn’t figured that out yet.”
“No. I mean I’M going to fuck YOU.”
And she does. She moves further up my legs toward me, and lowers herself to within inches of touching me. Then her hand wraps about me, and pulls my foreskin back. I watch her actions with fascination, and for a moment am distracted from the heady pleasure of this encounter enough to be intrigued, as she pushes herself against me and lets go the skin.
By Merlin! Her clitoris is inside the skin, against the head of my cock. She is inside me. She fucks me.
No nonchalance anymore. Finally I have him within me, against me, and I gyrate my hips slowly against him, careful to keep our bodies joined. My hand tangles in his hair and I pull him toward me. My breasts against his chest as I kiss him, sucking his tongue and pulling his lips between my teeth. Devouring him. He twists my nipple between his fingers. He knows I love it.
Why does she want me? What has made this overconfident, arrogant, ageless being want me? A question I’ve never been able to answer, and always one that has bothered me, no matter how much I want to banish it from my thoughts. As though there is always a miniature dark lord in the back of my mind reminding me that I am not good enough.
But I’m good enough for her. If this is not proving it to me, then what is?
He gasps under my ministrations.
“Why do you want me, Lucretia?”
Why do I want him? How can I possibly form an answer when my mind is so painfully, blissfully blank with such pleasure?
She smiles at me, and kisses me once again, not viciously but passionately.
“I want you because there are so many things wrong with you that you’re perfect.”
“Are you just telling me what you think I want to hear?”
“Probably. Just shut up. I want you to fuck me now.”
There are so many things wrong with me that I am perfect. If that is logic, then she is so perfect that she’s too perfect, and so she is even more flawed than I. Perhaps that’s why I want her so.
He throws me back onto the bed, then, and his eyes are alight with something like fire. His kisses ravish my mouth, and his cock pushes within me, fills me up and worships me. His fingers trail over me with the same fire I can see in his eyes. My eyes flutter closed for a moment as he grinds against me and my breath leaves my body, but I can still see his eyes on mine when they are closed.
She is velvet, then, velvet around me, and liquid beneath me, like molten gold, beautiful and luminous and moulding herself around my form. I feel her fingernails in my back and her legs about my waist, and I push deeper within her as though there is something there I might find, the deeper I go.
And the moonlight and the pleasure encircle us, and lift us from the ground, and we swirl in it. We are one beast, contorting and moving in a complicated dance, as the music in our ears grows louder and louder until it reaches a crescendo. We shatter.
Everything shatters.
In his chamber in the dungeons, the Potions Master wakes with a gasping intake of breath, hot all over, the sheets a mess with the product of such a heady dream. Euphoria quickly turns to bitterness, and he strips the linen from himself and pulls up the duvet, curling his body about itself and trying to quell the aching desire to not be alone. Trying to forget just how right everything felt, in the dream. He scowls into his pillow.
Across the castle, Lucretia LeStrange’s eyes shudder open and her vision adjusts to the darkness of her chamber. Drenched in the bedclothes, shaking from the aftermath of a powerful orgasm. Peeling the soiled sheets away from herself, she climbs from the bed and wraps herself in a gown, a shield against the cold coming now from both without and within. Wide awake, she walks to the window, and stares out at the full moon that illuminates the grounds with silvery perfection. Eyes come to rest on the Slytherin wing, the Potion Master’s chambers. It takes her several moments to register that the wetness on her cheeks is tears.
In the eastern wing, the howl fades to a whimper as the werewolf retreats to a silence inside his mind.
Professor Trelawney shakes her head and lays a palm upon the cool glass of her orb.
No doubt they will believe it was not real, now, that those things they felt were lies. When will people realise that it is the inner eyes that really see, the mind that really feels? This flesh is only flesh.
Author's Note: Lucretia fucking Severus was not my original idea. There is a similar scene in Peter Hoeg's Smilla's Sense Of Snow