Fic: Like Crimson Tears
Jul. 23rd, 2005 03:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
featherxquillTitle: Like Crimson Tears
Author: Feather Quill
Pairing: Severus Snape/Lucretia LeStrange (OFC)
Rating: R
Warnings: Vampirism, HBP SPOILERS.
Summary: An exploration of possibilities based on the ending of HBP. AU.
Notes: Written for the Knocturn Noir challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darkones
And the first place he ran was her arms.
“Lucretia.” The word was heavy, grating on his lips, spoken even before his body was fully present in the room.
He could feel it within him; the ragged ends of the broken vow twining their way around and within him like serpents. They writhed in his veins, pulled tight around him and bit into soft flesh with acid-tipped fangs. Already it was hard to breathe.
She’d turned at the sound of her name, and firelight caught the red of her hair and the white of her skin, melting together into yellows and oranges in his vision like lights viewed from underwater. Colours became indistinct, blurred; then righted themselves. Her eyes widened in shock as he took a step forward, feeling the floor lurch horribly beneath his feet and the room spin a circle around him.
“Severus, what…?”
He found it hard to speak. Words caught in his throat. They burned, choked, drowned. “Unbreakable vow… broke it… couldn’t kill him… Dumbledore… protego charm… saved Draco… only reason… still alive…”
For some reason, it seemed important to him that she understand what had happened, that she knew a shell of something solid and impenetrable protected them, a variation of the Protego charm he had stumbled upon once and that even did not know how to break. But he was not going to be able to tell her. His fingers were growing hot, his throat constricted. He took a shuddering breath, and caught her dark eyes with his own, lifted a hand to touch her that fell short and only brushed the fabric of her robe. “Do it.”
He didn’t think he had ever seen her look afraid before, but she did then.
She knew what he wanted. Knew, but could not bear the thought. How could she do that for him, to him? How could she deny him? He stumbled again, lurched violently, and without even thinking she swept forward to catch him in her arms. He was warm, so very warm against her, so very heavy and male and mortal and desperate. Those eyes locked with hers again and he moved his lips as though to speak, but no sound came out. He was fading quickly; he would die in her arms in agony if she allowed it. He knew it, and she did not have to be a Legilimens to know what he was asking with his eyes.
It was not difficult to take those few steps back with him falling against her, to drag him onto the bed, to curl her arms about him and pull him against her. His heart was beating fast and hard against her hand; she could smell fear radiating off him in waves.
It needed to be quick, but it could not be like this.
He began to shake, to shudder in her arms as she lifted his chin and caught his eyes again. His pupils were changing size rapidly as he fought to focus on her instead of the magic ripping him apart. Usually steady fingers clutched desperately at her robes. Her fingers traced his brow, hot with sweat, brushed his hair aside, then she buried her face against his throat and bit down hard.
His body spasmed as they all do with the first bite, then went limp in her arms. She could taste it, the magic and the broken vow, heat on her tongue and fire down her throat. Her arm snaked around him and held him close – that heartbeat against her chest that was as close as she would ever come to having real life again. His fingers loosened their hold on her robes, her eyelids fluttered against his skin. The rest of the world ceased to exist. Heartbeat thudded in her ears, a pulse in time with his, pounding within her and drowning out everything. The beast inside woke, hungrily burying itself deeper within his throat, and the woman felt herself teeter on the edge of her humanity, then tumble away into the thirst's animalistic void.
He could feel himself dying, but it didn’t matter. She was strong and unyielding around him; tough and tender at the same time, holding him tightly like a mother while she ravaged his throat like a lover. Their pulses beat in time with each other, and he surrendered to the thrall in which she held him. The pain was gone, that dreadful magic, everything was gone, leaving him, flowing away. He could think of many worse ways to die than locked in the arms of Lucretia LeStrange.
And then she raised her head, and hot tears fell upon his cheeks. The sensations felt oddly far away from his brain. “You cannot ask this, Severus. You cannot ask me to do what you could not.” He felt his head loll against her arms, utterly devoid of strength. His eyelids were steel weights holding his eyes closed, but somehow he managed to open them.
Her eyes were alight with incandescence – the beast he had seen flickering in her depths so many times, so often fought down. She was magnificent this way, with fire in her eyes and blood on her lips, so very animal and alive when the woman and the predator fused together.
“Let me take you with me.” Her wrist to her mouth, then, and blood running down her fingers like crimson tears.
He could not think. The candlelight shimmered on the droplets of blood running down her white hand, and he was so very thirsty. The spell of comfort was shattered, and this was death they were holding between them, life she had in her arms. He did not want to die, but that? He loved it about her, that darkness, the swirling magic that made her what she was, but he hated the idle life of indulgence that she seemed to lead. Death or undeath, in that very moment.
He barely got the words out. “All right.”
And so he died.
She knew he did not want it, even as she pressed her fingers to his lips and smeared them with her blood, as those pale fingers pressed into his mouth and the blood coursed over her palm, hot and silken. But he groaned as it touched his tongue and his body twisted in her arms as if waking. The blood pooled in her hand and he lapped at it, tongue hot and dry against her flesh. In her veins it writhed: his blood, her blood, the dark magic that bound her body and soul in one, and the acidic twist of the broken vow that left her electrified. Her skin tingled from the dark potency, black starbusts before her eyes. Spinning, she wrapped herself about him again, harder, curling a leg about him and shifting to give him access, flicking her hair back and pulling his face against her pulsing throat. She closed her eyes and felt it there, the vampire beast inside her, working on the new blood in her system, drowning it, killing it, turning it. She could feel the questing of his lips and tongue over her throat, given enegry and appetite by that taste of her. He bit gently, at first, gauging the pressure he would need to break the skin, finding the vein, then bit down hard, harder than she had. Once, twice, three times with blunt teeth, and she gasped against him as the skin broke and his lips clamped over the wound. She felt it leaving her, hot and burning.
He gained strength as he took it from her, arms lifting to wrap around her, pulling her against him like a doll, hungry and demanding as he often was as a lover. She fit around him and within his arms, losing herself to the growing animal in him. This was ecstasy, this exchange, the most intimate way to know each other. She felt herself growing weak, light, magic loosening itself as it did when she was angry or climaxing, and the candles in the room flickered and snuffed out. When he had taken it all - all of his, and most of hers, she lifted her head and sank her teeth into his throat again.
They moved as one, both strengthened by the other, taking the blood and giving it back, wrapped around with dark robes and enveloped in the thick of night. When finally he could take no more, this fledgeling, they collapsed onto the sheets entangled with one another, sticky with blood, and she held fast to him as her wounds healed and his body began to die.
A few moments later, he cried out in pain and threw her off him with rapidly growing strength. The candles were alight again in an instant, and he was clawing at his left sleeve, tearing the fabric away as though it were burning him. Upon his left arm, the Dark Mark writhed and twisted, as the two magics fought together - the powerful brand of the Dark Lord rebelling against the magic of the vampire as it seemed to try and erase it, to make him some kind of unblemished, immaculate dark creature. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, a moan upon his lips. The flesh sizzled, smoked; the acrid stench of burning flesh filled the air, then the two seemed to mesh, and he was left with a charred and blackened Mark, to be etched upon his skin that way for eternity. He seemed to stare at it for a long while, then fell back onto the covers and allowed his eyes to close.
She felt it too, the approach of dawn, as though the weight of the sun itself were somehow tied to her with invisible threads, and as it rose over the horizon it dragged at her. She had not the strength to resist it that night, and she did not want to. Pulling the heavy curtains around the bed tightly closed, she fell, spinning, into that dreamless vampire sleep.
By the next evening, he was gone.
She took to the night to hunt out a victim for her thirst, clutching at her with a vengeance in the aftermath of creation, walking the dark streets in search for something hot, young and sweet. When she had taken her fill and a warm body was dropping to her feet, she lifted her head, and knew he was there even before he was fully present.
"Severus."
Heavy on her lips, but not grating. Thick with everything that had passed between them the night before - everything physical, everything said and unsaid. He was even paler than he had been, and his skin has taken on the immortal appearance of marble. Those eyes shimmered with an opaline quality, but there was nothing in them at that moment that looked alive.
"He died anyway. The potion killed him."
Her breath caught in her throat. "Oh. Oh, Merlin. Severus..." She moved toward him, but he gripped her by the arms and held her away from him. He was strong, stronger than he realised. His figers bit into her skin. Now there was something glittering, alive in his eyes: disgust, malice.
"Why did you do it, Lucretia?" A hiss upin his lips.
"Because you let me, you wanted it." Her voice was high and hollow. They both knew that she was speaking lies.
"You know I never wanted it, Lucretia. Impossible to resist, as any mortal knows, at the moment it is offered. But I never wanted it. I would rather have died."
And there it was. And he had, at least to her. She'd refused to lose him, and now she had, in more horrible a way than death. He would live forever, and he would never forgive her. He must have seen it, that realisation, because his lips twitched into a humourless, hateful smile.
He thrust her away from him, turned his back on her and melted into the darkness of the night.
Author: Feather Quill
Pairing: Severus Snape/Lucretia LeStrange (OFC)
Rating: R
Warnings: Vampirism, HBP SPOILERS.
Summary: An exploration of possibilities based on the ending of HBP. AU.
Notes: Written for the Knocturn Noir challenge at
darkonesAnd the first place he ran was her arms.
“Lucretia.” The word was heavy, grating on his lips, spoken even before his body was fully present in the room.
He could feel it within him; the ragged ends of the broken vow twining their way around and within him like serpents. They writhed in his veins, pulled tight around him and bit into soft flesh with acid-tipped fangs. Already it was hard to breathe.
She’d turned at the sound of her name, and firelight caught the red of her hair and the white of her skin, melting together into yellows and oranges in his vision like lights viewed from underwater. Colours became indistinct, blurred; then righted themselves. Her eyes widened in shock as he took a step forward, feeling the floor lurch horribly beneath his feet and the room spin a circle around him.
“Severus, what…?”
He found it hard to speak. Words caught in his throat. They burned, choked, drowned. “Unbreakable vow… broke it… couldn’t kill him… Dumbledore… protego charm… saved Draco… only reason… still alive…”
For some reason, it seemed important to him that she understand what had happened, that she knew a shell of something solid and impenetrable protected them, a variation of the Protego charm he had stumbled upon once and that even did not know how to break. But he was not going to be able to tell her. His fingers were growing hot, his throat constricted. He took a shuddering breath, and caught her dark eyes with his own, lifted a hand to touch her that fell short and only brushed the fabric of her robe. “Do it.”
He didn’t think he had ever seen her look afraid before, but she did then.
She knew what he wanted. Knew, but could not bear the thought. How could she do that for him, to him? How could she deny him? He stumbled again, lurched violently, and without even thinking she swept forward to catch him in her arms. He was warm, so very warm against her, so very heavy and male and mortal and desperate. Those eyes locked with hers again and he moved his lips as though to speak, but no sound came out. He was fading quickly; he would die in her arms in agony if she allowed it. He knew it, and she did not have to be a Legilimens to know what he was asking with his eyes.
It was not difficult to take those few steps back with him falling against her, to drag him onto the bed, to curl her arms about him and pull him against her. His heart was beating fast and hard against her hand; she could smell fear radiating off him in waves.
It needed to be quick, but it could not be like this.
He began to shake, to shudder in her arms as she lifted his chin and caught his eyes again. His pupils were changing size rapidly as he fought to focus on her instead of the magic ripping him apart. Usually steady fingers clutched desperately at her robes. Her fingers traced his brow, hot with sweat, brushed his hair aside, then she buried her face against his throat and bit down hard.
His body spasmed as they all do with the first bite, then went limp in her arms. She could taste it, the magic and the broken vow, heat on her tongue and fire down her throat. Her arm snaked around him and held him close – that heartbeat against her chest that was as close as she would ever come to having real life again. His fingers loosened their hold on her robes, her eyelids fluttered against his skin. The rest of the world ceased to exist. Heartbeat thudded in her ears, a pulse in time with his, pounding within her and drowning out everything. The beast inside woke, hungrily burying itself deeper within his throat, and the woman felt herself teeter on the edge of her humanity, then tumble away into the thirst's animalistic void.
He could feel himself dying, but it didn’t matter. She was strong and unyielding around him; tough and tender at the same time, holding him tightly like a mother while she ravaged his throat like a lover. Their pulses beat in time with each other, and he surrendered to the thrall in which she held him. The pain was gone, that dreadful magic, everything was gone, leaving him, flowing away. He could think of many worse ways to die than locked in the arms of Lucretia LeStrange.
And then she raised her head, and hot tears fell upon his cheeks. The sensations felt oddly far away from his brain. “You cannot ask this, Severus. You cannot ask me to do what you could not.” He felt his head loll against her arms, utterly devoid of strength. His eyelids were steel weights holding his eyes closed, but somehow he managed to open them.
Her eyes were alight with incandescence – the beast he had seen flickering in her depths so many times, so often fought down. She was magnificent this way, with fire in her eyes and blood on her lips, so very animal and alive when the woman and the predator fused together.
“Let me take you with me.” Her wrist to her mouth, then, and blood running down her fingers like crimson tears.
He could not think. The candlelight shimmered on the droplets of blood running down her white hand, and he was so very thirsty. The spell of comfort was shattered, and this was death they were holding between them, life she had in her arms. He did not want to die, but that? He loved it about her, that darkness, the swirling magic that made her what she was, but he hated the idle life of indulgence that she seemed to lead. Death or undeath, in that very moment.
He barely got the words out. “All right.”
And so he died.
She knew he did not want it, even as she pressed her fingers to his lips and smeared them with her blood, as those pale fingers pressed into his mouth and the blood coursed over her palm, hot and silken. But he groaned as it touched his tongue and his body twisted in her arms as if waking. The blood pooled in her hand and he lapped at it, tongue hot and dry against her flesh. In her veins it writhed: his blood, her blood, the dark magic that bound her body and soul in one, and the acidic twist of the broken vow that left her electrified. Her skin tingled from the dark potency, black starbusts before her eyes. Spinning, she wrapped herself about him again, harder, curling a leg about him and shifting to give him access, flicking her hair back and pulling his face against her pulsing throat. She closed her eyes and felt it there, the vampire beast inside her, working on the new blood in her system, drowning it, killing it, turning it. She could feel the questing of his lips and tongue over her throat, given enegry and appetite by that taste of her. He bit gently, at first, gauging the pressure he would need to break the skin, finding the vein, then bit down hard, harder than she had. Once, twice, three times with blunt teeth, and she gasped against him as the skin broke and his lips clamped over the wound. She felt it leaving her, hot and burning.
He gained strength as he took it from her, arms lifting to wrap around her, pulling her against him like a doll, hungry and demanding as he often was as a lover. She fit around him and within his arms, losing herself to the growing animal in him. This was ecstasy, this exchange, the most intimate way to know each other. She felt herself growing weak, light, magic loosening itself as it did when she was angry or climaxing, and the candles in the room flickered and snuffed out. When he had taken it all - all of his, and most of hers, she lifted her head and sank her teeth into his throat again.
They moved as one, both strengthened by the other, taking the blood and giving it back, wrapped around with dark robes and enveloped in the thick of night. When finally he could take no more, this fledgeling, they collapsed onto the sheets entangled with one another, sticky with blood, and she held fast to him as her wounds healed and his body began to die.
A few moments later, he cried out in pain and threw her off him with rapidly growing strength. The candles were alight again in an instant, and he was clawing at his left sleeve, tearing the fabric away as though it were burning him. Upon his left arm, the Dark Mark writhed and twisted, as the two magics fought together - the powerful brand of the Dark Lord rebelling against the magic of the vampire as it seemed to try and erase it, to make him some kind of unblemished, immaculate dark creature. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, a moan upon his lips. The flesh sizzled, smoked; the acrid stench of burning flesh filled the air, then the two seemed to mesh, and he was left with a charred and blackened Mark, to be etched upon his skin that way for eternity. He seemed to stare at it for a long while, then fell back onto the covers and allowed his eyes to close.
She felt it too, the approach of dawn, as though the weight of the sun itself were somehow tied to her with invisible threads, and as it rose over the horizon it dragged at her. She had not the strength to resist it that night, and she did not want to. Pulling the heavy curtains around the bed tightly closed, she fell, spinning, into that dreamless vampire sleep.
By the next evening, he was gone.
She took to the night to hunt out a victim for her thirst, clutching at her with a vengeance in the aftermath of creation, walking the dark streets in search for something hot, young and sweet. When she had taken her fill and a warm body was dropping to her feet, she lifted her head, and knew he was there even before he was fully present.
"Severus."
Heavy on her lips, but not grating. Thick with everything that had passed between them the night before - everything physical, everything said and unsaid. He was even paler than he had been, and his skin has taken on the immortal appearance of marble. Those eyes shimmered with an opaline quality, but there was nothing in them at that moment that looked alive.
"He died anyway. The potion killed him."
Her breath caught in her throat. "Oh. Oh, Merlin. Severus..." She moved toward him, but he gripped her by the arms and held her away from him. He was strong, stronger than he realised. His figers bit into her skin. Now there was something glittering, alive in his eyes: disgust, malice.
"Why did you do it, Lucretia?" A hiss upin his lips.
"Because you let me, you wanted it." Her voice was high and hollow. They both knew that she was speaking lies.
"You know I never wanted it, Lucretia. Impossible to resist, as any mortal knows, at the moment it is offered. But I never wanted it. I would rather have died."
And there it was. And he had, at least to her. She'd refused to lose him, and now she had, in more horrible a way than death. He would live forever, and he would never forgive her. He must have seen it, that realisation, because his lips twitched into a humourless, hateful smile.
He thrust her away from him, turned his back on her and melted into the darkness of the night.
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Date: 2005-07-25 10:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-20 08:51 pm (UTC)