Like Poison; Gift for hp_emofest
Recipient: The Group
Title: Like Poison
Author: westwardlee
Beta: Anonymous
Pairing/s: Sirius/Remus, Remus/Tonks
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): AU, infidelity
Length: 1,655
Summary: His kisses are like poison: I know they will be the end of me, that they will kill me slowly and painfully.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: This is AU - I could write the same story in the afterlife, since everyone involved here died; so, if you really hate AUs, you can imagine they are all dead and happy about it, living in the Great Beyond.
Many thanks to my beta.
Like Poison
His kisses are like poison: I know they will be the end of me, that they will kill me slowly and painfully.
But they are a sweet kind of venom. Nothing has ever tasted so good, and, although I know they are lethal, I open my mouth for more.
I'm never sated. I could kiss him forever and still feel that it was not enough. I complain softly when his mouth leaves mine, but then I feel his lips on my jaw, descending to my throat and then further down my body.
Those kisses don't feel like poison: they are like flames. Each touch burns a part of my body, until I can't hold on any more and I writhe. Not in pain, but in pleasure.
And I start begging. Begging for him to take me, to own me, to do with me as he wishes.
He's the only one who can do this to me, who can make me feel like I am loved, desired. Needed.
And then I feel him entering me, almost tentatively at first. He's always worried about hurting me, although I've told him many, many times that all I need is some sort of lubrication and I'm fine. That I am always ready for him, like I've been since our first time, so long ago.
I move my hips to show him how eager I am and he understands, finally sheathing himself inside me. He stays still for a few seconds; I know he's waiting for me to get used to the sensation of fullness. I don't need the time - this is all I've wanted - but I enjoy the tenderness, the closeness of his body inside mine before he starts moving in and out, his cock hitting my prostate until I lose all sense of reality.
Those few seconds when he stays still inside me are more romantic than any words I've ever heard, a true communion of body and soul.
And then, slowly, he pulls back, and then forth again, and the stillness turns to animalistic desire. I love being fucked by him, and I command him to go harder and harder, deeper and deeper inside me. He complies - he always does what I want - although he's afraid of hurting me. Many times he does hurt me, as I goad him to give me more and more. Many times it's hard for me to sit down without grimacing, or even to walk as if I hadn't just had a beautiful cock inside me, stretching me to the limit, filling me almost impossibly.
But it's a pain I welcome, and a pain I deserve.
I have no other way to atone to her and to my son. This pain is the only antidote to the poison, to his whispered words, “Leave her. It’s me you want, isn’t it? Not them.”
I can't do that. She loves me, and I can't hurt her that way. I can't hurt my son: his father is a werewolf, and that's more than enough for the boy to deal with. He doesn't need the added shame of his father being gay, in a society that would probably be more sympathetic to a dark creature than a homosexual. After all, I can take Wolfsbane to contain my condition.
There's nothing that can be done about my sexuality, though. I know well. I tried: I let what should have been an innocent friendship turn into something else - she was fragile then, on the rebound from a bad break-up. And I was lonely without him, worried about his whereabouts, the results of his mission - we couldn't communicate while he was away, and I fretted and imagined the worst. I needed company, and she did, too. I was understanding, willing to listen and offer a shoulder for her to lean on. That was all it took and, suddenly, I was about to be a father.
I had to marry her, I told him.
He told me then that we were finished. Not only it would be adultery, she was his cousin! He never mentioned the fact that I had betrayed him. I think he didn't consider my first time with her as an infidelity. But he was hurt. I could see it in his eyes.
He kept his word until after the baby was born. He refused her invitation to be godfather, but came to the christening. It was the first time I’d seen him since our own break-up, and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself telling him that I loved him, that I was his, not hers. But wherever I went that day, I felt his grey eyes boring into me.
Then I followed him to the bathroom, and there we made love passionately. With my wife, my son, our friends and family in the living-room. It was wrong, so wrong. And yet it was wonderful. I was his again. And I knew that he was mine, that he would never be able to give me up, regardless of public opinion or family.
Now, we’re as much together as we’ve ever been, our rhythm increasing to the point where I know we won't last much longer. I cry out his name, he cries out mine and we come almost together. I kiss him hungrily while he's still pulsating inside me. I don't want this moment to end. I want him joined to me forever.
But he's soft now and slides out, leaving me throbbing with pain and emptiness. He's lying flat over my body, and I comb his hair with my fingers - he likes that, I know. He's heavy, but it’s a weight I love, even though I find it a little hard to breathe sometimes.
When I look up at the clock on the wall, I can almost see the hands moving. I wince. Times goes by so quickly when we're together. It’s not fair. My days at home are so long, the nights interminable. After I put my son to bed, I read and walk around the house, trying to put off the moment when I have to go to bed.
With her.
After the christening, the incident with him in the bathroom, there was no way I could have sex with her again. I told her I was impotent; some long, rambling story about Wolfsbane and its effect on the libido. She believed me, I think. At first, she tried to cure me, and once, when she went down on me, I imagined his mouth on me and I began to harden. But then I felt her sharp little teeth, and that was the end of that. She said nothing, simply looked at me with sad eyes. Sad grey eyes, just like his.
I didn’t offer to give up the Wolfsbane. But I insisted that she find someone else, someone who could make her happy. She retorted that I was the one who made her happy, and she didn't mind not having sex. Having me with her was enough. And then she added that many married couples had non-existent sex-lives. What was important was that we were a family, we loved each other and we had a healthy boy.
I should have been braver then and told her that, in fact, I did not love her. That I loved her cousin. But I didn't, and now I live with her and have sex in the afternoons with him. And when she visits her mother, he and I have the odd night together.
I love waking up in his arms. I love seeing him asleep, his face almost boyish.
He's asleep now, on top of me. My legs are cramping and I push him gently off me. Quietly, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and, just as I am standing up, he says, "Where're you going?"
I sigh. "You know, Sirius," I answer.
He snorts. "Of course. Home to have dinner with Tonks and put Teddy to bed."
I don't answer. I bend down to pull on my pants and I wince. I am hurting. But not only physically.
"I never thought I’d be someone’s bit on the side," he says.
"You're not my bit on the side. You're the only one. You know that."
"No, I don't. She's the one who has you whenever she wants."
"She doesn't have me." I finish getting dressed. I don't want to go, but if I don't leave now I'll be late getting home and then I’ll have to come up with a story. I'm very good at making up excuses, but I'm running out of ideas. It's lucky that she doesn't press me too much: some of my lies are a bit farfetched. Maybe she doesn't want to know the truth. But one day I’m bound to get caught, I’m well aware of that.
"Come here," he commands, holding out his arms. I hesitate. I know he wants a good-bye kiss - I want to kiss him all over - but when he's in one of these moods, it may also be a ploy to make me stay a bit longer, to talk about us, about her, to try to convince me to leave her.
But, of course, I can't resist. I bend down to kiss him and, unexpectedly, he pulls me back onto the bed, on top of him. He kisses me hard, his tongue inside my mouth, his hands feverishly unbuttoning my just-buttoned shirt.
I am naked again in a matter of seconds. In a few more seconds, my legs are wrapped around his waist and he's entering me.
It’s getting dark outside when he finally rolls off me. I am late beyond any excuse, possibly beyond caring. But he won’t let me go. He presses his body against mine, pinning me down to the bed so I can’t move.
He kisses me and it’s pure poison. It's killing me, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
Title: Like Poison
Author: westwardlee
Beta: Anonymous
Pairing/s: Sirius/Remus, Remus/Tonks
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): AU, infidelity
Length: 1,655
Summary: His kisses are like poison: I know they will be the end of me, that they will kill me slowly and painfully.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: This is AU - I could write the same story in the afterlife, since everyone involved here died; so, if you really hate AUs, you can imagine they are all dead and happy about it, living in the Great Beyond.
Many thanks to my beta.
Like Poison
His kisses are like poison: I know they will be the end of me, that they will kill me slowly and painfully.
But they are a sweet kind of venom. Nothing has ever tasted so good, and, although I know they are lethal, I open my mouth for more.
I'm never sated. I could kiss him forever and still feel that it was not enough. I complain softly when his mouth leaves mine, but then I feel his lips on my jaw, descending to my throat and then further down my body.
Those kisses don't feel like poison: they are like flames. Each touch burns a part of my body, until I can't hold on any more and I writhe. Not in pain, but in pleasure.
And I start begging. Begging for him to take me, to own me, to do with me as he wishes.
He's the only one who can do this to me, who can make me feel like I am loved, desired. Needed.
And then I feel him entering me, almost tentatively at first. He's always worried about hurting me, although I've told him many, many times that all I need is some sort of lubrication and I'm fine. That I am always ready for him, like I've been since our first time, so long ago.
I move my hips to show him how eager I am and he understands, finally sheathing himself inside me. He stays still for a few seconds; I know he's waiting for me to get used to the sensation of fullness. I don't need the time - this is all I've wanted - but I enjoy the tenderness, the closeness of his body inside mine before he starts moving in and out, his cock hitting my prostate until I lose all sense of reality.
Those few seconds when he stays still inside me are more romantic than any words I've ever heard, a true communion of body and soul.
And then, slowly, he pulls back, and then forth again, and the stillness turns to animalistic desire. I love being fucked by him, and I command him to go harder and harder, deeper and deeper inside me. He complies - he always does what I want - although he's afraid of hurting me. Many times he does hurt me, as I goad him to give me more and more. Many times it's hard for me to sit down without grimacing, or even to walk as if I hadn't just had a beautiful cock inside me, stretching me to the limit, filling me almost impossibly.
But it's a pain I welcome, and a pain I deserve.
I have no other way to atone to her and to my son. This pain is the only antidote to the poison, to his whispered words, “Leave her. It’s me you want, isn’t it? Not them.”
I can't do that. She loves me, and I can't hurt her that way. I can't hurt my son: his father is a werewolf, and that's more than enough for the boy to deal with. He doesn't need the added shame of his father being gay, in a society that would probably be more sympathetic to a dark creature than a homosexual. After all, I can take Wolfsbane to contain my condition.
There's nothing that can be done about my sexuality, though. I know well. I tried: I let what should have been an innocent friendship turn into something else - she was fragile then, on the rebound from a bad break-up. And I was lonely without him, worried about his whereabouts, the results of his mission - we couldn't communicate while he was away, and I fretted and imagined the worst. I needed company, and she did, too. I was understanding, willing to listen and offer a shoulder for her to lean on. That was all it took and, suddenly, I was about to be a father.
I had to marry her, I told him.
He told me then that we were finished. Not only it would be adultery, she was his cousin! He never mentioned the fact that I had betrayed him. I think he didn't consider my first time with her as an infidelity. But he was hurt. I could see it in his eyes.
He kept his word until after the baby was born. He refused her invitation to be godfather, but came to the christening. It was the first time I’d seen him since our own break-up, and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself telling him that I loved him, that I was his, not hers. But wherever I went that day, I felt his grey eyes boring into me.
Then I followed him to the bathroom, and there we made love passionately. With my wife, my son, our friends and family in the living-room. It was wrong, so wrong. And yet it was wonderful. I was his again. And I knew that he was mine, that he would never be able to give me up, regardless of public opinion or family.
Now, we’re as much together as we’ve ever been, our rhythm increasing to the point where I know we won't last much longer. I cry out his name, he cries out mine and we come almost together. I kiss him hungrily while he's still pulsating inside me. I don't want this moment to end. I want him joined to me forever.
But he's soft now and slides out, leaving me throbbing with pain and emptiness. He's lying flat over my body, and I comb his hair with my fingers - he likes that, I know. He's heavy, but it’s a weight I love, even though I find it a little hard to breathe sometimes.
When I look up at the clock on the wall, I can almost see the hands moving. I wince. Times goes by so quickly when we're together. It’s not fair. My days at home are so long, the nights interminable. After I put my son to bed, I read and walk around the house, trying to put off the moment when I have to go to bed.
With her.
After the christening, the incident with him in the bathroom, there was no way I could have sex with her again. I told her I was impotent; some long, rambling story about Wolfsbane and its effect on the libido. She believed me, I think. At first, she tried to cure me, and once, when she went down on me, I imagined his mouth on me and I began to harden. But then I felt her sharp little teeth, and that was the end of that. She said nothing, simply looked at me with sad eyes. Sad grey eyes, just like his.
I didn’t offer to give up the Wolfsbane. But I insisted that she find someone else, someone who could make her happy. She retorted that I was the one who made her happy, and she didn't mind not having sex. Having me with her was enough. And then she added that many married couples had non-existent sex-lives. What was important was that we were a family, we loved each other and we had a healthy boy.
I should have been braver then and told her that, in fact, I did not love her. That I loved her cousin. But I didn't, and now I live with her and have sex in the afternoons with him. And when she visits her mother, he and I have the odd night together.
I love waking up in his arms. I love seeing him asleep, his face almost boyish.
He's asleep now, on top of me. My legs are cramping and I push him gently off me. Quietly, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and, just as I am standing up, he says, "Where're you going?"
I sigh. "You know, Sirius," I answer.
He snorts. "Of course. Home to have dinner with Tonks and put Teddy to bed."
I don't answer. I bend down to pull on my pants and I wince. I am hurting. But not only physically.
"I never thought I’d be someone’s bit on the side," he says.
"You're not my bit on the side. You're the only one. You know that."
"No, I don't. She's the one who has you whenever she wants."
"She doesn't have me." I finish getting dressed. I don't want to go, but if I don't leave now I'll be late getting home and then I’ll have to come up with a story. I'm very good at making up excuses, but I'm running out of ideas. It's lucky that she doesn't press me too much: some of my lies are a bit farfetched. Maybe she doesn't want to know the truth. But one day I’m bound to get caught, I’m well aware of that.
"Come here," he commands, holding out his arms. I hesitate. I know he wants a good-bye kiss - I want to kiss him all over - but when he's in one of these moods, it may also be a ploy to make me stay a bit longer, to talk about us, about her, to try to convince me to leave her.
But, of course, I can't resist. I bend down to kiss him and, unexpectedly, he pulls me back onto the bed, on top of him. He kisses me hard, his tongue inside my mouth, his hands feverishly unbuttoning my just-buttoned shirt.
I am naked again in a matter of seconds. In a few more seconds, my legs are wrapped around his waist and he's entering me.
It’s getting dark outside when he finally rolls off me. I am late beyond any excuse, possibly beyond caring. But he won’t let me go. He presses his body against mine, pinning me down to the bed so I can’t move.
He kisses me and it’s pure poison. It's killing me, but I wouldn't have it any other way.