Phenomenon Of Fire - Sirius/Remus
Title: Phenomenon Of Fire.
Author: Rachel McFaith.
bloodrebel333.
BloodRebel333Pairing: Sirius/Remus. Hints at Sirius/Regulus, Sirius/Bellatrix and Remus/Bellatrix.
Rating: PG-13.
Warning: Implied Blackcest, mild violence, slash.
Word-Count: 526.
Author's Note: This was one of the two fics that got me into this community, and I should've posted it a long time ago.
Phenomenon Of Fire.
He tells me I am beautiful, that my smile is a ray of warm Sunlight on a cold November morning, that my eyes are chocolates and the soil the fairest flowers grow in, that my voice would make the Heavens cry of joy.
I used to hit him when he said those things, dig my nails in his face, cuss and fist and shout.
Here he was; the most beautiful person I know, with hair as black as his name, eyes as deep as an ocean, smile as passionate as his friendship, long-fingered Pureblooded hands as elegant as his silhouette - telling me I am beautiful.
I struck him, once - fists beating all across his chest and shoulders and cheekbones, wanting craving yearning to anger him, to make him take it back, to get him to stop lying to me. He laughed, and fought back until he had pressed me against the wall and kissed my cheek, my neck, my eyes, my chin, and then, my lips.
I pushed him away then, hated, didn't talk for days on end.
His kiss, his kiss is a phenomenon of fire, a battle of tongues and lips and teeth, claiming, taking, an emblem of hunger and passion and Black, and once you've felt it you never stop thirsting, longing, aching. I hate his kiss, and the way his lips and tongue and teeth and hands leave bruises over my body, and the emptiness I feel when it is over, lonely, scarred, longing.
His scent is purely male, sweat and musk and grass, Pureblooded recklessness and power and indolence blending together until I don't know what is what anymore. It's just him, and he doesn't allow for people to divide and analyse what he is.
He is passionate in anger, active, loud, dangerous, whereas I am passive, quiet, deadly; he once said the more quiet I became the more dangerous he knew it was.
My mind's a vortex, fast and deadening and chaotic and calm, savage, brown on brown on brown on brown, as the shadows of countless silhouettes in the night.
Black balls with black seemingly-glossed hair everywhere, black upon black upon black, young men and young ladies dance the night away.
Black, and his mirror image, his other half, would wait in a corner for him to notice and take off, same blood, same smile, same depth as male meets male in black sin; Black, and a passionate, cruel, wild representation of female beautiful fire mocking me if I dare to show myself there, whispering of a him and a her, a her and a choice of sinful knowledge, how he is, a her, and so much like him that the aspiration to leave and stay grows, dies, flickers.
And I always knew how it would end, if I let him go on.
He'd leave, in his search for wildness, pleasure, voyaging all over with his brash, fervent smile, ardent, deep eyes, blazing, flaming heart, savage hair and hands casually in pockets of worn tight jeans and black leather on blacker velvet.
Unreachable, and he never knew. He never knew.
He always was veiled.
Fin.