Portkey
Title: Portkey
Pairing: Sirius/Tonks
Prompt: Sirius/Tonks - Sexual Healing; She's loved her cousin since she was small. She always knew he was innocent. Now she wants to fix whatever's broken in him.
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, sexuality, cousin-cest
Notes: More hp_humpdrabbles fun! I promised myself I'd work on the stuff I have to write tonight, but... somehow, this spoke to me a little louder. Ha.
It was her face, at least in part, that saved him.
Crouched in the dank corner of his cell at Azkaban, all bones rattling under matted fur, he would picture her round, merry cheeks and her eyes glittering like wand-sparks. Nymphadora was the happiest child he had ever seen, utterly undaunted by the fact that she could never get out of her own way, giggling and crashing around the place like a hippogriff in a tea shop. Even his bitch of a mother found it damn near impossible to scowl at the little thing. Her joy was palpable. Unashamed. Healing. Sirius would squeeze his eyes shut and call her up behind them, and the blood would rush colors to his heart as brilliant as her hair.
Without her, he knew, he would never have escaped. Obsession can walk a man up to the door, but only hope can open it.
And when she opens the door again - the old, creaky door to Grimmauld Place; the door he had once privately vowed to keep locked up tight as a tomb for all eternity -- it's her presence (all grown up now, rounded and lovely with a permanently-sly look in her mischievous eyes) that keeps him sane again. That draws happy faces and lewd pictures in the dust of his memories and gives the house a pulse again.
That gives him a pulse again.
He discovers one night, sitting in his old bedroom with a photo album he pulled from under a pile of useless shite in Regulus's closet, that grief and simmering rage are not exclusive to solitary confinement. That you can feel as trapped in an unexpected moment as you can in a cell. The only difference is that, at least out in the world, you can fight back.
He does, chucking the album with such force at the window that it shatters.
The noise sends Dora crashing down the hallway. She comes through the door with her wand drawn to find him kneeling on the bed, mouth agape, staring at the glass. "Oi, Sirius," she says quietly, lowering her wand. "Bad night?"
He's ready to tell her to fuck off, but when his eyes meet hers, he can't do anything but nod. By the time he's done, she's in front of him, her hair shot through with streaks of silvery-blue and green, cradling his his face between her warm, dry palms.
Her kiss swallows him as easily as despair can, but this - this; the rise and fall of her tongue like a tide, the soft press of her body against the hard lines of his pain - has the delirious, spinning anticipation of a Portkey. It's a promise of something else, something better, if he just remembers to hold on.
And he does.
He holds onto her; her shimmering mermaid-hair and her sturdy hips and her thighs that close around him and pull him inside of her, where he rocks and rocks and rocks until the world explodes into sunlight and he lands on his feet on the other side, safe and sound in the wide-open space.
Pairing: Sirius/Tonks
Prompt: Sirius/Tonks - Sexual Healing; She's loved her cousin since she was small. She always knew he was innocent. Now she wants to fix whatever's broken in him.
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, sexuality, cousin-cest
Notes: More hp_humpdrabbles fun! I promised myself I'd work on the stuff I have to write tonight, but... somehow, this spoke to me a little louder. Ha.
It was her face, at least in part, that saved him.
Crouched in the dank corner of his cell at Azkaban, all bones rattling under matted fur, he would picture her round, merry cheeks and her eyes glittering like wand-sparks. Nymphadora was the happiest child he had ever seen, utterly undaunted by the fact that she could never get out of her own way, giggling and crashing around the place like a hippogriff in a tea shop. Even his bitch of a mother found it damn near impossible to scowl at the little thing. Her joy was palpable. Unashamed. Healing. Sirius would squeeze his eyes shut and call her up behind them, and the blood would rush colors to his heart as brilliant as her hair.
Without her, he knew, he would never have escaped. Obsession can walk a man up to the door, but only hope can open it.
And when she opens the door again - the old, creaky door to Grimmauld Place; the door he had once privately vowed to keep locked up tight as a tomb for all eternity -- it's her presence (all grown up now, rounded and lovely with a permanently-sly look in her mischievous eyes) that keeps him sane again. That draws happy faces and lewd pictures in the dust of his memories and gives the house a pulse again.
That gives him a pulse again.
He discovers one night, sitting in his old bedroom with a photo album he pulled from under a pile of useless shite in Regulus's closet, that grief and simmering rage are not exclusive to solitary confinement. That you can feel as trapped in an unexpected moment as you can in a cell. The only difference is that, at least out in the world, you can fight back.
He does, chucking the album with such force at the window that it shatters.
The noise sends Dora crashing down the hallway. She comes through the door with her wand drawn to find him kneeling on the bed, mouth agape, staring at the glass. "Oi, Sirius," she says quietly, lowering her wand. "Bad night?"
He's ready to tell her to fuck off, but when his eyes meet hers, he can't do anything but nod. By the time he's done, she's in front of him, her hair shot through with streaks of silvery-blue and green, cradling his his face between her warm, dry palms.
Her kiss swallows him as easily as despair can, but this - this; the rise and fall of her tongue like a tide, the soft press of her body against the hard lines of his pain - has the delirious, spinning anticipation of a Portkey. It's a promise of something else, something better, if he just remembers to hold on.
And he does.
He holds onto her; her shimmering mermaid-hair and her sturdy hips and her thighs that close around him and pull him inside of her, where he rocks and rocks and rocks until the world explodes into sunlight and he lands on his feet on the other side, safe and sound in the wide-open space.