Dark Reflections
Christmas card for themostepotente
Dark Reflections
Godric/Salazar and Snape/Black.
Merry Christmas!
It is the life in him that hurts. The light that, ultimately, does not deny but exults in all the tatty and appalling sophistries and dirty realities. Grey eyes that flash like the edge of a knife. In all things, bright and cutting. His beauty a knife that twists in the gut with every smile, every toss of soft waves from his face or over the broad curve of a shoulder.
Sick with it, Severus thinks again as perhaps always how magnificent it would be to see that beauty splayed under dissecting knife: the thick black hair lifeless upon the floor, the skin a disaster of blood, or stretched between two pins... the eyes put out. This forever-twisting coil of hate and longing would dull then to a self-satisfied sickness of control and disgust, for all the power that drew the hate would die away to a dead thing.
Disorder offends him, and that is what these ... Marauders are. A rampant disorder spilling humiliation and rage across the diamond hard shadow of his soul. So that he feels dead inside, and too new to withstand the pricks and the sickness.
One kiss, red with fury and blood, clawing a darkness over the history of twin lives, dissolving them in its acid... one kiss betrays the memory of souls reborn.
***
And twisted in those nights when Godric returned, late and laughing, the scent of some whore hot upon the sweat-salted expanse of his own skin, Salazar would often burn... would often curse the disorder he despised, the wild and haunting life in Godric that hurt his body as the devil hurts God.
He often thought to have that great body twist in agony beneath him, whimper or beg under the eternity of pain that magic can bring, his beauty twisted and blackened into ash, until it was less than nothing, until it could hurt him no longer... those dark eyes wet with pain but holding in their dark cores only him.
And one kiss, a torment in its gentleness, haunted him and held him from this... for souls can be melded of the material in which their lives are led, and this one time these sparks could warm each other... until they were betrayed into endless night by one careless word.
***
But need echoes through time, and cannot be ended.
Dark Reflections
Godric/Salazar and Snape/Black.
Merry Christmas!
It is the life in him that hurts. The light that, ultimately, does not deny but exults in all the tatty and appalling sophistries and dirty realities. Grey eyes that flash like the edge of a knife. In all things, bright and cutting. His beauty a knife that twists in the gut with every smile, every toss of soft waves from his face or over the broad curve of a shoulder.
Sick with it, Severus thinks again as perhaps always how magnificent it would be to see that beauty splayed under dissecting knife: the thick black hair lifeless upon the floor, the skin a disaster of blood, or stretched between two pins... the eyes put out. This forever-twisting coil of hate and longing would dull then to a self-satisfied sickness of control and disgust, for all the power that drew the hate would die away to a dead thing.
Disorder offends him, and that is what these ... Marauders are. A rampant disorder spilling humiliation and rage across the diamond hard shadow of his soul. So that he feels dead inside, and too new to withstand the pricks and the sickness.
One kiss, red with fury and blood, clawing a darkness over the history of twin lives, dissolving them in its acid... one kiss betrays the memory of souls reborn.
***
And twisted in those nights when Godric returned, late and laughing, the scent of some whore hot upon the sweat-salted expanse of his own skin, Salazar would often burn... would often curse the disorder he despised, the wild and haunting life in Godric that hurt his body as the devil hurts God.
He often thought to have that great body twist in agony beneath him, whimper or beg under the eternity of pain that magic can bring, his beauty twisted and blackened into ash, until it was less than nothing, until it could hurt him no longer... those dark eyes wet with pain but holding in their dark cores only him.
And one kiss, a torment in its gentleness, haunted him and held him from this... for souls can be melded of the material in which their lives are led, and this one time these sparks could warm each other... until they were betrayed into endless night by one careless word.
***
But need echoes through time, and cannot be ended.