Title: Lovers Locked
Pairing(s): Severus Snape/ Regulus Black.
Word Count: 476.
Prompt: Big Damn Table #23: Lovers.
A/N: Well I figured that since I’ve been approved and all that I should actually make a start at my Big Damn Table. I’m not really sure where this piece came from, or just what the hell inspired it, but I kind of like it, it being my first
Sevulus Regerus Severus/Regulus and all :D
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He didn’t make sense, couldn’t understand it all, didn’t want to even try as day after day and night after night- sweet bliss on stone floors, tapestry covered walls, a bed of silk, a desk in the dungeons. He doesn’t care why, doesn’t care how, all he cares about is the want, the need, the desire- fulfilled, one last time.
But one last time is never enough, never the last- addicted, a haze of sexual bliss, the lines of right and wrong blurred. Confusion and questions amassing as day after night after day he screams his name. Hoarse cries of shame, of pride, of letting himself become conquered as never he has been conquered before. Of release, of belonging, of claiming and being claimed, of lying slumped and drained and weary and aching- aching for more.
Aching for one last kiss, one last touch, teasing and taunting, fingers playing him, his body, an exquisite instrument, his scream a siren’s call, wanton moans and pleas of more, more, more! Oh gods, sweet bliss, touch him again! And again! Never stop, never dare to dream of the truth in lies, his body beneath his own, all panting and sweat slicked, he touches him, fingers sliding over his heaving chest, erratic heartbeat beneath roaming finger pads.
Severus’ hands are long-fingered and potion stained, sharply cut nails and pale skinned. Severus’ hands on his body are perfection. They touch him and taint him and take him and trace every dip and curve and rib and scratch and scrape and score him- claim him, mine.
Regulus’ hands are small and petite, meticulously shaped nails and baby-soft skin. Regulus’ touch is loving and light, tentative and teasing as they roam, feeling and finding, fleetingly wandering over his body, an angel’s kiss on his too sharp, too stern, all angles and jutting bones of a body against the slender, tender flesh of Regulus’ twisting, writhing, wriggling, filled out- perfection of a form.
They don’t make sense, can’t understand it at all. Don’t even want to try as day after day and night after night- lying entwined in each other’s hold, bodies warmed against the cold of dungeon walls and classroom floors. They don’t care why, don’t care how, all they care about is the want, the need, the desire- fulfilled, one last time, and once more again. Can’t get enough, can’t leave well enough alone, wanting and needing and taking and claiming- more, always more. Such is the choice, curse and contentment of lovers locked in lustful embrace.
They don’t mind, don’t care, care to understand, as the day after the night after the day before they’ll meet again with tongue and teeth and hands and arms- holding, grasping, gripping, clinging together in silence broken only by the gasps and screams and cries and moans of lovers shouting out for more, more, more…
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