SILK AND SILVER
by Sharmin
Fandom: Harry Potter
Dislaimer: I am not affiliated with Harry Potter and if I was, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction.
Summary: Sirius Black and Severus Snape are destroying each other. Addiction, obsession and primal urge trap them in a despairing furnace of pleasure and pain.
Genre: Angsty and Violent use of language
Rating: NC-17 - Explicit m/m sex
Pairing: Severus Snape/Sirius Black
Archive:
http://www.geocities.com/sharminist/silk_and_silver.htm
SILK AND SILVER
by Sharmin
Sirius Black. His silky curtain of hair runs from his crown jeweled head as he moves like a beautiful prince in a flurry of unreleased ambition and passion. Excitement spurned his lips as his eyes glittered with a fiery dew: like a tiger, a wild thing, a creature of burning desire. I was his fool, his page boy, the shadow. I kept by him like a good little child, only careful to be seen but never heard. No: being heard was forbidden. I had to be his slave, never his superior. I was there to remind he was above. I was there to remind him he was a god. I needed him for his voice, skin and neck, I wanted to devour him with every burning pulse of my body. I couldn't stand to be two feet away from him without wanting to scream his name from the top of my lungs. Fuck. I don't know what
made me his in the first place, but hell I didn't care.
My obsession was dearly kept secret, except to his gracious self who would willingly humour my fantasies in a teasing manner. He would laugh, I would laugh with him. He would sing and I would dance. I was everything that fed his passionate ego which burst
from him with unduly life in a crazy, psychotic burst of lust, joy, need and desperation. He was a firework, too dangerous, hot, molten, electric to touch. Electricity. That was what I had learnt. It was lightening, quick, dead, delicate, raging, fearsome and destructive. He was a child with a mountain troll's club to play with. He had only demands. Yet there I was, a child with a box; unwrapping the glossy paper and digging deeper to find the treat within. I knew nothing of what was inside, only that I wanted
and I wouldn't give up till I drunk the satisfaction I demanded. Every time I reached his electric fingertips, the very fresh burst of shock power, hate, want, bite and taste flurried from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair. I would serve him and he was
my queen.
"Hey, Severus..."
"What do you want, Black?"
He eyes me like a leopard; predatory, silver flashes in his glare.
"You've come again. Why is it that you follow me around so much?"
What else was I supposed to say? That I dribble at his feet and roll along each step he takes across this thin knife that he treads?
"That's non of your business."
A grin, so flirtatious and gorgeous, I could have licked it off with my tongue and savoured the corners of his lips, delicious and bitterly sweet. It was agony to watch him glide that tongue over his lips: slowly, sensually and darkly like ruby gold. I clenched my fists. He played intuitively to my very thoughts.
His dark eyes were smiling, thinking, something mysterious...cool and wild. He wanted something from me and I would gladly serve only as his chew toy, his door mat, as a piece of grit beneath his boots. He possessed me, as he stood, and I hated him for it.
"Severus..." he breathed.
It's a game. He calls me by my first name, because he know it kills me. He knows it makes me want to bite my fists and rip his throat.
"What?"
His lips are barely touching mine, yet so near, why does he torment me so? His warm breath sits neatly on the bay of my pale lips, a millimetre away, sliding towards mine like silk and poison. They're touching mine. He tastes like wild silver. I press my lips hard against his own, so hard, till I can feel the fast, steel pulse of our bloods gallop as one. His kiss is faint, poised and controlled to the hidden perfection that he demanded. It takes all my body strength not to smile, not to gasp and not scream in a desperate cry of prolonged happiness.
He peels us apart, as I delve in for more, building my anticipation like some colossus arena of torture and pleasure. His lips are red. Redder than before, like the heart of a weeping rose petal, soft, vulnerable and glazed in a veil of deep wanton. Those burning eyes could kill me in a glance. Like a fucking basilisk: brisk, hard and ruthless. His eyes of clear black diamond, sharp and dazzling, strike me. Yet there is something amiable and playful about them. A doggy warmth filled with a curious animation. Almost tender.
He kisses me again. This time it's more powerful and more dominant than before. I run my fingers through the black rivers of his hair, quenching my thirst for his tongue. He lets me. He lets me feed from him, feed off his ego and his passion. This was the way it happened. These were finally rules which he would never break. This was his game.
His hands travel down my neck, my chest, my abdomen. Oh god, he's reaching lower. In calling my needs he fulfils his own. It always feels so raw, so fresh, oh shit, his fingers. They're glorious, tactile, enthralling...I wish I could keep those hands on me. I
shut my eyes and feel a groan stretch from my lips. Oh, don't sound helpless, don't sound weak and inferior, keep it all inside. All inside. He must never see you...no...
"Black..."
He smiles again. That look of triumph in his eyes, as flakes of fire, like a mirror, they reflected my own thoughts. Yet, I'm weakening, my arousal is getting so fucking intense and hard. My voice is trapped in the cage of my throat, banging at the brass bars, begging
to be let free. The lock is breaking, I can't hold it in. But I must.
A moan so deep, craving and ardent pines from the column of my throat till it almost sounds like scream in a mixture of helplessness and sexual delirium. He undoes the knot of my black cloak, letting the thin snake like cords spiral to the floor in a cloud of liquid smoke. I feel so bare, he knows I do. My cloak is part of my skin, my bone structure, my utter existence, and here he is playing with it, like it was some mere trifling toy, which he could easily discard at his ease. He inches closer, his incongruent arousal pressing against my own.
I want to kill him. I don't know why, it's an instinct which kicks in at this moment. I don't want him getting closer. Closer to my exhausted skin and sweat soaked hair. My first impulse is to push him away and grapple at his throat, but I don't, instead I take him
in closer and bite the bottom line of his lips till I feel the soft flesh thin beneath my guillotined teeth. He kisses back with an equal passion and growls something deeply sub-human. Something deranged and primitive. He'll take me to the end. He'll take me till I'm inches away from death, and tease me till I fall into the pit of his fingers as only a tenth of what I am before. He wasn't going to stop until I was on the edge of the solar moon and gasping in his arms.
Those fingers pick at my robes like the way an angel would pick at a harp. My voice, he plays my voice like a soft flute, a man with grace and power, twining the moans from my skeletal form. Heavy breaths escape: sharp, hard and urgent. I tie my fingers round the
black cords of his head, oh god, I can't do this anymore. I rip at his clothes, his skin, his mind. Yet he's undressing me. All sense of civility and ceremony has evaporated, only teeth, skin and flesh remain to conscious knowledge. Clothes slip from our bare backs,
sliding past our legs and land in a crumpled heaps. Our lips barely part out head in pained understanding.
If he groans, if he smiles, if he makes any cries for help they are muffled by the agony of my lust. All I hear is a staccato of quick breaths and pulsating gasps. He takes to my neck, sliding his tongue gently across the papery white skin. Lips, mouth and tongue
fiercely ply the thin surface, till a deep red mark pools under the surface like a bruise.
He moves down lower, slow and long, his leaving a trail of sharp desirable kisses across my bare chest. Deeper, deeper his mouth falls, tongue cleverly picking at my pale flesh. I'm aching. My whole body is aching to be satisfied, to be fulfilled. I almost can't stand the anticipation of the delicious few moments I am experiencing. If he sees a bit of sensitive skin, he teases it, and nips at it, delight shivering through our bones.
He spends his time, feeling, kissing, tongue dancing across the pale surface of my inner thigh. Move upwards, I barely gasp. He doesn't hear me, but he can feel the call, pulsating in every run of his tongue and spring of his lips. My hands reach for his head and guide his mouth slightly upwards. He pauses.
It's almost as if he's demanding me to love me. Admit and only then he'll only satisfy my needs. Tell me that you want me, tell me that you need every part of me, tell me I'm yours and I can control you forever. I can hear the thoughts pound through my head, oh god, god, don't prolong my torture. I nod.
"Please..."
My cock quivers in excitement and anticipation as he encircles his tongue across the nub of flesh, upon the head. He takes me into his mouth It's hard not to whimper. Oh god, I almost let a sharp cry of lust and weakness. His mouth is all over me. So soft, so warm,
so stern. That tongue, those muscles. I feel like screaming, like dying, like shooting up like a rocket and reaching the stars. I shut my eyes. I'm so hard. The caress of his tongue feels like a thousand glorious susurrations of pleasure. I rub, thrust, fuck his mouth till I make his lips sore and red. Yet he controls it, he controls everything to perfection.
It feels so wrong. Everything feels so wrong, but addictive and vital. His mouth is everything. I barely remember anything, eyes, hair, voice, they're all faint shadows to me now. All I can feel is his mouth, pulsating across the swollen surface of my desperate
body. The wild intensity of his throat, lips and tongue overwhelm my primal urge, sensation after sensation of sheer ripping through my flesh.
I can't hold it in anymore. My mind is so blank, I can't think of a thing, forget grace, forget rules. Fuck, they didn't matter. Nothing mattered, only what I was experiencing now. This elation, this freedom, this desperate wanton. He sucks harder and faster, fuck, I can't stand this. An orgasm as fierce as lightening rips through me like a thousand swords, as I release into his mouth, helpless and lost of control. My hips rock into his lips as a primitive shriek of wild desperation escapes my lips. Suddenly everything cools.
He cleans me with his very tongue, using my semen as evidence of his triumph. His eyes are shadowy craters, glittering and grinning with a dark sense of satisfaction.
Sweat lines my brow as I gasp and sigh as the hard air cools my skin. Yet for so much pleasure, I will have to pay. Black has been neglected. His wants, his needs, his arousal, they've all been forsaken for mine. He's given his gift to me, and I was bad for letting him go untended. The bitter taste of my seed has stained the his mouth makes him hungry for fulfillment.
He likes to fuck, he likes to be the one in control and in charge. I am the passive one, I have no choice. Yet Sirius does it his way. He doesn't use lubricant. Oh shit, not when he works on me. My body will be broken by tomorrow. I remember the first time he came to me. I was a virgin, he didn't even ask if I was or not, then he took me. I remember the deafening pain, the rough scraping torture and the strange liberating pleasure. Yet I hated him with a deep set loathing after that, and an ambition to overcome him poisoned my brain. I wanted to conquer him, and here he is bowing up at me like a servant dog. A glimmer of triumph flames up through my body, no, that was all lies. I would always serve him.
As so many times before, this would be painful, but I'd have to hold it in. I'd have to never show the desperate anguish within me. No, I'd have to hide, box and cloak it all. Even if I bled, even I was being ripped to shreds, even if I was a breath away from death, I'd have to control myself to perfection.
His beautiful eyes are growling, the handsome curves of his lips and jawline set in a deep snarl of possessive desire. Silence embeds the hollow of the room apart from the deep heaving of heavy breaths. It's a dangerous silence, filled with hostility, uncertainty and merciless ambition. As he touches my opening, I quiver in delight. Yet I know this is only the beginning and pleasure is not his aim for me.
His slender form picks itself up from the ground as he twines his way up the pillar of my body. He kisses my shoulder. It's almost gentle in the manner he does it, and for a moment a I feel a rush of despair and sympathy. He kisses my neck, so gently and soft that I could almost cry. I don't know why he teases me in such a way. Tenderness should be banned, yet here he is, snapping his own rule. I embrace him, I embrace his powerful shoulders and he ties his arms around my own. I nuzzle my mouth into his neck, and dapple his pulse with mild kisses.
At last, it's my time to retreat. He slowly lowers me to the ground, my palms and knees firmly rooted upon the stone. A deep grinding, like corrugated iron drugs me, oh fuck, he gets divine pleasure of exploiting me to my insanity. I feel tears force themselves to the backs and corner of my eyes, but I keep them back. They burn like acid, at the back of my mind my eyes. My vision blurs but I stop the tear from falling. Sweat thickens and clothes my skin like a scarf, a thick veil, a deep layer of melted shadows. I barely wince.
God, he feels like hot and cold, like stars of ice showering a lake of molten fire. I feel so tight against his hard, swollen shaft. It's as if I'm being split open by an invisible force. Blood bursts the banks, oh my god, I can hardly keep my balance. But I must, I must succeed, make it to the end. Shit, his hard hips undulate digging into my anus at full force. His thick groans mingle in the air almost hauntingly. They sound almost like shrieks of pain, but they're so beautiful. I concentrate hard, I concentrate hard on keeping my fists balled and knees sharply on the ground.
"Severus..." he screams breathlessly. "...Severus!"
He says my name as if he's calling out to the gods. Yet I'm below him suffering. I know he's going to come soon, I can feel it in his very skin. His fingers scrape across my back, squeezing my pale skin hard across the shoulders, gripping on to me like mad hippogriff. Yet something deep in me enjoys this, enjoys the challenge of being tested to my limits, enjoys being destroyed. It's cathartic and only through painful restraint can I feel truly liberated.
He savours each sensation of this dreamy torture, prolonging gasp for air when drowning. He convulses within me with sheer power and sheer abandon. As his semen slowly seeps over the wounds, I am filled with a warm calm. The burning stops, and immediately stings replace the abrupt pain. Yet there is relief and I
gasp in the sheer shock of oxygen. Sweat heavily lines my hair, nose and cheeks. I pant and swallow feeling a glimmer of pride in surviving.
He withdraws from the haven of my body, slowly, but with a forced power. His naked body stands tall and
blessed, like marble statue, a Greek god. The Moon has blessed him with skin as smooth as pale gold. Yet
through the shuttered windows of the dusky room, daylight threatens to force the windows open and
pierce light into this dark romance. He picks up his clothes from the stone floor and commences to dress.
He barely looks at me, his head turned the other way.
I reach for my cloak and wrap it round me for a second. I sat in the same little spot unwilling to move for a long time. Sirius glances at me. There is nothing smug and warm about his eyes which makes him look human. No, now he's had what he wants, he leaves. It's as simple as that. There's no need for goodbyes
or soft lies and I don't call the rules. As he opens the door to leave, a cold, painful breeze flushes in.
I feel a sudden rush of shame. I don't know where it comes from, but it is the same sensation as that of
defeat. This is a game I can never win.
As I stumble to my hands, I wade for my robes and loosely drape them about me like crushed butterfly
wings. Tying them round me, careful not to move too much, from the used, defoliated centre of my body, I
wipe my forehead with an emptiness. The room hung with the post-scent of sex and despair. And so I left.
Fin.