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Written for; Sink the Ship, round 2. RegRab. Smoke.
The Scent Of Smoke
Soft whispers and gentle hands.
Bodies pressed together, engaged and desperate to feel skin on skin, lips on lips.
Beautiful smiles and happy laughter that refused to stay inside.
Smug smirks and playful teasing that made him think that this could be more than a brief interlude in their lives.
Tears and comfort; murder and torture is not as fun for everyone.
Promises and vows, whispered softly against necks after love-making.
Fear and anger when he disappeared without a word.
Rabastan remembers none of this when he sits in his cell in Azkaban. All he remembers is the scent of cigarette smoke and the heartbreak of broken promises that echo in his ear.