Truly, Madly, Deeply.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter Universe, or any of the characters. They belong to J. I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any money. Out of anything, let alone this story.
Warning!: This is a Sirius Black/Nymphadora Tonks fic… Their second cousins, which is perfectly legal, but not to everyone's taste obviously. Granted, the other incest, and would be incest mentioned isn't quite as squeaky. So if that icks ya, you're not going to like this. It also includes ever so slightly screwed-up!Sirius so there's plenty of sex, alcoholism and nastiness.
A.N. Hello! I've added the original story/first chapter so as A) the rest of the story makes sense, and so B) it saves anyone who reads it the trouble of having to find it themselves. I am NOT plagurising myself… As I've said in the A.N. in the second chapter, the account this story was originally under I've lost the email address/password to and therefore can't access it. It's been years since I've actually logged on to write anything. 'Tis good to be back . Please review .
I'm creeping up to his room again. It's been going on for months now. I go to bed around ten, then an hour latter I make the trip up to his room at the very top of the house. Every night I'm here anyway. And he always insists I'm looking like me, not who ever I had modelled myself on that day. Unless he's drunk. The he doesn't care.
To begin with I didn't properly understand why. I do now of course, but then… I used to believe that when he was kissing me, it was me that he was thinking about me. But it wasn't. It wasn't my legs he wanted wrapped around him. He didn't want to have to growl my name when he came. No. When he slammed me into the wall last night, it wasn't my eyes he saw staring up at him. It was Andromeda's eyes. My mother.
You'd have thought I'd have been disgusted; okay I was a bit, but not enough to tell him where to go. No. I'll never do that. 'Cause I've gone and fallen in love with the mangy mutt. And I kid myself that it's me he's in love with. And I 'spose in a way he is. He's in love with my representation of her. He certainly wouldn't want to shag her now. She used to look a lot like me, or I used to look a lot like her. But she was always a few years older than him. You couldn't tell at the time, but now… Well maybe I'm biased, as I can't stand her now. Ironic really. The person I'm supposed to be so much like, be it personality or looks, and I can't stand them.
I moved out when I was 17. We still got on then though. Sort of. No. It was when I tried to convince her of his innocence that really put the final nail in the coffin. And I think she might have believed me, but when she asked how I knew, and I said I'd met him, that we got on really well, she just went mental. And I don't have the faintest idea why. Anyway, it sorted opened up 'old wounds'. Old wounds that Dad had tried to keep at closed. The fact that I hated the way she tried to wrap me up in cotton wool. I thought this was just another manifestation of that. And she hated the fact that Dad spent more time with me than with her, that he supported me and realised I needed to grow up. So I left after I graduated Hogwarts and moved into a house with some friends form school.
Anyway, last time I saw her, she was going a bit grey round the edges, and she's put on a couple of stone's worth of weight. Not his cup of tea at all. No. He likes his girls slim and small. I remember once, when I was complaining about my height (or lack there of) he told me that he thought shorter girls were prettier, and that I was perfect. So that's somewhere I do have an advantage over her, albeit a small one. I'm 4 and a ½ inches shorter than her.
It's turned into a battle of sorts. Whenever I say something, something I know Mum would never say, and he laughs, or smiles, I'm happy. Because it's another small victory against her.
I'm at his door now, and after I knock I hear someone stumbling to the door. I take that chance that he's probably drunk and morph back to the innocent blonde appearance I'd taken on this morning. I hate to see him drunk, I really do, but at the same time I like the fact that there's only two of us in the bed. And I hate myself because I secretly look forward to when he's next going to be too pissed to care whether I looked like her. And he always calls me Dora. It's what he used to call be when I was little. When he's drunk, and I know this probably doesn't make sense, I think he might love me.
He's just opened the door. He grins at me and pulls me inside. The bottle of 'Old Ogden's Fire Whiskey' he asked me to buy him yesterday is sitting on the antique mahogany chest of drawers on the right wall. But he's only drunken the one glass, judging by how little is gone. He must've just tripped before. Ugh, I'm gonna have to change back.
"Good Day?" He asks, sitting on the side the bed.
"Yeah…Okay" I say going over to sit beside him. But he pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. Have I mentioned how much I love him?
"Mine's been crappy." He says. He leans forward and kisses me. Any minute now he'll ask. He pulls back. He opens his mouth. Here it comes.
"Sorry." I say before he can ask.
"Don't be. I've got a feeling it's gonna get a whole lot better." He grins again, his gorgeous dark brown eyes sparkling. God. This would be perfect if I didn't know what was coming.
"Oh really?" I ask raising an eyebrow in mock innocence. He smiles, and leans forward again, kissing me. His arms tighten around me as he deepens the kiss, moving his tongue over my bottom lip, which immediately parts to grant him access. I flick my tongue against his and he groans.
He pulls back and trails a hand up my leg, up under the hem of my skirt, stopping just short of my underwear, making circles with his fingers on the inside of my thigh. And I hear myself sigh and I'm clinging to his shirt desperately. I look up to see him grin, His fingers inching closer to - Oh god.
I don't -gasp- understand -sigh- why he -oh my- hasn't -lord- asked yet. It takes a damn sight more than -fuck- a glass of whiskey to -oh sweet Jesus- What was I saying?
He kisses me again and both of his hands come to tangle in my hair. One my hands reaches up to do the same, the other slipping under his shirt. I can feel the taught muscles of his stomach quiver slightly as my hand wanders up to his chest. Oh god I love him. I-
He flips me onto my back on the bed. He climbs on top of me, kissing me hard on the mouth. Then my jaw line, just below my ear. I moan and I feel him grinning into the side of my neck, then moving on to kiss his way down, changing sides to graze his teeth across my right collarbone, then kissing the red mark gently. He looks up at me, his scruffy black hair falling into his eyes. I feel my stomach and heart hurt. I wish I knew he was thinking about me. I'd do anything for it to be me. For him to love me like that.
At least I know that the lust that's darkened his grey eyes is for me. That it's me, at this present moment in time, that he wants to bed. But it probably won't be tomorrow. No. Tomorrow all he'll want is long wavy black hair, stormy grey eyes. Aargh. I wish I could just enjoy this, without having to worry or think about any of this shit. But no. I have to worry. Just like her.
He's comes back up to kiss me, tongue battling with mine. Always winning of course. Always.
He leans backwards, straddling me with his long legs. He cups my face with his big, long fingered hand, rubbing my cheek with his thumb. I smile up at him, and his hand moves, one finger moving down my straight nose, then stopping on my bottom lip, pressing down slightly. I open my mouth and he pushes his finger inside, smirking when my tongue licks the length of it, wrapping my tongue around his long, rough skinned finger. He pulls it out and continues to slide it down over my chin, down my neck, between my breasts and down across my stomach, making me shiver.
"Cold?" He asks grinning and leaning down to kiss me, again. Not that I mind of course. And I kiss back, lifting my hips to meet his, desperate for him to-
"Never," I breath, sitting up so he can pull my top all the way off. He tosses it aside, pushing back down on the bed kissing be hungrily, hands rubbing me through my black satin bra. Then his hand went down to my skirt, pulling it down, throwing that of the side of the bed as well. Then his kissing his way down, darting his tongue out to my belly button, making me giggle. Then he's kissing the inside of my thigh.
"My Dora," He growls
Then he bites, hard enough to leave a mark. And I moan, my hands going to his hair, then to his broad shoulders, and I can feel him smiling against me again.
Half an hour later…
He flops down beside me. I turn on my side to watch him. He says no ones ever done that before, had the time to just be with him, without doing or wanting anything or talking. I grin inside. Ha. Aren't quite as sensitive as you think you are Mother. And I really don't want this to end, because it's the first night he hasn't asked me to change without being drunk.
You know, in the beginning, I used to love the fact he asked me to change back to my true appearance. I thought it meant that he wasn't just fucking me for who I could be, like so many other people had. No. I thought he might actually like me for who I am. And I 'spose he does. He like me, quite a bit I'd say. But he loves her.
It's made me dread looking like me, because I don't see it as being my face, or my body. I see them as being hers. The eyes, the face, the hair, everything. Hers. In a way, I suppose you could say I hated myself. And if I were to tell anyone, they'd tell me that if I hate I so much, why don't I stop. But I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. Because I'm in love with him. And I could never leave him. Never.
I wish I could say it. So he'd know someone loves him that much. That he's the best thing in my life. But I'm too scared he won't say it back. Or that he will and he won't mean it. Or that it's her he'll be really saying it to. But I do. I Love him. Sirius Black.