Disclaimer: Not mine.
"Reg…"
He's murmuring my name through those sweet, sweet lips of his. The darkest pink, almost rose red. His body's against mine, from his firm chest to his hipbones and down. His hands are running over my arching body and I can feel the soft flesh of his palms. We both know it's wrong, but it feels so right. His eyes are closed; the dark lashes contrasting against his pale cheeks. Beneath them are eyes of the deepest grey, littered with flecks of blue the shade of the night sky.
His hands roam from my waist to my chest, up over my collarbone, and along my arms. My heart gives a small jolt as his nimble fingers dance over my skin, over the flesh they know so well. The flesh they shouldn't know at all. My fingers tangle themselves in his hair, such a beautiful midnight black. The silky strands glide over my fingertips as I gently press my lips to his inviting ones.
We both know this is our last night together. Tonight he's leaving for good; never coming back. I'm too cowardly to. I don't have the courage. But he does. Our tongues dance together slowly, memorizing everything. Our bodies slide together, naked flesh against naked flesh. Swollen cock to swollen cock.
Our hands fumble and slip as they glide over one another, trying to imprint every bump and curve into memory. It's going to have to last a lifetime. We cling to each other almost desperately, trying to put off the inevitable. His hands fist in my hair as his teeth gnash at my lips brutally. My nails dig into his back, and I know he's still going to have half-moon indentations in the morning. He always does.
The clock's ticking, and our movements are quickening. Sliding flesh and stroking hands. Grinding hips and snaking tongues. There's no penetration. There never was. Never enough time, never the need, the thought. Just hands. Glorious, glorious hands. The clock seems to be ticking faster, louder, the time's getting closer. Our hands are stroking harder; our mouths are kissing deeper.
Soon we're both coming, the mess spurting over our bellies. We lay panting between kisses for a few moments, and then the evidence is wiped away with a cloth. It's always quick. Our time's over; the clock is chiming. He's pulling on his clothes, hugging me, murmuring soft words in my ear. I'm sobbing quietly, my head in his shoulder, my arms around his middle. I don't want him to go, but I know he has to.
I let go of him, and he brushes a tear from my face, giving a weak smile as he holds back his own tears.
"Love you, Reg."
"I love you too, Sirius."
We kiss again, slowly, for the last time. Then he's opening the window, charming his trunk to his broom, and then he's gone. I watch him leave, staying where I am on his bed. Maybe it'll help me hold onto the memories. The memories that have to last me a lifetime.