Wuthering Heights
By: 1000th Ghost
"-he has seen two on 'em looking out of his chamber window on every rainy night since his death-"
-Nelly (Wuthering Heights)
"Look...at...me..."
Never mind that they were the eyes of a boy, the eyes of an enemy, the eyes of the product of her and that man. The child he had watched over because part of her ran in its veins, the child he had tortured because her husband composed its other half. They were her eyes, practically plucked from her still-warm cadaver and placed in the sockets of the impudent infant who did not deserve their beauty.
But never mind because death placed such trivialities to the wayside. Now it did not matter that the eyes were behind framed lenses; he needed to see them as he passed, the one thing he had continued to live even this long for.
He envisioned her face around the eyes, long red hair, not short, black, and unruly. An expression that was not shock, confusion, horror, like the boy's, but smiling - smiling over what he could not say. It did not matter why she was happy, only that she was, and he was the reason for it.
And if she was happy, he would be happy, even if he wasn't sure he remembered how.
Her imaginary expression did not even matter so much as long as she was looking at him as he died. He wanted her to see it - partially perhaps as a sick fantasy. He wanted her to see what she had put him through. But mostly he just wanted her there with him, at long last, even if the image was the delusional half-truth of a dying man.
When his eyes refocused, she was there. Initially it did not seem terribly unusual that his hallucination-esque figure was really there and that they boy had conveniently left. But after a moment of allowing himself to accept it without question, the reality of many things forced the nicety away.
Firstly, and most importantly, she was here, and he had not seen her in so long, and he had dreamed of an incident like this one every day since the tragedy.
Secondly, he did not have a clue what to do about it.
Thirdly, he was not where he had previously been, where the snake had attacked, where Harry had found him, and, in fact, his present setting seemed too ethereal and shifting to really get a close grasp on it.
Lastly, and it did in fact dawn on him last and hardly fazed him at all, he was dead.
And then before he had time to even begin to piece fragments of these facts together, the redhead had thrown herself around him in a frantic, jumbled bundle of arms and tears.
"I love you, I'm sorry, I love you, why did you never tell me?" It was speaking. "I hope it didn't hurt, but it's over now, and you're with me, and I love you."
He wished she would slow down or stop crying or both because the only words that seemed to register in his mind were "I love you", and those words, which trickled out of her mouth freely, were misleading and cruel.
This was all a very pretty post-death, heavenly dream, but frankly, he had had an infinite number of similar dreams before, and he already knew how they ended. Labored breath, sticky sheets, and inevitable heartache.
One thing that separated this dream from the others, he noticed, was that in previous dreams he was more sure of his actions. He would ravish his beautiful Lily, and she would be thrilled and impressed with his masculine prowess. Now, although he had full control of his actions, he could not find a single action to do but stare dumfounded at the desperate woman still mumbling apologetically.
He vaguely processed that she had said something with a final and definitive tone, but he couldn't for the death of him decipher what it was. And then she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed herself up, and just as he was beginning to lose himself again in the watery, wide green orbs, she kissed him.
He had never been kissed before, of course, and, since he knew it was an experience he would never have, spent precious little time contemplating the art of it. His lack of skill was inconsequential because, even if he possessed expert knowledge, it would have promptly left his shocked brain, along with potion formulas and political secrets and his own name.
The one thought that did break through the fog was that, for a ghost, she was not ghostly at all, she was solid and sweet and wet, and her tongue and teeth were tangible and working against his mouth as he had imagined doing to hers.
And then, as her lips dropped and started trailing down the right side of his neck, sucking and teasing and making him think that dying was the best thing that had ever happened to him, her hands moved to the white, shroudy air she was wearing and hastily slipped it down to her waist.
Her red locks were all he could see when he looked down, and some part of his mind wondered if ghosts wore undergarments. He immediately chastised it for referencing his Lily in such a deplorable way; it was all fine and good when he was alone with his thoughts, but since she was actually here, it was another story altogether.
"Severus."
Oh, it had been so long since he had heard that word from that voice.
She raised herself off of him yet again, and he presumed that he must look like an imbecile with mouth agape and eyes not even attempting to look away. For it seemed that ghosts did not wear undergarments and that death did nothing to the mortal body except perhaps to perfect it further.
And they were sheer perfection - perfectly formed, perfectly sized, with perfectly peaked, rosy nipples. Of course, he might have been biased, and in reality, she could have had anything at all under her clothes, and he would have declared it perfection simply because it was hers.
"Severus," she said again. "Oh, Severus." Now her eyes were closed, and her hands traced lines over her exposed skin, stopping to brush against her heaving breasts.
He made absolutely no move even though it was a very open invitation.
She spread her legs and straddled his waist, lifting herself so that he was practically eyelevel with her chest.
"Please, Sev."
Well, he certainly could not deny her anything.
He ached to touch them, but, in her precarious position, if he lifted his hand he might lose balance and send both of them toppling over.
Her eyes were on his, and he was quite grateful, for they were as pleading as her words and actions, and he needed to stare at them as he gave into her to convince himself that this was actually what she wanted.
He lowered his head slightly and cautiously, so cautiously, lapped his tongue over one peak.
She shivered, and he felt himself grow hard under the wispy black robe which clothed him. There was no chance that she could not feel it, and he moved to lick her again to divert her attention and salvage some of his pride.
She was gone before he had the chance.
He blinked, and she was on her knees in front of him, inching up the end of his robe.
"Lily...!" he panted. He was not entirely sure where this was headed, but he had a feeling, and he would be a fool if he tried to stop it.
When his erection was exposed, a million thoughts of was she pleased with what she saw, and what did she plan to do, and what on earth was he going to do about it threaded through his mind and then were gone in a flash as her lips descended on his throbbing head.
He wanted to say something to her - really anything, even if it was something stereotypical and vulgar, but something more along the lines of professing his undying love or at least saying "thank you". But nothing came out but a strangled groan as he watched the ruby lips part and take him in. She sucked lightly and wrapped her fist around the base that could not fit in her mouth. Her tongue traced a line along one side, releasing him for a moment to cross the tip, and down the other side, letting him slip past her teeth again as she descended.
His right hand fisted in her hair, partially to touch her, partially because he needed something to ground him, partially to bring her deeper.
He knew that he was close but did not want to yet, not until-
The atmosphere around them somehow shifted, and in the haze, the white and black garments vanished, and without him quite knowing how - maybe he had done it himself, maybe she had coaxed him - she was pinned underneath him, and he was inside her.
He thrust slowly, deliberately, he had to concentrate both on the sensation and on the fact that it was happening. The little girl he had taught to love magic, the little girl who taught him to love her, the woman he had lost in every possible way, who had spurred his every decision and action - he had her. He had her, and it was more spectacular than the most erotic dream his inexperienced subconscious had ever envisioned.
Faintly, through the cloud of stimulating gratification, he became aware of something other than his own pleased grunts. She was crying, moaning - no! He had hurt her again; it was the only thing he was ever capable of doing to her.
"Oh, Lily, I'll stop, I'm so sorry." He began to withdraw. "I never meant to hurt you, I should know better, Lily, I'm sor-"
She rolled her hips against him before he could break away, bringing him back. He was motionless, and she reached behind his head and tugged him to her, his hair making a dark curtain around their faces as she pressed her lips to his.
"I want you, Severus."
The whisper floated in the space between them, entered his ears, finally was acknowledged by his brain, shown out of his fingertips, and shot like an arrow down to his groin.
It was as if his entire being depended on her permission, and now gaining it tipped him over the edge of control. He matched her confidence, letting her touch him, touching her back, shouting his love in the final throws before lowering the statement so she could only just hear it.
"I know." She silenced him with a kiss, holding him in her arms as much as her small frame would allow. "I've watched you."
It was all that needed to be said. Neither mentioned and hardly remembered the man he had lost her to - death rendered life's mistakes irrelevant.
"Harry needs me," she said some identifiable period of time later. The panic in his eyes was evident, and she quickly added, "Only for a few minutes! He is going to die - he is going to summon me."
"Y-you'll come back?" His voice was desperate, pleading, he could not lose her again-
"I promise." A kiss. "And stay forever." Another. "You're my Heathcliff."
The End