Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N : Dark angsty Sirius/OC inspired by Love The Way You Lie by Eminem and Rihanna.
Haha.. Yep, graduated and have got a tonne of free time on my hands now so FanFic. I. Am. BACK! Muahaha!
Oh, and yea, this is M for a reason. Rather potty mouthed, among other things. So you have been doubly warned. Hokay, so read, review and watch out for the companion piece. ;)
Enjoy..
*-~I- Watch Me Burn -I~-*
Sirius Black's life was a disaster. He did not expect his life to turn out this way the day he walked out of Hogwarts, with his head held high and hopes for life.
Sirius Black was a mess. A complete train wreck. House on fire. A total fucking disaster. The kind that makes you want to shake your head if you looked at him even second too long.
Yes, Sirius Black was a mess.
And so he was in some dingy bar in London on his night out smoking a cigarette and gazing at the dark skies above, pissed drunk above all else. He'd been in this bar every night for weeks, fooling round with a couple of girls who caught his interest. But never shagging. Not in the dingy with lights so old and dirty they almost looked black bathroom anyway. He was a lot better than that. And he wasn't looking for a shag anyway. Just pissing some time away. Pissing what's left of his pathetic broken life away.
He opened his eyes and saw her by the wall, all blonde and legs, leather clad and stiletto boots, exhaling a cloud of smoke next to him, eyes closed as though savouring the sweetness of the white toxic fumes.
Her eyelids lifted and she allowed the blue orbs within to flicker up at him lazily and he swallowed, feeling equally nauseous and aroused.
"Sirius," he offered, taking a long drag from his cigarette as the smoke dispersed into nothingness before them as she exhaled.
"Kenna," her smoker's voice was hoarse but melodic.
She raised the cigarette to her lips once more.
The pink, soft and plump lips.
The one where he could see every crack and every line on the pale pink skin, moist enough to kiss. The mouth he imagined tasted like the cigarette they smoked, a fiery smoke setting into the corners, like the heavy weight of a cheap red wine, like just two parts of a body pressing together, united in passion.
Shifting his attention to the cigarette that rested there instead, a breeze came and he could smell the smoke and a bit of alcohol on her breath, and perfume. Enough perfume to suffocate a little pup perhaps.
They talked about nothing as he basked in nothing-ness, enjoy the emptiness and mindlessness of the conversation. She was a muggle and unaware of how quickly the world was becoming a darker more dangerous place, engrossed in her makeup, and her clothes and her comparatively ignorant docile life whilst he, alongside the other few comrades were fighting with every ounce to save the world and preserve the magical community. The resistance were outnumbered at least 5 to 1, and brilliant as Dumbledore was, Voldemort ruled with an iron fist of fear, spreading and infecting the weak.
He had never thought it'd be this way. And at least while he was out, drinking and smoking himself to oblivion, he could breathe for a moment and not feel the walls closing down on him. He could still fight the feeling of helplessness and ignore the feeling of the steel knife lodged in the place between his ribs.
Within minutes his cigarette was done and gone, and he decided to call it a night when she grabbed his hand, pulling him around toward her. Then with reckless abandon, they crash together, mouth to mouth, tongues sliding against each other as the street lamp flickered, casting light and shadows on their connected forms.
A girly voice called for Kenna, interrupting the moment, asking her to join them back inside and blondie pulled away. Pulling out a pen instead, she scrawled her number on the back of his hand. With a seductive smile, she was back in the bar and he was there at the alley alone.
The flickering light stretched out like long, thin fingers, splayed across the floor, and Sirius watched them flicker, appearing and disappearing with ease as he felt like the air was once more sucked out of his lungs again.
He apparated home as a low growl of thunder echoed through the alley.
And he found her there. His girl. Seated on the balcony of their apartment in a flannel pajama top and underwear, she raised the almost just a stub cigarette to her lips. He was a bad influence on her, he decided, and as the smoke escaped her lips, her eyes stared out at the skies above. The eyes so deep and endless, lined with the vestiges of the eyeliner she set out with in the morning still on her eyelids.
It wasn't pleasant, he decided, those eyes that made you feel as though were being pulled under, getting lost in the depths, hardened by working in a hospital as the ugly side of the war began to rear its head and casualties and injuries began to pile up. It was unnerving, those eyes. Frightening. It frightened people, it frightened him how detached she was, how much she couldn't seem to feel.
And yet, as he watched her from the door of the balcony, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, gaze on the flames ignited on the lighter, tiny and wishful, flickering in a breeze, she was a picture of innocence. Like a child playing with flames for the first time. Watching with slight detached amusement as the flame ignited, she stared at it for a solid second before finally touching the end of the white toxic pleasure to the flame, gently curling in the white edges, burning them black, making them crumble.
Innocence was replaced by a boiling heat that began in his stomach and spread throughout his entire body, engulfing him in flames as a breeze came from nowhere, stirring up the scents of the night. There was the smell of smoke and alcohol in her breath - he was a very bad influence on her - mixed with the alluring breath of cinnamon and spice.
She shuddered, and the outline of her pale skin trembling ever so slightly in the dark as another breeze swept past her brown locks, slightly messy as though she had not bothered to run a comb through it when she got home, giving it just the out of bed sex hair.
It is unbearable yet irresistible. Painful yet exhilarating. Stifling yet intoxicating.
The sky is illuminated by a flash of lightning, followed quickly by an agonizing crack of thunder. The brief flicker of light caught her eye, and her head whipped around as though suddenly sensing someone else in their badly furnished and dull apartment. As though anyone would want to rob a dingy place like that. He saw her eyes sharp with fear, ringed with hesitancy as her hand dropped the cigarette and reached for the wand. A move that screamed how the war was taking a toll on the brunette. A move that wasn't required when she saw who the supposed intruder was.
She dropped that too and took a step back as he moved toward her, cupping her cheeks in his hands. She was shaking, jittery, it was evidently a rough day at St. Mungos. But he tilted her face toward him and eliminated the painful distance between them, pressing their lips together and it's familiar. It's comfortable. But at the same time something stirred in his stomach and chest.
The kiss becomes urgent all of a sudden. Almost rough. He couldn't help it. He wanted more. He needed more. His entire body smouldered as she moved underneath him, a hand sliding up his back, reeling him in closer, the other on his neck entangled in the tendrils of hair there.
A current rushes through his veins, and he pulled away for air.
His eyes are tightly shut as he lightly traced the outline of her mouth with his thumb, applying as little pressure as possible.
The pillow of his fingertip brushed over the centre of her mouth and they part immediately, nestling the side of his thumb in between them. She grazed his thumb with the tip of her tongue, eyes growing darker, pupils blown wide. He opened his eyes and returned her gaze.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a kiss, almost crashing into her. She stumbled backwards, struggling to keep her footing.
But she followed his lead and opened her mouth slightly, granting his tongue entrance. His hands drifted up and down her lithe body, finally both resting on the small of her back after discarding her blue striped flannel pajama top.
He guided her into their bedroom, to the bed, as her fingers deftly undid his buttons and belt, taking each step carefully. He was wearing black-soled shoes, while she was barefoot. He winced silently, knowing he couldn't bear to hurt her. In any way.
She slowly eased on to the bed, in nothing but her undergarments sitting up, never breaking the lip lock.
Sirius rested his forehead gently against hers after breaking away; their ragged breathes the only thing audible.
In the distance, the thunder rumbled and the depressing plop plop plop begin to descend upon them.
Her hands entwined with his locks, pulling him closer to him under the tangled bed sheets, both taking deep, uneven breaths.
His girl was heat, he decided, not the fabled soothing warmth every lovey dovey couple go on about, but red hot fire heat. Fire that burned wildly with desire, dripping with passion.
The violent flashes blinked in front of him – his girl softly murmuring his name repeatedly, voice rising in volume, worn out nails, the dark red polish chipped above the cracked nails - giving an allusion that was quite veritable of disrepair and disregard, of carelessness and hardships - dug into his back, leaving crescent marks as she went.
Her hair was splayed out on the pillow in a tangle of sweaty mess, a tangle of beautiful deep chestnut locks. Her lips parted in all of their chapped, bruised glory as she continues to moan his name as he groaned with pleasure into her shoulder.
As they lay there, together, drifting in and out of sleep, she watched as threads of rain decorated the night sky through their tiny bedroom window. Moonlight and streetlight blend to paint her half-revealed form in silver and gold. The sheets lay loose around their bodies, tangled up in their legs as they rest against each other, breathing heavily and freely.
"You have secrets, don't you?" she whispered quietly, as though afraid of breaking through the melody of raindrops and silence.
"Everyone has secrets," he answered evasively, running a hand through her long locks, twirling the ends of her hair as she plucked them out and started playing with his calloused hands with her nimble ones.
Why does she need to know about the nights the alcohol blurred his vision so much he could no longer see he was crossing the line? The illegal substances? The girls he's fooled around with?
"You never tell me yours," she prodded, wanting to learn all of his dimensions.
"You don't tell me yours, either," he returned, eyes closing as he shifted in the warm sheet, getting more comfortable and preparing for a long sobering sleep.
And then..
She scoffed.
"So go tell fucking Kenna your secrets then," she swung his hand away from hers as she shot out of bed, yanking the sheets with her, rage and betrayal in her voice evident.
"Wait, what're you... Shit!" he curse as he noticed the smudged but undeniably a phone number scrawled on his hand.
How the hell did you forget that? He could have kicked himself.
"Where're you going?" he jumped out of bed, after her as the brunette stomped out the room.
"Leaving you," she spat, grabbing some clothes lying around, with nothing but the thin sheet wrapped around her.
"No, you're not, babe, wait," he pulled on some pants lying on the floor in the haphazard post coital argument hurry.
As she grabbed the clothes and her abandoned wand off the balcony, a sense of panic shot up his throat.
"Wait, please," he grabbed her elbow as she marched pass him.
"Don't touch me," she snapped, jerking her arm away from him, with a glare enough to stop a baby elephant in its tracks, dropping the clothes in her hands.
"Babe, just please," he pleaded, gripping both her arms as she frantically collected them from the floor.
"Don't fucking touch me!" she yelled venomously, shoving him back with enough force that made him connect with the wall with a loud thud.
"Look, I'm sorry," he pleaded walking towards her, but stopping as she whipped around.
"You're sorry? That's it?" she raised her voice, "You come home smelling like the floor of the fucking brewery and an ashtray and fucking sex and cheap perfume every night and you're fucking sorry?" she yelled
So she did know.
"It's not... I just..."
"I watched you go completely off the fucking rails for whatever reasons you won't tell me and now you want me to just stay?"
"I'm sorry," he whispered, placing his hands on her face slowly, holding her, "Please don't go,"
She pushed his hands away forcefully, but he raised them to cup her cheeks once more, holding her tight, as she clawed pounded her fist on his arm, clawing at it to make him let go, struggling against his grasp, "Let go,"
"No," he stated stubbornly.
"Let –"
"I fucked up," he interrupted, raising his voice, "I fucked up, alright? But I'm sorry,"
"Please," he pleaded.
Her grip on his arm loosened, but her gaze did not, "Let. Me. Go." she demanded.
With a shuddering gasp, he closed his eyes and dropped his hands.
His eyes grew heavy as he followed her movements across the room as she collected the items she'd dropped, scanning every little detail of her bare flesh, recalling how it felt beneath his hands and lips.
Those slender legs. The pale thighs. Her arms, shoulders, neck, and the perfect bumps of her spine as it descended and disappeared beneath panties. Her petite waist and they way her hip bones gently jutted out above the fabric. He frowned. She didn't look this skinny before. They were once happy as he recalled.
If she stayed they could be happy. He knew they could. And he'd do whatever.
And then it became impossible to contain it any longer.
As she approached the door with her clothes in her arms, his gasping breaths turned deep and laborious as he walked forward, involuntarily, the barely familiar spark igniting something deep and animalistic as he sprang across the floor.
Grabbing her waist from behind in an angry desperation, her shoulders went slack as he wrapped his arms entirely around her waist and buried his nose in her neck, smelling cinnamon and fucking spice.
She reached out her hand toward the doorknob, and he whispered a "Don't," into her neck.
Her hand gripped the knob, unmoving, as though in deep contemplation and internal struggle, his hands tightened around her waist. And just like that, her determination melted away in a fleeting lapse of thought, and her hand dropped from the doorknob.
Yes, Sirius Black was a mess. A complete train wreck. House on fire. Total fucking disaster.
But his girl had the front row seats.
And she wasn't going anywhere.
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn But that's alright because I like the way it hurts
A/N : Reviews are better than naked in the sheets with Sirius. Okay, that's not true. But they'd make my day.. And constructive criticism is ADORED! So... Review? Like it, didn't like it, leave your thoughts.. :) mAnomaly.