"I was on a heavy tip
Try'na cross a canyon with a broken limb
You were on the other side, like always
Wondering what to do with life
I'd already had a sip
So I'd reasoned I was drunk enough to deal with it
You were on the other side, like always
You could never make your mind
And with one kiss
You inspired a fire of devotion that lasts for twenty years
What kind of man loves like this?"
Florence + The Machine
Then
He touched her face with just the tips of his fingers as reverently as he might have touched an ancient tome describing the Arts he so loved. The pale skin of her cheeks felt like satin under them, and he wanted to be covered with that softness, even though he knew that it could never be – not now after all that had been lost between them.
Each freckle, the arch of her brow, the darkest emerald green of her eyes were memorized in those moments. Even the surprise that one eye was slightly greener than the other, and that her bottom lip was ever so slightly fuller that the top burned his thoughts. He'd come back to it in a Pensieve, he knew that, and he wanted the memory to be perfect.
"Sev," she whispered, brokenly.
Her voice was laden with unspoken goodbyes and regrets. The diamond ring that glittered on her finger proved that she would never be his.
But there was now, this single moment where regret burned into something else entirely. Even though the regret would never become doubt, it had become sentiment and longing to experience what might have been: if only the word had not been said, if only he could be what she needed.
He just let the tips of his thumbs caress her lips, and he was drunk with his desire for her.
Now
He followed her into one of the rooms after the festivities were finally over, and the bulk of the guests gone. She was finally free of her life at the school … and he was finally free of all of the restrictions due to his duty to it.
He knew he was being lured, and he wanted it. After the long year of waiting – after all the years of watching the beautiful girl, who he'd first merely longed to look at and admire due to her resemblance to her, grow into a woman who he never wanted to let go.
She was stronger than she. His vicious nature never intimidated her, though it did often bring forth a temper as bright and fiery as her lovely hair. The word, the horrible word that he hadn't allowed to willingly be spoken in his presence in over twenty years, would not separate them.
No word would.
No word could.
He'd met his match in this spirited little lady, the youngest of a house of men. She could and often did bite him back when he merely bared his teeth (even if he did so to just remind himself that he still could).
She was in the library of the ancient and noble house, and how appropriate that was. For the first time, he was going to study her as intently as he'd studied for his Mastery, only this would yield much more satisfying results.
Not shyly – no, never shyly with her – she took the pins out of her hair, unwound the braids, and shook the red tresses loose for him to admire.
And he felt completely and utterly drunk, though he'd had naught a drop of the host's wine.
Then
Her lips parted under his gentle touch (had it ever been gentle before this moment?), and a silken pink tongue touched the pad of his thumb. He cried out, unable to restrain the lust he'd always felt for her, nor the love that had bloomed in his blackest of hearts.
With that single sound her pupils grew, making her eyes even darker.
Was it with desire of her own?
(Did it even matter?)
Lips plumped and kissed his thumb now, and with the swiftest motion he replaced the thumb with his own lips.
Now
"Sir," she whispered, sounding as giddy as he felt.
The word was wrong now, reminding him of sleepless nights and endless days of longing that would never have to be repeated. He shook his head, bringing a single finger to her lips to silence the word that she would no longer have to speak.
"Severus," he said, needing to finally hear it from her lips.
"Severus," she repeated, smiling up at him with glee. The gentle upturn of her lips against that one finger was maddening; he was so close to her and never again would have to be so far away. Her breaths came quicker, tiny whispers of heat across the back of his waiting hand.
Always demonstrating her impetuous nature against his own restraint, she managed to surprise him yet again. She covered his hand with hers, lowering it to her warm, soft breast.
The cried out together; she with the fulfillment of desire, he with the understanding that they would never end. She belonged to him, and he to her – their paths too intricately entwined to ever part.
He squeezed gently, so as not to scare or hurt her, and watched the flush rise from her chest up to her throat. The pink took bloom in her cheeks like the first rose of spring. Rosebud lips that could lash him with just a word parted and reddened as she arched into his touch.
"Severus," the lips whispered again. He couldn't take his eyes off of them, and when her quick-witted tongue barely touched the lower lip with the gentle caress of a lover, he was lost.
He lowered his thin lips to hers and quickly chased her tongue with his.
Then
It was a kiss that tasted of the regret they both felt, and was solely a kiss of goodbye. He knew that, somewhere in his love-sick mind. But all he could think of was the now, and how she tasted like the lemon drops she kept in her hand bag, and the smooth, silken texture of her tongue as it brushed against his in greeting.
He plunged his hands into her hair, holding onto her just for this one moment, this last moment before he would lose her forever to the man who had contributed to the hell of his life.
If only …
If only he'd had more friends, had been sorted into another house, had chosen a different path than his peers.
She moaned, and he realized that there was lust there, though very carefully buried.
If only he were a better man, she could have been his.
He tasted salt, he realized that tears fell from the corners of his eyes. He opened them, wondering at the thought that something so simple could make them come when he'd vowed never to cry again. Through the slight blur of his vision, which was faltering now due to them, he saw that she openly wept as well, her tears joining his. They mixed with his own in their mouths, and his breath caught in his throat with the wonder of it.
"Sev," she sighed, pulling back slightly though their lips still touched.
"My love," he thought, keeping the words to himself.
Now
His hands flew into her hair, and not for the first time he imagined it covering his nude form like a curtain of silk. He deepened the kiss further, seeking out the flavor that was singular to her. She didn't taste of candy or the undrunk wine – she tasted of mysterious, sensuous woman.
Their tongues danced with each other, unable to settle after their first meeting. Her own little hands, that were so capable and strong, grabbed his wrists. He was now her captive, as he'd longed to be (and in truth, was) for longer than was completely decent.
Did he care?
(Did it matter?)
The only thing that mattered was that she was finally his, and her body was molding itself against him as though they were meant to be that way from the start. Her small, slim form complimented his own in ways he'd never dreamed it could. He slowly backed her against the one wall not lined with books, lifting her body so that their hips met each other. They both bucked in the raw deliciousness of the first contact.
He had to see her eyes, to remind himself that this was real, and that he finally had what he wanted in his arms.
"My love," he said softly, and her eyes opened, revealing the bright brown depths. They were chocolate laced with cinnamon, just as she was. Sweetness with spice. The light to his darkness.
"My love," she repeated, smiling again in wonder as she brushed a tendril of hair from his face.
"Are you sure?" he asked, now a little nervous and even as shy as he'd been when he was just a boy, though now he was very much a man.
"Yes," she whispered against his lips, before she captured them with her own.
Then
It was over as soon as it began.
When they parted, he almost smirked when he saw how swollen and red her lips were from his kisses and his attentions to her desire.
"You must … go back," he said, first looking at the glittering ring of possession on her hand, then at the worried look on her face.
She nodded and wiped her face with the small white handkerchief he offered. It was given back to him – he knew she'd want no evidence of their meeting on her body when she returned to him that night.
"I – " she started to say, but stopped when he quickly shook his head.
"Don't."
She closed her eyes against the word and nodded again before she turned back to the moonlit path. He watched her as intently as he would later watch her son, his eyes following her form until she was out of sight and safe once more.
He would always love her. That he knew.
It would be his talisman for almost twenty years.
Now
He groaned as her teeth nipped his lips playfully. Pain was a sensation he'd always flirted with, and the mix of her honey sweet lips and the delicious sting was exquisite. He willed his mind to clear, but it would not. It was too good, too necessary, too right, and if his head became cloudy from it then let him rise gladly to the sky to make it so.
She broke the kiss and leaned her head against the wall, panting heavily. Her legs tightened around his waist, her hip tentatively rotating against the hard heat that had risen to meet her softness.
He shook his head, but his denial only held promise.
"In a proper room," he whispered, chuckling as he continued. "I won't take a gift so precious against the wall of a library."
"But it's my gift to you," she protested, wriggling again in invitation.
His face grew serious, as did his intentions. He reached into the pocket of his coat, which was no longer black as it was then. Now, it was a deep, dark blue.
"And this is mine to you," he said, softly, as he slid the retrieved ring onto her finger.
"Is this – " she looked at it and smiled.
"If you want it to be," he said, and the shyness was back again. "It could be a promise … or a declaration."
She looked at the ring on her hand for a long minute before she said, "Then I declare."
He kissed her again and again, and it was full of promise, of future, and of a love that would never be denied.
This was his one true love, and she was real and passionate and alive in his arms.
It would be his talisman for the rest of his life.
A/N: Ever hear a song and scream, "THAT SONG IT SO ABOUT SEVERUS SNAPE!"?
Don't do it in public, just a warning. Take it from me.
This is the plot-bunny that is inspiring another long story, but this little gal will only ever be a one shot.
Not mine, no money, so broke (does it matter?)