A.N. : I'd like to mention a few things about the last chapter, that I forgot in my haste to post it. Firstly, Primo Levi's book, translated as If this is a man in English. A truly striking masterpiece I had to read for one of my courses (to give you an idea about how it freaked me out, I used to spend most of my time alone in my apartment alone as my family lives abroad, and while reading it, I couldn't spare a glance to my windows at night because each time I saw the gaunt figures of concentration camp prisoners). So if you'd like to read it, be warned: it ain't for sissies. Secondly, I'm thinking about writing another fic once I've finished this one, exclusively about Antonio and Severus while they lived together in Napoli. Tell me what you think about it, please. As I'm in college and have a heavy workload, I can't afford to start writing something if nobody's going to read it, I'm sorry to say... So send a review if you want more, and I'll write especially for you guys
Ciao,
Sarah
London could be compared to a diamond: it had many facets, and each reflected a different image of yourself. Under the ominous glow of a rusty streetlamp, Severus felt his feral instincts resurface, while he was quite tamed just an hour ago near Piccadilly circus, where he'd apparated. A smoke in his hand and smoke out his lips, waiting. In full muggle attire, blue jeans, black shirt and charcoal mackintosh along with Italian shoes, he would've been at his place in a gangster flick if only he had a violin case.
He'd left Hogwarts for Easter that year under the Headmaster's (and Lucius') request, as he seemed to make a lot more progress concerning his health under the care of his lover. He'd refused at first, sternly reminding Dumbledore that he couldn't afford to quit his Head of House responsibilities and had to prepare his Potions exams for June. Dumbledore reminded him that hardly any of his Slytherins were spending their vacation at the castle and that he'd already had said exams ready since at least last month, anyways.
Severus hated Dumbledore for knowing him too well.
Well, not exactly hate...
His chest hurt. The thrice damn pain flowed in his body with as much ease as blood in his veins. It hadn't stopped. It never stopped. He knew it would never cease, no matter what he did. He forced as much food as he could down his throat. He tried to put on some weight, he really did, but no matter the effort, he never managed to gain more than half a pound.
Which he usually lost a few days after.
He knew spending time with Lucius was for his own good, but he didn't know if he wished for his own good anymore. He always felt tired, woke up everyday only looking forward to the moment when he'll be able to go back to bed again. Strengthening and stamina potions didn't work anymore. Maybe they were all right. Maybe his body was shutting down after all.
Someone was coming towards him, half hidden by the fog.
He made out the outlines of Lucius' silhouette, elegantly dressed in a full muggle businessman attire. He saw him approach, but his vision was fuzzy... He tried to focalize, but it only made his head ache. Lucius bent over him. Strange, he hadn't even noticed that he had fallen to his knees. He looked up into pale grey eyes. Lucius' lips moves, but Severus heard nothing. The edges were darkening...
Severus was surrounded by warmness. His body was tucked snugly under heavy covers. He felt too exhausted to move. His eyelids were much too heavy. Somebody was delicately opening his mouth and lifting his head. He automatically swallowed a thick, warm liquid. He supposed it was soup, but wasn't sure. Everything tasted bland to him. He felt the pillow underneath him again, and a handkerchief dabbing his lips. The silky material was replaced by something else, just as soft. He opened his mouth slightly, allowing access to Lucius. But the kiss was short, and was replaced by an embrace. Severus didn't utter a word, didn't produce the slightest sound. He felt so feeble in Lucius' strong arms. During the past months, stress had worn him out, from constant worry about Potter's wellbeing during the Triwizard Tournament to preparation for Voldemort's return.
Just before blacking out, Severus found himself wondering what it felt like dying the way Antonio did...
Life was an endless circle, Lucius thought. To stay on the safe side, he'd called Pomfrey, who'd told him about the diet she'd advised Severus to follow when he'd been diagnosed a flu. Amazingly enough, she'd complimented him about his influence on Severus.
Wonders will never cease.
Antonio had deemed it useful to appear after the mediwitch had left. He floated at the far end of the room so as to refrain from making the man uncomfortable.
"I wouldn't suggest the feeding tube this time, Signor Malfoy, he needs to train his stomach constantly. I would suggest overcooked rice and vegetables, much easier to ingest, and perhaps tiny bits of ham or finely diced poultry. He will need proteins and carbohydrates to regain strength, rebuild his muscles... Don't give him any fruit juice, it might be too acid for him, only fruit salad once a while and sugary water. Plenty of tea to keep him warm. I'd normally advice alcohol, but due to his weight it would do him more harm than good", he instructed. Lucius nodded, his eyes fixed on Severus. He was increasingly thinking about bringing him to St Mungo's, but knew the dramatic effects it could have on the man's spirit.
And so began the slow feeding process. One teaspoon at a time, Lucius would feed Severus, who still was in a groggy state and didn't respond. Lucius didn't mind. Narcissa and Draco had left for Andalucía, for Draco to "relax from all the strain he puts up with at school", as his wife mentioned. He could nurse Severus for the better part of the day without anybody interrupting them. Lucius slowly pulled the covers off of him.
The ill man was sprawled upon the bed, lying on his side, one leg slightly bent over the other. His raven locks cascaded over one side of his face and over his shoulders, like level waves of the purest black ink. His pale skin had no imperfection, stretched onto his bones like canvas on a frame. Lucius laid his palm flat onto his lovers stomach, rubbing him with little circle to keep him warm.
"Divino, is he not, Signor Malfoy?"
Lucius jumped. He'd forgotten that Santa Cruz was still there. However, the elder got the hint and disappeared just before confronting Lucius.
In a way, Lucius understood what Antonio meant. With his svelte body and currently peaceful expression, nothing superfluous spoiling the whole, Severus did look like an awkward, Mediterranean Apollo.
"Severus..." Lucius drawled as he slid into bed, his hands sliding down to grasp the raven man's flanks and pull his pelvis up, only to remember that a thin layer of clothes was still rudely in between them. Disgruntled, he laid Severus back down and reached for his wand, undressing himself in a flash. The effect was immediate; his arousal against Severus' cock, which started hardening. Severus roused, his half open eyes leering at Lucius.
"I didn't think I set my alarm clock on "extra perverted morning call"..." he mumbled moodily. Lucius hushed him with a kiss.
"You scared the living daylights out of me, you glorious bastard", Lucius said in the softest tone possible, sending jolts down Severus' navel.
"I guess I have to apologise for that, Lucius..." he purred seductively, tangling his long fingers in his lover's golden main. Lucius bent down to nip his protruding collarbone. Severus closed his eyes lazily and sighed.
"You're still tired, aren't you?" Lucius asked with concern. Severus shook his head at first, paused, and then nodded in resignation.
"There's no cure, is there?" Severus asked, sounding hopeless. Lucius didn't know what to say; never before had he seen Severus so close to giving up.
Apart from that day he let himself fall asleep... totally.
"Do you still make yourself sick, Severus?"
Severus looked away, shame etched on his face.
"I can't stop myself anymore, Lucius. I try not to, but whatever I eat makes me nauseous... I can't take it anymore, Lucius, no matter how hard I try, it's like I've turned allergic to food... I've become a monstrosity, haven't I?"
Severus broke down completely. A rotten childhood. His mother's cruel death, then Lily's, and finally Antonio's. Years of loneliness. He wasn't a machine, a weapon fit to waste, as Dumbledore had put it. He simply was a man who'd built a fortress around him to protect himself from suffering more than he already had.
Lucius held him in his arms and felt his frail body shivering... Severus still had enough dignity not to produce a single sound, nevertheless he still had to cover his the tears he was shedding.
Oh Severus...
I've seen you fall apart today, and the days before, for a whole year now. It scares me because I've never seen this side of you before, and it makes me afraid for losing control over the situation. I hate this word, "afraid". A Malfoy is never afraid.
I can't help contemplating your delicate beauty, like a bird with a broken wing as you lay spread-eagled on the silk covers, head inclined and eyes closed. Sometimes they open to slits, so narrow that they seem completely black, and with your long lashes I find myself comparing you to a doe. It's not hard, with your thin yet muscular frame...
You haven't woken up all day. Your pulse is low, but steady. Your chest heaves and falls in a slow rhythm, reminding me you're still alive, and that's the way I want you. Forget astheniaphily. I want you safe and sound.
I wrap my arms around you, as carefully as I can. I've always got the feeling that, was I to hold you too tight, your bones would crush under the pressure. Your skin is soft under my fingers. Few people know about it, but you do take care of yourself, in a manly way. Your hair smells musky, and covers your shoulder like the finest satin drape. A few strands snake down to your chest, over your nipples. Out of pure mischief, I tease and circle them. You stir and groan. You've always been very responsive when I decide to play with them. I dip my head down and lick them, before suckling them. You gasp deliciously, and wake up. You reach clumsily for my head and pull it closer, breathing ragged. I decide to explore your lower regions, and lick someplace else.
Would that be safe? You do need your rest, after all... But how can I deny you anything, Severus, so needy and impatient...
I take you wholly, devour you, milk you as you moan my name huskily. You urge me on till a salty nectar pours into my mouth. You taste so good, Severus, and I swallow every last drop of what you have to give me before capturing your lips into a chaste kiss.
I desire you entirely.
You make no comment as I prepare you, only a sigh or two in content. After touching your forehead, I realise you're a tad cold, and pull the bed sheets over us both. I take my time. I don't want you to think I'm using you as a fuck buddy. You never have been, and never will be.
Don't you understand that I love you, oh sceptic one? Doubt no more!
Please doubt no more...
You whisper in a voice I hardly recognise that you've never doubted a second, even though you've tried to. I can't replace it...
Wasn't it the voice you used before we broke up? Even then I didn't fool around with you. No. I knew I loved you.
I slide into you, and you bite your lip in a very obvious way, before exhaling... You used to top me before, from time to time, but you haven't got the strength anymore. You urge me to enter deeper, oh, deeper, you want more, and so do I, but I can't bear to cause you pain even if you ask for it.
You start uttering words in Italian and another eastern language I don't recognise. Each time we make love, your brain switches into full foreigner mode, but I don't care. Never has an idiom sounded so musical to my ears. You pant soft notes in a baritone voice and compose a whole symphony of sighs and pants and groans and yelps, in which I play the role of chef d'orchestre. I control the rhythm, the intensity of song you sing, for you do sing a low, chaotic melody, Severus.
And I adore it.
We draw nearer to the conclusion, our grand final, as I like to think of it. Your lack of oxygen don't allow you to sing anymore, hélas, but you still hiss my name, and it has never sounded so beautiful before. I cry out your name, a little harder each time as I feel you tensing around my cock, and I feels heavenly, Severus, and so warm. It makes me thrust more violently into you, causing you to yelp in pain, but my mind is too foggy to allow me to realise I'm hurting you. You wrap your arms around me and close what little space was left between us. I kiss you roughly, and as we pull apart to breathe, a small line of drool still connects us. I see you jolt and tilt your head backwards, your eyes rolling as you fall back onto the bed. It's not long before I reach Nirvana too.
When I come back to my senses, I feel the urge to cry.
So many things can go wrong from here, with the risks you've decided to take. Sometimes I want to shake you, Severus, and shout for you to stop this foolishness, before I'm reminded I'm the most foolish of us two. Sometimes I want to keep you in bed, never let you go, make love to you till death follows.
...
I feel you shiver. I hold myself up on my elbows. You look awfully pale. I can hear your teeth shatter. You start to convulse, and I run to the potion cabinet. Your breathing is laboured, I can whistling sounds with each exhalation. What should I give you? What can I do?
Antonio rushes through the ceiling as I'm about to feed you Pepperup, the first vial I found. There's nothing I can do, says he, let the fit run its course, says he, but meanwhile you're suffering and I'm hanging around doing nothing.
Your forehead is sweaty, your face grimacing in pain, and as suddenly as it started, the fit stops. Antonio describes it as a severe case of hypoglycaemia. He orders me to give you a glucose shot, and I do so, notwithstanding the fact I don't take orders from anybody. You're my sole preoccupation.
You spend hours sleeping again, only waking up the next day, in the middle of the afternoon. I feed you again, slowly. Keep you warm under a pile of woollen blankets. Bring you hot drinks, even though you ask me to stop playing your personal house elf. I reply that I don't mind. Honestly. Taking care of you is gratifying; each time I see you wake up a little healthier than the night before. Sometimes you're a little depressed because of your frailty, and so I pause in my ministrations to attend to your soul. You whisper a few words of thanks. I ignore them.
I should thank you for accepting me into your life again.
I ask you the most ridiculous question I could come up with.
You answer that you do, and kiss me.
I'm under the impression that I will never tire of telling you how much I love you, because you don't seem to be bothered by this mantra either. And sometimes I hear you say...
I love you, Lucius...
A.N.: for narrative reasons, the following chapters will be described by Lucius' POV too. Tell me how you feel about it, because as you've already seen, your reviews are very much appreciated.
Also astheniaphily is a word I tried to translate from the French asthénéophilie, itself coming from ancient Greek, meaning the fact to be attracted by an ill person. Being a type of perversion, I haven't found it in any dictionary, so I'm sorry if I've misspelled it, as I couldn't check it beforehand.
Next chapters will imply more of what happens in the books, such as Voldemort's return, for instance.
Ciao,
Sarah