Disclaimer:
I DON'T OWN IT! Jeez! Are you happy now? Does my depression make you happy... years of therapy are coming out of this I know it! But as long as you're happy... as long as you get the satisfaction of having me tell you that these wonderful characters are not of my own creation, well then... I guess all is right with the world, isn't it!
Hey guys, enjoy! And please leave a review!
Light glinted at her, harsh and painful and cold. Repositioning her hand, she felt the sharp stab of shame pierce her heart briefly as she watched the ring shine from her finger.
A Promise.
Then she felt the soft give of hair tangle about her fingers and the ring was lost amidst ebony; and her conscience with it. Her practical mind lost the focus and logic that it was so well known for, thoughts of right and wrong, cause and consequence, abandoned her to the more primal urges she rarely allowed herself.
Delicate, pale hands, so precise and graceful, ones that had so carefully turned the pages of ancient manuscripts and spell books, that had feathered so lightly across those treasure troves of knowledge and learning, worshiping the artistry of both the author and binder. Now they sought to worship something else - with pain and urgency. Fingers suited for literature and music fisted into the mass of black hair that hung unruly and wild.
It had been so long since she had felt those wonderful strands against her hands… so long since she had looked into those eyes… eyes that haunted her endlessly, needing and demanding in a way that burned her from the inside out and willed her to submit.
Hard. Dark. Powerful. Lonely.
Eyes that were so different from the soft blue that had looked at her this morning over coffee, laughing and confident as they were every morning when her fiancé met her for breakfast in the downstairs kitchen of their apartment.
She had tried so hard. Had wanted it to work so badly, but, in the end… what they had together was not enough.
And she wanted it so desperately to have been.
He was everything that she could have asked for in a husband: attentive but not obsessive, kind and loyal, brave and constant. He had saved her so many times over the years, held her as pain swamped over their world and darkened their childhood. It had been him who had comforted her when her parents were found lifeless and cold on the front lawns of Hogwarts.
It was suppose to have been fate. It was destined from the very beginning, wasn't it?
It was what everyone said… what everyone whispered and gossiped…
What even she believed.
How could so many people be so wrong?
How could she have followed their directions so blindly? How could she not have seen that something was missing?
Why did there have to be something missing!
Everyone had wanted it. It had all been planned…
Even she had had it all mapped out in her head - mind you it had been in the very far recesses, but it had been there. She was a woman who knew how to read the signs, knew the patterns of personal interaction, and she had seen the direction they were heading toward just like everyone else.
He was her best friend - her confidant and constant companion. They had fought and laughed and cried together and all their trials had only served to bring them closer together. Nothing had ever been able to truly tear them apart…
Nothing but this…
The Present slammed her back to reality with physical sensation and she gasped at the feel of teeth playfully grazing her neck. It was one of her greatest weaknesses and he knew it. It was a move all about domination and submission. Something her fiancé would never quite be able to understand.
The challenge it presented was intoxicating and the passion she could feel reigned just below the surface…
She could remember every caress. Every nip and breath…
Once before he had accidentally drawn blood, leaving bruises and tiny indentions in her skin. He had seemed slightly alarmed at what he had done and she could only imagine what she had looked like with blood welling on her throat, but to her… it had seemed right. His eyes had sought hers then and something in them must have assured him because warmth flooded his gaze as he captured her lips with his. It had been all about power and dominance, and the taste of copper on his lips had been both unnerving and erotic.
It had been their last night together. He had left the following morning.
With his lips and teeth pressed firmly to her skin it was as if the years apart had never been.
She waited for him to press down as he always did, half expected that after so long he might draw blood again. It seemed… well, appropriate for the situation… but the pressure never came and suddenly she was aware that he had stilled. His entire body had gone rigid, and though his breath was still fairly even, he was trembling.
Inside, warmth flooded through her, and she smiled into his hair.
He was asking… holding himself back and waiting for her consent. Silently questioning, offering her one last chance to turn away from this, from him, and back to the life that she had forced upon herself. She had started this, had come to him when she heard he was here; it had been she that had changed their innocent tête-à-tête into their current situation.
He had opened the door at her knock, stepped back to allow her entry, and greeted her as warmly as old acquaintances are allowed.
She had smiled and returned the greeting, sitting when he had offered, and answered when he had questioned how she had been since the last time they had met.
He had been polite and slightly distant, just as he had been at their last meeting during the war, but his eyes let her know that he still felt much as he did then.
She had hurt him then, had hurt herself, and they both had carried the pain over the years.
She had remarked on his career, tried to reminisce on happier memories, and had ended up silently staring out the window of his hotel room, as all the weight of her choices crashed down over her.
He had moved to sit beside her, took her hand in his as he tried to sooth out her problems for her, and asked if there was anything he could do to help.
She had turned to him and asked if he had a time-turner she could borrow. After all, it had worked once before…
He had laughed.
She had smiled.
He assured her that even without such a thing that she was more than capable of correcting whatever it was she wished to change.
She had set out to prove him right…
And so that was how they had found themselves in this position - her legs wrapped securely about his waist, hands buried in that dark mass of hair, and his hands resting lightly on her hips and his mouth set at the juncture of her neck.
She had started it…. She had brought them to this point, had been willing to break with all other promises and self-made conventions, to give in… And here he was, holding back, willing to give her this chance to return to her senses.
He had seen the ring, had made innocent inquiries about it, and knew that the consequences of her actions tonight could quite possibly break her.
He wanted her… it was wonderfully clear that he wanted her. His eyes had told her so since the moment she had showed up at his door and his body offered undeniable confirmation.
She looked once more at the ring, watched the way the light played off the multiple facets. It was said that 'diamonds are forever'… but…
Clenching her fists once more, she tilted her head back and to the side, exposing her throat to him freely even as her body rocked forward against him.
She was so tired of thinking!
She arched again and heard him groan and knew she had made the right choice.
Her back hit against the wall and she could feel the rough grain of it through her blouse where he pressed his body into her own. The fact that he could hold her so effortlessly, that he could pin her against the wall and take… the fact that he would… sent a wave of heat through her veins. She gasped then, as sharp points of pain pressed forcefully into her skin and suddenly the heat that had been pleasantly diffused through her body focused and pooled below her waist.
"Merlin!", she shuddered as she felt her skin break beneath the pressure.
This was what she wanted…
Laughter rumbled against her throat and he broke away long enough to teasingly reproach her for calling another man's name. She laughed and knew there would be no going back.
The feeling was glorious!
Rough fingers worked their way down her thighs, pressing her fully against him in their journey until she felt them trace the hem of her skirt. Then she was digging her fingers into the taunt muscles of his shoulders, as those quidditch-hardened palms bunched the material of her skirt upward, fingers applying pressure the entire way until she could swear he had left furrows in her flesh. She couldn't care less if he had dug inch deep trenches in her skin, she had worn the scars of war with pride and she would bear these as well. Of course the making of these would be a much more enjoyable memory than the others. The thing that mattered most now was that the flimsy material of her skirt no longer a barrier.
Skin against skin; his fingers warm and firm against her and she couldn't help the satisfied smile that turned her lips when nothing else inhibited his exploration. She heard the tight and desperate groan rumble against her throat and her smile widened exponentially.
Warm air whispered over her neck as he soothed her abused flesh with tender caresses of his lips and tongue. Small victories were the most delicious, she mused, and with one final kiss he pulled his head away, bringing it level with hers.
Eyes closed, breath escaping in slightly uneven patterns, he looked a strange mixture of angelic and primal. One of her hands reach up to trace the curve of his brow, ghost against his dark lashes, the imperfect bridge of his nose, and finally the scar that cut silver against his dark complexion. Perfectly imperfect, she decided and the question surfaced again: angelic or primal?
Suddenly his body rocked forward and she hazarded a guess…
She gasped when one of his wandering hands slid a finger against her core and knew she was correct…
Heavy lids lifted, eyes met hers, hooded and darkened with lust and need until they were almost black, and she was felt justified…
She felt herself swept away beneath a flood of desire and sensation when he let his thumb brush against the tiny bundle of nerves between her thighs, watched in fascination as his lips took on a predatory smile, one thought surfacing before they attacked her own and thinking became too distracting:
'So wonderfully primal…'
Teeth nipped at her bottom lip and tongue demanded entry to her mouth, but some small part of her fought against the raging torrent of sensations, the part that had made her study so hard, forced her to excel in everything she undertook… whether she enjoyed it or not…
Obligations, expectations, propriety… the voice cried out for these restraints, trying to remind her of what she had once been… what she had been trying to be…
Too bad for that voice that it was so small, that it no longer had any power, that it was alone against every other part of her soul, that her soul and her body would no longer be denied…
Too bad for that voice that the man between her legs also refused to be denied.
Employing his thumb once more, he flicked against the already sensitive bud, and when she opened her mouth to gasp he struck without mercy. Tongue and fingers plundered and penetrated, and left her blind and dumb to everything but the sensations he was creating. Even the protesting voice was silenced, willingly giving in against the relentless force.
Years of frustration poured between them and she fought for breath against the tide that swept her.
The rhythm he set left her weak and shaking… and completely thankful for the support of the wall and his body. She was vaguely away of the tightness of her own hands in his hair but the overwhelming compulsion to hold on overrode all other concerns. His fingers inside her were filling an emptiness that she hadn't realized had become so vast. Every cell in her body sparked with life and energy…
She wanted more.
Wanted to feel alive.
The moment his lips left hers, breath uneven and heavy, she sought another tactile presence against her skin. Fisted hands drug his head back impatiently, lips and tongue exploring the column of his neck. The sharp angle of his Adam's apple, the corded feel of muscle, and that delightful hollow that formed at the base of his throat. Her tongue took the opportunity to dip in and taste him. He tasted of the sport he loved: salt, sweat, and power. Earthy and real.
She still didn't understand the game, but she loved what it was to him. He had told her about it once before, when he had taken her on a midnight ride. After that, even she had found the idea of the sport somewhat intriguing… not enough to know the teams or managers, who won in what year, or even how many games were played each year. The only games she went to see were his…
Her name drew her out of her thoughts again. It was low and feral, almost inarticulate and completely beautiful. He knew her tendency of mind-wandering and never took much offense at her habit. He treated it as a challenge, demanding her attention, constantly changing tactics and momentum. It was a game - a glorious game and he was the only one that had ever been capable of winning.
Oh God was he winning! She practically moaned his name when he pressed himself between her thighs. His hand had left her empty and needy, and the only thing that soothed the loss was the realization that he was as needy as she was. She could feel it in the soft material pressing so intimately against her.
"So long," she whispered against the shell of his ear and was rewarded with the sudden thrust of his hips against her.
"Too long," he corrected, finding her mouth with almost feverish desperation.
"Agreed," she gasped, her hands grasping at the waist of his slacks, fingers fumbling with the buttons.
Air greeted her back and the support of the wall was gone. He was moving them, out of the living room and towards what she imagined was the bedroom door. Every now and then a stray beam from the windows would wink at her from the circle of gold she still wore, yet now the only thought in her head was a silent plea that the bedroom would be windowless.
Other than that desire, the only thing she wanted in the world was wrapped in her embrace.
Apparently that would have to be enough because sunlight filled the room, highlighting the wooden furniture and simple decorations. She wanted him in the light, wanted to see his face, his body… she wanted everything that this moment promised.
Promise…
She closed her eyes against the word and the responsibility that went with it. Instead she clung tightly to the now and the wonder that she had rediscovered in this moment.
Softness greeted her back and a welcome weight pressed her further into the bed. She'd missed the feel of him against her - the way he seemed to fit in all the right places. Even in the places that never seemed to mesh completely, the jutting angles of their hips for example, the imperfection only added a delicious form of friction to their contact.
It was heaven… and it was not enough!
Hands fought for purchase and clothing fled inch by inch. Layer by layer their bodies found each other, rediscovered the pleasure of skin pressing so intimately to skin.
It was amazing, the overlap of past and present. The differences that time had wrought mixed with the memories of youth made everything new. There was so much to explore, to memorize… to worship. The silvery scars that overlapped his chest practically begged for her for her touch. Games he had played, battles he had fought, victories he had won, and the life he had earned spread its tapestry of muscles, lines, and imperfections across his skin.
The life he had led was written in every wonder of his body and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. What did he see in the scar tissue that still lingered above her hip? Or the slightly more rounded curve of her thighs that she'd thought feminine? She'd had neither when they'd last been together.
She'd been physically untouched by war or time then, youthful and slightly on the skinny side if she remembered correctly. Far from what she was now…
A welcome pressure between her thighs and a deeply accented voice brought her back.
"Ve are now! Stay her vith me, Her-mine-knee," he reprimanded, the vibration of his words shifting him forward. The tease of penetration, the almost-promise of completion left her writhing beneath him and, damn him, he knew it. She tried to arch into him, but he mirrored her movements just enough to keep her on the edge.
"Viktor..", she hissed.
"Tell me, Her-mine-knee", he moaned, pressing further. "Efen if you don' mean it. Say it to me now!"
"Viktor…" She couldn't get past more than his name. Something inside of her was struggling to the surface. Her hand tangled together in the rich mass of dark hair, straining to bring him closer.
"Obicham!"
Love!
He said the endearment like a curse and with the force of the thrust that followed it, it was probably meant as one. She could have cared less which way it was meant, the emotion behind it - the raw power of that word and the thrilling wonder of completion had her soaring.
Yet it was not one of the million of sensations coursing through her that had her eyes opening into the shocked gaze of her lover…
It was the metallic clink that echoed through the silent room.
It was the sudden absence of the weight that had been pressing upon her soul.
The ring was gone…
The familiar weight no longer encircled her finger, the sunlight no longer reflected its damning judgment in the clear myriad of facets. Her left hand stretched free and unadorned through ebony tresses and she let her hand toy with the sweat dampened strands while she watched with a strange fascination.
The ring was gone…
Somewhere on the floor lay the promise she had made to Ron. On dust and wood, winking in what was left of the sunlight, was what had once been her chain. A chain of past hopes and deceptions, of lies and should-have-beens, that had once held her fast to a routine she'd long out grown.
"I love you, Viktor."
A calloused thumb brushed her cheeks and she realized she'd been crying.
Very few things in the world actually lasted forever. Time changes things in ways that are unavoidable, destined even, and humanity is a favorite of Time's children. It is odd then that the one thing, in its truest form, that Time is unable to sway is the favorite toy of humanity.
Love can be played with and faked, it can be manipulated and ignored, but the purest form of love span the centuries.
That was what her ring was meant to depict: the beauty, the strength, and unity found in love. However, a ring in all its glory is still merely a physical allusion to what already exists. It doesn't matter what size the stone is, how precious the metal is or how skillful the craftsman's ability was, if the relationship itself is lacking the ring alone becomes glitter.
Somewhere on the floor glitter sparkled with the sad beauty of broken promises and nothing more.
Because in a union where love is lacking, only the diamond lasts forever…
Well? What do you think? Let me know?