A/N: Enjoy...


Of Masks and Mirrors (II)

The ring of seven black pearl-sized dots was filling, from the center outward, with a small black roiling cloud.

His eyes glittered - empty, save for a terrible, patient hunger.

His hunger would not be denied.

In one fluid, feral movement, he was on her – trapping her hand, straining her shirt open, eyes staring at her mark with fierce, desperate need, her skin flaring to life, his gaze drawn inexorably to the symbol emblazoned on her chest – powerful, possessive, and permanent.

"Mine," he growled, leaning in, lowering his mouth to the cloud swirling on her skin, a turbulent oasis of potential, of promise.

His voice slid through her, her nerves resonating in harmonic response. She arched in primal offering, the slow, starving insistence of his lips thundering in her heartbeat, his fingers a ring of bruising desperation on her skin. Her hands flew to his face, a wild grasp at balance, at completion.

And they fell, hard, to the floor.

His weight slamming into her, his hair grazing her skin, his mouth demanding on her mark, she enfolded him to her chest, hands firm, gentle, merciless, on his head, knotting in his hair - inciting him, gentling him, discordant, lost, subsumed by fury, pity, fear, and desire, clawing, raking the thick wool on his shoulders in a paradox of mercy and terror as he drew her skin in his mouth, his teeth rough on her skin, the pressure building -

His need unrelenting, insatiable; its satiety forbidden, his hand dove, grasping her hair, wrapping it around his wrist, firmly, holding her trembling just this side of pain.

"I-" his voice breaking

Her hands on his shoulders, down his arms, drawing his full weight onto her, yielding, trapped, secure, safe –

-- he caught himself before, just before, he crushed her, and tightened his grip in her hair.

"Hermione," a simmering moan, "I'm dying." His hands in her hair, clenching, his shoulders shaking. "I want to. I – want – to - die."

Her breath a desert wind in his eyes: "I won't let you."

"How dare you…" he growled.

Her expression fathomless, ancient, newborn, she drew his eyes to hers by force of will alone. "Because," she said, twisting his hair around her fingers in a dark echo of her own habit, "you asked me – begged me – to - "

Her fingers knotted around one strand of his hair, she yanked once, hard, sharp, before spreading her hands on his face, pulling him to her, murmuring, "The small pain makes a good distraction, Severus. I learned that from you."

Eyes blazing, open, aching, he bent and brushed her lips, persuading, hands brushing, burning, down her neck, her shoulders, to the bare skin, dancing, trailing to buttons, through fabric, falling open, delicate, smooth, summer, hot, palm pressed on skin, firmer, farther, grasping her hip, pulling, possessing possessed –

- she rising, body supple, fingers delicate, determined, eager, a button, and another, another, wool, linen rough on fingertips breaking, breaching, taboo, pausing, then -

- her fingers, cool, burning, enflamed, tracing, encircling, spiraling, hypnotic, mesmerizing, a slow firm persistent inevitable balm over his heart, palm pressed, seeking, forgiving, demanding, turning him over, sideways, down, so -

- her mouth over his heart, tongue following fingers, sliding, slippery, downwards, his eyes fluttering shut, captive, enslaved, every soft button a release, a confession, an absolution, linen scraping, exposed, air, a chill, a breath, her skin, warm, a consolation, a problem, a philosophy, a solution -

- resolution, dissolution, innocence, discovery, wonder, knowledge, awe, escalation, rising, falling, rising, building, need, force, shaking, desire, pain, negation, no, pleading, hope, no, belief, faith, no, please, please, then - crashing, spinning, tumbling, falling, softly, boneless, wordless…

… stillness… silence… softness… awareness…

Yes.

The fire died, slowly, to low, basking coals. The glow of the parchment at the other end of the room flared a violent orange. A flash of ozone, then the light fell slowly, fading, bathing the room in a slow, steady heartbeat - an emanation the color of old blood.

Her head back on the hearth, his hair a black waterfall across her eyes, skin cooling, air drying the sweat on their bodies, she did not see the glow, did not think of its import.

Holding him, collapsed, heavy, breathing, in her arms, Hermione smelled rain.

/x/

Breathing her skin, lips bruised, aching, pressing a soft kiss on her neck –

- and he could move. Trailing his fingertips across her mark, still swirling, rising up, propped on an elbow, a kiss on the small dark circle a hint of promise, a tinge of despair, a breath sharp with life, he chuckled, low, throaty.

She turned, blinking lazily, to watch him.

His eyes sated coals, nudging her chin aside with his head to paint a trail of dark velvet whispers on her collarbone.

She brought one hand up, weakly, entranced, to trace his back, lean, sharp, taut.

He raised his head to look at her. Finding his voice, he murmured, "Why?"

"I had a choice. I made it." She nestled closer to him.

Another chuckle.

His arm brushed the mark on her chest, and the Dark Mark flared to life.