A/N: You know what I like about this collection? It's a good place to unleash the crazy in me. I don't really worry too much about what I post here, because it's all mental anyway.

So this is to all the readers who read just because. You're all fab and I love you.

Pairing: Regulus/Remus

Prompt: 41. Knife

Picture this: the moon is so high in the night sky that it bleeds onto the surface of the lake, paints it a new shade of perfection and declares itself beautiful. The stars twinkle dimly, ashamed of being so small, so insignificant, next to the beauty of that moon. The clouds roll gently by, hiding the stars in brief hugs and whispering reassurances within the night wind.

Now picture this: I am there. I am beneath the moonlight, bathed in its glory, but it does not do me the same favours it does the lake. It does not reflect itself on me; it does not let me be perfection. I am just me. Wearing my solemn eyes and your scarf around my throat; I am waiting.

Now picture, if you will, yourself. You are twisted and tangled, caught up in the body of the beast, howling to the same moon that paints my hands silver. For a moment, I pity you; you will never know this beauty. Never. I will never see you standing beneath the full moon, silver white reflecting in your eyes, bright light glinting on the lines of your scars in a way that is far more graceful and far less harsh than the sun. Never, never.

Now picture for me, lover, the edge of the blade. Picture that tightrope thin edge, that razor tooth glint, that handle smooth as the unmarred skin of my wrists as I clasp it between my moonlit fingers.

Picture the hiss, the sharp intake of breath, the whine of pain that shivers through my teeth as I dig the razor tip of that blade deep into the flesh of my arm. Picture the groan as I drag it downwards, one swift, sharp slice, and sigh. Picture the blood that pour from my wound, fresh and pure and yours, my love.

Now picture yourself once more: broken, bruised and beastly, sniffing the air for that scent, the scent of the dying that catches the wind. Come to me, lover; take my veins between your teeth, drown in the rivers that run from my wrists. I want to know all of you. I want you to taste me, bite me, love me. Make me into something that isn't quite human – we can howl at the moon together. I don't want to stargaze on the nights that you can't. I want to curl up like a cub at your feet, lick your wounds clean, bark my happiness into your face.

I want to be just like you.

Come and get me, lover. I am waiting.

I am always, always waiting.

(I hope your teeth are soft as moonbeams; I hope you know how that feels.)