Title: The Feeling of Her Hair
Author: millieweasley
Characters: Severus
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: masturbation, obsession, unhealthy attachment to a lock of hair
Kinks chosen: relics
Word Count: 1295
Summary: When reality closes in, Severus finds his comfort in his dreams – and in a lock of hair he's saved.
Author's notes: Unbetaed due to cranky muse. If there are mistakes that bother you, don't hesitate to point them out to me.

Getting rid of Wormtail's prying eyes was the hardest part these days. Every day, every hour, he was there, watching, and when you thought he was out of your hair, he was there anyway. Bloody rat. Almost impossible to see, too, when he was in that shape.

Severus had methods though. Methods he'd learnt over the past months. That hand he had, that hand that turned into a paw – it clicked against the floor when he walked as a rat. A few spells and he could hear it clear as day. Of course, Wormtail had figured out what he was doing a few weeks back, and had started walking on three legs. Annoying, spying, bloody rat.

He was sure he was alone in the room now though. Finally. It had been too long and he was annoyed, restless, and frustrated. He grumbled to himself as he set wards to the room, looking around at the sparse furniture. A bed with a nightstand, a dresser, a chair and a mirror. It was all he needed and he'd never bothered with more. Not even a rug to cover the rough wooden planks on the floor.

He sighed then, trying to rid his mind of images of Wormtail and fill it with images of her instead. Her, the way she'd been, her if she had chosen him instead of that fool Potter. He sneered as that particular image entered his mind, pushing it out again, once more filling his mind with images of her.

Had he been a less meticulous and a more sloppy man, he would have shed his robes where he stood in his haste to get to it. But he was not, and there was no need to start being one now. He had his own way to build this up, slowly, almost like a ritual, which was why he walked over to the chair in the corner, carefully and slowly removing his robes and folding them before putting them on the seat. He took off his boxers next, folding them too and putting them on top of the robes. Then his shoes, which he sat in under the chair, precisely in the middle. The last thing he removed was his socks, which he rolled up and put on top of everything else. In order. Without rushing.

He stood there for a while, breathing in and out, avoiding the reflection of his thin white body in the mirror. Once upon a time he'd covered it over to avoid seeing, but with time it had become needless. He was good at turning the other way, at pretending not to see the sallow tone of his skin, the way his ribs almost stuck out because he was so skinny, the way his hair hung lifeless around his face. Yes, he was good at not looking, and so he turned without seeing, the image of her red hair clouding his vision as he walked over to the dresser. Every step brought him a satisfaction of its own. Every step was one step closer to her, to the one release he could find. But he didn't rush.

He never rushed.

The dresser seemed like an ordinary dresser, but Severus knew better. He'd charmed it himself, and only he knew the hidden compartment to the left of one of the drawers. He opened it now, the spell silent and wandless, just in case Wormtail would have got through his wards. He was sure he hadn't, but he'd learned to be careful many years ago.

His heart raced for a moment, thumping in his chest as the compartment opened, the thrill of knowledge even before Severus reached in, taking out the small velvet sac, a sense of peace settling over him once he had it in his hand. For a moment he stood there, caressing it, then he closed the compartment, and the dresser, and walked over to the bed.

Not until now did he allow himself to open the little bag, drawing a sharp breath as he turned it over, feeling the softness of her hair as a small lock fell into his palm.

Her hair. Her softness. That which should have been his to touch – had not Potter been.

Once more he forced himself to push away the thought of Potter, focusing only on her, on the way her hair felt in his hand. If he closed his eyes he could imagine what it would be like to have all of her there. To run his hand through the soft curls, to have them touch his skin.

He hissed, taking the lock and placing it against his chest. He was already hard, throbbing with lust, but he held out, waited, drew his breaths in and out as the softness of her lock rested against his cold skin. A moment. Two. Three perhaps. Then he felt it. What it would have been like, had she rested her head against his chest. He smiled to himself, eyes still closed as he moved his hand, the lock following, moving down his torso as her hair would have, had she ever kissed her way down his chest.

He could imagine it now – like so many times before. The way she'd look up at him and smile. The way she would blow lightly across his skin, giving him goose bumps before she pressed her lips against his skin, before she ghosted down over his chest, slowly, slowly moving towards the one place he wanted her lips.

He groaned then, at the thought, his hand – the lock still in place – wrapping around his cock. Falling back against the pillows, he let the images in his mind move on. Her hair wrapping around his cock as her lock now was. Her hand moving up and down over his shaft as his own now was. The warmth of her mouth enveloping him, making him pant with need – like he was panting now. His breaths shallow, fast, broken into strangled sobs as he imagined all they could have done. All he'd wanted to do.

Years.

So many years. So many dreams.

Yet as long as he could feel the softness of a lock of her hair against his skin he'd settle. As he'd always settled.

He groaned louder then. The images in his mind growing more vivid with each stroke. He could feel her move, feel her swirl her hair over his body as she moved to straddle him, sinking down on his cock until he was completely inside her. She'd tilt her hair back, letting it tickle his sack as she rode faster, pleasure written on her face. She'd moan, pant in his rhythm, lock her hands with his and let go until she'd scream out his name…

Only it was her name that sounded in the empty room. Her name – from his lips – as he sputtered and came, his hand firmly pressing the lock around his cock as he shuddered and emptied himself onto his stomach. Her face vanished. As did the sound of her voice. The feel of her body around him.

All that was left was the softness of her lock around his cock.

Severus laid there, still for a while, still holding his softening cock. Still clutching to the lock of hair. Then he moved, spelling away the mess on his stomach and checking the lock for any signs of come. He cleaned that too with a spell, then put it back in the small velvet sac. His breath was ragged still, tired, and he did not move further. Not yet. He needed time, time with her – or rather what was left of her. Laying back, he held the little sac in his hand, imagining the softness of her hair against his skin.