Title: Until My Darkness Goes
Author: unbroken_halo
Characters/Pairings: Sirius Black, implied Sirius/Snape
Rating: R
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Everything Old is New Again
Other Warnings: Symphorophilia, Implied Bloodplay, and Masturbation.
Word Count:1210
Summary/Description: Sirius knows it's wrong, but he does it anyway.
Author's Notes: For r_grayjoy! Your meme comment sparked this. *g* Thanks to eeyore9990 for the once over. Any mistakes you find now are my own making since I just had to tweak it again. Title taken from the Rolling Stones Song, Paint It Black.



Sirius climbs into bed and pulls the curtains around, sealing off the first barrier to the outside world. A few flicks of his wand and the separation is complete. He knows that should anyone hear him, it would mean constant teasing, and not of the innocent kind. Because he knows that were he to hear the things he was about to engage in, then he too would be relentless. Because he already is, but it's petty, and this wouldn't be that tame at all. And perhaps that is the problem, and why he finds it so arousing. He is a Black after all, even if he is a failure.

The things Sirius desires aren't normal, not by any means of his own varied moral code, but might possibly be close to toeing the line for his family. Not that he ever wanted their approval, now especially. But, just the thought, the sheer nastiness of his desires, his actions, and his own depravity, lead him to this place at least once a week. Sometimes more. Definitely more, he admits, while shucking his kit in the silent cocoon of his spelled bed curtains.

Because Sirius knows it's wrong to want that, to want Snape, even as he wraps his hand around his cock. He pulls on his prick, hard, because he knows it's disturbing. It's unbelievably wrong to imagine that greasy git at all, but he can't help thinking about Snape this late and in the dark. Because he knows Snape could easily be-- is-- him, according to his parents. Sirius murmurs another spell, sighing as slickness eases the friction from his fingers, but not the pain.

No, the pain sticks with him, and Sirius continues in his deviant activities joyfully, because it is so very, very wrong. He is, after all, a Black.

Snape's snarl is painted on his memory as Sirius leans back and strokes himself. He sees those yellowed and crooked teeth clench for but a moment as his lips curl to utter a spell. He just knows that he can feel them cutting into his skin, drawing the "blue" blood to the surface. He feels it trickle down his throat, his chest, and stomach and arches into his fist while he fucks his hand.

The image of the blood dripping down James' face when Snape struck back for their prank surfaces. His prank. He goaded James, just to see the anger and wrath written on Snape's face. Sirius can imagine the destruction that rage can induce when focused on some horrific Death Eater act. Because he knows for certain Snape is a Death Eater and for that reason alone, he continues his actions.

Snape exists to torment him, and Sirius tries to excise him, wash Snape from his thoughts by focusing on the deed. His fingers fly over his flesh as he imagines the anger that fills Snape's pale and skinny face to the point of breaking into tears. Sirius knows what that is like, knows how it feels to want to let go and lash out. He squeezes himself hard and continues to tug on his cock, each movement harder and rougher than the last, because Sirius knows.

He knows what it is like; he's supposed to be that way. He is supposed to be that forbidden monster that Snape physically represents. The rage is a genetic trait bred into the Ancient and most Noble Blacks. And Sirius has it in him, too, he just chooses not to be that type of beast. Just once he'd like to set it free, let it fly like a spell cast haphazardly. Sirius moans as he considers the other thoughts that have led him to this place.

Snape is ugly, but when he's angry, he's a force to be reckoned with. Power contained, just barely brewing under the surface... waiting for Sirius to set it free. And Sirius knows Snape is waiting for him. Just as Sirius waits for these times alone.

Once, Sirius would like that, to see that, to experience Snape's anger unbound. He imagines blood flows freely when they are together, can see it covering his cock and his fingers while he watches Snape. And Snape watches him in return. He masturbates to the scene of Snape's destruction, the vision of death surrounding them both as they revel in the aftermath. Sirius can almost feel the pale fingers that griped the ebony wood of Snape's wand scratch over his skin, Snape's voice is gravelly in his ear as each spell is cast. Imagining the sensation of Snape's other hand tightening in his hair, Sirius arches his back. He thrusts up into the air, wishing that pale, ugly brute was above him.

Groaning, Sirius stretches out his legs, the taut muscles jumping as he forces his hand to fly over his skin. He tugs and pinches and pulls on his bollocks, trying to stave off his impending orgasm so he can imagine Snape doing more acts of violence, spreading more anger, and turning that contempt-filled voice on him. To him.

And oh, fucking Gods, this will be the best one yet, because he knows, Sirius knows that nothing about Snape would be gentle. He doesn't want it that way. Just fast, hard, and insanely unforgettable, but so fucking brilliant as it burns his flesh. Snape sets him afire, and Sirius wants it that way.

The rough side of Snape's tongue slithers over Sirius's skin, cutting through the self-stylised armour of rivalry. He can feel the wetness, Snape's slick and bumpy tongue along his neck. The tip slips over his ear and Sirius shivers, his nails digging into his thigh as he tries not to give in so quickly.

That's what Snape would want, and even though he knows these thoughts, these desires are his own, he imagines Snape dreams of them, too. Because he can see it in Snape's face, behind the hatred, underneath that thin line, there is want.

He wants Snape.

Together, they could... would... be unstoppable, and Sirius feels the knot in his gut as he admits the truth to himself. That truth spurs him on, and soon he is coming, spurting what feels like gallons of come from his cock, and still he strokes. Panting from his release and the friction that is building once more, he tries now to make those feelings last. Demands it of his body because he has so very little control of his thoughts and just one more string of white semen won't make any difference in the long run.

Falling back against his pillow, Sirius slings the stickiness from his fingers, his cock jumping as the cooling mess lands on his legs, his arms and finally, one last desecration; his face. He runs his tongue over his lips, licking away the salty bit and imagining it's Snape's. He closes his eyes and sighs, satiated for now, but he is slightly elated to know the little evil desires are still within him even as Snape's face fades from memory.

All the rest of Sirius's silent wanking sessions have yet to cleanse his conscience or his soul, because, after all, he is a Black.

And Sirius is the blackest Black who never wanted to be claimed by his family.