LMoM: Scentillation (Revisited) #16 [Remus/Sirius, NC-17] Title:Scentillation (Revisited) #16: Iago Author:pre_raphaelite1 Pairing: Remus/Sirius, Dementors/Sirius, Remus/? Rating: NC-17 Kink(s): Angst, noncon, bondage, oral Challenge: LMoM 2008 Word Count: 690 Notes: All subtitles and summaries are names and descriptions of perfume oils from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and therefore belong to the BPAL powers that be. I'm merely fangirling them with Remus/Sirius pron. And HP belongs to JKR, of course. Click on the pervy_werewolf tag of my username for previous entries. Today's Scent Description/Summary: Malevolent, dark and shadowy: sinuous black musk, wet leather and vetiver.
Scentillation(Revisited) #16: Iago
He hung in the shackles, exhaustion weighting him down until all he could feel was the metal pressing into his skin, stretching his wrists until he wished they would pull apart completely to end the dragging torment. He wished he could wonder if it were possible to dismember someone just by simple force, but he knew. He'd seen it happen, had seen them begin to pull the Prewetts apart, limb by limb before he was hit by a stray Stunner.
For a few long weeks, Sirius contemplated attempting to remove his hands himself. It would free him from this- but bleeding stumps would do him no good when it was time to escape his cell and Azkaban at large. If he could make it that far before he bled out. This too had a generous measure of appeal. It would be end to the anguish more torturous than physical pain which racked his body. The accusation. His betrayal. Their deaths. His orphaning. His solitude. But he'd made a promise, sworn a blood oath to do whatever he had to to protect James' son, and he could not abandon that duty or that boy.
Even if it meant waiting, enduring imprisonment and torture. Some days-- some years, it felt like-- it took less effort not to let himself be pulled into the icy Dementor mist. They were stretched apart from one another, so distant from freedom and laughter that they seemed only a vague memory of a half-forgotten dream. Sirius would think he remembered the sound of James' laughter, but the sound would be gone before he could even capture it, before he could be sure it was even there in the first place.
And so he waited, shivering in moonless nights, praying for the silvery light to dawn again and dispel the more malevolent shadows that threatened to swallow him. He spend endless hours trying to think clearly enough to plot his escape; and when logic faded into blankness he would recite his family tree, recounting the names and dates of the worthy and unworthy Blacks back seventeen generations until he could tell the difference between his feet and the floor once more.
He'd remain still while the Dementors swirled around him, breath chilling his skin, skeletal hands pulling at his threadbare clothes. He didn't want to find respite in their attentions, in the scratching of their touch and the exposure of his body to their sucking mouths. He didn't want to think of Remus, not like this, not in comparison to the savage rut of something not even human. These were creatures darker than Remus could ever be, more inhumane that Moony at the fullest September moon; so he found nothing but shame and heart-deep ache when the twisting pull of their mouths made him remember the sharp catch of Remus' teeth on the back of his neck, when the frigid clench of their hands brought to mind the caress of his snow-covered gloves, when the screams from his own throat sounded too much like the shattering cry of climax around the thrust of Remus' cock.
Sirius wished closing his eyes would make it easier to remember.
~*~
Remus looked down at the figure kneeling before him, at the woman sucking his cock with audible and perhaps even talented enthusiasm. Her dark hair fanned out over her pale back, the ridges of her spine pronounced now that her shirt was off. She played with his balls, as her lips slid tightly up and down his shaft.
But all he could do was compare her to Sirius: the roughness of her hands to the smoothness of his, the fullness of his lips to the narrowness of hers. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about him like this, not now. But he did. And he couldn't stop. Even after what Sirius had done. Who he had sided with, who he had killed, who he had abandoned, who he had betrayed.
Sighing as he pumped his hips mechanically forward in search of any real feeling, Remus wondered if putting out the lights would make it easier to forget.
First person to leave feedback gets to choose the BPAL scent as the prompt/inspiration for the next day’s ficlet! Should this not work out, I'll pick a reviewer at my discretion. Thanks to zevazo for this one.