FIC: Want - Remus/James Jr - Adult Title: Want Author: millieweasley Pairing/Character: Remus/James Jr Rating: Adult Warning: Murder, abuse, rape Word count: 698 Summary: From the moment he drew his first breath – if one could call it that when one came back from the dead – he'd gone from one emotion to the next, one instinct to another.
From the moment he drew his first breath – if one could call it that when one came back from the dead – he'd gone from one emotion to the next, one instinct to another. That night two months ago, he'd woken up, staring at the full moon. He had no real memory of that night, but then he had no real memory of any night before then. Flashes, darkness, reminders…but he did not know what – or who – he'd been. Just what he was. Just what he urged.
That night two months ago he'd howled, he'd hunted, then woken up besides his torn apart victim with the scent of blood in his nostrils and the taste of it in his mouth. He could not remember ever having tasted human blood before, though the smell was familiar enough. He wasn't sure if that meant something or not. Vaguely he had a memory of morals. Of right and wrong and killing being wrong.
He felt no remorse when he walked away from the body.
He could remember everything he did now with perfect ease. He remembered cleaning in a nearby spring. He remembered the water being cold and the wind feeling like ice on his wet and exposed skin. He remembered freezing as he walked to a remote cottage. He remembered the screams of the woman as she'd seen him break in. He remembered the clothes he'd stolen and the woman lying on the floor, crying. Vaguely he had a memory of thinking hitting people and stealing being wrong.
But he felt no remorse when he walked away from the house.
Two full moons had passed. It was the way he counted his time in this new brave world – which to him was the only world. When he was hungry he ate. When he was tired he slept. When he wanted something he took it with an ease that came with strength and ruthlessness. He pushed the flashes of memory of black hair and grey eyes, of black hair and hazel eyes, of black hair and green eyes, far far back as the green and the grey seemed to think wrong, wrong to everything he did. He did not want to know right from wrong, he didn't care. He was emotions and instincts and wants. He liked it that way. Uncomplicated.
The teenage boy before him complicated things however. The black and the green. The messy hair. He reminded him of the flashes of his memory. Of the black and hazel. Of the black and green. Of another teenager – nearly a man - of the eyes that said wrong. Yet the boy's eyes didn't say wrong, they signalled curiosity and so he stayed, looking at the boy, studying him. There was another urge, another want, and stronger than before the green and the grey and the hazel eyes in his mind told him wrong. He did not listen, he did not care. The boy in front of him looked at him, spoke to him, asked him if he was the man in the pictures. He did not know which pictures – he could not remember any pictures. There was a name mentioned, Teddy. Another, Dora. They brought pain, and so he pushed them away. Instead he focused on the new want in him. The new urge of having, taking, owning, claiming.
The boy screamed when he grabbed him. Screamed more as he took what he wanted. Cried with terror as he was forced to the ground, with humiliation when his clothes were torn from his body, in pain when he was taken. The boy was bleeding when he was done. Bleeding and crying. Bruised.
The green eyes looked at him. Wrong, wrong. This wasn't right. He put his hands over the boy's eyes, refusing too look. The eyes looked familiar. The boy looked familiar. Another boy on the verge of becoming a man, another life, another time.
He pushed the memory away. 'Mine,' he growled, pushing the boy around so that his eyes would not be seen. So that his eyes would not speak. 'Mine,' he growled as he took the boy again.