In that pause, he slows his heart so that it doesn't get too hot, doesn't trick him into believing this is more than just fucking; doesn't flutter or race the way she used to inspire. He cools down to a chill and thinks of Black behind him, fumbling to right his trousers and doing the same thing. For Black it's the taste of blood, the way he bites down on his lip or tongue when he comes, Snape has seen it: twisting his face in pain and fury and savouring the copper taste that keeps him from thinking of this as anything other than a thing that hurts.
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Date: 2007-04-24 05:26 pm (UTC)So painful!
This is wonderful - a brilliant remix.