'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
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♱
'In south light, her smile is held in place, her cheeks wilting like a dry orchid; my mocking mirror, my overthrown love, my first image. She eyes me from that face that stony head of death I had outgrown.
The artist caught us at the turning; we smiled in our canvas home before we chose our foreknown separate ways. The dry redfur fox coat was made for burning. I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.'
Hera knew not to be too optimistic and that a long recovery time was expected, however she wasn't as prepared for the mess of scar tissue on her lower abdomen. She'd been advised several ways to care for the wound which ranged from the more obvious like avoiding sex to that harder to navigate — keeping it clean but not scrubbing, merely allowing the soapy water to run over it.
Admittedly, Hera wasn't as healthy as she could've been going into recovery. More recently, the absence of sex in her life had proved unbearable: It was less about satiating arousal — though Hera was sure Sirius experienced that too — than it was a need for intimacy. They used to spend hours with him laying upon her stomach, kissing gently at her navel or drawing circles into her forearm.
Even bathing was once something of a ritual between the couple; her back up against his chest while he'd smooth his fingers over her neck and pretty hair. Safe to say, Hera couldn't wait for what would happen once cleared from her four-week checkup...
The minute hand on the alarm clock reached the number twelve and, at that precise moment, the street lamp outside the window went out. Hastily straightening his glasses and unsticking his cheek from the glass, Harry pressed his nose against the window instead and squinted down at the pavement. A tall figure in a long, billowing cloak was walking up the garden path.
Harry jumped up as though he had received an electric shock, knocked over his chair and made towards the end of the hallway. With a sense of urgency, he burst into his sister's room.
Though not yet asleep, neither were particularly energetic — Sirius having spent the day nursing a hangover, his symptoms flu-like if anything — from their rendezvous the night before.
