Fic: As We Are Wont, 22
Severus,
Your armpits smell sour. Your nostrils are narrow-- I can't imagine room for nose hairs. Your skin is stippled along your neck. Your Adam's apple tastes of shirt collars and old skin. Your hair hides the bumps of your skull and I imagine the twisted lines that fuse your cranial bones. On your neck at your hairline there are three scars. Your toenails are yellow, long, and broken.
Your fingers are slender but your thumbs are not. The skin between your fingers is rough, the sensitivity of your right index finger is dulled. I know-- I bit quite hard. There are old burn scars at your wrists, the cuffs of your sleeves. You are used to brewing, used to hot solutions scalding your hands, used to repairing the immediate damage but rarely do you attend to the burns under your cuffs. Timing is everything in brewing. Then there is your Mark besides.
The veins of your arms are almost green. One of your elbows is double jointed. You have a birthmark on your shoulder and an indent from TB vaccines. I wonder why you got it, when and where. I can see the black moles that dot your body. One near your left lower rib, another on your hip. They can signify disease. People get cosmetic surgery to remove them. You are so spectacularly ugly, I can't bear the thought of making you beautiful. The skin over your stomach stretches and wrinkles in abnormal ways-- I could swear you regrew it at some point and the healer was incompetent. Perhaps there was no healer.
Your calves are hairy. Your thighs are somehow smooth. Your ankles were broken at some point and didn't heal properly. They broke your ankles again to reset them, they gave you too much orthopaedic potion. They realized this too late, the bones of your feet fused together completely, and there was no choice but to remove the solid bone of your foot and have them grow anew. But your ankles they kept, for whatever reason. Your feet still have trouble, after long days standing in classrooms and Death Eater gatherings, with circulation and flexibility. I couldn't resist-- I ran a diagnostic spell while you were asleep.
I eavesdropped on your heartbeat and the steady flow the electric charge jolting the muscles to squeeze and pump. I felt the warm glow of your lungs under your ribcage. Your blood truly is an infusion vampires would not touch. Your liver is enormous. You could donate half and still have some left over to fry up with onions. Your tongue is pointed and has more taste buds than the average person. You've broken your back twice.
I am writing this because I do not want to forget. If I cannot keep a picture or written record, I must remember details. This is an exercise in commitment, Severus. I am creating a wax sculpture of you in my mind. If you find this account distasteful, tell me what you want me to remember. I will gladly make room for it.
You and I have seen many deaths. The first thing that goes are not the general shapes. I will not make that mistake again. You do not begrudge me this. I ask too much of you, more than you can give, but let me have this. I know I've stolen it already, but I would feel better if you let me keep it.
I love your body, Severus. The scent of you on my pillow is enough to drive me mad. I love your body and it is physical-- I can quantify it. Your mind is another matter. I don't think I can ever know.
Yours,
RJ Lupin