Schlitzie Ramone (sweetcarolanne) wrote,
Schlitzie Ramone
sweetcarolanne

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Fic: Archangel, Tonks/Gabrielle, R

Title: Archangel
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Rating: R
Pairing: Nymphadora Tonks/Gabrielle Delacour
Summary: Gabrielle is a far cry from the tiny child she was when Tonks first saw her…
Warnings: Femmeslash, hints of past het, character deaths (not main), slightly rough sex, religious imagery, slight angst and possible blasphemy, AU
Words: 642
Disclaimer: Don’t own these characters, not making any profit, etc.

A/N: This was written ages ago under my old LJ username, gabriel_anubis.

She is a far cry from the tiny child she was when you first saw her all those years ago, the wispy, fluttery little girl who shone like moonlight and made the sun seem grandiose and overblown by comparison with her delicate light. Now she is tall and slender, her long white hair framing her face like a bright veil and a fire of pure determination in her eyes. She has the strength, loveliness and stern ferocity of a warrior angel; to your mind, she makes a better Auror than you ever did.

Her namesake, Archangel Gabriel, gazes tranquilly down at you from a stained glass window. Robed in blue and white, a shimmering albino beauty with a luminescent silver halo, he is your beloved’s favourite icon in this ruined church that has become the new home of the Order of the Phoenix. You and she are the lone occupants on this icy winter morning, huddled together to conserve what little heat there is.

It is a desolate place, one of the few safe havens from the marauding Death Eaters still in existence, but the presence of saints’ and angels’ images seems to calm Gabrielle’s slow-burning anger, her desire for revenge against Voldemort and his minions who have slain so many of your friends. Neither of you ever thought the war would last this long, or that you would lose most of the people that you loved. But at least you still have each other, feeding off the fragile, desperate beauty of your passion as if it were the life-blood of you both.

Sheltering beneath a coarse wool blanket, you manage a smile for the crystalline archangel above you and for the angelic girl who bends to kiss your parched lips. She smells of lilies, flowers of a spectral mystery with the sweetish, musty taint of something almost funereal. You pull her closer, tasting the mint and slickness of her tongue as it slips into your mouth, and her long, pale fingers slide deep and hard between your legs, finding wetness, warmth and longing as she spreads and fills you. Her kisses are full of tenderness, but there is nothing gentle about her thrusts. She fucks you till you’re almost dry and raw, makes you ache and whimper, trailing teasing caresses from your swollen, needing folds to your smaller, tighter opening as she strokes and enters you there with one slim fingertip. You wince and moan aloud at the slight pain, but you are flooded with so much pleasure that you lift your hips toward the intrusion willingly. You know that you are hers and only hers, now and forever, and you can deny her nothing. Your eyes sting with tears as you look upon her exquisite, fine-boned face, and for one fleeting moment you long to transform yourself into a mirror image of her perfection, someone you imagine to be worthy of an angel’s love. But you resist, for you know that Gabrielle does not like you to use your Metamorphmagus powers during lovemaking. She craves you as you truly are, with your lines and scars and first wisps of greying hair. She wants to look upon you unadorned as she brings you to ecstasy; as radiantly lovely as she is, she prefers you marked and weathered by life’s struggles, naked and brave.

This is hardly heaven, these few stolen shards of rapture in the face of so much devastation. Sleet and rain rattle against the stark frame of the church, and the blood of all those lost ones that you have loved – her sister, your husband, and so many more – cries out to be avenged in your fevered dreams. But the bond you have forged between you as you lie together beneath the serene gaze of the Messenger of God seems to foreshadow the merest glimpse of a wished-for Paradise.
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