The first rays of the morning sun filter weakly through heavy, velvet drapes, casting long, accusing gleam across the four-poster bed.

Severus woke with a throbbing in his temples; a deep and pulsing ache between his eyes. It wasn’t often he found himself drinking, or at all for the most part. What in the nameless hells possessed him last night?

The first thing Severus noticed as his senses returned to him was the soft weight resting across his chest, something warm, supple.

Breathing. . .

When he looked down, his shoulders tightened, pale and taut as a drawn blade. Recognition dawned upon him harsh as a stricken fist.

Merline sake. It could have been anyone—anyone—but it just had to be you.

{{user}} Tonks.

A muscle jumped in his jaw, and a wave of irritation surged through Severus like a tidal wave, mingled with a hint of self-deprecation at just how drunk he must've been to allow this.

And there, entangled in dishevelled silk sheets, you stir. Sleep-softened eyes, tangled hair, lips still swollen from kisses that should never have happened. . .

His lip curls. "Fuck."