Black

Black as his mane, black as his clothes, black as his long, thick lashes and his eyebrows. Black as the ties that hold me still, black as the whip down my back or the crop on my buttocks.

Black as his soul.

White

White as his marblelike skin, as his sharp fangs banged in my neck, as the column that penetrates me once again and again, white as his pearly sperm spilled inside of me.

White, as his purity had once been.

Silver

Silver like the trimming of his clothes, silver like the blade upon my skin, silver like the snake that he should have carried, instead of gold.

Silver like my pain.

Red

Red as the blood running down my thighs and back, as the fire burning in his eyes; red as my hair being yanked back by my lover's strong hand, red as the tongue flickering on my skin or the scarlet lips feathering here and there.

Red like my passion.

And those are, for me, the colours of love.

By Ron Weasley