Lust Letter (R)
Lupin/Vector; not quite NC-17, but a hard R; Set during OoTP, when Remus is out on the road and Umbridge is making life difficult for all of the teachers.
Lust Letter
The owl had two scrolls for me that morning. One was labeled in large letters, “OPEN FIRST.” Intrigued, I did as instructed. It was, as I had suspected, from Remus.
My darling Anna,
I miss you. I miss seeing you and talking to you, but mostly I miss touching you.
Don’t open the other scroll until you’re alone. If it works, it’ll be like I’m there with you, touching you. Kissing you. Doing all sorts of the things you like me to do to you. If it doesn’t work, just know that I was thinking of doing those things, and consider it a promise I will make good on as soon as possible.
I found this spell and potion in a book in the library here. I can’t wait to find out if it really works.
Your (loving and adoring and desperately longing for you) Remus J. Lupin
I cautiously examined the second scroll, but didn’t dare to open it in the middle of the Great Hall. I had more faith in Remus’ abilities than he seemed to have, and didn’t doubt for a second that it would work. How I was supposed to get through a day of teaching classes with something like that in my bag, I didn’t know.
~o~
It was a long day. I couldn’t recall the last time I had wanted something as badly as I wanted to steal off to my room and see what, exactly, Remus wanted to do to me so much that he had captured it on enchanted parchment. Unfortunately, I not only had a full day of classes, but one of Umbridge’s horrifically long staff meetings. The promise of something nice had slipped my mind by the time I trudged up to my room and collapsed on the sofa.
I fell into a light doze almost immediately, and, as I often did, began dreaming of Remus. I dreamed of his face, smiling at me as he bent close to kiss me. “Read your letter,” he said, stopping short of actually touching me.
I jerked awake, and laughed at the idea that Remus was my subconscious, reminding me of things. I changed into a nightgown and returned to the sofa, Remus’ second scroll in my hand. I opened it carefully, not quite sure what to expect from an enchanted love letter.
It didn’t look any different from any other letter: just Remus’ neat handwriting on ordinary parchment. I sniffed it; the potion in which it had been saturated had left a pleasantly spicy, musky fragrance. It reminded me a bit of how Remus smelled when I would nestle against him in bed. Perhaps it was just the scent of good, satisfying sex; Merlin knew it had been long enough since I’d known it first-hand for the memory to have faded a bit. Might as well read about it, even if, by some chance, the spell didn’t work as advertised.
Anna,
All you should have to do is read this letter. Keep both hands on the parchment; the potion needs contact with your skin as you read in order to work. By the same token, if you want it to stop, just let go of it.
I’ve never written a letter like this before, but I imagine these things all the time when I’m away from you. It was a little bit embarrassing when I first started to put it down in ink, but I don’t care. I lust for you, my Anna. It’s mad for us to spend so much time apart, but I’ve decided to look at the bright side: it will be a lot longer before we tire of each other. (Although I can’t fathom ever tiring of you. Not your smile or your kisses or the feel of your body against mine.) Even if the spell and potion don’t work, you have these words from my heart; your imagination should be able to fill in any blanks. And if it does work and you can feel me, I don’t think you’ll be able to hear me: just imagine me whispering, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ and that should take care of that.
I smiled and closed my eyes to let Remus’ voice fill my mind. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” I whispered back to the empty room, before opening my eyes to read the letter.
Let’s just get to it then, shall we?
I love your hair, the way it falls around your face even when you put it up or tie it back. It cannot be contained; I think your soul shows itself in your hair. Both of my hands are touching your hair, feeling how soft it is between my fingers as I look into your eyes. They way you always look back at me, so directly and without any pretense or barrier between us, makes my heart skip a beat. No one but you has ever looked at me that way.
I lean forward to kiss you, but stop just before my mouth touches yours. Your scent drives me mad; I need to just breathe it in. For this is your ordinary scent, just you and that vanilla soap you use. The scent will change as I kiss you, as you begin to want me. I love that smell on you more than anything else I could imagine: the scent of your desire for me. I can’t resist any longer, and touch my lips to yours.
I gasped and dropped the letter when I felt Remus’ mouth. I had chalked up the feeling of his fingers in my hair to my imagination, but the kiss was undeniably real. And undeniably Remus. I quickly snatched the parchment from the floor to continue.
Kissing you is one of the great joys of my life. Your mouth is so soft under mine, pliant yet demanding. Your kisses are like oxygen; I need them to live. I kiss you until you are desperate for more; I know because of the sound you make when you’re aroused. It’s almost a growl, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
I caught myself making the sound he was referring to, and felt myself flush. At the same time, I felt his mouth move away from mine.
I kiss your throat. I love the taste of your skin. I love the way you throw your head back when I do this, baring your throat to me. I can’t believe you do that, baring your throat to a werewolf. It proves to me that you trust me beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
I imagine that you are wearing that blue nightgown, the one with all the embroidery.
I started. I was, in fact, wearing that exact article of clothing. It wasn’t something I ordinarily wore when I slept alone, but I had put it on tonight without thinking about it.
I love you in that nightgown. It’s so much more ornate than most things you wear, and I know you bought it for me. Even though you should know that you don’t need to wear anything special for me. I like you best in nothing at all.
I leave the nightgown on you for now. I can feel your breasts through the fabric, firm under my hands, silently begging me to continue touching them. I taste you, and it’s more intense somehow, the silk between my tongue and your skin.
You know you cannot touch me, but your body pushes against me as you beg me without words for more. I give you what you want until you are begging me with your voice as well.
I was indeed whimpering his name. It was almost as though the words on the page spoke to me as I felt him touch me. I was held enraptured by the writing I barely saw.
Begging me to use my hands on you. To undress you. To claim you. You know I will do as you desire, but not yet.
I slide my hands along your body, molding your gown against you until it clings to you like a second skin. Then I trace the pattern of the embroidery with my fingertips: along the collar, down the sleeves, across your breasts, down your stomach. And there I stop and take my hands away.
My hips lifted off the sofa, seeking his touch. I could feel the heat of his hand, hovering just above me, teasing me with mere proximity.
My hands glide along your thighs, moving the fabric up, up, until it is in a bunch around your hips. You aren’t wearing anything under the nightgown, and I savor the sight of you, half naked, spread wantonly before me. You are a gift, the only gift I have ever wanted.
I press my palm flat between your legs, just feeling you, so hot and wet. This is mine. You are mine.
I kiss you, my hand firmly between your legs. I know what you want me to do to you, but not yet. It’s better when I make you wait.
I kiss you, and you moan into my mouth. You tell me, without words, what you want, and I cannot refuse you. I move my hand, my fingers inside you, and you bite my lip. You turn wild with desire, and I am in control while you give in to your animal instincts.
You always come just from this touch. Doing this to you makes me feel like a man. A loved man, a lucky man, a normal man.
I could feel his arms around me as I caught my breath, could feel his head resting on my stomach even though I knew he wasn’t there. I longed to stroke his hair as I usually did, but was afraid to let go of the letter in my hand. I would have hated to end this spell.
You still tremble, your face is flushed, and I can feel you breathing heavily. But I am not finished with you yet. Not even close.
I shivered with anticipation.
I kiss you, lingering, devouring. Craving the completion I find only with you. I need you as much as I know you need me. If you could touch me, you would have had my clothes off already. But you can’t, so I must undress myself. I do it slowly, careful to continue touching you. I would be touching you constantly if we were always together, you know. Perhaps it is for the best that we must be separated.
(Of course you know that I am not serious about that last bit.)
I laughed breathlessly, anticipating the next sensation.
Finally, I am free of my robes, you are naked, and there is nothing between us. I want you so desperately, but not quite yet. I kiss you: your mouth, your neck, the space between your breasts, and then, lightly, teasingly, the tips of each nipple. You want me so badly you cannot breathe, but still I make you wait. I make you want.
I love every sound you make: each moan, each sigh, each shuddering gasp. I press your legs apart, flat against the bed so I can hear you as I taste you. I wish you could touch me now most of all; I like the way you tangle your fingers in my hair when I do this, pulling me closer, letting me know what you like best. I want to give you exactly what you want, always, but this time I can only lick you and suck you and trust to my own instincts that you are finally ready.
You chant my name like a mantra as I enter you and that is as it should be, for this is sacred. This is stronger than lycanthropy. More basic than humanity. It is primitive and eternal. It is holy.
Your hair has fallen across your face, and I brush it aside. I love to watch you when you come, our eyes meeting when you whisper, “Come with me.”
I follow you to the edge of bliss and I say your name. I say that I love you. I promise you my life. I am yours.
I lay panting, my eyes closed as I slowly returned to Earth. My hands trembled as I carefully rolled up the letter and reached to place the scroll on the table. To my great surprise, Remus was grinning at me from the fireplace.
“What are you doing?” I smiled back at him. “Not that I’m complaining, but do you really think it’s a good idea for you to be here?” We both knew Umbridge was having the school’s Floo network monitored.
“As far as I know, there’s no decree against saying good night to a teacher, is there?”
“I suppose not.” I gestured weakly toward the parchment on the table. “I’ve said it before, but this time I really mean it. You write the best letters in the world.”
“Yeah, I’ve been watching you for a little while.” He gave me a naughty wink. “I don’t think I need to ask if it worked.”
“Did it ever!” I answered fervently. "Not to sound unappreciative, because that was absolutely amazing, but I wish you were really here.”
“And I wish you were here.” He grimaced slightly. “I probably need to touch you a little more urgently than you need me.”
I flushed. “Yes, I do feel quite relaxed at the moment. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the bed.”
“Well, don’t sleep on the sofa. You’ll wake up sore,” he warned from experience.
“The first time we ever slept together was right here on this sofa. Remember?” I recalled wistfully.
“Of course I remember. I still have a crick in my neck.” Remus chuckled. “That was actually just sleeping, though,” he mused.
“I miss just sleeping with you, too, you know.”
“Me, too,” he said quietly. “I’m headed back to London in the morning. Meet me this weekend?”
“What time?” I asked eagerly.
“Friday evening?” He smiled when I nodded immediately. “Are you sure you can get away?”
“I’d like to see anyone try to stop me. I’ll be there,” I vowed. “I’ll be there if I have to resign.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” he advised with a smile. “But I’ll see you on Friday one way or another, I’m sure. I’d better go now, though. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“Good night. See you Friday.”
“I can’t wait.” A loud pop, and he was gone from my hearth. I sighed, and went to my cold, lonely bed. I longed to have his arms around me as I drifted off to sleep.
Lust Letter
The owl had two scrolls for me that morning. One was labeled in large letters, “OPEN FIRST.” Intrigued, I did as instructed. It was, as I had suspected, from Remus.
My darling Anna,
I miss you. I miss seeing you and talking to you, but mostly I miss touching you.
Don’t open the other scroll until you’re alone. If it works, it’ll be like I’m there with you, touching you. Kissing you. Doing all sorts of the things you like me to do to you. If it doesn’t work, just know that I was thinking of doing those things, and consider it a promise I will make good on as soon as possible.
I found this spell and potion in a book in the library here. I can’t wait to find out if it really works.
Your (loving and adoring and desperately longing for you) Remus J. Lupin
I cautiously examined the second scroll, but didn’t dare to open it in the middle of the Great Hall. I had more faith in Remus’ abilities than he seemed to have, and didn’t doubt for a second that it would work. How I was supposed to get through a day of teaching classes with something like that in my bag, I didn’t know.
~o~
It was a long day. I couldn’t recall the last time I had wanted something as badly as I wanted to steal off to my room and see what, exactly, Remus wanted to do to me so much that he had captured it on enchanted parchment. Unfortunately, I not only had a full day of classes, but one of Umbridge’s horrifically long staff meetings. The promise of something nice had slipped my mind by the time I trudged up to my room and collapsed on the sofa.
I fell into a light doze almost immediately, and, as I often did, began dreaming of Remus. I dreamed of his face, smiling at me as he bent close to kiss me. “Read your letter,” he said, stopping short of actually touching me.
I jerked awake, and laughed at the idea that Remus was my subconscious, reminding me of things. I changed into a nightgown and returned to the sofa, Remus’ second scroll in my hand. I opened it carefully, not quite sure what to expect from an enchanted love letter.
It didn’t look any different from any other letter: just Remus’ neat handwriting on ordinary parchment. I sniffed it; the potion in which it had been saturated had left a pleasantly spicy, musky fragrance. It reminded me a bit of how Remus smelled when I would nestle against him in bed. Perhaps it was just the scent of good, satisfying sex; Merlin knew it had been long enough since I’d known it first-hand for the memory to have faded a bit. Might as well read about it, even if, by some chance, the spell didn’t work as advertised.
Anna,
All you should have to do is read this letter. Keep both hands on the parchment; the potion needs contact with your skin as you read in order to work. By the same token, if you want it to stop, just let go of it.
I’ve never written a letter like this before, but I imagine these things all the time when I’m away from you. It was a little bit embarrassing when I first started to put it down in ink, but I don’t care. I lust for you, my Anna. It’s mad for us to spend so much time apart, but I’ve decided to look at the bright side: it will be a lot longer before we tire of each other. (Although I can’t fathom ever tiring of you. Not your smile or your kisses or the feel of your body against mine.) Even if the spell and potion don’t work, you have these words from my heart; your imagination should be able to fill in any blanks. And if it does work and you can feel me, I don’t think you’ll be able to hear me: just imagine me whispering, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ and that should take care of that.
I smiled and closed my eyes to let Remus’ voice fill my mind. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” I whispered back to the empty room, before opening my eyes to read the letter.
Let’s just get to it then, shall we?
I love your hair, the way it falls around your face even when you put it up or tie it back. It cannot be contained; I think your soul shows itself in your hair. Both of my hands are touching your hair, feeling how soft it is between my fingers as I look into your eyes. They way you always look back at me, so directly and without any pretense or barrier between us, makes my heart skip a beat. No one but you has ever looked at me that way.
I lean forward to kiss you, but stop just before my mouth touches yours. Your scent drives me mad; I need to just breathe it in. For this is your ordinary scent, just you and that vanilla soap you use. The scent will change as I kiss you, as you begin to want me. I love that smell on you more than anything else I could imagine: the scent of your desire for me. I can’t resist any longer, and touch my lips to yours.
I gasped and dropped the letter when I felt Remus’ mouth. I had chalked up the feeling of his fingers in my hair to my imagination, but the kiss was undeniably real. And undeniably Remus. I quickly snatched the parchment from the floor to continue.
Kissing you is one of the great joys of my life. Your mouth is so soft under mine, pliant yet demanding. Your kisses are like oxygen; I need them to live. I kiss you until you are desperate for more; I know because of the sound you make when you’re aroused. It’s almost a growl, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
I caught myself making the sound he was referring to, and felt myself flush. At the same time, I felt his mouth move away from mine.
I kiss your throat. I love the taste of your skin. I love the way you throw your head back when I do this, baring your throat to me. I can’t believe you do that, baring your throat to a werewolf. It proves to me that you trust me beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
I imagine that you are wearing that blue nightgown, the one with all the embroidery.
I started. I was, in fact, wearing that exact article of clothing. It wasn’t something I ordinarily wore when I slept alone, but I had put it on tonight without thinking about it.
I love you in that nightgown. It’s so much more ornate than most things you wear, and I know you bought it for me. Even though you should know that you don’t need to wear anything special for me. I like you best in nothing at all.
I leave the nightgown on you for now. I can feel your breasts through the fabric, firm under my hands, silently begging me to continue touching them. I taste you, and it’s more intense somehow, the silk between my tongue and your skin.
You know you cannot touch me, but your body pushes against me as you beg me without words for more. I give you what you want until you are begging me with your voice as well.
I was indeed whimpering his name. It was almost as though the words on the page spoke to me as I felt him touch me. I was held enraptured by the writing I barely saw.
Begging me to use my hands on you. To undress you. To claim you. You know I will do as you desire, but not yet.
I slide my hands along your body, molding your gown against you until it clings to you like a second skin. Then I trace the pattern of the embroidery with my fingertips: along the collar, down the sleeves, across your breasts, down your stomach. And there I stop and take my hands away.
My hips lifted off the sofa, seeking his touch. I could feel the heat of his hand, hovering just above me, teasing me with mere proximity.
My hands glide along your thighs, moving the fabric up, up, until it is in a bunch around your hips. You aren’t wearing anything under the nightgown, and I savor the sight of you, half naked, spread wantonly before me. You are a gift, the only gift I have ever wanted.
I press my palm flat between your legs, just feeling you, so hot and wet. This is mine. You are mine.
I kiss you, my hand firmly between your legs. I know what you want me to do to you, but not yet. It’s better when I make you wait.
I kiss you, and you moan into my mouth. You tell me, without words, what you want, and I cannot refuse you. I move my hand, my fingers inside you, and you bite my lip. You turn wild with desire, and I am in control while you give in to your animal instincts.
You always come just from this touch. Doing this to you makes me feel like a man. A loved man, a lucky man, a normal man.
I could feel his arms around me as I caught my breath, could feel his head resting on my stomach even though I knew he wasn’t there. I longed to stroke his hair as I usually did, but was afraid to let go of the letter in my hand. I would have hated to end this spell.
You still tremble, your face is flushed, and I can feel you breathing heavily. But I am not finished with you yet. Not even close.
I shivered with anticipation.
I kiss you, lingering, devouring. Craving the completion I find only with you. I need you as much as I know you need me. If you could touch me, you would have had my clothes off already. But you can’t, so I must undress myself. I do it slowly, careful to continue touching you. I would be touching you constantly if we were always together, you know. Perhaps it is for the best that we must be separated.
(Of course you know that I am not serious about that last bit.)
I laughed breathlessly, anticipating the next sensation.
Finally, I am free of my robes, you are naked, and there is nothing between us. I want you so desperately, but not quite yet. I kiss you: your mouth, your neck, the space between your breasts, and then, lightly, teasingly, the tips of each nipple. You want me so badly you cannot breathe, but still I make you wait. I make you want.
I love every sound you make: each moan, each sigh, each shuddering gasp. I press your legs apart, flat against the bed so I can hear you as I taste you. I wish you could touch me now most of all; I like the way you tangle your fingers in my hair when I do this, pulling me closer, letting me know what you like best. I want to give you exactly what you want, always, but this time I can only lick you and suck you and trust to my own instincts that you are finally ready.
You chant my name like a mantra as I enter you and that is as it should be, for this is sacred. This is stronger than lycanthropy. More basic than humanity. It is primitive and eternal. It is holy.
Your hair has fallen across your face, and I brush it aside. I love to watch you when you come, our eyes meeting when you whisper, “Come with me.”
I follow you to the edge of bliss and I say your name. I say that I love you. I promise you my life. I am yours.
I lay panting, my eyes closed as I slowly returned to Earth. My hands trembled as I carefully rolled up the letter and reached to place the scroll on the table. To my great surprise, Remus was grinning at me from the fireplace.
“What are you doing?” I smiled back at him. “Not that I’m complaining, but do you really think it’s a good idea for you to be here?” We both knew Umbridge was having the school’s Floo network monitored.
“As far as I know, there’s no decree against saying good night to a teacher, is there?”
“I suppose not.” I gestured weakly toward the parchment on the table. “I’ve said it before, but this time I really mean it. You write the best letters in the world.”
“Yeah, I’ve been watching you for a little while.” He gave me a naughty wink. “I don’t think I need to ask if it worked.”
“Did it ever!” I answered fervently. "Not to sound unappreciative, because that was absolutely amazing, but I wish you were really here.”
“And I wish you were here.” He grimaced slightly. “I probably need to touch you a little more urgently than you need me.”
I flushed. “Yes, I do feel quite relaxed at the moment. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the bed.”
“Well, don’t sleep on the sofa. You’ll wake up sore,” he warned from experience.
“The first time we ever slept together was right here on this sofa. Remember?” I recalled wistfully.
“Of course I remember. I still have a crick in my neck.” Remus chuckled. “That was actually just sleeping, though,” he mused.
“I miss just sleeping with you, too, you know.”
“Me, too,” he said quietly. “I’m headed back to London in the morning. Meet me this weekend?”
“What time?” I asked eagerly.
“Friday evening?” He smiled when I nodded immediately. “Are you sure you can get away?”
“I’d like to see anyone try to stop me. I’ll be there,” I vowed. “I’ll be there if I have to resign.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” he advised with a smile. “But I’ll see you on Friday one way or another, I’m sure. I’d better go now, though. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“Good night. See you Friday.”
“I can’t wait.” A loud pop, and he was gone from my hearth. I sighed, and went to my cold, lonely bed. I longed to have his arms around me as I drifted off to sleep.