Birthday Boy
This is for starcrossed_one. Hope you enjoy it, sweetie :-)
Birthday Boy
Rating NC 17
It's Harry's 16th birthday and he's feeling dejected until Remus Lupin turns up with a bottle of champagne.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. JK Rowling does.
Birthday Boy
Harry scowls as the front door slams. The Dursleys have gone away on the two-day break they recently won, leaving Harry behind. As usual. To add insult to injury, today is supposed to be a special day for Harry. It's his sixteenth birthday. Most sixteen year olds, he thinks grimly, get a celebratory party or something. So far, Harry hasn't even had a card. Not even an owl post from any of his so-called friends.
"Bloody bastards," he mutters, feeling a black cloud complete with thunder and lightning settle over his head. It's unfair, he knows, to blame his friends. They aren't allowed to visit. Although they've loosened up on him a little, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia still don't like having 'his kind' in their house; allowing a big group of them in to celebrate his birthday would have been out of the question. Still, owl-posts are allowed, and there haven't been any.
Harry picks up a book, begins to head upstairs, thinking that he's going to spend the whole two days wallowing in bed, only getting up to eat and drink and take care of bodily functions. On impulse, he takes an entire chocolate cake out of the fridge, intending to eat the whole bloody lot. He's going to gorge himself stupid, sleep whenever he feels like it, all day if the mood takes him. Maybe he won't wash. He might even raid the Dursleys' alcohol cabinet and get pissed out of his brain on Uncle Vernon's fine brandy. Minor acts of revenge against those who have forgotten his special day, it's true, but Harry will get some small satisfaction out of them.
He's dozing off when the doorbell rings. Harry sits up in bed, sweaty and slightly headachy from the heat. With the windows and curtains determinedly shut, it must be a hundred degrees in his room. He thinks he might ignore the bell, but it rings repeatedly, drilling through his brain. Cursing, Harry throws the covers off, pulls on a pair of shorts and shoves on his glasses, hurries downstairs and opens the door, blinking owlishly in the hot sunlight.
Remus Lupin stands outside, arms behind his back. He's dressed in Muggle clothes. A pale linen suit that looks almost new hangs from his lean frame. Beneath it, he wears a cotton shirt the colour of heavy cream. In deference to the heat, he's left a couple of buttons undone, and isn't wearing a tie. All in all he looks very stylish, the very essence of an English gentleman in high summer.
"Hallo, Harry," Lupin says; there's a bit of an amused smirk playing about his mouth. "Did I get you up?"
Harry blinks again, unable to get his brain around the idea that Remus Lupin's standing outside his door in Privet Drive. Lupin's only been here once, in the middle of the night almost a year ago, and that was to spirit him away to Grimmauld Place and… And Sirius. He's never come just for a visit. Alone. In broad daylight.
"Er - uh - yeah." Well, that was intelligent, Harry thinks, seeing another smile twitch on Lupin's mouth.
"It's your birthday, Harry," Lupin says. "You didn't think I'd let that go, did you? It's your sixteenth, after all." Now he brings his arms from behind his back. One hand carries two envelopes; the other carries a bottle of champagne. "Now, are you going to let me in, or are we going to drink this on the doorstep?"
Harry stands back, and Lupin enters the house, heading straight toward the kitchen. Harry notices how Lupin looks at all the Muggle appliances with interest, but doesn't comment on them. Instead, he goes to the fridge-freezer and opens it.
"This is where you keep things cool, isn't it?" Lupin says, and without waiting for an answer, puts the champagne bottle in the icebox. "There, that'll stay nicely chilled until we want it." Stepping back, he now hands Harry the two envelopes. "Happy birthday, Harry." Briefly, he puts his arms around Harry and hugs him, then steps away. Harry, unused to spontaneous expressions of affection, feels suddenly a little shy but smiles his thanks.
They go into the lounge and Harry opens the smaller of the two envelopes. It's a birthday card from Lupin. It shows a perfect night sky complete with twinkling stars, and then, on the backdrop of this flawless canvas, a burst of fireworks spells out 'Happy 16th Harry' in diamond bright sparks, followed by 'Love from Remus', the words forming into a wolf that howls 'Happy Birthday to You' at a non-existent moon. It's almost too much to take in, and Harry feels an inexplicable lump form in his throat.
"Thanks," he says, which seems inadequate, but he doesn't know what else to say. He opens the other, larger envelope. Inside is a sheaf of parchments and another card. On this card is a photo of Sirius riding his flying motorbike, its tailpipe sending out a birthday message for Harry. Harry's eyes prickle with tears, which he wipes away with the back of his hand.
"Sirius got it before he…" Lupin trailed off, and forced himself to smile. "He wasn't the most organised person in the world, but he wanted your birthday to be special this year. That's actually what the rest of this envelope contains." Now the werewolf presses his lips together. "Sirius made a Will, of course. It was only prudent, given the danger he knew himself to be in. Anyway, Harry, you and I were his sole beneficiaries, your portion to be given on the date of your sixteenth birthday, should Sirius… leave us. Well, he has, Harry, and this is your inheritance."
Harry can't - doesn't want to - take this gift, because if he does, it means accepting that Sirius really is gone. He knows he is, of course, but he's still having trouble with the painful truth. But Lupin, who loved Sirius too, seems determined that Harry should come to terms with his loss.
"He's really gone, Harry," Lupin says. "Hard though it is to accept, we can't bring him back. We must get on with our lives, and today, Harry, is the day you must start doing that." Lupin takes the envelope from Harry's numb hands and sets it down on the coffee table. "You don't have to examine it now. There's plenty of time for that. Today, we're going to celebrate your life, Harry. That's what birthdays are for, after all."
Harry wants to protest, to scream and shout at Lupin, the way he had just after Sirius was first taken from them. But in some deep part of him he knows that Lupin's right. Lupin wants to be with him today, to help him through it, and it would be wrong to reward his compassion with rudeness and harsh words.
"I'm going to take a shower," Harry says. He wants to wash away the pain that's always in him. Just for today, he wants to feel cleansed.
"All right, Harry." Lupin sounds grave, but then his eyes twinkle a little, and he nods. "I'll just stay down here and read some of these most… interesting magazines." With a broad smile - unusual on Lupin's face - he picks up Aunt Petunia's copy of July's Housewife's Monthly and begins to flick through it.
In the shower, Harry soaps himself thoroughly. So much for being a slob, he thinks, an unwilling smile forming on his face. Only three and a half hours into his wallowing time, and he's already breaking his own rules. He lets the water run over his body, thinking again of Lupin's kindness, then of Sirius's generosity. Then, for some reason, he thinks again of Grimmauld Place and the hot summer nights he spent there in the oppressive house, tossing and turning in tangled sheets. He remembers how, in the dead of night, he lay awake, listening to the soft tread of feet walking down corridors, hearing doors opening and closing softly. Then the sound of two men talking, recognising Sirius's voice, then Lupin's. Hearing the talking stop and the… moaning begin. He'd realised then that they were lovers, and it hadn't disgusted him; instead it had excited him in a way he'd never been excited before and…
Harry forces away the recollection; he can't go down to Lupin with the erection that the memory has brought about. That would just be wrong. Wouldn't it? Harry steps out of the shower and towels himself roughly, then puts on a clean shirt and jeans. There, that's better; he's managed to get himself together.
Lupin's still sitting on the couch reading Aunt Petunia's magazine, but he's removed his jacket. When Harry enters the room, he smiles and rises.
"Time for the champagne I think." Another smile. "There's another surprise for you later," he adds casually.
"Oh yeah? What?"
Lupin's eyes twinkle again.
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"
Is Lupin flirting with him? And if he is, does Harry like it? He shifts uncomfortably, thinking again about hot summer nights at Grimmauld Place, thinking about the sounds of lovemaking he'd listened to, and feels himself flush hot. Now he can envisage Lupin naked and likes the image, but it confuses him too because this is Lupin and he shouldn't be imagining him in this light. He watches as the werewolf walks across the lounge, watches the fluid way his body moves before he disappears into the kitchen. Harry hears him clatter around for a few moments, then he returns with the champagne and two champagne flutes. With a flourish - and it's strange, because Harry's never thought of Lupin being a flourisher - he opens the bottle and the cork comes out with a satisfying 'pop'. Lupin pours the pale-yellow fluid into the glasses, and Harry smells the sweet-dry scent of fermenting grapes, and sees the bubbles cling to the glass, rising in the wine to burst when they reach the top. He takes the glass that Lupin hands him, and Lupin raises his.
"Happy birthday, Harry," he says again, and they drink together, Harry draining his glass far too quickly, feeling the bubbles enter his bloodstream heading straight for his brain. He sees Lupin shake his head.
"You really shouldn't hurry a good thing," he chides gently, pouring more champagne into Harry's glass. "Anything worth having is worth savouring." A pause. "Being what I am, and after losing Sirius, I've learned that we must appreciate life's pleasures." A wistful smile. "There are few enough of them to squander."
Harry sips at his champagne, trying not to gulp it back. But the wine is heady, begging to be drunk, and it's hard to make it last. Besides, his mind - already slightly dizzy with alcohol - is consumed again by the thought of Sirius and Lupin. He can't seem to stop thinking about them, about Lupin naked, and feels uncomfortably hot, uncomfortably turned on.
"About time you got yourself a girlfriend," Lupin remarks. "What happened with Cho? I heard you liked her. Didn't you go on a date?"
Harry's face flames hotter as he thinks about that disaster. It's on the tip of his tongue to tell Lupin to mind his own business but instead words begin pouring from his mouth.
"Yeah. And… and she's lovely but… it just didn't feel right." He can't look at Lupin, but that doesn't stop him talking about it. It's probably the wine loosening his tongue because he's not usually so forthcoming about his confused emotions. "We kissed, you know. I mean, proper kissing. But it just felt wet. Not exciting at all. It was kind of a disappointment."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Well, Harry, you'll find yourself another girlfriend. Anyone else on the horizon?" Harry thinks that if his face gets any redder it'll burst into flames, and Lupin makes a sound of disgust. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't pry." Harry realises that Lupin's disgust is with himself, not with Harry. "It's just… Well, you have so much to offer."
Harry laughs now and swigs back the rest of his champagne in one big gulp, almost choking on it. More bubbles explode on his brain.
"Oh yeah? What's that then? Great social skills? Great prospects? I'll probably be dead by the time I'm eighteen and…"
"All right. That's enough of that." Lupin breaks into Harry's self-pitying flow, and comes just a little closer. "None of us knows what the future holds, Harry. We must make the most of the present." He's holding Harry's stare with his eyes, and Harry, champagne fuddled and still turned on, impulsively leans forward and captures Lupin's mouth with his. For a second he feels Lupin return the kiss, and then the older man pulls back. "What are you doing, Harry?" he asks gently.
"You just said that we should make the most of the present. I wanted to see what… what it felt like. To kiss you."
Harry sees Lupin swallow hard.
"Why?"
"I… Because it felt wrong with Cho. I feel as though it would be wrong with any girl…" He pauses; he's never admitted this to anyone before, keeping his growing beliefs deep inside himself where they can't confuse him or anyone else. But Lupin has unlocked that secret place, opened the Pandora's box of his emotions. He feels all the shame, the doubt, the self-hate fly away. Left behind is a tiny light of hope. Lupin's looking at him with a carefully neutral expression.
"Well then," he says. "What did it feel like?"
"Right," Harry replies without hesitation. And it did. It felt right and perfect and he wants to repeat the act. Thinking this, he leans forward again, touching Lupin's mouth with his for the second time. Again, Lupin breaks contact.
"Harry, I'm so much older than you…" he begins, but Harry shakes his head.
"Doesn't matter." He grins suddenly. "You should take your own advice, Remus." Suddenly Harry feels in control, and he takes Lupin's glass, goes to the coffee table where the champagne bottle's sitting and pours refills. Now it's Lupin's time to drink too quickly, and when the glass is empty, Harry takes it away from him, setting it back on the coffee table.
"I want you to show me what's right," Harry says. "It's my birthday," he adds. "It can be my present."
Lupin's eyes are dark.
"Are you sure?"
"Better with you than some sordid fumble with someone I don't like," Harry replies. "And I do… like you." He touches Lupin's mouth with a shaking finger. "I used to hear you and Sirius. I can't tell you how often I… you know… listening to you. Show me what it's like."
Lupin gives a kind of moan and puts his hand to the back of Harry's head, stroking softly. When their lips meet this time, Lupin presses the tip of his tongue to Harry's mouth, and Harry lets his mouth open under the pressure, slipping his tongue inside the other man's mouth, exploring, learning the feel of a deep kiss, responding to it, letting Lupin guide him. So different from Cho. Wet, yes, but not awkward, not revolting. It's intensely pleasurable; sexy and hot. He finds himself aroused in a heartbeat, and can't keep his hands from straying over Lupin's body. He's surprised when Lupin takes both his hands and, still kissing his mouth, holds them by his side.
"Slowly, Harry." His voice sounds husky as his lips move against Harry's mouth. "This isn't a race."
But it's maddening as Lupin continues to kiss him, keeping his hands by his sides, not letting Harry touch him, not making any attempt to touch Harry, who presses his body close, trying to force Lupin to break. When Lupin moves his mouth down to Harry's neck, kissing, sucking softly, Harry tries to remove his hands again and the grip around his wrists tightens. Lupin's mouth has found the hollow of Harry's throat. He's licking the tiny beads of sweat that have formed there, gently at first, then with the flat of his tongue. The sensation's almost too much, and Harry pleads with Lupin to release him, only to hear the werewolf chuckle low in his throat.
"Soon."
The licking continues, and then suddenly Harry's hands are free. He goes to touch Lupin but Lupin pushes them away again.
"Control, Harry," he reminds him. "Just go with the pace, fully enjoy what you're given." Harry feels Lupin's fingers move to the top button of his shirt, feels them undo it. The others follow and with each opened button. Lupin trails a slow fingertip across the flesh that becomes exposed. Soon Harry's upper body is bared to the hot afternoon air. "Now you can do the same," Lupin murmurs against Harry's lips, and with trembling fingers, Harry fumbles with Lupin's buttons, so aroused, yet so suddenly nervous, that he can barely control his actions.
Lupin's body is covered with scars, and somehow that arouses Harry even more.
"Let me kiss them?" he pleads, and Lupin nods, and Harry's mouth begins to trace the raised skin of old closed wounds, then trails off to taste the rest of Lupin's flesh. He feels Lupin's hands in his hair as he sinks lower, as his hands play with the buckle of the older man's belt. "I want to…" he whispers, unable to articulate his desire, terrified that Lupin might stop him. But Lupin doesn't stop him; he invites him to go ahead, and Harry undoes the belt, and then unzips Lupin's cool linen trousers and slides them down. When he sees the white boxers tented out with Lupin's erection, he touches it haltingly. "I don't know what to do," he half-weeps. "Tell me how to do it."
Lupin's hand strokes his hair.
"Just do what feels right," he says. "I'll tell you if it feels good."
Harry exposes Lupin's erection. It's big, hard as stone, and the slit's weeping clear fluid that Harry carefully rubs around the head. Now Lupin hitches in a shuddering breath, and Harry stops.
"Go on," Lupin says. "I don't want you to stop."
So Harry doesn't stop. He pretends that Lupin's cock is his own cock, and strokes it as he does when he's masturbating. He hears Lupin's breath become more ragged, and when he asks if it's okay, Lupin says yes, it's fine, in a low growling voice that Harry recognises as extreme arousal. When Harry tentatively puts his mouth over the head of Lupin's cock and begins to suckle at it, Lupin's hand tangles in his hair, and he begins to push forward slowly, filling Harry's mouth, but evidently trying not to go too fast for fear of choking him. When Lupin withdraws, Harry feels cheated, but Lupin pulls him toward him, holds him in a tight embrace and kisses him again, hard, harder, and Harry finally feels Lupin's hand between his legs, stroking, cupping, squeezing, until he thinks he might come there and then. But as though Lupin can read his mind, the older man stops again.
"Do you want it all?" he asks and Harry, overwhelmed with sensation, doesn't quite understand what Lupin's asking. "Do you want me inside you?" Lupin says patiently. "I won't force you, if not."
"I don't know…" Harry mumbles, because he can't really imagine what it would be like. Lupin nods, and begins kissing him again, telling him they'll take it slowly, that if Harry doesn't like anything, he'll stop it at once. Harry feels his jeans unzipped, and they fall past his hips, and he steps out of them. Lupin's on his knees before him, his mouth pleasuring Harry, until Harry's gasping and shuddering.
"I can't…" he pants. "I can't hold on…" And at once, Lupin's mouth is gone, and Harry, writhing with thwarted needs, wants to hit him.
Lupin pulls him down onto the Dursley's couch, and they lay flesh to flesh. Harry wonders what his vile relatives would think if they came back and found him here like this, and it almost makes him laugh. But not for long, because Lupin's hands are between his legs again, between his buttocks, probing with a long finger. Then he stops.
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers again, and abruptly, he gets up, pads naked to the kitchen. Harry, in an even worse agony of frustration, hears more clatter, then a triumphant exclamation. When Lupin comes back, he's carrying a small bottle of extra virgin olive oil. "This'll do," Lupin says and pours the oil over his hands, then begins to massage Harry again, who can barely stay still with the new sensation of the lubricious oil on his cock and balls. When Lupin's fingers begin to probe again, he feels himself opening up and pushing up against Lupin's body. "Do you like it, Harry?" The question makes Harry nod mutely, and he feels his hand being taken, and then feels oil pouring into his palm. "Touch me with this. Smear it over me." He guides Harry's hand to his cock. With his oiled hand, Lupin's cock feels different, somehow bigger, smoother. After a few seconds, Lupin removes Harry's hand and murmurs against his mouth. "Do you want me inside you?" And Harry whispers yes, yes, that's all he wants.
He feels his legs raised up. Lupin's fingers are opening him again, and then Harry feels something bigger pressing against his opening. All the time, Lupin asks if it's all right, and eventually Harry tells him to shut up, to shut up and do it, that he can't bear it anymore. Lupin pushes in harder, and then seems to let himself go.
They're rocking together now. Harry's legs are comfortably over Lupin's shoulders, and he's letting himself be filled, and it's like no other sensation he could have imagined. It hurts a little, but the pain's outweighed by the pleasure. He feels a heavy sweat break out over him and he knows he's about to come, and Lupin's harsh breathing against his mouth, more and more ragged with every stroke, tells him that the other man's close too. Lupin's mouth grinds against his; his tongue's slightly cold with his rapid breathing. There's a moment of raging calm when everything seems to stop and then Harry orgasms so hard he screams out, calling Lupin's name, and seconds later feels warmth flood him as Lupin comes.
For a while they lay as though dead, then Harry shifts. There's a slight soreness in his arse, and he can feel Lupin's semen trickling from inside him. But he likes it. This is what he is, what he's meant for.
Lupin opens a sleepy eye.
"Well?" he said. "Was it a good enough birthday present?"
Harry nods, and then narrows his eyes.
"You said there was another surprise," he reminds Lupin, and Lupin laughs loudly.
"Ungrateful pup," he murmurs. "Well if you must know, I'm to take you to the Weasley's. There's a surprise party. Everyone's going to be there."
"Oh. They do care after all." Harry doesn't feel so surprised now though, only delighted. After this afternoon's events, some of his faith has been restored. Lupin looks at Harry.
"Of course we do." He ruffles the boy's hair. "Who d'you think arranged the 'prize' breakaway deal for the Dursleys? Me, of course." His eyes twinkled again. Harry thought the expression suited him. "Another ruse, I'm afraid. The Dursleys aren't very clever, are they?"
"No. But you are." Harry sees Lupin's gaze travel to the wall clock.
"Four hours till the party starts," he says.
"How will we fill them?" Harry asks.
Lupin reaches across for the champagne bottle and upends the contents on Harry's body, and Harry gives a yell as the cold fluid floods over him.
"I'm sure we'll find a way," Lupin says.
And lowers his mouth, beginning to lick away the spilt wine.
3900 words.
Birthday Boy
Rating NC 17
It's Harry's 16th birthday and he's feeling dejected until Remus Lupin turns up with a bottle of champagne.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. JK Rowling does.
Birthday Boy
Harry scowls as the front door slams. The Dursleys have gone away on the two-day break they recently won, leaving Harry behind. As usual. To add insult to injury, today is supposed to be a special day for Harry. It's his sixteenth birthday. Most sixteen year olds, he thinks grimly, get a celebratory party or something. So far, Harry hasn't even had a card. Not even an owl post from any of his so-called friends.
"Bloody bastards," he mutters, feeling a black cloud complete with thunder and lightning settle over his head. It's unfair, he knows, to blame his friends. They aren't allowed to visit. Although they've loosened up on him a little, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia still don't like having 'his kind' in their house; allowing a big group of them in to celebrate his birthday would have been out of the question. Still, owl-posts are allowed, and there haven't been any.
Harry picks up a book, begins to head upstairs, thinking that he's going to spend the whole two days wallowing in bed, only getting up to eat and drink and take care of bodily functions. On impulse, he takes an entire chocolate cake out of the fridge, intending to eat the whole bloody lot. He's going to gorge himself stupid, sleep whenever he feels like it, all day if the mood takes him. Maybe he won't wash. He might even raid the Dursleys' alcohol cabinet and get pissed out of his brain on Uncle Vernon's fine brandy. Minor acts of revenge against those who have forgotten his special day, it's true, but Harry will get some small satisfaction out of them.
He's dozing off when the doorbell rings. Harry sits up in bed, sweaty and slightly headachy from the heat. With the windows and curtains determinedly shut, it must be a hundred degrees in his room. He thinks he might ignore the bell, but it rings repeatedly, drilling through his brain. Cursing, Harry throws the covers off, pulls on a pair of shorts and shoves on his glasses, hurries downstairs and opens the door, blinking owlishly in the hot sunlight.
Remus Lupin stands outside, arms behind his back. He's dressed in Muggle clothes. A pale linen suit that looks almost new hangs from his lean frame. Beneath it, he wears a cotton shirt the colour of heavy cream. In deference to the heat, he's left a couple of buttons undone, and isn't wearing a tie. All in all he looks very stylish, the very essence of an English gentleman in high summer.
"Hallo, Harry," Lupin says; there's a bit of an amused smirk playing about his mouth. "Did I get you up?"
Harry blinks again, unable to get his brain around the idea that Remus Lupin's standing outside his door in Privet Drive. Lupin's only been here once, in the middle of the night almost a year ago, and that was to spirit him away to Grimmauld Place and… And Sirius. He's never come just for a visit. Alone. In broad daylight.
"Er - uh - yeah." Well, that was intelligent, Harry thinks, seeing another smile twitch on Lupin's mouth.
"It's your birthday, Harry," Lupin says. "You didn't think I'd let that go, did you? It's your sixteenth, after all." Now he brings his arms from behind his back. One hand carries two envelopes; the other carries a bottle of champagne. "Now, are you going to let me in, or are we going to drink this on the doorstep?"
Harry stands back, and Lupin enters the house, heading straight toward the kitchen. Harry notices how Lupin looks at all the Muggle appliances with interest, but doesn't comment on them. Instead, he goes to the fridge-freezer and opens it.
"This is where you keep things cool, isn't it?" Lupin says, and without waiting for an answer, puts the champagne bottle in the icebox. "There, that'll stay nicely chilled until we want it." Stepping back, he now hands Harry the two envelopes. "Happy birthday, Harry." Briefly, he puts his arms around Harry and hugs him, then steps away. Harry, unused to spontaneous expressions of affection, feels suddenly a little shy but smiles his thanks.
They go into the lounge and Harry opens the smaller of the two envelopes. It's a birthday card from Lupin. It shows a perfect night sky complete with twinkling stars, and then, on the backdrop of this flawless canvas, a burst of fireworks spells out 'Happy 16th Harry' in diamond bright sparks, followed by 'Love from Remus', the words forming into a wolf that howls 'Happy Birthday to You' at a non-existent moon. It's almost too much to take in, and Harry feels an inexplicable lump form in his throat.
"Thanks," he says, which seems inadequate, but he doesn't know what else to say. He opens the other, larger envelope. Inside is a sheaf of parchments and another card. On this card is a photo of Sirius riding his flying motorbike, its tailpipe sending out a birthday message for Harry. Harry's eyes prickle with tears, which he wipes away with the back of his hand.
"Sirius got it before he…" Lupin trailed off, and forced himself to smile. "He wasn't the most organised person in the world, but he wanted your birthday to be special this year. That's actually what the rest of this envelope contains." Now the werewolf presses his lips together. "Sirius made a Will, of course. It was only prudent, given the danger he knew himself to be in. Anyway, Harry, you and I were his sole beneficiaries, your portion to be given on the date of your sixteenth birthday, should Sirius… leave us. Well, he has, Harry, and this is your inheritance."
Harry can't - doesn't want to - take this gift, because if he does, it means accepting that Sirius really is gone. He knows he is, of course, but he's still having trouble with the painful truth. But Lupin, who loved Sirius too, seems determined that Harry should come to terms with his loss.
"He's really gone, Harry," Lupin says. "Hard though it is to accept, we can't bring him back. We must get on with our lives, and today, Harry, is the day you must start doing that." Lupin takes the envelope from Harry's numb hands and sets it down on the coffee table. "You don't have to examine it now. There's plenty of time for that. Today, we're going to celebrate your life, Harry. That's what birthdays are for, after all."
Harry wants to protest, to scream and shout at Lupin, the way he had just after Sirius was first taken from them. But in some deep part of him he knows that Lupin's right. Lupin wants to be with him today, to help him through it, and it would be wrong to reward his compassion with rudeness and harsh words.
"I'm going to take a shower," Harry says. He wants to wash away the pain that's always in him. Just for today, he wants to feel cleansed.
"All right, Harry." Lupin sounds grave, but then his eyes twinkle a little, and he nods. "I'll just stay down here and read some of these most… interesting magazines." With a broad smile - unusual on Lupin's face - he picks up Aunt Petunia's copy of July's Housewife's Monthly and begins to flick through it.
In the shower, Harry soaps himself thoroughly. So much for being a slob, he thinks, an unwilling smile forming on his face. Only three and a half hours into his wallowing time, and he's already breaking his own rules. He lets the water run over his body, thinking again of Lupin's kindness, then of Sirius's generosity. Then, for some reason, he thinks again of Grimmauld Place and the hot summer nights he spent there in the oppressive house, tossing and turning in tangled sheets. He remembers how, in the dead of night, he lay awake, listening to the soft tread of feet walking down corridors, hearing doors opening and closing softly. Then the sound of two men talking, recognising Sirius's voice, then Lupin's. Hearing the talking stop and the… moaning begin. He'd realised then that they were lovers, and it hadn't disgusted him; instead it had excited him in a way he'd never been excited before and…
Harry forces away the recollection; he can't go down to Lupin with the erection that the memory has brought about. That would just be wrong. Wouldn't it? Harry steps out of the shower and towels himself roughly, then puts on a clean shirt and jeans. There, that's better; he's managed to get himself together.
Lupin's still sitting on the couch reading Aunt Petunia's magazine, but he's removed his jacket. When Harry enters the room, he smiles and rises.
"Time for the champagne I think." Another smile. "There's another surprise for you later," he adds casually.
"Oh yeah? What?"
Lupin's eyes twinkle again.
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"
Is Lupin flirting with him? And if he is, does Harry like it? He shifts uncomfortably, thinking again about hot summer nights at Grimmauld Place, thinking about the sounds of lovemaking he'd listened to, and feels himself flush hot. Now he can envisage Lupin naked and likes the image, but it confuses him too because this is Lupin and he shouldn't be imagining him in this light. He watches as the werewolf walks across the lounge, watches the fluid way his body moves before he disappears into the kitchen. Harry hears him clatter around for a few moments, then he returns with the champagne and two champagne flutes. With a flourish - and it's strange, because Harry's never thought of Lupin being a flourisher - he opens the bottle and the cork comes out with a satisfying 'pop'. Lupin pours the pale-yellow fluid into the glasses, and Harry smells the sweet-dry scent of fermenting grapes, and sees the bubbles cling to the glass, rising in the wine to burst when they reach the top. He takes the glass that Lupin hands him, and Lupin raises his.
"Happy birthday, Harry," he says again, and they drink together, Harry draining his glass far too quickly, feeling the bubbles enter his bloodstream heading straight for his brain. He sees Lupin shake his head.
"You really shouldn't hurry a good thing," he chides gently, pouring more champagne into Harry's glass. "Anything worth having is worth savouring." A pause. "Being what I am, and after losing Sirius, I've learned that we must appreciate life's pleasures." A wistful smile. "There are few enough of them to squander."
Harry sips at his champagne, trying not to gulp it back. But the wine is heady, begging to be drunk, and it's hard to make it last. Besides, his mind - already slightly dizzy with alcohol - is consumed again by the thought of Sirius and Lupin. He can't seem to stop thinking about them, about Lupin naked, and feels uncomfortably hot, uncomfortably turned on.
"About time you got yourself a girlfriend," Lupin remarks. "What happened with Cho? I heard you liked her. Didn't you go on a date?"
Harry's face flames hotter as he thinks about that disaster. It's on the tip of his tongue to tell Lupin to mind his own business but instead words begin pouring from his mouth.
"Yeah. And… and she's lovely but… it just didn't feel right." He can't look at Lupin, but that doesn't stop him talking about it. It's probably the wine loosening his tongue because he's not usually so forthcoming about his confused emotions. "We kissed, you know. I mean, proper kissing. But it just felt wet. Not exciting at all. It was kind of a disappointment."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Well, Harry, you'll find yourself another girlfriend. Anyone else on the horizon?" Harry thinks that if his face gets any redder it'll burst into flames, and Lupin makes a sound of disgust. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't pry." Harry realises that Lupin's disgust is with himself, not with Harry. "It's just… Well, you have so much to offer."
Harry laughs now and swigs back the rest of his champagne in one big gulp, almost choking on it. More bubbles explode on his brain.
"Oh yeah? What's that then? Great social skills? Great prospects? I'll probably be dead by the time I'm eighteen and…"
"All right. That's enough of that." Lupin breaks into Harry's self-pitying flow, and comes just a little closer. "None of us knows what the future holds, Harry. We must make the most of the present." He's holding Harry's stare with his eyes, and Harry, champagne fuddled and still turned on, impulsively leans forward and captures Lupin's mouth with his. For a second he feels Lupin return the kiss, and then the older man pulls back. "What are you doing, Harry?" he asks gently.
"You just said that we should make the most of the present. I wanted to see what… what it felt like. To kiss you."
Harry sees Lupin swallow hard.
"Why?"
"I… Because it felt wrong with Cho. I feel as though it would be wrong with any girl…" He pauses; he's never admitted this to anyone before, keeping his growing beliefs deep inside himself where they can't confuse him or anyone else. But Lupin has unlocked that secret place, opened the Pandora's box of his emotions. He feels all the shame, the doubt, the self-hate fly away. Left behind is a tiny light of hope. Lupin's looking at him with a carefully neutral expression.
"Well then," he says. "What did it feel like?"
"Right," Harry replies without hesitation. And it did. It felt right and perfect and he wants to repeat the act. Thinking this, he leans forward again, touching Lupin's mouth with his for the second time. Again, Lupin breaks contact.
"Harry, I'm so much older than you…" he begins, but Harry shakes his head.
"Doesn't matter." He grins suddenly. "You should take your own advice, Remus." Suddenly Harry feels in control, and he takes Lupin's glass, goes to the coffee table where the champagne bottle's sitting and pours refills. Now it's Lupin's time to drink too quickly, and when the glass is empty, Harry takes it away from him, setting it back on the coffee table.
"I want you to show me what's right," Harry says. "It's my birthday," he adds. "It can be my present."
Lupin's eyes are dark.
"Are you sure?"
"Better with you than some sordid fumble with someone I don't like," Harry replies. "And I do… like you." He touches Lupin's mouth with a shaking finger. "I used to hear you and Sirius. I can't tell you how often I… you know… listening to you. Show me what it's like."
Lupin gives a kind of moan and puts his hand to the back of Harry's head, stroking softly. When their lips meet this time, Lupin presses the tip of his tongue to Harry's mouth, and Harry lets his mouth open under the pressure, slipping his tongue inside the other man's mouth, exploring, learning the feel of a deep kiss, responding to it, letting Lupin guide him. So different from Cho. Wet, yes, but not awkward, not revolting. It's intensely pleasurable; sexy and hot. He finds himself aroused in a heartbeat, and can't keep his hands from straying over Lupin's body. He's surprised when Lupin takes both his hands and, still kissing his mouth, holds them by his side.
"Slowly, Harry." His voice sounds husky as his lips move against Harry's mouth. "This isn't a race."
But it's maddening as Lupin continues to kiss him, keeping his hands by his sides, not letting Harry touch him, not making any attempt to touch Harry, who presses his body close, trying to force Lupin to break. When Lupin moves his mouth down to Harry's neck, kissing, sucking softly, Harry tries to remove his hands again and the grip around his wrists tightens. Lupin's mouth has found the hollow of Harry's throat. He's licking the tiny beads of sweat that have formed there, gently at first, then with the flat of his tongue. The sensation's almost too much, and Harry pleads with Lupin to release him, only to hear the werewolf chuckle low in his throat.
"Soon."
The licking continues, and then suddenly Harry's hands are free. He goes to touch Lupin but Lupin pushes them away again.
"Control, Harry," he reminds him. "Just go with the pace, fully enjoy what you're given." Harry feels Lupin's fingers move to the top button of his shirt, feels them undo it. The others follow and with each opened button. Lupin trails a slow fingertip across the flesh that becomes exposed. Soon Harry's upper body is bared to the hot afternoon air. "Now you can do the same," Lupin murmurs against Harry's lips, and with trembling fingers, Harry fumbles with Lupin's buttons, so aroused, yet so suddenly nervous, that he can barely control his actions.
Lupin's body is covered with scars, and somehow that arouses Harry even more.
"Let me kiss them?" he pleads, and Lupin nods, and Harry's mouth begins to trace the raised skin of old closed wounds, then trails off to taste the rest of Lupin's flesh. He feels Lupin's hands in his hair as he sinks lower, as his hands play with the buckle of the older man's belt. "I want to…" he whispers, unable to articulate his desire, terrified that Lupin might stop him. But Lupin doesn't stop him; he invites him to go ahead, and Harry undoes the belt, and then unzips Lupin's cool linen trousers and slides them down. When he sees the white boxers tented out with Lupin's erection, he touches it haltingly. "I don't know what to do," he half-weeps. "Tell me how to do it."
Lupin's hand strokes his hair.
"Just do what feels right," he says. "I'll tell you if it feels good."
Harry exposes Lupin's erection. It's big, hard as stone, and the slit's weeping clear fluid that Harry carefully rubs around the head. Now Lupin hitches in a shuddering breath, and Harry stops.
"Go on," Lupin says. "I don't want you to stop."
So Harry doesn't stop. He pretends that Lupin's cock is his own cock, and strokes it as he does when he's masturbating. He hears Lupin's breath become more ragged, and when he asks if it's okay, Lupin says yes, it's fine, in a low growling voice that Harry recognises as extreme arousal. When Harry tentatively puts his mouth over the head of Lupin's cock and begins to suckle at it, Lupin's hand tangles in his hair, and he begins to push forward slowly, filling Harry's mouth, but evidently trying not to go too fast for fear of choking him. When Lupin withdraws, Harry feels cheated, but Lupin pulls him toward him, holds him in a tight embrace and kisses him again, hard, harder, and Harry finally feels Lupin's hand between his legs, stroking, cupping, squeezing, until he thinks he might come there and then. But as though Lupin can read his mind, the older man stops again.
"Do you want it all?" he asks and Harry, overwhelmed with sensation, doesn't quite understand what Lupin's asking. "Do you want me inside you?" Lupin says patiently. "I won't force you, if not."
"I don't know…" Harry mumbles, because he can't really imagine what it would be like. Lupin nods, and begins kissing him again, telling him they'll take it slowly, that if Harry doesn't like anything, he'll stop it at once. Harry feels his jeans unzipped, and they fall past his hips, and he steps out of them. Lupin's on his knees before him, his mouth pleasuring Harry, until Harry's gasping and shuddering.
"I can't…" he pants. "I can't hold on…" And at once, Lupin's mouth is gone, and Harry, writhing with thwarted needs, wants to hit him.
Lupin pulls him down onto the Dursley's couch, and they lay flesh to flesh. Harry wonders what his vile relatives would think if they came back and found him here like this, and it almost makes him laugh. But not for long, because Lupin's hands are between his legs again, between his buttocks, probing with a long finger. Then he stops.
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers again, and abruptly, he gets up, pads naked to the kitchen. Harry, in an even worse agony of frustration, hears more clatter, then a triumphant exclamation. When Lupin comes back, he's carrying a small bottle of extra virgin olive oil. "This'll do," Lupin says and pours the oil over his hands, then begins to massage Harry again, who can barely stay still with the new sensation of the lubricious oil on his cock and balls. When Lupin's fingers begin to probe again, he feels himself opening up and pushing up against Lupin's body. "Do you like it, Harry?" The question makes Harry nod mutely, and he feels his hand being taken, and then feels oil pouring into his palm. "Touch me with this. Smear it over me." He guides Harry's hand to his cock. With his oiled hand, Lupin's cock feels different, somehow bigger, smoother. After a few seconds, Lupin removes Harry's hand and murmurs against his mouth. "Do you want me inside you?" And Harry whispers yes, yes, that's all he wants.
He feels his legs raised up. Lupin's fingers are opening him again, and then Harry feels something bigger pressing against his opening. All the time, Lupin asks if it's all right, and eventually Harry tells him to shut up, to shut up and do it, that he can't bear it anymore. Lupin pushes in harder, and then seems to let himself go.
They're rocking together now. Harry's legs are comfortably over Lupin's shoulders, and he's letting himself be filled, and it's like no other sensation he could have imagined. It hurts a little, but the pain's outweighed by the pleasure. He feels a heavy sweat break out over him and he knows he's about to come, and Lupin's harsh breathing against his mouth, more and more ragged with every stroke, tells him that the other man's close too. Lupin's mouth grinds against his; his tongue's slightly cold with his rapid breathing. There's a moment of raging calm when everything seems to stop and then Harry orgasms so hard he screams out, calling Lupin's name, and seconds later feels warmth flood him as Lupin comes.
For a while they lay as though dead, then Harry shifts. There's a slight soreness in his arse, and he can feel Lupin's semen trickling from inside him. But he likes it. This is what he is, what he's meant for.
Lupin opens a sleepy eye.
"Well?" he said. "Was it a good enough birthday present?"
Harry nods, and then narrows his eyes.
"You said there was another surprise," he reminds Lupin, and Lupin laughs loudly.
"Ungrateful pup," he murmurs. "Well if you must know, I'm to take you to the Weasley's. There's a surprise party. Everyone's going to be there."
"Oh. They do care after all." Harry doesn't feel so surprised now though, only delighted. After this afternoon's events, some of his faith has been restored. Lupin looks at Harry.
"Of course we do." He ruffles the boy's hair. "Who d'you think arranged the 'prize' breakaway deal for the Dursleys? Me, of course." His eyes twinkled again. Harry thought the expression suited him. "Another ruse, I'm afraid. The Dursleys aren't very clever, are they?"
"No. But you are." Harry sees Lupin's gaze travel to the wall clock.
"Four hours till the party starts," he says.
"How will we fill them?" Harry asks.
Lupin reaches across for the champagne bottle and upends the contents on Harry's body, and Harry gives a yell as the cold fluid floods over him.
"I'm sure we'll find a way," Lupin says.
And lowers his mouth, beginning to lick away the spilt wine.
3900 words.