FIC: Slippery When Wet, Remus/Severus, NC-17, for spiked_angels
Title: Slippery When Wet
Author: rose_whispers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Remus/Severus
Summary: Remus sees red (quite literally) and he and Severus, er, work out some unresolved issues
Word Count: 3313
A/N: PWP with a preamble. Freakishly belated birthday fic for spiked_angels. Her prompt was “office sex” and she loves Bon Jovi, hence the title
The air in the corridor leading to Dungeon Four seemed chillier than usual as Remus Lupin, certain he could actually see his breath coming out in puffs before him, ambled along. Well, not ambled so much as dawdled, intent on keeping as much time and distance as possible between himself and the prickly Potions Master awaiting him. After yet another spectacular row the night before, Remus had no real desire to enact Part Two this evening. However, when one was given a politely worded “suggestion” from Albus Dumbledore, one put aside personal differences and bloody well did what was asked.
From Severus’ partially opened door at the far end of the corridor, Remus could see a spill of glimmering candlelight staining the floor. He gritted his teeth, picturing the unctuous, aggravating professor pacing the floor or seated at his desk, grading papers. Or perhaps he’d draped himself in an armchair by his fireplace to read a book. The thought of that long, lean body displayed in such a way... Remus paused, wiping the image from his mind. He’d had this difficulty for more years than he cared to count, the juxtaposition of wanting this man so much while also detesting him much of the time and fighting the urge to give him a good hard kick, too.
He shook his head at himself in disgust. So what if he and Severus tended to get into scorching arguments every time they saw each other these days? In the name of Merlin, he was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were not cowardly in the face of slippery Slytherins. He just wished he knew why Severus seemed so eager to draw him into verbal battles and why he allowed himself to be goaded so. He never shouted at anyone else, no matter how angry he got. Just Severus. Always Severus. Infuriating, insidious, artful old conniver. Remus hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about the bastard.
He was halfway down the corridor toward Severus’ office when he heard crashes and shouting. He halted, listening intently as he stared at the door, watching the flicker of shadows on the floor. The sound of smashing glass followed by a screech of pained outrage sent Remus sprinting down the hall.
“You’ll pay for this, you lunatic! You senseless, depraved little beast!” a sonorous voice howled. “I will end you!”
Severus. Remus flung open the heavy oak door and stopped short. The office was beyond wrecked. Books had been hurled off the shelves, lying with broken spines in scattered heaps as torn pages fluttered through the supercharged air. Shattered glass lay all over and the contents from a dozen ruined bottles were sprayed against the walls and oozed across the floor. The shelves were knocked off their brackets, smashed and splintered and dangling at odd angles. The posters and imprints of various botanicals that decorated the office hung askew, the portrayed images flailing pathetically in their sloping confines. Parchment lay strewn across the desk and floor, some of it covered in students’ writing, some in Severus’ own, most of it torn and smudged.
But all of this was peripheral, fading into the background as Remus stared at Severus himself. The man was leaning heavily against the hearth, screaming obscenities into the low-burning fire. He was in his shirt sleeves, his frock coat draped across the back of his chair. As he straightened and turned from the fireplace, smoldering anger radiating off him in palpable waves, Remus gasped in horror. Blood was spreading inexorably, malevolently across his chest and toward his stomach, soaking the cotton of his once-pristine white shirt and causing the fabric to cling to his lithe frame. The crimson stain was ghastly, evidence of a wound too serious for Remus to contemplate. The attacker, Remus realised, must have escaped through the floo network.
“Severus!” Remus cried, crossing the room in four long strides and grabbing the Potions Master’s arms. “Oh god, what happened here? Death Eaters?”
Severus flinched, whether in shock or pain, Remus couldn’t tell, but he shook himself free of the werewolf’s hands and said, “Death Eaters? What on earth are you talking about?”
“You’ve been attacked!” If it hadn’t been one of Voldemort’s minions, then Remus didn’t have to worry about Harry and could concentrate on the man hemorrhaging before him. He did his best to quell the terrified panic rising in his chest. “Severus, sit! How were you been injured? Can you make it to the infirmary?”
Severus allowed himself to be pressed back into his chair but he continued to glare at Remus. “For god’s sake, I’m not going to the infirmary, you idiot. There’s nothing Poppy can do about this!” He waved his hand over his chest and stomach.
“Oh god,” Remus whispered, kneeling down before Severus and resting his hands on the other man’s knees. How could this be happening? He was sick with dread and grief. “Oh Severus, it’s not too late. It can’t be. I never told you-”
“Never told me what?” Severus said sharply.
Remus shook his head, distraught. “All those arguments, you must think I hate you. I don’t. Oh god, Severus, I can’t ever hate you. Not when I... Here, let me have a look.”
Severus batted Remus’ hands away from the buttons of his shirt, but Remus growled deep in his throat and tried again. “Let me look, dammit! At least let me see if I can help!”
He scrabbled uselessly at the buttons for a moment, but they were too slippery to hold, slicked down with the thick blood that spread ever further. He could barely see straight. Severus- his Severus- was going to die. With a snarl of frustration, Remus tore the shirt open, shredding fabric and sending buttons flying across the room, adding the chaos. Severus’ chest was glossy with his own blood, the skin itself dyed a lurid, gruesome ruby, the smattering of dark chest hair matted and tangled. Remus ran his fingertips as gently as possible down Severus’ breastbone, over his ribs, along his stomach, which quivered beneath his touch.
“Does it hurt?” Remus whispered, unable to look up. He examined the body beneath his hands with detached fascination, tracing patterns across Severus’ torso as though he was a child finger-painting. A large bruise was blotching its way into existence just beneath his collarbone, but apart from that Severus appeared unmarked. “I can’t find the wound, Severus. Where have you been injured?”
He flattened his hand, now stained crimson, over Severus’ heart, feeling it beat quickly but steadily. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the anguish that threatened to overwhelm him. Severus’ chest shook and Remus’ eyes flew open, looking up to find his face...
... Not at all twisted in pain or fear, but looking remarkably like he was holding back laughter. And then he wasn’t holding it back at all. Severus Snape, drenched in his own blood and about to expire, was actually laughing. Remus stared at him. He’d never once heard Severus laugh before. Of all the responses he’d expected from the man, hysteria wasn’t one of them.
“Severus, calm down, please,” he said. “Look, let’s get you up to see Poppy. I can’t find the wound, but-”
Severus cut him off with a wave of his hand, swallowing his outburst of laughter. “You’re slow, even for a Gryffindor. You do realise that, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
The Potions Master encircled Remus’ wrist with his long fingers and stood up, tugging the bewildered werewolf with him. “I’m not injured. I’m not dying, you fool! Though I must say, your reaction has been most... unexpected.”
Remus stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. He looked at the blood saturating Severus’ torso and took a deep breath, steadying himself. And then his brain finally unfroze and started processing somewhat rationally again. He breathed in again, scenting the air, which was completely devoid of the tangy, metallic odor of blood. The fingers still circling his wrist were casually, minutely moving, almost as though stroking him, and he suppressed a shiver. Even this small touch, combined with the nearness of the other wizard, was causing his body to respond. He bit his lip and said flatly, “that’s not blood.”
“It is not.”
“I don’t understand.”
Severus arched an eyebrow at him but refrained from sneering. “Peeves got in here just before you arrived. He created a spectacular mess, quite possibly because I seconded Argus’ motion at the staff meeting this morning to exorcise the little cretin.”
Remus cocked his head, willing his mind to sort out what Severus was saying, but finding it ridiculously difficult. How could it be otherwise, when Severus was standing so close and looking at him so intensely? “So Peeves attacked you?” It still wasn’t making any sense, and the proximity to the not-dying Potions Master was making him distractingly lightheaded.
“He hurled a bottle of my best vermillion ink at me,” Severus said, lip curling in outrage at the memory. “It was full to the brim and unstoppered. And expensive, I might add. He managed to spill every drop on me. And then he escaped through the fireplace.”
“This all happened because of some red ink on your shirt? Why didn’t you say anything?” Remus snatched his hand back. Oh god. And now Severus knew, he had to know, that Remus’ feelings for him were far different, or at least more complex, than the animosity he normally displayed.
“Your reaction startled me,” Severus admitted, echoing Remus’ thoughts. “I wanted to find out what the cause of it was. And now I know.”
Remus felt a damning blush spread across his face, and he was sure it was similar in colour to the ink staining Severus’ chest. “That was extraordinarily cruel, Severus. Even for you.”
Albus could hang- Remus would not work with Severus, not even for the Order. He opened his mouth to say so when the other wizard started laughing again. He actually looked... well, certainly not merry, but not as harsh. Remus growled, his lips curling into the angry sound, and Severus had the good grace to shut up.
“You think this is funny?” Rage, humiliation, and adrenaline ignited in Remus’ brain and blood and he grabbed at the ruined shirt, using it to propel Severus against the wall behind his desk. He closed in, fingers digging into Severus’ biceps, forehead to forehead. He bared his teeth and Severus’ eyes widened.
“You win, Severus,” he growled. The Potions Master tried to squirm, so Remus stilled his wiry form by pressing his body against Severus’. “You found out my dirty little secret.”
And then he paused, his own eyes widening, taking in the shallow breaths, the glazed expression, the reddened cheeks and- was that? Oh, yes, the now prominent bulge against his stomach. He leaned in experimentally and it was with heroic effort that Severus managed to quell a groan.
“I see,” the werewolf hissed, rolling his hips to bring his own growing arousal into contact with Severus’. “So maybe not just my little secret after all.”
Severus turned his head away and went very still, his jaw clenched. Remus rolled his hips again, eliciting another suppressed groan, and he reached out to grab Severus’ chin, turning his head back, staring into those depthless eyes. He liked what he saw.
“Not so funny now,” he said and leaned up to find a kiss, bruising, punishing, wrenching a confession of desire from Severus that was more than words or thoughts or past misdeeds and misapprehensions. He caught the thin bottom lip between his sharp teeth and pressed down, biting, teasing, until Severus moaned in frustration and shifted, bringing one lean thigh between Remus’ legs. Sucking Remus’ tongue into his mouth, he began to rock.
“Oh!” Remus gasped, finding his erection moving against hip and thigh, undulating to bring his own hip against Severus’ straining cock. He floated in sensation for a dizzying suspension of time, nothing in the world existing except for that rub, rub, rub against him and the feel of Severus’ lips exploring his jaw line. He stripped the soaking, ruined shirt from Severus’ shoulders and tossed it to the floor, letting his hands run up his naked arms and down his sides. He wrapped his arms around Severus’ waist and fell forward, still rocking, to taste the exposed throat. He explored the other wizard’s skin with kisses and licks and then teeth, biting rather harder than he normally would have, feeling the delightful press of skin beneath his teeth, tasting salt and ink and then, at a harsh breath from Severus, blood, just a drop or two. The dark-haired wizard tilted his head, granting Remus more access to the pale curve of his neck. Remus lapped the wine-coloured liquid up with a growl; this was blood. This was life. He was tasting Severus’ life, holding it in his mouth as his tongue laved the small bite, eliciting hisses and strained, meaningless murmurs from the man in his embrace.
The tang of the blood in his mouth brought him back to himself somewhat and he pulled back, staring at the positively disheveled Snape in his arms.
“I want-” he ground out, and Severus nodded.
Remus spun them both around and flipped Severus over, bending him over his wide mahogany desk so that he leaned on his elbows, panting, his hands splayed across the polished wooden surface.
“Divestimento,” Remus muttered with a tap of his wand, and the fabric of Severus’ trousers immediately unraveled, puddling on the floor unceremoniously.
“Lupin!” Severus began, twisting around, but a hand between his shoulder blades pushed him back down.
“You’ll never worry me that way again,” Remus warned, grinding his hips against the briefs-clad arse before him. Severus mumbled something that didn’t sound at all repentant, so Remus did it again. "Pardon me?”
“More,” Severus choked, pushing backward. “More. You. NOW!”
With another tap of his wand and a murmured, “laxus lubricatum,” Remus hooked a thumb beneath the elastic of Severus’ briefs and pulled them to one side, not bothering to stop long enough to remove them at all. He slipped two fingers into Severus’ arse, teasing the opening, testing his spell’s effectiveness. Satisfied, he shifted his weight, bring his arousal to rest against Severus arse. Normally Remus liked to take his time, to explore. Not this time. This time he needed to feel Severus around him, would go mad if he couldn’t have him.
“Move. Oh god, Remus, move now!” Severus commanded and Remus allowed himself a moment to delight in the fact that he was hearing those words from this man. Then he reached down to open his fly and free his cock and with a thrust he was pushing his way into exquisite heat, a tightness so intense that he felt as though Severus was all around him, that he was losing himself in the lean, eager body beneath him. With steady force, he pushed himself into the prepared slickness, sinking in until he could go no further. And then he began to move, pulling out almost all the way only to propel himself back in, Severus’ body seeming to urge him on, meeting him thrust for thrust, moan for moan. And the sound of two moans twining together, a strangely discordant harmony, was too much for Remus. He stopped thinking, stopped analyzing, stopped everything but experiencing the sensation of moving inside Severus, moving with Severus.
“Yesss,” the Potions Master gasped, and Remus leaned forward, first to nip and then kiss the inside of Severus’ shoulder blade. Keeping a firm grip on Severus’ angular hip, he let the other wander up, stroking the pale expanse of skin before him, chasing across vertebrae and muscle with lips and teeth and fingers and nails, skirting his hand sideways to follow the line of Severus’ ribs, sliding across the ink-slippery chest to tangle in matted hair and tease nipples, then pulling Severus up off the desk just enough so that he could slip his hand beneath the fabric of Severus’ briefs. Severus reared up, supporting himself on his hands to afford the werewolf enough room. He found Severus’ cock, so very, very hard, and wrapped his hand around it, relishing the sensation of Severus’ thrusts through the tight circle of fingers and thumb just as Remus drove into his body. So indescribably good as they discovered a rhythm that spiraled them both up and up, Remus aware that his angle must be very right from the way Severus jerked with every few strokes. His pace grew more frenzied as he slammed into the infuriating man bent over his own desk, as he felt himself matched thrust for thrust, his nails clawing against Severus’ back and shoulders, his head thrown back as he felt his release building, becoming unbearably close, and then he screamed his orgasm out for all and sundry to hear, Severus’ name on his lips and in his wildly beating heart. He slumped against Severus’ sweaty back, scored with Remus’ own nail marks. He kept his hand wound tightly about Severus’ cock, teasing the head with his thumb as Severus pumped faster, harder, until with a strangled cry he came as well.
They sagged together, Severus against the desk, Remus against Severus, both panting, perspiring, and not a little shocked at what they’d just done.
After a long silence that could have been awkward but somehow wasn’t, Remus planted a kiss between Severus’ shoulder blades before withdrawing from him. Severus turned around and sat at on the edge of his desk, wincing a little.
“Vocal, aren’t we?” Severus observed, something akin to a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Remus tried to respond, but seeing the man sitting before him in nothing but his underwear, his chest glistening from sweat and ink and still stained bright red, was doing odd things to Remus’ breathing. He knew he should back off, gauge how Severus was reacting to all of this, but he just couldn’t. He stepped closer, positioning himself between Severus’ legs, and tugged him into a languorous kiss, running his tongue along Severus’, feeling rather than hearing the moan reverberating from Severus’ throat. Severus stood, changing the angle of the kiss so that Remus had to tilt his head up a little, and the Potions Master wrapped his arms around Remus’ waist, urging him nearer until they were flush against each other. With a shaky laugh, Remus pulled back just enough to take in Severus’ appearance while leaving their hips firmly locked together.
“I’ve never seen you look so deliciously wanton,” he appraised, sweeping his gaze up and down. “You’re an utter mess, Severus.”
“You aren’t much better, werewolf,” Severus shot back.
“I think we need to get you cleaned up.”
Severus inclined his head toward a door set in the far wall. “The bathroom is that way.” He stepped out of Remus’ embrace and retrieved his outer robes, wrapping them around his shoulders before crossing the room with his new lover. Remus wondered what Severus’ skin would feel like when it was moist and soapy, just how much slipperier he would be, what it would feel like for his own wet skin to slide along Severus’.
“I suppose I’m obligated not to exorcise Peeves after all,” Severus said matter-of-factly, holding the door open for Remus and stooping to steal a kiss as he passed through. “If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have discovered that you fancied me.”
Remus laughed outright, hauling Severus close to him. “I think we should send him a thank you note. And a large bouquet of roses.”
“Blood red roses.” Severus’ hands slipped underneath the werewolf’s cardigan. “In the morning. Right now, Lupin, you’re wearing entirely too much.”
“You’d best do something about it, then.”
And to Remus’ unending delight, Severus proceeded to do exactly that.
Fin
Author: rose_whispers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Remus/Severus
Summary: Remus sees red (quite literally) and he and Severus, er, work out some unresolved issues
Word Count: 3313
A/N: PWP with a preamble. Freakishly belated birthday fic for spiked_angels. Her prompt was “office sex” and she loves Bon Jovi, hence the title
The air in the corridor leading to Dungeon Four seemed chillier than usual as Remus Lupin, certain he could actually see his breath coming out in puffs before him, ambled along. Well, not ambled so much as dawdled, intent on keeping as much time and distance as possible between himself and the prickly Potions Master awaiting him. After yet another spectacular row the night before, Remus had no real desire to enact Part Two this evening. However, when one was given a politely worded “suggestion” from Albus Dumbledore, one put aside personal differences and bloody well did what was asked.
From Severus’ partially opened door at the far end of the corridor, Remus could see a spill of glimmering candlelight staining the floor. He gritted his teeth, picturing the unctuous, aggravating professor pacing the floor or seated at his desk, grading papers. Or perhaps he’d draped himself in an armchair by his fireplace to read a book. The thought of that long, lean body displayed in such a way... Remus paused, wiping the image from his mind. He’d had this difficulty for more years than he cared to count, the juxtaposition of wanting this man so much while also detesting him much of the time and fighting the urge to give him a good hard kick, too.
He shook his head at himself in disgust. So what if he and Severus tended to get into scorching arguments every time they saw each other these days? In the name of Merlin, he was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were not cowardly in the face of slippery Slytherins. He just wished he knew why Severus seemed so eager to draw him into verbal battles and why he allowed himself to be goaded so. He never shouted at anyone else, no matter how angry he got. Just Severus. Always Severus. Infuriating, insidious, artful old conniver. Remus hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about the bastard.
He was halfway down the corridor toward Severus’ office when he heard crashes and shouting. He halted, listening intently as he stared at the door, watching the flicker of shadows on the floor. The sound of smashing glass followed by a screech of pained outrage sent Remus sprinting down the hall.
“You’ll pay for this, you lunatic! You senseless, depraved little beast!” a sonorous voice howled. “I will end you!”
Severus. Remus flung open the heavy oak door and stopped short. The office was beyond wrecked. Books had been hurled off the shelves, lying with broken spines in scattered heaps as torn pages fluttered through the supercharged air. Shattered glass lay all over and the contents from a dozen ruined bottles were sprayed against the walls and oozed across the floor. The shelves were knocked off their brackets, smashed and splintered and dangling at odd angles. The posters and imprints of various botanicals that decorated the office hung askew, the portrayed images flailing pathetically in their sloping confines. Parchment lay strewn across the desk and floor, some of it covered in students’ writing, some in Severus’ own, most of it torn and smudged.
But all of this was peripheral, fading into the background as Remus stared at Severus himself. The man was leaning heavily against the hearth, screaming obscenities into the low-burning fire. He was in his shirt sleeves, his frock coat draped across the back of his chair. As he straightened and turned from the fireplace, smoldering anger radiating off him in palpable waves, Remus gasped in horror. Blood was spreading inexorably, malevolently across his chest and toward his stomach, soaking the cotton of his once-pristine white shirt and causing the fabric to cling to his lithe frame. The crimson stain was ghastly, evidence of a wound too serious for Remus to contemplate. The attacker, Remus realised, must have escaped through the floo network.
“Severus!” Remus cried, crossing the room in four long strides and grabbing the Potions Master’s arms. “Oh god, what happened here? Death Eaters?”
Severus flinched, whether in shock or pain, Remus couldn’t tell, but he shook himself free of the werewolf’s hands and said, “Death Eaters? What on earth are you talking about?”
“You’ve been attacked!” If it hadn’t been one of Voldemort’s minions, then Remus didn’t have to worry about Harry and could concentrate on the man hemorrhaging before him. He did his best to quell the terrified panic rising in his chest. “Severus, sit! How were you been injured? Can you make it to the infirmary?”
Severus allowed himself to be pressed back into his chair but he continued to glare at Remus. “For god’s sake, I’m not going to the infirmary, you idiot. There’s nothing Poppy can do about this!” He waved his hand over his chest and stomach.
“Oh god,” Remus whispered, kneeling down before Severus and resting his hands on the other man’s knees. How could this be happening? He was sick with dread and grief. “Oh Severus, it’s not too late. It can’t be. I never told you-”
“Never told me what?” Severus said sharply.
Remus shook his head, distraught. “All those arguments, you must think I hate you. I don’t. Oh god, Severus, I can’t ever hate you. Not when I... Here, let me have a look.”
Severus batted Remus’ hands away from the buttons of his shirt, but Remus growled deep in his throat and tried again. “Let me look, dammit! At least let me see if I can help!”
He scrabbled uselessly at the buttons for a moment, but they were too slippery to hold, slicked down with the thick blood that spread ever further. He could barely see straight. Severus- his Severus- was going to die. With a snarl of frustration, Remus tore the shirt open, shredding fabric and sending buttons flying across the room, adding the chaos. Severus’ chest was glossy with his own blood, the skin itself dyed a lurid, gruesome ruby, the smattering of dark chest hair matted and tangled. Remus ran his fingertips as gently as possible down Severus’ breastbone, over his ribs, along his stomach, which quivered beneath his touch.
“Does it hurt?” Remus whispered, unable to look up. He examined the body beneath his hands with detached fascination, tracing patterns across Severus’ torso as though he was a child finger-painting. A large bruise was blotching its way into existence just beneath his collarbone, but apart from that Severus appeared unmarked. “I can’t find the wound, Severus. Where have you been injured?”
He flattened his hand, now stained crimson, over Severus’ heart, feeling it beat quickly but steadily. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the anguish that threatened to overwhelm him. Severus’ chest shook and Remus’ eyes flew open, looking up to find his face...
... Not at all twisted in pain or fear, but looking remarkably like he was holding back laughter. And then he wasn’t holding it back at all. Severus Snape, drenched in his own blood and about to expire, was actually laughing. Remus stared at him. He’d never once heard Severus laugh before. Of all the responses he’d expected from the man, hysteria wasn’t one of them.
“Severus, calm down, please,” he said. “Look, let’s get you up to see Poppy. I can’t find the wound, but-”
Severus cut him off with a wave of his hand, swallowing his outburst of laughter. “You’re slow, even for a Gryffindor. You do realise that, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
The Potions Master encircled Remus’ wrist with his long fingers and stood up, tugging the bewildered werewolf with him. “I’m not injured. I’m not dying, you fool! Though I must say, your reaction has been most... unexpected.”
Remus stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. He looked at the blood saturating Severus’ torso and took a deep breath, steadying himself. And then his brain finally unfroze and started processing somewhat rationally again. He breathed in again, scenting the air, which was completely devoid of the tangy, metallic odor of blood. The fingers still circling his wrist were casually, minutely moving, almost as though stroking him, and he suppressed a shiver. Even this small touch, combined with the nearness of the other wizard, was causing his body to respond. He bit his lip and said flatly, “that’s not blood.”
“It is not.”
“I don’t understand.”
Severus arched an eyebrow at him but refrained from sneering. “Peeves got in here just before you arrived. He created a spectacular mess, quite possibly because I seconded Argus’ motion at the staff meeting this morning to exorcise the little cretin.”
Remus cocked his head, willing his mind to sort out what Severus was saying, but finding it ridiculously difficult. How could it be otherwise, when Severus was standing so close and looking at him so intensely? “So Peeves attacked you?” It still wasn’t making any sense, and the proximity to the not-dying Potions Master was making him distractingly lightheaded.
“He hurled a bottle of my best vermillion ink at me,” Severus said, lip curling in outrage at the memory. “It was full to the brim and unstoppered. And expensive, I might add. He managed to spill every drop on me. And then he escaped through the fireplace.”
“This all happened because of some red ink on your shirt? Why didn’t you say anything?” Remus snatched his hand back. Oh god. And now Severus knew, he had to know, that Remus’ feelings for him were far different, or at least more complex, than the animosity he normally displayed.
“Your reaction startled me,” Severus admitted, echoing Remus’ thoughts. “I wanted to find out what the cause of it was. And now I know.”
Remus felt a damning blush spread across his face, and he was sure it was similar in colour to the ink staining Severus’ chest. “That was extraordinarily cruel, Severus. Even for you.”
Albus could hang- Remus would not work with Severus, not even for the Order. He opened his mouth to say so when the other wizard started laughing again. He actually looked... well, certainly not merry, but not as harsh. Remus growled, his lips curling into the angry sound, and Severus had the good grace to shut up.
“You think this is funny?” Rage, humiliation, and adrenaline ignited in Remus’ brain and blood and he grabbed at the ruined shirt, using it to propel Severus against the wall behind his desk. He closed in, fingers digging into Severus’ biceps, forehead to forehead. He bared his teeth and Severus’ eyes widened.
“You win, Severus,” he growled. The Potions Master tried to squirm, so Remus stilled his wiry form by pressing his body against Severus’. “You found out my dirty little secret.”
And then he paused, his own eyes widening, taking in the shallow breaths, the glazed expression, the reddened cheeks and- was that? Oh, yes, the now prominent bulge against his stomach. He leaned in experimentally and it was with heroic effort that Severus managed to quell a groan.
“I see,” the werewolf hissed, rolling his hips to bring his own growing arousal into contact with Severus’. “So maybe not just my little secret after all.”
Severus turned his head away and went very still, his jaw clenched. Remus rolled his hips again, eliciting another suppressed groan, and he reached out to grab Severus’ chin, turning his head back, staring into those depthless eyes. He liked what he saw.
“Not so funny now,” he said and leaned up to find a kiss, bruising, punishing, wrenching a confession of desire from Severus that was more than words or thoughts or past misdeeds and misapprehensions. He caught the thin bottom lip between his sharp teeth and pressed down, biting, teasing, until Severus moaned in frustration and shifted, bringing one lean thigh between Remus’ legs. Sucking Remus’ tongue into his mouth, he began to rock.
“Oh!” Remus gasped, finding his erection moving against hip and thigh, undulating to bring his own hip against Severus’ straining cock. He floated in sensation for a dizzying suspension of time, nothing in the world existing except for that rub, rub, rub against him and the feel of Severus’ lips exploring his jaw line. He stripped the soaking, ruined shirt from Severus’ shoulders and tossed it to the floor, letting his hands run up his naked arms and down his sides. He wrapped his arms around Severus’ waist and fell forward, still rocking, to taste the exposed throat. He explored the other wizard’s skin with kisses and licks and then teeth, biting rather harder than he normally would have, feeling the delightful press of skin beneath his teeth, tasting salt and ink and then, at a harsh breath from Severus, blood, just a drop or two. The dark-haired wizard tilted his head, granting Remus more access to the pale curve of his neck. Remus lapped the wine-coloured liquid up with a growl; this was blood. This was life. He was tasting Severus’ life, holding it in his mouth as his tongue laved the small bite, eliciting hisses and strained, meaningless murmurs from the man in his embrace.
The tang of the blood in his mouth brought him back to himself somewhat and he pulled back, staring at the positively disheveled Snape in his arms.
“I want-” he ground out, and Severus nodded.
Remus spun them both around and flipped Severus over, bending him over his wide mahogany desk so that he leaned on his elbows, panting, his hands splayed across the polished wooden surface.
“Divestimento,” Remus muttered with a tap of his wand, and the fabric of Severus’ trousers immediately unraveled, puddling on the floor unceremoniously.
“Lupin!” Severus began, twisting around, but a hand between his shoulder blades pushed him back down.
“You’ll never worry me that way again,” Remus warned, grinding his hips against the briefs-clad arse before him. Severus mumbled something that didn’t sound at all repentant, so Remus did it again. "Pardon me?”
“More,” Severus choked, pushing backward. “More. You. NOW!”
With another tap of his wand and a murmured, “laxus lubricatum,” Remus hooked a thumb beneath the elastic of Severus’ briefs and pulled them to one side, not bothering to stop long enough to remove them at all. He slipped two fingers into Severus’ arse, teasing the opening, testing his spell’s effectiveness. Satisfied, he shifted his weight, bring his arousal to rest against Severus arse. Normally Remus liked to take his time, to explore. Not this time. This time he needed to feel Severus around him, would go mad if he couldn’t have him.
“Move. Oh god, Remus, move now!” Severus commanded and Remus allowed himself a moment to delight in the fact that he was hearing those words from this man. Then he reached down to open his fly and free his cock and with a thrust he was pushing his way into exquisite heat, a tightness so intense that he felt as though Severus was all around him, that he was losing himself in the lean, eager body beneath him. With steady force, he pushed himself into the prepared slickness, sinking in until he could go no further. And then he began to move, pulling out almost all the way only to propel himself back in, Severus’ body seeming to urge him on, meeting him thrust for thrust, moan for moan. And the sound of two moans twining together, a strangely discordant harmony, was too much for Remus. He stopped thinking, stopped analyzing, stopped everything but experiencing the sensation of moving inside Severus, moving with Severus.
“Yesss,” the Potions Master gasped, and Remus leaned forward, first to nip and then kiss the inside of Severus’ shoulder blade. Keeping a firm grip on Severus’ angular hip, he let the other wander up, stroking the pale expanse of skin before him, chasing across vertebrae and muscle with lips and teeth and fingers and nails, skirting his hand sideways to follow the line of Severus’ ribs, sliding across the ink-slippery chest to tangle in matted hair and tease nipples, then pulling Severus up off the desk just enough so that he could slip his hand beneath the fabric of Severus’ briefs. Severus reared up, supporting himself on his hands to afford the werewolf enough room. He found Severus’ cock, so very, very hard, and wrapped his hand around it, relishing the sensation of Severus’ thrusts through the tight circle of fingers and thumb just as Remus drove into his body. So indescribably good as they discovered a rhythm that spiraled them both up and up, Remus aware that his angle must be very right from the way Severus jerked with every few strokes. His pace grew more frenzied as he slammed into the infuriating man bent over his own desk, as he felt himself matched thrust for thrust, his nails clawing against Severus’ back and shoulders, his head thrown back as he felt his release building, becoming unbearably close, and then he screamed his orgasm out for all and sundry to hear, Severus’ name on his lips and in his wildly beating heart. He slumped against Severus’ sweaty back, scored with Remus’ own nail marks. He kept his hand wound tightly about Severus’ cock, teasing the head with his thumb as Severus pumped faster, harder, until with a strangled cry he came as well.
They sagged together, Severus against the desk, Remus against Severus, both panting, perspiring, and not a little shocked at what they’d just done.
After a long silence that could have been awkward but somehow wasn’t, Remus planted a kiss between Severus’ shoulder blades before withdrawing from him. Severus turned around and sat at on the edge of his desk, wincing a little.
“Vocal, aren’t we?” Severus observed, something akin to a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Remus tried to respond, but seeing the man sitting before him in nothing but his underwear, his chest glistening from sweat and ink and still stained bright red, was doing odd things to Remus’ breathing. He knew he should back off, gauge how Severus was reacting to all of this, but he just couldn’t. He stepped closer, positioning himself between Severus’ legs, and tugged him into a languorous kiss, running his tongue along Severus’, feeling rather than hearing the moan reverberating from Severus’ throat. Severus stood, changing the angle of the kiss so that Remus had to tilt his head up a little, and the Potions Master wrapped his arms around Remus’ waist, urging him nearer until they were flush against each other. With a shaky laugh, Remus pulled back just enough to take in Severus’ appearance while leaving their hips firmly locked together.
“I’ve never seen you look so deliciously wanton,” he appraised, sweeping his gaze up and down. “You’re an utter mess, Severus.”
“You aren’t much better, werewolf,” Severus shot back.
“I think we need to get you cleaned up.”
Severus inclined his head toward a door set in the far wall. “The bathroom is that way.” He stepped out of Remus’ embrace and retrieved his outer robes, wrapping them around his shoulders before crossing the room with his new lover. Remus wondered what Severus’ skin would feel like when it was moist and soapy, just how much slipperier he would be, what it would feel like for his own wet skin to slide along Severus’.
“I suppose I’m obligated not to exorcise Peeves after all,” Severus said matter-of-factly, holding the door open for Remus and stooping to steal a kiss as he passed through. “If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have discovered that you fancied me.”
Remus laughed outright, hauling Severus close to him. “I think we should send him a thank you note. And a large bouquet of roses.”
“Blood red roses.” Severus’ hands slipped underneath the werewolf’s cardigan. “In the morning. Right now, Lupin, you’re wearing entirely too much.”
“You’d best do something about it, then.”
And to Remus’ unending delight, Severus proceeded to do exactly that.
Fin