FIC: Extract of Peppermint for dark_cygnet, RL/SS, NC-17

[rose_whispers]

Title: Extract of Peppermint
Author: rose_whispers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Remus/Severus
Summary: Seeing Remus with a bad cold and a "friend" named Henry triggers an unexpected response in Severus that he can only deal with through the creation of new potions
Word Count: 10,476
A/N: Not quite as fluffy as it sounds! This is a story for dark_cygnet, who was feeling a bit low months ago. Sorry for the delay!

Huge thanks to elspethsheir for the excellent overnight betaing!



“Damn the werewolf!” Severus groused as he paced across his office. He glanced at the cobwebby grandfather clock in the corner. As much as Severus liked to taunt him otherwise, Remus Lupin was meticulous about taking his wolfsbane. He was always punctual, almost annoyingly so, in showing up at Hogwarts via Severus’ fireplace for the three days each month he needed to ingest the brew. He always swallowed his grimace along with the potion, always displayed a calm, polite exterior when he said, “Thank you, Severus.” The same words, every time. They rarely spoke beyond them.

Remus always arrived at five o’clock. It was now six thirty. Severus halted his pacing, his ire growing. How dare he make Severus wait and worry? Not worry, Severus checked himself quickly. How dare he make Severus wait? How dare he waste the Potions Master’s time?

Severus took a large phial and fastidiously ladled the werewolf’s allotment into it. He sealed it carefully, tucked it into his robes, and with a muttered curse he flooed to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The manor was eerily quiet when Severus stepped into the kitchen, absently brushing away the soot that inevitably clung to his greasy hair. He paused, listening intently. Not a sound emanated from within. Not even the ceaseless chatter of the Black family portraits could be heard. With a scowl, Severus stalked through the gloomy house toward the staircase. He had no idea where Remus’ rooms were, but he could only assume they were up. He paused to listen at the first floor landing and again at the second. He almost turned to continue to the third when a violent sneeze tore through the air.

Eyes narrowing in triumph, Severus followed the sound through the second floor corridor. Most of the doors were shut, but the one at the far end of the hall stood open a few inches, a hint of candlelight spilling from within. Severus crept closer and listened for a moment before being rewarded with a sniffling sound. He knocked sharply three times.

“Who’s dere?” a voice rasped.

Severus blinked. He’d expected the gratingly cheerful baritone that he always associated with Lupin, not this laryngitic wheeze. He opened the door and floated through, regulating his movements as he often did at school so that it seemed like he glided instead of walked. He found it a most useful intimidation tactic, and it amused him to no end that the students didn’t realize he did it deliberately.

He took in the room. A kind of organized chaos, with Lupin’s deteriorating robes slung over a chair and piles of books lining the walls. Severus squelched the momentary flare of interest at what the werewolf was reading. Instead, he let his gaze settle on the four poster bed that Lupin had claimed, and at the lump currently buried beneath layers of blankets. Blast, Severus thought. Lupin had missed the gliding.

Severus changed tactics and stomped over to the bed, making as much intimidating noise as he could. When he reached the bedside, a tousled tawny-gray head poked itself tortoise-like from beneath the covers.

Lupin was not a pretty sight. His eyes were swollen, his skin was ashen, and he was breathing through his mouth. He stared at Severus for a moment as if through a fog, and then a dumbstruck expression came over him. “Severus? Whad dime is it?”

If Severus hadn’t already worked himself up into an indignant anger, he’d have found the congested tone comical. As it was, he said poisonously, “Quarter to seven, werewolf. Have you no concept of-”

Lupin sneezed mightily and Severus flinched away. “Do you truly think London needs a phlegm-clogged, rabid beast prowling its streets, sniffling all over unsuspecting children?” he tried again.

Lupin rolled his eyes and sank back down beneath the covers. “Thangk you for briggigg the potiod, Severus,” he mumbled. “I’b sorry I failed to fetch it byself.”

Only a massive and unexpected twist of pity prevented Severus from jumping on the word “fetch” and skewering his old adversary with it. He sighed. “Well, here it is now. Drink it so that I may get of here and disinfect myself.”

Remus heaved himself into a sitting position. His threadbare cream-coloured nightshirt was only halfway buttoned up, revealing the graceful arch of Lupin’s throat and his hairy chest. As he shifted into position, the shirt slipped down, revealing one scarred shoulder, and Severus was taken aback by the surprisingly well-defined muscles of the werewolf’s arm and upper body. Remus looked almost boyish as he raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. He meekly took the offered phial and downed the contents in a few sips. Severus noted that he must truly have been ill, as no trace of the usual expression of disgust graced his features. Indeed, it seemed as though Remus couldn't taste the concoction at all. He handed the empty phial back, fell down dramatically, and hiked the sheets up to his chin.

“Thangk you, Severus,” he murmured, almost as an afterthought. His eyes slid closed, and then his body was wracked by a coughing fit.

Severus recoiled. When the fit was over, he glared suspiciously at the other wizard as though suspecting that he was deliberately trying to infect him. “Why on earth aren’t you taking something for that? Honestly, who gets this sick with a chest cold?”

Remus cracked one eye open and looked at Severus. “You’re da potiods baster. You tell be.”

Severus bit back a curse at his own stupidity. Of course- most magical plants interacted with the wolfsbane in such a way as to render it useless. He recovered quickly. “I see. If you clear that cold up with one of the usual potions, it won’t be a sniffling werewolf London will have to worry about it.”

“Points to Slytherid, and all that,” Remus mumbled, as though too tired to keep up his usual verbal sparring match with his old foe. “Bloody hell,” he muttered after a moment, easing himself out of bed.

“If you’re expecting me to rub some kind of decongestant salve on your chest-” Severus warned, but Remus brushed by him toward a door that must have led to an en suite bathroom. Not that Severus was looking, of course, but the werewolf had surprisingly well-formed legs emerging from beneath the thigh-length nightshirt. Nicely shaped, lightly muscled, covered in coarse hair... Severus shook his head, clearing away such strange thoughts.

“You doe as well as I do the wolfsbade’s a diuretic,” Remus said on his way by.

Severus was about to make a retort when he noticed something in the bed. The bathroom door slammed shut and Severus took the opportunity to prowl closer. Nestled deep in the germ-infested blankets was something covered in fuzz. Severus removed his wand and intoned, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The fuzzy thing lifted sedately out of the bed. Severus found himself face-to-face with a well-worn stuffed dragon. The fur had probably once been black, though now it was closer to a mottled gray. It wore a red bow tie around its spindly neck and its eyes were a deep emerald green, though Severus immediately noticed there were several chips in the paint, giving the dragon’s eyes a flecked appearance. He motioned the thing toward him with his wand and reached out, fascinated. His fingers brushed the fur and he was surprised to note that the stuffed animal was warm, warmer than just from Remus’ residual body heat. It was somehow generating heat within itself. Further, when he grasped it by its belly, it let out a purr that could be felt more than heard. It was a surprisingly soothing effect.

Which, of course, was the moment Remus returned to the room. Severus whipped around as the door clicked shut, long fingers still wrapped around tatty faded plush. Remus’ eyes widened, and then just as quickly narrowed, and Severus was shocked to see a moment of pain dash fleetingly across his drawn face. He walked up to Severus, snatched the toy away, and clambered back into bed.

“Dod’t start, Sdape,” Remus growled, rolling over so that his back was to the Potions Master. “Yes, I sleep with Henry. I deed the comfort. Save the security blanket, little Rebus deeds his dolly, 37 year old ban obviously sleeps with a toy jokes for whed I’b feelig better, all right?”

Severus was too stunned to reply. He was experiencing an emotion he couldn’t quite put a name too. It was something to do with shock, something to do with sadness, and some other intangible feeling that he simply didn’t understand. He just shook his head and retreated from the room, down the stairs, and through the fireplace.

The feeling niggled at him once he was safely in his dungeon office, pacing once more. He couldn’t get the sick, pathetic werewolf and his stuffed dragon out of his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the bedroom, so full of books but little else, not a single memento to distinguish the space as Lupin’s. The room was a shabbier mirror of Severus’ own chambers.

“I need the comfort”, Remus had said. He’d enchanted a toy to soothe him through warmth and return his affection through purrs. He clearly didn’t just bring the thing out when he was sick. He slept with it every night. Why was this bothering Severus so much? A pitiably ill Marauder with a stuffed dragon should have had him cackling with malicious glee. At best, he should have felt indifferent. But he couldn’t put the wolf out of his mind, couldn’t get rid of the absurdly protective feeling that kept rising up inside him. How utterly ridiculous!

He perched vulture-like on his chair and pulled the latest batch of first year essays toward him. Groaning, he accioed his quill and ink and attacked the first paper with vicious mirth.

“‘Asphodel’ with two ‘f’s, Mr. Smythe? Dear, oh dear.”

Severus managed to assault the essays for half on hour, marking his students on a distinctly downward curve that matched his scowl, before his concentration was broken again by the image of dull amber eyes and pitiful expression and slumped shoulders intruding into his consciousness.

With a snarl, Severus threw down his quill and stood, stalking toward the opposite wall. If he kept thinking about the pestilent wolf, he’d never get any work done! He had to do something about it so he could stop these bizarre thoughts. He stood before the rows of shelves laden with jars and books and torturous looking instruments and he lifted a stoppered beaker containing a green, pulsating goo. He turned it upside down and replaced it. Then he picked up a dusty pewter cauldron and put it down exactly thirteen inches to the left of its original position. Finally, he spoke the password to make the ritual complete: “pateus laboris”.

With a shudder, the shelves began to shift, sliding along the wall to the left and right until a space seven feet tall by four feet wide of cold, bare stone remained. Then the blocks of granite themselves lurched, the bottom half sinking slowly, majestically into the floor while the top half rose up, disappearing into the ceiling. The effect was one of a gaping maw opening wide, waiting to swallow Severus whole, and it always made him feel just a little uneasy. The grating noise of stone on stone never failed to produce a cringe in the Potions Master either.

He stepped through the opening and down the short corridor it revealed. With each step he took, the wall sconces before him flared to life, lighting his way. The final set illuminated his destination- his workshop. No one else save Albus Dumbledore knew of its existence. His most questionable ingredients rested here, and here his most creative draughts were born. Here he would create a potion to banish Remus Lupin from his mind.

He tore through his medicinal supplies, not even sure what he was looking for until he’d begun removing ingredients. Nearly everything he kept in his storage cabinet had some sort of magical property, however, and that was not what he needed. He seized a scrap of parchment and a quill and began to scribble out a list of needed ingredients.

Extract of Peppermint
Echinacea purpurea
Goldenseal root
Lemongrass- Vitamin A
Poppy’s Orange Juice Vitamin C powder
Garlic extract
Reishi mushrooms
Ginger
Eucalyptus
Fenugreek
Coltsfoot
Slippery elm powder
Oil of oregano

He read through his list once before turning back to his supply cupboard. He had the mushrooms and the slippery elm, but nothing else. With a muttered curse he stomped back through the corridor into the office proper and out into the dungeons. He stormed up and up to the infirmary, using his master key to open the door. Poppy allowed him access to the infirmary because she kept many herbs on hand that Severus didn’t. He raided her stores efficiently, mercilessly, plucking dark dusty bottles and small burlap pouches from her shelves, ticking off each item he needed on his list as he did so. Poppy had everything except the coltsfoot and the fenugreek. He locked up her cupboards and made his way out of the castle, crossing the dark grounds toward the greenhouses. He didn’t need a lumos spell to light his way; the nearly full moon flooded the lawns with a shimmering glow. It made Severus think of the ailing werewolf and he had to wrench his thoughts away. Like Poppy Pomfrey, Pomona Sprout allowed Severus access to her domain to gather any herbs he required. Within minutes he had the final ingredients in his possession. Grimly satisfied, he set off for the dungeons once more, lost in the process of creating a recipe and method for the optimal potion as he walked.

Back in his workshop, he set a cauldron filled with purified water boiling over a low flame and began mashing, chopping, and combining his ingredients, adding them vigilantly, timing each addition with care. He stirred precisely, keeping his mind on the process. He let it simmer for fifteen minutes on low heat. When it was ready, he strained out the herbs, leaving a pure infusion. He lifted the cauldron off the fire, placed a sealing spell around it to keep the heat in and stop it from spilling, scooped up a wide glass basin, and went straight back to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t notice the time until he passed the clock on the wall by Mrs. Black’s portrait. Three thirty in the morning. His brow crinkled- he’d had no idea it was so late.

“Dogs! Murderous, traitorous, Mudblood-loving-”

“Oh, do shut up,” Severus snapped at Sirius’ mother. “You need all the beauty sleep you can get.”

“My own son forsakes me for a filthy half-breed!” she shrieked. “Dies and leaves his dirty darling skulking about my house!”

“Madam, I am a Snape,” Severus said with a scowl. “And you and I both know that I am perfectly well aware of how to both silence you and get you down from that wall. It’s at my mercy that you’re still here at all!”

She was quiet as he ascended the staircase, but he heard her begin to howl obscenities at him after he reached the second floor landing. When he arrived at Remus’ room, the werewolf was propped up in bed, peering through the darkness curiously.

“I heard you ahd her,” he mumbled, confused. “Is everythig all righd?”

Severus whipped out his wand and conjured a ball of blue fire in his glass basin. He placed it on the night table by Remus’ bed, the azure flames casting odd shadows against the walls and lining Remus’ face, making him look even more unhealthy than he had earlier that evening. Severus then set the cauldron hovering an inch above the flames.

“The Order can’t stand to have one of its members so miserably unable to function,” Severus said, eyes on the cauldron as the strong scent of peppermint filled the room. “You’re to drink a cup of this every four hours. It contains only medicinal herbs, not magical ones, and it should unplug that head of yours and help you to get well.”

“Really?”

Severus glanced into Remus’ eyes, which glinted strangely, like honeyed cobalt, in the firelight. He was looking at Severus intently, unbelievingly. Severus swallowed, distinctly uncomfortable under that unwavering stare. “Not that we can tell the difference between your normal wooly-headedness and your current condition, of course. I’ll be by tomorrow evening to replenish this potion and deliver the wolfsbane to you.”

“Severus-”

“Don’t thank me,” Severus snarled, panic blooming in his stomach, his instincts screaming at him to flee. He didn’t know if he could handle gratitude from Remus. “Just... just drink. Then you won’t have any excuse to laze about this accursed house, shirking your share of the duties.”

He stood up in a flurry of billowing robes and did his absolute best to glide soundlessly from the room, though he was afraid the effect had been spoiled by the hammering of his heart. He hurried back to Hogwarts and straight to his chambers, collapsing on his sofa. He didn’t bother to remove his boots as he stretched out, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He knew now what that strange, unnamable emotion he was experiencing was. He understood what had driven him to create the healing potion for Remus.

His heart was breaking.

Severus turned onto his side, trying to fight off the wave of semi-hysteria threatening to overwhelm him. The sick werewolf and his ruddy purring dragon toy had broken Severus’ heart. And it was only possible to experience heartbreak if your heart first belonged to the one who had broken it.

~*~

Severus didn’t know what to do with himself. The swift, terrible realization had completely knocked him off-center. He’d never been in love before, had never allowed it. But the wolf had slipped through his wards with his easy, beguiling smile and innocent, interesting conversation. Remus never made demands of him, never expected anything from him except the wolfsbane potion. He was the only person Severus had ever known who hadn’t required him to behave a certain way. He was, Severus was loath to admit, a sweet, intelligent, handsome man, and Severus was in love with him.

And he had to see the bastard again tonight. Severus kicked over his garbage bin with a snarl. He couldn’t face the beast, couldn’t blow his cover. If Lupin knew that Severus’ feelings had changed, he’d never let him live it down. This was beyond any stupid prank the Marauders had dreamed up when they were all children. This was the ultimate humiliation. He could just imagine the look on Remus’ face: part pity, part amusement. No, he could never find out.

And just when had Severus’ feelings changed, anyway? Last night with the bloody dragon? No, that had simply been the catalyst for discovery. Severus had no idea when it had happened, but it had happened long ago. This familiar ache, so far nameless and mostly ignored, had been with him for years.

With a huff of annoyance, he filled the usual goblet with wolfsbane and plucked another small cauldron of his cold infusion away from the self-contained flames burning on his table. He would not back down, not from this. Cloaking himself with an air of detachment, he flooed to Grimmauld Place. The temporary dizziness he felt as he whipped past a blur of other fireplace grates mirrored his own emotional tumult, and he wondered if he would actually be sick before he arrived.

The place was deathly quiet once more. Mrs. Black eyed him angrily as he stalked past, but she didn’t say a word. Clearly, he thought with a smirk, his warning had sunk in. He proceeded straight to Remus’ room. A low-burning fire crackled in the hearth by Remus’ bed and the werewolf himself was curled up with Henry, fast asleep. A leather-bounded tome lay draped across his chest, a pair of glasses perched on his nose as though he’d dozed off while reading. Severus approached the bed and glanced into the cauldron he’d set up early that morning. Not a drop was left, and Severus nodded with clinical satisfaction. At least Remus had followed his instructions. He replenished the flames in the glass basin, set the original cauldron on the floor, and replaced it with the new batch of potion before putting the goblet of wolfsbane next to it. Then he turned to Remus, intending to shake him awake, but he found himself staring at him instead. His face was so calm, a tiny smile curling at the edge of his lips. Severus’ breath caught. He hadn’t realized that Remus wore glasses when he read now. They made him look scholarly, attractive, serious, and Severus wanted nothing more than to swoop down and kiss him until his eyes fluttered open behind those lenses. Severus gritted his teeth. He hated thinking this way, feeling little tingles running through his body every time he looked at the werewolf, every time he thought about him. He leaned forward and let his fingertips ghost a millimeter above Remus’ face, tracing a path along his cheekbones and jaw, down the bridge of his nose and across his forehead. He could feel warmth radiating from Remus, though he wasn’t sure if that was from fever or was simply his natural state when he was sleeping. He let his fingers drop lower, skimming across Remus forehead so lightly that he might not have been touching him at all, but for the thrill that was blooming in his stomach and racing through his veins. He brushed Remus’ fringe away from his face, and then removed the glasses from his face, folding them neatly and placing them on the night table by the cauldron. He allowed himself a moment’s more indulgence, letting the pad of his index finger dance gently across each eyelid, reveling in the softness of the skin and the intimacy of the gesture. His mind chose that instant to dredge up Mrs. Black’s words: “left his dirty darling skulking about in my house!” He shook his head fiercely as he pulled back. Clearly Remus had been more than a friend to Sirius sodding Black, then, which meant Severus had no chance with him.

“Lupin,” he said, louder than he’d intended. Remus stirred but didn’t awaken. Severus lunged forward and picked up the book Remus had been reading, closing it with a resounding snap. He took in the title before dropping it back on the bed. “Advanced Techniques in Offensives Against Lethifolds”, a book Severus himself had been meaning to read.

When he looked again at the man lying prone before him, he found Remus blinking sleepily at him.

“That tibe already?”

Severus nodded, handing Remus the goblet as he struggled upright. Remus downed it briskly and wrinkled his nose.

“Your cold potion bust be working, Severus,” he said, snuggling back down. “I can albost taste it again. And I’b not nearly as stuffed up.”

“Well, get some sleep,” Severus snapped, as though Remus hadn’t been doing just that before the Potions Master had awakened him. “I’ve brought you more. Continue taking it every four hours. I shall return tomorrow evening at this time. Mind that you’re eating properly as well.”

Severus left the room before he could hear any response Remus might make.

“Eat properly?” he muttered to himself as he reappeared in his office. “Eat properly? That’s what you have to say? Ridiculous!”

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of Remus’ eyelids beneath his fingers as he joined the rest of the staff at the head table for dinner. He couldn’t help but imagine what the rest of Remus’ body would feel like to his exploring hands.

~*~

Severus couldn’t help the sense of relief that washed over him on Sunday evening. This would be the last time he had to deliver the wolfsbane to Remus this month, and if his calculations had been done correctly, then he’d created enough of the cold infusion to last until the werewolf was over his illness completely. Severus wouldn’t have to see him for another month, and in that time he would be able to talk himself out of this insane infatuation. He’d obliviate himself if he had to do so. He couldn’t stand this constant, cloying ache. He didn’t want to live with the unrelenting truth that he would never have what he wanted. Remus Lupin had no interest in him. He knew that. Over the last two days he’d replayed every interaction between them that he could remember. At best, Remus always wore an expression that was pleasant but neutral when addressing Severus. There’d never been a hint that Remus might return his feelings, and Severus would never give the werewolf the opportunity to ridicule him for this preposterous attraction.

So decided, he entered Grimmauld Place for the last time that month, cauldron in one hand, wolfsbane goblet in the other. He stalked past the sitting room, almost missing the figure within. Only a stab of intuition, something that had kept him alive more than once, made him pause. He glanced into the room where a fire crackled innocuously in the heart, the only source of light. Burnished shadows shifted softly through the room, blurring its edges. Remus Lupin was sprawled on the sofa, one of Molly Weasley’s knitted afghans draped across his torso. One arm was thrown over his head, the sleeve of his shirt pulled up to reveal dark brown hair along the forearm. The other arm was wrapped possessively around an audibly purring Henry. With the gentle light bathing his face, he looked utterly at peace. Somehow, it broke Severus’ heart all over.

With a lethal glare, Severus made his way to the werewolf’s side, viciously squelching a surreal bite of jealousy toward the stupid dragon. He set up the cauldron once more over another basin of flames and turned to the werewolf. He intended to give Remus a good shout to wake him, but that brandy-coloured light was intoxicating him, softening his own sense of self-preservation and he found himself bending down and touching Lupin’s stubble-covered cheek instead. He supposed he should never have touched the wolf yesterday; it had been addictive, and he simply couldn’t help himself this evening. Such a grainy, gritty texture shadowing Lupin’s face. Severus allowed his fingertips to stroke the jawbone upward until he encountered graying hair at the temple. Severus’ breath caught at the contradiction of rough cheek and soft hair.

And then Remus moved, his hand catching Severus’ in a firm grip, and he brought it to his lips, still mostly asleep. The brush of a soft mouth across the palm of his hand brought Severus back to reality. This taste was something he would never be allowed more of, not when the werewolf was awake and aware.

“Let go, you fool!” he hissed, wrenching his hand away as Remus opened his eyes, blinking drowsily. Severus hated how delicious he looked when he was bewildered.

“Severus? Did I fall asleep again?”

Severus put on his absolute best sneer. “Yes. Now drink before you pass out again. Honestly, I expect this kind of melodrama from Potter, but from a grown man it is simply-” Heartbreaking? Endearing?- “intolerable.”

Remus sniffled loudly and propped himself up on one elbow, stifling a yawn. Despite the histrionics, he looked better than he had in days.

“Am I supposed to spoon-feed this to you?” Severus demanded.

Remus shook his head ruefully. “Of course not. “ He took the goblet and swallowed its contents in two long sips. “Blast,” he said with false cheer, “ I can taste it again.”

Severus rolled his eyes, snatched back the goblet, and pointed to the cauldron simmering on the coffee table. “And this is to restock your cold potion,” he said stiffly. “It should last you the next two days. You do sound better, at any rate.”

He spun on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen. He was nearly out of the room, away from that bloody enchanting fire when he heard the rustle of blankets and quick steps of bare feet crossing hardwood floors, and then a warm hand landed on his shoulder. A hand that had briefly held his and guided it to Remus’ gentle lips.

Severus turned around slowly, haughtily. “Am I not keeping you from dreams of chasing rabbits, Lupin?”

Remus looked at him uncertainly. “No. I just wanted to thank you.”

Severus was acutely aware that the hand was still on his shoulder. “Whatever for?”

“The infusion, of course.” Remus smiled that easy, winning smile and Severus felt his panic growing. Too close, the man was standing too close and looking so good and saying something- what? Focus! “... still be so sick and it surprised me that you’d do that for me. I thought you despised me.”

“Of course I do,” Severus said absently, wondering if this mindless floating sensation compared to the Imperius curse. He reached up to bat Remus’ hand away from him but found his fingers curling around Remus’ wrist instead and staying there.

“And yet you created it for me,” Remus said, stepping closer, tilting his chin just a little to maintain eye contact. “It was a friendly thing to do.”

“Prudence. Can’t have an Order member so ill that he cannot perform those duties necessary for us all to survive.”

The hand on his shoulder moved, sliding around the nape of his neck and Severus froze, his own hand falling back down to his side. “Lupin?”

“It’s almost like you care, Severus,” Remus whispered, a dangerous edge to his tone. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Severus,’ a tentative, questioning action. Severus was too stunned to move, and apparently Remus took this as license to continue, wrapping both arms around the taller man’s neck and drawing his tongue slowly, maddeningly along Severus’ bottom lip.

“Enough,” Severus rasped, tearing himself from the embrace and thoroughly startling Remus in the process. Whatever was going on here, inside Remus’ sleep and sickness addled brain, it could not be allowed to continue. Not now, not when Remus was likely to look back on this with horror when he was lucid.

“But I thought-”

“Get away from me,” Severus hissed and disappeared in a flurry of robes and floo powder.

~*~

Such a cliché to hate Mondays, Severus mused as he stumbled into the staff room, hating Mondays for all he was worth. An entire week of teaching nitwits lay ahead of him. Possibly worse was the inane chitchat he would have to make with his colleagues.

”What did you do this weekend, Severus?”

“Oh, the usual- nursed a sick werewolf I’m supposed to hate. Realized I’m in love with a once mortal enemy who will never return my feelings.”

Yes, Severus hated Mondays. He made his way over to his favourite chair and sighed. But he was free of the werewolf for a full month, and at least the staff room was empty.

“I saw him this morning.”

Damnation! Was anything ever going to go in his favour?

“How was he?” Professor Sinistra asked, filling her teacup and sitting down by the empty fireplace.

“A little worse for wear,” Professor McGonagall replied, following suit. “He’s just gotten over a bad cold, so the transformation was a bit harder on him than usual.”

“Terrible. Such a lovely man. A shame he no longer works here.” This said with a definite glare in Severus’ direction.

Severus glared back at Sinistra as he stood up. “Yes, it’s a terrible shame the school no longer employs a dark creature capable of ripping the children to shreds.” He swept out of the room with a scowl and stomped down to his classroom, reasoning that if his mood was already so foul, he might as well get an early start on the terrorizing of innocent children.

Instead he found himself in his workshop once more, brewing a combination of devil’s claw, extract of peppermint, cayenne pepper, white willow bark, and a mixture of oils of eucalyptus, camphor, and wintergreen, berating himself the entire time. It should not bother him that Remus was suffering! If this had been Sirius Black, he’d be laughing. Instead, all he could picture was Remus, curled in his bed, Henry in his arms, too weakened and in pain to sit upright, hurting with every breath. The thought of Remus in pain caused pain for Severus as well. And his damned heart kept breaking at the thought.

He let himself sink into reminiscence over those stolen touches as he stirred eighty times counterclockwise. Let himself wonder what it would be like to be allowed to touch at his leisure, to bring a flush to Remus’ cheeks and a howl from his throat from stimulating just the right spot. Was the werewolf sensitive? Noisy? Affectionate?

He called a tub of aloe vera gel to his side and combined it with his herbal composition, making a thick, pungent paste. He scooped the whole mess into an empty jar savagely and muttered, “You think he’ll want you because you made him potions and salves? You’re an imbecile and a fool!” And, he thought bitterly, he would still go to see the other man immediately after classes.

He went instead at lunch and found Remus hunched over the kitchen table, staring at a bowl of porridge as though trying to get it into his mouth telekinetically.

“Lupin.”

Remus jumped and winced. “Severus. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” He gestured vaguely at himself and then winced at the effort.

Severus nearly marched right back through the fireplace. Remus was dressed in nothing but a pair of plaid flannel pajama bottoms, revealing in full the upper body that had so tantalized Severus all weekend. The lightly muscled arms, the hairy chest, the slim waist, the scar tissue at the juncture of shoulder and neck. Severus swallowed hard, maintaining a neutral expression with some difficulty. Remus was so bloody masculine, so desirable, and it made Severus want to smash something.

“I...” why was he here again? Oh yes. “I overheard that you were in pain, and I’ll not have it said that my potions caused you any harm.”

“Your-?”

“McGonagall told Sinistra this morning that your cold has made your transformation more painful,” Severus said, studiously not looking at Remus’ torso. He fiddled with the container in his hands. “If she knows you’ve been consuming a concoction of mine, she might make the illogical leap that it was my own potion that caused you unnecessary pain.”

Severus knew that his own logic was somewhat strained, but what else could he say? Remus was watching him dubiously. “So as a matter of professional concern, you’ve come to see how I am?”

“Precisely.” Severus took a step forward, taking in Remus’ appearance as coldly as possible. “Are you worse off than usual?”

“Am I going to be chastised for being cowardly and un-Gryffindorlike if I tell you the truth?”

Severus snorted. “No one would ever accuse you of being anything but a Gryffindor. Your muscles are sore?”

Remus sighed, bare shoulders slumping. “My muscles are aching. And my joints. And my skin.”

“Ah, well. If that’s all,” Severus said, arching an eyebrow. “This salve should take the edge off.”

Remus pushed himself to his feet but immediately collapsed into the chair again. “Why are you helping me?”

“Didn’t I tell you it was prudent? Look, are you capable of applying this or are you not?”

Remus shook his head. “Hurts too bloody much, Severus. So either do it yourself or just leave it and I’ll try in a bit.”

“That’s gratitude,” Severus muttered, prowling forward and hoping to any deity willing to listen to him that Remus was in too much pain to notice the flush on Severus’ cheeks and the way his hands shook. How could he turn down an invitation to touch Lupin? He opened the jar mechanically and put it next to Remus’ porridge bowl with a clatter. He scooped some of the salve out and liberally coated the fingers of both hands with it, enjoying the pleasantly cool tingle he felt upon contact, the scent of peppermint filling the kitchen. The Potions Master in him swelled with pride, but he had no time for egotism. He hesitated only a few seconds before reaching out with both hands and trailing his slicked fingers across the broad sweep of Lupin’s upper back.

“Oh!” Remus gasped, leaning forward against the kitchen table to afford Severus more room. His skin was warm but the muscles were taut, unyielding. It made Severus’ stomach clench to think of the pain that muscle tension was undoubtedly causing, and he rebuked himself inwardly for enjoying the sensation of Remus’ skin beneath his hands. He felt intoxicated by the contact, slick fingers sliding easily across Remus’ body while Remus sat there and let him. He worked his way along the hunched shoulders and shoulder blades, followed the curve of Remus’ spine, spreading the salve outward along the orbit of his ribs, stopping at his sides. He moved downward to the lower back where it disappeared beneath the waistband of Remus’ pajama bottoms, continuing his ministrations until he had glazed every inch of Remus’ exposed skin with the salve.

“You can press a bit harder,” Remus said dreamily. Clearly the analgesic effects were already beginning to take.

Severus gritted his teeth. “This isn’t a bloody massage, Lupin. I’m not some... Muggle cabana boy!”

Remus swallowed an unmistakable bark of laughter, his body shaking with mirth. “I should say not.”

“Turn around.”

Remus lifted himself up from the chair, managing not to topple over this time, and turned, leaning against the table for support. His golden eyes were still dancing with laughter, though Severus could still see pain etched into his features. He couldn’t breathe when Remus looked at him like that but he couldn’t look away either, couldn’t bear to break this momentary connection. He concentrated instead on fishing more salve out of the jar and onto his fingers without looking down. Not taking his eyes off Remus’ face, he reached for the werewolf’s right arm. He smeared the salve into his shoulder and down his biceps, paying attention to the elbow and wrist joints. Then he repeated the process on the left arm. Remus’ eyes fluttered closed, allowing Severus to manipulate him however he wished.

When Severus’ fingers touched his chest, a gasp escaped from Remus’ throat and Severus swallowed hard. Of course this would feel good to the werewolf. The cooling, painkilling gel would have him feeling like he was floating after the suffering he’d been dealing with all morning. Severus lightly brushed salve across Remus’ chest, avoiding his nipples, and trailed it down his abdomen, where he stopped. He couldn’t imagine Remus had much pain in his stomach, and he didn’t want to waste the salve. Nor did he want the temptation of stomach muscles beneath his hands. Even Severus Snape, with his legendary self-restraint, could only take so much before snapping and throwing the aching werewolf down across the table in order to have his wicked, wicked way with him.

“That should help,” Severus managed, stepping back. Remus opened his eyes again, looking thoughtful and drowsy. “Once it’s taken effect, I’m sure you can apply some to your legs. Pay special attention to the knee and hip joints, and-”

His lecture was cut off abruptly when Remus seized him by the wrists, all hint of sleepiness evaporating. Severus wrested himself free, stronger than the overtired man before him, at least at the moment.

“Kindly refrain from manhandling me, werewolf,” he hissed, retreating toward the fireplace. Remus followed him, limping but determined.

“Severus, wait!” he said, this time his voice carrying the suggestion of a growl. “Tell me why you’ve done all of this! You do nothing unless you wish to!”

Severus bit back a strangled cry. Stupid, clueless, alluring man! Remus reached for him again, catching his cheek in a caress. Severus was too stunned to move and Remus took the opportunity to stroke his thumb across Severus’ lips. “How can you keep running from me? From this? It feels so right.” He stepped closer still until their hips were almost touching, and he smiled suggestively.

Severus flinched. How could Remus stand there and propose some kind of meaningless liaison? He swatted the werewolf’s hand away. This hurt too much. This was why he never allowed himself to fall in love. “This?” he seethed, his tone low and menacing. “You think this... physical attraction is more than that? I’m not a bit of stuffing and fabric that you can enchant to give you comfort at night! And I’m certainly not a convenient body to replace the one in your memory. You want him? Go find him then!”

He didn’t have to say the name for it to hang heavy in the air between them.

With a snarl, Remus stumbled backward. “You think- damn it, Severus! Go back to the bloody school. I can’t even- God! I don’t want Sirius. I never did. The only person I want is clearly too big an idiot to see it, and at the moment I don’t want him all that much anyway.” He staggered away, catching the wall for support and disappearing through the door.

With a nod of empty satisfaction, Severus tossed a handful of floo powder into the hearth. Well. That should stop the crazy werewolf from bothering him further. Now he could be left in peace and misery.

~*~

The Potions Master folded himself back into his favourite chair in the nearly deserted staff room after classes finished that afternoon. The only sound came from Professor Vector, who was curled up across the room, flipping through an arithmancy journal. Severus sipped a cup of peppermint tea, willing his headache and his heartache away. Remus sodding Lupin. He fumed silently over his tea, staring blankly into the hearth, recalling the way Lupin’s face looked bathed in firelight.

“I was goin’ ter tell Professor Dumbledore abou’ the hornets,” a voiced boomed, echoing through the staff room, and Severus winced. In came Hagrid, followed closely by Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall. So much for peace and quiet, Severus thought with a scowl, drawing himself up so that he could sweep majestically and scornfully out. But at his bustle of movement, Minerva McGonagall turned on him, eyes narrowing.

“Severus Snape!”

Severus didn’t bother to hide his grimace. “Minerva,” he sneered.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man!” she said shrilly, advancing on him. “I’ve known you since you were eleven years old and I don’t intend to start taking lip from you now.”

Startled, Severus almost apologized before he caught himself. Though he’d been her colleague for over fifteen years, he’d been her student first and she could still inspire a kind of awe-struck compliance in him if he wasn’t careful.

She bore down on him, tartan robes billowing almost as impressively as his own could, pointed hat sitting askew on her head. She peered over her glasses at him, looking thin-lipped and furious. She crossed her arms and glared at him with an air of disappointed censure.

“What have I done to so clearly offend you, Deputy Headmistress?” Severus said, pumping as much mocking deference into his overly formal words as he could.

“Honestly, Severus! I’ve known you to play some horrid tricks in your time,” she said.

“You speak as though I’m a common prankster!”

“In your day, you caused a fair few ‘accidents’, many of which I overlooked because I always thought you had potential.”

Oh, here we go, Severus thought bitterly. “To which ‘accidents’ are you referring, Minerva? And why?”

“The chlorodermis potion slipped into the treacle tart in your sixth year that turned every Gryffindor student a bright shade of green? The first years’ scarves transfigured into garden snakes? The dung bombs in the owlery?”

Severus smirked. “That last wasn’t mine. I have more finesse than that. I believe your golden group of Gryffindors was responsible for it. Potter and Black.”

“And Lupin,” she said, voice deathly quiet.

Severus winced. Even hearing his name caused pain. “Yes. And Pettigrew.”

Minerva pretended he hadn’t spoken. “Your little escapades were nearly always in retaliation back then, Severus, not in attack. Which is why I simply cannot fathom why you’ve done this.”

“Oh, do get on with it! What is that I’m meant to have done?”

“Toying with Remus Lupin that way? What has he done to you lately?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Toying with...” He frowned at her. “Toying with him? I’ve been helping the flea-bitten imbecile!”

She glared right back at him, rising up on her toes so she could peer more directly into his depthless eyes. “I’ve just come back from checking on him. The man barely moved the entire time. He said it was because of you.”

Severus’ temper flared. “Why do you think his cold cleared so quickly? I created a potion for him, and this morning I made him a salve to ease the pain in his muscles and joints. So just what exactly have I done that you’re protesting?”

“Helping him? But he said that...”

“Said what, Minerva?” Severus took a dramatic sip from his mug.

“That you lead him to believe you had feelings for him,” she said, shifting from foot to foot. “That you’d deliberately misinformed him and then all but laughed in his face when he tried to return your affections.”

Severus choked on the peppermint tea sliding down his throat. “I most certainly did not lead him on! I brought him a cold infusion and a pain salve. You see, this is why I never bother helping anyone.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Severus,” Minerva sighed. “You could have been more delicate. You know how he feels.”

“I-” Severus blinked. “Excuse me?” He was suddenly alarmingly aware of the curious eyes watching them. When had all of these other people arrived?

“Remus loves you, of course,” Minerva said with a shake of her head. “Everyone knows that. I never thought that you would be so childish as to take advantage of that fact.”

Severus stared, flabbergasted. “What did you just say?”

“Blimey, Snape, hadn’t yeh ever noticed how ‘e is around you?” Hagrid chimed in. “Absolutely nutters.”

“Nutters,” Severus repeated numbly.

“If you weren’t trying to lead him on,” Minerva said, just a little less severely, “you could at least have taken into account how he might have interpreted your actions this weekend.”

“Why in hell would you all think he... that he’s in- blast, that he loves me?” Severus shrieked. His panic was rising once more, and he could feel the walls closing in around him. Damn the castle, he thought wildly, with its shifting staircases and moving walls!

“You did know, didn’t you?” Minerva said uncertainly. She reached to take him by the elbow.

It was too much for Severus. He weaved away from grip and fled from the staff room, leaving a babble of curious voices behind him. His head was spinning. In love with him? Remus? This had to be some twisted joke, one last Marauder stand all these years later. And he’d somehow convinced McGonagall, his fellow Gryffindor in arms, to join the fun. That had to be it.

Severus didn’t stop until he was in his chambers and he’d flung himself down on his bed, breathing hard. He burrowed under his heavy quilts, not bothering to undress, barely stopping to remove his boots. He rolled onto his side, replaying the conversation in his head. He’d never known Minerva McGonagall to be anything but upstanding and honest. And as much as he wanted to believe the worst about the werewolf, Remus had never given him cause to doubt him since they’d begun working together for the Order of the Phoenix. He pictured Remus’ face when he’d leaned toward Severus to kiss him, when he awakened to find Severus by his side, when he’d advanced on the Potions Master that afternoon. Perhaps... perhaps it had been more than just friendliness or sickness. Perhaps it was more than isolation after the death of a lover. But then again, Minerva could have been mistaken. With this confusion of thoughts, he drifted into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of full moons and overflowing potions and a pair of luminous golden eyes watching every move he made.

He was a complete wreck the next day, only making it through his classes by inflicting as much torture to the little bastards as he could. He even managed to assign the Granger girl and her Weasley boyfriend detention for the somewhat exaggerated offense of public indecency- he’d caught them sharing a decidedly chaste kiss in the hallway before lunch. He felt a bit better for it.

He avoided the rest of the staff all day, taking meals in his office and staying out of the halls between classes. They’d all been so casual when Minerva had said Remus loved him, as if it truly was common knowledge. And if it was true, then Remus hadn’t just been reaching out to him from loneliness or simple physical need. He’d thought Severus felt the same way.

He turned a fierce scowl on the class before him. Sixth year NEWTs potions. The dunderheads were currently supposed to add extract of peppermint to their decoctions and let simmer for twelve and a half minutes. He clutched the edge of his desk as he thought about Remus drinking his peppermint cold infusion, of the way the werewolf had leaned into his touch when his fingers were coated with peppermint pain salve. And at last he allowed himself to remember the hopeful light shining out of those golden eyes. Oh. Holy. Hell.

“Malfoy,” he barked, and the smug little nitwit jumped to attention.

“Sir?”

“I need to run a dire errand. You are to supervise the rest of this lesson. Questions?”

“No, sir.” The blond boy turned around, no doubt smirking from the way Potter’s expression clouded over.

Severus gathered his lectures notes to his chest and flowed out of the room and down the hall to his office. He dropped his materials while waving his wand toward the hearth and muttering, “incendio”. He snatched up a handful of floo powder, tossed it into the fire, and announced “12 Grimmauld Place.”

Moments later, he stepped into to kitchen of Order headquarters, head still spinning from the journey and his realization.

He traipsed through the house, not bothering to conceal his presence. “Where is he?” he demanded when he reached Mrs. Black’s portrait.

“The half-breed? Lurking about upstairs, I should think,” she said in a surprisingly pleasant tone. “Are you going to finish him off, then?”

“Something like that,” Severus agreed darkly. He took the stairs two at a time, not stopping until he reached the second floor landing.

“Lupin!” he hollered, slamming his way down the hall.

The familiar graying head popped out of the entrance of Remus’ bedroom, his expression caught between irritation and astonishment. “What do you want?”

Severus pulled up level with him and seized him by the shoulders. “What do I want?” he repeated. “I want a peaceful existence free of every kind of human entanglement!” He advanced into the room, walking Remus backward as he did so. “I want to research potions and read and drink fine wine and not be bothered by meddlesome Gryffindors who live to complicate my life!”

Remus shivered as Severus pressed closer, invading his personal space. “Severus?”

“I want-” Severus cut himself off by leaning forward to claim a kiss from the startled werewolf, moving his lips across Remus’ sweet mouth and trying not to hyperventilate. Remus hesitated for just a second or two before groaning in relief or pleasure and wrapping his arms around Severus’ waist, pulling him closer. Remus’ lips parted and Severus pushed his tongue between them, finding Remus’ tongue waiting for him eagerly, stroking against it as his body moved fully into contact with Remus’. He tangled his hands in Remus’ hair, angling his head so that he could plunder the willing mouth, his fingers curling around the nape of Remus’ neck.

Remus pulled back, panting. “Severus, what’s gotten into you?”

Severus laughed darkly. “Do you want this?”

“What, you?” Remus let out a shuddering sigh and leaned his forehead against Severus’ chest. “God, more than anything.”

“I thought...”

Remus curled closer, breathing deeply, and Severus held him tightly, his heart pounding. Remus smelled of the peppermint salve and Severus wanted to drink deeply of him, inhale him, take possession of him and never let go. “You thought what? That I was lonely? I am. That I’m yearning for Sirius? Hardly. I told you the truth yesterday. You’re all I want. All I’ve wanted for an absurdly long time. When you made me that cold potion, I was so sure that you felt the same way.”

Severus felt full of something he’d never experienced before, something warm and trembling and scary and safe. He pulled back just far enough to look at Remus, who was smiling up at him. Severus said softly, “I came back because Minerva scolded me. She accused me of deliberately trifling with your ever so dainty feelings. She told me that you loved me and that I should have known better than to lead you on.”

“I thought that’s exactly what you were doing,” Remus said, averting his gaze. “I didn’t want to think that, but how else could I explain it?”

“So you do?” Severus had never felt more frightened in his life. “Love me, that is?”

“Of course,” Remus breathed, and he tilted his head and grazed his lips against Severus’. “So much,” he whispered, kissing him harder, sending a thrill through Severus’ body. “I always have.” He bit down teasingly on Severus’ bottom lip. “I always will.”

Ah. So this was the feeling of his heart mending. This was what it was to have a whole heart. Severus wasn’t sure he’d ever felt it before. He moaned and opened himself to Remus’ exploring tongue, running his hands up and down the back he’d smoothed salve over just yesterday. Remus pushed forward, trying to get even closer and a low growl emanated from deep within him. Severus’ breath caught. He’d never heard anything so erotic in his life.

“Do it again,” he commanded, and he lowered his head to Remus’ neck.

“Do what? Oh!” Remus growled again as Severus sunk his teeth into the sensitive flesh of his throat. Severus felt the vibrations rumbling against his lips, and he growled back.

Remus’ hands sneaked upward along Severus’ to the row of buttons at his neck. “Why do you button yourself up like this?” he whispered, undoing a button and bending forward to nip at the newly exposed skin. “I want you open for me, Severus. Only for me.” He undid the second and third buttons, licking at the soft skin as it came into view. Severus leaned into the touch, his thumbs stroking either side of Remus’ neck. Remus worked leisurely at first, button by button, but soon lost his patience, his movements growing frenzied as he made his way down Severus’ torso until he was kneeling before him. Severus shrugged out of the black frock coat and let it drop to the floor with a soft whoosh. Remus’ curious fingers made quick work of his belt buckle and it joined his coat. Then he move his hands lightly along Severus’ arousal and pressed a hot, wet kiss against it, heat leaking through the fabric of Severus’ trousers.

“I’m going to undo you,” Remus murmured. “Every part of you.”

With a cry, Severus bent down and caught the wolf in his arms, dragging him upwards and throwing him down on the bed. Henry the dragon sat calmly on Remus’ pillow and with a self-effacing snicker, Remus lifted the plushie off the bed and chucked it boisterously across the room. Severus snatched at the hem of Remus’ Molly-Weasley-knit sweater and ripped it over his head, tossing it to the ground. Remus lifted his hips and let Severus strip his loose fitting trousers away, followed by socks and finally shorts. Remus lay before him, nude and glowing, smiling up at Severus with complete trust and love. And desire.

“Touch me, Severus. Make me yours.”

The Potions Master leaned forward for a feral kiss, pulling the air from Remus’ lungs. He was dizzy and delirious, and somehow they were tumbling, rolling, moving in a confusion of limbs and tongues and fabric until at last Severus was crouching above him naked, drawing his long, stained fingers up and down Remus stomach, making him squirm. Remus’ erection twitched as the werewolf moaned frantically.

Severus desperately wanted to prolong this moment, to tease and torture, but he didn’t think he could last. He wanted full contact now. Remus arched against his hand, spreading his legs suggestively. Severus needed no further invitation. He glanced around and saw the jar of pain salve sitting by the bed, and he stretched across Remus’ body, grabbing it triumphantly. Remus took the opportunity to curve upward, pressing kisses and bites across Severus’ chest, licking his nipple before taking it between his teeth and pulling.

“Oh! Wicked wolf,” Severus moaned. He opened the jar and thrust his hand inside, feeling the coolness of the peppermint against his skin. He bent to kiss Remus again, his hand finding its way between Remus’ agile legs. Remus yelped.

“Cold!” he groaned.

“We’ll warm it soon enough,” Severus murmured as he stroked insistently.

Remus pressed against his touch, his whole body quivering, and Severus allowed a rare smile to grace his features. He crawled down Remus’ body until he found his straining cock. He ran his tongue across the head as he pressed a finger into Remus’ body. They both groaned. He moved his finger out and in slowly, mirroring the movement with his tongue as he dragged it to the base of Remus’ cock and back up again. Remus’ body torqued and he fisted his hands in the sheets.

“More,” he panted, and Severus complied. He slipped a second salve-covered finger inside Remus and licked his other hand before wrapping it around Remus’ cock, moving both hands lazily. Remus tossed his head and thrust upward. Severus met him halfway, opening his mouth to take Remus inside, lolling his tongue across the sensitive flesh as he sucked.

“Oh gods, Severus,” Remus sighed as Severus pressed a third finger inside. “Oh, my love. Harder, please. More.”

Severus sucked harder, scraping just a little with his teeth and smiling evilly at the noises erupting from Remus’ throat.

“Enjoying that?” he said as he drew a breath.

“Oh yes, very nice,” Remus said, clearly trying to sound conversational, though he didn’t pull it off because his voice cracked at the end. “But please, Severus. Please, I need you inside me.”

Severus shivered. No one had said that to him before, certainly not someone he loved. He withdrew his fingers and reached for the salve again, but Remus shook his head. “No! Just you. Please, please, love.”

With a cry, Severus shifted his weight so that he could kneel between Remus’ legs. Remus handed him a pillow and he scooted it beneath the werewolf’s hips, giving him an optimal angle. Supporting himself on his hands, he leaned forward to kiss Remus for a long, lingering moment before pushing into him. Remus cried out and pressed back.

“More, love,” he gasped, wrapped his arms around Severus’ neck to draw him down into another kiss, his tongue entering Severus’ mouth as Severus thrust himself into Remus’ body. “More,” he chanted as Severus’ hips came to rest against him. He wound his legs around Severus’ waist, locking him in place. “Never stop,” he gasped.

“Never,” Severus agreed. He was drowning in the sensation of Remus, floating, falling. And then he began to move, rocking their bodies together as he drove forward, Remus’ fingers clawing at his back, stinging, sending sparks through Severus more thoroughly than a magic wand ever could. Remus’ teeth grazed his throat, his tongue flickering over a pulse point and then his lips descended, sucking hard enough to bruise. Severus cried out, the suction exquisite as Remus’ body met each movement, urging him onward, acute, fiery, welcoming. It felt like losing his mind and coming home all at once.

He put his weight on his left arm and wrapped his right hand around Remus’ straining erection. One of Remus’ hands joined his, twining their fingers together as they pumped him in time to Severus’ thrusts, Remus’ legs tightening around his waist.

“So beautiful,” Remus moaned, their eyes locking as they moved in an undiscovered harmony, hips bucking, skin meeting skin, and Severus returned Remus’ smile fiercely.

“Want this forever,” Remus moaned, pushing himself up so that he could kiss Severus again. “Want you forever.”

Severus returned the kiss, the action already familiar, already addictive, Remus’ mouth tasting of peppermint extract and honey and something unidentifiable but pure Remus nonetheless.

“So close,” Remus murmured into his mouth, his teeth skimming along Severus’ tongue. “So good, love.”

Severus nodded mutely as their tempo accelerated, and he was lost in sensation, lost to all thought, lost to everything but Remus, and he climaxed moaning Remus’ name.

Remus continued to guide their linked hands along his erection and seconds later came as well, his seed spilling across their hands and stomachs, coating them both. Severus collapsed on top of him, not bothering to let go of Remus’ hand. He pressed open-mouthed kisses against his heart, Remus’ chest hair tickling his cheeks and lips.

He felt Remus lean forward to kiss his head, and then the werewolf gathered him up and pulled him so that he was wrapped against Remus, cradling each other and breathing heavily.

“My Severus,” Remus whispered, holding him closer, running his fingertips in circles across Severus’ back.

Severus glanced up at him, feeling lighter than he ever had. “That was...”

“Brilliant,” Remus agreed, stealing a kiss before lying back against the pillows.

“Look,” Severus said, his lips quirking just a little, “you aren’t still contagious, are you?”

“Are you inquiring to see how well your potion worked, or if you’re going to be contaminated as well?” Remus chuckled, his voice very quiet.

“Both,” Severus said, his eyes drifting shut.

“I’m healed, Severus. Every part of me.”

Severus lay very still as Remus’ breathing evened out and deepened. “As am I,” he said finally. “As am I.”

FIN