InsaneJournal

HP fic: Better the Instruction (8/22) [Remus/Sam, Remus solo, adult]
Title: Better the Instruction (8/22)
Authors: celandineb and emiime
Fandom: HP
Chapter pairings: Remus/Sam, Remus solo; references to Remus/Teddy, Remus/Sirius, Remus/Tonks, Remus/other men.
Chapter rating: adult
Chapter length: ~7100 words
Warnings: Incestuous fantasies, wanking, plugs.
Summary: Sam and Remus have a long talk, but Remus doesn't tell Sam what's really on his mind.
Note: AU (Remus survived the war). See here for complete story header with all pairings/warnings. Also here.


Chapter 8

Remus spent Sunday evening missing Teddy and trying to remember the last thing he'd said to him. Don't forget your plugs. He was fairly certain that had been it. He rolled his eyes at himself as he stripped the bed in the spare room of its sheets. How supportive of him. What a brilliant father he'd turned out to be. Bugger it all, anyhow.

He didn't sleep much Sunday night and was, as a result, nearly late to work Monday morning. The day passed shrouded in a fog both mental and physical. Remus wandered around Flourish and Blotts trying to shelve the new order that had come in but doing a piss-poor job of it, his mind teeming with could-haves and should-haves, his heart aching at the memory of Teddy's untied shoelaces (and why should he choose that, of all things, to remember?).

He thought he might have lunch at the Leaky--he did love the ham and chicken pie they served every Monday noon--but he'd have had to pass the apothecary to get there. He was fairly certain Teddy didn't even work until the afternoon today, but he couldn't let himself take the chance. He sighed at the window like a heartbroken schoolboy.

And he was heartbroken, in a sense. He'd had to deny so much that he wanted, so many things that his heart (and how often had that heart been cracked or shattered and carefully pieced back together?) demanded of him. Teddy--his lovely Teddy, his boy, the child he'd loved for so many years--now a grown man with love and desire brimming from him in every direction, unguided.

Damned poor job of guiding him Remus had managed to do. He snorted at himself and shook his head to clear it, getting back to shelving the new shipment. The Christmas shopping season was in full swing, and he needed to be lucid for it.

Anyway, he reminded himself, there would be one bright spot in the day. Sam had owled that he'd definitely be able to come by that evening. Remus was fairly certain he wouldn't be in the mood for any sort of lovemaking, but Sam's comfortable companionship would be enough.

He just hoped that his companionship would be enough for Sam.

He huffed as he lifted a box containing a dozen copies of Christmas with Celestina: Songs and Stories From My Heart to Yours. Of course it would be enough. They were adults--they didn't need to go around rutting against each other like demented schoolboys.

Remus scowled at Celestina Warbeck's simpering visage on the book's cover as thoughts of demented schoolboys rutting against Teddy filled his head. Well, they wouldn't be schoolboys just now, since it wasn't the holidays... but maybe one of those Quidditch players, or one of the friends Teddy saw at the pub. Young punks, he thought.

Then, reluctantly, he remembered what Sirius and he had been like. Had they really been so different? No, not if he were honest about it. The idea just bothered him because Teddy was his son. A good thing he hadn't had a daughter--he'd have probably gone mad with protectiveness, although he'd also have been far more able to restrain himself, and not have ended up in this ridiculous situation.

He ended up skipping a proper lunch altogether, rummaging to find a dusty old packet of prawn crisps that he'd shoved in the back of a drawer. By the time he was home he was starving, but decided to make an elaborate meal anyhow, chicken and vegetables and pasta in a mustardy cream sauce. He didn't expect Sam until later; when he heard Sam's amused voice asking, "Is there enough for two?", he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Of course," Remus said. He always cooked enough for at least two servings. He might enjoy cooking, but that didn't mean he wanted to have to make a complete meal just for himself every night. Leftovers were perfectly fine and he'd bought a Muggle microwave ages ago to make it easier to reheat them. "Almost ready, in fact--could you bring the plates from that cupboard?"

Sam nodded and fetched them, laying the table with cutlery as well and then coming up to Remus from behind and putting his arms around Remus's waist as he stirred the sauce.

"You look as though you had a bad day," Sam said. "So did I, actually. Shall we commiserate together?"

Remus let himself lean back against Sam for a moment. "Yes. Let me just finish with this." He'd have to think of something to tell Sam, something that wasn't the whole truth but wasn't a lie, either. He'd learned the hard way with Tonks that lying was no good.

As he poured the sauce over the chicken and set the platter on the table, he let out a long, cleansing sigh, attempting to breathe out all the worries of his day. It nearly worked; his shoulders relaxed a little and he managed a genuine smile as he and Sam sat down next to each other. He busied himself serving up the chicken and the vegetables, and finally took Sam's hand, squeezing it.

"Tell me about your day. What happened that was so bad?"

Sam forked up a bite of chicken. "No, you first, I think. You seem genuinely miserable, whereas, well, I'm just a bloke who had a bad day."

Was his misery really as transparent as all that? Remus put a big piece of broccoli in his mouth to give himself time to manufacture a cleaned-up version of the truth.

"It's Teddy," he finally said when he'd chewed and swallowed. "We had... ah, a bit of a row, you might say, last night, and we haven't spoken since." Sam started to speak, but Remus held up a hand. "It's fine; he's a young man, prone to occasional fits of temper and, well, hormones. He'll come around again and it'll all work out. I just don't like quarrelling with him--it happens so rarely. We've always got on so well."

Sam nodded, and Remus sighed again.

"And today, well, I saw him in Diagon, walking with another young man. They seemed entranced with one another." It was a perfectly valid lie; he'd seen it clear as day in his mind's eye, the young man pushing Teddy against a storefront and snogging him senseless, wedging a knee between Teddy's legs...

Remus nearly growled.

"Ohhh," Sam said, spearing a mange-tout on his fork. Remus waited for him to say something else--anything else to fill the silence that followed the lie, but Sam just ate his mange-tout, chewing slowly. Remus could practically see the cogs turning in Sam's head--and was that a smile playing about Sam's lips?

"This is serious," Remus continued, though he knew he wouldn't be able to get across to Sam how serious the situation really was, not without revealing the whole truth of it. "He's only eighteen."

Now Sam laughed out loud. "Come on, Remus. I had birds throwing their knickers at me onstage when I was eighteen, and I'll spare you from knowing what was happening backstage, but if Teddy's just holding hands in Diagon Alley, I honestly don't think there's much to worry about. He's spent the last seven years in school, where you knew he was being supervised; don't you think maybe you're just being a little overprotective, now that he's more on his own? And kids that age--it's perfectly normal to row with your parents, as you know. One way to break the tie. So he may be later in doing it than some, but it doesn't mean he doesn't really love you, deep down."

Not so deep down as all that, Remus refrained from saying.

"Look, I saw the two of you together on Saturday, and things were fine. If you had a quarrel, it'll blow over. But you won't make things easier if you start interfering in Teddy's love life; he'll very rightfully resent it. You wouldn't like it if he were trying to tell you not to see me, would you?" Sam pointed his fork at Remus.

"No," Remus admitted.

"So give him the respect you'd want, and he deserves. He's a good kid, from all I can tell. Or is there something else?"

Maybe Sam was right, maybe Remus was just being overprotective of his only son. Or jealous over him, his conscience nagged him. Remus sighed. "That's mostly what's bothering me. As I said, I don't like feeling that we're estranged."

"Give it a week," advised Sam, reaching for the platter and taking another spoonful of pasta, pausing, then adding a half-spoonful more. "Then send him an owl, maybe. One of my old students is giving a concert a week from Saturday--she's a near-Squib, but she has the most amazing voice, and is making a real name for herself in the Muggle pop-music world. I could probably get tickets to her show, if you think Teddy might like that? Three, or perhaps four?"

"He would like that, I'm pretty certain." Remus wrestled with himself. "Four tickets, if you would. I don't know if the young man I saw is someone he'd want to bring along, but I expect he'd have a friend to invite, if nothing else. That's generous of you, Sam."

"No trouble." Sam leaned across the table and squeezed Remus's hand. "I hope it helps."

"I'm sure it will." Remus squeezed back. "I've been whinging about Teddy, but what caused your bad day?" Sam rarely talked about his problems, and Remus felt badly that Sam always seemed to be supporting Remus in one way or another, whereas Remus rarely had the opportunity to reciprocate.

Sam sighed and toyed with his fork. "Zinaida Crossland tendered her resignation today. I've told you about her, haven't I? Head of Fundraising."

Remus nodded, though he was uncertain he'd actually heard of her. "Which, ah, which charity is--was she with, again?"

"Oh--sorry, yeah. Wands to Plowshares. The aid society. You know. She's brilliant. She's the reason we've grown so much over the past, oh, what's it been now--eight years or so now." Sam slumped in his chair, looking, Remus thought, perhaps a little too dejected for an issue that must happen fairly often in Sam's field. but he said nothing--after all, he had probably seemed more miserable than he should have to Sam.

He ignored the voice in the back of his head that nagged him that perhaps he should have told Sam the truth. That was impossible.

"I'm so sorry," he said, finishing the last of his pasta. "Is she retiring?"

"She's ill," said Sam. "Quite ill, and quite old. I'm afraid she might not be long for the world."

"Oh--" Remus stood and moved behind Sam, kissing the top of his head and putting his arms around Sam's neck. "I'm so sorry." Suddenly his troubles were trivial, and he was annoyed with himself for thinking they were at all important in the grander scheme of things.

"Oh, we've been expecting it for a while," said Sam. "She's been ill for about a year now. It was just heartbreaking when she made the announcement of her resignation today--her hands were shaking, and her voice was, too."

Remus rocked gently back and forth in silence for a long moment with his arms around Sam.

"You don't think that you'd--" he finally said, but Sam cut him off.

"No way. I couldn't do it. I'm crap with finances--you know that--if I'd managed my own profits, I'd be broke and living in an alley by now. Smartest thing I ever did was to hire someone to do all that. And fundraising, well, I don't much fancy being in the public eye like that again. No. Don't even say it."

"Okay." Remus kissed him again. "It's completely your call." He looked at Sam's plate, which was empty. "Had enough dinner? Afraid I haven't anything for afters, except whisky if you like."

"Yeah." Sam's chest heaved in a sigh. "That'd be good."

The dirty dishes and pans could wait. "Go into the living room and I'll be right there."

He poured two tumblers of whisky and carried them out, handing one to Sam and sitting beside him. "I really am sorry about Zinaida," he said quietly. "I'm sure she'll be hard to replace; she sounds like she was splendid for the organisation and a good person, too."

"She is a good person." Sam leaned against Remus, who put his arm around him. "Let's talk about something else though, all right? Any interesting little stories about your customers today, maybe?"

"Let me think." Remus took a sip, enjoying the slow burn as the alcohol found its way down his throat. "Not today, but last week there was a fellow who wanted very specifically the 1983 edition of Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. I told him that we didn't have that one, but the more recent version, from 2012, which of course has more up-to-date cures for several of the ailments, and perhaps he'd like that instead? No, no, he wanted the 1983 one, only that would do. Eventually I discovered that the reason why was because it was precisely the right height to wedge up a broken leg on his bureau."

Sam chuckled. "So what did you do?"

"Suggested that perhaps Gilderoy Lockhart's Gadding with Ghouls might do the trick instead." Remus grinned and shook his head. "Since apparently neither the customer nor his wife had the skill to charm the leg whole again."

"Probably the best purpose the Lockhart book would ever serve," agreed Sam, snuggling closer.

"That's what I thought. I was never able to understand why Albus Dumbledore hired him to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, but then, I expect most people thought it equally odd that I was hired."

"Oh, but I'm sure you were a brilliant professor, no matter what people thought at first," said Sam, leaning his head on Remus's shoulder, "I only wish I'd had the opportunity to see you in action."

Remus said nothing, taking another swallow of whisky. He finally managed a noncommittal hmm, shifting in his seat.

"Seriously, though." Sam sat up and pressed a kiss to Remus's cheek. "I'd've had such a crush on you if you were my professor." He stood, setting his whisky on the side table, and straddled Remus's lap, putting his arms around Remus's neck.

"Sexiest professor ever," Sam murmured as he leaned in to kiss the shell of Remus's ear. "Would've liked to have you teach me a thing or two. 'Course, that could still be arranged, couldn't it? I'm sure you have a few secrets tucked away, a few tricks to show me. What do you say...Professor?" He moved lower, kissing Remus's neck, and Remus went completely still. Oh, no, no, no.

"Sam--" he said as gently as possible, pushing a little on Sam's chest with the hand that wasn't holding his whisky, "I don't think--"

"But, Professor," Sam murmured, trailing a hand down Remus's chest, "I need you to teach me."

Remus cringed. "Seriously, Sam, I'm not playing."

But Sam apparently thought that Remus was playing the role of the reticent professor, and he cupped Remus's limp cock through his trousers. "What's the matter, sir? Don't you like me?"

"For fuck's sake, Sam!" Remus shoved him away, spilling a little of his whisky in the process. He knew he wouldn't normally have exploded like this, but the parallel of Sam's behaviour with Teddy's earnest pleas was too much to take.

Sam staggered to his feet, blinking, coming out of the fantasy in which he had been indulging alone. "Hey, wow--what's going on?"

Remus shook his head, trying to breathe deeply, to calm down.

"I'm sorry," he managed after a minute.

"No, I'm sorry." Sam sat back down, a little way away from Remus, looking worried. "What's the problem? I know we haven't done anything like role-playing before, but I didn't think you'd mind trying something new."

"It's not... not the idea of role-playing, it's that one." Remus was still shaking, and he lifted his glass and drank the rest of his whisky in one swallow. Sam took the empty glass from his fingers and set it down. "Too close to home, I guess. Maybe because I was a professor."

"Okay, I can see that," said Sam slowly. "That makes sense. If you were ever tempted, it would be hard to see it as a game."

Remus swallowed and nodded. "I was." It was no more than the truth, although when he was at Hogwarts, Remus would never have dreamed of acting on those desires. He owed too much to Dumbledore to risk anything. "I never--ever!--did anything with a student, but... yeah."

Sam leaned over and kissed Remus's cheek. "I'm sorry," he repeated soberly. "I didn't mean to upset you like that."

"I know." Remus took Sam's hand, then moved over on the sofa so that they were touching again. "You couldn't have known." Guilt gnawed at him for not telling Sam the whole truth, but he couldn't.

"Guess that killed the mood, eh?" Sam's voice was rueful. "Oh well. Another night."

"You don't need to go," said Remus hastily. "If you want to stay, just to sleep, I'd like that."

"We're not kids who have to have sex every night," Sam agreed. "And I like sleeping with you... even when it's just sleeping. Sure, I'll stay." He chuckled a little. "Maybe we'd better spend the spare time telling each other some of our sexual quirks, for future reference?"

Remus put on his most serious face and blinked, staring at Sam, determined to add a little levity to their conversation. "Don't tell me you have a thing for goats."

Sam paused, then laughed hesitantly. "Goats--what--?"

Remus stared at him a moment longer, then let his expression fall into a grin. "Nothing. Just being funny. You remember--or maybe you don't--Aber--" He stopped himself. "You know what--never mind. It was a lame joke at best. Just a bloke we all used to know who seemed a little too close to his pet goats. A joke from the old days. I don't know why I thought of it just now."

"Okay," Sam said then, "Well, I'm not into goats--nor any other animal, for that matter." He paused, then chuckled. "Except for my werewolf, I suppose."

"Ha-ha," replied Remus, "Aren't you funny." He wasn't feeling entirely calm yet after the Professor Episode, and though he was pressed against Sam's warmth, he was slightly less than comfortable inside, still, and thus reverted to sarcasm. Sirius had once told him that sarcasm didn't look good on him--and what the hell was he doing, thinking of Sirius now? God, first Teddy, then Sirius. Remus shook his head. Next thing he knew he'd be calling Sam Tonks while they fucked. No, thank you.

"I mean it," Sam said. "Hey. Remus. I love you."

It was the first time either of them had said it since the other night. Remus tensed upon hearing the words, but soon after, he was able to relax into Sam's embrace.

"I know it," he said, and, after a pause, he added, "You, too, you know. I do love you."

"I know it," Sam said, and they drifted in silence for a while, there together on Remus's ancient sofa.

Eventually, though, Remus had to say, "Bed, I guess, is in order. I don't know that this is much of a place to sleep."

"No." Sam moved and stretched. "Thirty years ago, maybe, but not now."

They took care of all the necessary ablutions and crawled into Remus's bed together, spooning up with Sam behind Remus, holding him. Remus was glad that Sam seemed perfectly all right with simply going to sleep; he'd have probably gone along with it if Sam had again brought up the idea of having sex, but he didn't really feel like it.

He could get used to sharing a bed with Sam regularly, he decided. Although maybe not always curled up together. When Sam's breathing had evened out, Remus wriggled a little ways away, so that he could turn over without disturbing Sam. Sirius had always complained that Remus moved around a lot at night. Tonks never seemed to care, and his various lovers since had mostly not lasted long enough that it ever was a problem.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Sam roused him. "Seven o'clock."

Remus sat bolt upright. "Already? Bugger."

"You shower first, I'll go switch on the kettle for tea," said Sam. "Don't worry, you won't be late."

He wasn't, by the skin of his teeth, and this morning was far less irritable than yesterday, having been sent off with a kiss from Sam and a suggestion that Remus come over the next night, Wednesday. Remus suspected that they were both still playing things a little safe. Declarations of love were good and certainly welcome, but that didn't mean either of them was quite ready to spend every night together yet.

Today he manned the till and let Sarah shelve the few things that had come in and check to make sure that everything was where it was meant to be. It was a rather slow day in the shop, and Remus had plenty of time to think.

Sam was the first person he thought about. Their relationship had become significantly more serious than Remus had expected when they'd first started seeing each other, about a year before. Which was good, very good. He hadn't felt this way about anyone in years, and he liked it, liked knowing that Sam felt the same way about him. It might be a while before they decided to live together, but Remus suspected it would happen sooner or later. He was pretty sure that they'd both want to be exclusive then, too.

That thought led Remus to Teddy.

Though neither he nor Sam had ever discussed seeing each other exclusively, Remus was certain that Sam had been monogamous for the better part of their relationship. And so had Remus himself. Until Teddy.

Remus sat heavily on the stool behind the till, rearranging the quills in the cup on the counter. Did Teddy count? If Remus had an affair with anyone else, would he tell Sam about it? He shook his head, putting the quill cup back. He wasn't sure. Besides which, he didn't want to be with anyone but Sam--and since the desire to stray wasn't there, neither was any spark of an idea about how he might feel if he did.

He stared up at the ceiling for a moment. It wasn't an affair with Teddy. It was just like the voice lessons that Sam gave to his students. Only... not. Remus snorted at his rationalisation.

Okay, maybe it wasn't comparable to voice lessons, but it wasn't comparable to a love affair, either--though it had strayed perilously close to being one. This break could only be a good thing, allowing them both to differentiate familial love from the dangerous feelings they'd both been toying with.

And when they started up the lessons again...

Remus frowned. Should they? Could it possibly be wise even to try? Remus knew he was weak--it had taken all the strength he had inside him not to follow Teddy down the stairs on Sunday evening--and he knew how stubborn and pushy Teddy could be. Just like his mother, Remus reflected.

Surely Teddy would be fine on his own. If Remus had managed to figure things out, along with generations of men before him, then there was nothing wrong with Teddy doing the same. And, Remus thought, at least Teddy had been given a head start, had been taught how to kiss and how to touch. There were some men who never learned that at all.

Remus knew that, and he believed it. Teddy was going to be all right. And yet every time he thought of Teddy applying what he'd learned to a real life situation, something hot and mean grew inside him, as if some sort of monster had taken up residence in his chest. He couldn't stand to think about Teddy even smiling at another boy, let alone kissing him or taking off his clothes, or more.

He wasn't sure how he was going to make it through Sam's student's concert if Teddy did end up bringing a friend. He tapped his fingers on the counter. Maybe, though, that was the way to judge his own emotions? A certain twinge of concern for Teddy was natural and fatherly, but true jealousy was something else again. If he saw Teddy with another boy, and was able to accept that, then it would be safe--at least for Remus's well-being--to continue with the final two lessons. Whether it would be the same for Teddy was another matter, and one far harder for Remus to judge.

A customer wanting to buy a copy of One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! distracted Remus from the problem for several minutes, since she also wanted the book gift-wrapped, which meant waving over Sarah who was far better at that than Remus. His parcels had a discouraging tendency to come undone at the most inopportune moments.

By the end of the day, Remus had concluded that he would make no decision about the lessons until at least after the concert, when he'd see how he felt, and how Teddy was acting. He had promised to carry out the lessons, yes, but better to break the promise if carrying them out only hurt them both. If it seemed as if they could both handle it, though, then Remus would consider it. He didn't question whether Teddy would want to go on with them--that seemed almost certain, and besides, from the beginning he'd made it plain that if Teddy was ever not interested in or comfortable with going on, then they'd stop.

There was still some of the chicken and pasta from last night left, but Remus decided that he wanted something else, and stopped to buy a Cornish pasty that he could bake and a premade salad. It was actually easier to get Muggle-made food than to use magic, sometimes, something that Remus still marvelled at on occasion.

He savoured the pasty, sitting at the table in his slippers and cardigan, a novel he was reading desultorily propped up beside him. If he ever started living with Sam, he'd miss this kind of freedom, he supposed, to read while he ate, and change his mind at the last minute about what and when dinner would be. But there would be compensations... companionship was not something to be dismissed lightly.

In fact, he rather missed it now--and he couldn't blame his burgeoning desire on the waxing moon, even. He shifted on his chair, adjusting his balls, and then gave up. There was no reason not to go and wank. He hadn't tried out the new plug yet, although he wasn't sure he was ready for it, given the association with Teddy. But there were other possibilities.

On his way upstairs, he remembered the Muggle magazine Teddy had bought at the sex shop. He hadn't seen which title it had been, but he had a fairly good idea of the basic subject matter. He'd never been much for magazines himself, though Sirius certainly had been--he'd kept quite the collection in a shoebox under his bed that was charmed to hold far more than one might expect from its outward appearance. Remus chuckled to himself at the memory. Sirius had been damned proud of that little bit of spellwork.

When he reached his bedroom door, Remus paused. He wondered if there was any possibility that Teddy might have some magazines stashed under his own bed, there in the room just next door to Remus's.

He shook his head. Bad idea. What good could possibly come of his discovering pornography in his son's bedroom?

Well, he rationalised, You might be able to get an idea of what his tastes are, at least. It was a sham of an excuse, and part of Remus recognised that, but that part fell silent as he opened the door to Teddy's childhood bedroom.

He stood just inside the door, his hand still on the knob, and inhaled deeply. The room smelled of Teddy, of dirt tracked in from the garden and of the soap that Teddy preferred, of old leather and of even older socks, with an essence running through it all that was thoroughly, indescribably Teddy.

Remus stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself.

There was nothing under Teddy's bed but for a few stray dust mice and an old Quidditch glove. Remus didn't feel right searching the room any further than a quick peek under the bed--and he honestly doubted Teddy had any more pornography anyway, he'd been so excited about the Muggle magazine.

Remus sat on the bed, quite aware of the reason he'd come upstairs in the first place, considering its escalating insistence between his legs. He cupped his erection and glanced all around him as if Teddy were going to step out of the shadows or emerge from the closet to shame him.

Possibly not the best idea you ever had, something in the back of his mind nagged, but Remus undid his trousers anyway, and kicked off his shoes, and lay back across his son's bed.

No one would have to know.

He reached for one of the pillows; the pillowslip smelled of detergent, but underneath he could easily detect Teddy's own aroma. God. He swallowed, tucking his fingers around his cock, which was still covered by his pants.

Teddy had been so eager to learn, so responsive. Unsophisticated, yes, but his enthusiasm had more than made up for any lack of technique--and that lack was the very reason why he was eager. Remus brushed his thumb over the damp spot at the tip of his cock, recalling the way that Teddy had pleaded to taste him. Remus had had to work hard to hold back his own orgasm as Teddy had sucked him off, and it had been far more difficult than he'd expected.

Impatiently, Remus pushed down his pants together with his trousers, not bothering to take them off, just to his knees so that he could touch himself bare. He rolled over onto his stomach, pushing his face against the pillow, breathing in, rubbing his prick against the duvet for a few moments before he pulled his legs up a bit to raise his arse, took himself in hand, and began to stroke.

Oh, but it was good, less guilt than when Teddy was actually there, if also less intense. Remus reached with his other hand for his arsehole. He couldn't be bothered to stop and get a bottle of lubricant, so he muttered an appropriate spell, concentrating, and felt the slickness under his probing fingertip, cool but quickly warming to his body heat. As he flirted with the tight muscle, he could almost see Teddy's pink hole in front of him, and his mouth opened and closed futilely, wanting it again.

Remus sank his forefinger all the way home and sighed. More, he needed more. He should have brought a plug, maybe not the new one, but something. He didn't want to stop now; he'd make do with his own hand. He worked in a second finger, a third, fucking himself with rough abandon, ignoring his prick for the time being. This was something he hadn't yet done with Teddy, or had his son do to him, and he was suddenly glad of that.

The pressure as his fingers slid across his prostate had him panting, quivering with the need to be fucked, hard, much more than usual for this time of the month. All at once he stopped and pulled his hand away. This was his house, no one else was here or going to be, and blast it, if he wanted to stop and go fetch a plug and charm it to fuck him on Teddy's bed, he could do so. Remus kicked off the clothes entangling his legs and nearly ripped his shirt removing it before he stalked along the hall.

Defying his own hesitation he chose the new plug, and brought his favourite lubricant as well, which was really more effective than the charm, especially for something of this size.

He hefted it in his hand as he stalked back down the hall towards Teddy's room, testing its weight and bulk. Yes, it was nice and big, bigger than any he'd ever owned before. It was going to burn--and he was going to love it.

Remus stood in front of Teddy's bed once again and filled his palm with lubricant, spreading it over the fingers of his other hand. He smiled as he pressed his fingers inside his hole, one, then a second, then a third. Oh, yes. This was going to be good. He'd take his time, letting the plug fuck him as he breathed in the scent of Teddy, and afterward he could lie there as long as he liked without having to regret touching his son.

Remus coated his arsehole liberally inside and out with the Muggle lubricant, then extracted his fingers and picked up the plug, coating it with a thick layer of lube as well. He tapped it with his wand, murmuring a quick spell, then lay across Teddy's bed once again, his arse in the air, his face buried in Teddy's pillow.

Slowly he inserted the plug in his arse, willing himself to relax around it, loving the stretch and burn as it filled him.

"Oh, yes," he cried into Teddy's pillow as the last of the plug finally pushed past the ring of muscle at his entrance. Fuck, it was huge--perfect. Panting, his prick rock-hard without his having even touched it, Remus reached back with his wand and tapped the plug again, setting the movement spell in motion.

The plug moved slowly at first, in time with Remus's own movements: his hand on his prick, his arse pushing back and thrusting forward. As he sped up a little, so did the plug, fucking him faster, and, as he muttered into the pillow as he breathed in the scent of Teddy, "Harder!"

He let it fuck him hard for a little while longer until he was on the brink of an orgasm that threatened to shatter him all too soon. Remus took his hand from his prick, gasping into Teddy's pillow, and slowed the thrusting of his hips as much as he could. The plug fucked him with slow, deep strokes, and Remus's eyes rolled back in his head a little when he grasped his prick again a moment later.

He wanted, oh how he wanted to have Teddy fuck him like this, long and slow and hard, but it would never happen. The agreement was one lesson on penetration, and Merlin knew that there was little chance Teddy wouldn't be so aroused by the very fact that he was doing it that he wouldn't come practically right away. Even if the lesson were long enough for him to recover and try again, Remus was sure the real Teddy couldn't possibly live up to Remus's imagination. No one could. Fantasy was unmatchable by reality, wasn't it?

Remus moaned, rolling his balls in his hand. The fantasy of his son drilling into him had him sweating, but now his thoughts twisted and he imagined Teddy spread out under him, urging Remus on, willing and eager to offer up his virgin arse. If it was still virgin by then, Remus growled to himself. With the lessons on hiatus, very likely Teddy would do the natural thing and find some other boy to bed him. No. Yes. He's not yours, Remus insisted to himself. Not even if he wants to be? No.

But god, Remus wanted it, ridiculously, given that two months ago he'd never have considered the idea. His hand sped up on his cock, pushing himself to the edge, but not quite enough to tip over.

He bit the pillow, worrying it, needing something, anything, to draw out the climax, when he thought he heard a sound downstairs and came helplessly, shuddering around the plug that filled him, his prick convulsing as it spilled semen across the duvet underneath him.

Still panting with the aftershock, Remus lay still, listening hard. Nothing. It had been his imagination, his own guilty conscience worrying that Teddy--or worse, Sam--might come in and find him like this, here in Teddy's room, wanking himself on Teddy's bed.

His mouth was dry and he swallowed hard as he eased the plug out of his burning arse. How could he possibly become calm enough over Teddy to finish the lessons, as he'd told himself he must be, for both their sakes--yet how could he give up the opportunity?

With a sigh he rolled over and sprawled across the bed, his legs akimbo, ignoring the wet stickiness under his back. He'd have to clean the duvet later, and the pillow, too. He stroked the plug along his spent prick, which was too sated to even twitch at the feel of the smooth rubbery substance. It was just a fantasy. Wasn't it?

Remus was no longer sure.

He closed his eyes and took one last deep inhalation of the air in Teddy's room, the fragrance of boy now mingling with Remus's own scent, then sat up, gathering his clothing and his wand, as well as the plug and the lube he'd brought in. He tossed the pillow towards the head of the bed, gazing down at the defiled duvet. The stain of his semen lay right in the centre of the bed, right where it would be if he'd been in it with Teddy--if anyone had been in the bed with Teddy.

Oh, god, he was a fool. He bit his lip and turned away from the sight. He could clean the mess later--just now he couldn't think about it anymore, couldn't muster up the detachment he would need to rid the room of the evidence of his transgression.

A fool, he told himself again as he entered his own bedroom where it was cool and dark. He tossed his clothing in the hamper and put the lube and the plug--he'd clean that later, too, he supposed--on the bedside table.

Of course Teddy would find someone. He was young and--Remus allowed himself to think it--bloody gorgeous, and eager besides. Who wouldn't want a boy like that? And if Teddy kept spending time with Quidditch players--oh, maybe he wasn't, but that one celebratory night after the Portree game had led Remus's mind all over the map of possibility--he was going to get fucked, sooner or later. Plain and bloody simple.

If he hadn't been already.

Remus wondered if Teddy would tell him if it did happen. No, probably not, he decided. He had a feeling Teddy wasn't going to be too keen on speaking to him at all for a while--even if all three (four? Would Teddy end up bringing a friend along after all?) of them did attend the concert together.

Remus threw on his dressing gown and mentally slapped himself. Time to get a grip. He'd clean up the mess, never do it again, and stay out of Teddy's bedroom from now on. And he'd owl Teddy when he'd cleaned up, just to test the waters. He nodded to himself and went to gather up the stained duvet and the pillow that had been in his mouth.

When he'd cleaned the items and put them back in Teddy's room (which still smelled faintly of sex, but Remus was sure the smell would dissipate by the next time Teddy came over), he made his way to his office, where he sat behind his desk and began composing a letter to his son.

Dear Ted,

Remus nodded to himself. Ted, not Teddy. Yes. He went on, careful to phrase his remarks so that if anyone else happened to see the letter, they wouldn't know what he referred to.

I hope you're not too upset with me over Sunday. I made the decision that I think will be best for both of us in the long run, and I trust you understand that. I do love you very much and don't want you to be hurt. As I said then, this is intended to be temporary and we can revisit the matter in a few weeks, perhaps around Christmas. Sam and I will probably be spending the holiday together, as you've doubtless guessed, but I don't expect him to be at my house all the time, nor me at his flat. I know he'll have a lot of dinners and parties and so forth connected with his charitable work.

Speaking of Sam, he has a student who is in a Muggle pop band and will be performing a week from Saturday. He's asked if I think you would enjoy going to see the show with us. Of course I couldn't answer for you. He also has said that you'd be welcome to bring a friend along if you'd like. So, let me know if you'd be interested, and if there is someone you would like to have come along.

Remus stopped and bit at the end of his quill. Should he urge a meeting sooner?

You know my work schedule, pretty much; if you would have time one day soon to meet for lunch, I'd like that, but I'll understand if you're too busy. In any case I hope you'll come to this concert with Sam and me, with or without a friend, and certainly I expect you home over Christmas.

love,
Dad

That would do, he hoped. Remus read over the letter again. Maybe it was too pushy, but he couldn't think of anything better. He made sure the ink was dry and folded and sealed the parchment. He'd take it to the Owl Post on his way to work in the morning.

For now, he'd have a cup of tea, take a stab at the crossword, and then go to bed.