|Celandine's Chronicle (celandineb) wrote in cels_fic_haven,|
@ 2008-11-03 08:09:00
|Entry tags:||coauthor: emiime, hp fic better the instruction, hp fic remus, hp fic remus/sam|
HP fic: Better the Instruction (14/22) [Remus solo, Remus/Sam, adult]
Title: Better the Instruction (14/22)
Authors: celandineb and emiime
Chapter pairings: Remus solo, Remus/Sam; references to Remus/Teddy, Teddy/Andrew, Remus/Sirius, Remus/Tonks.
Chapter rating: adult
Chapter length: ~7200 words
Warnings: Wanking, incestuous fantasies, rimming fantasies, rimming, bottoming from the top.
Summary: After a bad full moon transformation, Remus reminds Teddy that he's expected for Christmas. Sam convinces Remus to attend a holiday party with him, and rewards him afterward.
Note: AU (Remus survived the war). See here for complete story header with all pairings/warnings. Also here.
There had been only a few times in his life when Remus had ever felt grateful for the presence of the full moon.
This was one of them.
He was so ashamed of what he'd done, so angry with himself (and with Teddy, he told himself, but he knew it was his own damned fault) that he was grateful for the chance to escape the body that had so betrayed him, and grateful for the chance to inflict harm upon that body. He knew he'd hurt the next morning, since he always did. Good. He deserved it.
They were self-destructive thoughts, and he knew that, but he gave in and let himself sink into them as the sun set and the sky turned orange. He'd have to go downstairs soon, and lock himself in, but for the moment, he let himself wallow in his shame, as he'd been doing since the moment Teddy left. No--since before that, since right after Teddy made him come. Dammit. No time to think about that now, no time to think about Teddy. He had to prepare for the night.
Remus locked himself in the cellar in preparation for his transformation, sitting huddled in the corner.
Yes, he'd hurt tomorrow, but torn skin could be healed and aching muscles could be soothed. The physical pain would, at the very least, distract him from the shame and anger that were eating at his insides.
He had almost been tempted not to take the Wolfsbane Potion, but he wasn't quite that much of a fool. Or perhaps he was enough of one to want to retain human consciousness, to remember each moment of agony clearly. In any case he had drunk the noxious stuff, as he always did.
The first sharp cramp seized him, and he welcomed it with a ragged moan. Pathetic that he was now safer as a werewolf locked up than as a human father. His cries changed to whines as his body reshaped itself, until he was crouched in a shivering furry ball. Normally he slept much of the night, these days, between the potion and the lack of anything to stimulate his canine senses in the cellar, but tonight he paced the length of the room, his claws clicking on the floor, pausing occasionally to scratch at himself, his long curving nails drawing blood that matted his fur together. He retained enough sense--and sense of pain--not to inflict any incapacitating wounds, but the injuries he gave himself satisfied something in him, a kind of restitution made.
Sometime in the last hours before dawn he stumbled and collapsed and slept for a brief while, awakening only to the pain of re-transformation. Red claw marks, some still oozing blood, all of them puffy and inflamed, lacerated the skin of his torso and limbs. Instinct had kept him from biting or scratching too near his genitals, though there was a long gash on his left thigh. Remus winced as he pulled on his dressing gown, thankful that the need to rut had gone with the moon's setting.
He unlocked the door and walked heavily up the stairs. No work for him today. He could rest, if he wanted, but the oblivion of sleep held no appeal for him just now. He made tea and after a moment tipped a large dollop of whisky into his cup. As long as he was reasonably sober by late afternoon, in case Sam came by, who cared?
By noon, however, Remus's better judgement had reasserted himself. He'd taken a shower, dabbed healing ointment onto his injuries, and settled down in one of his office armchairs to try to think rationally about himself and Teddy and the entire situation.
If it hadn't been just before the full moon, he didn't think he'd have succumbed to his son's enticement. Not that that was an excuse, of course, but it meant that he could handle the final two lessons. Probably. He hoped. Once those were finished, there would be nothing to worry about, as long as he made things very clear to Teddy--which should not be impossible. Remus wondered if Teddy was going to take his advice about telling some of his friends that he was queer; if he did that, Remus suspected that Teddy might find he had plenty of social opportunities and no need to turn to Remus any longer, and that could only be to the benefit of them both.
In the meantime, there were the holidays to get through. Christmas was only eleven days away. Remus had invited Sam to spend the day, of course, and only yesterday he'd received Harry's invitation to his annual Boxing Day party; he'd ask Sam to go to that, too. Remus would be attending one of Sam's charitable dos, tomorrow was it? No, Friday. Good, he should be mostly recovered by then. He touched the gash on his cheek. It wouldn't do to have anyone think Sam had caused that, but werewolf injuries didn't respond well to the usual wizard healing potions.
If it hadn't healed by Friday, well, Sam was all right with a pot of makeup. He'd learned to disguise himself well enough to get through the stage door after a concert without being besieged by fans, so covering a wound would hardly be a challenge for him. He'd done it for Remus before when Remus had no choice but to appear in public too soon after his transformation, and though Remus didn't exactly fancy the idea, it was better than having to answer embarrassing questions or, worse, endure pitying looks.
He sighed and shook off the thought. A facial wound hardly mattered--he had more important things to think about. Not that Sam's party wasn't important, but Remus had to decide how exactly he was going to go about seeing Teddy again.
Yes, they'd had dinner together after, but the conversation had been stilted at best, neither of them really meeting the other's eyes. They hadn't hugged when Teddy left, as they usually did. Remus missed that. He hoped fervently that his old intimacy with his son would be restored to how it once had been--not this new, inappropriate intimacy that they had fallen into.
He would have to be the one who contacted Teddy, not the other way around. He needed to regain his place as father, authority figure, holiday master of ceremonies--not the weak, pathetic man Teddy had last seen. Christmas and Boxing Day should be as normal as possible--yes, they'd resume the lessons in January, probably, but for now, Remus needed to make some sort of temporary patch.
He moved to his desk, aware of every creaking joint and aching muscle. He settled in his chair, groaning only a little, and pulled out a quill and parchment.
Dear Teddy, he wrote, then he twisted his mouth into a frown and took out another sheet of parchment, starting again.
I suppose by now you've had an invitation from Harry to his Boxing Day party. Sam and I will be attending together, and you're welcome to travel with us. I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind if you brought a friend along; you know there are always masses of people at those parties.
As for Christmas, Sam will be here at the house then, as well. I hope we can introduce him to the traditional Lupin Family Christmas together. Again, you're welcome to bring a friend if you like--just be sure to warn him that we Lupins get up very early on Christmas morning!
Will we see you before Christmas? Let me know.
He read through it, then added a postscript.
P.S. I'll be with Sam at one of his charity Christmas parties this Friday, but no other definite plans until the 24th. See you on Christmas Eve for sure.
That would do. He'd post it in the morning on his way to work; he never felt right about running errands on the day after the full moon, even if it had been a relatively easy transformation, and today he ached too much even to think about it. Perhaps a hot bath would help.
He started the water running and made himself another cup of tea, plain this time, then took it and a book into the bath, charming the book to levitate so that he wouldn't accidentally drop it into the water. If his fingers were damp turning the pages, no real harm done, but saturating it was a bad plan. The hot water unknotted his muscles as he soaked, and he nearly dozed off, but caught himself as his chin touched the water.
For the rest of the afternoon he puttered around the house, tidying away the books and papers that seemed always to spawn on every flat surface, and dusting while he was at it. He'd want to do another quick clean before Christmas Eve, when they'd decorate, but hopefully it wouldn't take too long then.
A thump in the Floo, and then Sam's voice calling his name, brought Remus hurrying into the living room just before six. To his disappointment it was only Sam's head looking out at him from the flames.
"Remus, I'm sorry, I hoped to come over this evening but I'm not going to be able to." Sam scowled. "Emergency board meeting. Why it has to be tonight..." He shook his head. "Anyhow. Can I make it up to you tomorrow?"
"Of course." There was really no other response Remus could make. "I hope that your meeting goes all right. See you tomorrow night."
"Thanks." Sam cocked his head. "Bollocks. Have to rush. Love you!"
He disappeared. Remus quelled the cold loneliness by concentrating on Sam's last words. He'd be fine; he'd survived post-transformation days for decades before he and Sam even met. Just because he was older now didn't mean he couldn't manage. If there was no Sam bringing in takeaway, Remus could find something in the refrigerator or open a tin of soup, and it would doubtless be a good plan to go to bed early anyhow.
Eating his soup and leftover pasta, Remus missed Sam's company nonetheless. He thought about Teddy, probably likewise eating alone, and wondered if Teddy were following Remus's suggestion and talking to his friends about his sexuality. Andrew had seemed like a pleasant young man, but if he were truly that shy of coming out, he might not be the best person for Teddy--although Teddy had certainly seemed keen on him, judging from the degree of his unhappiness at their quarrel.
But of course, it was natural to be head-over-heels when you were young and you liked someone that much for the first time. And though Teddy had dated Victoire for quite a while, had even had intercourse with her, he was entering new territory now, starting all over again. So of course he'd be crazy for Andrew. And, Remus supposed, Teddy would probably have his heart broken when he realised that Andrew wasn't able to be open about his sexuality. It made sense--Quidditch players weren't exactly known for their open-mindedness when it came to those sorts of things.
Remus shook his head, popping the last of his pasta in his mouth. He shouldn't be judging like that. He didn't know Andrew beyond a few niceties and what Teddy had told him--perhaps the boy would turn out to be just fine. It took time, he knew, to come out--he and Sam were only now going public about their relationship, and they'd been seeing each other for a year and both had had decades of relationships with other men before that.
He would, he decided, not say a word unless Teddy brought the subject up, and even then, he'd have to do his best to be fair and calm. He remembered Sam chastising him to leave Teddy's date alone, even if he was a little punk, and he scowled. If Andrew had--but no, no, he couldn't continue this cycle of blame and fault. It was no one's fault but his own that he'd had sex with his son.
He sighed and cleared his dishes from the table, rinsing them in the sink. He should make it an early night. He was bodily quite tired, but his mind felt otherwise--it wanted to keep moving, and he'd never quite managed to figure out how to turn it off when it wanted to do that. He knew that if he went up to bed, he'd only lie awake for hours.
But there was nothing else to do, he thought, cursing Sam's blasted charities.
When he had reached the top of the stairs after a somewhat painful climb, he paused, then went to the door of the spare bedroom. He hadn't been in there since the other night, since--
The door wasn't latched, and it swung open at a touch.
The bedclothes were still rumpled, and a stray sock lay on the floor--he wasn't sure if it was his or Teddy's. Remus stood in the doorway and heaved a sigh. God, but that bed looked inviting. He shouldn't, though. His own bed wasn't far, and to sleep where he'd violated his son would surely contribute to his downfall.
Remus stepped into the room and, after a moment's thought, drew his wand and flicked it at the bed. The bedclothes rearranged themselves into a semblance of order--not as neat as if he'd done it by hand, but then, he thought he probably shouldn't go any nearer. He stooped down and picked up the sock. Teddy's. Its mate must be somewhere, perhaps under the bed. Reluctantly Remus put one hand on the mattress, bracing himself, and rather painfully knelt to look and see if he could find the other sock. There it was. He pulled it out of the dusty corner--he'd better remember to clean under there next week--and began to rise again, then stopped and sat heavily on the smoothed-out quilt.
Just for a moment, he told himself, but his mind turned back to Sunday and to what he'd done. Never mind that Teddy had wanted it, had instigated the events. Remus was supposed to be the adult, the responsible one. Blaming his actions on his condition was just a rationalisation. He'd been a werewolf his entire adult life; he knew what could happen, and he should have drawn the line at the very beginning of the evening, when Teddy asked to kiss him.
He sniffed. There was still a faint lingering scent of sweat and sex, probably undetectable by anyone without his heightened sense of smell, but enough to make his cock twitch in response, despite his physical fatigue.
With an effort he stood, leaving the pair of socks on the bed. He would wash them, and the bedclothes, another day. For now he only knew he had to leave the room. He'd go to his own bed and have a slow and soothing wank, try to relax enough that he could stop thinking of Teddy and get to sleep.
The large new plug would be too much, tonight. Remus chose an older one, made of bright green soft rubber, and laid it to hand on his nightstand along with his favourite lubricant. He undressed slowly, wincing as his movements pulled at some of last night's injuries, though the pain was no more than his due. Just as well that he didn't like pain, he supposed.
His cock was soft when he lay down, and he toyed with it absently for a moment before beginning seriously to stroke himself toward arousal. He resolutely refused to think about Teddy--though the resolution itself brought images of his son crowding into his brain--and instead thought about how nice it would be if Sam were there, spooned up behind him and wanting to make love. Sam would fondle Remus's bollocks, urging him to raise one knee so that Sam could reach behind them to caress the sensitive skin, putting light pressure over his hole. Then maybe he'd slide downward, tell Remus to roll onto his knees so that Sam could rim him. Ah.
At this point in his fantasy Remus reached for his plug and lube, slicking the toy up thoroughly and pressing the tip of it against his arsehole, which opened hungrily at the touch. Remus slid it home, centimetre by centimetre, and sighed with pleasure when it was entirely inside, setting a spell so that it would thrust in a slow rhythm. Not nearly as good as Sam's tongue or fingers or cock, but it left both of Remus's hands free to pleasure himself in other ways.
He toyed with his bollocks, which were growing tight and heavy, the skin stretching, growing taut. He ran a fingernail down the seam, then back up again, stroking his cock with his other hand.
Yes, yes, Sam rimming him, laving his tongue over Remus's arsehole, then spearing it in, fucking him with it--Remus groaned aloud, closing his eyes and arching a little off the bed. It would be better, of course, if Sam were really there, but his fantasy was good--and accurate; Sam had rimmed him enough times that Remus had memorised the sensations the act caused.
His breath and his heartbeat quickened; he knew orgasm wasn't far off. He sped the movement of his hand on his cock, then slowed it again, varying the rhythm to keep himself from coming too quickly.
In Remus's mind, the roles reversed--now he was the one rimming Sam, pressing suckling kisses to his arsehole as Sam writhed under him, calling Remus's name.
Remus opened and closed his mouth as he wanked himself, craving the taste, the heat, of Sam. He cried out, little wordless moans, as he smeared his precome down his shaft, his orgasm impending. He didn't bother to vary his speed now; he was too close, and the fantasy was too real.
For a moment, just before Remus came, the hair of Sam in his fantasy turned from dark streaked with silver to brightest turquoise, and Sam's face thinned out, his eyes flashing merrily. Fuck--no--he didn't want to, couldn't come with Teddy's face in his mind's eye.
Apparently his body thought otherwise, for, though he tried his damnedest to stave off his orgasm and to shoo Teddy from his thoughts, his cock twitched and jerked in his grasp and he came, spilling onto his belly, the plug still working in and out of his hole.
He collapsed, breathing hard, and scrambled for his wand to stop the spell on the plug.
"No more," he gasped, sliding it from his well-fucked hole.
He set the plug and his wand on the bedside table, then lay there for a long moment, trying to forget what he'd just seen in his head. It was a sexual fantasy, nothing more, he told himself--and he was sure that he wasn't wrong in saying that. He didn't want to share his life with Teddy the way he increasingly wanted to do with Sam. It was just a common reaction to aging, to settling down, this yearning for a young partner, and if Teddy hadn't persuaded him into this unusual situation, probably Remus would be having similar fantasies about the handsome young wizard who worked at the stationery shop next door to Flourish & Blotts.
Perhaps... perhaps he was trying to deal with this the wrong way? If it weren't Teddy in question, he might feel a little bit of guilt, but mostly he would just let it happen. There was no harm done in imagining anyone he liked when he wanked, as long as he didn't act on those fantasies in a way that would hurt Sam or himself. Perhaps if he allowed himself--even forced himself--to think about Teddy that way every time, he would grow tired of it?
Remus sighed. Perhaps. Certainly what he'd been doing hadn't been working very well. If his son continued to turn up in his head during wanking sessions, he feared that sometime it might happen when he was with Sam--and that would be terrible.
He rolled over, pulling the covers around him, too tired to bother cleaning up tonight. He'd do it in the morning.
On Thursday Sam came by in the evening as promised. They made gentle love and Sam stayed the night, reminding Remus over breakfast to meet him at Sam's flat after work, so they could go to the charity party together.
"It's not too formal, this one," Sam said. "Just wear the sort of robes you'd wear to a wedding, I'd say."
Remus nodded. "I'll come home and change quickly and then go to your flat. I should be there before six; that's early enough, right?"
"That'll be fine." Sam squeezed Remus's hand. "I'm glad you're going to come with me. It'll be good to have you there." He gave Remus a happy smile. "It's been years since there's been someone I wanted to be public with."
"Mm hm. Oh--I know I've mentioned Harry's party to you, the one on Boxing Day. The formal invitation arrived yesterday, not that I expected it wouldn't, and as always Harry said 'and guest,' so I hope you'll come?"
"It's when exactly?" asked Sam.
"Afternoon through to evening," Remus said. "Very informal, come-and-go-ish."
"All right. I ought to go see my mother in the morning, so that works out." Sam's expression was a little distant. Remus knew Sam had never got on too well with his mother--his father was dead--but she was now senile and in a home for elderly witches and wizards. Sam did his duty in visiting regularly, though Remus wasn't sure if the old lady even knew who Sam was any more.
"I could--I could go with you, if that wouldn't be too strange for you," he offered, though he knew full well that there was a high likelihood of it being quite strange, and Sam squeezed his hand again.
"You don't have to," he said, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, and besides, I won't be spending too much time there anyway. She doesn't even recognise me all the time, anymore, and when she does, she--" Sam shook his head. "Never mind."
Remus furrowed his brow. "Never mind what?" From Sam's tone, this didn't sound like a Never mind sort of issue.
Sam sighed. "It really doesn't matter, Remus. She's old and senile, and I doubt she knows what she's saying."
"Wait, no. You can't just--what does she say?"
Sam looked down at his shoes for a moment, then back up at Remus. "When she does recognise me, these days," he said, "she likes to insult me, tell me how I wasted my life, and how I'm a disappointment for being--how I am. How we are. And for never giving her any grandchildren. She likes to tell me how my father would have been disappointed, too."
He set his jaw and swallowed hard, his eyes wide and bright.
"Oh--I didn't know," Remus said softly. "I'm--I'm sorry. I suppose, in light of that, that it wouldn't be a good idea at all for me to go with you, then."
"Probably not," said Sam in clipped tones. "You see why it's usually a short visit."
"Yes," replied Remus, "I see." He didn't know what else to say.
"Teddy's a lucky boy," said Sam, "to have a parent who understands."
Remus gave a self-conscious laugh. "Yes, well, I could hardly help but do so."
"I think you'd have understood anyway." Sam pushed back his chair and rose, bending down to drop a kiss on Remus's head. "You're a good man, Remus Lupin. But I know you need to get to work, so I'll head out. See you tonight."
When Sam had gone, Remus took a gulp of nearly-cold tea, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat that had formed at Sam's words. He tried, yes, but he wasn't sure he agreed with Sam's assessment--and he didn't think Sam would, either, if he knew a few things he didn't. Well. Everyone had secrets from their partner, it was only human.
The day at the bookstore seemed longer than usual, even though Remus had managed to make sure he didn't have to stay until they closed at eight, but left at five. Holiday hours were always a pain. He'd be working Saturday, between that and having had Wednesday off, which meant that if he stayed with Sam that night he couldn't have a nice lie-in. Well, he couldn't in any case, it was just more enjoyable to do so in company. But it couldn't be helped.
At three minutes after five, he was heading for home. His best robes were a dark navy wool, in a classic cut that Madam Malkin had assured him years ago would look suitable for any occasion. She'd urged him to choose black, but Remus found it too funereal; besides, Severus Snape had always worn black, and he had no intention of emulating that man in any way. One shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but Snape's death had been the only decent thing he'd ever done, in Remus's opinion. Perhaps that was too harsh. Snape had been awarded the Order of Merlin posthumously, at Harry's insistence. Flicking his fingers to brush away the pointless thoughts, Remus pulled the robes from his wardrobe and began to change.
"You look dashing," said Sam when Remus arrived.
"I wasn't sure about the tie," Remus confessed. It was a rather bright red silk. "Teddy gave it to me several years ago."
"Festive and suitable to the season," Sam said firmly. "Only, here." He smoothed Remus's hair and stepped back to look at the results. "That's better."
"It'll get mussed again when we Floo."
"Then I'll fix it again." Sam smiled. "Not exactly difficult."
"All right." Remus smiled back, feeling a little more nervous than he wanted to show. "You look splendid too, you know."
Sam was wearing black, a much more fashionable style than Remus's, and a tie in subdued green and gold. "Thanks. Shall we?"
Remus nodded. They Flooed separately, Sam going first. When Remus arrived in the entrance hall of the manor where the party was being held, he didn't see Sam in the small crowd of arriving witches and wizards, and for a moment, unreasonable panic shot through him. He was certain he'd ended up in the wrong place.
And then there was a strong hand on his shoulder and a voice in his ear.
"Do you come here often?"
Remus shook his head, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He turned around, and Sam was there, looking quite pleased with himself.
"Nervous?" he asked, and Remus nodded.
"Is it that apparent?"
Sam cocked his head. "Only slightly. Perhaps if you could relax your shoulders and unclench your fists? Ah, that's better," he said, as Remus did as suggested, taking a deep breath.
"You're used to these things," Remus pointed out, "whereas I'm used to staying home on blustery nights with my slippers and a crossword puzzle and a cup of tea or six."
"Relax," said Sam, smiling. "You're not the one who's going to be introducing your boyfriend to people who, up until tonight, all probably thought you were straight and wanted to introduce you to their lovely nieces."
Remus laughed and elbowed him. "No, I'm just the boyfriend who has to be introduced," he retorted. "Much less intimidating."
"When they meet you," said Sam, taking Remus's hand and brushing an almost-kiss over his knuckles, "they're all sure to love you just as much as I do."
"I doubt it," Remus said under his breath, but Sam only chuckled.
"Shall I get you a drink first?"
"No, thanks," said Remus, looking around and noticing that fewer than half the people there were holding drinks. Besides, he didn't want to have to juggle a glass and shake hands, too; that wouldn't leave him free to hold Sam's hand. "Not quite yet."
"Right." Sam nodded toward a very tall wizard a few yards away. "Come and meet Alistair Aldsworth."
Alistair was only the first of nearly three dozen wizards and witches to whom Sam introduced Remus over the course of the long evening. After a couple of hours, when Remus had accepted a glass of wine and was eating assorted finger sandwiches and other nibbles, he murmured to Sam, "I'm never going to keep them all straight, you know. It's been years since I taught and had to memorise a whole roomful of names in one go, and I was always rubbish at it even then."
Sam choked on his stuffed mushroom. "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "Don't worry about it. Anyone we talk to again, I'll work their name into the conversation. You'll be fine."
"That one witch, the one in the lavender robes?"
"Yes, that's the one. I quite liked her."
"She's a lovely person, and a generous donor." Sam smiled at someone beyond Remus and lifted his glass. "One of those with a niece, but as the reason she's so generous is that she has no children of her own and her niece has had an incurable magical malady for about twenty years now, she's never even tried to matchmake for me."
"Oh dear," said Remus. "I didn't realise."
"Most donors--the big ones anyway--have some personal reason to be interested," Sam said.
Remus nodded, looking around the room, vaguely wondering which of the donors had such personal reasons, and what those reasons might be, but he decided it was probably best not to speculate, seeing as he had his own so-called malady to deal with, and he'd have hated if any of them were wondering about him.
Not that they weren't, he supposed--but in a different way. He had caught more than one socialite looking his way as she whispered to her escort--gossiping about Sam, more than likely, who seemed oblivious to the occasional stares.
Remus pulled Sam aside for a moment so that they faced each other, still holding hands.
"What's wrong?" Sam asked immediately.
"How do you know something's wrong?"
"Besides the death grip you've got on my hand?" Sam flexed his hand in Remus's grip, and Remus coloured and relaxed.
"Right, sorry. Just--I feel like people are staring at us. Not that I'm not used to being marginalised, Sam, but I don't know if I should actually be here with you."
Sam frowned and leaned forward.
"Remus," he said, his voice low, "listen, please, to what I've got to say."
Remus nodded and Sam continued.
"Fuck. Everyone. Else."
Remus raised his eyebrows.
"All right," Sam conceded, "Not everyone. But anyone who's making you feel less than welcome? Bugger them. None of the people I've introduced to you so far have done so, have they?" Remus shook his head.
"I've introduced you to everyone who matters," said Sam, "so bugger everyone else, all right?"
"I don't want to bugger everyone else," said Remus, so quietly that he wasn't sure if Sam would hear him. "Just you."
Sam evidently did hear, because his ears turned pink. "Same here. We should stay a little longer, though, maybe another half-hour, hour. Then we'll go home."
"I have to work in the morning," Remus reminded him.
"A half-hour. No more," promised Sam. "There are only a few more people I should say hello to."
As good as his word, Sam was smiling and saying good-byes thirty minutes later, with Remus nodding pleasantly behind him. At last they were back by the Floo, and Sam grinned at Remus as he took up a handful of Floo powder from the bowl. "See you in a moment. Your place, since you have to work."
Remus was about to toss his own in when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
It was Sage Dalrymple, the elderly witch wearing lavender.
"Yes, Madam Dalrymple?"
"I wanted to say what a pleasure it was to meet you," she said. "I haven't seen Sam Boardman so happy in years." She gave Remus a twinkling smile. "Now have a happy Christmas."
"Thank you," Remus answered automatically. "You do the same."
He went through the Floo to his house and came out sputtering slightly, ash in his mouth.
"You all right?" said Sam in concern. "Did you miss the grate, or something?"
"No, Madam Dalrymple spoke to me for a moment before I could go, that's all." Remus found himself grinning. "She said you looked very happy."
Sam enveloped Remus in an embrace. "I am, you know," he murmured, kissing the warm skin of Remus's neck. "This is the happiest I've been in years."
Remus nodded and held tightly to Sam. "That's what Madam Dalrymple said. That she hasn't seen you this happy in years. She caught me off-guard, I'll admit, but it was good to hear."
Sam pulled away a bit so he could look Remus in the eye. "You do know how happy you make me, don't you?"
"I don't know, not exactly," Remus replied, "but I do know that it can't be half as happy as you make me." Sam rolled his eyes at Remus, but he was smiling, and they moved together in a comforting embrace, standing like that for several minutes, just holding each other there in front of the fireplace.
Remus stifled a yawn. "I suppose I should get to bed," he said then, his voice filled with regret. He'd have loved to stay up talking with Sam, but the social atmosphere had drained him of much of his energy, and even before they'd gone to the party, he hadn't been feeling his best--the effects from the moon sometimes lasted for several days, and his joints and his back still ached somewhat.
Sam nuzzled along his neck. "Bed, eh?"
"Oh--" Remus protested, already planning to stall Sam's advances, "I really mustn't--I've got to be rested for work tomorrow. A Saturday just before Christmas--we're going to be busy."
"You don't have to do a thing," purred Sam. "Just lie there and let me do all the work."
That sounded promising.
"Perhaps--if we go up now--"
"Now's a good time for me. I haven't got anything else to do right now except take care of you. Can I make it up to you for not being there after the moon? Let me make you feel better, Remus."
"How can I say no?" Remus laughed. "You're too good to me."
"Mm, not good enough." Sam kissed his neck again, and Remus shivered pleasurably. "Come on."
Sam undressed them both rapidly, hanging up their dress robes so they wouldn't wrinkle as Remus lay down on the bed, propping himself on one elbow to watch Sam and admire his arse. Sam knew what Remus was doing, and waggled it as he found the lube and brought it over.
"I'd love to give you another massage, but I think it would take too long." Sam stretched out beside Remus instead and kissed him, running one hand along Remus's body from shoulder to thigh. "Another night."
Remus nodded. "I really enjoyed that, I have to say." He inhaled sharply as Sam tweaked one nipple. "Ah!"
"Sensitive tonight," Sam observed. He scooted down the bed so that he could lick the spot apologetically. His mouth was warm and wet and comforting, and Remus rolled onto his back as Sam continued to move downward, nuzzling every inch. Remus's cock rose up, straining toward Sam, who didn't tease but took the head into his mouth as soon as he reached it, making Remus groan.
He didn't suck Remus for very long, however, but went on to his bollocks, then asked Remus to lift his thighs.
It would have been more comfortable to roll over than to fold up so awkwardly, but this way Remus could look down at Sam's silvering hair and touch it as Sam's tongue explored into his arse. It was just as he'd fantasised about earlier in the week, with Sam making little grunts and whuffs of enjoyment as he licked and sucked and wriggled his tongue further.
"Sam, Sam," Remus murmured, his breath coming quickly. "God, that's marvellous."
Sam chuckled against Remus's hole, the vibrations sending a delicious buzz up Remus's spine. "Just wait a moment."
Remus was quite happy to wait if this was what he got for doing so. Sam rimmed him for another couple of minutes, then pulled his face away and cast a lubrication and stretching spell--but not on Remus. Instead Sam knelt up over Remus's hips and guided Remus's cock into his own body, wincing almost unnoticeably--spells were just never quite as good, but Remus knew that Sam would adjust quickly. "Oh, that's lovely," Sam breathed, and leaned forward, bracing his hands and beginning to ride Remus.
Remus couldn't help but agree--Sam had said he'd take care of Remus, and he was doing a damned good job of it. He arched up off the bed, thrusting into Sam, but Sam cupped Remus's cheek in his hand.
"Just keep still--just let me make you come. No work for you tonight."
Remus couldn't argue with an offer like that. He relaxed against the pillows, watching Sam as he rode Remus's cock. Sam's shaggy hair kept falling in his eyes, and Sam shoved it back with little grunts of annoyance. Remus smiled at the sight.
"Touch yourself, Sam," Remus whispered, "I want to watch you."
"Ah, fuck, yes," Sam hissed, and he did, grasping his cock and giving it several swift tugs before falling into a rhythm that matched his rising and falling on Remus's stiff prick.
"I want to make you come, Remus," Sam declared, still stroking himself. Remus gasped a yes and watched as a drop of precome welled up on the head of Sam's cock and hesitated, then fell onto Remus's stomach, hot and slick, and Remus dipped his finger into it, then brought the finger to his mouth.
"Love to taste you," he declared, and Sam swore and fucked Remus a little faster, fisting his own cock at the same rate.
"Love to watch you do it. God." Sam shuddered, almost coming, Remus could tell.
"Love the way you feel around me, so tight, Sam, so good..." Remus's voice trailed off as he looked up at Sam, their gazes locking, and then Sam gyrated his hips and clenched around Remus and Remus came, the heat rushing through him as he clutched at Sam's thighs, pulling him desperately closer, and Sam came too in spurts that fell across Remus's chest, and then Sam was leaning forward, his skin warm and sweaty and sticky with semen as they clung together with Remus's cock softening and beginning to slip from Sam's arse.
"You're the only one I want, Remus," said Sam in Remus's ear. "I was proud that you were with me tonight."
Remus tightened his arms around Sam. "I was glad I was there, even if it felt awkward sometimes. I love you, Sam."
It still felt new and strange, saying the words straight out that way. He hadn't said it to very many people, after all; Sirius and Tonks were really the only other two. And Teddy. He pushed that thought out of his mind. He'd said it to his parents, he could say it to his son.
"I love you too." Sam sounded relaxed and happy. "I'm really looking forward to spending Christmas with you and Ted. It's been a long time since I--well, since I really enjoyed Christmas."
"Ted might be bringing someone too," said Remus cautiously.
"Maybe. I gather they had some sort of argument, so I'm not sure what the situation is now. I'll try to find out by the twenty-third; if Ted does bring Andrew, or another friend for that matter, I'll want to have some gift, and I'll certainly want to make sure there's enough food. Boys that age, after all."
"Yeah." Sam moved off Remus. "I remember. My mother used to grumble that I cost twice as much to feed as my dad and her together. I started not going home much around then. The Hobgoblins were just making it big, so I could afford a flat and to eat out all the time if I wanted. Unlike you I wasn't very domesticated."
Remus laughed. "I wasn't very domesticated at that age either. It took a while to develop."
"Well, I'm glad it developed in one of us, at least," replied Sam, looking over at Remus. "This way, I figure, you can cook for me and clean up after me when I'm old and my years of drug use and alcoholism have finally taken their toll on my body."
Remus turned onto his side and poked Sam in his belly, rolling his eyes. "Don't say that."
Sam gave a shrug. "Why not?" But a smile played around his lips, and there were merry creases as the corners of his eyes.
"Oh, Remus," he continued, "don't make that face. That's a Worried Remus face, and I don't like you making that face about me. Make it about Teddy or someone else. Not about me. I'm going to be around--and lucid, mind you, and in control of all of my bodily functions--for a damned good long while yet. So you don't get to worry about me, all right?"
Remus let out the softest of sighs. "I don't mean to worry, Sam, but when you bring up things like--"
"I know. Here." Sam took Remus in his arms, and they entwined their limbs. Remus could feel Sam's heart beating against his own chest, sure and strong and stabilising. Remus reasoned with himself. Sam was in just as good of health as Remus was--probably better, actually. He wasn't going anywhere.
"I don't worry about you often," Remus said against Sam's neck. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I worry about Teddy constantly, of course, but maybe that's because I still see him as a little boy sometimes. Whereas you're--"
"Definitely not a little boy," Sam replied, pressing his softened cock to Remus's thigh, and Remus chuckled, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that was trying to remind him that there were recent times that he hadn't thought of Teddy as a little boy at all.
"No," said Remus, "Definitely not."
They lay there in each other's arms, drifting dangerously near to sleep, naked and sated, with spunk drying on their bellies, until Remus managed to make an effort to rouse himself.
"Come on," he said, his voice thick. "Let's go to bed."
"We're in bed already," Sam protested, not responding to Remus's tugging on his hand.
"You're funny," replied Remus, his eyelids drooping. "Come on."
Sam roused himself and they cleaned their skin and put on pyjamas--well, Remus managed pyjama bottoms and Sam found a clean pair of pants in Remus's top drawer. Remus didn't remember granting Sam drawer privileges, but he found he rather liked the way that Sam rummaged so easily in there, as if he belonged there.
And, Remus reflected as they climbed back into bed, really, Sam did.