undunoops (undunoops) wrote in lupin_snape, @ 2009-08-29 08:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | retro fest |
RETRO FEST FIC: Recovery Position, NC-17, 5-6/12
Title: “Recovery Position”
Author: undun
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Severus/Remus, Severus/other
Challenge: lupin_snape Retrofest
Summary: Retro Fest Prompt 44. OotP era- "Moony, you alright? I heard you groaning and--CHRIST! Shit, Moony, sorry, I didn't rea--wait...is that SNAPE?!"
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit creative work and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights held by Harry Potter creator/s. This work constitutes transformative, non-profit use of copyrighted material.
Warnings: Drug use in Chapter 2, self-medicating drunkenness, and general thick-headedness throughout.
Notes: I owe a huge debt of gratitude to some awesome betas, who have helped me whip this story into something coherent. Starting with Resonant about 4 years ago, and in recent weeks _lore (of awe-inspiring awesomeness); she very gently bullied me into finishing this story in time to submit for Retro Fest. You will notice the story is not the neatest fit for the prompt, but the opportunity to participate was too seductive! Last minute hand holding and critical appraisal was provided by psyfic, who I want to be like when I grow up. Any further furfies you see are my own and no one elses. A huge thank you to our Fest organiser, scribbulus_ink for this event!
Word count: About twenty-six and a half thousand all up.
“Recovery Position”
5. “Being Remus Lupin”
I pick my way through the edges of a very impressive pile of rubble – I estimate it at slightly over a mile across.
It’s Hogwarts Castle.
The clear, sharp tang of grief slices into me. I want my hypodermic.
“Severus,” he greets me softly. I hadn’t heard his approach, but then I wouldn’t have heard Hagrid, so immersed in my own suffering as I am now.
“Lupin, I need —” I don’t want to beg, but how much is my dignity worth?
“What? What do you need, Sev?”
“Don’t!”
“Sorry. Tell me, Severus.” He places his hands on my shoulders as he faces me squarely, or as squarely as he can get from two inches down. “You’ve been putting this off, haven’t you?” He tips his head at the surrounding debris. “This is the first time you’ve confronted this mess without a narcotic buffer, isn’t it?”
What is the point of denial? I nod and close my eyes. I can’t bear to let him see, to let anyone see. “I need the morphine. I need it now!”
“You know what will happen. One drop and you will prey to the addiction again!”
I shake my head. Somewhere in my brain I know he’s right, but that’s irrelevant to me right now.
“One last dose, that is all, I will not take any more after that. I can do it without becoming addicted. Please!”
Listen to me. I’m begging. I don’t care anymore. Nothing matters but my need. Lupin is silent. I can hear the joints of my shoulders creaking under his hands. Will he?
“No.”
I open my eyes to stare at him. How can he profess to care and yet deny me what I so desperately need? Past his shoulder I can see distant figures outlined against the altered skyline. I can see Black and Potter. Black is still, staring in our direction as Potter turns objects over in his hands.
“Fuck you, Lupin,” I finally manage.
“Alright.”
He places an arm around my shoulder and turns me back to face the teachers’ block. “What are you doing?” I ask in bafflement.
“Taking you to your bedroom,” he answers matter-of-factly.
“What?” It is still light out and I am not the slightest bit sleepy. I step over the rubble, pulled along by his arm’s insistent weight.
“We… are going to fuck, Sev,” he pronounces.
“Don’t call —” I start automatically. Then it sinks in. I make a mental note to choke the life out of that part of me that registers sudden interest. “No, we aren’t!” I protest. The only person I am remotely interested in sleeping with (or rather, not sleeping – or rather, doing something else with, and then sleeping– where the fuck was I?) is over there, picking through Hogwarts’ remains like some archaeologist from two thousands years hence, and is only eighteen, and has not a clue who I really am.
“Yes we are, Severus.” Lupin adds my name correctly for a change, glancing sidelong at me as we approach the door to my rooms. I’m desperate.
“But, what about — ” I’m struggling to get the word out.
“What? Lubricant?” He pulls an obscenely large bottle from his robes – the notorious ‘Nanny Nesbitt’s Almost-All-Purpose Lubricant’.
“Bloody… Put that away! Someone might see!” I glance around behind us.
“Ashamed of me, Severus?” he enquires gently. Somehow I have opened my door. Why have I opened my door?
“No! Yes! Hell!” Let’s just review that answer, shall we?
I can’t bloody think. The door closes behind us. I smell his sweat immediately. He pulls out his wand and I stiffen in apprehension. Is he going to hex me with some lust-inducing spell? I pause to note that the slightly interested part of me is now registering quite a lot more than a passing interest in fucking Lupin. In fact, any more interest would rip a hole in my robe.
Oh, how I detest the male sexual response.
“Silencio,” Lupin intones with a graceful wave of his wand. The room is now silenced. To hell with it. I hold out my hand and, clever werewolf that he is, he passes the bottle of goo to me. I guess we know who’ll be playing alpha today, hmm?
He starts undressing. Robes, shirt, pants, and ankle-high boots find their way to the floor.
“You’re hairier than I remember,” I finally manage to gasp.
“I was seventeen the last time you saw me unclothed, Severus. Grudge match: Gryffindor versus Slytherin – the only house capable of being poor winners.”
I remember now. “We raided your change room.”
“Came out of the shower green,” he smirks.
Oh, I so want to wipe that knowing smirk off his delectable mouth. When exactly did he start looking so damn appetising?
A sudden fear rises. “If you bite me —”
He frowns for a moment, then approaches me on bare feet as his brow smooths out once more.
“Sev, I’m safe to be with right now. I wouldn’t risk hurting you.” He’s close enough to touch, to kiss.
“Don’t call me Sev,” I admonish him for perhaps the thousandth time.
“Sorry,” he whispers. Then his mouth is on mine. Gently, so gently. I can feel his lips brush dryly against my own, the heat of his saliva as he anoints me with his tongue. My mouth was not pressed closed and he exploits my tactical mistake by pushing his tongue between my lips and running it over my teeth. I might fall over if I don’t grab something to steady myself. Well, he is the nearest stable object.
When my hands reach his shoulders he whimpers quietly. By all that’s unholy – perhaps that male sexual response isn’t quite the curse I had thought. I move my hands over him to see how he will respond. I’m curious. Yes, surely scientific curiosity is to be expected from one in my profession?
He’s moaning low in his chest as I pinch his nipples. His teeth worry at my bottom lip. I feel my robe being pushed from my shoulders. My jacket is next – it doesn’t stand a chance against Lupin’s nimble fingers. I’m mortified that I am shaking as his hands reach my belt buckle.
“Lupin,” I mumble against his mouth.
He stops immediately, pulling back and looking almost frightened as he stares into my eyes. “Yes?”
“I…” I have no idea what to say. ‘I can’t do this’? I most certainly can – I’ve done far worse than a casual shag in my time. ‘I can’t love you’? I’m sure he doesn’t care in the slightest. He knows damn well that he isn’t the object of my affection.
“What?” he prompts, hands still poised at my waist.
“Bedroom,” I finally answer. I nearly topple over when he moves, taking my solid, stable object away from my dizzy self. I carefully bend to retrieve his lubricant from the floor and follow him bedroom-ward.
Hell’s bells! Who’d have suspected such perfect buttocks of him?
I think I just tore my trousers.
*** *** ***
I have made all the necessary preparations and his feet are over my shoulders as I press against his arse. Just do it, man! Take what he so willingly offers you – spread out like so much marmalade on toast for your pleasure.
What the hell is holding me here, frozen, apart from the tremor in my arms? I tear my eyes away from their hypnotised study of his balls and cock. I look him in the eye.
"Nothing changes what we are, Sev."
I have no idea what he means, but, in lieu of anything even remotely resembling resolution, I barge into him – fuelled by the irritation of yet another mangling of my name.
I’m sure he groaned just then, but I was making too much noise myself to hear it. He’s… very tight. It’s all downhill from here.
When I close my eyes the body beneath me is smooth-skinned, pale, slender, and only eighteen. When I come my body screams its ecstasy even as what passes for my heart is busily haemorrhaging.
*** *** ***
I wake to Lupin’s slumbering, sweaty body pinning me to the bed. Our alpha wolf has emerged during sleep it appears.
A certain part of me is still interested. I endeavour to ignore it as I ponder recent developments. It’s like pulling rotting teeth – unpleasant, but much worse if left to fester. I must find some way to work out what has just taken place in this bed.
I had sex with Remus Lupin.
Yes, all well and good, but why? And this is where I come to a sudden, screaming halt. I really have no idea why, for either him or me. Loneliness?
So. Where does that leave things? I tilt my head to observe the wizard in question. My hand is still on his arse, where it no doubt settled during our nap. I can feel my eyebrows drawing together. I am perplexed by the sight; my hand – his arse. I am besotted with the man’s arse.
I am rigid after this thought. I want to fuck him again. I turn my head left, then right… searching.
"Whassit?" His tousled head appears out of my armpit. I’ve jostled him awake.
"The lubricant?"
He blinks slowly at me as my words sink in.
"It’s… ah! Here," he responds, rolling to his side and removing the bottle from wherever it had lodged itself. I shudder to think.
I sit up and take the bottle from his hand. He subsides once more, lying on his stomach beside me with his head cushioned on ropy forearms. He seems unconcerned at the prospect of being rogered by me again. That’s… good, I suppose. I smother myself in the goo and move to kneel between his thighs.
He’s damn warm. And hairy. And loose enough for me to angle in without much effort this time. And this time I can hear him groan. It feels, if possible, even better than before, with my cock no doubt sensitised from our previous exertions. I reach under his chest to cup his shoulders from below, using my grip to brace my thrusts.
"Oh, shit…"
"Alright?"
"Oh, yeah. Very alright."
"Lupin."
"Yeah?" Part moan, part word.
"I like your arse."
"You’re only saying that because you’re… ungh… fucking it."
"Oh, no. I do like… ahh… fucking it as well though."
"Oh," he gasps a little breathlessly, and then, "Thanks, Sev."
"Don’t… ahh… oh, I give up." I feel the shudder slide up my spine, locking muscle groups as it goes. Lupin’s arse has clamped around me as I spill into him, as he spills into my bed.
Good timing.
I believe another nap is in order.
*** *** ***
6. “Staring at the Son”
It’s the morning after. The morning after the night I spent fornicating with the resident Werewolf. He has me pinned to the mattress again. Typical. I blink in the dim light. It’s actually quite warm under here. He may be short, but the body hair compensates somewhat – more surface area to radiate heat.
I suppose I’d better get rid of him before sun up.
“Lupin. Get off me.”
“Whassit?” His head appears from my left armpit this time.
What is it about my armpits that he so likes? Freak. “It will be dawn soon. Go away.”
“Oh. Yes. Right then,” He levers himself up onto his hands and looks down at me. His expression is bland. “Are you okay?”
“Never better, Lupin. Now piss off.” There is the smallest suggestion of a smirk, and then he rolls off me, and the bed, to make his way to the bathroom. Good… grief. I am treated to another view of his naked buttocks in action. Why haven’t I choked the life out of that part of me yet?
I groan inwardly as I rise from the bed, suddenly aware of exactly how long it has been ‘between drinks’. My lower back will need a lot of convincing to support my weight today. I need a potion. I snatch up my bedrobe and proceed to the storage cabinet in the sitting room. Finding the painkiller is a quick process; it’s always close to hand. I toss a mouthful back and frown at the taste. I hear splashing noises from the bathroom – I think Lupin’s using the shower.
I can’t afford to become involved with this man. I can’t allow him to do this again, as I can’t allow myself to indulge in it again. I feel raw and anxious, and a part of me is angry; furious at the both of us for letting it happen.
The sex wasn’t casual enough. I feel that Lupin may have an agenda, and that scares me a great deal. I have nothing to offer him, and I have no wish to be a substitute for…
Oh shite. I sit down in my armchair heavily. He wants to shag Black, doesn’t he?
Lupin appears from the bathroom and glances at me before beginning to pull on his clothes, which are still in a tidy pile on the sitting room floor. I watch him in a daze – worn underwear, faded trousers, time-bleached shirt, and threadbare robes. He must get paid, why does he never replace his clothes? He sits on the settee to pull on his boots. They appear to be his one indulgence – shiny and new, and obviously well made.
“Nice boots,” I say before my conscious mind kicks in to censor me. Damn.
“Aren’t they?” His smile really does change his whole face. He becomes younger, the weight of years and tragedy lift for an unbearable second. “Sirius bought them for me. A birthday present.”
“Do you love him?” That conscious mind of mine is obviously still in bed. I suppose I must have some sneaking interest in his answer, having just buggered the man sideways.
“Of course I do! But you knew that, Sev.” He appears to see the question as irrelevant.
“Will you ever stop calling me that?” I hiss, and then, “Have you told him?”
“Sorry.” He flicks a look at me from under his wet thatch of hair. “And as to Sirius… oh! You think I love him that way!” He shakes his head in amusement. “No, no, no; that isn’t how it is.” He gives a little shudder. “No, strictly brotherly affection between us. And he’s straight anyway.”
“That wouldn’t stop you feeling… something more, imagining… with someone else.” What the hell am I saying? If I drive a hot poker through my lips I might shut up. I look at the fireplace and the tools nearby.
He has finished dressing and sits regarding me calmly. Poker face. Hah. “I wanted to be with you yesterday, Severus.”
Ah! Now he can say my name properly. I suspect I have been teased. Wait–
“You, you have feelings… for me?”
“Yes. I like you.” Not a flicker of expression on his face. What do I say? Nothing. He knows full well where my affections lie. He let me use him while I was thinking of another.
“It’s alright, you know. I don’t expect anything at all, just, if you enjoy my company…” His words grow quieter then stop. I think we have an embarrassed Werewolf in the room.
“Lupin,” I begin.
“I’d better go.” And then he is up and leaving before I can utter another word. Not that I have any idea what that word may have been. I believe I am surprised. Perhaps shocked. The door shuts after him.
Yes. Right. I’d better get dressed.
Fuck!
*** *** ***
After a hideously hot shower, to trick my lower back into allowing me a normal range of movement, I dress and make my way to the banquet hall… tent. It has rained overnight and the grass squelches pleasingly underfoot when I take a shortcut off the main pathway.
Entering the tent, I proceed to seat myself at the Head Table. I avoid looking at Lupin. I am ravenous. It is a novel sensation. I help myself to a little of everything on offer, fully intending to gorge myself. After some minutes of intense masticating, I pause to intercept the teapot as it slides across the table in front of me. I don’t know who was summoning it – or sending it – but they’ll just have to wait. As I fill my cup I look up to see Lupin regarding me over the rim of his teacup. There is a touch of amusement in his gaze. Idiot.
I bring my tea to my lips and take a mouthful, glancing around at the surrounding mass of humanity as I do so. I nearly aspirate my tea when I notice Potter staring at me. His eyes meet my own gaze without any change in his expression. He simply looks thoughtful. I notice the very moment he becomes aware of my return of his regard – it’s as if he was some place else entirely. His startled twitch is almost comical. He offers me a slight smile, then continues to wolf down his breakfast with all the predictable enthusiasm of a teenaged boy released from a six-month diet of rice.
I have no reason to feel guilty. And yet…
I push my chair back and rise. Breakfast is no longer appealing.
I make my way quickly to my quarters. It has started to rain again and I arrive at my door soaked through. Class begins in forty-five minutes, that’s time enough for a drying spell and a quick sherry. I am halfway through my sherry when there is a knock at the door. Lupin. Has to be. I open the door, ready with a furious frown to throw at him.
“Mr. Potter.” I peer around him to see where Black has got to. One doesn’t see Potter wandering about by himself these days; some tall, dark Death Eater might get him.
“Good morning, Professor. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” His hair is plastered to his scalp and his robes are making puddles at his feet.
“I have another forty minutes until class. What is it?” I am painfully unnerved.
“I was wondering if you had made any progress on a possible cure for my amnesia. If this is a bad time perhaps I could… come back later?”
I gesture him inside. I can’t bear to watch him getting wetter by the second, amusing though it would be to have the Boy Who Lived succumb to a case of double pneumonia after defeating the Dark Lord of the age. It strikes me that no one, not even Potter, actually knows how he did it.
“Oh no, sir! I’ll drip on your floor,” he protests. All this polite conversation is making my teeth ache.
“Drying charm,” I mutter as I grab his collar and yank him over the threshold. He gives a gratifying yelp as he stumbles inside. I peer around outside once more, expecting to see his guard dog lolloping around the corner in pursuit of his charge. Not a soul.
“Where is Black?” Or Weasley, or Granger?
“Sirius sent an owl this morning,” he responds with a smile, “He met up with a friend in Hogsmead last night and stayed overnight.”
“Friendly barmaid, you mean,” I mutter. I watch his eyes flicker in surprise. “So, he’s left you all alone, then? It’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?” He coughs and looks at the floor as he explains.
“I– I’m supposed to be with Ron and Hermione. I gave them the slip, you might say.”
I raise an eyebrow at this confession, but forebear to comment on it. I suppose that I’m unsurprised by this show of the Potter Rebellious Streak. In a way it’s comforting to see it in evidence. I raise my wand and point it at him. His eyebrows head upwards.
“What– what are you doing?”
“This is a drying charm, Mr. Potter. Nothing more.” I find myself reassuring him. I am reminded that this is not the Harry Potter we all know, this is, essentially, a blank book. No doubt he had a few of his pages filled in the days following his arrival back at Hogwarts, but still… He has no history, no guilt, no grudges and no bloody idea how much danger he could be in right at this moment. He is unbearably vulnerable. A part of me finds this equally unbearably attractive, and twitches inside its confinement. I cast the charm irritably. There is a time and place for such desires. Unfortunately, there will never be a time and a place for my feelings for this young man.
“Wow! That’s amazing, Professor!” He ruffles through his now-dry hair in wonderment. I miss his scar. I need my glass.
“Would you like a sherry, Mr.Potter?”
“Oh, my Aunt and Uncle used to drink that stuff. They never let me have any, though; they hated me.”
“You remember your Aunt and Uncle?” This is interesting. A partial amnesia. I’m guessing all his memories of his pre-Hogwarts life are intact. I pour him a glass as he answers.
“Yes, and my cousin, Dudley. Awful spoiled blimp.”
I hand him his sherry and take another sip of my own. Who cares what time of day it is, the boy needs corrupting. All this innocence is testing my resolve.
“But nothing of the school?” I continue.
“That’s right. And they tell me that I went home during the holidays, but I don’t remember that either.”
“I see.” The damage is limited, and may, in fact, be hysterical rather than physical. Interesting. No effect on his language abilities, and his cultural reference points are still in evidence. Fascinating. I wonder what he’d do on a broom? “Well, I hope one of these potions can help to alleviate the symptoms, Mr. Potter.” I take another sip of sherry.
“Thank you, Professor. Please, do call me Harry. I keep expecting an old gent called Mr. Potter to tap me on the shoulder from behind.” He smiles and takes a mouthful from his glass. I watch, mesmerised, as his throat works around the liquid. I cross my legs.
“Your father would have been about my age, Harry,” And that’s something I need to continually remind myself. “Unless you consider me an ‘old gent’, then the Mr. Potter you might have expected behind you, had he lived, would not have been elderly.” Damn! My sherry is finished. I place the empty glass on the low table next to my chair as he responds.
“Well that’s one memory that I’m not really missing, isn’t it? I never knew my parents. Sometimes I don’t know whether that’s a blessing or a curse.” He looks directly at me. There is no self-pity in his gaze. Just an intensity that defies accurate description. A hunger of sorts.
“Which reminds me, you had best be going now, Harry.” I rise from my chair and glance at the clock over the mantle. “I have class in ten minutes, and no doubt your stand-in parent will be looking for you soon – not to mention a couple of harassed seventh years.” He laughs softly at this.
“I have two trial potions for you, nothing terribly powerful. I would like you to try the first one,” I hand him a small, squat bottle, “over the course of three days. Follow the dosage I have marked. If nothing results from that, take nothing for one day and then commence with the second potion. Again, follow the dosage marked on the bottle.” I hand over the second, taller bottle with what I hope is a stern look. I want to discourage any temptation he might have towards experimenting.
He grapples with the bottles and looks up from his position on the settee. “That’s wonderful, Professor! How can I thank you? I wasn’t expecting all this so soon…” He gulps down the rest of his sherry. Again I watch his throat from the corner of my eye.
I can think of far too many ways he could thank me.
“Well, goodbye for now, Professor.” He rises from the settee and turns toward the door. I have an irresistible urge to be close to him, however briefly. “I’ll get the door for you,” I rush in front of him, opening the door and standing beside the doorjamb. I am pathetic. No news there.
“Goodbye, Harry.”
The unaccustomed mode of address feels strangely familiar, as if I had called him ‘Harry’ forever in a different lifetime. I wonder if that lifetime included taking off his clothes and holding him close to me all night. I watch him until he disappears around the corner. I hope someone uses another drying charm on him soon.
*** *** ***
TBC