RETRO FEST FIC: Recovery Position, NC-17, 9/12
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.
9. “Thy Nature’s Weakness”
Soft touches.
Moist lips.
Very nice, very relaxing… and… arousing. I jerk from sleep, gasping “Harry” in surprise as my hips move involuntarily.
“Yes, it’s me,” his voice comes from pitch darkness. At some point it may seem important that I knew it was Potter before I was fully conscious. Right now I am far too angry to care.
I lurch upwards grabbing at where I know his hair will be, “What in the seven circles are you doing?” He twists out of my grip and I hear a rustling of clothing.
“Lumos.” He intones, and the room is suffused with light from his wand. He looks miserable, and delectably dishevelled. I stare at him feeling an unaccustomed loss of vocabulary.
“How did you get in?” I finally bark. As far as I was aware Lupin was the only person who knew the spellword to my quarters.
“You’re using the same spellword.” He answers in a tone that shows he thinks this is a ridiculous question, “I took it as a sign that I would be welcome.” He adds disingenuously. As if I’d fall for that!
“If I have no bloody memory of giving you the spellword, how the hell would I know that you could get in?” He must have vestiges of conscience, or simply be embarrassed at being caught out, because he drops his gaze and shrugs.
“This is all beside the point anyway, Potter,” I continue, “You must leave right this second. I don’t want you in here.” I desperately will my erection to go down. It’s very hard, in more ways than one. I have a ready, willing and able young man sitting on my bed who would strip and join me under the covers at the slightest sign of interest from me. The added difficulty of being quite firmly attracted to the young man in question means that I am required to exert a superhuman level of restraint in order to turn him aside. Life, as well I know, is simply not fair.
“I wanted to spend some time with you, Severus. I wanted a chance to apologise properly for what I did,” he insists.
“Alright, apology accepted. Now bugger off!” I’m getting desperate. I am having visions of his smooth, pale skin sliding under my hands.
Severus,” he whispers sorrowfully. It’s inconceivable that he should care for someone like me. It’s inconceivable that my rejection should hurt him so…
“Come back at a decent time.” I concede. Then, in a fit of true masochism, “And tell Black everything you’ve told me. I don’t want any more of these blasted secrets!” His face looks tight, but he nods and backs off the bed. I watch him retreat, along with his lit wand, through to the sitting room.
“And lock the bloody door!” I call after him. The light fades as he steps out into the night.
“G’night, Severus.” Comes his soft farewell. And then the door closes. I feel… relieved, confused, and bitter – in equal amounts.
He never calls me ‘Sev’.
*** *** ***
The rest of my night was spent in a restless tangle of bedclothes and regret. My mind relentlessly provided imaginary images to fill in the blanks left by the ever-well-meaning Harry Potter. I fought against visions of him in every conceivable position. My over-heated imagination explored every sex act it could dredge up from my less than savoury past, substituting Potter for all the faceless partners from times gone by. I must have woken myself from light dozing about four times to find I was fully erect and humping the spare pillow, or the mattress, or my own hand.
I cursed myself for a fool for turning the boy away. Knowing that I’d done the right thing provided no solace in the dark hours before dawn.
Even now I must own to conflicting and ambivalent feelings on the matter of bedding Potter – past and present. Though I feel deep down that he has told me the truth, there is a part of me that wants to deny it ever happened, that wants to divorce myself from the fact that I allowed myself to enjoy carnal acts with a student from one of my own classes. No matter how much I may have felt for him, taking advantage of a teenaged, hormone-driven infatuation demonstrates very poor moral judgement on my part. Potter must have employed some very sophisticated arguments to win his case.
Oh, who am I trying to fool? All he had to do was raise the issue of his imminent demise at the hands of Lord-Bloody-Voldemort and I would have surrendered the field. That has been my true Achilles heel all along.
And since when has Harry Potter been homosexual, anyway? That particular question was swamped in the first shock of his cataclysmic revelations on our relationship. I had no idea he may be inclined towards the male of the species, though I suppose I never saw him dally with any females either – aside from a short-lived yearning for the Chang girl in his fourth year.
He would have wanted to keep it quiet. It would be natural not to want it splurted all over the front page of The Daily Prophet… one of the drawbacks of celebrity status. And given my own Out Of The Closet Raging Nancy reputation of late, it’s in his best interests to stay well clear of me. He deserves, at the very least, an unblemished start to his post-Voldemort life, and I now have (and probably always had) the sad ability to instantly tarnish an otherwise spotlessly heroic reputation.
It is this depressing, but inevitable, conclusion that keeps me to my rooms this morning. It is Saturday and I am tired and listless. I find the idea of breakfast completely unappealing and instead sip at cup after cup of strong tea. Come mid-morning I am unsurprised by Black’s bellowing voice outside my door.
“Snape! Are you in there? Open up!”
I’d been expecting him for some time now. Time to face judge, jury and executioner. I don’t feel much like defending myself. I rise and walk to the door. I open it just as he has his fist raised to begin thumping.
“Take a deep breath and count to ten, Black,” I drawl. I can’t help it, I do so love to wind him up. “I find it always helps.” I’m going to regret it, obviously.
“You fucking bastard.” He lurches inside and, though I should have expected it, the fist that ploughs into my nose comes as a surprise.
I am not really thinking anything. I am blinking at the ceiling, noticing it for the first time really… quite wonderful carpentry. I wish I could breathe through the blood filling my throat. I find myself dragged upwards by my collar, unable to do anything much but spit blood and try to get some breath back into my lungs.
“You pathetic piece of shit! You couldn’t even wait for him to leave school, could you?” He knees me in the groin and I crumple to the floor when he lets go of my collar. I hear my own personal mantra in my head as I lay gasping in a ball, protecting my genitals from further punishment. ‘I deserve it. I deserve it.’
“Sirius!” Oh, come one, come all! Join in the fray, let’s have a party! I am aware of Lupin kneeling over me, although I still can’t see properly.
“What the hell have you done?”
“He was fucking Harry a year ago! He wasn’t even eighteen!” Shout it a bit louder, Black. I’m sure they didn’t hear you on the other side of the Quidditch pitch.
“You stupid bastard! What have you done to him?”
“Moony,” There is a distinct whine in his voice. My hearing is probably the only clear sense I have working right now. “He’s a fucking paedophile!”
I feel Lupin’s absence as a loss of warmth against my back. There is a whump of sound, accompanied by a splintering crack, and the floor that I lie on shakes. Lupin’s voice is quiet. “He is not a paedophile. Go back and ask Harry how long it took him to seduce Severus Snape, you fool.” I can hear scuffling on the floor and the sound of my door being slammed.
As Lupin lifts me carefully off the floor I vaguely wonder how many times he has carried me these past several weeks – literally and figuratively. He leaves me on the bed, returning with a bowl and a cloth a minute later. I am unable to straighten my legs against the sickening ache between them. I allow myself a moan, not that I could stop it anyway, and curl onto my side again.
Lupin dabs delicately at my face with a cloth dipped in water from the bowl. He rinses and dabs again, hissing between his teeth all the while. He is such a convincing mother hen that I would laugh at him if I could draw a proper breath.
“You didn’t even try to stop him, did you?” He asks shortly. Ah, Lupin – you know me far too well.
Bloody hell. There is something huge and obvious that I’m missing here, isn’t there? In a combination of fatigue, pain, sheer emotional overload, and a lack of willingness to face reality, I decide to pass out.
*** *** ***
When I regain consciousness, it is to the alarming sensation of someone undoing my trousers.
“What the devil…!”
“Oh, hush, Severus. I need to inspect the damage.” Poppy Pomfrey’s bedside mannered voice answers me as I bat at her hands.
“You most certainly do NOT!” I shout back, and immediately give myself a migraine. I curl back onto my side, thereby thwarting the awful woman’s efforts to get at my family jewels. It bloody hurts.
“Sev,” His amused tone is quite offensive. “Let Poppy have a look. Please?”
“No.” Better hope he doesn’t use the other tone – the one I always end up mindlessly obeying. Lupin gives a resigned sigh,
“Alright. Poppy, tell me what to look for and wait just outside the door.” He must be kidding! He’s going to describe my giblets to her through the door?
“Very well… if he’s not going to be reasonable about it.” She sounds quite huffy, really rather miffed. Hah.
“We are talking about the same unreasonable, stubborn, unpleasant, greasy, unpersonable git, aren’t we?” Bastard. I think I’ll kill him.
“You’re right, of course. I’ll leave the door open.” I can hear her swift swish of skirts as she exits my bedroom. Good riddance.
“Turn over, Severus.” Lupin commands. Commands!
“Say please.” I hiss at him.
“Oh for sh…. Please.”
I roll onto my back and he gives me the most ineffectual sneer I’ve ever seen in my life. He even has the corners of his mouth pulled tight to stop the incipient smile in its tracks. Fraud. He recommences undoing my trousers. I hiss in alarm when his fingers brush against my pelvic bone.
“Have a care, you animal!” I glare up at him. He smiles slightly. I have nothing to say to that, so I glare some more. He tugs gently at my trousers until they are down to mid-thigh, then, after glancing at me, he slowly slides my underwear down. If I weren’t sweating with each painful movement, I would be quite turned on. I pant through the throbbing.
“Alright?”
“No, I’m not fucking alright, you imbecile!” I hear clucking noises through the doorway,
“Such language. The man is really the most difficult patient I’ve ever had to deal with!”
Lupin is unable to suppress his stupid grin. I close my eyes so I don’t have to deal with the sight of him. I nearly jump through the ceiling when I feel his feather-light touch against my groin. I open my eyes to glare at him again, but he has an intense look of concentration on his face as he scrutinises my privates.
“See anything you like, Lupin?” His eyes flick across to meet my stare. His long red tongue sweeps over his pink lips. They are really too sweet looking for a man his age. Oh, shite! I’m getting an erection – it’s agonising. I can’t help the moan.
“Sorry,” he whispers. Louder, he asks Poppy, “What does a ruptured testicle look like, anyway?”
What?
“You’ll have to palpate his scrotum. Carefully.”
He looks at me, frowning, “I think she means I have to feel you up, Sev.”
“CAREFULLY.” I feel this can’t be emphasised enough. He gives me a nod and his fingers move to gently heft my sac. They are very sore. I pant through the process of his rolling each testicle to check its shape.
“They feel normal to me, Poppy.” He announces at the end of it. I feel like I might vomit.
“That’s good. Put on a cooling charm to numb the area, and ask Severus to take some of the healing potion.
“I can hear, you know.” I mutter through clenched teeth. Lupin simply waves his wand over my groin, giving blessed relief. I can’t help a moan of pleasure at the result. Lupin stares at me for a long minute, then pulls both my underwear and my trousers off completely before pulling up a bed sheet to preserve my modesty.
“He’s decent now, Poppy.” He calls through the doorway. Everyone’s favourite Medi-witch bustles back in.
“Bed rest, Severus. See that you do, or I’ll have you in the Infirmary for a week!” What did I do? Antagonistic wench. She leans over, and to my horror, runs a finger down my nose. My nose! I’d forgotten about that. But there is no pain emanating from it.
“Quite a nice closure. It has retained every inch of its imposing size, Severus.” She smirks. Funny woman. Please die. Now.
Lupin sees her off the premises and I try to stop the cold sweat covering my skin. I shiver and wish he’d come back and pull the duvet over me. I hate being beaten up.
“Here, you look cold.” He’s back in the room. I must have dozed for a second. I sigh in relief when he places the duvet over me. I forget myself and murmur, “Thank you.”
He strokes my forehead once, fleetingly – not enough – and then brings a goblet of potion to my lips. He lifts my shoulders and I sip at the goblet. He seems satisfied, because he allows me to lean back onto the pillows and places the goblet back on the bedside table. I shiver again. I can feel his hand back at my forehead, stroking.
“Still cold?” he asks softly. I grunt an affirmative.
“Roll over.” He must have a reason. I roll onto my side, facing away from him. I feel the bedclothes moving behind me and then his warm form is pressed up against my back. That’s better. I can feel the chill slowly dissipate under the onslaught of his warmth. His warmth… warmth.