undunoops (undunoops) wrote in lupin_snape, @ 2009-08-30 12:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | retro fest |
RETRO FEST FIC: Recovery Position, NC-17, 10/12
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.
10. “Belief System”
“Wake up, Sunshine.”
I think I’ll kill him. After I’ve drunk the freshly brewed coffee he’s holding under my nose.
“Don’t ‘sunshine’ me, you irritating twit!” I sit up to take the proffered mug from his hand.
“Feeling better then?”
As the hot liquid slides down my throat I decide that it’s worth his obnoxiously cheerful prattling. I grunt a non-committal response to his question and take another blessed mouthful of coffee. My brain is waking by slow degrees. “What time is it?”
“Lunchtime. Are you hungry?”
I almost say no, but, surprisingly, I am rather… although the idea of walking is enough to bring tears to my eyes. The cooling charm has worn off and I feel pain will be an inevitable consequence.
“I can bring a tray for you.”
The mother hen thing is getting a tad repetitive. “Why are you being so bloody nice?” I ask with my usual suspicion. So good to be back in character.
“You’re injured!”
That’s not enough. I fix him in place with my glare… then I up the ante with narrowed eyes. He sighs before elaborating, “I believe you’re depressed about Harry. I believe you’ve decided not to become involved with him again,” I’m tempted to interrupt and protest that I never was involved with him, but it’s all in one’s perspective, isn’t it? “And now that you’ve made the decision you don’t see any happiness ahead for yourself,” he adds. Utter bastard.
“So, this is all… pity?” I gesture vaguely at the room, the situation, and him. He gives me a twisted smile.
“You know what this is, Severus,” his tongue lingers on the ‘s’. The sound has a strange effect on me. The hairs stand up all over my body. I don’t want anyone to have that kind of power over me. I can feel my temper, finally, about to explode…
“Get…” I am foiled in my attempt to throw him out of my quarters by his mouth latching onto mine. I struggle to throw him off, dropping the cup to clutch at his shoulders. I grab twin handfuls of his robes… his old, tatty robes… faded but serviceable, like Lupin. I find myself pulling him down instead of away, pulling him down as I recline on the bed, pulling him down to cover me as I part my legs ready to enclose him within. He makes a surprised sound in his throat – it never escapes his mouth as I have him silenced with my tongue and lips. Thankfully, he doesn’t wait to vocalise his question. He scrambles up and over me, hesitating only slightly before lying on top of me. I give a brief hiss as he presses against my crotch, but where I had anticipated pain there is only the sweet ache of arousal. I give silent thanks to the superior quality of the healing potions with which I have stocked Poppy’s clinic, and delve under his robes to find the outline of that magnificent arse. I grope and squeeze and stroke and… basically damn well worship it. We part lips to drag in lungfuls of air,
“We can’t…” he begins. I cut him off with a ragged, “Why the bloody hell not?”
“Your equipment might fail the safety test.” He grins down at me inanely. Bogging hell. There’s no way that I will persuade him, bloody mother hen! “Fine,” I clip out, “Lie down. On your back.”
Lupin clambers over me to lie down, with robes askew and face flushed to a ruddy, gleaming hue. His lips part as he meets my gaze. I can’t say what prompts me to do it, but I balance on an elbow and lean over him slowly to start licking his lips. I avoid being drawn into his mouth, ducking down to suck at his neck, then the point of his jaw where the muscles jump so delightfully when he is angry and which is already bristling with a slight beard. I move up to press my lips against his closed eyes. He is whimpering… and again I feel the hairs rise on my skin, but this time I feel powerful, I’m in control as I haven’t been for a long time. Conscious, awake and very deliberate. I move my free hand to find his trousers opening, and pull the buttons apart. The act brings my knuckles against his stiff penis and he groans loudly.
“Sev,” he slurs, his eyes glistening.
“Are you… crying?” I don’t understand. I know that he’s aroused, I hold the evidence in my hand after all. He shakes his head in negation, but his breath hitches on a sob… making a liar out of him. I start to stroke his length slowly as I move my face down and kiss him on his open mouth, delving into his wet warmth in a distinctly phallic manner. He grasps my head between shaking, desperate hands. What is wrong? Should I stop? He sucks on my tongue hard enough to hurt, drawing it ever deeper into his mouth. My face is so closely pressed against his that I can no longer breathe.
“Don’t stop…” he exclaims hoarsely when we part for air. I am reassured that he wants this and so keep up with my slow, steady stroking on his rigid cock. He is moaning now, and thrusting his hips up and down in time with my stroking. My own prick is stiff and leaking and I press it instinctively against his still-clothed hip, only drawing back when the pressure becomes uncomfortable for my over-sensitive groin. All the time I keep stroking him… no effort for me – stirring potions for over twenty years does nothing if not leave one with a great deal of wrist strength. I increase the pace.
I can smell his sweat, his sex, his very blood boiling.
“Oh no, oh no, ohno, oh…. OH!”
I watch his fluid spurt, fascinated with the stringy, creamy patterns it makes. I glance back and forth between his gaping, gasping mouth and corded neck, and his pulsing, hot cock. His vulnerability delights me in a way that nothing else has. Nothing that I remember, anyway.
I watch, entranced, as he gathers oxygen in deep, shaking breaths – punctuated by soft, intermittent whimpers. He slowly raises his hand to touch me, stroking down the side of my face with his fingertips. I suddenly realise that my arse is quite cold. I’m wearing only a shirt, and the covers have been tangled around my legs for quite some time.
“Cover me, Lupin.” I command, and roll onto my back, confident that he can return some warmth to me. He loses no time in complying, moving on top of me (I spare a thought for the sticky state in which we both now find ourselves, then decide not to care) and angling so as not to put too much pressure on my groin. He braces his elbows on either side of my head, and once more I find myself tonsil-deep in Lupin’s mouth.
It’s a little different this time. I can’t put my finger on it. What has changed?
Someone is moaning in a shamefully erotic manner. It can’t possibly be me. When he moves down to take the very tip of my prick into his mouth, I blow several million brain cells along with a large amount of spunk. Sweet Merlin.
I finally manage to croak, “Come here, Remus,” with what is left of my vocal cords. Did we put a silencing charm on the room? I hold him to me, against my quivering body. I wind my dead-weight legs around his, lay his head against my chest, and – for good measure – dig my fingers into his hair.
He’s not going anywhere. If there is leaving to be done, I will be the one to do it.
*** *** ***
It is after midnight when I venture forth from my quarters, having been sequestered there with Lupin until an hour before moonrise. I walk slowly through the quiet grounds, using shortcuts across the grass so that my footsteps will not be heard.
I walk aimlessly, struggling with the conundrum that is Lupin. Or rather, the conundrum that is Lupin and myself. I know that I must do something to resolve the situation. I can’t go on shagging and snogging someone, or something, that I’ve had such a long-cherished disregard for. An incredible arse does not an intimate partner make! Actually, he has a delicious cock as well, but that is irrelevant. I must be practical about this, and Lupin is not someone I can sustain a relationship with even if I wanted to. There is too much history for a start, too many bad memories of our years together at school: I will never forget that night he tried to attack me whilst in werewolf form. The very same werewolf form that he inhabits tonight.
The moon is full and bright, and by its light I can discern a figure sitting on the dewy grass by the shore of the lake. Another insomniac. I stop to stare at the distant figure, wondering who it might be. The posture strikes me as masculine for no particular reason, other than half a lifetime’s experience at reading body language.
I clench my teeth at the sudden realisation that it has to be Potter. I find myself striding quickly but silently down the hill towards him. My mind is filled with an urgent sense of… something. Purpose? I don’t take the time to analyse, probably a mistake, as I draw closer to him. He is sitting with his feet tucked up on each knee, and I can hear soft chanting. Oh, how quaint – our Little Budda at play. I slow down as I come up behind him.
“Hello, Severus.” How the hell…? I reflect briefly on the effectiveness of Lupin’s cleansing charm, and whether I may still reek of him. Or sex. Or both. Maybe I just reek.
“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” I greet him. He makes a snuffling sound and looks up at me.
“Is there any way on Earth for you to stick to calling me Harry?”
I shrug down at him, watching as he disentangles his long legs. He has no shoes on. For some insane reason, that only my sex drive can explain, this makes me hard.
“It is a little difficult I suppose, acclimating myself to using your first name.” I tear my eyes away from his bare toes with some difficulty, looking out at the silver-etched lake instead. Quite beautiful.
“I’m sorry about what Sirius did. He completely misunderstood what I told him about us.”
“Sirius Black being a dense bastard is none of your doing, I assure you. He was like that before you got here,” I say with a shrug.
“Sit with me, Severus,” he commands in a soft tone, patting the grass beside him. There is a confident calmness about him – as if he has searched for, and found, an answer to some burning question. I would so like to experience that for myself. I am sitting on the damp ground before I am fully conscious of my decision to do so. My trousers will be soaking.
“The lake is very peaceful to look at, isn’t it?” he observes. I nod in agreement. “Lupin’s changing tonight,” I say. I don’t know why. Am I making small talk with Potter? I suppose I am.
“I so wanted you back, you know. I couldn’t see straight for wanting you, Severus.”
I peer at his profile. He keeps his eyes on the lake in front of us. I don’t know what to say.
“I don’t know what to say.” I respond intelligently.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know you don’t love me in return now,” he says in an infuriatingly calm voice.
“But I do!” Don’t I? Who do I love? Do I love this young man here, as he is today, or do I love my student of seven months ago? The Boy Who Hadn’t Yet Defeated Voldemort. “I think I do,” I amend. “Actually… I’m not sure anymore.” I add after a moment’s thought. “I certainly fancy you.” Incredible. I sound like a 6th year boy with commitment issues.
I watch in bemusement as he doubles over laughing. Well, it beats his whipped puppy expression hands down. I can’t help but smile at his amusement as I revise my words.
“You know, I haven’t the first clue what love is.” I announce in slow wonder. I really don’t. I’ve been happy to idealise Potter, to gaze from a distance, to love the unattainable. When I find out that I have in fact attained him, what do I do? Panic and run. Deny everything.
“I could return your memories.” Potter offers tentatively.
“You can?” My heart is hammering and I can’t think.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Make the right choice. What is the right bloody choice, dammit? Do I want the memories back, after all that has happened? Do I want to know the delights of Potter’s body? His love? Do I want to know the depths that I had sunk to in order to sleep with him in the first place? Do I want the guilt?
Does not wanting those memories make me a coward?
He places a hand on my shoulder. I can feel the heat of his palm through my robes. “Maybe we could make a new memory together.”
“What do you mean?” I want no misunderstandings.
“I mean this,” he whispers, and leans over to press his lips against mine. I didn’t pull away! I rant at myself silently – I should have pulled away, fled the scene. But… he’s not my student right now. I should have worked in the Wizarding legal profession.
His lips are so soft, so warm, so bloody mobile as they work along my mouth, persuading it to open to his exploring tongue. I moan at the sensations threatening to overload my senses. It’s like a hit of morphine, so good, so very good. I lean into him and he reclines on the grass beside me. I follow him down and swing my leg between his. I grab his head and delve into his mouth again. There’s something wrong with all of this, but I couldn’t stop to save my life right now. I want him so very much. His mouth is hot and wet and moaning into mine. I hump against his hip and he gasps, breaking away and breathing heavily.
“I want to make you come, Harry,” I whisper in his ear.
“Ohgod.” He wheezes. I think that’s a good reaction. When I stroke his hard cock through his pants I’m sure of it. I fumble my way to his trousers button, then draw the zipper down slowly over his erection. “Ohgoodgod,” he pants.
“Not a god, not even good. But I can be very bad, if you like.” I know it isn’t very fair, whispering in his ear – he’ll probably go off like a geyser. I pull his prick free and drink in the sight of it. I play my fingers along his length, getting the feel of it. “It’s beautiful, Harry.”
“Th-thanks,” he gasps.
“Do you want to slow down?”
“Oh no!” he protests vehemently.
“Do you want me to swallow?” I am such a tease. I feel a dark rush singing in my veins. A superhuman high. Who needs morphine when one can have sex with an eighteen-year-old?
“Ohhhhh…”
His cock is throbbing in my hand. “Yes, please?” I stroke him softly, teasing. He whimpers in response, thrusting up to increase the pressure.
“Harry,” His glazed over eyes lock on my face. “I’m going to suck your cock now,” I state in a calm voice, though I feel anything but calm.
“Ffffuck!” he slurs in disbelief. I adjust my position until I am faced with his crotch. I pull his pants down to his knees and then take him deep into my mouth. I can see his fingers digging into the turf from the corner of my eye. I breathe his scent in, musky, spicy; very nice. As I travel up and down his length his hips start to pump, and I put my hands on his pelvis to hold him in place. I tongue around the tip, play with the tiny hole, sneak in under his foreskin, lip strongly over the glans (another broken moan), and finally – when I feel him start shaking – take him down my throat and swallow around him. There follows a high-pitched, strangled gasp as his upper torso jolts upwards and he grabs my hair in frantic fingers.
“C-c… coming!” he squeaks breathlessly. I swallow the flooding fluid. Still don’t much care for it, but this time it is sweet for reasons other than taste. He pulses a few more times and then lets my hair go as he slumps back down on the grass, his lungs labouring. I give his softening cock a couple of parting licks, which cause him to tremble violently, then lie back on the grass beside him to catch my breath. Now my robes will be wet all over.
We lie there in silence. He is utterly spent whilst I am…
I hear a faint sound in the distance. I struggle to identify it, wondering if I have imagined it. It comes again – a howl.
Lupin.
I sit up and look down in horror at the dishevelled figure beside me. What the fuck have I done? Potter frowns as he turns to look at me.
“Severus? Are you alright?” I shake my head slowly. What can I say? I scramble to my feet. My heart thudding so painfully hard that I am sure I will fall over with a cardial infarction at any second. Potter lurches upwards, dragging his pants back up with one hand and grabbing my sleeve with the other. “What? What is it?”
I face him speechlessly. I study him, all gleaming youth, hidden power, and lost innocence. It’s like seeing him for the first time, without the bias of unrequited love distorting my vision.
He has none of Lupin’s hard won assurance, none of his ropy, tenacious strength, none of his cynical humour, none of his selfless concern, his tolerance, his unconditional… love? For me?
Lupin loves me. I expect a thunderclap to accompany this revelation. He actually loves me – it’s not just attraction, or simple desire, or even a meeting of like minds – we are anything but. How long has he loved me?
“I’m sorry,” And a very poor apology it is for what I have just done. “I… I shouldn’t have done that. It was inexcusable.”
“Severus, no!” he protests. His voice sounds choked and his eyes look wounded. Dear Merlin, when will I ever get it right? I grip his shoulders in my hands.
“Listen to me, Harry. I made a mistake before. You and I – we aren’t meant to be together.” He is shaking his head, but I persevere stubbornly. “I wasn’t thinking clearly a year ago, and I haven’t been thinking clearly recently either. I was using morphine to block out my emotions. I couldn’t stand feeling – feeling anything. I was a coward.” I rub his shoulders. I’m not sure whether it’s to comfort him or myself.
“It’s taken me a very long time to grow up, Harry. Don’t take as long as me.” His face looks like it’s about to crumple in on itself. He takes a deep breath.
“Be my friend.” Ah. The lad didn’t stand up to the Dark Lord without a great deal of backbone to aid him.
“You can count on it for as long as I live,” I assure him. And I mean it.
He nods once and steps out of my grasp. Something tears deep inside my chest, but the pain is a cleansing one. The amputation of a rotting limb.
*** *** ***
TBC