Kinky Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: r_grayjoy
From: nehalenia

Title: A Different House
Characters/Pairings: Remus Lupin/Severus Snape; Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/themes included: underage, awkward sex, premature ejaculation, masturbation, oral and anal sex
Other Warnings/content: Marauders Era (characters are 15); gay boys using the words “queer” and “shirt lifter”
Word Count: 3,400
Summary: Slytherin. Gryffindor. The green and silver tie didn’t matter. Neither did the red and gold Prefect’s badge. Not here in the haunted lavatory. Here the two of them were members of a different house. The Sorting Hat didn’t know everything after all, did it?


Everything about this was wrong.

Standing in the deserted first floor girl’s lavatory, Remus Lupin watched Severus Snape undo his trousers to reveal the burgeoning erection standing out against his pants. It matched the one hanging heavy between his own legs, the one throbbing with anticipation, and he knew that no matter how wrong this might be, he was still going to do it.

“What are you waiting for?” Snape asked, aiming a meaningful scowl at Lupin’s fully clothed state. Snape fished a small bottle out of his school robes before pushing the sleeves off his arms and letting the black garment fall and pool on the floor. His green and silver school tie was already loosened around his neck. His bum was covered by the tail of his shirt, but as he bent over to slip his pants off, the shirt rode up and the cool, white curve of it beckoned.

What am I waiting for? Lupin asked himself, feeling the familiar hunger tug at his groin, sharper now at the sight of Snape’s vulnerable arse.

Approval? Blessing? Acceptance? Nothing like that would be given.

In all the world, what they were about to do was something only the two of them wanted, and all that mattered was that they wanted it.

Just like the first time. Just like all the times that came after.

Sometimes, when he thought about the first time, Lupin felt the cowardly urge to deny responsibility, to say that it was all Snape’s fault. That Snape was the one who’d surprised him in the hallway, dragged him into this desolate, haunted lavatory, and pushed him against the wall.

But Lupin was the one who had chased Snape to the doorway. He was the one who had called Snape out. He was the one who had wanted something from him for a long time, but hadn’t been able to admit it.

Snape hadn’t jinxed him, either. He hadn’t incapacitated him in any way. Lupin had his own wand in his hand, gripped so tight his nails dug into his palm, but he never raised it, never pointed it at Snape. The two had merely stared at each other, the only sounds the coarse rasp of their excited breathing and the drip drip drip of a broken tap.

Lupin had tried to decipher what was in that black coffee gaze, those eyes so dark he could barely tell pupil from iris, and then Snape had made everything so simple, so plain, reaching out with trembling fingers to unbutton Lupin’s trousers, fishing out his swelling cock, and dropping to his knees to suck it down.

The shock of sensation was like a blow. Lupin had cried out, the fingers of his free hand scrabbling against the dank wall for purchase, for something to grip. The slick warmth of Snape’s thin lips sliding along his length, the rough tongue swabbing the underside had made Lupin’s head reel with a pleasure he couldn’t quantify: hot and cold, sharp and soft, so close to pain he wanted to weep with joy. He heard the clatter of his wand dropping and rolling over stone, and then his fists were on either side of Snape’s head, fingers caught in the soft, oily strands, gripping hard as he ground helplessly into his mouth.

Snape had gagged and sputtered, but hadn’t spit out Lupin’s cock, only shoving him back against the wall with both hands.

“Please—please!” Lupin had panted, not even sure what he was begging for. In response, spidery fingers cupped Lupin’s balls and pinched, and then he was whining like a dog, shuddering as everything gave way. He felt his balls draw up, his arse clench tight, and then his climax surged through him, Snape choking and coughing as Lupin flooded his mouth with his come.

Had he lasted even a minute?

Suffused with relief, Lupin sagged against the wall, watching as if from a great distance as Snape spit into one of his hands and fumbled his trousers open with the other. The head of Snape’s prick was a brilliant pink, and he gritted his teeth as he closed his narrow hand over it and began to pump. Lupin heard himself suck in a long, deep breath, feeling arousal stir again as he watched Snape chase down his own pleasure. It was focused, single-minded, the stroke never varying, only Snape’s breath sounding louder and harsher as he rubbed. He came with barely a sound, just a short gasp as he splattered the wall between Lupin’s spread legs with one burst of spunk, then another, until only slow drops seeped from the wet tip. Snape released his softening prick as if it disgusted him, sat back on his heels, and exhaled. He had looked up to meet Lupin’s eyes and smirked when he saw that his cock was hard again.

“Queer.” He said it with a wry smile, a bent word warped on his crooked teeth.

Lupin had felt the chill of the slur in a vague, muddled way. It was something of a shock to realize he had a new identity to hide, another thing to pretend he wasn’t. This wasn’t like being a werewolf, though. This time he didn’t have to pretend alone, did he?

He stared at Snape, sounding his gaze for meaning. In all their years in school, he’d rarely heard anything but sneers and curses from the boy’s curling lips, but… had there been something teasing in the way he’d offered that word?

Understand what I’m saying, Snape’s black eyes demanded.

And Lupin did.

Slytherin. Gryffindor. The green and silver tie didn’t matter. Neither did the red and gold Prefect’s badge. Not here in the haunted lavatory. Not with their wet pricks hanging out and their come going cold on the floor.

Here the two of them were members of a different house. The Sorting Hat didn’t know everything after all, did it?

Lupin fished around for a response. “Shirt lifter,” he tossed back at Snape. The narrow, ugly face didn’t change for a moment, and then the smirk deepened.

“How did you guess?”

The words had a silky tone that made Lupin’s ignored erection stand a little taller. He wanted to know more about this shirt lifting business, but before he could open the discussion, Snape had set himself to rights and risen to his feet. Two flicks of his wand cleaned up all the evidence of their pleasure, and then, with only a lifted brow as farewell, he was gone.

~~

They met there again and again, the lavatory always deserted except when Moaning Myrtle was present. One time, the miserable little ghost had emerged from a drain, shrieking at the invasion of her territory. Snape banished her down a toilet and flushed her into a different plumbing quadrant with two flicks of his wand and a spell Lupin had never heard before.

Lupin had never got hard watching anyone banish a ghost before, but he had this time. Snape took care of it with his mouth and a hand, as he always did, leaving Lupin gasping against a sink while he wanked himself to completion.

“So when do I get to do that to you?” Lupin wanted to know.

“When you can last longer than three minutes,” Snape had shrugged, checking the hall before sweeping out the door.

~~

For as many times as they’d done it in the lavatory, none of it had started there.

It had started with double Potions and Gwyneth Tallboys, the Slytherin girl with the Botticelli face and the champion tits who was Sirius’ favorite wank fodder. The girl who sat at the same work table as Severus Snape and was the reason that Sirius made everyone move to the table just behind theirs.

“Can you smell her, Moony?” Sirius would whisper, his eyes going unfocused whenever she tossed her hair. “She smells like butterbeer and puppy breath. Have you ever smelt anything like it?”

“I never have,” Lupin would agree, which was not a lie to pacify Sirius but the honest truth. Gwyneth Tallboys could have smelled like apples and candy floss or smoked trout and ditch water, and Lupin would never have known because, from where he sat, all he could smell was Severus Snape.

The prevailing aroma was of bitter herbs but with musty overtones of dank attics and clothes worn one day too long and undertones of ink, formaldehyde, and oak. By all rights, this odor should have canceled out whatever was wafting from Miss Tallboys and sent Sirius, James, and Peter scurrying to the opposite end of the Potions classroom, but they didn’t seem to notice it.

Lupin noticed it, though. To his nose, the scent was assertive, unpleasant, and strangely enthralling. It easily bypassed the rational centers of his brain – the ones that would have told him to pull his robe over his nose and keep moving – and dove south to prod him like a vague, insistent hunger, sometimes tickling, sometimes gnawing.

In Potions class, where he couldn’t escape its effects, he botched recipes and fumbled ingredients, earning As and even a P where before he usually got Es. And whenever he cursed beneath his breath after scattering shrivelfigs on the floor or stirring too many times, he could swear he glimpsed Severus Snape peering back over his shoulder at him.

At meals, the scent made his head swim, causing him to drop cutlery and push his plate away half-eaten. And when he did, there was Severus Snape, shoulders hunched in his robe, dark hair hanging over his narrowed eyes, either passing along the benches or staring at him from the Slytherin table. Surprisingly, these were not the hate-filled stares of loathing Snape aimed at James and Sirius, but more appraising looks. Lupin wondered if Snape had managed to put slow poison in his food and was observing him for the effects.

Night time was the worst. Lupin knew what happened when the bed curtains were drawn and the not-always-successful silencing spells had been uttered: each boy lay there sprawled on his coverlet, wanking for all he was worth to whatever his heart desired. James invariably tossed off to thoughts of the impervious Lily Evans, Sirius to the fragrant Gwyneth Tallboys, and Peter… Merlin only knew what Peter wanked to. Beatrix Potter illustrations for all Lupin could reckon.

Meanwhile, as his best mates’ beds silently thumped and shimmied around him, Lupin spent each night face down on his mattress, nose in his pillows, striving his mightiest not to wank to thoughts of Severus Snape.

It wasn’t that he wanted to in the first place. He didn’t conjure the images; they came unbidden, invading his brain the way that bitter scent invaded his nostrils. He summoned the curvaceous vision of Gwyneth Tallboys as a substitute, as a shield, but her lush hair turned dark and weedy in his hands, her skin sallowed, and her ample bum diminished even as he bent her over and spread her legs, leaving him shagging the mattress through the scrawny apparition of Severus Snape.

It was lack of decent sleep that wore Lupin down and made him reckless beyond caring. Reckless enough to nick the Marauders’ Map from James’ trunk, lie to his mates about a Prefects meeting, and stalk Severus Snape through the halls of Hogwarts. He stalked him all the way to the first floor girl’s lavatory, where Snape turned, eyes blazing, wand at the ready.

Each had stared at the other, wands raised, tension mounting.

“What have you done to me?” Lupin demanded. “I know you’ve done something. What is it?”

“Your troubles, Lupin,” Snape said guardedly, “are of your own making and none of mine.”

“What do you mean?” Lupin hesitated. “I know you have a hand in this. I know it!”

“I repeat,” said Snape, lowering his wand as a speculative light kindled in his eyes, “that I’ve done nothing to you. Although,” he added, glancing back at the lavatory door, “I very much believe you want me to.”

~~

“Having second thoughts, Lupin?” Still wearing only his shirt and a tie, Snape was leaning on a sink, tapping his fingers slowly. For a boy everyone considered ugly, or at best weird looking, Lupin had found he could be remarkably seductive.

Instead of answering, Lupin shrugged off his robes and moved closer, undoing his trousers as he walked. Snape’s shirt was tented by his upstanding cock, and Lupin saw it twitch as he shucked his trousers and pulled his own out of his pants. As much as he was trying to look nonchalant, Snape’s eyes were fixed on Lupin’s cock, and he gave it a couple of slow strokes just to see some color bloom in Snape’s cheeks. Almost in spite of himself, Snape reached out, running a finger over the tip and slowly rolling the foreskin.

“Someone’s getting nice and wet,” Snape observed, his voice pitched so low that Lupin felt more moisture seep from his slit at the sound of it.

“I doubt I’m the only one,” he countered, pushing up the front of Snape’s shirt with one hand and taking his prick in the other. It was the first time Lupin had been allowed to touch the other boy there, and he relished the chance, gently stroking the shaft as his thumb explored the head.

Releasing Lupin’s cock, Snape fell back against the sink, supporting himself with both hands and taking long, deep breaths as Lupin stroked him.

“You like this,” Lupin assessed, crowding closer so that Snape was forced to open his legs to let him. “Why haven’t you let me do this before?” Snape closed his eyes and tipped his head back to keep from answering, biting his lip as Lupin pressed their cocks together and stroked them both at once.

“Slow—do it slowly,” Snape panted, rolling his hips. “Don’t make me come.”

“Isn’t coming the point?” Lupin was tempted to ignore Snape’s instruction and keep stroking him to the finish.

Snape glared as much as he could while getting his knob polished. “Not if I want to come while you’re shagging me, imbecile.” The words alone made Lupin’s prick tingle, and he felt more moisture surge from the tip.

“Why didn’t you say so then?” he growled, pulling away from Snape, flipping him around, and bending him back over the sink with his rump raised. “Did you bring lubrication?”

“So much for foreplay,” Snape grumbled, pulling a small bottle from his shirt pocket and handing it back.

“This’ll be brilliant,” Lupin assured him, twisting open the bottle, slicking his cock in a few quick strokes, then pouring the rest between Snape’s cheeks and massaging it in. “You’ll see.”

Snape hissed and went up on his toes, rolling his hips as Lupin worked some of the lube inside him. “Are you sure? I was under the impression you’d never shagged anyone in the arse before.”

“Call it a premonition,” Lupin panted, his pulse thundering as he urged Snape’s legs further apart, pulled his arse cheeks open, and pressed his cock against his well-lubed hole. “Something—I read in the tea leaves. Relax,” he added as he took hold of Snape’s hips and pulled them back as he pressed forward.

Both boys groaned as Lupin’s cock sank in, and yes, as far as Lupin was concerned, it was every bit as brilliant as he’d predicted. Snape’s arse was hotter than his mouth, softer, tighter, more accommodating, and Lupin reeled at the idea that anyone as ill-tempered and prickly as Snape could have such a warm and welcoming arse. As much as he wanted to close his eyes and just luxuriate in the feeling of being tightly planted in Snape’s rump, Lupin found he couldn’t stay still. It was impossible not to roll his hips, to thrust, and to run his hands over Snape’s back and hips and thighs.

“It is brilliant,” Lupin gasped, tipping his head back as he rocked his hips. “You’re brilliant. You feel brilliant. It’s all…”

“So help me, Lupin,” Snape growled, “if you say ‘brilliant’ one more time, I’ll hex your mouth away. Now get yourself sorted, start shagging me properly, and while you’re at it, give me a bloody hand.”

“Right, no worries,” he soothed, sufficiently grounded by Snape’s threats to attempt to follow orders. Running his fingers through some of the remaining lubricant on Snape’s arse, Lupin reached around and took hold of Snape’s stiff, wagging cock, slicking the lube on the shaft and moving the foreskin up and down.

Snape let out a pent-up breath and moaned in approval, his hips beginning to rock in time with the slow strokes Lupin gave his prick. For his part, Lupin held himself back until he felt the moisture dripping from Snape’s cock, slicking his hand and making the stroking faster. Knowing Snape was close, Lupin reversed his hand, pressing his thumb to the underside of Snape’s shaft, closing his fingers around the head, and speeded up the stroke.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Snape whined, throwing back his head as his back arched from the pleasure. “Oh Merlin! Lupin, fuck me! Fuck me hard!”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Lupin wanted to roar with triumph – he was never going to let Snape forget those words, and he was never going to forget Snape begging for it. Pulling his partner off the sink where he’d been clinging, he tumbled Snape down onto the pile of their discarded clothes. Before Snape could say “What the hell are you doing?”, Lupin had pushed him chest down and arse up with his knees spread wide and was shagging him for all he was worth.

“Lupin! Lupin—ah! Bastard! You’d better not—ah! Ahh!—come too—Ahh!” For all Snape’s threats, Lupin was still going strong, and it was Snape who was nearing his crisis, his dripping cock slapping his belly in a wild rhythm as Lupin kept a death grip on his thighs while pounding him silly. He managed to push himself up enough to snake a hand between his legs and grasp his flailing cock just before he seized, milking it as it spurted and gasping as Lupin continued to thrust into him.

“Still—want me—not—to come yet?” he huffed, slowing down but still game to go on.

“The sooner you’re out of my arse, the better,” Snape glowered.

It was just as well. The repercussions of Snape’s own climax had nearly undone Lupin, and it was hardly two to three minutes more thrusting before he had the pleasure of shuddering into what he considered – at least in his very small convenience – a truly superlative arse.

He also had the pleasure of knowing that Snape was going to be annoyed and inconvenienced by this fact for at least the rest of the day.

“I still can’t believe you came inside me,” Snape complained, sitting naked, pale, and scrawny as he tried to remove all the effluvia from his uniform and robes.

“I still can’t believe you never let me shag your arse before,” said Lupin, who was doing the same. “It was amazing. By the way, did you know you’re incredibly loud when you’re getting nailed?”

Snape gave him a long, significant look.

“Which,” Lupin ventured, “is probably why you don’t choose to indulge in that very often. I suppose.”

“And only with gentlemen who don’t leave their calling cards in my bum.”

“Noted,” Lupin said, a bit sheepishly.

He stood up to don his pants and shirt and held up his trousers for better inspection. Snape had managed pants and trousers both and was checking his robe to see if it was clean.

“This is rather homely, isn’t it,” Lupin pointed out. “I mean, not that inspecting your clothes for spunk is something you’d usually do in your common room – well, not in the Gryffindor common room, at least. I don’t know about the others. But it’s a bit like mending, isn’t it?”

Snape pondered that for a moment, then peered around the dank stone and porcelain lavatory and shrugged.

“Well, you could say this is our common room.”

“Yes,” Lupin agreed, looking not at the plumbing but at Snape. “Yes, you could.”

So, perhaps, not quite everything was wrong.
~~