Ribbons (bronze_ribbons) wrote in hp_unfaithful, @ 2008-06-05 20:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | * fic, author: bronze_ribbons, character: remus, character: severus, established: remus/tonks, infidelity: remus/severus |
FICLET: Taken, Not Granted (Snape/Lupin)
Title: Taken, Not Granted
Author: Mechaieh
Established pairing(s): Lupin/Tonks
Infidelity pairing(s): Snape/Lupin
Rating: R
Genre: angst
Word Count/Art Media: ~1600
Warnings: none
Summary: It was not the epiphany Snape had been looking for.
Notes: Originally posted 6 January 2007 as a birthday present to regan_v. Beta'd by busaikko.
Also, I'm amused that the IJ marquee happened to say "Will you marry me?" when I clicked to join this comm. On to the story...
Taken, Not Granted
He had never mattered enough to anybody to be their one and only love, but it had taken him thirty-seven years to accept that it had nothing to do with what he did or what he failed or neglected to do. This was how he had mustered the hatred necessary to propel the killing spell through his wand on top of the tower: what was hate, in the end, but the knowledge of being a child of the lesser gods? Snape saw himself as a son of Hephaistos, the blacksmith -- ugly, unwanted, and forever taken for granted by his peers. They were ready enough to make use of his expertise with potions and other weapons whenever they had need of it, but to see him as a real person, with genuine needs and worthy desires? As anything other than a means to their oh-so-precious ends? No. Never. What nonsense. One might as well have expected the Dark Lord to choose a Muggle as his consort, or Alastor Moody to sip tea brewed by Bellatrix Lestrange, or Remus Lupin to grow a spine.
Snape compressed his lips together as he reviewed his most recent tryst with Lupin. He had lost count of how many times they'd met since the end of the War, but each and every time, he swore anew to himself that he would resist the urge to prowl through Lupin's mind. It wasn't as though he had captured any happy answers in his previous forays: Lupin being in love with him was no cause for celebration. Lupin hadn't, didn't, wouldn't want to be in love with him. Lupin neither liked nor disliked him; the love was something Lupin repeatedly claimed he couldn't help.
Snape had once rounded upon him. "Like the lycanthropy?"
"Just so," Lupin had whispered. Snape had almost stormed out the room in disgust. He hated wasting insults on people too thick to realise how pathetic they were.
Lupin liked Tonks. Lupin still slept with her -- often right before stealing away to Snape. Lupin had no plans to leave her; after all, he didn't want to. She was a partner Lupin could acknowledge in public with little exertion or fear on his part. Snape had never been the right gender for that, let alone the right nonentity. Snape had never been normal enough to fade into the crowd -- and yet he had never been good enough to command their worship. It wasn't at all fair how the gods had cast their grand drama -- why was it the Potters of the world who were the Head Boys and saviours and darlings of the masses? Snape had reminded himself over and over that he didn't want the adoration of stupid sheep. Better to be loved and respected by a single strong and intelligent man than by mindless millions.
Right. Rot. He craved it all, and it would never given to him, not when he couldn’t even show his face anywhere in the Wizarding world -- Dumbledore's posthumous testimony notwithstanding, Snape would be a marked man for the rest of his days. Remus Lupin was intelligent, but he was neither single nor strong.
It would have to be enough, Snape thought, that he at least mattered enough to Lupin to haunt him. It would have to suffice that Lupin thought of him everywhere -- during meetings, during meals, even during torrid sex with Tonks. It should have been a triumph, how Lupin thought of Snape so often that the werewolf’s mind teemed with such images; he should have rejoiced that they weren't tucked away in dim recesses or buried under mounds of quotidian details, but bright and brazen in all their guilt-hemmed glory, front and centre, radiating Lupin’s obsession to anyone with sufficient skill and wit to pry.
Snape did consider it fortunate that neither Tonks nor anyone else still alive possessed that level of skill. As much as he despised himself for craving the werewolf's attention, he was hardly ready to deny himself the treat of enjoying it. As much as he mocked Lupin for being weak, the man was physically powerful when not suffering the debilitating effects of the moon. Snape had been astonished to discover that Lupin was sensational in the sack. The agility of Lupin's mouth, the rough yet deft manipulations of Lupin’s hands -- Snape would have walked barefoot over a field of blast-ended skrewts before admitting that he was as affected and distracted by their encounters as Lupin seemed to be. He hadn't and wouldn't let himself fall in love with Lupin, but there was no slaking his physical hunger for the man.
It was Twelfth Night when they met again. Lupin had obligingly squired Tonks to the customary festive rituals, and he’d then left her sleeping back in their flat, sated with sex and punch and other merriment. Snape had promised himself once again that he wouldn't indulge in Legilimency. Anything he could pluck from Lupin’s mind would only sour the sheer pleasure of their bodies' meeting and mutual conquering.
But, once more, the compulsion was too strong. Lupin was there. Lupin was open. He had to look. To make sure he'd seen everything Lupin could possibly want to keep. To take everything he could -- every stray strand of emotion --
Snape stared at Lupin, consumed with a fury so sudden he barely realised it had seized him. "You? You think you're taken for granted? You, you self-pitying shadow of --"
Lupin didn't back down, his face creased with new lines of bitterness. "What are you here for, then? What's in it for you, to keep my secrets? Why bother protecting me or Tonks with your discretion? Surely you don't hope for more. You're the most realistic man I know, and you know it's not possible. You know there are too many reasons --"
Snape snatched up his wand, his face flushed with hatred. Before he could wield it, Lupin's hand gripped his wrist, pressing it to the mattress.
"Severus," he said. "Please."
Snape tried to twist and buck free of Lupin's weight, but the other man was too strong and too heavy to cast off. Denied release, Snape sank back down on the bed and then let out a howl, his features contorted with frustration and contempt.
Lupin’s expression changed from pleading to cold. His fingers tightened around Snape's wrist, almost to the point of crushing the bones beneath the skin.
Snape gasped from the pain -- and then, as Lupin responded by loosening his grip, reared up and sank his teeth into Lupin’s shoulder.
You want to matter? he thought viciously. He laughed aloud as Lupin shook him loose and pinned him to the bed once more. He thrust his hips up and savoured Lupin's desperate groan as the other man ground down on him.
"If this -- this, if you say you can't help this," he snarled, "it isn't yours to give."
Lupin shut his eyes, the too-familiar crease on his brow deepening as his orgasm flooded onto Snape. "Severus--"
"Not. Yours," Snape emphasised. "Not. For. You. If it doesn't matter enough for you to claim it, it's nothing. How dare you whine to me about mattering when I'm the one outside?"
Lupin closed his hand firmly around Snape's cock. "Severus --"
Even as his body began to succumb to Lupin's attention, Snape hissed through his teeth, "Shut. Up. I don’t want to hear your denials. Not now. Not ever. Not --" He broke off into a shout as he came, his body shuddering with both pleasure and anger.
As Lupin collapsed on top of him, Snape gathered enough strength to resume his rant. "Not --"
"No, Severus." Lupin whispered the words against Snape's neck as he reached up and pressed two fingers into Snape’s mouth. Snape automatically clamped his lips around the intrusion, tasting the traces of come in the creases of Lupin’s knuckles. He couldn't tell if the sour residue coating his tastebuds was of him, or of Lupin, or a bitter combination of them both.
He wanted to bite down. He wanted to draw blood. He wanted to stop wanting things that weren't good for him to want. He wanted to stop feeling as if there was anything more he ought to find or do or say, since none of it would ever matter at all.
Lupin began to withdraw his fingers. In spite of himself, Snape heard a noise of protest escape from his throat. Lupin relaxed at the sound and let his fingers slide back against Snape's tongue.
Snape curved his tongue against the other man’s fingertips. Since none of this mattered, what difference would it make for him to keep taking what Lupin thought he was granting? It wasn't as though l-- lingering with someone weak could possibly damn him any more than his actions as Voldemort's man had already done. It could still doom him, of course, were that someone a fool, but his other faults notwithstanding, Lupin was neither careless nor stupid. There was no danger whatsoever of romantic gestures jeopardising their affair.
Snape brushed his tongue one last time against the inner creases of Lupin's fingers, and then pushed them out. Lupin drowsily let them glide to rest against Snape's cheek.
A type of caress, Snape's mind taunted.
Belt up and go to sleep, Snape ordered himself. None of this bears thinking about.