Trading Places: Trapped, R Title: Trapped Word Count: 1041 Rating: R Pairing: Remus/Severus Challenge: Trading Places Summary: He's always in control. Always. Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I seriously wish I did. I would have had much more fun with them than Jo did. Still, I'm not making any money, so please don't sue. Warnings: POV changes, first-person, randomness. There's nothing squicky or kinky, but it's an experimental style. Notes: Written for thesnapelyone's artwork Trapped. Sorry it's a bit late for the challenge.
He's always in control. Always. The mask he wears on his perfectly schooled face never falls, never fades. I'm starting to think it might not be a mask, and he's really that well composed. Except... I know he's not. I've seen him panic. I've seen fear and horror and humiliation pass through those dark eyes, and though those weren't the emotions I wanted to see, at least it was something - which could be why I never stopped them.
I know. I know the instant we apparate back to the school what I want – what the wolf wants. I'll blame it on the mission later; on the mission being a failure, on the sudden adrenaline rush, on the insane desire to know that yes, we were both still alive, breathing, perfectly all right. He'll blame it on the need to stop the bleeding.
His hands aren't even shaking as he pulls the shirt open and pushes it off my shoulders. He casts a cleaning charm and the blood is gone, revealing the already healed slicing hex. His fingers trace the new scar and he frowns. "I knew you healed quickly, but..."
I pull him to me and kiss him, and he doesn't resist. When I rip off his shirt, I hear a soft grunt of protest, but when I finally break the kiss to look at him, I'm in heaven. He's smiling; just barely, just enough. The mask is crumbling, revealing the man underneath. It shatters as I pin his wrist to the wall and push against him.
I don't know how I got here, trapped between Lupin and the hard stone wall. All I know is that our shirts are off and he's holding my wrist, pinning it to the unforgiving surface. There are so many reasons I shouldn't be doing this. I'm a professor; I have my reputation to consider. There's a moral turpitude clause in my contract. But then, Albus knew I was a Death Eater when he offered it to me and what could be any more vile and depraved than that? Beyond that, I'm straight. That's perhaps the greatest reason I shouldn't be bucking up against him, feeling my arousal grow, feeling my face relax from it's normal scowl.
And I certainly shouldn't be enjoying rutting with a bloody werewolf. Even one with a smooth chest decorated by silver scars, whose face is set in a feral expression, gray eyes sparkling with lust. It's entirely improper.
But there's a part of me that doesn't give a flying fuck as I dig my nails into his waist and pull him closer, our dicks straining against the fabric of our trousers. I suddenly wish I hadn't worn pants today, so that I would be that much closer to feeling the pulsing through the length of his shaft with every exquisite jerk of his hips.
My fingers tangle in his long, golden and chestnut locks, and I drag him to my neck, delighting in the way our breath hitches at the same time as his teeth scrape over my flesh. Both of our bodies are marked, but I suddenly ache for another one – the only one that truly matters – and sensing this he bites down, hard. His teeth tear at the flesh beneath my skin, the tiny, helpless capillaries break – I can feel the heat of the blood rushing to the surface, the bruise already forming. It's too much. My eyes roll back into my head. I can't breathe. The fireworks explode behind the eyelids I have clamped shut. I'm coming, shooting into my pants, jerking on his hair as my muscles spasm beyond my control.
It only takes seeing him come undone to send me over the edge, bitting into my lip to keep from screaming and waking up half the castle. We're panting, and I can hear out heartbeats, perfectly in time. If he only knew. If he could hear what I hear... he'd probably call me a foolish sentimentalist. I lean forward and place my sweaty forehead on his.
"We shouldn't have done that," he mumbles.
I don't say a word. I don't move. The regret is clear in his voice. I can't blame him. Who would want to have a gay affair with a werewolf? As if it being a gay affair or an affair with a werewolf weren't enough, I had to go combine the two. I couldn't help myself, though. I've wanted him for so long and...
I finally had him and I can move on.
Right?
Right.
Only, I'm not so convinced. He's moved away from me, left me leaning against the cold stone wall as he finds his tattered shirt and pulls it back on. He pours a drink, sips it, his eyes sliding closed. "What do we tell Albus?" he asks.
My brain is sluggish and I can't quite follow him, until I remember WHY he pulled my shirt off and the mission we'd been on in the first place and I shrug. "We'll tell him they didn't get the prophecy and the Dark Lord still doesn't know all of it," I suggest. "We'll tell him we still don't know if he'll go after Alice and Frank or Lily and James. We'll tell him..."
"To protect Lily and James," Severus replied softly. "The Longbottoms are nothing compared to the threat of the Potters."
I can't stand the way he's looking at me; grey eyes full of relief. He thinks I've chosen to protect Lily and James for him, and I want to laugh in his face. I didn't do this for him... I didn't even do this for her. I don't want to admit it, but... I've done it in the hopes that choosing to protect them... will cause the Dark Lord to go after them. Maybe... maybe he'll kill Potter, and I'll have a chance with Lily. Or maybe... maybe he'll kill both of them, and I'll finally have a chance to be free. I won't be trapped by her beauty and her friendship any more. I'll be a free man... able to make my own decisions, without being burdened by her.