FIC: As Long As You're Mine, NC17 Title: As Long As You're Mine Author: Rosy Rated: NC17 Summary: "Say there's no future / for us as a pair / and though I may know / I don't care. / Just for this moment / as long as you're mine / come be how you want to / and see how bright we shine! / Borrow the moonlight / until it is through / and know I'll be here holding you / as long as you're mine." Notes: Ever since I listened to the soundtrack for "Wicked", I immediately thought this song suited Snupin. ...well, actually, the ENTIRE musical really suits Snupin in ways, but that's for another day and possibly another fic.
They both have made sacrifices. They both have made choices. They've both come to this moment with memories that haunt them. You can see it in the shadows of their eyes and the weight on their shoulders. You can feel it in the wary, cautious way they watch each other and move around each other. It's the steps of a dance they are intimately familiar with.
You can see the hunger moving like crocodiles in the shadows of their eyes, and you wonder how they were able to keep it leashed for this long.
They've been to this place before. A two-room cottage deep in the highlands, swathed in layer upon layer upon layer of warding spells and hiding spells. There's a modified Fidelus Charm, created by Albus for when the time came, where the two of them together have to tell someone the cottage's location in order for anyone to find it. It is very unlikely that it will ever happen, not even if they do survive the war. Their choices, their sacrifices, have made sure of that.
Snape stands in the very center of the main room, disregarding the rickety, dusty furniture in favor of standing like a black crow among the half-picked carcass of the forgotten house. His back is to the door, staring at the blank wall as he pulls on the clove cigarette perched between the thin line of his lips. Remus can see him, wreathed in the spicy scented smoke, and even with the voluminous black robe he can tell Snape is nothing more than whipcord muscle over bone. He hasn't seen Snape for almost a month, and he can see how the war has been recorded on the man's body. How it has carved and shaped him into this angular, cold statue of a man.
"Were you followed?" Snape asks, not turning to look at Remus. He always asks this. There is no greeting, no attempt at softening the harsh reality of why they are there. Of why it is Remus and only Remus who comes to the cottage. Of why not even the Order can follow him out here. There is no attempt at anything but to push through to the conclusion of the story.
"I never am," Remus answers, stepping forward. He takes one step, and another, and stops a few feet from Snape. He can see the tense set of Snape's shoulders, how it looks as though a steel girder were welded to his spine. They stand for a moment, hearing the lonely wind beat against the crusted windows. Snape takes another drag on the cigarette and blows a stream of smoke to snake around the grimy lamp.
Finally, Snape speaks. "Don't try to stop the boy when he makes to leave." He hasn't turned to look at Remus. "He needs to get away and do what must be done. I'll make certain he can get to the remaining horcruxes as best I can, and that he is equipped to deal with them. Nagini will be the most difficult. She is heavily warded, now that the Dark Lord knows the boy is moving to destroy them."
Remus nods. Snape knows more than he says, more than he will ever say. He filters everything into what Remus can safely know without ruining any of the plans Albus had laid down in the months of his decline. Remus provides the information Snape needs. How they need to get Harry somewhere safe after the blood wards fail. Snape nods, and says he will think about the problem. They have time still. A week or two until things are dire.
This is their dance. Never touching, never looking; it is a waltz made up of words. Snape knows that Remus would rather be home, warm and in bed with the pink-haired harridan that has trapped him in a marriage doomed to end before it began. Remus doesn't know that Snape would rather be dead, lost in that sweet, beckoning oblivion. He can't know that in the secret, warm corner of a heart gone cold in accepting its fate, is a memory of his golden-amber eyes warmed by a smile. It's the only thing keeping Snape from falling into the cold, sweet blackness. The only warmth left to him now.
They finish. The finishing step of the dance is for Remus to leave. To go back to his crowded, lonely bed. Remus stares at Snape's shoulders and the elegant taper of his spine. They have done this for the span of months since Albus' fall from the tower, to ensure that the Plan continues, that all of their sacrifices and choices weren't for nothing. But here, in the still quiet on the edge of the storm, Remus feels a new rhythm. He opens his mouth and begins the steps of a strange, but not entirely unfamiliar dance.
"Do you ever wish you could go back and make a different choice?"
Snape flinches. "There's no point in such an exercise," he says coldly. There are too many choices he wanted to change, the weight of them dragging him further into the cold. He cannot think beyond what is required. He cannot think beyond finishing what Albus started. Anything else is a distraction, and distractions can be deadly.
Remus is quiet a moment. "I remember one choice I would have changed," he says quietly. He doesn't know why it needs to be now, why he has to say it now. Not after everything that's happened and everything that's changed.
Snape turns, his eyes a cold, ebony glare. "How pleasant for you, that you only have one," he sneers. "Go back to your wife, Lupin. I'm sure she's lonely by now." Armor made of ice, a way to stay safe. A way to continue without distraction. But the war is written on his face. It is pale and pinched, and there is no life behind the black ice of his eyes.
Remus goes on, as if he hadn't heard. "The first day on the train," he says quietly. Snape freezes in place, his eyes going brittle and sharp. "You remember?"
Snape remembers. He remembers sitting with Lily, watching her get up to go to the loo. He remembers the door sliding open a moment later, too soon to herald her return, and instead revealing a boy with brown hair and amber eyes. He paused, their eyes meeting for a split second that stretched longer. Then, he smiled. The warmth of that smile went to his eyes, and Snape remembered the nascent warmth that answered it in his own body. He had felt his own mouth twitching, preparing to smile, but before it could burst out onto his sallow face, they had been interrupted. Potter and Black swept in and ruined it. They taunted him, inviting Remus to join in the fun. And Remus, his smile shifting to one of shy camaraderie with his friends, laughed along.
"I remember," Snape says coldly. He is brittle, jagged little edges rubbing against each other. "There's no point to this, Lupin." With that, he moves to leave, to go back to his masks and dangerous games.
Only Remus reaches out and grabs his wrist. His hand is warm, burning him through the layers of numbing cold. Snape inhales sharply, looking at Remus and finding a warmth in his eyes as well. "Stay."
The sneer is automatic. "What? Panting because the little woman won't give it up now that she's pregnant? I'm not your bitch, Lupin. Let go." Snape tugs, trying to pull his arm away, but Remus holds on.
"This isn't what you want," Remus says. And before Snape can make some comment about how right he is, that he doesn't want Lupin's grubby paws all over him, he presses on. "This life... this cold. It isn't want you want. You don't want to be lonely."
"I have precious little choice in the matter," Snape says. The ice creaks dangerously, threatening to crack. The warmth of Remus' hand on his wrist weakens it. The werewolf's thumb brushes against his skin, sending little skitters of heat and electricity along his veins. "The course has already been set, Lupin. There's no altering it now."
"But you can pause a moment," Remus murmurs, taking a step closer. Snape's eyes flare open wide, a tiny spark of warmth lighting in their icy depths. "Even the longest journeys have places to rest." His thumb traces a small circle over the inside of Snape's wrist, while his body tries to drift closer to the long planes and sharp angles that draw him just as potently as the full moon draws his Wolf. He realizes that this may be the last time he sees Snape, before the end. And in the end, neither may survive. One way or another, this is their final dance. That thought leaves him aching inside; for what he has lost, for what he knows Snape has lost. Aching to ease the cold, sharp-edged oblivion that he senses in the recesses of Snape's eyes.
"There's no rest for the wicked," Snape says quietly. "There's no time."
"We'll borrow the moonlight," Remus says, searching Snape's eyes for... something he can't name. Snape closes his eyes, his body trembling as he tries to regain control. Remus inhales the scents of herbs, of the spicy clove smoke, of night rain, all of which seems to drift from Snape's skin like a perfume. "We'll steal time."
Snape's eyes remain closed. Looking at Remus is too painful. He can't fight the pull of those honey warm eyes. Is this what iron feels like, when it nears a magnet? This compulsion to be close, to draw closer? "There's no point to this..." he grits out, near desperate to escape.
"I know," Remus says quietly. "I don't care." He lays his palm against Snape's cheek, running his thumb over the prominent, elegant curve of his cheekbone. "There's precious little illusion left that we'll survive. But we still have to go on. And..." Remus paused, turning his words over in his mouth before he said them, tasting them, and putting weight to them. "I want this. For us. To see us through to the end, even if we never see further than that."
Snape's face twitches under the skin of Remus' palm, the ice cracking further. A pained expression flits across the thin lips and peaked cheeks. "I can't..." It's barely a whisper, thread bare but heavy under the weight of his want.
Remus tips his face up, moving closer. "You can be who and what you want," he whispers, his breath ghosting over the thin, twitching mouth like a caress. "We can be whatever we want here..." He presses a kiss to Snape's mouth, finding the thin lips lusciously soft. Snape is frozen for a moment. Then, in a rush, he melts. He flows against Remus, his long arms sliding along Remus' arms up to his shoulders. The strong, slender fingers thread into the gray-flecked hair, anchoring Remus' head in place. His mouth opens under Remus' lips, his tongue flicking out to taste and explore this newfound territory. Remus moans, sucking it into his mouth and tasting nothing but Severus Severus Severus.
They begin another kind of dance, moving together towards the creaking couch, shedding their clothes like serpents uncoiling from their skin. Remus growls into Snape's mouth, pushing his lean, naked body down onto the creaking cushions. He kisses and nips along Snape's throat, finding the spot behind his ear that made the Potions Master shiver. Snape is panting and writhing against him, the erect cock nudging up against Remus' hip, begging for more attention. Remus growls and rocks his hips, their cocks grinding together in a delicious fission of friction that sends electricity skittering up along their spines. Snape rakes his fingernails down Remus' back as the werewolf claims his throat in a teasing, deep bite. Snape's body is lithe; a mixture of sharp planes and supple muscle beneath the velvet heat of his bare skin, and Remus is reveling in it. It sends him spiraling higher, wanting to draw more of the smothered moans and gasps from the taciturn man's mouth. Remus spreads Snape's legs and licks along his length, watching as Snape arches like a bent bow. He takes a moment to suckle and tease the glistening head before moving even further down. The wail of pleasure that sliding his tongue along Snape's crease is all the incentive Remus needs to wriggle further in.
Snape is slowly undone by the attentions of Remus' mouth, by the growing heat and need that suddenly and fiercely blooms in his body. He's never allowed himself to give in to this want, this dream. Remus tempted him, drew him in, and then expertly broke down each defense. Now, his body and Remus' are trapped in this glowing, spiraling passion. He should protest, but each lick of that fiery tongue sends his protests further and further into the back of his mind. For just a moment, they'll shine in the glorious heat that's been building for the years they've danced around each other. He can feel Remus' tongue wriggle further, teasing and preparing him at the same time. Then it's replaced by one finger, then two, and he can feel the sucking heat of Remus' mouth around his cock. His body knows this dance instinctively, and he allows himself to follow the steps to the end, to drown in the moonlight and the musk. Remus' name falls from his lips like a prayer as his body quivers and writhes in supplication. Then, he can feel the blunt heat of Remus' cock nudge against his hole. And Remus is sliding in, pressing and stretching him in a delicious burn that drives the breath from his lungs. The heat fills him, blotting out the darkness behind his eyelids with white light as the head brushes against some spot.
Remus groans; feeling himself sheathed in the tight, hot body. He opens his eyes to see Snape's face, and is breathless at seeing the euphoric expression on the Potion Master's face. He rocks up, burying his cock further, and Snape's eyes fly open in a gasp. "Hang on to me," Remus says, his voice hoarse and gravelly. He feels Snape's arms circle his shoulders, his long legs wrapping around his hips. He rears back and thrusts in again, growling at the gasping cry of pleasure that escapes from Snape's throat. Again and again he delves into the welcoming heat of his lover's body, growling when Snape's nails score his shoulder blades. Remus captures Snape's mouth in a sloppy, hungry kiss and pushes their bodies closer and closer to their climax. Suddenly, Snape is shuddering in his arms, flinging his head back and crying out Remus names as he pulses between their bellies. Snape's body spasms around him, milking his own orgasm from him in a blinding euphoria.
Snape pants, his arms holding Remus as the werewolf collapses against him. His hands trail over Remus' body, mapping out the scars and knobs of his spine. He soaks up the warmth, storing it for the long, cold, dark time to come. He knows that he will disappear before the sunlight encroaches on their stolen bit of peace. He knows that Remus will return to the Order and to the child growing in Tonks’ belly. He knows that neither of them is likely to survive the war. For now, he'll remain is Remus' arms and steal a little more time before returning to the dark.