Omni (omni_sama) wrote in lupin_snape, @ 2009-05-01 14:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic: pg13, prompt: fools |
Fic: The Priorities of Eros (PG-13)
Title: The Priorities of Eros
Author: Omni (aka: rip_von_christ)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape and Lupin. Established. Mentioning of Lupin/Tonks.
Warnings: Non-graphic sexual situations, philosophy, mentions of canonical deaths
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of the characters or world, only the words thus written.
Summary: Socrates says we try to immortalize ourselves, striving to leave a legacy of some sort so that we'll never be forgotten. In the end, is that legacy the aspect of love which is truly most important?
Note: Inspired by lore's post about fools.
“Are you familiar with Symposium?” The dawn light was peeking in through the gaps in the curtains, and he traced its amber streaks with his fingers, through grey-peppered sandy hair.
“Hm? What symposium?” A scar on Lupin’s cheek danced slowly with every shift of his jaw when his spoke. Moving from the messy hair, the fingers traced that scar.
“The Symposium. By Plato.”
“Can’t say that I have. Philosophy’s not my thing, really.” Something about the way the fingers moved must have tickled, because Lupin shivered and tried to bury his face in his pillow.
Undeterred, he ran his fingers down Lupin’s neck, over his shoulder, along his side. “Well, in it, several people give speeches about what they think eros…or…’love’…is. At one point, in a bit of irony, the comic playwright Aristophanes gives a more deep and meaningful speech than the dramatic playwright Agathon.”
“Is that right?” came the muffled response, Lupin’s face still in the pillow.
“Indeed. See, Aristophanes offers a history of humankind, where we once had two faces and eight limbs, like two people conjoined back-to-back.”
“Mm?”
“And, he said we were of three genders—male-male, female-female, and male-female. Then, when we became too power-hungry, Zeus split us in order to reduce our strength. So, he says, that we are constantly trying to find our other half and merge back into one, which is the meaning of eros and why we make love.”
A light hazel eye peeked out from the pillow. “How romantic. And the dramatist? What did he say love was?”
“Ah. Well, he said that it was as the god himself was—young and beautiful. It was not something for the old and ugly.”
Lupin snorted and rolled over, the fingers that were caressing his side skimming across his skin and coming to rest on his abdomen. “That seems rather shallow.”
Nodding, Severus leaned in and began tracing Lupin’s skin with his tongue, starting with his collarbone and working his way downward. “Though,” he said, resulting in frustrating pauses as he went along, “I suppose it could be interpreted to mean that love colors our vision so that the one we love seems always young and beautiful to us.” Lupin hummed in what might have been agreement, and Severus chuckled in his throat. “That might be giving Agathon too much credit, though.”
---
“She’s very lovely.”
“Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”
Remus unbuttoned Severus’ robes, even while Severus seemed to be capable of doing nothing but run his fingers through shaggy silver-gold hair and look so damn haunted. Trying to banish that look, Remus began nipping at pale skin as soon as it was exposed. The body beneath his fingers still felt tense, and he felt a growl bubbling up in his chest.
“Do you want children, Lupin?”
“What nonsense are you muttering about now?” Outside, the waxing moon was strolling through the sky on her nightly hunt. Remus had no patience for melodrama or useless talking.
“I’m talking about the natural desire to immortalize one’s self through procreation. Something else mentioned in Plato’s Symposium.”
Remus gave in and growled, pressing at Severus’ robes to get them off before they were fully unbuttoned. “Let’s just stick to the part about trying to merge ourselves into one, yes?”
A gentle kiss was bestowed upon Remus’ forehead, which made the werewolf stop short. Looking up from Severus’ chest, he was caught by those dark eyes, and an inexplicable pain rose in his chest. His fingers gripped the black fabric tighter, as if he could physically keep hold of something immaterial that he could feel slipping away.
“There are two kinds of offspring Socrates mentions in his speech. One is the physical kind, a child. The other is the result of merging ideas. The latter is thought to be more perfect and lasting than the former.” Severus pressed his lips to Remus’, and there was a second’s pause before it was returned. Hazel eyes closed against unexplainable tears. “What could I give to you?” Severus asked, their lips still brushing with every word. “When what we have exists in only shadows, what could possibly continue on when one of us is gone?”
“Don’t say that.” Remus pressed closer, feeling desperate now, scared by implications and an ominous future looming ever nearer. “We’ll get through everything. You’ll see. And when everything’s done, we can be free to have your little thought babies or what have you.” He tried to laugh, tried to bring levity to the gloom. Severus didn’t return the laugh, however, but merely kissed Remus deeply and swallowed the final laugh that was far too close to a sob.
---
They both left legacies. Harry Potter was evidently even trying to get a statue of Severus Snape set up in Hogwarts to commemorate him as a hero. Potter would also start a tradition, naming his son after two great headmasters. Severus would become a popular name, and the original man would never be forgotten. Truly, he would be immortalized amongst the wizarding world.
Remus Lupin changed the way the Ministry dealt with werewolves, turning the hearts of many with his heroics and touching, tragic love story. The love story between him and his wife, Nymphadora, who died alongside him in battle.
The couple had left behind a combined legacy, a son. His eyes were shaped like his father’s, and his hair changed with his mood like his mother. Theodore Lupin would go on to live his own life, create his own legends, fight his own battles, and bed his own lovers. Tales would be told of him long after his death, and they would also recall his brave father and mother.
So, the people were remembered. Their deeds were regaled in song and storybooks. But, there was a tale that had been overlooked, unknown by any who outlived the fallen. There had been a love with no legacy, no physical or metaphorical progeny. It was as if it was made of nothing but smoke, and all traces had washed away in the windy currents of time.
Does it truly matter if no one knew? If there was no evidence?
For a brief time, two halves had found each other, and had been whole.