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Fic: ~Power Play~ NC-17, Part 2, Chapter 1
Title: Power Play
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, BDSM, violence, bestiality, graphic sex.
Summary: Lupin was surprised to learn of Snape’s submissive side, and stunned when the Potions Master offered that submission up as a gift to him. He grabbed it without thinking, but did the werewolf bite off more than he could chew?
Notes: Two parts - complete. A little angst, but mostly an excuse to write smut. Set in the first half of the school year after OotP, but written before HBP.
Many thanks to Odd Doll and Snegurochka for their excellent work as betas.
~~Power Play~~
Part 2
Chapter 1: Foundering
Days stretched into weeks. The men rarely saw one another. There were the meetings, of course, but even then they studiously ignored the existence of each other.
Lupin couldn’t help but notice that Snape was losing weight, that his face bore shadows that hadn’t been there before. What he didn’t know was that he, himself, looked much the same.
He lay awake nights, his mind going round and round. He would see Snape’s face in the ceiling; see the way it would dissolve into need, then ecstasy; see the normally reticent, self-contained man completely unravel under his touch. He would close his eyes and feel again that mouth, those hands, the warmth of Snape’s body.
For Merlin’s sake!
It wasn’t as though he’d never been in a relationship. It wasn’t as though he was some lust-struck teenager. It wasn’t as though he was in love. He couldn’t be. It was an idea he was in love with, not a man. The relationship was too one-sided. Besides, Snape didn’t even care for him much.
Did he?
Two things Lupin knew for certain. One was that he could not continue in the relationship without input from the man – not the submissive, the man. The snarky, snide, intelligent, creative man with the razor wit. The other thing of which he was quite certain, was that he would never be able to satisfy Snape’s need for discipline and pain.
It didn’t have a prayer of working, so why was he even thinking of it as a relationship? Certainly it wasn’t like any other relationship he’d had. The few others he’d been in of a serious nature had all been the Dominant/submissive type. He was in charge. Always.
He was beginning to think that with Snape, such a relationship might not be what he wanted. Snape was too good; he was all or nothing when it came to his submission. The bloody man wouldn’t even carry on a conversation with him when he was in submissive mode. Snape just agreed with everything he said. Lupin sighed. He wanted it all. And he wasn’t the least bit sure Snape was remotely interested.
Finally, desperate to get away from his thoughts, Lupin packed a bag. He would go to Crete for a few days. The ancient island had been his refuge for a year when he was in his twenties, during another time in his life when he was desperate to run away. He had spent his time exploring the hills and the ruins, working now and then on one of the fishing boats, or helping one of the local olive growers. The island was soaked in a magic older than time, and as a young man, Lupin had found his spirit eased.
He found an old broom in a closet off the kitchen of Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Ordinarily, he would never have attempted a trip of that length on a broom so rickety, but he was desperate to get away – away from the house with its reminders of Sirius, away from his bedroom with its reminders of Snape. Away from everything that comprised his life.
It was raining over most of France, and he arrived at his destination just after dark, wet and exhausted. Stashing his broom in an old windmill, he slithered and slid his way down the rocky hill to a little fishing village he had know in his youth. Then, he had camped. Now, he used some of his meager savings to procure a room at a small guesthouse.
He had arrived during an unusually hot spell, and everything on the island was drowsy with the heat. He spent the next few days roaming the dusty, familiar hills, baking in the sun, and seeking a peace that wouldn’t come. Instead of calming him, the blazing sun made him restless. Instead of distracting him, the foreign landscape drove his thoughts inward.
Huddled in the shade of one of the island’s many stone windmills, fairly comfortable on a low rock, Lupin stared out at the surreal blue of the Mediterranean water, and smoked a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked for years, but when he’d seen the pack in a local store, he had purchased it on impulse. He was now beginning to think it wasn’t such a good idea – his mouth tasted worse than a hippogriff smelled.
It was completely silent on his hill, the sun scorching down with a ferocity that bleached color from the land. The air smelled of dust, and a slightly musty odor from a stack of old burlap sacks that lay in a heap just inside the open door of the mill. He wasn't seeing anything; his eyes focused inward as his mind relived one of his sessions with Snape. It was a pleasant way to pass the time in the stifling heat, even if it wasn’t conducive to his peace of mind.
A small sound caught Lupin’s ear – the scuff of a shoe, the roll of a pebble, the heavy breathing of someone climbing the hill. Lupin sat where he was, neither wishing to hide from, nor to meet, the approaching stranger.
A boy of about twenty came into view. He was winded, and his body shone with sweat from the exertion of the climb. It was a well-made, muscular body, well toned and lean, clad only in a brief pair of cut-off jeans and the ubiquitous rope-soled sandals. His skin was dark, his hair jet black and curly, though worn a little longer than most of the island men.
“Hi!” His grin, infectiously friendly, exposed dazzling teeth.
Lupin nodded, returning the smile.
“You’re the Englishman staying at Uncle Zander’s, aren’t you?”
“If Uncle Zander is the man who runs the guest house, then I guess I am.” Lupin tried not to notice the boy’s flat stomach as it worked his diaphragm, trying to pull enough oxygen out of the sweltering air.
The boy swung around and sat on the ground beside Lupin.
“I always come up here when I’m home.” He was gazing out to sea.
“You don’t live here?” Lupin hadn’t really wanted a conversation, but it seemed rude to ignore the boy.
“I grew up here. I go to school in London.”
Lupin merely nodded. He and the boy stared out to sea in silence.
“Do you have a smoke to spare?”
Lupin drew the pack from his shirt pocket, shaking one out. Instead of taking it with his hand, the boy scooched closer, leaned over, and withdrew the slim cylinder of tobacco with his lips. Raising his gaze to Lupin’s, he smiled.
“Do you have a light?”
Caught unaware by the boy’s engaging grin, he smiled back. Finding his lighter, he struck it and extended his hand. The boy closed his brown fingers over Lupin’s own as he steadied the flame. Leaning into the fire, he drew smoke deeply into his lungs before releasing Lupin’s hand. His thumb caressed the back of Lupin’s knuckles briefly before sliding away.
Well. Lupin suppressed a smile. Who would have thought?
They smoked for a while, listening to the crushing silence as the sun beat the earth into submission. Not even the birds had energy to rustle a wing.
“Are you running from your lover?”
Lupin choked, coughing while the boy pounded his back.
“Sorry.” His grin was unrepentant. “You’d think I’d know by now that the English don’t discuss such matters with strangers. We Greeks, we’ll talk about anything – the entire village and every guest at the guesthouse knows everything about my aunt’s hysterectomy.”
Lupin flushed. The good woman had, indeed, regaled him with all the details of her surgery over breakfast on his first day there.
The boy chuckled at Lupin’s discomfort. “So... are you?”
“What gave you that idea?” Lupin crushed out his cigarette.
The boy shrugged. “You have that look.”
“And what look is that?” Lupin wanted to be irritated with the boy, but his manner was too engaging.
“Oh, lonely, miserable...frustrated.” The dark eyes flashed as they searched Lupin’s face.
Good gods. Lupin blinked. Could this beautiful, young creature really be trying to pick up a shabby Englishman almost old enough to be his father?
“Did you fight?” The boy’s voice was soft, his eyes sympathetic.
Lupin closed his eyes. He was not about to discuss this. “No.”
“Mmm.” The boy tossed his cigarette away. He had a fleck of tobacco on his lower lip. His tongue came out and picked it up, then a finger came up and swiped it off the tongue.
Lupin realized he was staring. He forced his eyes back on the sea.
The boy reached for a blade of grass, his shoulder brushing Lupin’s knee. “Are you going back to him?” The voice was soft, but the word “him” stung like a wasp.
Insolent boy! Lupin rose abruptly and walked a few paces away.
He didn’t hear the boy approach, just the soft whisper, close by his ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, come back and sit in the shade. It’s much too hot out here.”
He felt a light touch on his arm.
“Please?”
With a resigned sigh, he went back to his rock. Why this boy’s words were bothering him, he couldn’t say. Perhaps because the boy was so damned attractive.
What the hell was he thinking? Well, why the hell not? It wasn’t as though he and Snape were in some kind of relationship. Not anymore. Not that they ever were. Really.
It had been about sex, that’s all.
The memory of Snape offering him the potions, and the massage, shouted at him.
Nonsense!
The image of Snape’s face, unraveling as he came, floated to the surface of his mind. Angrily, he pushed it away.
“Are you all right?” A light hand rested on his shoulder as the boy stood behind him.
“Yes. I’m fine.” Lupin’s voice was strained.
“Right.” The hand trailed slowly across his back before it dropped away. He moved closer to Lupin’s side. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
The voice was low and seductive. Lupin looked up and found that the cut-offs were eye level, inches away. A visible bulge stretched the faded material. Lupin dragged his eyes upward, looking for respite from the sweet sight. A flat belly, a trail of sparse black hairs from a perfect navel, dropping out of sight under the cut-offs.
With a groan, Lupin reached for the waistband of the shorts.
~~
The next afternoon, Lupin sat in a dark, smoky local – glass of Metaxa in one hand, cigarette in the other, sweat trickling down his spine.
The boy had said he’d be on the hill again today. Every day, in fact. Lupin wasn’t going. He closed his eyes to banish the memory of the boy’s face, wrought with need, the memory of the boy’s hands on his hips, the memory of the boy’s mouth on his cock. The smell of the boy filled his head and he swore he could taste him again.
Someone sat beside him and he started. That explained why the smell of the boy had filled his senses. The object of his desires gave him a tentative smile.
“Did I offend you in some way?” His voice was barely audible.
“No, no, it’s nothing you did.” A slow smile spread over Lupin’s face. “Well, nothing that you did wrong.”
The boy’s grin was back. “Smoke?” He eyed the pack by Lupin’s hand.
“Here.” Lupin pushed the pack toward him. “Take ‘em all.” He watched as the boy extracted one, then shoved the rest in his back pocket. “They’re bad for you, you know.”
The boy grinned. “I know. Someday I’ll stop.” He lifted Lupin’s lighter in a small salute before igniting his smoke. “Thank you.”
Lupin couldn’t help grinning at him. “Keep that, too.”
The lighter joined the half-empty pack in his back pocket. “You should go back to him.” His voice was low again, barely above a whisper.
“And why do you say that?” The boy’s serious face amused Lupin.
“Because it’s obvious you care very much for him.” The boy flicked ash onto the floor.
Lupin stiffened. “Why do you say that?”
The boy leaned close to Lupin’s ear so there was no chance of his being overheard. “Because the name you called when you came wasn’t mine.”
Lupin flushed, but the boy just laughed.
“I’m sorry, I...”
The boy’s hand on his wrist stopped his bumbling apology. “It’s fine, really.” His eyes danced. “That you dallied with me, when you so obviously care for another, is very flattering.” Seeing Lupin frown, he went on. “You were upset. It’s not your fault.” He leaned close again. “And I was trying to seduce you, you know.”
Lupin finally laughed, the boy’s good humor winning him over.
The boy trailed a finger over the back of Lupin’s hand, slid off the stool with a broad wink, and sauntered out into the blazing sun.
Lupin tossed some bills on the bar, went back to the guesthouse, and packed his bag.
~~
It was eleven p.m. when Lupin entered Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, shivering from the cold and damp of the long broom ride. He moved stealthily, as he was wont to do in that house. Not only did he not wish to rouse the portrait of Mrs. Black, but Lupin didn’t want to meet any members of the Order either, should there still be someone in the kitchen. He knew Molly would have more than a few words to say to him about the note he had left: “I’ll be back – don’t worry.”
Not exactly the thing to set her mother’s mind at ease. He’d only been gone five days, not a lot. Not enough to incur too much wrath. He hoped.
He was sitting at his desk, going through his correspondence, when a crackle of sparks exploded from around his door and it flew open, crashing back against the wall. Snape strode in, fury radiating from him. He stood before Lupin, literally vibrating with anger.
“What the bloody hell are you playing at?”
Lupin barely kept his jaw from dropping. The vivid image of a young body writhing beneath his hands flashed into his mind, the blazing sunshine of the scene seeming to light up the dreary room for a split second. He blinked, vanquishing the picture, not noticing Snape’s momentary recoil.
“Wha...” Suddenly his head snapped around to the calendar that hung on the wall. He felt as though the floor was dropping out from under him. He should have started taking the Wolfsbane on the previous day.
“You are too old to go running off like some sullen child! You think this is all about you? You have a responsibility here!” Snape was yelling almost loudly enough to wake Mrs. Black, two flights down.
Guilt and fear combined into anger in Lupin’s heart as he surged to his feet.
“How dare you lecture me on my responsibility! I have been dealing with this for almost my entire life – I know what’s at stake! Besides.” He took a deep steadying breath. “Just what business is it of yours?”
Snape suddenly pulled back. He crossed his arms, shifted his weight to one leg and cocked his head. “What business is it of mine?” His voice was silky soft, the rage suddenly contained to a deadly stillness. “None, I suppose. Not since I won’t be wasting my time creating your potion any longer.”
He spun on his heel, heading for the door.
“Snape!”
He stopped in his tracks, turning slowly.
Lupin swallowed. He had to get this right. Wordlessly, he held out his hand.
After a brief hesitation, Snape pulled a flask from his pocket, brought it forward and slapped it into Lupin’s hand. He then produced a goblet from another pocket and set it on the desk.
Lupin uncorked the flask and poured the contents into the goblet, swirling it carefully. He knew that the silver goblet was as important an ingredient in the potion as anything else. He waited the requisite few seconds, then gulped down the bitter liquid. He had to swallow several times to clear his mouth of the flood of saliva caused by the taste.
He handed the goblet and flask back to Snape.
“Do you think missing a day will impact the effectiveness of the potion?” He was pleased, and a bit surprised, at how steady his voice was. Certainly it was steadier than his heartbeat.
Snape folded his arms again. “Well now, that’s the question, isn’t it? There really is no way to know in advance.” His voice was snide.
Lupin held his eyes without flinching. “What would you guess?”
Snape’s eyebrows almost disappeared. “Guess? I’m a scientist; you want me to guess?”
“That’s right. I would rather have your guess than the affirmations of a dozen other experts.”
Something flickered behind Snape’s eyes as he considered. The disdainful look faded from his face. “I’ve always felt we’ve overdosed, just to be safe. I don’t think there will be a problem.” The scowl returned. “Not that that will be license for you to act like an irresponsible, spoiled child in the future!”
Before Lupin could respond, Snape turned on his heel, hesitated, then turned back.
“I’ll expect you to be in my chambers tomorrow night at a reasonable time for the next dose. Unlike some people, I have to get up for work in the morning.”
Lupin’s face remained placid. “Will eight o’clock serve?”
Snape nodded. He was starting to turn when Lupin’s voice stopped him once again.
“Thank you, Professor.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before Snape turned without a word and was gone.
~~
At precisely eight, Lupin stepped out of Snape’s fireplace. The professor was at his desk, a stack of parchments at his elbow. He was writing comments into the margin of an essay with bold black strokes, and he finished what he was doing before laying down his quill. Without a word or a glance in Lupin’s direction, he crossed to the sideboard and poured the potion. Leaving it there, he went back to his desk, resuming his grading of the essays.
Lupin raised an eyebrow at this behavior, but chose not to comment. He drank the potion and left the way he had come.
The next three nights followed the same routine. Snape was either working at the desk or reading when Lupin arrived at eight. Snape would pour the potion and resume whatever he had been doing without a word or a look.
“Severus?”
“I’m busy, Lupin.”
“Yes, you have work, as you’ve reminded me.” Lupin couldn’t help the snide tone from creeping into his voice. Snape really was becoming insufferable. “I was simply wondering if it would be convenient–” He dipped the word in sarcasm – “if tomorrow I came at noon?”
Snape glanced at his wall calendar, then down again. “As you wish.” He opened his grade book. “If I am not here, the potion will be.”
“Noon, then.” Lupin tried to keep the temper from his voice.
When he was gone, Snape picked up the grade book and flung it against the wall.
~~
Snape was not in his rooms when Lupin arrived the next day at noon. Lupin prepared the potion, drinking in silence. Finished, he cast a look of longing around the room. His transformation was that night. He had hoped more than he cared to admit that Snape would again offer him both the restorative and the healing potions he had brought before. But they were not in the room.
Ah, well. He had survived years without them, he would survive the next few days.
~~
Lupin paced his rooms, scratching at his arms. What if the missing dose of potion was a critical one? What if it was the timing that was the most important? What if he lost control?
Pulling his wand, he doubled the wards protecting his doors and windows. He was shaking. Outside, it was growing darker.
Quickly, he stripped off his clothes and laid them over a chair. If he was wearing anything when he transformed, he knew it would be shredded beyond repair before the transformation was over – before he regained control of his mind again. There was always that time, that very short time, when he lost track. Time he couldn’t remember.
He sat on the rug in front of the fire, hugging his knees to his chest. Sitting naked, waiting to turn into a beast, was the most humiliating thing he had to endure. And he had to endure it every twenty-eight days.
The last two transformations, when Snape was there reading to him, when he was there when Lupin awoke in his wolf state, had been the best, and the easiest, since he had left Hogwarts.
He lowered his forehead to his knees, then cried out as the pain started.
~~
He awoke to moonbeams, the room flooded with silver light. Something had wakened him. He raised his head and looked around. Snape was asleep in the chair.
Snape? Asleep in the chair? Snape had never slept in the presence of the man, let alone the wolf.
He rose cautiously and approached the gently snoring wizard. Snape was still wearing the black trousers of fine wool and the white shirt that he sometimes taught in, but the shirt collar was open and the sleeves rolled up a turn or two. His face was relaxed, the lines smoothed. He looked younger, more vulnerable.
Why was he there? What did he want?
It was all Lupin could do not to lay his head on Snape’s knee. Instead, he turned around twice and settled by the wizard’s side, his snout inches from the shiny black boots.
The moonbeams shifted, the night wore on, and the two creatures slept next to each other.
The sky was starting to lighten in the east when Lupin rose. Staggering slightly, he started to pace. He looked around wildly, panic overtaking him for a few moments as it always did just before he transformed. He was starting to shake and his vision was blurred when a strong arm slipped around his neck. A hand, with a small amount of brown liquid cupped in the palm appeared under his nose.
“Drink this.” The voice was soft, coaxing.
He sucked it up, then ran his tongue over the palm. It wasn’t bad tasting, but neither was it good.
A pain hit him. It was not the searing, burning pain that usually accompanied transformation, but it was still enough to knock him over. He struggled up again, whimpering softly.
Snape had gone.
This time the arm came around his ribs, pulling him against the solid wall of Snape’s chest. The hand reappeared, more liquid in the palm.
“Again.”
Lupin howled as another pain hit and his body started to twitch uncontrollably.
“Come on, Remus. Just a little more.” The voice was insistent.
He tried, following his nose to the hand as his eyes were blind. The hand gripped his muzzle, tipping his head back and drizzling the liquid into his mouth. He swallowed convulsively as pain overwhelmed him again.
But the pain was much softer this time, warmer, and very black.
~~
Lupin woke up gradually. He was warm, and he was lying on something soft. He blinked. The room was dim, the curtains drawn. He was in his own bed, a quilt drawn to his chin. Turning his head, he let out a small moan at the sight of the two bottles on the nightstand. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he selected the bottle of cinnamon potion and gulped it down. He barely had time to snuggle back under the covers before he was asleep again.
That night, Snape didn’t come. Lupin paced the floor until midnight, when exhaustion overcame him, and he fell into bed.
****************************************
to be continued in Part 2, Chapter 2
The fabulousundunoops drew The Greek Boy for me, and he is gorgeous. Go look and lavish praise.
Title: Power Play
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, BDSM, violence, bestiality, graphic sex.
Summary: Lupin was surprised to learn of Snape’s submissive side, and stunned when the Potions Master offered that submission up as a gift to him. He grabbed it without thinking, but did the werewolf bite off more than he could chew?
Notes: Two parts - complete. A little angst, but mostly an excuse to write smut. Set in the first half of the school year after OotP, but written before HBP.
Many thanks to Odd Doll and Snegurochka for their excellent work as betas.
Part 2
Chapter 1: Foundering
Days stretched into weeks. The men rarely saw one another. There were the meetings, of course, but even then they studiously ignored the existence of each other.
Lupin couldn’t help but notice that Snape was losing weight, that his face bore shadows that hadn’t been there before. What he didn’t know was that he, himself, looked much the same.
He lay awake nights, his mind going round and round. He would see Snape’s face in the ceiling; see the way it would dissolve into need, then ecstasy; see the normally reticent, self-contained man completely unravel under his touch. He would close his eyes and feel again that mouth, those hands, the warmth of Snape’s body.
For Merlin’s sake!
It wasn’t as though he’d never been in a relationship. It wasn’t as though he was some lust-struck teenager. It wasn’t as though he was in love. He couldn’t be. It was an idea he was in love with, not a man. The relationship was too one-sided. Besides, Snape didn’t even care for him much.
Did he?
Two things Lupin knew for certain. One was that he could not continue in the relationship without input from the man – not the submissive, the man. The snarky, snide, intelligent, creative man with the razor wit. The other thing of which he was quite certain, was that he would never be able to satisfy Snape’s need for discipline and pain.
It didn’t have a prayer of working, so why was he even thinking of it as a relationship? Certainly it wasn’t like any other relationship he’d had. The few others he’d been in of a serious nature had all been the Dominant/submissive type. He was in charge. Always.
He was beginning to think that with Snape, such a relationship might not be what he wanted. Snape was too good; he was all or nothing when it came to his submission. The bloody man wouldn’t even carry on a conversation with him when he was in submissive mode. Snape just agreed with everything he said. Lupin sighed. He wanted it all. And he wasn’t the least bit sure Snape was remotely interested.
Finally, desperate to get away from his thoughts, Lupin packed a bag. He would go to Crete for a few days. The ancient island had been his refuge for a year when he was in his twenties, during another time in his life when he was desperate to run away. He had spent his time exploring the hills and the ruins, working now and then on one of the fishing boats, or helping one of the local olive growers. The island was soaked in a magic older than time, and as a young man, Lupin had found his spirit eased.
He found an old broom in a closet off the kitchen of Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Ordinarily, he would never have attempted a trip of that length on a broom so rickety, but he was desperate to get away – away from the house with its reminders of Sirius, away from his bedroom with its reminders of Snape. Away from everything that comprised his life.
It was raining over most of France, and he arrived at his destination just after dark, wet and exhausted. Stashing his broom in an old windmill, he slithered and slid his way down the rocky hill to a little fishing village he had know in his youth. Then, he had camped. Now, he used some of his meager savings to procure a room at a small guesthouse.
He had arrived during an unusually hot spell, and everything on the island was drowsy with the heat. He spent the next few days roaming the dusty, familiar hills, baking in the sun, and seeking a peace that wouldn’t come. Instead of calming him, the blazing sun made him restless. Instead of distracting him, the foreign landscape drove his thoughts inward.
Huddled in the shade of one of the island’s many stone windmills, fairly comfortable on a low rock, Lupin stared out at the surreal blue of the Mediterranean water, and smoked a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked for years, but when he’d seen the pack in a local store, he had purchased it on impulse. He was now beginning to think it wasn’t such a good idea – his mouth tasted worse than a hippogriff smelled.
It was completely silent on his hill, the sun scorching down with a ferocity that bleached color from the land. The air smelled of dust, and a slightly musty odor from a stack of old burlap sacks that lay in a heap just inside the open door of the mill. He wasn't seeing anything; his eyes focused inward as his mind relived one of his sessions with Snape. It was a pleasant way to pass the time in the stifling heat, even if it wasn’t conducive to his peace of mind.
A small sound caught Lupin’s ear – the scuff of a shoe, the roll of a pebble, the heavy breathing of someone climbing the hill. Lupin sat where he was, neither wishing to hide from, nor to meet, the approaching stranger.
A boy of about twenty came into view. He was winded, and his body shone with sweat from the exertion of the climb. It was a well-made, muscular body, well toned and lean, clad only in a brief pair of cut-off jeans and the ubiquitous rope-soled sandals. His skin was dark, his hair jet black and curly, though worn a little longer than most of the island men.
“Hi!” His grin, infectiously friendly, exposed dazzling teeth.
Lupin nodded, returning the smile.
“You’re the Englishman staying at Uncle Zander’s, aren’t you?”
“If Uncle Zander is the man who runs the guest house, then I guess I am.” Lupin tried not to notice the boy’s flat stomach as it worked his diaphragm, trying to pull enough oxygen out of the sweltering air.
The boy swung around and sat on the ground beside Lupin.
“I always come up here when I’m home.” He was gazing out to sea.
“You don’t live here?” Lupin hadn’t really wanted a conversation, but it seemed rude to ignore the boy.
“I grew up here. I go to school in London.”
Lupin merely nodded. He and the boy stared out to sea in silence.
“Do you have a smoke to spare?”
Lupin drew the pack from his shirt pocket, shaking one out. Instead of taking it with his hand, the boy scooched closer, leaned over, and withdrew the slim cylinder of tobacco with his lips. Raising his gaze to Lupin’s, he smiled.
“Do you have a light?”
Caught unaware by the boy’s engaging grin, he smiled back. Finding his lighter, he struck it and extended his hand. The boy closed his brown fingers over Lupin’s own as he steadied the flame. Leaning into the fire, he drew smoke deeply into his lungs before releasing Lupin’s hand. His thumb caressed the back of Lupin’s knuckles briefly before sliding away.
Well. Lupin suppressed a smile. Who would have thought?
They smoked for a while, listening to the crushing silence as the sun beat the earth into submission. Not even the birds had energy to rustle a wing.
“Are you running from your lover?”
Lupin choked, coughing while the boy pounded his back.
“Sorry.” His grin was unrepentant. “You’d think I’d know by now that the English don’t discuss such matters with strangers. We Greeks, we’ll talk about anything – the entire village and every guest at the guesthouse knows everything about my aunt’s hysterectomy.”
Lupin flushed. The good woman had, indeed, regaled him with all the details of her surgery over breakfast on his first day there.
The boy chuckled at Lupin’s discomfort. “So... are you?”
“What gave you that idea?” Lupin crushed out his cigarette.
The boy shrugged. “You have that look.”
“And what look is that?” Lupin wanted to be irritated with the boy, but his manner was too engaging.
“Oh, lonely, miserable...frustrated.” The dark eyes flashed as they searched Lupin’s face.
Good gods. Lupin blinked. Could this beautiful, young creature really be trying to pick up a shabby Englishman almost old enough to be his father?
“Did you fight?” The boy’s voice was soft, his eyes sympathetic.
Lupin closed his eyes. He was not about to discuss this. “No.”
“Mmm.” The boy tossed his cigarette away. He had a fleck of tobacco on his lower lip. His tongue came out and picked it up, then a finger came up and swiped it off the tongue.
Lupin realized he was staring. He forced his eyes back on the sea.
The boy reached for a blade of grass, his shoulder brushing Lupin’s knee. “Are you going back to him?” The voice was soft, but the word “him” stung like a wasp.
Insolent boy! Lupin rose abruptly and walked a few paces away.
He didn’t hear the boy approach, just the soft whisper, close by his ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, come back and sit in the shade. It’s much too hot out here.”
He felt a light touch on his arm.
“Please?”
With a resigned sigh, he went back to his rock. Why this boy’s words were bothering him, he couldn’t say. Perhaps because the boy was so damned attractive.
What the hell was he thinking? Well, why the hell not? It wasn’t as though he and Snape were in some kind of relationship. Not anymore. Not that they ever were. Really.
It had been about sex, that’s all.
The memory of Snape offering him the potions, and the massage, shouted at him.
Nonsense!
The image of Snape’s face, unraveling as he came, floated to the surface of his mind. Angrily, he pushed it away.
“Are you all right?” A light hand rested on his shoulder as the boy stood behind him.
“Yes. I’m fine.” Lupin’s voice was strained.
“Right.” The hand trailed slowly across his back before it dropped away. He moved closer to Lupin’s side. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
The voice was low and seductive. Lupin looked up and found that the cut-offs were eye level, inches away. A visible bulge stretched the faded material. Lupin dragged his eyes upward, looking for respite from the sweet sight. A flat belly, a trail of sparse black hairs from a perfect navel, dropping out of sight under the cut-offs.
With a groan, Lupin reached for the waistband of the shorts.
The next afternoon, Lupin sat in a dark, smoky local – glass of Metaxa in one hand, cigarette in the other, sweat trickling down his spine.
The boy had said he’d be on the hill again today. Every day, in fact. Lupin wasn’t going. He closed his eyes to banish the memory of the boy’s face, wrought with need, the memory of the boy’s hands on his hips, the memory of the boy’s mouth on his cock. The smell of the boy filled his head and he swore he could taste him again.
Someone sat beside him and he started. That explained why the smell of the boy had filled his senses. The object of his desires gave him a tentative smile.
“Did I offend you in some way?” His voice was barely audible.
“No, no, it’s nothing you did.” A slow smile spread over Lupin’s face. “Well, nothing that you did wrong.”
The boy’s grin was back. “Smoke?” He eyed the pack by Lupin’s hand.
“Here.” Lupin pushed the pack toward him. “Take ‘em all.” He watched as the boy extracted one, then shoved the rest in his back pocket. “They’re bad for you, you know.”
The boy grinned. “I know. Someday I’ll stop.” He lifted Lupin’s lighter in a small salute before igniting his smoke. “Thank you.”
Lupin couldn’t help grinning at him. “Keep that, too.”
The lighter joined the half-empty pack in his back pocket. “You should go back to him.” His voice was low again, barely above a whisper.
“And why do you say that?” The boy’s serious face amused Lupin.
“Because it’s obvious you care very much for him.” The boy flicked ash onto the floor.
Lupin stiffened. “Why do you say that?”
The boy leaned close to Lupin’s ear so there was no chance of his being overheard. “Because the name you called when you came wasn’t mine.”
Lupin flushed, but the boy just laughed.
“I’m sorry, I...”
The boy’s hand on his wrist stopped his bumbling apology. “It’s fine, really.” His eyes danced. “That you dallied with me, when you so obviously care for another, is very flattering.” Seeing Lupin frown, he went on. “You were upset. It’s not your fault.” He leaned close again. “And I was trying to seduce you, you know.”
Lupin finally laughed, the boy’s good humor winning him over.
The boy trailed a finger over the back of Lupin’s hand, slid off the stool with a broad wink, and sauntered out into the blazing sun.
Lupin tossed some bills on the bar, went back to the guesthouse, and packed his bag.
It was eleven p.m. when Lupin entered Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, shivering from the cold and damp of the long broom ride. He moved stealthily, as he was wont to do in that house. Not only did he not wish to rouse the portrait of Mrs. Black, but Lupin didn’t want to meet any members of the Order either, should there still be someone in the kitchen. He knew Molly would have more than a few words to say to him about the note he had left: “I’ll be back – don’t worry.”
Not exactly the thing to set her mother’s mind at ease. He’d only been gone five days, not a lot. Not enough to incur too much wrath. He hoped.
He was sitting at his desk, going through his correspondence, when a crackle of sparks exploded from around his door and it flew open, crashing back against the wall. Snape strode in, fury radiating from him. He stood before Lupin, literally vibrating with anger.
“What the bloody hell are you playing at?”
Lupin barely kept his jaw from dropping. The vivid image of a young body writhing beneath his hands flashed into his mind, the blazing sunshine of the scene seeming to light up the dreary room for a split second. He blinked, vanquishing the picture, not noticing Snape’s momentary recoil.
“Wha...” Suddenly his head snapped around to the calendar that hung on the wall. He felt as though the floor was dropping out from under him. He should have started taking the Wolfsbane on the previous day.
“You are too old to go running off like some sullen child! You think this is all about you? You have a responsibility here!” Snape was yelling almost loudly enough to wake Mrs. Black, two flights down.
Guilt and fear combined into anger in Lupin’s heart as he surged to his feet.
“How dare you lecture me on my responsibility! I have been dealing with this for almost my entire life – I know what’s at stake! Besides.” He took a deep steadying breath. “Just what business is it of yours?”
Snape suddenly pulled back. He crossed his arms, shifted his weight to one leg and cocked his head. “What business is it of mine?” His voice was silky soft, the rage suddenly contained to a deadly stillness. “None, I suppose. Not since I won’t be wasting my time creating your potion any longer.”
He spun on his heel, heading for the door.
“Snape!”
He stopped in his tracks, turning slowly.
Lupin swallowed. He had to get this right. Wordlessly, he held out his hand.
After a brief hesitation, Snape pulled a flask from his pocket, brought it forward and slapped it into Lupin’s hand. He then produced a goblet from another pocket and set it on the desk.
Lupin uncorked the flask and poured the contents into the goblet, swirling it carefully. He knew that the silver goblet was as important an ingredient in the potion as anything else. He waited the requisite few seconds, then gulped down the bitter liquid. He had to swallow several times to clear his mouth of the flood of saliva caused by the taste.
He handed the goblet and flask back to Snape.
“Do you think missing a day will impact the effectiveness of the potion?” He was pleased, and a bit surprised, at how steady his voice was. Certainly it was steadier than his heartbeat.
Snape folded his arms again. “Well now, that’s the question, isn’t it? There really is no way to know in advance.” His voice was snide.
Lupin held his eyes without flinching. “What would you guess?”
Snape’s eyebrows almost disappeared. “Guess? I’m a scientist; you want me to guess?”
“That’s right. I would rather have your guess than the affirmations of a dozen other experts.”
Something flickered behind Snape’s eyes as he considered. The disdainful look faded from his face. “I’ve always felt we’ve overdosed, just to be safe. I don’t think there will be a problem.” The scowl returned. “Not that that will be license for you to act like an irresponsible, spoiled child in the future!”
Before Lupin could respond, Snape turned on his heel, hesitated, then turned back.
“I’ll expect you to be in my chambers tomorrow night at a reasonable time for the next dose. Unlike some people, I have to get up for work in the morning.”
Lupin’s face remained placid. “Will eight o’clock serve?”
Snape nodded. He was starting to turn when Lupin’s voice stopped him once again.
“Thank you, Professor.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before Snape turned without a word and was gone.
At precisely eight, Lupin stepped out of Snape’s fireplace. The professor was at his desk, a stack of parchments at his elbow. He was writing comments into the margin of an essay with bold black strokes, and he finished what he was doing before laying down his quill. Without a word or a glance in Lupin’s direction, he crossed to the sideboard and poured the potion. Leaving it there, he went back to his desk, resuming his grading of the essays.
Lupin raised an eyebrow at this behavior, but chose not to comment. He drank the potion and left the way he had come.
The next three nights followed the same routine. Snape was either working at the desk or reading when Lupin arrived at eight. Snape would pour the potion and resume whatever he had been doing without a word or a look.
“Severus?”
“I’m busy, Lupin.”
“Yes, you have work, as you’ve reminded me.” Lupin couldn’t help the snide tone from creeping into his voice. Snape really was becoming insufferable. “I was simply wondering if it would be convenient–” He dipped the word in sarcasm – “if tomorrow I came at noon?”
Snape glanced at his wall calendar, then down again. “As you wish.” He opened his grade book. “If I am not here, the potion will be.”
“Noon, then.” Lupin tried to keep the temper from his voice.
When he was gone, Snape picked up the grade book and flung it against the wall.
Snape was not in his rooms when Lupin arrived the next day at noon. Lupin prepared the potion, drinking in silence. Finished, he cast a look of longing around the room. His transformation was that night. He had hoped more than he cared to admit that Snape would again offer him both the restorative and the healing potions he had brought before. But they were not in the room.
Ah, well. He had survived years without them, he would survive the next few days.
Lupin paced his rooms, scratching at his arms. What if the missing dose of potion was a critical one? What if it was the timing that was the most important? What if he lost control?
Pulling his wand, he doubled the wards protecting his doors and windows. He was shaking. Outside, it was growing darker.
Quickly, he stripped off his clothes and laid them over a chair. If he was wearing anything when he transformed, he knew it would be shredded beyond repair before the transformation was over – before he regained control of his mind again. There was always that time, that very short time, when he lost track. Time he couldn’t remember.
He sat on the rug in front of the fire, hugging his knees to his chest. Sitting naked, waiting to turn into a beast, was the most humiliating thing he had to endure. And he had to endure it every twenty-eight days.
The last two transformations, when Snape was there reading to him, when he was there when Lupin awoke in his wolf state, had been the best, and the easiest, since he had left Hogwarts.
He lowered his forehead to his knees, then cried out as the pain started.
He awoke to moonbeams, the room flooded with silver light. Something had wakened him. He raised his head and looked around. Snape was asleep in the chair.
Snape? Asleep in the chair? Snape had never slept in the presence of the man, let alone the wolf.
He rose cautiously and approached the gently snoring wizard. Snape was still wearing the black trousers of fine wool and the white shirt that he sometimes taught in, but the shirt collar was open and the sleeves rolled up a turn or two. His face was relaxed, the lines smoothed. He looked younger, more vulnerable.
Why was he there? What did he want?
It was all Lupin could do not to lay his head on Snape’s knee. Instead, he turned around twice and settled by the wizard’s side, his snout inches from the shiny black boots.
The moonbeams shifted, the night wore on, and the two creatures slept next to each other.
The sky was starting to lighten in the east when Lupin rose. Staggering slightly, he started to pace. He looked around wildly, panic overtaking him for a few moments as it always did just before he transformed. He was starting to shake and his vision was blurred when a strong arm slipped around his neck. A hand, with a small amount of brown liquid cupped in the palm appeared under his nose.
“Drink this.” The voice was soft, coaxing.
He sucked it up, then ran his tongue over the palm. It wasn’t bad tasting, but neither was it good.
A pain hit him. It was not the searing, burning pain that usually accompanied transformation, but it was still enough to knock him over. He struggled up again, whimpering softly.
Snape had gone.
This time the arm came around his ribs, pulling him against the solid wall of Snape’s chest. The hand reappeared, more liquid in the palm.
“Again.”
Lupin howled as another pain hit and his body started to twitch uncontrollably.
“Come on, Remus. Just a little more.” The voice was insistent.
He tried, following his nose to the hand as his eyes were blind. The hand gripped his muzzle, tipping his head back and drizzling the liquid into his mouth. He swallowed convulsively as pain overwhelmed him again.
But the pain was much softer this time, warmer, and very black.
Lupin woke up gradually. He was warm, and he was lying on something soft. He blinked. The room was dim, the curtains drawn. He was in his own bed, a quilt drawn to his chin. Turning his head, he let out a small moan at the sight of the two bottles on the nightstand. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he selected the bottle of cinnamon potion and gulped it down. He barely had time to snuggle back under the covers before he was asleep again.
That night, Snape didn’t come. Lupin paced the floor until midnight, when exhaustion overcame him, and he fell into bed.
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to be continued in Part 2, Chapter 2
The fabulous
undunoops drew The Greek Boy for me, and he is gorgeous. Go look and lavish praise.