Biological Imperative

 

 

Author: Lunatic Leandra and Ranting Raina (nuttersincorporated@hotmail.com)


Title: Biological Imperative

Pairing: S/R
Rating: NC-17
Category: Drama, First Time, Romance, MPPW, POV

Disclaimer: Sirius and Remus belong to J.K. Rowling. We don't make
any money of this and we doubt somebody would actually pay us money
for this story.

Note: takes place during the Marauder's Years at Hogwarts

Warnings: bestiality (*snickers*), well kind of...

Thanks to: Reija, who did a wonderful and thorough job as our beta-
reader, especially considering Leandra`s complete incapability to
place commas (Any comma mistakes in this?) and Raina's tendency to
use analogies that defy the laws of physics.


*-*

I touched warm skin when I woke up. So soft, so smooth, a pleasant
sensation to my callused fingers, used to gripping the handle of a
broomstick tightly to keep me from falling out of the sky like an
albatross. I never imagined that his skin would feel like this,
scarred and marred as it is. There are thin white lines drawn across
his chest, his arms, even on the insides of his thighs where the wolf
has drawn his claws over the smooth perfection, shredding the soft
delicate tissue.

Some scars are newer than others, a few of them have been inflicted
on him last night. A bite wound adorns his pale throat, a bite wound
placed there by Padfoot, by me. Still, so beautiful, my Remus. My
Remus? Slowly my brain starts to process all the information my
senses collected over the past minute. His skin under my fingers, his
tawny hair in my face, his naked body curled up to mine, his arm
resting possessively across my chest, his musky smell in my nose, a
smell of sweat and fresh blood and a distinct reminder of male wolf.

I blink. Something about this picture just isn't right, still I dare
not move. Remus, my friend, my schoolmate... Where by Merlin are we?
I tear my gaze from his slack face, peaceful and boyish in sleep.
There isn't much of a wolf in him anymore when he is asleep. His
face bears an innocence he has lost long ago, when the wolf claimed
him as his victim.

I recognise the area as our favourite wood near Hogsmeade, where
Padfoot and Moony go hunting every full moon night, chasing after
rabbits, trying to stay away from the town. Prongs and Wormtail are
nowhere to be seen. They can't keep up with the speed of a werewolf
and a dog, chasing each other through the bushes. We are entangled
on the soft grassy ground in the safety of a willow, her long
graceful branches hanging low, almost touching our skin when she
moves with the wind.

I turn my attention back to Remus and he opens his eyes slowly as I
shift. His deep amber eyes, flecked with yellow speckles, which are
even more persistent than usual in the aftermath of a transformation
night, regard me with a thoughtful air. The expression on his face
suddenly changes and, as if my skin were burning, he jerks back,
jumping away from me, and there he sits now, kneeling, wincing a bit
when one of the scratches on his upper arm breaks open and fresh
blood trickles from the wound. It's then that I realise what must
have taken him by surprise. We are both naked, freshly transformed
from our animal stages back into humans. We must have fallen asleep
this night in our dogforms, curled around each other. Padfoot and
Moony are less reserved with their touches than we are, more at ease
with showing their affection.
He stares at me, his look haunted and frightened. "Sirius..." he
gasps, apparently not able to say anything else.

I move towards him, wincing as well, for I'm sore in places I never
knew even existed, and he backs away slowly, as if we were still
playing the old doggy game, threatening each other, intimidating each
other with a gaze out of wolfish eyes, low growls and sharp barks.

Then suddenly a memory comes to my mind. A situation just like this.
Only it's not him backing away, but Padfoot. The wolf stalks towards
me and without warning snaps at my furry throat and I back away with
a yelp, sounding much like a scared pup. I sprint aside and he
follows playfully, snapping at me with his sharp teeth again. I'm
able to get away from his teeth once more, turning to the other side,
but soon he is after me again.

I'm about to loose the chase and I know it. The wolf has always been
that little bit faster and that bit more dexterous. I jump aside,
almost bumping into a tree that suddenly pops out of nowhere, and
when I turn around to face him, it's almost as if he is grinning at
me, his sharp yellow eyes telling me that I'm defeated. I crouch, and
when he comes closer, I throw myself at his feet in a defensive pose
on my back, baring my neck and belly to him. Sharp teeth sink into my
fur and scrap at my skin, not really biting, and I try to wriggle
away, yelping. I manage to escape him, jumping to my feet, but he is
after me, his huge paws landing behind my neck. He lowers his head
and bites me, hard, just there. And then...

And then I know why his look is so haunted, why he refuses to look me
in the eye, why he is shivering miserably.

"Remus... Moony..." and I stop for I have no idea what to say. I'm
rendered as speechless as he is and I stare down at my lap, hiding
the blush that spreads over my face. Remus is my best friend and
while I sometimes feel that I like him just a bit too much, I have
never let this thought cross my mind. Mind you, he is beautiful,
gorgeous even, but I can't remember thinking about him this way. Or
maybe better, allowing myself to think about him this way. But
Padfoot, Padfoot who is so much more easygoing, so open with his
affections , so eager to chase his companion through the woods and
over meadows... It doesn't make any difference in the end: I slept
with my best friend.

Remus has scrambled to his feet and turns around, hiding his nude
form from me. I avert my eyes, knowing that he would appreciate it. I
would love to say something, anything, but I have no idea how to deal
with this situation. We have to get back to the Shrieking Shack,
where our clothes are stored away safely from the wolf's antics and
Padfoot's desire to chew everything into tiny pieces. I wish I had my
wand with me, so I could cast a spell that would provide us with
something to cover our bodies, but Padfoot wears no wand. I follow
Remus down the shadowy hidden path to the Shack, staring at the track
in front of me, not daring to raise my gaze. When I do, his pale
round buttocks are taunting me, and I rip my eyes away.

It seems like eternity has passed until we reach the Shack, and when
he hands me my clothes, which had lain neatly folded on the highest
shelf, it's the first time he looks at me. His amber gaze is sad, and
I can still see the shock lingering in the gold-brown depths of his
eyes.

"You understand that it was the wolf..."

"The wolf..." I echo and I suppose I should believe it. Instead, a
soundless voice in my head keeps denying this.

"Sometimes the wolf is just so strong..." he starts again, then
averts his eyes. I wait for him to say something else, but he is
quiet for a long time, simply standing there, the tawny strands of
his shoulder long hair falling into his face, hiding his eyes. I find
myself admiring the way the strands hug his face, and the contrast of
their reddish light to the pale unblemished skin of his cheeks.

"I want to apologise for the way the wolf molested..." he
hesitates, "... you. I couldn't control him, he just..." With that he
falls silent again and turns around, unfolds his pants and starts to
slide them over his legs. I find myself staring at his backside
again, noticing all the small bruises, the gashes, scratches and the
dried blood. I wince when he shudders as he fastens his trousers and
his waistband covers a particularly tremendous mark on his lower back.

"I guess Padfoot provoked it..."

We speak about this as if our animal-forms were completely other
beings, as if they were somehow detached from our own selves, as if
nobody could make us responsible for any actions taken in this form.
And maybe, if we deny it, it just never has happened. No other words
fall until we are both dressed and ready to leave the Shack. We trot
down the earthy corridor in silence, me once more trailing after him.
I don't know how he feels, I feel like running and hiding. I just
wish that this had never happened, at least not like this. Remus, my
best friend. My gorgeous best friend. And I wish we would have made
it real. Maybe I have never before thought of touching his creamy
skin, never before dreamt of kissing his full lips, tasting him, but
now I do. I imagine him to taste like honey and cinnamon, like
Christmas bakery.

We reach the steps that lead up to the entrance below the Whomping
Willow, planted only for this one purpose, to conceal what he is,
what he becomes every full moon, and he stops and turns to face me.

"Prongs and Wormtail must not know..." he says, still not looking me
in the eye, and I nod, despite the fact that something in me screams
against the denial I can read in his gaze, and I want to grip him,
shake him, make him admit to what Padfoot and Moony, what we have
done last night, want to draw him close and kiss him, kiss away the
fear I see lingering in his eyes.

Remus smiles shyly, as if to make it known that we are both still
best friends, that our little encounter in the woods changes nothing,
that we are still ´reserved werewolf´ Remus and ´outgoing dog´
Sirius. Then he turns around and opens the entrance. We slip through
and he winces a bit when his shoulder scrapes against a branch of the
willow planted above. His transformation is still painful, but I know
that it has become a bit better since Prongs, Wormtail and I are near
him to keep the werewolf from tearing himself to shreds. He is not
crawling from the Willow's entrance tattered and broken anymore,
collapsing on the soft grass outside, in need to be carried to the
hospital wing to be tended by Madame Pomfrey, and I'm immensely
grateful for that.

Outside the Willow James and Peter are waiting, both smiling as we
emerge from the tree.

"Are you okay, Remus?" James asks when he sees the strange look on
Remus' face and Remus nods, though I believe that nothing is okay
anymore.

"Sirius?" he turns to me, "did Padfoot have a good night?" and I
wince at his innocent words.

"I think so.." I hear myself say, wondering what I mean with that.
Did he, did I have a nice night? I'm not sure I want to remember it
in my human form , so I push the thought away to consider it another
time, when I am Padfoot and not –myself.
*-*

A funny thing, biology, isn't it.

A wolf . A dog. Chemistry. Behavioural patterns. Instinct. Smell.

It all comes down to it.

The way Padfoot easily and completely acknowledged Moony's dominance
over him. The way Padfoot's wagging tail, body language and smell
were a red flag before Moony's eyes.

That's why I hate the wolf. Instinct.

I always knew that this would happen someday, but I always thought I
might have a choice in the matter. Not that the wolf would just react
on blind, basic animal instinct and rape my best friend.

I can't even look at him anymore. What does he think of me? How can
he ever forgive me?

It was the wolf, I keep telling myself. And him.

I wonder if it sounds as hollow to him as it does to me.

He never wanted this, I know that. Padfoot gave Moony signals he
didn't know the meaning of. Moony took the initiative and claimed
what he wanted.

Oh, not that I didn't want Sirius. Wanted him ever since I knew what
wanting was.

The four of us, always together. James and Peter, the brothers I
never had. And Sirius Black. I knew even when I was ten that there
was nothing brotherly about my fascination with Sirius.

And I thought he might feel it too. The looks he gave me sometimes,
the way his eyes would rest on me a bit longer than strictly
necessary. Chemistry.

But not anymore. Moony saw to that. Now that Moony's...

How can he ever trust me again?

I can't look at him as we get dressed and exchange some meaningless
platitudes about how our animal forms took over.

For a split second I contemplate telling him the truth.

But I can't. He would feel guilty and sorry for me, and the last
thing I want from Sirius Black is pity.

So I bury the knowledge deep inside me, the grain that has been
implanted in my being, the spark that will always be there, for the
rest of my biological life, with every breath and heartbeat, the
spark that says `Sirius'.

I even manage a smile. It's not his fault, after all. It's just the
way it is. Biological imperative.

A funny thing, biology.

*-*

He is not talking to me. Well, of course he is talking to me, but not
really talking. Know what I mean? "Pass me the salt Sirius, will
you?" or "Can I borrow your book?". But we are not REALLY talking.
And he never ever calls me Padfoot anymore, not even Si or Siri. Not
even brat. Before that dreadful night, the night of the last full
moon, we would chat about nothing and everything. Sometimes we would
drive James completely nuts at night , when we'd whisper to each
other from behind our bed curtains like two stupid teenage girls
until he'd threaten to use a mouth-locking charm on us if we didn't
shut up immediately. Of course there were times when we actually did
keep silent, just sitting next to each other on the carpet, propped
against the bed post, his tawny head resting on my shoulder,
companions in silence.

Now, nothing about our silence is companion-like anymore. Our silence
is embarrassed , uncomfortable. His presence alone makes my skin itch
and a blush rise to my face. Two days ago, in the hall, when I
brushed up against him by accident, I saw him shivering in response.
A tiny tremble of his fingers, and I was disgusted with myself that I
had let it happen. Today, our fingers actually touched when he handed
me a book, and a wounded expression crossed his face and he
whimpered, then pulled his hand back as if it had caught fire and
averted his eyes. It saddens me that he is so obviously appalled by
me touching him.

Because I, I want to touch him. I need to touch him, to run my
fingers over his fair skin. The desire to touch him is almost
physical pain, and I so need to feel him skin to skin, to thread my
fingers through his shaggy hair, to pull him close and rest my head
on his shoulder, to breathe in his earthy scent.

I crave him. But he shall not know it.

*-*

The smell is the worst of it. If he could just stop smelling like...
well, like himself. All foresty and musky and male and... Sirius.

Then the touches.

Before that... well, before we could touch casually, him patting my
shoulder, wrestling, tickling matches, like friends. Even my laying
my head on his shoulder when I was exhausted from another
transformation.

Now, every time he touches me, it's as if someone has attached me to
a battery and is using me for experiments on electric currents
travelling over human skin. Werewolf skin.

Just today, his fingers brushed against mine, and suddenly it seemed
like the very air in my lungs contracted and made me shiver with want
from the inside.

I thought I could be friends with him. Hell, I can't even stand to be
in the same room with him for a longer period of time. Not the way I
used to, anyway. There was nothing I couldn't share with Sirius, he
was the one person who knew almost everything about me and still had
nothing but patience and friendship for me. He was the one person I
could relax with. Completely.

But all of that's gone. If I relax in his presence now, I know what
will happen. The wolf will override Remus once more, and I will claim
my mate once and for all, no resistance tolerated. I know I will do
to Sirius what the wolf did to Padfoot, and I'll be damned before I
let that happen.

So I keep my distance. Even though it's even harder to stay away from
him than it is to be with him and yet not be with him.

I need him. But he'll never know.

*-*

"Si, we need to talk!"

How long have I waited for those words. Sadly they come not from the
person I desired to hear them from. James is standing in front of my
desk at the library, his hands propped up on the polished wood
surface, staring down at me with a look like thunder and lightning.

I sigh and close the pages of the book I've been staring at all
evening, "The Dark Forces: An Advanced Guide to Self Protection, Part
2".

"What is it, Prongs?" I ask, placing the book in my leather bag. I
think I can guess what it is.

"Not here!" he hisses, then takes my hand and drags me out of the
library. I stumble after him, a bit taken aback by his dominant
behaviour. James is calm impersonated. Well, at least in usual
situations. This is not his usual situation.

He hauls me along the corridors up to the astronomy tower, pushes the
door open, drags me through it to the outside and finally stops,
letting go of my hand. I almost stumble by the force of his
treatment, but somehow manage to stay upright. Without looking up at
him my hands fumble through my pockets and produce a packet of
cigarettes and a lighter. The cold night air hits me with full force
and goose bumps break out on the bare skin of my arms, but I ignore
the discomfort.

"Want one?" I ask him, almost dead sure he will refuse, but he nods,
and raising an eyebrow I offer him a cigarette and light it for him.
Then I light my own and inhale deeply, letting the calming effect of
the tobacco soothe my nerves. He is nervous too and his temper has
dropped suddenly. He sucks on his cigarette as if it were a lifeline,
then coughs. I have to grin, James is such a geek.

"Okay, you wanted to talk," I push him.

"Remus," James says and then looks up. "Something is wrong with
Remus. And with you."

I decide to not comment on his observation and avert my eyes, staring
over the stone wall down at the lake.

"I'm not blind, you know. Ever since the last full moon, you two are
acting... differently. Something must have happened Si, and you
haven't told us about it."

I cough myself and take another drag from my cigarette, playing for
time.

"There was nothing unusual, James. Really."

Whom am I kidding? Nothing unusual...

"Right," James says, and it's obvious that he doesn't believe my
words for one iota.

"You're not talking, you're not doing the things you two normally do
with each other. You're behaving like somebody told you the
respective other was contaminative. So who are you trying to fool,
Sirius? Even the teachers can smell there is something amiss."

I turn to him and try to give him my trademark grin, the one I put on
after I played a particularly nasty prank on someone.

"Nothing happened, James. We're just growing apart. That's all," I
say, trying to sound convincing.

He snorts. "Sure." And again this damned sarcasm. He gives me a sharp
look, so scarily non-Potter that if I didn't know it was he, I would
mistake him for a Slytherin.

"You're such an awful liar, Black," he says, then throws his
cigarette to the ground and steps it out with his heel.

I decide to be silent for once. Maybe he's right and I'm an awful
liar. But I just can't tell him. I watch him leaving and I feel
horrible. What did he expect? That I spill it all out the minute he
growls and snarls at me? He should know better.

To Part 2