WARNING: This is a slash story, which means it contains male/male erotic content involving consenting adults. If you're not of legal age or are offended by such material, please go find something else to read.

Title: Cry of Pleasure (Sal Si Puedes Spin-off 3)
Author: Becca
Email: BeccaSnape@aol.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: PWP
Disclaimers: I do not own Severus and Remus. They belong to JKR. I don't intend to make money with this. But there're other, um, things that can be at least equally as satisfying. Fun is one of them.
A/N: The third spin-off to Sal Si Puedes. Again, it doesn't fit in the chronology of my series. But imagine it set during a `happier' period of their relationship. Or don't read it as a part of SSP. Just assume that Severus and Remus have been lovers for quite some time. And Remus is also living at Hogwarts. That's all.I've wanted to write this (or something like this) for quite a long time. Then vigilantgriffin created a site in honour of National Masturbation Month. I blame her for provoking me *g* and I thank her even more. Same goes for Auror Borealis and the amazing `Look But Don't touch', which I can't recommend highly enough. So, consequent person that I am, I dedicate this ficlet to the two of you!I thank my beta from the depth of my heart.

We're sitting by the fire, Remus and I. We're sitting in our armchairs and we're both reading. It has been a long day and I've been looking forward to a quiet evening by the fire where I'm sitting now, my legs crossed at the ankles, resting on a low stool.

Remus looks relaxed. A huge tome is placed on his upper legs, he's leaning back in his chair, reading. The words describing the ancient art of Egyptian potion making echo in my head as I watch Remus reading. His fingers are wrapped around the edges of the volume's heavy leather cover and his eyes follow the lines of writing. They move from right to left, so I gather he's reading something written in a foreign language. His thumbs brush over the parchment but he doesn't seem to notice. Absentmindedly he reaches for the glass of red wine on the small table next to his chair. He moves the glass to his lips and takes a small sip, letting the wine roll over his tongue before he swallows it. When he sets the glass down again he licks his lips. They form words and I know the passage he's reading must be a difficult one.

I direct my eyes back to my own book, back to the usage of belladonna in-Suddenly a sound comes from my lover's chair, a strange, stifled sound. It's like a hoarse moan, a strangled cry of pleasure. I look up but he seems to be as absorbed by his book as he was before. The sound echoes in my head as I watch him reading. A strange sound. A sound that makes my skin tingle. I close my eyes.

My hands begin to sweat. I loosen my right hand's grip on the book I'm holding and rub its fingers against the palm. Then I raise my hand and wipe it on my chest. I do not intend to brush it over my robe-covered nipple, but when that accidentally happens, the sensation hums within my whole body. I am not able to stop my hand from repeating the movement and I'm by no means able to call it accidental this time.

The ruffle of parchment caused by Remus turning a page brings me back to consciousness. Back to the book, Severus, back to the book. I concentrate on the use of belladonna inÉ when a shiver rushes down, down, down my spine and spreads its fingers between my buttocks. I bite my lips and a growing throb in my groin betrays my efforts to focus on the text in front of me.

The use of belladonna inÉ turns into the use of holding and releasing my breath in channelling my sexual arousal. There is no use denying it now, though there might be some use in comparing the use of belladonna in widening pupils to the effect lust and desire has on my lover's eyes. His pupils grow wide and dark when he is aroused and I allow my eyelids to sink and promote the exchange of black ink writing and Remus' passion-clouded gaze in my imagination. I recall his tongue playing with the wine and his tongue licking his lips and the strange sound reoccurs inside my head, accompanied by another shiver down my spine.

I feel my erection stir and I part my legs a very tiny, almost immeasurable bit. My eyes open of their own account and dart over to where my lover is sitting. He hasn't changed his position and is still deeply absorbed by his reading. The glass is lifted to his lips once again, he hesitates a couple of seconds, obviously caught by a tricky passage once more, for his lips form words as he raises the glass, they form words as they already touch the brim of the glass, they wrap around it still forming words, then he removes the glass again, holds it close to his mouth, his mouth that is forming words until he finally, finally raises the glass to his lips and takes a playful sip, then a larger one. He lets the wine wash around in his mouth, gets it under his tongue, bathes his tongue in it, swallows.

My hand sneaks to my groin as I watch Remus licking his lips. He begins to lower the glass in order to set it down on the small table, but he stops in mid-movement, the glass in his hand hovers in the air. I hold my breath until he makes his decision. And up the glass goes, back to his lips, another sip, another licking of his lips. This time he slowly places the glass on the table and grabs his book with both hands.

My right hand fumbles with the buttons of my trousers. My left hand brings the book I'm pretending to read to a different angle, a more upright position. My left hand shields what my right hand is doing. Is unbuttoning my trousers, is impatiently unbuttoning my trousers, is impatient to get inside, inside, inside. I free my erection and close my hand around it. I bite my lips again. The use of the use of lust and desire. Belladonna eyes.

I register the movements of my hands. My right hand begins to carefully stroke my hard shaft. My left hand is trembling. I commend it to tighten its grip on the book, to steady the shield. I hold and release my breath, I channel my arousal. I think of lips and tongues, of stroking thumbs, of wide eyes, clouded with passion. I think of Remus' eyes, moving from right to left, of the strange sound, that strangled cry of pleasure, which repeats itself again and again in my head. I close my eyes.

"SeverusÉ"

Remus' voice calls me back to our room, back to the fire. I turn my head. He has put his book aside and looks at me with belladonna eyes. I watch him as he reaches for his glass again and takes another sip of the rich wine. Deliberately he lets the liquor swirl around in his mouth before he swallows it and before he licks his lips again. I watch him as he leisurely undoes his trousers, his eyes fixed on me. He parts the fabric and rests his hand on his still cloth-clad erection. His fingers cup his cock and his balls; they just rest there, separated from his skin only by the thin cloth of his underpants. His fingers don't move. Mine do. They had stopped for a brief moment but now they move again. Remus stretches a little, stretches out his legs, but his hand remains motionless.

I know exactly how it feels, his hand on his shaft, a thin layer of cloth as the sole barrier. I know how it feels, tantalising, warm, no, hot, a little heavy, desperate to move. My book falls to the floor and my left hand has to find other things to cling to. The arm of my chair, for example, my fingers dig into the upholstery, no, no, better into my right wrist, stop it from moving, up and down, no, up to my mouth, taking a drop of pre-come with it, cover my lips, cover my mouth, stifle a moan.

"Severus." He says my name again, belladonna voice. His hand remains still in his lap, just rests on his erection, motionless. He licks his lips as I lick mine, my fingers, my taste. I know how it feels, his hand there in his lap as it finally starts to stroke the thin cloth. An agonising friction, I know how it feels, I know it. I moan into my fingers, my tongue licking my fingers, my eyes on my lover's caressing hand.

I want to see him, want to see him taking his erection in his hand, I want to see his hand moving up and down his skin as mine is moving up and down, faster now than before. I want to see him as he sees me. I force my hand to resume a slower pace. I try to, I try to, I try to. My breath is ragged and rough and raw and ready and stops-

He lifts his body a little and pushes his trousers and his undergarments down. His eyes never leave me; he sinks back into the chair and gently closes his fingers around his throbbing, twitching cock. I know how it feels. It feels like finally, finally, it feels like inevitable, it feels like no use in denial. I exhale and my hand starts moving again. Slowly, please, go slowly, he moans and I can't stop moving, my hand moves faster, but no, go slowly.

I watch the muscles of his face tensing, his jaws clenching and his hips arching, thrusting into his hand. I hear the incoherent line of words seeping from his lips to my ears. "SeverusÉ what are you doingÉ aaahhh, aahh, what are you doing?" His voice is husky and low. "OhÉ ohÉ gods, SeverusÉ this isÉ what are youÉ oh, yes, yesÉ Severus?"

I know my words sound as slurred and wide and dark as his as I answer or rather try to and do something completely different. "IÉ I couldn't stopÉ thinking of youÉ of your lips and your thumbs and your tongueÉ I couldn'tÉ couldn't stopÉ couldn't stopÉ" He moans, a long, low moan, and he doesn't even try to stifle it, he doesn't even try to hold back. I know how this feels and I feel my body tensing and aching and arching and thrusting into the caress of my hand. "Can't stop, RemusÉ can't stopÉ" I know that I'm not going to last very long, but slowly, go slowly. "Gods, I can't *stop*, I can't stop movingÉ I'mÉ"

He can't either, I can see it and I know how it feels. I can see the movements of his hand accelerating; I can see how sweat begins to cover his face. The feeling of fingers spreading between my buttocks, the feeling of the fingers almost, almost touching, almost entering me increases, grows to almost beyond bearable. This is when Remus' words continue to pour from his lips. "Oh, I want to touch you, Severus, want toÉ to lick you and bite your nipples andÉ touch youÉ yes, oh, yesÉ oh, gods, Severus, to see you like thisÉ aaahhh, it'sÉ it'sÉ to touch myself and to see youÉ you touching yourself isÉ I'm so close, IÉ I want to be inside youÉ want you to be inside meÉ so closeÉ I want to comeÉ"

I watch him pumping his erection frantically, desperately and I know how it feels. "I can't stop, RemusÉ please, please, I need toÉ IÉ comeÉ now, can't stop, can't, can't, pleaseÉ" I know I'm babbling. I know I can't stop. I know I need to come, want to come, want him to come. I need release; I need this tension to end. I need it to end now, now, now. My hand moves and I move and he moves and his hand moves and we arch and thrust and move. We tense and we writhe and we moan and we thrust and we reach and we burst, we climax, we come and we scream. My name, his name. A cry of pleasure.

Warm, sticky come spills from my pulsing cock and covers my hand. I know how it feels and how it looks because I can see white, warm, sticky liquid gushing over his hand and his abdomen and his hand and my hand and my hand and his hand.

Later, much later, we catch our breaths and smile. I get up and take off my shoes, socks, trousers, walk over to his chair and undress him. I extinguish the fire and lead Remus to our bedroom. We lay down on the bed and I wrap the covers around us and we embrace one another. When Remus feels my hardening cock against his stomach he presses his body closer to mine. I moan. A stifled moan, a strange sound. He kisses my lips and strokes my chest. It's dark in the bedroom but I know the look in his eyes as they look at me in the darkness. Wide and dark and clouded with passion.