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: Lost Feeling
Author: Minx
Email: miraminx@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: Drama/Angst
Summary: Lupin, after Sirius is sent to Azkaban and through his return to Hogwarts as DADA instructor. Slash, of course. SB/RL implied, SS/RL graphic.
Disclaimers: Sadly, they're not mine. Neither are the songs mentioned and quoted here. The first is "Messin' With the Kid," by the Saints; Lupin and Snape also listen to "I Wanna Be Your Dog" and "Search and Destroy" by the Stooges. But this is not a songfic. Finally, DrugIngesting!SelfInjuring!Lupin is inspired by Ballyharnon's beautiful SB/RL fic "Of Linen."

Part I: The Awakening

All things considered, Remus Lupin decided later, the second year was the worst. He spent the first year in a haze, so numb with shock that he didn't really feel the pain of Sirius's betrayal and of the deaths of his three best friends (and what was he thinking, still, to put them in that order? How could he rate losing Sirius to the man's own treachery higher than losing the other three people who knew what he was and accepted him, not despite of it, but with it?). Of course he didn't realize it at the time. At the time, it was the second-worst pain he had ever felt. But really, the second year was far, far more horrific.

Honestly he had to date it from the eighth month of the first year. That was when the truth of it all hit him suddenly and he sank to his knees, clutching at the cool flagstones of his mother's kitchen floor while she looked at him in surprise. She knew enough not to touch him. The only people who knew what he was and still dared to touch him--wanted to touch him--were dead. Or. Or gone. He shoved his hand in his mouth to keep from shrieking.

"Remus? Are you--is it--"

"It's all right," he choked out. He struggled to his feet. Went outside, locked himself in the shed even though it was the middle of the afternoon and nowhere near the full moon anyway, and howled. Howled until his throat hurt. Until his howls sounded more like the dry cries of a crow. Until no sound came out at all and he was spitting out blood from his cracked throat. When he was done, he curled up in a ball and, for the first time in his life, wished the change would come over him. But of course it didn't, it didn't, it didn't, and he was left with the dusty taste of unwept tears in his mouth.

And that was the second year.

One day in the second month of the third year he realized that he had awoken and not thought of Sirius, nor James, nor Peter, nor Lily. He was standing at the window looking out at the winter garden. He let his head fall against the cold glass. "I need to do something," he muttered. His voice sounded disused. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken.

He spent the afternoon in the garden practicing spell-casting. There were protective wards around the grounds and house, he noticed after a bit, and they had a distinctive flavor--McGonagall. His mother leaned out the door and he looked at her with a question in his eyes. She knew what he wanted to ask.

"They've been up since you came back."

Two years, then. He thought they might be more to keep him in than to keep anyone out. He nodded and walked back to the house. His mother sighed and looked at the birdbath he'd transformed into a--wait, he'd made it into his old bed. He hadn't meant to do that. He'd meant to make a bicycle, but that had made him think of motorcycles, which made him think of Sirius, which made him think of the big bed in their London apartment with its silver gauze drapes. Once they'd left Hogwarts, they hadn't needed the dark enclosure of red velvet curtains hiding them ... He quickly restored the birdbath.

Part II: Protective Coloring

Lupin stiffened as he heard his name murmured from a corner of the pub. He was sure now that coming to Diagon Alley had been a mistake, and was beginning to think that returning to the magical world at all was not going to work out. In the three hours since he'd apparated into Diagon Alley, he'd overheard the most incredible variety of rumors involving him, Sirius, his two-year absence, and Voldemort. It was worse than the gossip mill that had been Hogwarts.

"under a spell... Unforgivable Curses... visiting Azkaban daily... lost his mind... St. Mungo's... in a coma, see how thin he is?... locked up in a secret room at Hogwarts..."

Lupin drained his butterbeer, flipped a few coins onto the table, and left. Definitely a mistake.

It was simple enough to conjure up some muggle identification (in the name of "Robert Moon") and clothing. What surprised Lupin was how easy it turned out to be to get a job. Within a week he was tending bar at a small club.

"Right," said the owner, Joe, concluding his "training", such as it was. "Don't give out free drinks to your friends. If someone comes in and asks for something you don't know how to make, just tell them we don't serve that crap." Joe looked him over. "You could dress a bit more, well, daring."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. He was wearing an outfit he'd picked out from one of his muggle cousin's magazines: corduroys, a button-down collar shirt, wingtips.

Joe looked almost uncomfortable. "It's just that, well, we attract a more--a crowd that's a bit more on the edge. Um. You'll see tonight."

The next night Lupin came to work in black velvet pants and a red, ruffled shirt. Joe nodded in approval. And his tips were bigger.

He had no problems swapping shifts with another bartender for the full moon. "Hot date?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows comically.

"Something like that."

He apparated directly into the shed at his mother's house. The change was more painful than he ever remembered it, perhaps because he could no longer welcome it as he had for the past year, when falling into his wolf-self meant leaving behind his memories. Now, as he always had before, he resisted the change enough to retain some slight sense of who he was, and with that, the nagging idea that he should not be alone for this, that he should have a companion who would let him run, leap, and howl. When he changed back, he saw without much surprise that he'd ripped gashes in his arms and legs again in a way that he hadn't since he was sixteen. He watched the blood trickle down and puddle on the concrete floor. He dipped his finger into one of the pools and licked it clean. Slowly, he licked as much of his own body as he could reach. He still couldn't cry.

The next time he brought a bottle of tequila with him and drank as much as he could choke down before he changed. The results were not good. He woke in human form covered not just in blood but vomit. He suddenly remembered James laughing about how well Lupin could hold his liquor; werewolf metabolism meant that he could drink anyone except Hagrid under the table. He'd hoped that being drunk would numb him during the transformation, but it merely made him dizzy and, clearly, nauseous. He used the garden hose to rinse off.

Part III: Sounding Off

Lupin suddenly turned into the store he'd been walking by every day for the past six months. He staggered out twenty minutes later with a Fender Stratocaster and a Marshall amplifier. Those summer vacations spent with his muggle cousins were really proving useful, he thought. One of the more spoiled cousins had had a guitar and, in a fit of boredom, had taught Lupin how to play it. Lupin had loved it, even if his cousin's taste in music ran to the more unfortunate excesses of 70s prog-rock. He used to play for Sirius. He had something different in mind now.

A few weeks later he was in his small flat, playing at what he thought was an acceptable level, when he heard an insistent knocking at the door. He unplugged the guitar and grabbed his wand, doing a quick revealing spell to find out the identity of the first person to knock on his door since he'd moved in four months previously. All he could tell was that it was a muggle; the spell really only worked well on wizards and witches, since it sensed each individual's particular magic. He slid his wand into his waistband and pulled his shirt over it, then opened the door.

"Um, hi."

Lupin looked at the young man--probably about Lupin's own age, now that he thought about it--taking in his curving mouth, upturned nose, and tousled reddish hair. Cute, thought Lupin idly, and dug his nails into his thigh.

"I heard you playing."

"Is it too loud?"

"No! No, it's--you're good. Um, I live underneath you? Are you in a band?"

Lupin blinked. He wasn't quite sure which of those questions to answer. It occurred to him that his visitor was nervous. "No."

"Oh! Well, you should be. Are you--do you want to?"

Lupin waited for him to finish his question. There was an increasingly uncomfortable pause.

"Because, see, some friends and I are putting together a band, and we could maybe use another guitarist. Maybe you could come jam with us sometime."

They were still standing in the doorway, but Lupin didn't want to let him in. He contemplated this unexpected invitation. He'd started playing to have something to fill up his days. His job occupied his nights nicely, but days were always a problem. This would require some social interaction which he had been trying to avoid, but perhaps if they were playing he wouldn't have to deal with attempts at conversation. Like this one, which, when he thought about it, had really gone on far too long. The boy showed disturbing signs of wanting to come into the flat; he was trying to look past the half-opened door and around Lupin's body. "All right. When?"

"Thursday afternoon? We can meet at the drummer's flat. Let me write down the address--do you have a pen in there?" The boy edged a little closer.

"Just tell me."

"Well, all right. 4045 Wick Street. It's the basement flat. We have amps and speakers, so just bring a guitar."

Lupin nodded. He stepped back and shut the door. Instantly there was a knock. He sighed and cracked the door open again.

"I'm Jeremy, by the way." The boy--he'd really have to stop thinking of him that way. He was sure they were the same age--gave him an oddly sly grin.

"Robert." He shut the door again, and locked it as loudly as possible. Jeremy did not knock again.

Part IV: The Band's Reaction

Samantha fidgeted with her freshly bleached hair. "Tell me about this guy again, Jerry. I don't get why you're so psyched up for him coming over."

Her brother grinned and leaned in to purr in her ear, "Wait until you SEE him, love." He added in a louder voice, "He's a ripping good guitarist." This was for Luke's benefit. "Oh! And here he is!" Samantha looked up to see feet walking by the basement windows. Jeremy leapt up and threw the door open. "Welcome!"

Later Samantha would spend hours trying to break down what made Robert so appealing, to no avail. Average height, broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips, long, lean legs; unfashionably shoulder-length brown hair touched with gold highlights (here she scoffed at her own romanticizing), arching eyebrows, strangely light-colored hazel eyes; creamy skin pulled taut over prominent cheekbones, full lips, and a strong jaw. An unexpected, enticing dimple in the chin. And he was looking at them--no, looking past them as if they barely registered.

Jeremy was babbling away, making introductions--that was Samantha's cue to give an aloof stare, which was totally wasted because Robert already looked so much more aloof than she ever could--and spitting forth all his theories about the band, the kind of music they would play, none of that super-processed cheesy keyboard crap, real, angry music, fighting back against Thatcher's smug new England... Samantha zoned out, staring at the newcomer's long, elegant hands. Oh. The beautiful hands were plugging in the Strat and tuning up. She jumped up and got her bass.

"So! Let's see, how about some Buzzcocks to start with?"

A few covers later Jeremy and Luke were grinning. "Awesome! So, Robert, do you have any of your own material?"

A nod. Samantha realized she hadn't heard Robert speak since he came in.

"How about that piece you were playing the other day when I came by your flat?"

A mid-tempo, haunting riff rippled out from under those dexterous fingers. Samantha shut her eyes and concentrated, then pulled out a strong bass line. Robert stopped playing. "No. Like this." A husky, whiskey and cigarettes voice. He leaned around her and played the line he wanted on her bass, his guitar pressing awkwardly against her back. She could feel his body heat, although he wasn't actually touching her anywhere. She repeated the notes. "Yes." He went back to his spot and picked up the melody. Luke picked up his drumsticks and tapped his drums tentatively. Robert nodded at him and the heartbeat-like thump rolled through the room confidently.

"Are there lyrics? Will you sing it?"

A long pause. Samantha opened her eyes and saw a muscle twitching at the corner of Robert's jaw. Jeremy was already setting up a mic for him.

It ain't too easy being a young man
Going in circles honey all the time
Playing a game so alone I can't see
What in the world you're trying to do to me

Sometimes you get that old lost feeling
Sometimes it hits you when you're feeling down
It's that old feeling honey that gets you down
I said it makes you crawl

Walk down the streets of this city
See all the girls look so pretty
All the smiling faces go and pass you by
It don't make a difference no matter how hard you try

Sometimes you get that old lost feeling
Sometimes it hits you when you're feeling down
It's that old feeling honey that gets you down
I said it makes you crawl

The guitar sped up suddenly. Samantha realized she and Luke had dropped out a few measures before. Just the pealing guitar and the sweet, grainy voice, honey and sand.

Hanging round an alley hanging round a bar
Looking for some action but you don't get none
Cause of who you are
Looking for some action looking for some fun
But you're down in the gutter and you don't get none oh no
There's just nothing left to do at night

Back to that haunting riff.

How does it feel now it's all over
Candy's all melted up in the sun
Like a kid on a trip down to the sea
You're stuck in the middle
Now there's just nothing left to see

Sometimes you get that old lost feeling
Sometimes it hits you when you're feeling down
It's that old feeling honey that gets you down
I said it makes you crawl

The last notes trailed away.

"Whoa," said Jeremy. "Well, that'd be a set killer. Cause of the tempo," he added hastily, although Robert didn't seem insulted. "We could put it at the end?"

"Yeah, and leave everyone all depressed?" Luke shook his head. "You want to go out on a high energy song."

Robert was unplugging his guitar and wrapping up his cables.

"Robert?" Samantha said tentatively. "What do you think? Do you want to be in the band?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Do you have more songs?"

He nodded. A smooth wing of hair fell forward over his face. She could see a streak of silver in it, even though he couldn't be older than she and Jeremy.

Samantha tried asking an open-ended question. "What do you think about us using them in our set?"

He shrugged.

Great.

He snapped the clips on his guitar case shut. "Going to work." He walked out the door abruptly.

"I don't know," Luke said. "Where did you FIND this guy? He's kind of--scary."

Samantha stared at him. "This is from a man with the words "fuck" and "you" tattooed on his hands? Besides, what's not to like? He's a great guitarist and he has NO EGO! Did you get that he doesn't even care if we use his songs? And honestly, we need him. He just oozes, I don't know--"

"Sex?" suggested Jeremy.

"Stay away vibes?" from Luke.

"NO! Charisma! And we need that! Cause, sorry Jeremy love, you don't have that. You're cute and approachable but you have no, no mystique. We need a front man."

"Mystique. Charisma. Sure," said Luke. He looked a bit disgruntled.

Part V: Not Quite Catharsis

"So, we have the set list, we're good to go, we'll just--"

Lupin stopped paying attention. He stared at his hands and had a sudden flash of how they'd looked on Sirius, holding his shoulder, caressing his chest, curving around his hips, sliding through his thick hair. His fingers curled into fists. The all-too-familiar slow pain bloomed open in the pit of his stomach. Something touched his shoulder and he jerked away. It was Jeremy. "Robert? You ready?" He nodded. They walked up and took their places at the front of the room. There were about fifty people in the bar, most of whom seemed to be friends of Samantha's and Jeremy's. When they'd asked him who he wanted to put on the guest list, he'd just looked at them. Eventually they'd changed the subject. Luke counted off, and he was playing. It was one of Jeremy's political diatribes thinly disguised as music. Lupin just kept his head down and played the lead he'd devised. His fingers flew over his guitar, and the music was pouring through him, and he wasn't thinking, no he wasn't thinking about anything, he was being carried off by waves of sound, he was--the song was over. And Luke counted off, and he was playing...

Coming back to himself at the end of the set was wrenching. Samantha made as if to throw her arms around him and he stepped back quickly. "Come hang out with us! There's a party at Phoebe's!"

He could go to the party, and fend off Samantha's and Jeremy's advances, or he could go back to his flat and lie awake on his (empty) (don't think it) (cold) (stop it) bed. He had a twin-size bed, but it always seemed that there was a vacant (Sirius-shaped) (stopitstopitstopit) space in it. Sometimes he gave up and slept on the floor.

So, half an hour later, he was on a sofa with one of Jeremy's friends trying to sidle closer to him. He supposed that under different circumstances, all the attention would be a boost to his ego. Sirius used to wrap his strong arms around him and murmur a long list of compliments into his ear, then conclude by saying, "and what makes you truly irresistible, love, is that you have no concept how sexy you really are." He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and stood up abruptly. The friend squeaked as Lupin walked away. He opened a door at random and found Samantha and another woman in a bedroom. He started to back away but she called to him. He entered the room warily. The unknown woman was holding a spoon over a candle flame and watching a dark sludge cook down.

"Want some?"

He looked enquiringly at Samantha.

"Smack. Heroin!" she hissed. "Shut the door before everyone wants some. And roll up your sleeve."

He obliged as he sat down in the armchair next to the bed. For once Samantha didn't smell of arousal. She briskly tied a piece of rubber tubing around his bicep. "Make a fist." She rubbed the inside of his arm. "This will hurt a little." But it didn't hurt at all. He sailed away on a sea of vague images: Padfoot running through a spill of fallen leaves; James leaning over Lily's shoulder in the Gryffindor common room; black hair spilling over a white pillow; the treetops below as he flew in lazy circles; a steaming mug of tea waiting on a counter in a sunny kitchen; the swirl of indigo robes around his feet; Sirius's face emerging from a tousle of cloth as he impatiently yanked his shirt off... Oblivion. Not sleep, not rest, just pure sweet blankness. And then another wave: the desolate remains of Godric's Hollow; blood stains on James's favorite armchair; the baby's contorted, screaming face; the wolf's snarling visage as it pinned his body down...

"Robert? Robert!"

He forced his eyes open. They felt gummy.

"Are you all right, then? Because you were kind of moaning but not--not in what I'd call a good way." Samantha was leaning over him, trapping him in the chair.

"Mm." He needed to say something more. "S'okay. Made me remember."

"Was that your first time? Cause it should have lasted longer."

Must be the werewolf metabolism. He resorted to his all-purpose shrug. Samantha pulled away slightly. "What did you remember?"

He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't move.

"Unhappy love affair?" Samantha purred at him. Shit, she smelled of arousal again. She clearly hadn't shot up yet. The other woman was lying on the bed, out.

"Something like that."

Samantha's hand snaked towards his face. He caught it and pushed it away. "I could make you forget."

"No thanks." And no, she couldn't.

She mock-pouted. "Well, whyever not?"

"It would mean more to you than it would to me."

She sat back on her heels and tried to figure that one out. "You must be the only man in Great Britain who would turn down meaningless sex. And don't fucking shrug at me!"

He closed his eyes. "I'll take some more of that heroin any time, though."

He shot up before his next transformation. Vivid sense-memories raced through his wolf-brain: the grass under his paws as he ran; the soft fur of a companion brushing against him; the hot iron taste of blood flooding his mouth and nostrils as he tore open a rabbit; darting playfully under the stag's belly; the smell of rain on freshly-turned earth, and the squish of mud between his toes... Then that heavenly moment of blankness before the next onslaught: the wolf pinning him down, teeth scraping his shoulder, scalding saliva dripping onto his neck... He woke whimpering. It had been the easiest transformation since. Since he lost everything.

Part VI: Letters

Lupin stared blankly at the owl for a minute before realizing what it was. He opened the window and let the owl drop the letter in front of him. It had been twelve years since he'd received owl post. When his mother wanted to let him know something, she left him a note in the shed to await his monthly apparation. That was until the note that read, "I'm dying. Want to see you again." He dragged himself into the house after the change, still flying slightly from the smack. She was lying on the parlor couch. She reached her hand towards his face and wiped a smear of blood off his jaw. "So sorry," she whispered. Then he felt her letting herself go, releasing her inner self. Her spirit brushed by him softly, leaving him with the impression of a gentle kiss.

The owl was waiting. "No answer," he said. The owl shifted from one foot to another and nudged the letter towards him. Hogwarts stationery. He delayed the inevitable by fetching the owl a bowl of water and a slice of bacon. It swiveled its head away politely as he touched the letter with a trembling hand. It fell open.

Dear Remus,

I do not need to tell you of all people that these are troubling times. I must call on your expertise to help us, but I trust the duty I am about to propose will not prove unduly onerous. We find ourselves in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, and would be delighted if you could take up the position. Indeed, you are uniquely qualified. Given recent events, I am sure you understand why your presence is especially required. Please be so good as to reply by return owl.

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. Harry is growing into an impressive young man.

Recent events? The owl hooted softly. A clipping from a newspaper fluttered to the floor. "Black Escapes from Azkaban!"

Lupin remembered to draw in a deep, shuddering breath after a while. So: Dumbledore was ignoring the fact that Lupin had dropped out of the wizarding world. James and Lily's son was a student at Hogwarts. Dumbledore thought Lupin would be happy to come back to Hogwarts. He tried very, very hard not to think about Sirius and failed utterly. Sirius is free, a tiny little voice whispered inside of him. There was enough of him left to escape the Dementors. He's running through soft grass now--

Lupin picked up the fork on the table and jammed it through his pants into his thigh. Then he conjured up a piece of parchment, ink, and a quill. Idly he rubbed his hand through the blood seeping out of his leg. A little smeared onto the parchment.

Headmaster,

I will arrive on the Hogwarts Express.

Remus Lupin

He gave the owl another piece of bacon and the letter.

Every inch of Hogwarts held a memory Lupin wanted to avoid. Classrooms where he and his friends had studied, learned, played jokes on the Slytherins; the Quidditch pitch where he had watched Sirius and James soar; the Astronomy Tower where he and Sirius had tried to rendezvous once, but had been driven away by the presence of four other couples already ensconced in various nooks. He had never once wanted to return, and he hated Dumbledore for forcing him back. Although the letter had been phrased as a request, he knew an order when he read one, and knew that if he did not obey, Dumbledore could easily report him to the Ministry of Magic for not complying with the werewolf registration laws. He'd been apparating regularly and hadn't bothered to update his residence information since he left his mother's house, among other violations. Given the choice between Hogwarts and a werewolf halfway house, he figured the former was preferable. At least it would be harder for Dumbledore to monitor his drug intake.

Part VII: (Self) Medications and Revelations

Lupin stared at the pile of essays in front of him. Sirius's long fingers wrapped around a quill; Sirius shoving his hair back with an impatient sigh; Sirius coaxing him away from his work for a late-night kitchen raid. The memories rushed out in a bitter, red-tinged flood. He suddenly wondered if Sirius himself still retained any of these memories after the Dementors finished working him over.

"Lupin."

He was actually glad to see Snape, carrying a steaming goblet, at his door. He didn't wait to be invited in. He shut the door behind him and set the goblet in front of Lupin. It smelled horrible, a combination of stale vomit, rotting meat, and shit. In fact, it was remarkably like a dumpster he'd accidentally spent the night in a few years back. He looked dubiously at Snape.

"At least it's legal," Snape commented dryly. "Don't take any other kind of" --pause--"medication while the potion is active. At least 36 hours."

"Medication," repeated Lupin. He tossed back the vile brew and ruthlessly repressed the desire to retch.

Snape gave him that humorless smile he recalled from their student days. He'd clearly had a lot of time to perfect it. "You'll have to come down and see my record collection sometime, Lupin. I grew quite fond of muggle music some years back."

Snape was obviously waiting for a reaction. But Lupin had only been surprised once in the past twelve years. "Careful, Severus. That almost sounds like a prelude to seduction."

A steady gaze; a quirked eyebrow. Snape seemed to want to engage in some kind of silent stand-off, but Lupin couldn't be bothered to care. He stood shakily. "I'm going to the Shack now."

The change was physically painful, but the potion let him keep almost all of his human mind, with the wolf-mind like a thick veneer over it. The only problem was that he was wide awake, totally sane, and stuck in a boring little shed with no distractions whatsoever. And the wolf remembered clearly now his lost companions. A shiver ran through his body; he leapt up and started pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Slowly he became aware that he was whining low in his throat. He kept from howling by chewing on his paw.

He woke with a bloody hand and Snape staring down at him. "Lupin, you--" Snape was, astoundingly, fumbling for words. "Is it always like that?"

Lupin's voice hadn't quite come back, so he gave an interrogative growl.

"Never mind. Let me see your hand." Snape did not touch him, but held out his wand and murmured, "Reparo!" He glared at Lupin until he showed him his healed hand. A brisk nod, a swirl of black robes, and he was gone. Lupin fell back to sleep.

Three nights later, Lupin felt Snape lean over him on his way out of the dining hall. "Perhaps this evening would be a good time for that comparison of musical tastes." The black hair almost, but not quite, brushed Lupin's cheek. He nodded carefully.

He knocked on Snape's door at eleven. It swung open noiselessly. The room smelled pleasantly of mint and lemon.

"Lupin. Whiskey?"

Lupin nodded. If Snape was planning on getting him drunk, he was in for a disappointment.

"And no," Snape seemed to respond to Lupin's unvoiced suspicion, "I'm not trying to get you drunk. I would offer tea, but that's more in Dumbledore's line. And somehow I don't think you're too fond of our esteemed headmaster, are you?"

Lupin wondered briefly how Snape knew all these things. He knocked back his drink.

Snape sighed impatiently. "Are you planning on speaking any time in this millennium?"

Lupin shrugged. "Nothing to say." He was still standing near the door. He had his hand on the doorknob when he felt Snape close behind him.

"I watched your transformation."

Lupin turned slowly. Sirius had been the last person to see him change. To want to be with him when it happened.

"Tell me, Lupin. Is it always so--painful? You were crying out the entire night. Did the potion--"

Ah. Professional concern. "No. The potion worked well." Snape was gazing intently at him. Waiting. "I got to stay--human. In my mind. That was. Disturbing." That should satisfy him.

Snape looked at him assessingly, then poured him another whiskey. "I promised you a tour of my record collection." He opened a cupboard in the corner of the room. Lupin saw an impressive array of muggle records. Snape's slim fingers ran over the spines rapidly. He paused and pulled one out. "I first saw this band in a muggle club in Manchester." He held it towards Lupin. A black cover with silver letters: The Howl. Snape flipped it over. Samantha's heavily-pancaked face leapt out at him from the group photo on the back. "She died, didn't she?"

"Yes. An overdose." Eighteen months after she'd shot him up for the first time. A faint thread of curiosity ran through him. He let it show.

Snape smirked. "Even Death Eaters need hobbies, Lupin."

"Am I your latest?"

"The potion is part of my job."

"The potion may be, Severus, but this conversation--this friendly chat over drinks--certainly isn't. What's going on?" Lupin listened to himself in mild surprise.

"Nothing is 'going on', Lupin. I simply--" Snape stopped abruptly.

Lupin let a grin steal across his face. He knew he was getting to Snape. If only Sirius could see this--the grin vanished.

"Dammit, man, stop thinking about him!"

True surprise now, and true anger. "What the fuck?"

Snape spun away, stared at the fireplace. His voice was very low. "You know what I mean--who I mean. Black."

Lupin set his glass down carefully. "Thank you for the drink." He started to open the door.

"Lupin--Remus. Don't."

Don't leave? Don't feel? Don't remember?

"Don't ignore me."

Snape just kept on surprising him. He forced himself to meet those dark eyes. "So I am your latest hobby. A little project for you to work on. Is this some kind of intervention? Going to get me into rehab for my medication problem?"

"I must be doing something right. That is the longest consecutive string of words I've heard from you since you got to Hogwarts."

Lupin clamped his lips together.

"And for the record, I know you don't have a drug problem. Despite what the inquest on Samantha Ribbans may have implied."

"Have you been keeping tabs on me?" He watched with interest as Snape flushed slightly. "You have. For Dumbledore?" Another reason to hate the headmaster.

"NO!" Well, okay, maybe Dumbledore was safe for the time being. Snape sat down heavily on the sofa. "I suppose I'll have to tell you." He gestured at the armchair next to him. Intrigued, Lupin brought the bottle of whiskey with him and sat down. He topped off their glasses. Snape started to talk. "I did stumble across you in that Manchester club. I knew there was another wizard there as soon as I walked in. Then you, of all people, came out on stage. Honestly, Remus, I was amazed by your performance. I knew you had no idea I was in the audience." He paused and took a drink. "So I went to as many of your shows as I could, and I followed the news about the girl's death, and I have tried to keep track of your whereabouts. But not because anyone asked me to. Let me assure you--" he was sounding more like himself now--"had Dumbledore asked me to 'keep tabs' on you, I would have refused."

"Why, then?"

Snape was obviously embarrassed. Lupin wished he could appreciate this unusual phenomenon more.

"I wanted to," he muttered so quietly that only Lupin's enhanced hearing enabled him to pick up the words. "Just to--I wanted to."

Lupin waited.

"The Death Eaters were expected to search out wizards and magical creatures who could be turned."

Of course. That was why the protective wards had been put up around his mother's house. He gave a sharp nod. Snape had been scoping him out for Voldemort. But why had he continued once he returned to serve Dumbledore?

"No," Snape continued, "that's not why." Snape was reading him too well for Lupin's comfort. "I didn't want them to find you. And I--needed something to focus on. And then when I came back, and became a spy, I just. It helped me. To think about you."

Lupin was frozen. Snape darted a look at him. "Oh, don't worry, Lupin. Your virtue, such as it is, is safe with me. This isn't about that." He scrubbed his hand over his face. "I am so fucking tired. I just wanted to. To talk to someone. Preferably someone like me."

"Wouldn't Lucius Malfoy fit the bill better?" Lupin felt an unexpected, and unaccustomed, pang of regret almost immediately when he saw Snape's face change. "I'm--just ignore that one." He felt drained by the conversation, and vulnerable. He wanted to leave, but something in Snape's defeated posture made him pause. "How am I like you?" He realized with a shock that he was genuinely curious.

A long pause. "Alone. In pain."

That did sum it up pretty well. He drained his glass.

Snape sighed. "I'm going to throw you out now, Lupin. But come back any time and we'll have another enlightening and humiliating chat, shall we?"

Lupin bared his teeth. "Sounds delightful." The door gave a satisfyingly solid thunk behind him.

Part VIII: Rapprochement

Lupin cast an extra locking spell on his door. He pulled out his rig and stared at the needle for a few seconds before cooking up. He got on the bed and shot up between his toes. Although his track marks healed quickly, he didn't want to take the chance of having a student see anything on his arms. He fell back and let the flashes carry him off: Sirius in the bath tub, stretching out a hand in invitation; James tossing the baby in the air; a black dog dropping a stick at his feet; Lily pulling his hand to her swollen belly; sunlight spilling in through the gauzy bed curtains... A fall into all-too-brief blackness. Lily's tattered dresses spread over rubble; James's lax hand, fingertips charred; the door, still standing although the doorframe had been pulverized; and the wolf's scrabbling paws...

Snape was standing over him. Oh. This was real. He tried to lick his lips. Then Snape was holding out a glass of water. He pulled himself up and took it, then sipped cautiously.

"Intriguing set of spells on your door. One might almost think you didn't want to be interrupted."

Lupin leaned back against his pillows. "It's not potion night." He had barely spoken to Snape in the past two months. Whatever had taken place between them on what Lupin privately thought of as the record-viewing night, Snape apparently didn't want it to happen again.

"I've been waiting for you to visit." Snape sat down in the chair next to the bed. He took the glass from Lupin's hand.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd been wrong.

"Explain the appeal to me, Lupin. Why not just take a sleeping draught?" Snape was looking at Lupin's bare foot. Clinical curiosity there, no disgust or disdain.

"Sleeping draughts still let me dream."

"How often do you do this?" Still that professional curiosity, the potions master at work.

"Not often. This is the first time since I've been here."

There was a pause, surprisingly comfortable. Lupin stared at the canopy dreamily.

"What are you feeling now?" There was a different note in Snape's voice. Curiosity, but not the detached interest of the professional. Lupin had the sense that he simply wanted to know more. Alone. In pain. The memory of those words made him answer truthfully.

"Like floating. Mmm... When I shoot up, I get images. All visual, no other senses. Memories. That part's over. Now I feel--mm, I remember, but 'through a glass darkly'. S'better." He reached for the glass of water. Snape put it into his hand. A slow swallow. "Why did you come in?"

"Err..." Snape looked uncomfortable. "I thought you might be ill. I knocked, and you didn't answer. But I could hear you groaning."

"Oh." Another thought occurred to him. "Why did you come by in the first place?"

Snape looked even more uncomfortable. "You--at dinner, you seemed. Unhappy."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. This was different how?

Snape did that annoying thing where he knew what Lupin was thinking. "Unhappier than usual, then."

Fair enough. He'd had the third-year Gryffindors in class. Seeing Harry had for some reason been especially taxing.

"You seem to be your usual perky self now, however, so I'll take my leave."

"Watch out, Severus. The irony will give you metal poisoning."

Snape gave a snort of laughter. "Come down tomorrow evening, if you like." He leaned over Lupin and took the glass from his hand again. The scent of mint and lemon floated from him. "I'll restore your locking spells on the way out."

At ten-thirty the next evening Lupin pulled out his rig and stared at the needle. After a minute he growled, hid it under its concealment spell again, and left his room. Fifteen minutes later, after an abortive pass through the kitchens (why had he thought he could make a late-night kitchen raid without thinking of Peter?), he found himself in front of Snape's door. It opened suddenly.

"Lupin. I could feel you standing out here." Snape shoved a drink in his hand. "Back for some more music appreciation?"

Lupin bit back a retort. Something about Snape made him want to say whatever crossed his mind, but that was far too dangerous a habit to fall into.

"Speaking of music... I'm sure you know this one." Lupin saw that the record cabinet was already open. Snape put an album on the turntable.

So messed up I want you here
And in my room I want you here
Now we're gonna be face to face
And I lay right down in my favorite place
Now I wanna be your dog

Lupin was halfway up the stairs leading out of the dungeons when he heard Snape shouting after him. "Lupin!" He kept walking swiftly away, deliberately not running. "Lupin!" A hand caught at his sleeve. He jerked his arm away. "Remus. I--that was cruel."

He shrugged. Weirdly, Snape seemed to be encouraged by this. "Come back. Finish your drink. We'll listen to some X-Ray Spex or Soft Boys instead, won't that be nice?" Cajoling.

Lupin let his lips twitch upwards. He followed Snape back to his room. The Stooges record was already onto "Search and Destroy." He had covered it a few times.

I'm a streetwalking cheetah with a heart full of napalm
I'm the runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb
I am the world's forgotten boy
The one who searches and destroys

Snape was staring at him. "I forgot about that one."

Lupin found his abandoned drink. "Bizarrely appropriate, isn't it?" He sat on the green velvet sofa. They listened to the rest of the song quietly. When it was over, Snape shut off the stereo and sat down in the armchair. He seemed to be waiting for something. Abruptly he leaned forward and yanked his left sleeve up. Lupin saw the Dark Mark.

"I received several compliments on my 'cool tattoo' in those muggle clubs," Snape said dryly.

Lupin stretched out his fingers, not quite touching the Mark. He could feel its heat radiating off Snape's skin. After a few moments, he withdrew his hand. Snape pulled his sleeve down. "Thank you," Snape said quietly.

"I understand unwanted scars," Lupin heard himself saying. He remembered showing his bite mark to Sirius and James when he was fourteen, remembered the driving need to reveal it, the knowledge, almost hope, that he would shock them, and the deep shame. His fingers clenched into a fist.

"Remus." Snape was looking at his fist. He gingerly loosened his fingers. His nails had left bloody half-moons in his palm. He turned his hand over to hide the marks. "Remus. Don't. Don't be like that. Not with me."

He sat in silence.

"Remus. Please." He didn't think he had ever heard Snape say that.

"Severus. You know me. 'Alone. In pain.' What do you really expect?" Bitterly. He stood up and walked over to the record cabinet. He heard Snape stand up.

"I--it's because I know you that I. I don't expect, I hope for. More."

Lupin laughed humorlessly. "The problem here is that I. Want. Less." He looked over at Snape. The other man was standing by the fireplace, leaning on the mantel. His hair fell over his face.

"I don't believe you." From behind the curtain of hair. "If that were true, you would have given up twelve years ago." Snape looked up suddenly and stared intently at Lupin.

"Another similarity for our little list."

"Obstinacy?"

"If you like."

Another one of those oddly comfortable silences.

"Is it true that werewolves can sense the emotions of others?" Snape was looking away again.

Lupin latched onto the topic as a distraction. "Yes. It seems to work through scent." Snape's hand twitched on the mantelpiece. Lupin added, "It's controllable, which most of the textbooks don't acknowledge. I usually don't tune in to what others are feeling. It's--too much." But he had always known, wanted to know, what Sirius was feeling.

Huskily. "Do you--have you been sensing my emotions?"

"No." An almost forgotten sense of mischief prompted him to ask, "Why? Do you want me to?"

A pause. "I don't know." Snape groped for his drink, took a bracing swallow. "Yes. Please."

That unexpected word again. He joined Snape in front of the fire. He opened his mouth and inhaled deeply. "God!" He stumbled back. In shock, he said the first thing that crossed his mind. "You said before that this wasn't about sex."

Snape wrapped his arms around himself. "You--what did you sense?"

Lupin paused, and took another, hesitant breath. "Affection." He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Concern." He rubbed his tongue along his palate. "Desire. Jealousy." A last quick sniff. "Fear."

"Yes..." Snape breathed. Another pause. "Er. I haven't actually been carrying a torch for you for the past decade. That particular--emotion--is relatively recent. I--"

Lupin came to a decision. He edged closer to Snape. "Severus. As I see it, we have three options. We can ignore this--new dimension. Or we can discuss it until we're sick of it, and then ignore it. I think you'll agree that both of those options would fit in well with our standard mode of interaction."

"Indeed." Snape's throat worked dryly. "Or?"

Lupin leaned in and kissed Snape's neck softly. He felt the other man's slight shiver. "Or we can act on it." He hadn't touched another person of his own volition in twelve years.

Snape lifted his hand. It hovered hesitantly around Lupin's face, then fell gently on his shoulder. "I thought werewolves mated for life."

"No, that's a myth. Like the thing about the silver." He placed his hand over Snape's. "Don't worry, you won't be bound to me for life." He decided to go on. It seemed to be true confessions time, after all. "And I know that you're waiting for something else. Someone else."

Snape twined his fingers through Lupin's, then drew his hand to his mouth. It was the one he'd pierced with his nails. Snape's hot tongue snaked out and traced the reddened crescents. "I wasn't worried about being with you forever. I thought you and--" he visibly caught himself. "Who am I waiting for?"

Lupin removed his hand carefully. "We're going to have to discuss this after all, aren't we?"

"Could we have an option that allows us to discuss as well as, in your nicely delicate phrase, act on it?" Snape looked, there was no other word for it, hopeful.

To his own amazement, Lupin smiled. There was something else he hadn't done in longer than he could remember. "Yes, all right."

"I have the feeling I'm going to want to sit down for this," Snape announced. He went back to the couch and pointed at the space next to him. Lupin picked up their drinks and joined him, sitting close enough to feel the heat of his body. "So, all-knowing werewolf, who am I waiting for?"

Lupin shook his head slightly. "Harry, of course." He knew he was probably enjoying unsettling Snape too much, but it was beginning to remind him of how easy it had been to tease James sometimes, and he couldn't resist. Especially when Snape spat out his mouthful of whiskey.

"You--I--Harry--did you smell it? He's--I--oh, fuck it." Snape mopped off his face with his sleeve. "He's a child. And he hates me." This was strangely endearing.

"No, I didn't smell it." Lupin shifted slightly so that he was facing Snape. "I just--figured it out. For what it's worth, he doesn't hate you. And he won't be a child forever. But it's a good thing you're a patient man."

Snape opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times. Finally he whispered, "Thank you." He took another, more cautious drink. "All right. The other thing--we don't need to discuss, I think." He leaned in tentatively. Lupin parted his lips in invitation. There was nothing hesitant about the kiss. The hot tongue slid across Lupin's lips, into his mouth, twisted around his tongue. Snape pulled back. "Just--be with me."

Lupin understood the unvoiced demand. "I am. I will." He bit Snape's lower lip gently. Another deep, whiskey-flavored kiss. One of Snape's hands was stroking his hair, the other working at the buttons on his robe. Snape lifted his head. "Bedroom?"

Lupin nodded. He followed Snape into the other room. Snape lit the fire with a flick of his wand, then the lamp by the bed. "I want to see you," he murmured. He came back to Lupin and finished unbuttoning his robe. His warm hands slid underneath. There was a hiss of surprise when he discovered that Lupin was shirtless.

"Werewolf metabolism," he explained. "I get too warm." Then the strong hands were caressing his chest, flicking over his nipples, stroking his belly. Snape's head bent to his neck. Lupin heard himself moan. Snape slid the robe off his shoulders, and Lupin tensed.

"What is it?"

What the hell, he'd keep going with the honesty. It had worked pretty well so far. "The scar. And--I haven't been with anyone in a long time. Um. Twelve years."

Snape brushed his fingers lightly over the mass of scar tissue on his shoulder. "You've seen mine already." A careful kiss there. "And it's been a long time for me as well." His hands were working over Lupin's chest again, slipping around his back, making their way down to his ass. "Do you want to stop? Slow down?" He pulled Lupin against him and kissed his ear. Lupin moaned again. "No... I just--may be out of practice."

"I believe the muggle expression is 'like riding a bicycle,'" Snape purred into his ear. The dark, smoky voice went straight to Lupin's cock. Snape hummed appreciatively as Lupin pressed against him and wrapped his arms around him. He threaded his fingers into the soft hair and pulled Snape down for another kiss. Snape eased away reluctantly and began unfastening his own robe. Lupin batted his hands out of the way and took over. Under the robe Snape was wearing a high-collared shirt. Lupin worked on what seemed like an endless row of buttons, nuzzling into the gradually revealed flesh. He pushed the robe and shirt off, but the sleeves snagged on Snape's wrists.

Oh. Cufflinks. They were shaped like entwined serpents. He unfastened them and freed Snape's arms gently. Instantly the long arms embraced him again. Snape was lean and muscular; Lupin relished the feeling of their naked torsos pressed together. He rubbed against the other man and let his hands roam over the other man's back and sides. He kissed and nipped his neck softly. Snape gasped. His hands clutched convulsively at Lupin's ass, grinding their hips together. Lupin backed him towards the bed. Snape sat down when the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and pulled Lupin between his thighs. He leaned up slightly and licked Lupin's nipple. The hot tongue trailed downwards, licks followed by small bites over Lupin's ribs, belly, and navel. When he got to the waistband of the trousers, Snape leaned his cheek against Lupin's stomach.

"Don't even think about stopping," Lupin growled. Distantly he noticed his dominant side taking over. When Snape lightly caressed Lupin's hard cock through his trousers, Lupin growled again. He pushed Snape back onto the bed and quickly shed his remaining clothes. He leapt onto the bed and straddled Snape, rubbing his erection against the other man's lightly furred belly. Snape was writhing underneath him and grabbing his thighs. He knee-walked up the bed until his cock was dangling in Snape's face. He wrapped his hand around it and brushed the leaking tip against Snape's lips. The other man opened his mouth and darted out his tongue, then sucked the cock in. Lupin moaned as he sank into that wet heat. He pulled back; Snape clamped his hands on Lupin's ass and drew him back. Lupin was fine with this. He knelt over Snape and put his hands on the bed. Snape sucked gently, twitching his tongue over the underside and head of Lupin's cock with every stroke. When he started using his hand as well, Lupin howled. The slick tongue was moving even faster, the hand gripping him, the soft lips pulling over the sensitive head with every stroke. Lupin felt the pleasure/tension building up and traveling down his spine, into his scrotum, along his cock, and he came into Snape's mouth with an explosive ecstasy. He knelt over his lover for a minute, then fell to one side.

"And all that without taking your trousers off," he managed after a second. He pulled Snape to him for a deep kiss, savoring his own taste. "Severus. That was incredible."

Snape stroked Lupin's face gently and ran his fingers through his hair. "Does that mean I can take my pants off now?"

"I rather think that's my job." He caught Snape's hand in his and brought it to his lips, running his tongue over the palm. He drew a finger into his mouth and sucked it strongly, letting his cheeks hollow around the digit. Releasing the finger, he trailed his lips over the palm and wrist. He felt Snape tense and realized that he was nearing the Dark Mark. He paused. "Does it hurt?"

Snape shook his head.

Lupin huffed out a slow breath over the inside of Snape's forearm, then planted a kiss on the Mark itself. He continued his journey up the arm he was exploring, nibbling the inside of the elbow, exploring the contours of the firm bicep. He was getting hard again and deliberately rubbed his growing erection against Snape's leg. The brushed cotton of Snape's trousers was simultaneously rough and soft against his cock.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted that you're hard again so soon after what should have been a mind-blowing orgasm." Snape pulled him up and kissed him.

"I probably should have warned you. It's the werewolf metabolism again. Short recovery period. And yes, it was mind-blowing. So I'm looking forward very much to having another couple tonight, if that's all right with you."

"Only if I get to take these damn pants off." Snape grabbed Lupin's hands and put them at his waist. "Get to work, man."

Obediently, Lupin unfastened the trousers and pulled them off, together with the boxers. He ran his fingers lightly over the straining cock. "Severus. I want to take you." The cock twitched under his caressing hand. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Yes... Just a minute." Snape stood up and walked into the other room. When he came back, a small bottle in hand, Lupin was lying back on the bed idly playing with his nipples. Snape moaned. "God, you look--gorgeous. Hedonistic."

Lupin looked over his lover in turn. The soft lamplight made his skin glow warmly and cast blurred shadows over his firm chest, flat stomach, narrow hips. When Lupin's eyes fell on Snape's hard, reddened cock, he couldn't restrain a demanding growl. He sat up and grabbed Snape's waist, hauling him onto the bed. Lupin wrapped his arms around him from behind and began stroking that enticing cock. He buried his face in the soft, dark mass of hair and inhaled the clean scent of mint and lemon. His tongue flicked out over Snape's ear as he fisted the other man's hot erection, rubbing his thumb over the wet tip with every stroke. He couldn't seem to catch his breath.

Snape groaned and clamped his hand on Lupin's wrist. "Stop--I want to come with you inside me."

The image made Lupin even harder, and he growled in response, pressing his cock into Snape's cleft. Snape twisted in Lupin's arms to face him and kissed him deeply. Lupin's fingers trailed down Snape's spine. Snape pushed his hips against him, rubbing their erections together. He uncapped the bottle, took Lupin's hand, and coated the fingers thoroughly. Lupin drew his finger slowly over Snape's opening, panting slightly at the thought of being inside him. He pushed in gently.

"Remus..." Snape was writhing in his arms. He slid in another finger. "Oh..." Snape was pressing back against his fingers eagerly. A third. He moved his fingers in and out, twisting and opening them, hitting the sensitive gland repeatedly. Snape had buried his face in his neck and was gasping against him. "Do it!"

He removed his fingers and pushed Snape to his knees. He grabbed the other man's hands and set them on the headboard. "Hold on, and don't move." He knelt behind him and bent to kiss one firm cheek, nipping it. His cock was throbbing insistently. He gave himself one swift stroke with his oily hand and pressed against the inviting hole. Slowly, fighting the temptation to plunge in, he eased in. Suddenly Snape pushed back, taking him all the way into that impossibly tight heat. "God!" Think of something else, quickly. He flashed on an image of Dumbledore, then of McGonagall. Together. It was a surefire sex killer that he'd used as a student as well. Slightly calmer, he pulled out and thrust in cautiously. Snape was groaning continuously. Lupin realized he was digging his fingers into Snape's hips hard enough to bruise. He unclenched one hand and wrapped it around Snape's cock. And he was fucking him, stroking him, using the other hand to brace himself on Snape's hip. He became aware that Snape was whispering underneath him. "Yes, fuck me, yes, fuckmefuckme, harder, god, yes!" Lupin was almost completely out of control, slamming in and out, growling ceaselessly. He leaned over and, pumping Snape's cock frantically, murmured, "yes, I'm fucking you, you're so hot, so tight, come for me now, Sev, come for me, come--." Snape cried out and fountained over Lupin's hand. Feeling Snape's ass constrict around his burning cock, Lupin came with a howl. He thrust in and out a few more times and collapsed onto Snape's back. Snape eased down onto the bed, Lupin still draped over him. After a bit he pulled out carefully and moved to one side. He stroked up and down Snape's sweaty back a couple of times and then touched the opening where his come was seeping out, petting lightly. Snape spread his legs. "S'nice..." The dark eyes opened and peered at him. "Glad to see your bicycle riding skills haven't deteriorated."

He kissed Snape's shoulder.

"Remus. I want to ask you something. Personal."

He snorted. "Go ahead. We've already gotten personal." Another kiss.

"You said before that you haven't done this in twelve years. I don't--that is, why now?"

"And why you."

"Yes."

He forced himself to stay where he was, hand still fondling ass and balls. "You know who I am. What I am. And you want me anyway."

"Ah." Snape's eyes were closing slowly. "That's why I want you." He purred under Lupin's touch. "Oh yes. And you're devastating."

"Mm?" Lupin's hand was more insistent now. He slipped a finger back inside the slippery hole.

"And insatiable!" Snape's eyes popped open. Lupin pulled his finger out and rubbed it over Snape's lips, leaving a little trail of come there. He leaned in and licked it off. "Fucking werewolf," Snape muttered.

"Yes, exactly." Lupin scooted down the bed. He nibbled Snape's calf lightly and licked down to the sole of his foot.

"Aaggh! Oh, god..." Snape's voice tapered off as Lupin began sucking his toes. He scraped his teeth over the big toe, licked in between the smaller ones, and drew the littlest firmly into his mouth. He bit at the ball of Snape's foot and slowly worked his way back up his legs, licking, sucking, and nipping. Snape was gasping. When he got to the firm ass, he pulled the cheeks apart and ran his tongue in a firm stroke along the cleft. Snape moaned. "Please..."

"I love tasting my come in your body," Lupin said, and proceeded to do just that, tormenting Snape with his tongue and lips. He had to hold Snape down by the hips to keep him from bucking up as he worked his tongue in and out of his hole. When he drew back, Snape cried out in protest. He flipped the other man over, lifted his legs, and thrust in. Snape wrapped his legs around his waist and clutched at his shoulders. Lupin leaned down to offer a kiss; Snape latched hungrily onto his lips, tasting their mingled flavors. Lupin had meant to go slowly this time, but being back inside, thrusting into Snape's eager body, and seeing his flushed face, lips parted, was overwhelming. He shoved in hard, angling up slightly. Another moan from Snape, who reached up and started flicking his nails over Lupin's nipples. A hard thrust, another, another. Suddenly he froze and pulled out as slowly as he could. He withdrew completely, feeling Snape's hole tug at the head of his cock.

"Remus!" A savage pinch at his nipple. Lupin whined. Another pinch. He slid just the head of his cock in and withdrew it, over and over, until Snape was grabbing at him with arms and legs, his sweaty hair tangled around his face, pleading. He shoved in completely in one firm stroke and took Snape's cock in his hand. Snape shouted and came, his legs falling limply. Lupin pulled out, flipped Snape over onto his belly, and started fucking him again, hard, in and out, in and out, inandoutandinandout until he was just pure sensation centered in his cock and balls and he was on fire, lightning sparking his nerves, he was--he came.

Blackness.

"Remus." A muffled voice. "Remus?"

"Uhh."

"Can't. Breathe."

He realized he was deadweight on Snape's back. He fell to the side. "Uh."

Snape turned to his side and spooned up behind him. They slept.