Chapter Text
It's three hours until the full moon, and I desperately need to wank.
It's always like this. When I was younger, after Sirius found out what I was and what that did to me besides turn me into a bloodthirsty wolf, it was my favorite time of every month. He knew that he could make me come any way he wanted, and he did...sometimes cornering me to fuck me on a desk in an empty classroom, sometimes using only his hand and the filthy things he'd whisper in my ear. Later, in Grimmauld Place, he was quieter and less inventive but he still took care of me, crawling into my bed to suck me or bringing me upstairs for a furtive pull in one of the unused rooms.
Then he was gone, and, after one awful month when in my misery I forgot to take my Wolfsbane potion -- terrible things almost happened, but Severus figured it out in time, and once again forced me to be responsible -- I had no choice but to hold myself together. As it was while Sirius was in Azkaban, a quick wank has become part of my monthly routine, along with the Wolfsbane and the exercises that make it easier for my muscles to reshape themselves during the transformation. I need sex badly enough that I don't have to think about anything. If unfortunate memories or faces flash into my mind when I come, it's easy enough to blame my condition and long celibacy.
This month, however, Snape is late with the potion, and I have no choice but to wait for him, cleaning and pacing and finally trying to read in faint hope of distraction.
When he finally arrives in the library, shaking floo powder from his robes, I'm almost frenzied. I've long since removed my cardigan yet I'm sweating anyway, holding it across my lap to hide my stiffy. He gives me an odd look when I reach, too urgently, for the bottle in his hand, pulling it just out of my grasp unless I stand up and risk revealing myself.
"I apologize for my tardiness. You may blame your little Gryffindor pet, Miss Granger, who insisted on pelting me with questions while I was trying to put a stopper in this potion and leave Hogwarts." Dark eyes sweep over my perspiring face, down my body leaning forward to seize the bottle, and Snape taunts, "Eager, Lupin?"
Something always makes me respond to the way he says my name -- my family name -- I can't recall him ever calling me Remus, but that's quite all right with me. There's a rolling sound to the L and a throaty moan in the U, as if he's licking and swallowing something; I'm sure he means for it to sound contemptuous, but sometimes (particularly when my mind is clouded by the acute urge to rub my prick into the nearest pliable object) it's excruciatingly arousing. I'm mortified by the little needy noise that escapes through my nose, though at least I can hope that Severus will attribute it to unease at my coming transformation, rather than nearly coming in my pants from listening to his voice.
Few secrets escape those eyes, however, even when I don't think he means to use Legilimency. Long before anyone else realized that my monthly disappearances had a pattern, Severus guessed that I had a secret. He has always been able to read me more easily than others, and I have always been ashamed that he must have known I was sorry for the way Sirius and James treated him yet did nothing to stop it.
I don't need to read Severus' thoughts to see that he has witnessed my excitement and the effect that his voice has on me. Having studied to make the Wolfsbane potion, he must know about what happens to werewolves in the hours before the moon rises, and he stares at me with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. "You become rather pathetic when the animal begins to take over, don't you, Lupin?"
Oh, there it is again, and he's said it just that way, to see how I'll respond. My cock jumps and it's all I can do to keep my hips still, while at the same time I can feel my face turning bright red; I have to bite my lip to avoid making another sound I'll regret. It's obvious that Severus can see my reaction, yet, intriguingly, the repulsion drains from his face, replaced by even more intense interest. "Does being insulted bother you, Lupin?" He knows now, and he's going to use it to torture me.
"It's not the insults," I manage to explain. "It's the way you say my name."
His lips tighten. "You mean as though it leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth?"
"Mmm, no." I have very little left to lose, here, so I strike with the only weapon I have. "I mean the way you wrap your tongue around the first syllable and close your mouth over it like you just can't help yourself."
Severus' eyes go wider than I have ever seen them, and though I've nowhere near his skill at discerning truth from lies, I can see the instant of thrill in them before he puts on his deadliest sneer. "What a very perverse imagination you've developed, shut up alone in this house. Perhaps it is no longer safe for you to visit with others, even after the moon has waned."
He's trying to threaten me, perhaps to make me think he could keep the children from me, but I know that he does not believe that I am any more a danger than I was, not even to him. More importantly, he will never speak of this to anyone -- certainly not to Dumbledore or McGonagall, either one of whom could read the provocation underlying Snape's antagonism. "I have an excellent imagination," I agree. "I imagine that you like knowing what your voice does to me. It isn't as if you've given me the bottle and left."
"Perhaps I merely enjoy witnessing your humiliation...Lupin." But a flush is creeping across his pale cheekbones as he says my name again, and I allow myself respond to the word, letting my eyelids fall shut and my lips part as my hips roll against the sofa. By the time I look back at Severus, he's breathing faster and his eyes are blacker than usual.
"I imagine my humiliation excites you. Except I'm not imagining, am I, Severus?" There's no twist that I can put on his name to give it the same lush twist that he gives mine, but I draw out the S, the way I'd draw out "Yesss" in an erotic situation, and no, I'm not imagining anything. Even though I can't quite see the outline of his body through his robes, I can tell from the way he shifts that he's getting hard, trying to keep his cock tucked away in the folds of his clothing. Pushing my cardigan from my lap, I let him get a good look at what it's been hiding. It's too close to moonrise, I need relief too badly -- even if seeing only makes him flee, at least I'll be able to end the torment.
He doesn't flee. He stands still, staring, swallowing hard, and when I twitch, lifting the fabric of my trousers, his breath turns into a soft moan. Everyone in the Order knows everyone else's business, and though Snape is sneakier than most -- he has to be, to keep the Death-Eaters close -- I'd still wager that it's been a long time since he's been with anyone, probably longer than it's been for me. "You can have it, you know," I tell him. "Any way you want. You could tell me to get on my knees for you, or bend me over the sofa, or you could just stand there saying my name and watching me touch myself until I come for you..."
"Stop," he says in a voice I've never heard him use before. I've watched him lose control, I've known him red-faced with anger and ranting at the top of his lungs, but not choking with lust, and for a moment I'm not sure whether to feel triumph or pity. "Why are you doing this, Lu--" He checks himself.
"As you rightly observed, I become rather pathetic when the animal begins to take over. And you've brought me the Wolfsbane potion -- why don't you let me return the favor? You can use me any way you'd like."
It's that word, use, that defeats Severus, though it's a lie and he knows it. No matter what he wants to do with me, no matter what pleasure he might take from it, this began with my needs and they will be fulfilled if I can only get him to touch me...his wand is out and my clothing is unfastening, unraveling, shirt tugging my arms up as it pulls itself free and flies across the room, trousers lifting my bottom to shove down my thighs and slither away from my feet. He watches me the way hungry first years watch the start-of-term banquet appear on the tables in the Great Hall, very nearly licking his lips, which is the only thing that prevents me from trying to slow the process. So many scars cover my body that even those who have been warned sometimes flinch away, and Snape of all people needs no additional reminders of what I am and what I will become in a few hours.
There is no disgust on Snape's face; a brief moment of surprise at the extent of the damage, perhaps even something akin to empathy, then nothing but greed as his hands begin to remove his own robes. His skin is frightfully pale, even more so than my own, making the raised red skin of the Dark Mark seem to glow. His eyes follow mine, and he twists his arm inward as though he would hide it. It seems that I am not the only one here who has been made to feel ashamed.
"Let me," I tell him softly, standing, sliding a hand up his forearm before helping him remove the rest of his clothes. His robes have a preposterous number of buttons on the sleeves and his boots lace high up his legs; much as I enjoy the look on his face while I struggle to remove them, using teeth as well as fingers, I can't help wondering whether his armor-like clothing is a reaction to James having flipped him over and exposed him all those years ago. He does not relinquish his wand even when we are both fully undressed, and I step back toward the sofa, gesturing at the door to the library: "You might want to use a locking spell."
Once the room has been charmed for protection and silence, he turns, following me to the sofa, where I sit and look up at him. His cock is pointing straight at me from the patch of wiry hair surrounding it, yet he very nearly shies away when I slide a hand across his hip, and I let it drop again. "What do you want, Severus?" At this point there is nothing I want more than to fling myself upon him and rut against his thigh until I come. Still, it wouldn't do to scare him off now, so I take his hand instead and pull him down with me onto the cushions, dropping my voice as I brush my mouth against his ear. His hair is softer than I expect and it smells clean. "Do you want me to suck you? Or do you want to fuck me? Or first one, then the other?"
He mutters, "I won't last that long."
"Neither will I," I admit cheerfully. "But the moon won't rise for over two hours. We can always have another go."
"Not all of us have the metabolism of a werewolf!" snarls Severus. "Perhaps I should come back next month, after I've read up on endurance spells and lubrication charms, and you'll be so much more impressed."
Suddenly it's clear to me how anxious he is -- Snape, who isn't afraid to stand up to Dumbledore, nor to Cornelius Fudge, nor any of the Blacks or Malfoys. It's quite touching. "I didn't ask you to impress me," I remind him. "I asked you to say my name."
"Lupin," he scowls promptly, his embarrassment evident. His voice goes straight to my groin, and I whimper a bit; I imagine it must sound pathetic, but pathetic is what he expects from me. He doesn't resist when I slide my hand across to turn his face toward me, nor when I kiss him. A moment later he's kissing me back, more enthusiastically than I would have expected from him (and, truth be told, more skillfully as well).
This isn't what I had been seeking: it's taking too long, so that part of me wants to scream in frustration, and it's too gentle, not allowing me to grab him and pull him on top of me and beg him to fuck me or suck me or let me rub against his thigh while I suck him. On the other hand, if I'd wanted mindless sex each month before I transformed, I could have had it long before this. I've never been happy fucking someone just to do it, and I stopped trying long ago, while Sirius was in Azkaban and I didn't think I'd ever really be happy again. Happiness has never worked for me the way I think it should. I was overjoyed when Sirius returned, but he was never really happy here and we weren't very happy together. Severus and I have brought one another nothing but grief since we've been children, yet here I am moaning pitifully, trying to give myself to him any way he'll let me, and he is letting me. That makes this something other than mindless sex, doesn't it?
Again he sighs my name when I take his hand and pull it slowly over my skin to where I want it. His palm is clammy at first, tense, but by the time he touches my cock it has grown warm and damp and he lets me guide it, pressing himself against my thigh. I'm so close that I could come just like this, but he stops and moves down until he's looking up at me from between my legs with an entirely wicked expression.
"Lupin," he says, flicking out his tongue so hard on the L that it brushes over my cock, and he does it again when I shout, closing his mouth over me so that the last syllable is only a hum that vibrates through my body. He keeps humming as he moves his lips and tongue over me, taking me in deeper, until my hips are rocking beyond my control and I'm babbling his name and "yes" and possibly some other words. I have every intention of warning him, in fact I pull out of his mouth before I try to thrust down his throat, but he keeps licking obscenely at me and saying my name in that voice until I'm coming, I'm coming, all over his lips and cheek I'm coming and on his tongue in his mouth I'm coming and he closes his eyes and hums and lets me.
"Fuck," I gasp when I can breathe again, because it's one of the few coherent syllables my mouth remembers how to form and because I'm certain he's about to clean his face with the look of revulsion to which I've grown accustomed. Severus, however, believes the word to be an invitation, and without even stopping to wipe his mouth, he rises, rolls me over on the narrow sofa and I feel his wand hovering against the back of my thigh as he speaks charms for hygiene and comfort and something that leaves me delightfully slick and warm.
"I thought you said you needed to read up," I pant as his fingers begin to stroke me, teasing the sensitive opening, working slowly inside me until I'm nearly ready to beg again.
A low rumble escapes him, and I try to recall whether I've ever heard him laugh before. "Like riding a broom, Lupin," he assures me, but his voice is ragged and his hips push urgently against mine. I squirm and bend my knees closer to my chest, feeling him shift over my back, the awkward pressure of alignment before the sharper ache of penetration and the slow, smooth glide as he fills me. He answers my groan with one of his own, and I know it will be quick, but the sting has already faded when he thrusts again and we fit together perfectly, his cock nudging me inside till I jolt forward into his hand. I start babbling again, thrashing against him as I hear him call out and feel the spasms as he comes in me.
Once he recovers, Severus begins to stroke me steadily, muttering into my ear, "You like that, don't you, Lupin. You're going to come for me again, aren't you, Lupin," until I'm garbling my attempts to pronounce his name and spurting the answer into his hand. He lifts his fingers, sniffs at them and then licks one, making a thoughtful noise. "It isn't particularly sweeter from a werewolf."
"Were you expecting it to be chocolate-flavored?" I demand with a laugh.
"From you, that would not surprise me." From him this is very nearly an affectionate comment, and I stop talking before I ruin the moment. We lie together quietly for a little while, and I begin to wonder how much time has passed; I must take the potion before the hour grows too close to moonrise. As if the same thought has occurred to him, Severus stiffens slightly. "Where did you put the bottle I brought you?"
While I wriggle upright and retrieve the Wolfsbane, he picks up his wand from where he has dropped it and casts Scourgifying charms on the furniture and on us. With his eyes lowered, he begins to gather his clothing. "Don't think that this changes anything," he warns.
"No?" I ask, trying to keep amusement from my face, since I could have predicted that he would say something like that. "You don't want to do it again, then?"
Severus turns a gratifying shade of purple. "I meant that you should not expect me to treat you any differently."
"No bouquets of monkshood? No owls bearing silver jewelry? I suppose that this will have to do." Lifting the bottle of Wolfsbane, I tip it toward him with a bowed head before swallowing it down. Perhaps it is my imagination, but it tastes better this month. "I do not expect you to treat me any differently, and I particularly don't want you to start calling me by my first name."
"I assure you that I will not." Severus' frequent disdainful expression has returned, yet his eyes widen slightly as he adds, "Lupin." I reward him with an appreciative hum, and he presses his lips together. "You aren't going to whinge like that whenever I speak to you, are you?"
"I'll try not to, but, Severus, I might not be able to help myself. Unless I'm already feeling quite satisfied."
"Is that a threat, Lupin?"
He draws out the syllables, and, again, I can't resist a moan. "Perhaps it's an offer. Will you keep it in mind?"
Color tinges his face, and he avoids my eyes as he finishes dressing. "Next month I will be certain to arrive early with your potion."
"I'll be waiting," I assure him, and try not to grin wolfishly.