I am Remus Lupin. I have to admit, I have never had a confession. I came across the idea in an old text on Muggle religions. Catholics- bloody hell. But the idea of confession intrigued me. I don't have a priest, though, so I've decided to write my bit down on paper and then burn it- keep it between me and myself.

I could "confess" to so many things. The fact that I am a werewolf would be the obvious choice. Or that I fear Severus Snape because he could get me expelled from Hogwarts. No, I have something much more important, dark, and dangerous to purge from my mind onto this parchment.

I am guilty. Oh so guilty- of wanting and needing Sirius Black's hands all over my body, and my hands on his. Hells, when I take him I make him mine. Sometimes, I just want to have him splayed on a couch in the common room, where anyone could walk in and see him and know that he belongs to me. He'd have no clothes, nothing but me to cover him. After I finished ravishing his neck and chest, I'd move down to his perfect cock. Take it into my mouth and swallow him down as he throws his head back and cries out in ecstasy. Every move would drive him wild, leave him panting, and writhing until he screams my name as he comes and I take every bit of his seed into my throat before climbing up his sweating body to give him a taste of what I did to him. Tongues stroking strongly into each other's mouths as we devour each other in a slick of lips and clacking of teeth. Finally, he would flip our positions, pressing me into the couch as he licked a path from my pulse point to my nipples, biting and sucking until they were hard and oh-so-sensitive to the touch. His busy hands would skate along my back, dance over my straining cock before reaching lower to roll my balls between them. He would know what this does to me. Sends me arching into his touch, gasping for breath as every nerve in my body explodes. And he would not have even finished with me. His grip moving to my hips as his wicked tongue wraps around my length and leaves me gripping the couch with white knuckles with sweat pouring off my body. He digs the tip of that talented organ into the slit as his gray eyes seek my face. Watching my eyes close with the intense pleasure he knows he gives me. The sinful gleam in his eye would be the only warning before he grips my thighs, hauling my legs apart and licks a hot, wet path from my perineum to that tiny, needy puckered opening. A harsh, guttural cry would be all I can manage when he spears me on his tongue, fucking me with that slick muscle until I am whimpering with the desperate want for more. And he'd give it to me-when I feel his newly hardened cock press into me, stretching me and filling me just like I want to be. Soon he'd rock into me, sending shooting sparks through me that ignite sparks behind my eyes. All too soon the pleasure would come to that inevitable peak that sends me spiraling down even as I feel him climax and shoot inside me, both of us shouting our release with one another's names on our tongues. We would take the moments after to calm each other's trembling hands, smooth away tangled locks of sweaty hair, and ease back from the desperate-hungry kisses to those that demanded nothing but more kisses before heads would be dropped to shoulders. Puffs of hot breath would ghost over our necks just to add to the perfection of that moment.

Yes, I, Remus Lupin, have confessed to all of this. A thousand times over, and I cannot bring myself to follow one requirement of a confession- that is, the promise to never repeat the action. To apologize for it and admit that it was wrong. I refuse because no one could ever convince me that what I want is wrong. Never. Perhaps that makes me writing it down here and calling it a confession is somewhat hypocritical. Maybe it seems like bragging. In all possibility, it is bragging, but what do I care? It's not like anyone will ever read this anyway.