One
Snape rested against Lupin for only a moment before he pulled away. He adjusted his clothes as he exited the darkened classroom without a word. Lupin fell back against the desk sated and slick with perspiration surrounded by the aroma of chalk and the stale scent of sweat and sex. He felt the receding heat of Snape's contact and drank in the coldness of the encounter. He marveled at the way fire gave so readily to ice. He shuffled down the deserted halls of Hogwarts as satiation gave way to a heavy ache in his chest. As he fell into his bed that night, he realized it wasn't regret or disgust, but a lust for more that let him unsettled.
The heat of his mouth. The cut of his hands on his skin. Kind hands, willing hands, and his traitorous body. How starved for sex was he that the werewolf seemed like a suitable partner? An argument turned the air thick with tension. He found the vitriolic words that fell so easily from his lips evaporate. He never thought that the smell of a man and the heat of a body would be his undoing. Lupin took the final step that closed the space between them, but Snape pressed his lips against the other man. It was a moment of foolishness, of weakness. Instinct and desire hijacked him. Lupin didn't freeze. He didn't pull back in revulsion. His lips parted and his hand touched Snape's face, a gentle caress at odds with the violent clash of tongue and teeth, of want and need. He didn't remember whose hands wandered first, but he remembered Lupin's gasp and the smell of arousal. Lupin's mouth, his hands, his body…It was weakness, a precursor to mutually assured destruction, but he couldn't deny the desire to collide once more.
They found each other again, Hogwarts' lost boys alone together, staring each other down across the dark dungeon classroom.
"This is not a relationship. This will never be a relationship. It's just sex. Can your Gryffindor sensibilities handle that?" Snape asked.
Lupin leaned back against the closed classroom door, "I can accept that." Snape continued to glare, but Lupin thought he saw a glimmer of something hopeful flash across the other man's face.
Fingers tangled in knotted hair. Teeth and tongue collided in a fevered clash. Hands ghosted across secret skin, warm and wet, and out and in. They submerged themselves in the familiar steps of lust and release. It was a matter of rough hands in dark corners, few words, and hostile feelings. The marked man and the dark creature addicted to the touch of one another. It was not love. It wasn't even a vague inclination of friendship. It was friction, two people rubbing against one another trying to feel something other than numb.
a/n Reviews are love.