This is my first time writing anything Potter-related. I just woke up this morning with this stuck in my mind. It's a one-shot. I hope you'll like it.
He had just brewed his cup of tea when it hit him, and he cursed his keen werewolf senses once more. He closed his eyes, and strengthen the hold of the cup in his hands until his knuckles were white and it was almost painful. She smelled like parchment, ink and just a hint of vanilla. And he had come to hate this particular smell.
He couldn't get that witch out of his mind, and it was driving him crazy, to the point that he'd almost got up and leave the house all together. But it would raise too many questions. He frowned, trying to remember why this was completely inappropriate. She was twenty years younger than him. He was cursed. She was his former student. He had nothing to offer her.
He was so wrapped up in own feelings that it took him a minute to process exactly what he was smelling. As the familiar sense enveloped him, it was like a hard blow to his mid section. He clenched his fist again and again, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to try to control his anger. But her sent only made his blood boil even more. He could feel the rage burning inside him. The blood he could taste in his mouth angered even more the animal within him. And increased his hunger.
Of course, the approaching full moon only made it ten times worst, as usual. But this, this was torture. He knew that smell too well, from too many years of friendship, for it to hurt less. He heard footsteps approaching the kitchen, and his fight or flight response was the worst battle he had to fight with himself. He couldn't hate him. But he couldn't stand this either.
When the footsteps halted at the door, he took a deep breath, trying once more to control his feelings. He wasn't worthy of her, he had to remember. He was adamant about walking away. But he never expected to smell her scent on him, of all people. No, this was worst than torture. Worst than a thousand cruciatos curse. Worst than Azkaban itself. He turned around after a couple of seconds, but the look in his best friends eyes were far from remorseful. It made it even worst.
"Why?" He asked the pure-blood. Surely he knew how he felt. He mocked him at least a thousand times a day because of his inappropriate crush on the little witch.
"Why what, Moony?" He asked, but couldn't suppress the smirk from his face. His whole stance was daring.
"Why her, Sirius. Why? From all the woman throwing themselves at you, all the woman you could have, why did you have to take her to your bed?" He challenged. His voice was rough, from trying to get the wolf under control. Right now, he didn't know what was more dangerous: the desire to rip Sirius in thousands of pieces, or his desire to march into his room and just take the silly witch himself. It was the full moon luring him. And she wouldn't stand a chance against him, against his desire to make her his.
When Sirius just stood quietly, just looking at him, as if trying to deny the accusations, Remus temper exploded.
"I can smell her on you, you know. Hell, I can almost taste her, just being near you. It makes me sick." He seethed.
"Well, what did you expected me to do, turn a willing woman away, just because you have more scrupulous than anyone should have to begin with? I'm not an idiot." He quipped, but Lupin was so wrapped up in his anger, he didn't realize the glint in his best friends eyes.
"When that willing witch is your godson's best friend, and you're almost twenty years her senior, yeah, you should. But you'd have to have some morals to understand it." Remus answered, closing his eyes again, and pinching the bridge of his nose. Thank God that his wand was nowhere near him right now, because the was giving in to the urge of hexing his best friend.
"Sure, the fact that you've fancied the witch since she was your 13-year-old student has nothing to do with it, right? Besides, she's of age now, and you know I like them young. Well, what can I say... I do not have your strength of character, nor your nobility." Sirius begin, but was cut off by his best friends hands grabbing him by the shirt.
"Are you going to stand here and talk to me about nobility, you, the pathetic excuse of a man who happened to be the last heir of the Noble House of Black?"
Remus was loosing it. Sirius was sure that, best case scenario, he would return to his room with a black eye. But this, this was too good to be true. He was trying to get his best friend realize that he loved the girl, that it was not an inappropriate crush. But so far, nothing he said to the werewolf made a dent in his thick, stupid armor. And what was worst, he was blinded by his curse, and his nobility that he couldn't even see that the girl was head over hills for him. His best mate would hate him for that, for letting him think that he, Sirius Black, had slept with Hermione Granger. But if it led him to go after the girl, even in anger, than he could live with that.
Of course he wouldn't touch the girl. She was completely wrong for him. Alas, what made her so wrong for him was exactly what made her more than right for Remus. She was bright, too bright, the cleverest witch of her age. They shared the same love for books, and for rights. She was a lioness, with all her Gryffindor bravery. He much prefer his woman docile, and just stupid enough to get into bed with him, knowing that he'd only want them for one night. He was not a man prone to relationships. He was the love-them-and-leave-them guy. Remus was the romantic one, the sensible one. Remus was the kind of guy who'd fall in love with a witch. Remus was the kind of guy who desired – and deserved - a family. The only problem was that, due to his lycanthropy, or his furry little problem, like Sirius and James preferred to call it, he failed to accept the fact that he deserved a family.
"Why, Remus, my friend, if you're gonna hit me for shagging the girl senseless, just do it, so I can return to my room and let her lick my wounds and make me feel better." Sirius said, putting just enough sneer in the last part of the sentence. This, this was too good to pass. The conjunction of factors leading up to this would surely not repeat it self.
When he found Hermione crying her eyes out just outside her bedroom last night, he decided that he had to do something. So he took the witch into his arms, and carried her into her bedroom, whispering that everything was going to be all right. The poor girl wept all over him, saying that she didn't know what to do, that all this time she was trying to make him notice her, that she must really be a boring, ordinary swot know-it-all after all. The girl was so blindly in love that she failed to notice the longing looks Remus would throw her when they were reading together, or the color disappear from his face when she would enter the room in a short skirt, and a tight blouse that would show her perfect figure.
He got her into her bed, and tried to comfort her the best he could, silently cursing Remus for being so blind, so oblivious to the girls feelings. He tried to leave her, when she calmed down a little, but her small voice, begging him not to leave her alone stopped him. He went back to her bed, and held her for a long time, until she fell asleep. All the while trying to come up with a plan to get those two thick-headed lovesick idiots together.
He exited her room in the middle of the night, and went into the kitchen for a glass or three of firewhiskey, when he saw Remus standing in front of the stove, a cup of tea in his hand, seething with anger. If his eyes were open, Sirius was sure he would be facing the most murderous look in his best friends eyes.
It took him a second to understand what was going on, the almost-full moon shining at the window clued him in. His werewolf senses must be kicking in, Sirius knew. And, due to his own canine experience, he knew that his keen senses must be picking up Hermione's scent in his clothes. For a second he debated if he should tell him the truth, that he was only comforting her, because he, Remus, was too much of a chicken to go after the girl, who clearly was as in love with him as he was in love with her.
But then, as he felt Lupin's anger rise even more, and knowing that he was still trying to reign his inner wolf under control, his marauder side got the best of him, and he decided that jealousy could be a drug stronger than most potions. Maybe, just maybe, if he thought that he had slept with the girl, he'd be angered enough to finally go after her. Even if it was just to beat some sense into her. He just would have to be quick spelling her night-clothes into something he knew his best friend would not be able to handle, while Lupin ran upstairs to her room. After decking him, of course.
"Or are you not man enough even to punch me in the face for defiling the girl of your dreams..." Sirius said, finally pushing Lupin to his limits. Sirius felt his nose crack under the pressure of the werewolf hit. It hurt like hell, and he hoped to god it was worth it. In the morning, he'd apologize and tell him the truth.
Remus didn't waste one second running upstairs and marching into her room. He was so blinded by rage that he didn't even notice that Hermione was sleeping over the covers, and that her bed was still perfectly made. He also barely noticed the absence of the familiar scent which lingered on the air when two people make love... The earthy scents of sweat, and hunger, and sex. All he was smelling was parchment and ink, and just a hint, a small hint of his best friend after-shave, as if he only stood in the bedroom for a couple of minutes. But the sight of her was overpowering his senses. All he could see were long, shapely legs and creamy skin wrapped in the most alluring red camisole, that covered nothing of her body. He could see her breasts trying to escape the lacy top of her camisole, and her tights, her silky tights, barely covered by the baby doll. Never in his wildest dreams he would imagine Herminone wearing this.
He was losing the lasts threads of his self-control. His mouth was watering, and he was rock hard just by looking at her, and the scent of her was wreaking havoc to his brains. He was prepared to flight, just as soon as he managed to stop ogling her. He almost made it, but the sounds she was making had him rooted to the spot. Is she... moaning? He took a deep breath, trying to recover at least a bit of control, and he didn't see the error in doing it until her scent invaded his nostrils. She was aroused. Oh my god, is she in the middle of a sex dream? He had to get out of here. Until he did something truly unforgivable. He had his hand on the door handle when a name rolled off of her lips, it was only a whisper, but to his acute hearing, it was as if she was screaming it. His name. She was moaning his name, wringing in bed, begging him. It was his undoing.
The last thing on his mind as he wandlessly spelled his clothes from his body and reached her bed was that Sirius was a cunning son-of-a-bitch. His body covered hers in a matter of seconds, and his hands doing a quick work of undressing her. She was still sleeping when his rough hands covered her breasts, but he heard her gasp when he took a nipple into her mouth and started sucking. His hands roamed her body restlessly, while he kissed her neck, nibbling on her fair skin, leaving marks that he was unable to prevent. His hands were leaving its own bruises on her waits and hips, even as he cursed himself for not being able to be gentle with her. He only hoped to God she would be enough awake when he claimed her.
Hermione was still in a haze, she didn't know if she was awake or sleeping, if the man doing unspeakable things to her body was real or a dream. When his hands reached the junction of her legs and, with a groan, she felt his fingers enter her moist folds, she cried out in pleasure, and opened her eyes. Her hands reached his face, and she kissed him senseless. Dream or not, she had never felt this much pleasure in her life.
"Are you real? Or am I still dreaming?" She moaned, when she was able to break the kiss, needing oxygen. But it only spurred him on. He groaned, and tighten his hold on her hips with one hand, and changed the angle of his fingers, reaching that same spot over and over. He could feel her clamping up, loosing control, and used his mouth and tong to take over that edge. She more she screamed his name, the rougher he got. He was addicted to her taste, and her lusty cries just increased his hunger for her.
Before she could come down from her high, he was inside her. She never knew it was possible feel so much pleasure, and she was again screaming his name, while he pounded mercilessly into her. In the back of his mind, he was afraid he was hurting her, but when he tried to look into her eyes, she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him even closed, racked her nails all over his back, rolled her eyes and started clamping around him once more, meeting him thrust for thrust, and he gave in to his desire and exploded inside her.
"Well, kitten, if that was a dream, I hope we never wake up." He said, resting his face in her neck. He inhaled her sweet scent, mixed with his own, and growled again. He was still inside her, and he could already feel himself getting hard, just thinking about taking her again. He heard her moan when he kissed her neck, and felts her hands tighten on his shoulders.
"Because apparently I'm not nearly done with you." He said, barely sliding out of her before thrusting inside again. "I want to taste you, make you scream my name again." He did it again, lifting her hips a little bit, to change the angle of his thrusts. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and smirked. "I want to feel you come again and again, saying you're mine. Begging me."
"Oh God, please... I... " She moaned, blinded by pleasure.
"You what, Hermione? What do you want" He demanded, his slow thrusts driving both of them crazy. He had never have a woman respond to him so openly, so honestly.
"I... Harder... Oh God, just... I'm almost... Faster... Just..." She mumbled incoherently. She was so close she could taste it. She was sure she'd die if he didn't stop tormenting her.
"Like that?" He asked, and thrust deeply into her, over and over again. He was tired of playing games. The bed squeaked under them, and he silently cursed his own weakness when he gave in a second time, and crying out her name, exploded inside her again.
Downstairs, Sirius was still trying to heal his black eye and his broken nose, never being too good with healing spells in his life, and cursing his friend for not warding the door and putting up a silencing spell. Well, it was not like he himself could complain. How many times he was the one to forget - or just do it, anyway - silencing spells. But he was oddly proud of himself, for finally getting those two together. He just hoped one night would be enough for Lupin to regain his senses and realize that Hermione was the best think that could happen to him.
He didn't even mind the broken nose, really. After all, what are friends for.