They both move silently, in their own way.
One, dark, cloaked in black and gliding through the corridors; the other slinking, keeping to shadows, the wolf in him giving him a slight edge when it came to scenting his quarry.
His prey.
His target.
Lupin crept up behind Snape, looking over the dark man's shoulder to try and make out what the Potions master was reading as he walked. A cold draught made both of them stop, and Lupin slipped into a niche behind a statue, hoping he had remained unseen.
He hadn't. An arm, black-clad, blocked his exit and he looked up into the eyes as dark as the other's soul.
"Looking for me, Remus?"
Lupin stayed silent, shocked by the unaccustomed use of his first name, and suddenly aware of the depths of feeling breaking through the uncaring veneer of the man in front of him. Severus looked him up and down, for once in the position of power.
"Not so cocky when your friends aren't here, are you?"
"I was never like them." Remus couldn't look at Snape, peered past him into the darkness down the empty corridor.
"No, but you never stopped them. Not once. The bullying, the name-calling ... "
"I regret it so much."
"Regret what? That you still hung around with Potter and Black, even though they victimised anyone who was different."
"I was afraid."
"Of?"
Severus waited. He could wait as long as he wanted. The cool draught caressed his ankles like an unspoken need, and he felt rather than saw the other collapse, his secret-most feelings coming out.
"I thought that if I stepped away, they'd turn on me. For being different."
"For being a werewolf?"
Lupin's eyes met his at last. "For wanting to love you."
A sharp intake of breath, then Snape moves faster than Lupin can remember ever seeing him move before. Remus opens his mouth to say more, but Severus - not Snape any more - has covered it with his own, the passion of the last many years and the frustration of the last few months driving both of them wild with desire.
They're both slim, both flexible, but it still surprises Lupin that both of them can fit into the space behind the statue. Hands and breath and tongues fly, then Remus feels his trousers pulled down under his robe, and a set of long flexible fingers are questing from his cock to his balls and further.
Much further.
There's a fumbling with something in the dark robes, the smell of olive oil, the feel of slippery digits probing his arse and he braces first one foot and then another against the other side of the alcove, giving a better access for Severus's ministrations. The Potions Master coats both his hands with oil, using it to cover first his own cock, then Remus's. Slipping his own groin under Remus's, he gently positions his cock under the other's arse, holding it there, tempting the Dark Arts teacher with the feel of the head just brushing against the entrance. The other hand starts sliding up and down the werewolf's cock, each stroke long and luxurious. Remus can feel his own pleasure rising, and slips a little down the wall, slowly impaling himself on Severus long, hard cock.
"You want this, werewolf. You've wanted this for years." Severus leans forward, the action slipping his length further into Remus's arse. Remus hadn't realised how strong Severus was, the wiry strength hidden in those scrawny arms as they fuck in long, slow strokes. Remus braces his own elbows against ledges in the alcove, moving in rhythm as they both ride to an orgasm, each falling into their own darkness as the black in their souls rises to meet the explosion of pleasure and the strains of the muscles in awkward positions.
"I want you. Fuck me. Harder."
"Yessss."
Severus pushes, pushes, and his hand on Remus's cock tightens as the sensation hits a maximum. The howl as they both come reaches the tops of the Hogwarts towers, and in their beds, students stir and strange, dark nightmares come.
The two Masters slow, breathing ragged, feet scraping down the walls as hands disengage, tenderly, gently, a need to show a care for the other slipping through, neither of them as self-centred in their pleasure as they would like to pretend they are.
"Sev ..." The name is cut off by a kiss, brutally rough yet warm.
Silence, but for the brush of cloth on stone. Then ...
"Please." Remus rests his head on Severus's shoulder. "I'd ... like to start afresh."
Severus seems to soften, to relax into the other's touch, then pushes away. "I can't. There's been too much." He grimaces, knowing that he doesn't dare. Not if he wants Remus to live.
He steps out of the alcove, and starts to walk away, and Remus wipes the blood off his lip where the last kiss tasted only of despair and loss.