Chapter Nine: Interlude
Lupin checked his watch again for the twelth time in as many minutes.
An hour, he told himself. She said she'd only be an hour. She must have gotten held up.
He began to pace. The pleasantness of his bath, the soothing, warming water that had eased the knots in his muscles, was a distant memory. He was tense again. His jaw was set.
Tonks was late.
Two hours since she'd walked out the front door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Two bloody hours of Lupin having to endure visions of her wearing that burgundy velvet dress, seeing her yank up her skirt and giving him a glimpse, just a glimpse, of those scandalous black lace knickers.
His lustful thoughts competed with his worried ones; he was a bit disgusted with himself that his erection still hadn't fully calmed down.
The problem was that the only thing that might make it calm down involved horrifying visions of Tonks lying dead in an alleyway somewhere.
Another fifteen minutes passed. He gave an exasperated sigh and told himself he was being ridiculous. For all he knew she was still at the Ministry party having a good time. But that thought made him jealous, because a part of him didn't WANT her to be having a good time, he wanted her back here. Safe. Away from Kingsley. And preferably wearing something other than that burgundy dress, something that hadn't nearly inspired Lupin- two hours and fifteen minutes earlier-to tear it off her and ravish her right there in the corridor where she'd stood.
Another fifteen minutes passed. Lupin pulled on his ratty pair of Oxfords. It was time to wake Sirius (who had disappeared to somewhere in the house; just where, Lupin couldn't say) and go and search for her. She could be anywhere. She might have even gone back to her own flat. But he couldn't pace around another moment.
He exited his bedroom and started toward the stairs when he heard the soft click of the front door opening.
Tonks was back.
For reasons he didn't understand right then, he stood frozen in place and watched her. She entered the house slowly and closed the door softly behind her. Her robes were wrapped round her tightly. Her movements were tentative; she was trying very hard not to make noise, not to wake the portraits behind the heavy velvet curtain in the foyer.
She didn't start up the stairs, however. She moved toward the door leading to the kitchen.
"Tonks?" Lupin asked, wondering why she'd be going downstairs. Surely she wasn't hungry.
"Remus, hi," she said, her voice sounding oddly hollow. She didn't look up at him, but her eyes were fixed on the floor. "Didn't expect you to be up."
"I couldn't sleep," he said, hurrying down the stairs, sensing instantly that something was very wrong. "I was worried about you."
"That's nice of you," she said, still not looking at him even.
"Tonks," he said, and he put a hand under her chin and tilted her face up.
"Dear god," he gasped. "What happened?"
Her face was a mess. A cut on her left cheek, another above her right eyebrow; the right eye itself was swollen and purple. Her hair was tangled and he saw, to his horror, that her robes were torn.
"You think I look bad," she said, smiling and wincing. "You should see the other guy."
"Good lord, Tonks," he whispered, as she coughed and sank against him. "What happened? Please tell me."
"Mugged," she said, and he felt her trembling through her robes. "On my way home."
"Where was Kingsley?" Lupin demanded, stepping back from her and gripping her shoulders.
"Parted ways just after the party," she said. "He had to get home to his kids. His wife's sick. He offered to walk me home-"
"Why didn't you let him?" Lupin demanded. "You-you were walking round London at this time of night on your own?"
Tonks looked at him and her eyes flashed. "Yes, I was. I can take care of myself."
"I can see that," said Lupin sarcastically, struggling against his inclination to raise his voice. "Good heavens, Tonks. You can't just go wandering round the streets this time of night. A young woman, dressed as you're dressed? You're easy prey."
"Thanks, Remus," Tonks hissed. "I'm glad to see you care enough to lecture me about walking round London looking like a scrubber. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go clean myself up downstairs. Don't want to drip blood on that nice carpet in my bedroom."
She turned on her heel and started down the stairs. She stumbled, but Lupin was faster and he caught her.
"Let go of me, I can walk on my own," she said in a low voice.
"Tonks, dammit, let me help you," said Lupin, still entirely bewildered at her reaction to his concern.
"I told you, I can take care of myself," she snapped, her voice hissing again. She stomped down the stairs and flung open the door to the kitchen. She was limping. Lupin blinked, at a loss for what to do.
"Tonks!" he whispered, then he completed the journey down the stairs and went into the kitchen, shutting the door firmly behind him.
"What?" she snapped. She had pulled off her robes and thrown them on the kitchen table and was filling a glass with water from the sink.
Lupin gasped again. Her dress had been torn in several places. One of the straps was broken. Her right knee was bleeding from a very ugly gash. He felt his heart jump into his throat, and he approached her as she downed the glass of water.
"Tonks, please," he said. "Tell me what happened."
"I told you, I was mugged," she said angrily. "By some very angry Muggle."
"Mugged? Is that it?" he asked, not daring to voice what he was fearing inside.
Tonks was breathing hard. She shifted her weight and winced again, then she looked at him.
"He tried a few other things," she said, biting her lip. "I don't think he'll bug me again, though. Or any other woman, for that matter. Seeing as I used a Severing Charm on his--"
"Jesus, Tonks," said Lupin, blinking hard.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice hard again. "But thank you for your thoughtful advice on how to dress and how not to walk around at night. Because, you know, I'm sure that shithead who attacked me saw me in my slinky little get-up and knew I was just begging for it."
Lupin swallowed, suddenly understanding what had set her off before. "I didn't mean that."
"Didn't you?" she said, turning to the sink and filling her water glass again.
"No," said Lupin firmly. "Tonks, I only meant...you're a young woman and...and being alone at night...is dangerous. That's all I meant."
"I'm perfectly well aware that it's dangerous in London at night," said Tonks. "I grew up here, okay? And I told you, I can take care of myself. As difficult as that is for you to believe. I wasn't kidding before. I may be a mess but you should see that bloke when I was through with him. I didn't go through three years of Auror training for nothing."
Lupin bit his lip, torn at what to say next, or if he should even say anything. Tonks's fierce refusal to believe that she might be vulnerable, that, as a female, she might be in greater danger simply by virtue of her sex, struck him as hopelessly naive. On the other hand, hadn't she averted the worst tonight? Defeated her attacker? And she was an Auror, one of a very small number of witches who were Aurors. Surely that meant she was capable, that she was strong. He was caught between the chivalrous part of him-the part that Tonks would call old fashioned-that wanted only to protect her, and the part of him that knew she would resent it.
"I'm sorry, Tonks," he said at last. "I didn't mean to lecture you. I was...worried. Very worried. I know you're strong. I know you're independent. But can you forgive an old man for caring about you and what happens to you?"
"You're not old," she mumbled, sipping her water. She looked so very young just then. Perhaps it was those dark, loopy ringlets, that were now tangled round her face. Or the way her lips were turned down in a kind of pout.
"You're a mess," said Lupin. "Let me at least help you clean up those cuts."
She looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes were filled with tears.
"I was scared," she said. "I was. But I thought of you and...and I got away."
Lupin swallowed, moved by her admission.
"Come on, sit down," he said softly, pulling a chair away from the table. She did, wincing as she did so, and he quickly filled a kettle and put it on to boil. Then he walked to the freezer and took out some ice cubes and wrapped them in a clean rag. As he crossed back to her, he stopped, opened the pantry, and pulled out a small bar of chocolate.
"Eat a bit of this," he said. "It always helps." He handed her a piece of chocolate
"Chocolate, my favorite remedy," she said, smiling and putting it delicately into her mouth.
"That's a very nasty black eye," he said as he knelt in front of her. He pressed the ice against the bruise. She winced.
"Ouch," she whispered.
"Don't be such a baby," he said, smiling.
"Shut up," she said. He pressed the ice against the bruise and for a moment she closed her eyes.
"Did you really use a Severing Charm?" Lupin asked, pulling the ice away. "On his...uh..."
Tonks giggled. "No," she said. "I didn't end up using my wand at all. That's why I got so beat up. I figured if I did the bloody Ministry'd be after me and cite me for some obscure code violation. And forget the Muggle police. They prob'ly would have taken me for some tart or something." She laughed bitterly.
"You're not any such thing," said Lupin gently, as the kettle began to boil. He poured the hot water into a bowl and took another clean rag and dabbed it into the bowl of steaming water.
"I need to clean your knee," he said. She shifted and pulled up the skirt of her dress. Lupin focused very pointedly on the gash in her knee and did not allow his eyes to wander up her thigh.
"Good one," said Lupin, smiling wryly up at her. "I think it might leave a scar."
"That's all right," said Tonks. "I've got plenty of those. Anyway, I didn't get that fighting him."
"No?"
"No," she said, shaking her head and smiling sheepishly. "Got it about fifty feet from here. Tripped over a ruddy skateboard and went toppling. Have you ever known a bigger klutz than me, Remus?"
"No," said Lupin, smiling, dabbing at the gash on her knee with the rag. She winced again, but said nothing. He cleaned the wound, then noticed she had abrasions on her hands and arms.
"My goodness," he said softly, dabbing at those cuts in turn.
"This is nothing," said Tonks, wincing as he dabbed at a cut on her right elbow. "You should have seen me when I was little. I was a terror on the playground in primary school. The boys were afraid of me. And I gave my Mum no end of headaches, always injuring myself."
"You're quite the tomboy," said Lupin, smiling as he cleaned the rag again in the hot water. "Let me see to that cut on your cheek."
He dabbed very gently at it. She was suddenly sitting very still. Her breath smelled vaguely of chocolate and something else. Amaretto. She blinked as he dabbed, very gently, at the cut on her cheek.
"Think it'll scar?" she asked.
"Probably."
"That's all right," she said. "Scars give a person character I think. And if I get sick of them I can always magic them away."
"Hold still," he whispered, trying not to chuckle, as he continued to dab at the cut. She closed her eyes, and then he moved the rag to the cut over her eyebrow, dabbing at the blood there, cleaning it gently.
She opened her eyes. His hand stopped, the rag still on her eyebrow. For a moment neither of them moved. He didn't breathe.
She reached up and took his hand in hers. With her other hand she took the rag from him and placed it lightly on the table. Some small part of Lupin's brain signaled him to breathe, and he did, very lightly, through his nose, but the rest of him was frozen.
Tonks was looking at him through hooded, dark eyes; the thin film of tears was still there, giving the irises a shiny, almost iridescent appearance. The dim light of the kitchen cast a golden glow on her skin. Her bruised, lacerated skin.
Lupin swallowed; she took his hand and opened it. She looked down at his palm and then traced the lines there with the fingers of her free hand. He felt a jolt of electricity course up his spine.
He should take his hand away. He shouldn't be doing this. Whatever this was. But he was powerless to pull away. He realized vaguely that he was very close to her, that he was on his knees and that they were aching, that her skirt was hitched up.
He felt another jolt as she brought the palm of his hand to her lips. Blood raced to his groin, causing him to strain against his trousers. He sucked in his breath as she ran her lips over the palm of his hand, then sucked in another breath when her tongue brushed along the rough surface of his palm.
Stop, he told himself. Stop, stop, Stop. But now she running his fingers along her lower lip, nibbling on his fingertips. Dear god. He closed his eyes, then opened them when he felt her place the flat of his hand against her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. She was looking at him with glazed eyes, her mouth wet, her lips parted. Not even the cuts and bruises on her face could hide the meaning in her eyes.
Take your hand away! a voice in his head yelled. But she was holding him fast there, and the feel of her skin was burning his palm. She leaned closer to him, still pressing his hand to her skin.
"Tonks," he whispered, his erection fierce and his brain on fire, "we shouldn't..."
"Shouldn't what?" she whispered. So close. Her breath, her chocolate breath on his face. He felt a tiny moan escape his throat when she pushed his hand down to cover her right breast.
"Oh, god," he murmured, opening his eyes. She arched her back slightly, letting her breast fit into his hand, and then she closed her eyes for a moment, opened them, leaned closer to him again.
"We agreed," Lupin said, his hand starting to move on her breast, "...to just be friends..."
"We are friends," she whispered, and she kissed him.
Lupin heard the sharp intake of breath, but whether it was through his nose or hers, he couldn't be sure. His lips were tingling, his hand cupped her breast, her hands were on his face, she was kissing him slowly, her lips exploring his, lightly, gently.
So long, he thought. It had been so damn long. A woman's mouth on his.
But now it was this woman's mouth traveling over his, making feather light kisses as he fondled her breast and she moved her hands into his hair. This young, unpredictable contradiction of a woman that was making his entire body burn and tingle and his erection throb.
And suddenly these light, teasing kisses weren't enough. He had to have her taste in his mouth. He moved his hand from her breast and cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply, hungrily, opening his mouth and crushing it against hers, tasting her with his tongue. He heard a moan in his throat, and another in hers, felt his erection strain against his trousers, and his hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer to him, as he kissed her faster, deeper, wanting to devour her.
"Oh, god," he said again, trailing his mouth over her jaw, to her earlobe, down her neck. His hands found her breasts again, caressed them through the thin fabric of her dress. She moaned and arched her back. He felt the nipples harden against his palms; she wasn't wearing a bra.
"Remus," she sighed, pulling him closer to her, her mouth finding his again.
Stop, stop, stop, a voice in his head shouted. You swore you wouldn't...
But the voice died in his head as he felt her mouth on his neck, felt her hands move inside his shirt, trailing fire up the bare skin of his back. He pulled her from the chair and suddenly she was straddling him on the floor, her dressed hitched up. His hands roamed over her bottom. He kissed her mouth again; he couldn't get enough. His hands moved over the silken skin of her shoulder blades and his fingers wrapped around the straps of her dress, pulling them down...
Lupin checked his watch again for the twelth time in as many minutes.
An hour, he told himself. She said she'd only be an hour. She must have gotten held up.
He began to pace. The pleasantness of his bath, the soothing, warming water that had eased the knots in his muscles, was a distant memory. He was tense again. His jaw was set.
Tonks was late.
Two hours since she'd walked out the front door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Two bloody hours of Lupin having to endure visions of her wearing that burgundy velvet dress, seeing her yank up her skirt and giving him a glimpse, just a glimpse, of those scandalous black lace knickers.
His lustful thoughts competed with his worried ones; he was a bit disgusted with himself that his erection still hadn't fully calmed down.
The problem was that the only thing that might make it calm down involved horrifying visions of Tonks lying dead in an alleyway somewhere.
Another fifteen minutes passed. He gave an exasperated sigh and told himself he was being ridiculous. For all he knew she was still at the Ministry party having a good time. But that thought made him jealous, because a part of him didn't WANT her to be having a good time, he wanted her back here. Safe. Away from Kingsley. And preferably wearing something other than that burgundy dress, something that hadn't nearly inspired Lupin- two hours and fifteen minutes earlier-to tear it off her and ravish her right there in the corridor where she'd stood.
Another fifteen minutes passed. Lupin pulled on his ratty pair of Oxfords. It was time to wake Sirius (who had disappeared to somewhere in the house; just where, Lupin couldn't say) and go and search for her. She could be anywhere. She might have even gone back to her own flat. But he couldn't pace around another moment.
He exited his bedroom and started toward the stairs when he heard the soft click of the front door opening.
Tonks was back.
For reasons he didn't understand right then, he stood frozen in place and watched her. She entered the house slowly and closed the door softly behind her. Her robes were wrapped round her tightly. Her movements were tentative; she was trying very hard not to make noise, not to wake the portraits behind the heavy velvet curtain in the foyer.
She didn't start up the stairs, however. She moved toward the door leading to the kitchen.
"Tonks?" Lupin asked, wondering why she'd be going downstairs. Surely she wasn't hungry.
"Remus, hi," she said, her voice sounding oddly hollow. She didn't look up at him, but her eyes were fixed on the floor. "Didn't expect you to be up."
"I couldn't sleep," he said, hurrying down the stairs, sensing instantly that something was very wrong. "I was worried about you."
"That's nice of you," she said, still not looking at him even.
"Tonks," he said, and he put a hand under her chin and tilted her face up.
"Dear god," he gasped. "What happened?"
Her face was a mess. A cut on her left cheek, another above her right eyebrow; the right eye itself was swollen and purple. Her hair was tangled and he saw, to his horror, that her robes were torn.
"You think I look bad," she said, smiling and wincing. "You should see the other guy."
"Good lord, Tonks," he whispered, as she coughed and sank against him. "What happened? Please tell me."
"Mugged," she said, and he felt her trembling through her robes. "On my way home."
"Where was Kingsley?" Lupin demanded, stepping back from her and gripping her shoulders.
"Parted ways just after the party," she said. "He had to get home to his kids. His wife's sick. He offered to walk me home-"
"Why didn't you let him?" Lupin demanded. "You-you were walking round London at this time of night on your own?"
Tonks looked at him and her eyes flashed. "Yes, I was. I can take care of myself."
"I can see that," said Lupin sarcastically, struggling against his inclination to raise his voice. "Good heavens, Tonks. You can't just go wandering round the streets this time of night. A young woman, dressed as you're dressed? You're easy prey."
"Thanks, Remus," Tonks hissed. "I'm glad to see you care enough to lecture me about walking round London looking like a scrubber. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go clean myself up downstairs. Don't want to drip blood on that nice carpet in my bedroom."
She turned on her heel and started down the stairs. She stumbled, but Lupin was faster and he caught her.
"Let go of me, I can walk on my own," she said in a low voice.
"Tonks, dammit, let me help you," said Lupin, still entirely bewildered at her reaction to his concern.
"I told you, I can take care of myself," she snapped, her voice hissing again. She stomped down the stairs and flung open the door to the kitchen. She was limping. Lupin blinked, at a loss for what to do.
"Tonks!" he whispered, then he completed the journey down the stairs and went into the kitchen, shutting the door firmly behind him.
"What?" she snapped. She had pulled off her robes and thrown them on the kitchen table and was filling a glass with water from the sink.
Lupin gasped again. Her dress had been torn in several places. One of the straps was broken. Her right knee was bleeding from a very ugly gash. He felt his heart jump into his throat, and he approached her as she downed the glass of water.
"Tonks, please," he said. "Tell me what happened."
"I told you, I was mugged," she said angrily. "By some very angry Muggle."
"Mugged? Is that it?" he asked, not daring to voice what he was fearing inside.
Tonks was breathing hard. She shifted her weight and winced again, then she looked at him.
"He tried a few other things," she said, biting her lip. "I don't think he'll bug me again, though. Or any other woman, for that matter. Seeing as I used a Severing Charm on his--"
"Jesus, Tonks," said Lupin, blinking hard.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice hard again. "But thank you for your thoughtful advice on how to dress and how not to walk around at night. Because, you know, I'm sure that shithead who attacked me saw me in my slinky little get-up and knew I was just begging for it."
Lupin swallowed, suddenly understanding what had set her off before. "I didn't mean that."
"Didn't you?" she said, turning to the sink and filling her water glass again.
"No," said Lupin firmly. "Tonks, I only meant...you're a young woman and...and being alone at night...is dangerous. That's all I meant."
"I'm perfectly well aware that it's dangerous in London at night," said Tonks. "I grew up here, okay? And I told you, I can take care of myself. As difficult as that is for you to believe. I wasn't kidding before. I may be a mess but you should see that bloke when I was through with him. I didn't go through three years of Auror training for nothing."
Lupin bit his lip, torn at what to say next, or if he should even say anything. Tonks's fierce refusal to believe that she might be vulnerable, that, as a female, she might be in greater danger simply by virtue of her sex, struck him as hopelessly naive. On the other hand, hadn't she averted the worst tonight? Defeated her attacker? And she was an Auror, one of a very small number of witches who were Aurors. Surely that meant she was capable, that she was strong. He was caught between the chivalrous part of him-the part that Tonks would call old fashioned-that wanted only to protect her, and the part of him that knew she would resent it.
"I'm sorry, Tonks," he said at last. "I didn't mean to lecture you. I was...worried. Very worried. I know you're strong. I know you're independent. But can you forgive an old man for caring about you and what happens to you?"
"You're not old," she mumbled, sipping her water. She looked so very young just then. Perhaps it was those dark, loopy ringlets, that were now tangled round her face. Or the way her lips were turned down in a kind of pout.
"You're a mess," said Lupin. "Let me at least help you clean up those cuts."
She looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes were filled with tears.
"I was scared," she said. "I was. But I thought of you and...and I got away."
Lupin swallowed, moved by her admission.
"Come on, sit down," he said softly, pulling a chair away from the table. She did, wincing as she did so, and he quickly filled a kettle and put it on to boil. Then he walked to the freezer and took out some ice cubes and wrapped them in a clean rag. As he crossed back to her, he stopped, opened the pantry, and pulled out a small bar of chocolate.
"Eat a bit of this," he said. "It always helps." He handed her a piece of chocolate
"Chocolate, my favorite remedy," she said, smiling and putting it delicately into her mouth.
"That's a very nasty black eye," he said as he knelt in front of her. He pressed the ice against the bruise. She winced.
"Ouch," she whispered.
"Don't be such a baby," he said, smiling.
"Shut up," she said. He pressed the ice against the bruise and for a moment she closed her eyes.
"Did you really use a Severing Charm?" Lupin asked, pulling the ice away. "On his...uh..."
Tonks giggled. "No," she said. "I didn't end up using my wand at all. That's why I got so beat up. I figured if I did the bloody Ministry'd be after me and cite me for some obscure code violation. And forget the Muggle police. They prob'ly would have taken me for some tart or something." She laughed bitterly.
"You're not any such thing," said Lupin gently, as the kettle began to boil. He poured the hot water into a bowl and took another clean rag and dabbed it into the bowl of steaming water.
"I need to clean your knee," he said. She shifted and pulled up the skirt of her dress. Lupin focused very pointedly on the gash in her knee and did not allow his eyes to wander up her thigh.
"Good one," said Lupin, smiling wryly up at her. "I think it might leave a scar."
"That's all right," said Tonks. "I've got plenty of those. Anyway, I didn't get that fighting him."
"No?"
"No," she said, shaking her head and smiling sheepishly. "Got it about fifty feet from here. Tripped over a ruddy skateboard and went toppling. Have you ever known a bigger klutz than me, Remus?"
"No," said Lupin, smiling, dabbing at the gash on her knee with the rag. She winced again, but said nothing. He cleaned the wound, then noticed she had abrasions on her hands and arms.
"My goodness," he said softly, dabbing at those cuts in turn.
"This is nothing," said Tonks, wincing as he dabbed at a cut on her right elbow. "You should have seen me when I was little. I was a terror on the playground in primary school. The boys were afraid of me. And I gave my Mum no end of headaches, always injuring myself."
"You're quite the tomboy," said Lupin, smiling as he cleaned the rag again in the hot water. "Let me see to that cut on your cheek."
He dabbed very gently at it. She was suddenly sitting very still. Her breath smelled vaguely of chocolate and something else. Amaretto. She blinked as he dabbed, very gently, at the cut on her cheek.
"Think it'll scar?" she asked.
"Probably."
"That's all right," she said. "Scars give a person character I think. And if I get sick of them I can always magic them away."
"Hold still," he whispered, trying not to chuckle, as he continued to dab at the cut. She closed her eyes, and then he moved the rag to the cut over her eyebrow, dabbing at the blood there, cleaning it gently.
She opened her eyes. His hand stopped, the rag still on her eyebrow. For a moment neither of them moved. He didn't breathe.
She reached up and took his hand in hers. With her other hand she took the rag from him and placed it lightly on the table. Some small part of Lupin's brain signaled him to breathe, and he did, very lightly, through his nose, but the rest of him was frozen.
Tonks was looking at him through hooded, dark eyes; the thin film of tears was still there, giving the irises a shiny, almost iridescent appearance. The dim light of the kitchen cast a golden glow on her skin. Her bruised, lacerated skin.
Lupin swallowed; she took his hand and opened it. She looked down at his palm and then traced the lines there with the fingers of her free hand. He felt a jolt of electricity course up his spine.
He should take his hand away. He shouldn't be doing this. Whatever this was. But he was powerless to pull away. He realized vaguely that he was very close to her, that he was on his knees and that they were aching, that her skirt was hitched up.
He felt another jolt as she brought the palm of his hand to her lips. Blood raced to his groin, causing him to strain against his trousers. He sucked in his breath as she ran her lips over the palm of his hand, then sucked in another breath when her tongue brushed along the rough surface of his palm.
Stop, he told himself. Stop, stop, Stop. But now she running his fingers along her lower lip, nibbling on his fingertips. Dear god. He closed his eyes, then opened them when he felt her place the flat of his hand against her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. She was looking at him with glazed eyes, her mouth wet, her lips parted. Not even the cuts and bruises on her face could hide the meaning in her eyes.
Take your hand away! a voice in his head yelled. But she was holding him fast there, and the feel of her skin was burning his palm. She leaned closer to him, still pressing his hand to her skin.
"Tonks," he whispered, his erection fierce and his brain on fire, "we shouldn't..."
"Shouldn't what?" she whispered. So close. Her breath, her chocolate breath on his face. He felt a tiny moan escape his throat when she pushed his hand down to cover her right breast.
"Oh, god," he murmured, opening his eyes. She arched her back slightly, letting her breast fit into his hand, and then she closed her eyes for a moment, opened them, leaned closer to him again.
"We agreed," Lupin said, his hand starting to move on her breast, "...to just be friends..."
"We are friends," she whispered, and she kissed him.
Lupin heard the sharp intake of breath, but whether it was through his nose or hers, he couldn't be sure. His lips were tingling, his hand cupped her breast, her hands were on his face, she was kissing him slowly, her lips exploring his, lightly, gently.
So long, he thought. It had been so damn long. A woman's mouth on his.
But now it was this woman's mouth traveling over his, making feather light kisses as he fondled her breast and she moved her hands into his hair. This young, unpredictable contradiction of a woman that was making his entire body burn and tingle and his erection throb.
And suddenly these light, teasing kisses weren't enough. He had to have her taste in his mouth. He moved his hand from her breast and cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply, hungrily, opening his mouth and crushing it against hers, tasting her with his tongue. He heard a moan in his throat, and another in hers, felt his erection strain against his trousers, and his hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer to him, as he kissed her faster, deeper, wanting to devour her.
"Oh, god," he said again, trailing his mouth over her jaw, to her earlobe, down her neck. His hands found her breasts again, caressed them through the thin fabric of her dress. She moaned and arched her back. He felt the nipples harden against his palms; she wasn't wearing a bra.
"Remus," she sighed, pulling him closer to her, her mouth finding his again.
Stop, stop, stop, a voice in his head shouted. You swore you wouldn't...
But the voice died in his head as he felt her mouth on his neck, felt her hands move inside his shirt, trailing fire up the bare skin of his back. He pulled her from the chair and suddenly she was straddling him on the floor, her dressed hitched up. His hands roamed over her bottom. He kissed her mouth again; he couldn't get enough. His hands moved over the silken skin of her shoulder blades and his fingers wrapped around the straps of her dress, pulling them down...