A/N: This is to warn that the story is, very obviously, RL/SS SLASH at this point. And the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Please stick around after the end of this chapter for an important note from the Author.
Hysterical laughing.
"Severus?"
"Sorry, sorry, ticklish just there."
"That's new. Here?"
Hysterical laughing.
"Stop, stop…oh, don't stop!"
"So fickle."
"Ungh."
"And eloquent."
"Fuck."
"I'm trying."
"Oh do shut up. You were never such a…hhh…talker."
"There was always the chance of being overheard."
"Oh…just…there. Ow, shit."
"What?"
"Bit my tongue."
"Let me kiss it, make it better."
"God, you really are too sentimental."
"Mmm."
"Move your hips. God, you're bony."
"Ha! You're one to talk!"
"I'm wiry. Shut up. You just feel starved."
"Malnourished."
"Because of…ohfuckohfuckjustthere…because of the Changes?"
"Because of years of borderline poverty. Let's change the subject."
"Ungh."
Hysterical laughing.
"Shut up, Remus. God, this is taking forever."
"Now who's being sentimental?"
"No, no, it's nice. But it's taking forever."
"In a hurry to be somewhere?"
"No."
"Good."
The days had flowed into each other during their sabbatical, days filled with quiet words, sunning, reading, a few shouting matches, and even more awkward silences, the closer each came to being comfortable in the other's presence. It would be so easy, so tempting, to fall back into their old routine. Either routine. That of being lovers, or that of being enemies. But it was a small island, a dreadfully peaceful place, and boring beyond all belief for two grown men accustomed to nearly unbearable challenges. That is how they found themselves, two days before they were to return to work, fairly pasted to each other in the bed Severus had claimed, loosely holding each other, avoiding questions and the other's eyes. It was ridiculous, Severus mused, that he should feel so…fragile. If he had put much value on this physical act, he reasoned, he wouldn't have fell into it with little caution, or even deliberation. Granted, he had wanted, on some level, to have Remus, to possess him in this way, for months. Years even, if he was honest with himself. Some of that longing had been a kind of darkness, an ugliness in him. He'd wanted to fuck Remus, all bodies and sweat and cum and maybe, maybe even blood. Nothing violent. No, Severus wouldn't wish that on him, not for anything. But, in his weakest hours, when he just been healed from the most sullying of punishments, and his mind inevitably turned to a fruitless wish to be held by less malevolent arms, his reaction would be, nine times out of ten, to fantasize about the one person who may have been able to comfort him in that intimate way, and to dream about ripping him apart, just so someone else in this sordid fairy tale would feel a tenth of what he did. But not all of his wants concerning Remus Lupin had been colored by what he now conceptualized his psychosis. Some nights, when he was alone, and increasingly since Remus had come back into his life, he would remember the warmth of the man. And he would appreciate his present humor, his careless kindness, his willingness to forgive, his determination to get on with his life, despite all obstacles and all manner of people telling him that he wasn't worth it. Severus appreciated his tenacity, and, being warm-blooded, and lonely, and all those human things that his students would always refuse to see in him, he also appreciated the gentle face, the expressive eyes, the slim build. The man. And the memories of the man's body.
So why did he feel…anything? Did he feel anything? They had had a nice afternoon touring the island one last time. They had cooked on the beach, on a grill, and Severus had allowed himself to laugh with Remus at their failures when faced with the wind and sand and birds. They had played Muggle chess. They had argued about music and then what television program to put on to distract them. They had recalled a "date" they'd had when they were younger, a tryst that was nearly discovered by Minerva. And glances were thrown, and silent invitations to touch issued and accepted, and what had seemed an impossibility weeks before was suddenly an inevitability and it happened. But now, Severus was wondering what had possessed him to throw in with a werewolf that had been proven a danger to his sanity. He didn't know what Remus was thinking, and that annoyed him even more. Even more than the awkward quiet, and even more than the fact that he was feeling, and acting, less and less like himself each day.
"I didn't think it could be like this," Remus said softly, the first to break the silence.
"How do you mean?"
"You…I don't know. I thought, after…everything…that this would be harder for you. Us," he answered lamely, broadly gesturing to the bed, their bodies, their sweat. The act.
"Didn't you think it would loosen me up?" Severus countered sharply, knowing that he was taking it wrongly but disgusted all the same by this enduring trait in Lupin to automatically assume that, just because it was within his power to destroy someone with a single act, it was always his fault. And to ask the important questions too late.
Remus just sighed and pried his arm from beneath Severus's back.
"Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities," Severus continued, knowing that this was in character, this systematic destruction of every bit of happiness and calm that condescended to associate with the pathetic creature he was. "If you object to being associated with a whore then I suggest you look elsewhere. Don't worry about me, I've a whole line of people ready to fuck me, some with bigger cocks and more knowledge of how to use them. Granted, they aren't alive come morning, but it's a long line, believe you me. You aren't doing me any favors."
"Are you done?"
"Yes."
And then Remus's tongue was in his mouth, his hands running through his hair, fingers flexing, petting. And then, Remus's head was flinging back and a spray of blood arching up, and pain shooting up Severus's arm, spreading from his knuckles.
"Shit!" Remus hissed through fingers, his hand cupping his mouth, tentatively feeling out his split lip.
Severus just buried his face in his hands and drew his knees to his chest, not caring that the sheet fell away, that he was naked and incredibly vulnerable beside a man who he had just made his enemy. He didn't care because he saw blood and felt the burn in his ass and he was back in those meeting halls with black robes and sibilant laughs and glazed eyes staring at him as if he was nothing, because he was nothing, he wasn't even there, he was a hole to them, and they'd wake and they'd be sorry and they'd be dead but he was still nothing.
The sun was lower in the sky when he could see light again. He was still curled into himself on the bed, but Remus had obviously lied him on his side and covered him up, had cast a cleaning charm or even wiped him down with a damp cloth. He was dry now, clean, warm. A far cry from where his mind had taken him that time.
"You know," came Remus's quiet, hoarse voice from the shadows, "most of the mistakes of my life, they were because I failed to act. I've never actively fucked up before."
Severus wanted to comfort him. He didn't know why, and really, he didn't know how, but he still wanted to. Only, he couldn't. He couldn't speak. So Remus went on.
"I don't know what I expected. No, I expected you to refuse me. I wanted…I wanted you. Not just the Severus I remembered, but you. As you are. But…I don't know, Severus. I thought you'd do what you thought best, for yourself. Which is where I fucked up, apparently, because when have you ever done what's best for you? You, you always take the hard road. And you've done it this time, by God. I've never been someone's hard road before. At least, I don't think I have. I've never really been anyone's anything before. Or since…since you. Do you have any idea what I'm saying? Because I don't. I don't. It wasn't my decision to make, whether you were ready for this or not, but maybe I should have made it. You wouldn't have thanked me for it, but…tell me what to do here, Severus. I care about you. I enjoy being with you, when you are with me. I'd like to be with you more. I'd like to go back to the school and know that I can come by your rooms sometime and talk about things and be as close to you as you let me. I'd like to be there for you, too. But I don't want to be a complication in your life, or a punishment, or a liability. So. Tell me what to do."
Remus was hovering near his side of the bed, Severus noticed. He noticed that it had become "his side of the bed" in his mind, something of an indication that things had already progressed beyond what he'd normally be comfortable with. But then, he thought of all the things that he was comfortable with. Dark rooms. Stone walls. Hatred. Fear. Pain. These things had become constants for him, familiars. Dumbledore had always warned him, but he'd never realized just how much he'd come to depend on these…carcinogens. They were always there, they kept him safe, and they demanded nothing of him other than his company. It was such a cowardly way of life. Severus had never realized. He'd never…
"Sit down," he sighed, breaking off his thoughts to ease the wariness in Remus's eyes that he'd only just noticed. What did he feel for this man? They got on well enough, when sequestered from the many roles they were asked to play. They both had an affinity for academia. They'd loved each other, once, in the way of adolescents. Play love, desperate for the real thing, but it was closer to anything worthy than Severus had come since. And Remus was kind. And he had a soft face, softer eyes. Strong hands. And if he had enough patience and fortitude to survive a friendship with Black, he just may be able to weather a relationship with him. But Severus had left certain things too late, and he didn't know how to rectify his failings, except to eviscerate himself and let Remus deal with the fallout. So he pulled himself up, waited for Remus to sit down on the edge of the bed, and began.
"You wanted me to talk to you about my last meeting. You wished for it, but I wouldn't, not because I was unwilling to think about it, but because I did not want to forever be this broken man in your mind's eye. No matter how things ended between us, years ago, or how we've changed, a part of me always hoped that, some days, you could close your eyes and see me as a better person than I am right now. But now, well, you've seen me like this. So I have to tell you what happened, or you'll imagine the worst, when really, it's not. It's not. You seem to be focused on the rapes. Maybe that's a normal reaction, from your position, but…when these things happen, it's only pain. It's easy for me…you must be able to imagine how easy it is for me to make everything about pain. There's no…emotion to it. No, sometimes, there is. Sometimes, I can't help but feel…raped. But most times, it's only physical pain, because I know that no one is taking away anything from me. I chose this life, Remus. I choose it. I made a decision, a moral stand, and a commitment to certain beliefs, and I put everything I am on the line to defend these things I believe in. I do know what this war is, despite what I may have said. And because I go into these situations knowing that it's probable that…unpleasant things will be put upon me, I am not being robbed of anything. It's my choice. And most nights, I remember that. My reaction to the last meeting…it wasn't about rape. It was about this growing trend of pain and memories, this habit of my mind to recall certain things based on visual prompts. Lately, as I attend more and more meetings and come home battered, I can connect certain things that I see, at night, to memories that I've always thought…incorruptible. Seeing my hands like that…this whole life I have, good and bad, I've built with my hands. And there was that damned animated skeleton, which I'd found amusing, and there was that time when my mother said I had beautiful hands, and there were all the memories of…touching. Touching you, especially. Juxtaposing joy with such…brutality…I don't know. It cracked me. Overloaded my senses, I suppose. Just like this evening, being in a…good moment, with you, and then I had to open my mouth and you had to push a little too far and I hit you and saw blood and I…I remembered times when it wasn't just pain, it was real and invasive and frightening, and jumping from being loved to being raped, so suddenly, it…it cracked me, again. I think…I think I'll be back to myself once I find a way to stay in one place. Right now, I feel like I'm on that fucking boat again, on the ocean, tossed in the waves. I feel powerless, and I can't go into those damned meetings feeling like that, because then I will be powerless. And if that happens, I'll never come back. It'll be over. I just need to…I need to be anchored to the moments I want to remember, but able to move off to a place of no memory, when the storm comes in."
"Tell me what to do," Remus repeated softly, not letting Severus take the easy way out, though God knows what was easy about what he'd just done.
"Hold on to me," Severus answered, unable to keep from sounding ashamed by his need. His want. But Remus forgave him that, as he knew he would, and settled into the bed just behind him, wrapping his arm loosely about his waist and fitting his forehead against the base of his neck. When he whispered, it was low and warm and cold all at once, and it made Severus grip his hand in his own, pulling it up to his heart.
"I've got you."
End of Part One!
A/N: Yes, end of Part I. It seemed the best place to wrap this up. I am working on the second segment of this story, which begins with our boys returning to Hogwarts and their everyday lives. And I do plan to post again soon, once I have a few more chapters under my belt, as long as there is a DEMAND for more. If not, well, I'll probably write the bloody thing anyway, because that's what I do, but it'll take a long long time. And I do realize that there are several issues in this story line that need resolving, or at least more consideration, but, like I said…this was the best place to take a pause. A Caesura, if you will.
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