Of Truths Chapter 6: Octavius, a harry potter fanfic

Don't hurt meh! shields self

Anywho, new chapter and it's been . . . a year. I wholeheartedly apologise, but it's been a hectic year. I would like to thank Leightning for unconcously kicking my ass into shape! Xie xie! -- (Guess who has Chinese classes! XD) No Sirius or Darius in this chapter, sorry. But, there is pr0n. I do hope that makes up for it! :3

Of Truths

Chapter 6: Octavius

"I see you every day, Professor," Flint said casually. "I see those looks you give him, all that special treatment."

Remus was scandalized, revolted, at this and he was sure his face expressed it for that damned simper tugged back further, now resembling a sneer. He was sure he treated Rossi no different from how he treated his other pupils; he didn't know the boy enough not to. All right, so possibly he had let a few missed assignments slide for the boy once every blue. He was a pleasant student and was attentive and sweet. He deserved a bit of first-class treatment from time to time. That certainly didn't mean that he lusted for him, though.

"I believe that it is only a few minutes to curfew; you should leave," he replied evenly, resuming his seat and returning to the papers he was previously grading. Flint's right shoulder was still in his line of view, however.

He then felt the heat and smelt the sourness of Flint's breath. He sat erect as the other inclined forward and whispered dangerously close to his ear: "He's really good from what I hear. He'll do just about anything you could possibly want." Remus inhaled sharply through his nose. Flint's hand rose to his shoulder as he moved closer, his lips scratchy against his earlobe. "So what are you waiting for? He's young, he's willing – take him."

Remus imagined Rossi then: bent over his desk, slim hips raised into the air, the pale cheeks of his arse flushed red. He was looking back at him over his shoulder, his lank hair plastered to his cheek by perspiration. "Come get me," he said. Remus swallowed thickly, heat flooding his face as he tried to uphold his rationality – he's your student, he's underage, he's a boy.

"Get out," he commanded softly, his voice wavering slightly.

Flint looked as if he desired to speak farther on the subject, but alternatively settled for a chaste, "Aren't you supposed escort me?"

"Get out!" Remus bellowed, the two-syllable phrase ringing off the cavernous walls of the classroom.

Flint was unfazed, however, and left without another word, though he did bear a rather content smirk upon his face.

Remus looked at the man sitting across from and, no, he hadn't changed much from when he was his student. His hair was just a tad longer, but other than that naught was different about him, and that was not consoling the slightest, he decided. He hadn't anticipated meeting him ever again, even more in a shady pub like this. He'd stopped here for a simple drink after spending a week straight with Greyback's pack, when he waltzed in casually and spotted him in the crowd. He welcomed himself to Remus' table and Remus couldn't very well drive him away.

The awkwardness was instantaneous.

"What are you doing here?" Remus inquired after awhile, trusting that his words didn't come off as inhospitable as they had sounded to him. Octavius Rossi smiled mildly, sitting just a bit straighter in his seat; he didn't seem to recognise it the slightest, or had elected to politely dismiss it, for which Remus was grateful.

"I'm expecting someone; we were set to meet here about this time—" He broke into a morose sigh and took a sip of his hard drink. "—but, as always, he's fashionably late." Octavius shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in disbelief.

Remus shifted a bit, these words leaving his lips before he realised they were even there: "Is he another one of your 'conquests'?" The spite was heavy in his words and he cut the sentence short; he wished to say more, he truly did, but he wouldn't allow anything more to slip. He was above revenge. He'd lost many to it; from their illustration he'd learned young to never sink that low, especially for something as meaningless as this.

Octavius perked up for a moment, his eyes grinning rascally, presenting his true self for the first time that night. "This," he said, eyebrow twitching, "This is going to be interesting, isn't it?"

Remus inexplicably shuddered.

"Class dismissed."

There was a chorus of shuffling parchment and the scuffling of shoe soles and chair legs across the stone floor as the seventh year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs rose from their seats, collecting their belongings to depart. They queued at the door as they were now instructed to do with the Sirius Black scare, and he stood behind them, observant. What Flint had said was behind him, as well as the entire situation with Rossi. With Sirius' ripe attack on the Fat Lady -- poor girl -- he had much more important things on his mind than some teenager's cruel little joke. Yet, as his fate was, it was no one other than Rossi who had decided to walk up to him at that moment.

"Professor Lupin?"

Remus flinched slightly; he recognised the voice at once. But he smiled politely at the boy beside him. "Yes, Mr. Rossi?" Flint's words raided his mind without delay: "He's young, he's willing -- take him," he'd said. Rossi looked so brilliant and promising and though he wasn't that much of a looker he still held this air of such a good-natured and casual personality that one could eventually look past that. Eventually. "All's well, I hope?"

Rossi nodded with a bright smile, his teeth not beautifully aligned, but not too far off. He swept a lock of his hair behind his ear and asked coyly, "Professor, I had a query on the kappas, a . . . theory rather. I was wondering if I could perhaps discourse it with you after class?" Remus stared at him for a moment, eyes raking the boy—Is he proposing what I think he's proposing . . .— and he knitted his eyebrows at what he saw.

"We could always discuss it during class tomorrow, Octavius," he offered, but the student shook his head.

"No, sir," he said, smiling bashfully, "My thoughts, you see, are a bit obscure and lengthy, I admit. I would rather pass it through you first than squander precious class time. I sincerely like your class, Professor," he contributed.

Remus opened his mouth but, unable to think of a decent excuse without wounding his feelings, closed it and nodded in vanquish with a sigh. "Sure," he said tiredly, "Let me just escort them to their dorms and then we can talk, all right?"

Octavius beamed and nodded.

How Octavius perched himself on the arm of the chair Remus was sitting in without said lycanthrope noticing was beyond him.

Remus didn't mind it very much, seeing that a mere twenty minutes earlier this boy was practically pressing himself against the wall of his office, so fidgety he attempted to be as far away from his teacher as possible in the small room. To finally see the boy at ease in his presence was consoling to Remus. Remus should have realised that things would be going wrong too fast once the topic of kappa mating rituals arose from the boy's mouth, but he disregarded it as mere wonder; his past conversation with Flint nonexistent for the moment and then Rossi was nothing more than a inquisitive student.

"But is it possible for a kappa to mate with a human?" Octavius asked, eyes bright, his erect stance from once they'd first sat replaced by his slouching. "I mean, even though they are, well, demons, is it possible that the offspring would be able to insinuate itself with humans?"

Remus laughed gently to himself, his cheek in his hand; Octavius looked just a bit offended. "It is possible," he assured him, "But, really, I doubt one would necessarily want to mate with a kappa. You have to admit, Octavius, they aren't the most alluring choice in a mate." Octavius laughed loudly and Remus snickered.

"You're awful!"

"You have to admit they're hideous, Octavius," he added, "Especially if the one choosing is human." He fell into another bout of snickers, but Octavius' dwindled as he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. Remus glanced up at him and froze.

The boy leaned in suddenly, dark eyes half-lidded, and Remus' heart began to drum faster until it was a galloping racehorse. The Wolf became interested in mere seconds, clawing and sniffing its way to Remus' resolve, and though it hadn't gotten to his rationality just yet, his body was glistening with cold sweat, trembling just the slightest. And soon Octavius had become the most handsome thing in his life with his fair, black eyes, his dark hair curved behind his ears. Those lips, a deep pink which was a drastic change from his almost pasty skin, curved into a very subtle smirk.

Remus kept his jaw tight, trying to intimidate the boy and knock some kind of sense into him, but Rossi's hand slid up the length of the head of the armchair until it paused just past Remus' neck and he was all the more closer. Remus swallowed and glanced up at the boy who hovered over him, his head lowered so that if Remus chose to raise his chin just the slightest, their lips would touch which was surely not the appropriate conduct of a Hogwarts teacher. His jaw lowered just a bit in preparation of demanding what in the hell was he doing, but the words simply would not come forth and he appeared as though he were goggling.

Rossi's smirk twisted more and he leaned down further until his nose brushed so very lightly against his teacher's that the touch was nearly nonexistent. Remus exhaled slowly despite himself but he couldn't tear his widened eyes away. "Professor," he said, his voice dropping in pitch in volume. "What if I told you that—" There was a pause as Rossi rearranged his legs until the heels of his shoes insinuated themselves in the crevice in between Remus' left thigh and the chair's arm that was opposite from the one he sat on. The fact that the boy was dirtying his armchair with his shoes briefly fluttered through Remus' mind.

Remus swallowed as Rossi got all the more closer to sitting in his lap. "If--If you told me what, Mr. Rossi?" He already knew. The heat and arousal pulsed off the boy's skin in such quantity and with such potency that he could pick it up with his own human senses. Desire pooled at his groin and he could feel himself unwillingly harden at the careful and indiscreet actions. This was the Wolf's desire he reminded himself; his sanity, still intact, helped to define between the two.

The other, however, did not respond, his attentions averted to the slowly shaping bulge against the underside of his shin. He glanced up at his teacher who blushed a muted pink, his mouth opening ever the slightest as he whispered, "What if I told you that I really desired you?" He pulled a knee back and kneaded the tent in Remus' frayed robes with the metal heel of his school shoes. Remus gave a razor-sharp intake of breath, his hand instinctively shoving it away and shielding his erection, his eyes snarling at the younger, glittering madly. Rossi smirked, leaned in just a bit more, and imparted in an even lower tone than before, "Apparently you desire me as well."

Remus couldn't voice his denial as his lips were sealed with the boy's who'd crossed the remaining centimetres between them. Rossi's tongue slithered its way through his lips, but his victory was short-lived after encountering two rows of solidly clenched teeth. He pulled back, disappointed, and Remus pressed his lips together. "I think you should leave," he gritted, forcing Rossi's legs away. The boy only smiled, however, and slid into his lap and straddled his teacher with serpentine grace. Remus gasped at the weight added to his weeping erection, and even more at the erection that pressed into his abdomen as Rossi steadied himself, his hands on his shoulders. "Rossi . . ."

Rossi chuckled, his eyes drunken with arousal and power, and he pressed a finger to his lips, whispering against his ear, "Shh. Just relax, Professor." He rocked his arse against Remus' groin and the elder bit off his groan a little too late. This was wrong, but so delightfully wrong. He wanted it to end and for Rossi to just go away yet didn't want him to leave, wanted to fuck the boy's arse raw. As his arousal heightened, as his sense of self dwindled, he became more serious to push the other away, calloused hands clutching those thin forearms tightly.

"Rossi—Octavius," he urged, "Please, don't do—" His breaths were coming out in sharp puffs as those spidery fingers unclasped his patched robes and shoved them open to his pale chest. He damned himself; he was permitting this to happen. There was a dark, thin scar amidst smaller ones that started at his bellybutton, veered upward diagonally, then disappeared in the shadows his robes made at his side. A finger traced it gently, tentatively, and Remus' eyes followed it, 'stop's and 'don't's replaced by silence. Octavius paused suddenly. Remus glanced up at him and found the other eying the scar carefully before Octavius' fingers left his chest altogether and thumbed the clasp of his own robes.

"You are so scarred," he murmured, toying with the button on his robes between his thumb and forefinger. Remus' breath hitched as the clasp was undone, allowing him to see the white, unmarred, yet thin abdomen beneath, and blamed the fact that he wanted to touch him so badly, hands twitching, entirely on the Wolf whose yellow eyes gazed at the boy hungrily through Remus'. I'm letting it do this, he ranted, I'm. letting. it. do. this. To one of his students no less. Octavius leaned in and Remus panicked (Stop, stop, stop!) and he whispered in his ear, breath hot and herb-scented and lips scratchy and chapped against the shell of his ear, "That is so hot. You make me so hard, Professor."

God, he was talking dirty, that adolescent, artless kind of dirty. That bold, stating-the-obvious kind of dirty. That was—That was—That was so inexplicably naughty, especially for a man his age. It reminded him of all the school months of shagging his long-term girlfriend in broom closets and summers of fucking his neighbour's son or his brother in the woods behind their childhood home. His cock pulsed and he swallowed again. "Does—Does it?" he stammered finally, his voice a bit higher than usual. Octavius nodded, a devious grin catching his lips. "Yeah," he murmured, "Oh hell yeah."

To hell with this, Remus thought, though it sounded more like the Wolf than himself. And soon his, 'He's a student, he's underage, he's a boy,' turned to 'He's here, he's in his underwear, what the hell.' He swallowed his pride and said quietly, "You-You make me hard, too, Octavius." His rationality protested against this insanity, but he ignored it, thrusting his hips up, demonstrating him just how hard he made him. Octavius murmured a small, "Mmm," and encircled his arms around his teacher's neck, drawing him into another kiss.

"Mm, the guys never do things like this to me," Octavius sighed, pushing his arse back just a bit more. He wriggled it just a bit, looking back at Remus with sated eyes. "But then they don't fuck as hard as you do, Professor," he breathed, his hand clawing for the roll of condoms he'd had concealed in his sock earlier.

Remus realised, after shagging the boy in half in his lap, that that wasn't just for the affair. No, from the way Octavius rocked against his thrusts and moaned filthy encouragements through scarlet lips, that had to be an everyday habit, stuffing those condoms in his socks. He was prepared to fuck anytime and anywhere; that realisation rekindled his erection mere minutes after his release and seconds before Octavius pulled him to the floor for another bout.

Remus flicked his tongue at the gorgeous pink pucker that twitched in expectancy, pulling a groan from his throat. "Never?" he asked breathlessly, lightly snipping at the tender flesh of the buttock he laid his cheek against. His tongue tingled with the consistent taste of his bitter seed and the sweetness of youth. He cupped the mound, licking at the flesh sloppily.

Octavius moaned like a wanton slut. "No. Never." He reached back for him and clutched his hair. "Now, go on."

He chuckled and pressed his face in again, his tongue finally breaching the ring of muscle, his hand slipping in between his legs and toying with his sac. He really didn't need to do this; he was nice and stretched for him from their tryst not long ago, but he—the Wolf—loved the writhing and the needy moans and sighs the boy gave. Octavius gasped and groaned, his head hitting the stone floor, rasping softly, "That is so disgusting!" and Remus laughed again. He continued at a faster pace, thrusting his tongue in and out of the puckered hole, watching the boy's erection bob with each grind of Octavius' hips against his face.

"Oh, Salazar," Octavius breathed, "God that feels good."

The boy's thin fingers fisted himself tightly, and with a few jerking strokes he was coming in hard bursts with a sigh, his back arching slightly. Remus pulled back onto his haunches, savouring the moist sound of Octavius milking himself of the remainder of his orgasm before slumping forward onto his folded arms, his arse raised high in the air. Remus' cock twitched within the confines of his underwear and he kneaded it with the ball of his hand, wiping the trail of saliva that tickled him as it trickled down his chin with the back of the other.

Take him, the Wolf urged, Take him again.

Remus eyed the roll of condoms that laid forgotten by Octavius' splayed hand.

He wants it again, boy. Give him what he wants.

Octavius gave a long sigh, falling to his side, the arm of the shoulder he lay on covering his face. But not his eyes. They burned in his direction, his lips curling slightly.

Why are you hesitating? the Wolf growled, You didn't hesitate earlier.

I did in fact hesitate, Remus wanted to remind him. And he wasn't in the right mind when he first shagged him. That almost painful arousal and hunger he had for the younger earlier seemed to vanish suddenly, like he'd just woken from a trance. There was something very wrong here . . .

"Professor, I can help you with that if you like," Octavius piped up suddenly, nodding to the bulge in his underwear. Remus frowned as the boy crept toward him, his hips swaying with extreme exaggeration. At the sight of his face, heat began to pool in his groin and the lust returned tenfold, striking him head on. Octavius pressed up against him and nipped at his throat, fingering the other's erection, and Remus groaned, his mind melting into the sensation.

Octavius laughed suddenly, tracing the waistband of the underwear. "We were so randy you didn't take this off, did you? You just shoved it down." He laughed again and pulled the clothing down.

Then that heat engulfed Remus, swallowing him, sucking him greedily, tongue licking skillfully. Remus gasped; he pulled out, then pushed back in, out, in, out, in. His lazy pace increased, his hands clutching the lank hair as he neared his release with every thrust in—

There was a click and a flash of light.

Remus didn't have time to react, his orgasm hitting him full force, filling that mouth with his seed, head thrown back. Once he lowered from his high, however, his mind cleared and he became aware of the odd occurrence that had happened mid-orgasm. He stiffly looked up in the sound's direction.

"Dear Merlin, no."

Flint laughed sharply, fingers fiddling around the Wizard camera. No, no this couldn't be happening. He was dreaming surely? No human could be so cruel as to pull something like this. "Told you Rossi was up for anything," Flint stated, flashing crooked teeth. He nodded to said man. "Come here you little slut." Remus glanced at Octavius, eyes wide, and he could have sworn he'd died at that moment in that spot.

Octavius was grinning deviously from ear to ear, his thumb brushing come from his cheek and dipping it into his mouth. He licked his lips obscenely and those eyes; they glinted at him, a reflection of nonexistent flames against the black irises. Remus' body trembled as Rossi slid gracefully up from the floor, sauntering over to his apparent lover still completely nude. He leaned up against his man, splaying his hand on his chest, and Flint smirked, a possessive hand skittering down his spine to the curve of his buttocks, squeezing it lecherously.

And somehow, beneath the sudden surge of anger and hatred and shame, Remus felt just a wee bit envious.

"Hate me? What reason do you have to hate me?" Remus demanded, his tone wavering from its calm state, a result from the line of drinks they'd had. "You got what you wanted, didn't you? You got to shag the rookie teacher, took your little pictures, and then got fucked by Flint. What, did you want more? Did you wish for me to pay for your services?"

Octavius gave a bitter smile, his eyebrows knitting together. He couldn't stop the light laugh that left his lips. "You're wrong, Lupin. You ruined it all for me." He slumped in his seat and shook his head slightly in disbelief, his lank hair swaying. "Everything seemed perfect, y'know? I mean, right after we left your office he shagged me right next to the door. I was positively ecstatic. His cock," he added airily, "was twice as thick as that pathetic one I had earlier." Remus gave him a bitter smirk and Octavius flashed it twofold.

"But then, after a week or so, I couldn't stop looking in your direction." Octavius laughed at the raised eyebrow that was sent his way. "Don't get full of yourself now, Lupin. You just looked so sad one couldn't help but to look. It was even worse when Marc shared the pictures. Those birds didn't flock around you for extra help, you know. They just wanted a hit of the teacher who was so eager to shag ugly old' Rossi." He shrugged.

"So, how is this my fault?" asked Remus, though, really, he already knew. He knew Flint enough to know his actions.

Octavius sighed and stared longingly at the door. "Marcus thought I felt guilty for what we did to your sorry arse. And more, he thought I favoured your cock to his gorgeous piece of art." He turned back to Remus, taking a long drag from his fag. "Ate me out the Tuesday a week after. Called me a good-for-nothing slut. I got to thinking, y'know, if he was shagging a slut like me, I must be worth a bit of something." He took another drag and ground it in the astray. "I anticipated worse, so it was all right."

He spoke so nonchalantly about it; had Remus been in his place he would've been torn.

"But how is that my fault?"

"You looked so fucking pathetic, I couldn't turn myself away!" Octavius said, turning his head to him aggressively, his voice a great contrast from his laid back tone from when last he spoke. "You should have been a man and went on with life! No one needs to know how you feel; you should've hid it. How do you think I faced Flint after he just dumped me like that? Think I cried? Think I begged? No! I faced him head-on like a true man and took it. I wanted to cry so hard, Lupin. I truly wanted to get down on my knees and beg." His voice became hoarse and he turned his head slightly, subtly. "But I didn't."

Remus eyed him carefully, taking another swig from his bottle. It wasn't as strong as Firewhiskey and he truly wished it was. Octavius splayed his hand over his face; tears were clearly apparent brimming his eyes, gleaming in the dim light in the pub.

"Would apologizing be of any help?" Remus asked after a while, but Octavius said sharply, "Piss off."

Octavius sloppily wiped his eyes with his wrist and Remus felt . . . nothing. Nothing at all. No sympathy of the slightest. He was alarmed; he felt absolutely nothing for the boy. Nothing -- nothing but hatred. He didn't differ from Tonks that very much, not in personality, but Remus had never felt this . . . this deep, pulsating hate. He loved Tonks, loved her every way possible, but then, he had felt the same for many others. And, though he truly hated to acknowledge it, he even sympathised with Wormtail, the man, his friend, who betrayed Lily and James so swiftly to save his own tail. He could sympathise and empathise with all, though it was mainly involuntarily.

But Octavius was another story. He could only feel sheer loathing for him, and that, as awful as it sounded, was refreshing.

Arousing.

"I hate you," his former student said coldly, shaking his head, his lips pulled back in a sneer. "I hate you so much, Lupin." He finally managed to face the other man and attempted to take a sip from his glass, but it turned out to be empty. He placed it down in distaste.

Remus smiled and poured the rest of his bottle into Octavius' glass. Octavius looked up at him in question, but Remus captured his lips before he could expel a sound of any sort. The younger went rigid yet once he finally chose to react, opening his mouth slightly, Remus pulled away, a grin on his lips. He slammed the cost of his and the younger's drinks down onto the table as he stood. "The feeling is mutual, trust me," he responded, walking past him to the exit. With every step he could feel those dark eyes follow him, even as the door swung shut.

Once Lupin disappeared, Octavius stared at the liquor the elder had poured into his glass. They clearly hated one another, unbelievably, but then what was it that he was feeling? He licked his lips, light traces of liquor still upon them from Lupin' kiss. What did this mean, this quick beating of his heart, this aroused pulsing in the curve of his thighs? His eyes snapped back and forth from his glass to the exit repeatedly; a part of him wanted to go after him whilst the other felt that he should stay put.

"The feeling is mutual," he had said. He got a strange, fluttering feeling in his chest at the words.

He looked around the bar, and then to the table. He spotted the notes Lupin had put down thoughtfully and . . . wait. Octavius recounted once more and calculated the cost of their drinks. He'd paid for both of their drinks, including the one he held in his in his fist. Was it possible that, maybe, this was a proposition? He glanced up at the exit for a second and . . . could it . . . yes, Merlin, it was! He could see the arm of Lupin's worn, frayed leather jacket just where the window ended.

Lupin was waiting for him.

Octavius never thought he could move so fast.

Remus grinned at the man who panted before him, eyes bright and jacket clutched in his hand. He pushed off the wall and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Octavius launched himself at him, smothering his lips with his own. And Remus kissed him back, his hands reaching out for the thinner body and drawing it against him, his hand cupping the back of Octavius' neck and kissing him brutishly, the hardest he'd never thought he'd achieve. He, however, did not anticipate the hands groping the buttons of his trousers.

"What are you doing?" he whispered loudly, though, really, the erection encased behind the placket of buttons didn't mind doing this out in the open and throbbed. Octavius glanced around before pulling Remus into the alley beside them by the collar of his jacket, shoving him against the wall with another kiss. "This better?" he rasped against his lips, not waiting for the nod before he sank to his knees and tore at the trousers once again.

Octavius nuzzled Remus' underwear, hot breath making the prick beneath twitch in anticipation. Remus hissed when the younger's tongue darted out and dragged along the blue-cotton outline of his erection and clutched the tendrils of dark hair. "Do it," he urged, rubbing himself against those lips desperately. "Do it." Dark eyes slid up to him, half-lidded, followed by a satisfied smirk, before fingers pulled down the pants. He swallowed the prick whole, to the sodding hilt, his nose squashed into the coarse, brown hair.

Remus moaned, his eyes closing, and it was just so nasty, getting his pecker sucked in an alley just beside a pub and even more by one of his former students. The sheer sinfulness of it was scrumptious, and god, though he scorned this boy horribly he'd missed this mouth. Octavius made a show of it, too, clenching his hips firmly, moaning lecherously around the prick in his mouth with brilliant overstatement, and his hand was shoved down his own trousers. It didn't take long before Remus was stabbing into that wet heat, grunts and groans freely stumbling from his lips and he was -- ohgodfuckyes -- coming, exploding in hot bursts, arching his spine just a bit off the wall. His growl resounded about the alleyway for a moment before escaping into the distance.

It wasn't until the little tremors ceased and his breathing calmed that he spread open his eyes again, only to be greeted by the flushed and debauched face of Octavius Rossi, swallowing his seed easily, his cock, peeking out from his opened grey trousers, flaccid and wet, liquid on his left hand glistening in the streetlight. With shaky hands, Remus hastily tucked himself back in, buttoned the placket, and Octavius stood and did the same, sighing in content. When they kissed, it was bitter but made more pleasant by the languid fondling of their tongues, Remus accepting the other in his arms again. Octavius cut it short, however, and pulled back with a grin.

It was easy for Octavius to recall how demanding Marcus could get at times. Though their 'relationship' survived no longer than a few weeks, the sex was practically nonstop, from early morning grinding in Octavius' dormitory to five minute head in-between classes in the loo to evening shags before and after the final meal of the day in the old Transfiguration classroom. Brief though their relationship, Octavius was bent over enough times for him to imagine that had been months instead of weeks.

He could simply close his eyes at times (just after silencing his alarm clock, during work behind the secretary desk, while Malfoy clutches his thigh and pulls his legs apart, just when Daniel glides his hands down his hips, in the bath, in bed) and think of that blissful time, of all the times Marcus shoved him against the bookshelves in the library or forced him to his knees in the showers or kissed with that dangerously sharp tongue of his after Quidditch matches and practices. That was how he was in school: desperate, passionate, aching for Marcus to bite him right there again.

But then Marcus tripped him and pounded his face in the dirt with the heel of the boot that Octavius used to love to feel pressing into the small of his back. But, in truth, for once in his brutish life, Marcus didn't use his wand or his fists to get his message through. He had used words, sharp though he was quite dull, booming though stuttered and inarticulate from envy and anger.

Though the lack of wounds was a relief, in the end Octavius would have felt much better if Marcus had beat him in the dust; he'd have a reason to allow the tears the burned his eyes to fall. But he didn't, so no tears were shed. Crying would have slaughtered a record he'd held for quite some time, anyway: no tears for years. Just bright smiles and invitations of liquor and sex. That was how he settled things, even at the age of fifteen. It was simple and quick and always worked in the end.

So, Octavius moved on.

And found himself in Lucius Malfoy's bed a mere two weeks after he left Hogwarts. Well, not his bed, per se, but more of his dining room table, after a five-sodding-courses with really good wine. During sex Lucius was rough yet still calculating, muttering things in-between thrusts that Octavius (a fork digging into his back, a glorious piece of chocolate lace cake mushed against his neck, robes bunched up and his legs wound around Lucius' waist, left hand limp beside him, drenched and sticky with red wine, a wineglass shard lodged in the palm) wondered if he even realised what he was saying. But it felt so good, and he was still high from the wine, moaning, lips moving but nothing that even resembled the English language. He had passed out seconds after coming, and when he awoke, drowsy and clean, a bouncy house elf looking up at him with watery eyes and a note in its hand, he had a job.

Where he met Daniel. Octavius had already settled into his job of three months when the man sauntered up to the desk with the smug grin that Octavius had learned to hate, though at that time had flushed slightly from. He'd recognised him from a Wizard tabloid the girls often bought (which he skimmed); being the husband of one of the most powerful witches in Britain got him plenty of publicity. He leaned over the desk and told him that he was there to meet Lucius and Octavius had stammered that he was currently at a meeting. Daniel blinked, whispered, "Pity," and turned on his heel. At his retreating form, Octavius bit the nail of his thumb, a grin splitting his lips. The man was so much sexier alone than he was with his wife or rocking a child. He went on break an hour or so later, and ended up pushed against the cold metal of a stall, the only thing he could see a cocoa-coloured hand steadying its owner as he thrust into Octavius.

Daniel became a nuisance soon enough. He'd walk into the office without a single reason, just to slide up against Octavius, cup his arse while he spoke with guests, follow him into the loo, pull him into empty rooms. And the entire time he would grin and call him 'love' and 'angel face' and 'sweetie'.

Daniel would pat his head while Octavius had his cock in his mouth, say, "Good boy," and demeaning things like that. He'd tell him how perfect they'd be together (in comparison, Daniel would look even better with Octavius by his side), but there was the fact that Daniel was married, and even more married with children. Lucky for Octavius, anyway, since the last thing Octavius would want to be is married to a skirt chaser like Daniel, or married at all for that matter. But Octavius always allowed Daniel into his bed for he paid handsomely, and, because, in all verity, sex with Lucius was becoming rather boring.

These were the only men whose sex helped mould Octavius into the person he was. They were attractive and addicting in their own way.

Yet here he was, legs straining as he poised himself over Remus-bloody-Lupin's (prematurely greying, darkness beneath his blue eyes, a goddamned werewolf) prick, his left hand trying to steady him as best as it could, clawing at the sheets over Lupin's shoulder, whilst the other held Lupin's cock steady in his fist. And Lupin was inexplicably trembling with desire, his hands gentle but still rough-skinned as they skimmed uncertainly down his sides before settling on his hips. He licked his lips slowly as he looked up at Octavius, and Octavius had to admit that he was rather . . . rather handsome like that.

A wicked smile tugged at his lips as he whispered in anxious puffs of breath, "Nervous, Lupin?"

Lupin only offered that insufferable smile of his, and Octavius rode, angry and fierce, but his only satisfaction is the fact that when he came – Before Lupin, he thought with dread – he made little sound. He could not, however, stop himself from passing out with content on the man's chest.

End Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Reviews inspire me to continue on! . . . Now excuse while I watch Kill Bill (Weasley) for the ninteenth time! . . . Er, I mean, work on Chapter 7 . . . heh.