Not Love

The room was in shadows when the tall man in sweeping black robes peered cautiously through the partially-open door. He hesitated a moment before clearing his throat.

“Lupin?” he called.

No answer.

“The Headmaster said I could find you up here. I have your Wolfsbane.” Something large stirred in the corner. The man turned to it quickly, hand on his wand.

“I would put that away, Severus, and start bowing quickly. Buckbeak has been in an almost fouler mood than I these days, if that’s possible. I’m quite sure he won’t hesitate to eat you.”

Snape sighed irritably, turned to the enormous heap of hippogriff now visible in the corner of the room, and bowed low. He could feel two pairs of eyes appraising him – the creature in front of him, and the one he now knew occupied the rocking chair in the far end of the room, near the window. After several seconds Buckbeak returned the bow, and Snape rose to face Lupin.

“Your potion,” he said gruffly, extending the flask.

Lupin did not move. He continued rocking in the creaking chair, more slowly than Snape thought was possible, and staring vacantly at nothing in particular.

Christ, Snape thought. I’ve no time for another drama queen performance today. Why couldn’t the man get over it already? He had heard all about the battle at the Ministry, of course, and by all accounts it seemed to have been the worst since the first war. Naturally, he had heard about Black, as well – it was impossible to move within the Order at all now without someone talking about the “great loss” of Sirius Black. Snape inwardly sneered at the name. Oh, like the loss of Black was such a great tragedy.

Lupin looked up then, as if sensing Snape’s thoughts. “Tell me, Severus,” he began, in that hollow voice he had been using lately. “Why should I take that potion tonight?”

Ah. So it had finally come to this. Tomorrow would be the first full moon since Black had so unceremoniously abandoned his comrades in battle (probably trying to show off some dangerous duelling move to Potter, Snape secretly suspected). Dumbledore had asked Snape to bring the Wolfsbane to Grimmauld Place this time, something about Lupin being too grief-stricken to come to the castle to get it himself, as he usually did. The Headmaster had hinted at suspicions that the damned werewolf might make things difficult, might threaten to sacrifice himself, and everyone he could bring down with him, in an effort to— what was that phrase?— numb his pain.

“Oh, honestly, Lupin, I don’t have time for your existential angst tonight. I’ve got to get back to the castle for the regular round of Hufflepuff detentions.” Snape stood glowering beside the rocking chair, flask in hand. Why should I take that potion tonight? He mentally rolled his eyes. Why the man was putting on such a show about losing a goddamned fuck-buddy, Snape would never know. He was acting like this was some true loss. Snape had no time for it. He had known true loss. He had seen friends and loved ones tortured and killed. What did this werewolf know of it? Nothing. Making this big show of grief for Black, of all people. It was ridiculous.

Lupin turned briefly to look out the window at the fading July light, and when he brought his eyes back to Snape, the potions master felt a pang of remorse at his harsh words. Lupin’s grey eyes, normally that strange yet engaging shade of early morning mist, were as dead as tombstones. Not that they ever quite twinkled, as Dumbledore’s and other eternally happy people’s do. But if someone had forced Snape to drink Veritaserum and then asked him if he had any soft spot for Remus Lupin, Snape would have admitted that he could lose himself in Lupin’s eyes. They were always still and calm, but also mysterious – as though he knew a great deal of things he wasn’t telling anyone. They were the eyes of studiousness and concentration, qualities Snape admired in others, as in himself. Lupin, alone among his pack of useless friends, was a scholar, a thinker.

He briefly let his mind wander back to their school days, when he used to see Lupin alone in the library several times a week. Black and Potter and Pettigrew would never be caught dead in the library, of course, but Lupin used to go there to study, as Snape did. They never talked. But they never fought, either. They just… sat, usually at neighbouring tables, in peace. Snape used to steal glances at the other boy, he recalled wistfully. There was always a stray lock of gold-brown hair falling over his eyes. Snape would have given anything in those days just to reach over and push that lock aside. This was all before Black’s brazen attempt to have Lupin rip Snape limb from limb, of course – an event which, unsurprisingly, put an end to their mutual library outings, as well as to any fondness Snape might have harboured for the werewolf’s goddamned hair. At least for a few more years.

Sometimes – not often, of course, just sometimes, on days when he was feeling forgiving – Snape found himself wondering what it might be like to talk to Lupin. To sit in the black leather armchairs of his own dungeon office with a glass of brandy and debate philosophy, or religion, or politics with the other man. Lupin was highly intelligent, after all – Snape readily acknowledged that. What would it be like to engage those knowing eyes, to watch that face and listen to that soft voice, to touch one of those hands, even.

Oh, who was he kidding. Snape wanted to do an awful lot more to Lupin than talk. At first Snape had chalked it up to a schoolboy crush. But then, years later, when it still hadn’t gone away… when the mere mention of Lupin’s name during the first war, when they were in the Order together, sent Snape in desperate search of a cold shower… Snape shook his head slightly, trying to block out the memories. If only things hadn’t turned out as they did, if only Black and Potter hadn’t initiated Lupin into their gang of idiots back at school… it all might have turned out differently.

Tonight things were different all right, but not in the way Snape might have hoped. Everything Snape admired about Lupin had been in his eyes – his wisdom, his humour, his desires. But now, without Black, it was all gone. The eyes were dead. Snape knitted his brow, trying to figure out why on earth Lupin was taking Black’s death so hard.

Lupin rose slowly from the chair and grabbed the flask from Snape’s hand. “Go, then, if you’re so busy,” he said acidly, setting the flask abruptly on the small table in front of the window. “You’ve done your duty, Dumbledore will know the potion was delivered. Whether or not I take it— well, that’s not your problem now. Though you’d best leave, Severus. If Buckbeak doesn’t eat you, I just might.”

Snape sighed again and rolled his eyes, more obviously this time. Shacklebolt had mentioned that they had all been humouring the man with this kind of talk, which apparently had become his main method of communication since the battle. Lupin was maddeningly desirable most of the time, it was true, but the rest of the time he was simply maddening. Snape wasn’t going to hold his tongue like the others did. “We are not friends, Lupin, we both know that. But I must nonetheless offer you a sage piece of advice: stop this self-pity game right now and get over yourself. There’s a war going on, in case you’ve forgotten. Wars have casualties. We all fight. We all suffer. People die.” He shrugged his shoulders and gestured with his hand. “You’ll find someone new, life will go on, etc etc.” He swirled his robes around himself and started back towards the door.

There, he thought. That was harsh, but he’d said it. He paused to bow to Buckbeak again in parting, then reached for the doorknob.

“I’ll find someone new?” Lupin’s strangled voice stopped him cold. It was a voice Snape had never heard before, a broken voice, not quite human. Snape peered back over his shoulder. “I’ll find someone new,” Lupin muttered again, collecting his grey cloak around himself and settling back down into the rocking chair. “You know, Severus, you’re right. We are not friends. I’m very sorry that you are obliged by the Headmaster to brew this potion for me every month, as I understand that you would rather not have any interaction with me whatsoever, and I, as a rule, would rather not have any interaction with you whatsoever. But I do not purport to offer you advice on how to live your life, or grieve your losses.” He paused, raising those heart-wrenchingly colourless eyes to Snape, as if it were taking all the strength he had left in this world to speak. “I should have known you were incapable of love,” he continued. Snape’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you’ve done in your life. I know more than you think I know, in fact. I know you’ve seen loss, you’ve known pain. But you will never know pain like this with that black heart of yours.” The dead eyes turned back towards the window. “Love, Severus, that is true pain. And it cannot, ever, be overcome.”

Snape stood frozen at the door, his mind racing. Love? he thought incredulously. Those two? He’d known they’d been fucking like rabbits, of course, ever since the Order had taken over Grimmauld Place. Everyone knew that; Tonks and Shacklebolt gossiped about it all the time. But Snape had never in a million years dreamed it was serious. He’d assumed Lupin and Black – especially Black – were incapable of serious relationships. They were animals, for christ’s sake! They had urges, they needed to fuck more than normal people. This Snape could understand. But love? Impossible.

He turned around again to face Lupin. No, he thought to himself in alarm. Not impossible. The graveyard eyes. The hollow voice. The torn cloak. The musky room. The bloody hippogriff – yes, it certainly would explain why Lupin had chosen this room for his brooding. He and Black had been lovers. He and Black had been committed to each other. Snape felt his stomach turn over, then slowly ran a hand through his long black hair and exhaled. Lupin and Black had been in love. And now, he thought miserably, I’m a giant dick.

He stepped slowly back towards Lupin and sat down in the chair opposite him. He looked at the other man for a long moment, his heart breaking. “I’ve seen death and loss,” he began quietly, in his low voice. “You’re right about that. And I’ve known pain.” Lupin turned towards him. “I have also, believe it or not, known love.” His black eyes stared hard at Lupin, who gazed back unflinchingly. “Tell me,” he said, finally lowering his gaze, barely keeping a lid on the torrent of emotion for Lupin that had been simmering off and on for twenty years. “Do you think love ends just because you don’t see each other?”

When he looked up again, Lupin was staring at the ceiling, both hands on his head. “Yes, Severus,” he replied simply. “I do. I’m grieving for Sirius, it’s true, but I’m also grieving for myself, because love is gone for me now. I can go on living, I can even go on fucking if I want, that’s the easy part.” He chuckled, a strangled sort of sound, full of bitterness. “But love is over.”

A lock of greying brown hair fell into Lupin’s eyes as he lowered his arms to the sides of the chair and resumed rocking. Snape fought an impulse to lean forward and push it gently aside. He frowned, feeling sick. How dare the werewolf do this to him again, he thought angrily, make him care again. His mind was suddenly flooded with memories of lonely nights in the dungeons at Hogwarts, when dark dreams of killing Black and Potter and taking Lupin to his bed had occupied his imagination. Oh, the sweet irony, he thought. Black and Potter were indeed dead and out of the way. Lupin could be his now. Snape briefly closed his eyes in an effort to shut out his lurid thoughts. “How long has it been since you slept?” he asked.

“Three weeks,” Lupin answered tonelessly.

Snape rose then and removed a small phial from his cloak. “Drink this with the Wolfsbane,” he said. “It will help.” He set the phial on the table next to the flask, but did not move to leave.

Lupin stared up at him for a long moment, then smiled sadly. “You win, Severus,” he said, reaching for the flask. He drank it down and grimaced, then opened the phial of sleeping draught and drank that, too. “You win.”

He stood up and moved towards the bed. As he passed, Snape wordlessly put a hand on his back, letting it linger for a second before turning abruptly towards the door. “Goodnight, Lupin,” he said gruffly, as he closed the door behind him.

***********************************************************************

“Back again, Lupin?” Snape drawled, emerging from between the nearest bookshelves and hovering behind the studious Gryffindor. “Black and Potter let you out of their sight today, did they?”

Lupin turned in his chair, slamming his Transfiguration textbook closed on the table in front of him. “They did,” he replied, his eyes roving hungrily over Snape’s lithe frame. “I told them I had to study.” He lowered his voice to a silky purr. “I was hoping you would be here.”

Snape lifted a long index finger to Lupin’s forehead and brushed a lock of hair out of the other boy’s eyes. “And why was that?”

Lupin stood abruptly and grabbed Snape by the wrists. “Because you haven’t been here all week, and I’ve been dying for another chance to suck you.”

Snape\'s lips curled in a feral grin as his cock twitched. “Voice down, Lupin,” he said softly, “unless you want Madam Pince to join us.”

“What I want, Snape, is your cock in my mouth. Right now.”

“Tsk tsk, Lupin.” Snape broke free of Lupin’s grip and leaned casually against the nearest bookshelf, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing Lupin with a bemused smirk on his face and a hungry desire in his eyes. “So needy. You mean to tell me that Black hasn’t been keeping that pretty mouth of yours busy between the sheets in Gryffindor Tower?” His eyes flashed possessively.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Lupin closed the space between them and pressed into Snape’s hard body, knocking a few books off the shelf behind them. “I have no interest in Black. It’s you that I want. It’s you that I dream about.” He pushed Snape’s black hair aside and whispered hotly in his ear. “It’s your hard, thick cock that I need down my throat right now.”

Snape’s breath came raggedly as he grabbed Lupin’s shoulders and pushed him down onto the cold stone of the library floor. “Do it,” he hissed, opening his robes and freeing his throbbing cock.

Lupin clutched Snape’s hips and plunged his mouth over Snape’s hardness. Taking fistfuls of chestnut hair, Snape leaned his head back, a low moan escaping his lips. “That’s right, Lupin,” he commanded. “Suck me like you want to. Harder!”

Lupin obeyed, running his tongue along the underside of Snape’s steel shaft, then grasping the base of his cock and pumping with his fist while taking the head firmly in his mouth.

Snape thrust deeply, fingers entwined in Lupin’s hair as he fucked and debauched that studious face, those sweet lips. He came hard down Lupin’s throat, bringing the sleeve of his robes up to his mouth to stifle the hoarse cry threatening to escape from him. “Fuck, you’re good, Lupin,” he muttered.

Lupin licked his lips and gazed up at Snape. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked innocently.

Snape awoke with a start. The moonlight was streaming through the window, and the smell of leftover Wolfsbane was wafting in from his adjacent office. His cock was hard and leaking. He rose slowly and walked, naked, over to the window. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to slow his heartbeat and erase from his mind the dream that had never happened. He regarded the partial moon for a long moment, his mind flashing involuntarily back to the scene at Grimmauld Place earlier that evening.

“Remus,” Snape whispered to himself, absently running his fingertips down his own ridged stomach and wrapping them around his cock. He raised his other hand to the window pane and leaned forward, stroking slowly. “Remus,” he breathed again, knowing in the back of his mind that it was crazy, that he couldn’t desire a werewolf, couldn’t desire anyone Black had ever loved. Knowing that Lupin would never desire him in return. “Remus!” he cried, unable to stop, twenty years of desire and frustration and pain and loneliness spilling forth into his fist, as he closed his eyes against the moonlight and made a quiet decision to go after what he wanted.

***********************************************************************

Lupin hurried across the Entrance Hall towards the dungeons, checking his watch anxiously. Oh fuck, he thought. I’m three minutes late, and Snape will never let me forget it. He reached Snape’s office and knocked on the great wooden door.

“Come in,” Snape’s low voice answered.

Lupin sighed. Here we go. It had been almost a month since their last meeting, in Mrs Black’s bedroom at Grimmauld Place, and Lupin was not terribly intent on seeing Snape again. The sleeping draught had sent him into a dreamless slumber for eighteen hours. It had been blissful, yes – and he had barely even noticed his own transformation, as the potion seemed to have induced a deep sleep in his wolf form as well – but it had also kept Snape’s visit only a vague haze in his mind. Did I really talk about love, and death, and pain… with Snape? he asked himself again. God, I was so out of it. He didn’t particularly want to talk about Sirius with anyone, really, but especially not with Snape. And then there were the dreams, dreams that had started that night and hadn’t stopped, dreams of the two of them… doing things he had never before considered doing with Snape. Lupin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images flooding his mind again, of Snape on his knees, of that dark head thrown back in ecstasy, of throaty moans and deep-voiced encouragements. He took a long breath to steady himself.

Lupin had never known quite what to make of Snape. There was hatred, of course, back at school, but that mostly came from Snape’s treatment of Sirius, not from anything Snape himself had done. Snape and Sirius had both just been such arseholes to each other. Lupin shook his head regretfully at the memory. And yes, Snape had been a pain in the arse back at school. But since then, since the end of the first war, Lupin had to admit that he had… well, that he had almost started to appreciate Snape.

Through Lupin’s work for the Order, through his contacts in the world of Dark creatures, he had discovered an awful lot about Snape’s past. Things that Dumbledore had never mentioned. Things that had brought Snape back to their side. And it didn’t matter who you were, Lupin thought, no one could ignore those things, no one could fail to admire the man who had been through all of that, and still emerged in one piece. No one could fail to admire the man who had switched sides to save— well, that was a long time ago. And anyway, after all of that, he was allowed to be a bit of an arsehole, Lupin thought, smiling. Just as Sirius was allowed to be one as well, for all that he had been through. The smile faded. Sirius. Well, wouldn’t he be livid to know Lupin was now thinking of him in the same breath as Snape. To know just how Lupin had been thinking about Snape recently. His heart turned over and his mind fogged with guilt. No, he told himself firmly. He’s dead. And I have to move on. The only remaining problem was figuring out how, exactly, to do that.

“Are you going to stand out there all night, Lupin, or do you want this bloody potion?” Snape’s irritated voice interrupted Lupin’s thoughts. He took a deep breath and shook his head, then pushed the heavy door open.

“Good evening, Severus,” he said, stepping into the dark dungeon.

Snape looked up from a stack of parchment at his desk, and Lupin could have sworn he saw Snape’s black eyes momentarily soften. “It’s over there.” He nodded towards a table in the corner of the room, where the Wolfsbane flask sat alone, then turned back to his parchment. “How are— did the sleeping draught help, then? he asked awkwardly.

Lupin smiled as he walked over to the flask. Ah, Severus, he thought wickedly, my grief has melted that black heart of yours, hasn’t it? “It did, thank you.” He unscrewed the cap of the flask and drank deeply.

“And have you stopped sleeping with hippogriffs?”

Lupin turned in surprise. Was that flirtation in his voice? Teasing? Impossible. This was Snape after all. He looked at the potions master, sitting behind his desk with his cloak slung casually over the chair, his top two buttons undone, and his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. Lupin exhaled softly as blood pooled low in his body. He briefly thought back to their time at Hogwarts, before Sirius’ bloody “prank,” of course, when he used to go to the library to escape Sirius and James’ endless shenanigans in the common room. Snape was always there, sitting alone in front of a pile of books. Lupin used to watch him, when the dark-haired boy wasn’t looking. There had always just been something so compelling about Snape. Maybe it was that penetrating black gaze, which had only gotten more… intense as the man aged. Lupin shivered. Despite his frequent protestations to the contrary, he very much enjoyed being the subject of that gaze. Very well, Severus, he thought. I can play this game too, and I can win at it.

Lupin removed his traveling cloak and walked back towards the desk. “I have,” he replied silkily. “Though I highly recommend it, Severus, in dire situations. If you have room in your bed, that is.”

Snape regarded him for a long minute, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “It just so happens that I do have room in my bed,” he purred in his low voice, sending shivers up Lupin’s spine and doing nothing to help the increasing hardness between his legs. “But you couldn’t possibly be flirting with me, could you, Lupin? Not someone who has given up on love,” he drawled.

Oh for fuck’s sake, Lupin thought with frustration. The man wasn’t going to be easy to seduce, was he? “I said I’d given up on love, Severus, not on fucking.” He perched himself on the side of Snape’s desk, rumpling some of the parchment in the process and making every attempt to look casual while his heart raced. What on earth did he think he was doing, saying these things to Snape?! But he was tired of grieving. It felt good to say these things to someone again. He eyed the sliver of exposed collarbone peeking out from under the other man’s unbuttoned shirt. To say them to Snape.

“Ah.” Snape raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “My mistake.” He rose from his chair and came around to face Lupin, running a long index finger down the other man’s face as he spoke. “And tell me, Lupin, what would Black say if he knew you were here begging me for sex less than two months after his… tragic demise?”

Lupin paled. You son of a bitch, he thought. You want this as much as I do. You always have. I saw how you used to look at me. I know that’s why you wanted to find out where I went every month with Sirius and James and Peter. I know that’s why you always hated Sirius so much. He took a deep breath and jumped off the desk.

I know I’m the reason you joined our side again.

Lupin grabbed his cloak and headed for the door. “Goodnight, Severus,” he said.

***********************************************************************

Fuck, Snape thought. He took a deep breath, banged his head on the desk three times, then got up, grabbed his cloak, and followed Lupin out the door. Lupin was already out of sight, already through the Entrance Hall, already striding across the lawn towards the gates. Snape looked sideways for student gawkers and thankfully saw none as he pushed the heavy oak doors open and swept outside, almost running in his haste to catch Lupin before he reached the gates and Disapparated.

“Lupin,” he called irritably. “Lupin, for christ’s sake, would you please stop?” He hurried forward.

At the gates, Lupin paused and turned around. His face was unreadable. I suppose now I’m expected to apologise, Snape thought to himself. Well, I will not. I meant it. How dare he throw himself at me, not a month after lecturing me on true love and the pain of its loss? Snape tightened his lips and grimaced at Lupin as he reached him. He doesn’t know what true love is.

He had been haunted by dreams of Lupin for years, and they had only grown more intense since Black had died. Since Lupin had become… available. But Snape had his pride. He was not going to beg the man. He was not going to play second fiddle to a memory. He was not going to settle for “just fucking.” He could easily seduce Lupin with one hand tied behind his back, of that Snape was certain. But he wanted more than seduction. He wanted Lupin to need him, the way that— Well. I will not apologise.

“What?” Lupin spat at him, his arms crossed, his chest heaving in anger and exertion.

“Just… wait,” Snape stammered, before regaining his composure. “I will not apologise for what I said, but I don’t want you to leave.”

“What do you want, then?” Lupin still sounded very, very hostile. Snape cursed himself again. This was not the way their conversations went in his dreams.

“I want— I want to talk to you,” he said slowly, surveying Lupin carefully. The other man’s face softened slightly.

“I won’t talk about him,” Lupin replied tersely. “I never should have in the first place. I should have known you are too biased against him ever to hear him spoken about by someone who loved him.”

“Love.” Snape hissed the word bitterly. “You toss that word around so casually, don’t you?” Lupin recoiled slightly at the venom in Snape’s voice. “True love is not about getting what you want, anytime you want it, from the person you most desire,” he said acidly. “That is too easy. Love is never easy, Lupin.”

Lupin stared hard at Snape, his expression closed, his grey eyes impenetrable. “Then why don’t you tell me, Snape, what love is about?” His tone flashed just a hint of mockery. Snape ignored it.

“True love is about not getting what you want,” Snape continued in a deadly whisper. “It is about living without the person you desire.” Lupin held Snape’s gaze unflinchingly, making Snape suddenly uncomfortable. But he plunged on, blood hammering in his veins and emotion coursing through him. “It’s about watching the person you most desire, watching him toss his life away with another, another who is not half the man he is… it’s about watching all of this, watching it for fucking years, and doing nothing.”

Lupin’s face grew angry. “Not half—! Snape, you fucking prat, I will not stand here listening to—”

But Snape raised a hand and cut him off. “No,” he said simply, turning back towards the castle. He lifted his chin and swept his robes around himself. He paused briefly and looked back at Lupin. “Love, Lupin, is not about joy. It’s about endurance.” He strode back down the hill and disappeared, leaving Lupin glowering at his retreating back.

***********************************************************************

“Studying again, Snape?” Lupin laughed heartily as he rounded the corner of the stacks and found the familiar black head poring over spellbooks.

Snape looked up. “You’re late, Remus,” he said softly. “I almost didn’t wait for you.”

“Ah, Snape.” Lupin grinned. “You’ll always wait for me, you know that as well as I do. And anyway, it couldn’t be helped.” His eyes briefly darkened. “I was delayed.”

Snape rose from his chair and strode over to Lupin, their teenage bodies clasping together effortlessly. They do this every day, Lupin thought to himself. Every day, same time, same place. Yet every day it was new, different. Better. Snape instinctively reached into Lupin’s robes and unfastened his trousers.

“Snape, you horny bastard,” Lupin breathed, as long fingers curled around his quivering cock and started rhythmically pushing up and down, in and out.

Snape leaned in close, his long black hair falling over Lupin’s thin shoulder. “Where are your arsehole friends, Remus?” he asked maliciously in Lupin’s ear. “Where are Potter and Black? They won’t be interrupting us, I trust?”

Lupin leaned back against the bookshelf as Snape’s hand pumped him faster. “No,” he whispered. “They won’t be interrupting us.” He cried out and thrust hard into Snape’s fist one more time, shooting come into his robes and closing his eyes. “They’re dead, Snape. It’s just you and me now.”

He heard Madam Pince approach as Snape whispered in his ear. “I can give you everything they couldn’t, Remus…”

Lupin jolted awake, covered in cold sweat and unsure of where he was. A low caw in the corner of the room told him he’d startled Buckbeak. “It’s OK, Beaky,” he called quietly. “It’s just me.”

He rose slowly and pulled on a nearby pair of pajama bottoms, noting absently that they had once belonged to Sirius. Dark blue flannel, loose-fitting, just too long for Lupin. They’re dead. He hadn’t had such strange dreams in years.

He sat down in the rocking chair and looked up at the partial moon, dreading, as always, tomorrow night when the moon would be full. “Severus,” he breathed quietly to himself, his mind flashing involuntarily back to the scene at the castle earlier that evening. “It’s about living without the person you desire.” Snape did have that part right, Lupin thought sadly. But if I’m living without the person I most desire, why am I dreaming about Snape? He sighed irritably and ran his hands through his greying golden hair, pausing to clasp them around the back of his neck. He gazed at the moon.

He loves me, Lupin realised slowly. He loves me, and I can’t love again. He stood up and walked over to the window, raising one hand to the cool glass. What a pair we would make, he thought, smiling wistfully. Still, there was only one way for those dreams to stop. “Severus,” he whispered to the silent trees outside, “I didn’t even know I wanted you, and now I can’t think of anything else.” He closed his eyes against the moonlight and made a quiet decision to go after what he wanted.

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Snape didn’t sleep for a month. Nor did he see Lupin. The latter had been easy enough to arrange; despite the now-desperate state of his work for the Order, despite the fact that there was a full-fledged war going on again, he had not had any difficulty staying away from Grimmauld Place. After the unmitigated disaster that Black had brought about by disobeying orders and leaving the house – an unbelievably stupid move, to be sure, but one that Dumbledore seemed to think had an awful lot to do with Snape’s verbal baiting – well, after that, Dumbledore had ensured that Snape had minimal contact with any remaining old school friends. Snape snorted at the ridiculousness of it. But orders were orders, and a person in Snape’s position knew better than anyone that second-guessing orders in wartime could mean the difference between life and death. And so, he saw Lupin only once a month, to hand over the Wolfsbane.

As Snape himself had so inexpertly articulated at their last meeting, however (he closed his eyes in horror at the memory), not seeing never quite translated to not feeling, in a situation such as his. There was something there, he could feel it, something between them that was hovering like a torch high on the ceiling of the dungeons, not quite lit, but not quite extinguished either. That night at Grimmauld Place. “You win, Severus. You win.” That night in Snape’s office. “I said I’d given up on love, Severus, not on fucking.” Snape bit his lower lip. Yes, he thought grimly to himself. There is something there, even he can’t deny it. The time for waiting was over. Black was dead. It’s time to stop punishing him for being with Black, Snape told himself as he grabbed his cloak and headed out the front gates of the castle, and time to show him how much better it could be with me.

He was waiting at the gates with the flask of Wolfsbane when Lupin Apparated.

“Jesus Christ, Snape!” Lupin yelled, jumping backwards. He regained his composure and eyed Snape suspiciously. “Do you mind not standing directly on a pre-arranged Apparition point at the same nanosecond when someone is in fact Apparating onto said point?” He breathed deeply and clawed the robes at his chest. “Bloody fucking hell—“

“My apologies, Lupin, but I feared you may not have… wanted… to come tonight. I had prepared to bring the potion to Grimmauld Place for you.”

Lupin laughed. “Thank you, Severus, but I don’t hold grudges. At least, not ones that keep me from that potion you’re holding.” He gestured towards the flask. “May I?”

“Please.” Snape held out the flask, bowing slightly.

Lupin’s eyes wandered over Snape’s form with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue. He took the flask, and Snape let his fingers brush the other man’s for a split second. He smiled inwardly, watching Lupin drink.

“You’re certain you can’t invent a version with sugar, then?” Lupin asked wryly, pressing his lips together and shuddering slightly. “This stuff tastes about as good as Buckbeak smells.” He reconsidered the comment. “Naturally, if you ever tell him I said that I shall deny it most strenuously.”

Snape smiled softly. “My lips are sealed,” he whispered. “And no, alas, as long as the Wolfsbane continues to… work as it does, I will not tamper with it. Though,” he added as an afterthought, “I had no idea it was that bad. Buckbeak indeed could use a good hosing down.” His black eyes sparkled playfully as he gazed at Lupin. “Honestly, Lupin, I don’t know how you can stand to sleep in that room.”

Lupin laughed again. “The room isn’t so bad,” he said. “It’s not like living in a cave with the thing… oh, the stories I heard about sharing truly cramped quarters with a hippogriff…” His voice trailed off and the laughter died as suddenly as it had come. He looked down at the ground, and when he raised his head again, Snape felt the familiar hollowness in his chest that only the sight of a heartbroken Lupin seemed to inspire. “Why do we always end up talking about the goddamned hippogriff?” Lupin asked sadly.

Snape stepped forward slightly, searching the other man’s troubled face, trying desperately to figure out how Lupin might react to what he, Snape, wanted to say (and do) next. “I know you loved him,” he said quietly, after a long pause. Lupin started to respond but Snape put a hand up to the other man’s chest. “Please. Listen. I know you loved him. But it’s not about him anymore.” Lupin looked away. If I don’t say it now I never will. “It never was about him. It’s about you.” Snape’s black eyes found Lupin’s and gazed intently into the grey mist there, grey mist that still bore the stamp of death and decay deep within them. “It’s always been about you.”

He was close to Lupin now, and leaned in slightly. He let his mouth hover just inches above Lupin’s, as he tentatively brought a hand up to the other man’s jaw, tracing it with his fingertips.

Lupin closed his eyes. “Severus,” he said, opening them and looking mournfully at Snape, “I can’t give you what you want, you know that.”

“Love?” Snape whispered. “I know.” His fingers continued down to the hollow of Lupin’s neck, eliciting a soft sigh. “Yet I still want you. And you still want me.” He leaned in then and brushed a kiss across Lupin’s parted lips, his heart hammering. “Don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question, and he prayed he was right.

Lupin pulled back gently and regarded Snape for a long moment before breaking away. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his greying hair. He looked briefly back at Snape. “Fuck,” he said again, before starting down the hill towards the castle. Snape stared after him in disbelief.

“Well, are you coming or not?” Lupin called behind him.

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It’s not about him, Lupin repeated to himself as he entered the castle again and headed for the dungeons, listening for Snape behind him. It’s about me. Sirius was gone, he knew that. He would never love another as he had loved Sirius, he knew that as well. But he also couldn’t live the way he’d been living, locked up with Buckbeak, sitting in that goddamned rocking chair all day staring out the window and living in the past. He needed to feel again. He wanted Snape to help him feel again.

His dreams had been getting stronger, like blurry black-and-white photographs slowly gaining colour and coming into focus. Since that first full moon after Sirius… since that night Snape had come to Grimmauld Place, they had been sharpening, lifting themselves out of Lupin’s subconscious and into reality. It was time to make them his reality.

At the door to the dungeons, Snape caught up to him and pressed against his back as he lifted the locking spells on the door. Lupin closed his eyes and leaned back into the taller man. Yes, he thought blissfully. I need this.

They were barely inside the door when Lupin turned around and pushed Snape up against the cold oak, crushing his lips into Snape’s with an urgency he hadn’t known he possessed. Snape moaned softly and Lupin took the opportunity to deepen the kiss with his tongue, exploring Snape’s mouth while his hands moved under the black cloak for the buttons of the man’s shirt.

His own cloak had already been thrown to the floor, as Snape bent his head and ran his tongue along Lupin’s collarbone, stopping to flick gently at the scar there. Lupin threw his head back and moaned unabashedly. Oh god, he thought, that feels very, very good.

“I’ve been dreaming about you,” he told the ceiling above him, as Snape continued to lick his neck and shoulder.

Snape paused and raised his head, looking deeply into the dulled chrome of Lupin’s eyes. “Indeed?” he murmured, his tongue darting out to meet the soft lips before him. “We’re back at school, in the library,” he whispered. “Am I right?”

Lupin stared, then shook his head slowly as a grin spread across his face and he felt months of tension release from his body. “Always the library,” he said, nodding.

Snape’s hands roamed over his chest. “Remus,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to Lupin’s and clutching at his shirt. “We aren’t teenagers anymore. We’re both too old, and too wounded, to play games. Tell me you want me, right now, or I walk out that door.”

Lupin’s breath hitched in his throat at the threat, and his cock hardened at the command that had come before it. He pulled Snape’s head towards him, the black hair falling over his face as he whispered in Snape’s ear. “I want you, Severus. Right. Now.”

And then he was being pushed, roughly and gently at the same time, back to the adjacent room, the bedroom, where golden torches over the bed illuminated black sheets. With a shrug of his shoulders Lupin’s shirt was off, and he ripped Snape’s remaining buttons open and tore the fabric from his shoulders as well. Their lips came together again as Snape pushed Lupin backwards onto the bed, removing the rest of their clothing in what seemed like one swift movement.

Not bad, Lupin thought as he gazed at Snape’s body, stretched out above him as the rest of their clothes were thrown to the floor. He had always appreciated Snape’s slightly gothic look: the black robes, long charcoal hair, heavy leather boots… but he had only recently begun to consider what the man might look like underneath the exquisite clothes. He very much liked what he saw.

“Severus,” he growled. “I thought I said, ‘right now.’” Snape glanced up at him and smiled imperceptibly, before lowering his head to Lupin’s hard cock and taking it all in his mouth in one long swallow.

Oh sweet jesus. Lupin’s mind went blank, as he watched Snape move down his body, licking and sucking until he thought he would go mad with the sensation of it. He had imagined that Snape would be good, but this… this was better than he could have dreamed. The man may come across as stuffy and sexually repressed, Lupin thought, but he very clearly knew exactly what he was doing. Lupin groaned and let his head fall back as Snape’s mouth become more insistent, swallowing him whole before releasing him entirely, over and over again. “Severus, you’re killing me,” he panted.

Snape ran his tongue up the length of Lupin’s cock one last time before raising his head to look at his lover. “Then I should stop,” he said slyly, the sensuality of his low voice sending shudders through Lupin’s entire body.

Lupin sat up and clutched Snape’s chest, lowering his mouth to bite at the man’s neck. “Oh I don’t think so, Severus. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that sexual frustration negates the effects of Wolfsbane?”

Snape inhaled sharply as Lupin wrapped one hand around his cock and started stroking. “My first werewolf,” he whispered sensually in Lupin’s ear, covering the hand on his cock with his own and slowing it. “Tell me, Remus,” he breathed, and Lupin thought he would explode from the sound of Snape’s low baritone saying his name. “How do werewolves like it?”

An electric charge ran up Lupin’s spine at the question, as he exhaled a low, sexy laugh. “Ah,” he said slowly. “Well, we like it slick.” Snape leaned over and opened a side drawer on the bed to reveal a small jar, his lip curled slightly as he watched Lupin.

“And we like it hard,” Lupin continued, wrapping one arm around Snape’s neck and pulling him in for a deep kiss, trying to ignore the throbbing in his neglected cock.

“And we like it deep.” Snape’s hands were moving now, as his breath became ragged. He pushed Lupin back down on the bed as he traced one finger down the length of the man’s hard cock. Lupin whimpered and pushed his hips up for more contact. The finger had moved back now, behind his balls, and was softly probing his entrance.

“What about fast, Remus,” Snape purred. “Do you like it fast?”

Lupin groaned at the words, as a slick finger pushed inside of him, hard. It retreated and another joined it, deeper and faster. He clutched at Snape’s shoulder as the fingers curled inside him, making small waves of heat shoot throughout his body. “Severus,” he warned. “It has to be now. You have to fuck me. Now.”

Snape withdrew the fingers and Lupin looked down to see Snape’s quivering cock positioned in front of his body, ready to thrust into him. Snape reached for the jar and began to rub himself with the lubrication. In another second, Lupin felt that pulsing cock nudging his entrance, and it was all he could do to keep himself still.

Snape didn’t seem to be in any hurry, which was maddening. “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” he drawled, and his cock started pushing slowly, slowly into Lupin’s body. “You want it slick—” he pushed a little more. “You want it hard—” a bit more. “You want it deep—” oh god. Snape encased himself fully into Lupin’s heat, pausing a moment to allow his lover to adjust to the thick length filling him.

Lupin arched his back and breathed into the blissful intrusion, as his body accommodated Snape’s cock and the brief pain turned into warmth and desire.

“And,” Snape whispered, “you want it fast?”

Lupin wrapped his legs around Snape’s hips and moaned loudly as Snape began thrusting into him. Sirius was different, he knew that, but he didn’t even have the time, or inclination, to compare this with the way things used to be, the way he used to be fucked. This was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Snape’s words, and voice, had already worked him into such a state that the cock hammering into him now was driving him to utter delirium. “Severus!” he heard himself shouting, over and over again. “Fuck me, fuck me, harder, deeper, faster, now, fuck me,” it was all coming out as a jumble, but Lupin didn’t care.

Snape obliged, as he gripped Lupin’s hips so hard the skin began to bruise, thrusting with increasing urgency into the man he had waited so long to do this to, the man he had waited so long to fuck like this. The man who had single-handedly lured him back to the Order, so many years ago. He was moaning now too, Lupin’s name tumbling from his lips. He reached down and grabbed Lupin’s swollen cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts.

Lupin reached above his head and grabbed the iron bedposts as sensation overwhelmed him. He came hard into Snape’s fist, waves of black and pleasure washing over him as he squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth in one final cry. He felt himself clenching down on the cock inside of him and Snape pumped into him once, twice more, shouting and scratching his fingers down Lupin’s hips as he came violently, shuddering, to his own climax. Lupin felt heat fill his body, felt the pulsations of Snape’s cock as it emptied itself inside of him.

Snape collapsed on top of him, lowering his forehead to Lupin’s and locking his black gaze on his lover. He rolled over onto his back and lay still for a few minutes.

“Your eyes are back,” he whispered tiredly, turning his head to Lupin.

“My what?” Lupin asked, one armed draped across his face.

“Your eyes,” Snape said softly. “They were dead. And now they’re back.”

Lupin turned to face Snape. “I’ll take your word for that,” he said, eyebrows raised. “But it’s not love, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He grinned slyly to himself and put his arm back over his face. His body was so exhausted it would hardly move.

“No,” Snape agreed softly. “It most certainly is not love.” He rolled onto one side and pushed a strand of graying brown hair out of his lover’s eyes before settling his hand on Lupin’s chest. He smiled to himself. “Most certainly not.”


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THE END

~~“Do you think love ends just because you don’t see each other?” : shamelessly lifted from Graham Greene, The End of the Affair.