GREEN-EYED MONSTER
By Your Cruise Director

Remus isn't supposed to be competition for Snape's attention because Remus is supposed to be straight.

Remus isn't supposed to look so good to Harry, either, on top of the whole father's-friend thing and former-teacher thing and -- well -- werewolf thing, because Remus is supposed to be straight.

So Harry tells himself, as he watches Remus get drunk and go from teasing Snape to flirting with Snape to coming on to Snape so flagrantly that only someone like Snape could sit there with just the faintest hint of a smirk on his face, showing no other reaction at all.

One more drink, thinks Harry, and the oh-so-straight Remus Lupin is going to push Snape down and shag him on Ron's bed. They've ended up in Ron's room at Grimmauld Place because Remus and Snape were already pretty drunk and the kitchen was crowded and the Aurors were giving an impromptu demonstration of counter-hexes in the library and Ron had passed out on the couch in the parlor and Tonks was in Harry's bedroom with...someone. Harry hadn't paid attention to who it was, since he was keeping an eye on Remus. And another on Snape.

After all, Harry had rationalized, it was a victory celebration, the war was over, everyone was feeling happy and acting on the impulses they had all repressed for years. Lots of spontaneous kissing and groping was occurring among members of the Order who didn't even particularly like one another. With Snape's help, Harry had "rescued" Remus from a bit too much attention from Trelawney, pulling him through Ron's door and locking it behind them. Then they had discovered that Remus had put a few bottles of firewhisky in his pockets, which explained why they had felt so heavy.

So they've been drinking some more, passing the bottles around one by one. It appears to give Remus great pleasure to let his tongue poke around the neck of a bottle right after Snape's mouth has been on it. Or right after Harry's mouth has. Remus doesn't seem to be terribly discriminating. He's licking his lips, winking at both of them.

Really, Harry has long distrusted the oh-so-straight-Remus-Lupin reputation, despite the long affair with Tonks. Harry had his suspicions about Remus and Sirius; he hasn't forgotten the way Sirius and Remus looked at each other in Snape's pensieve memory, nor that they were sharing a house and buying Harry Christmas presents together before Sirius died. "Lie low at Lupin's," indeed -- Harry thinks Sirius probably did a lot of lying low at Lupin's but probably quite a bit on top as well.

When drunk, the normally very proper Remus Lupin is a flirt. And tonight he has been as likely to turn his smile on Harry as on Trelawney. When former students are nearby, he'll charm all of them. And when Snape taunts Remus, Remus will tease him right back even though Remus must have noticed that Snape's not entirely joking. Harry thinks Remus was even more relieved than he was himself to discover that Snape wasn't a traitor after all.

As for Snape, he doesn't flirt. His brand of alcoholic conversation, when he's not ramblings on potions, the Dark Arts and the incompetence of the Ministry, keeps veering intently to the subject of the post-war erotic revelry going on around them. Yet Snape had grumbled earlier that it was a shame Remus Lupin was so miserably monogamous, and Harry thought he must have missed a good anecdote, if Snape thought that about Remus. He'd also thought it was a little bit of a shame, but not too much.

If not being able to have Remus means that Harry has a chance at Snape without competition, he is happy to make the trade. Unfortunately, Snape doesn't seem any less interested in Remus just because Remus is supposed to be oh-so-straight and so miserably monogamous. Nor does Remus seem any less interested in Snape.

Harry wonders whether Remus even remembers that he's supposed to be straight, because it looks like he could use a refresher course. Preferably in the absence of both firewhisky and Snape, who is clearly too drunk to Apparate home, wherever "home" for Snape might be now that the war is over. Harry isn't sure whether Remus has been staying with Tonks or Greyback or where, but he might not have anyplace better to go, either.

Since it seems that Harry may be spending the night in extremely close proximity to both men, he's planning to drink quite a bit more, because he isn't in any danger of passing out yet and he doubts he could fall asleep in the same room as Snape or Remus -- let alone Snape and Remus -- without being completely numb. If he's even the least bit conscious, his hands could wander. Also, if they're planning to get up to anything, he wants to make sure he's out cold through it.

Snape looks quite relaxed for Snape, and Remus looks, well, predatory. He's mostly focused on Snape, but he's got some grins in him for Harry too. Maybe -- Harry's stomach flips a little at the thought -- maybe it's just that Remus assumes Snape will be harder to persuade about whatever he's got in mind.

Sure enough, Remus reaches out with one hand for the back of Snape's neck and with the other for the front of Harry's shirt. Laughing, he pulls them both down onto bed next to him. Harry giggles nervously because Snape's got a dangerous grin pushing at the corners of his mouth...and a second later he's kissing Remus, who's kissing back, moaning into it, arching up as Snape's hands start to slide across his body.

Harry thinks it's time to leave. Except Remus is still gripping the front of his shirt. And one of Snape's hands is moving across Remus's chest, up Harry's shoulder, curving along his neck, dragging him over Remus's body, until Snape slides his mouth down Remus's jaw and leans over to kiss Harry -- hard and possessive, with sharp nipping teeth. Remus still has a hand on each of them and when the kiss breaks he looks from one to the other with heavy-lidded, hungry eyes.

Snape slides back to Remus's side, teeth against Remus's throat as his fingers work the buttons on his shirt. Harry feels himself being drawn down, meeting the bright hazel glints of Remus's eyes before they close, and softer, more pliant lips than Snape's open around his own. Remus's breathy groan in Harry's mouth makes something warm and eager bubble up inside him. He glides his tongue along Remus's jaw to his ear as his fingers ride down his hairy stomach, over the bulge in his trousers. Another groan from Remus, and then Harry's fingers encounter Snape's, which squeeze them.

It's amazing, yet he can't quite trust it, can't give up the uncertain sense that he is an intruder displacing one or the other though he isn't sure which. What would be perfect would be...

"Left, right or center?" Remus's laughing voice blows over Harry's head, wafting across the sensitive scar on his forehead, making goosebumps break out all over Harry; or maybe it's the words that do that, and Remus's thick slurred voice, and the way Snape raises his head to cock a mischievous eyebrow when Harry lifts up to make sure Remus's actually talking to him. Remus and Snape both grin in his direction though their arms and legs are tangled together, and Snape tugs again on his hand.

Any secret wish Harry ever had that either of them wouldn't be interested in the other floats away in a fog of intoxication and want. He scoffs at himself for all his judgments about Remus, who is apparently not only not straight but also not selfish. It also makes some kind of sense that Snape would look, Slytherin-like, for ways to have both of them.

Harry dives over Remus head-first, squeezing between the two men. Then they're all laughing as they wriggle over and under each other, discarding shame as easily as their clothes, and there's no competition, just the three of them working together to make each other happy.

Snape's skin is burned in places that have never seen the sun, struck with hexes from both sides in the battle, and he tastes smoky and salty, like something cooked in its own juices over an open fire. Remus's skin is even more scarred and he smells so very good, like he's soaked up all the scents of a moonlit garden. Looking up at them from waist-level, Harry watches them kiss, hearing Remus's sparse brown stubble rasp across Snape's sallow cheek.

Their cocks twitch together against Harry's chin, and he runs his tongue across the heads of both -- Remus's, thicker, warmer, leaking more fluid, and Snape's, darker, smoother, more sensitive to his touch. Even at its widest, Harry's mouth isn't big enough for both of them, but he takes in as much as he can and slides his lips back and forth as they press against each other, leaving tiny red and purple marks on one another's skin.

"Turn around, Chosen One," Snape mutters in between kisses, and a minute later their mouths are vying for space on Harry while his tongue darts between their dueling cocks, making them slick and slippery. One of the older men is licking his balls. From the thick velvety motion he thinks it must be Remus, because Snape is surprisingly fierce and almost rough with his kisses and hands while Remus is steadier, less demanding. Even though Harry always thought he wanted Snape more -- that as much as he loved Remus, it was Snape who turned on something dark and forbidden and very hot inside him -- now he has to admit that Remus is absolutely fucking amazing in bed.

He runs fingers around both their arseholes and isn't surprised when Remus pushes toward him while Snape clenches inward just a bit, not ready or not willing to be touched there. And christ, there's absolutely nowhere Remus won't put his tongue, is there? Remus is flushed all over, like his whole body's embarrassed, and the pink looks almost garish crossed by so many scars, but he wriggles closer and sighs. And Harry laughs aloud around a mouthful of cock at the discrepancy between Remus's reputation and his abandonment to this, the unexpected joy of it.

Slick fingers nudge Remus's tongue aside, pushing into Harry, and he can tell without looking that they're Snape's because they're swift and insistent, coaxing him open and pressing so assuredly in the right spot that he has to tear his mouth free to cry out. "Screamer," Snape mutters with satisfaction, and Remus laughs and kisses Snape, and Harry scrapes Snape's cock very gently with his teeth and gloats when Snape has to pull his mouth away from Remus to groan.

"My turn there," Snape announces and shifts down the bed, displacing Harry with a quick kiss before sliding Remus's cock all the way into his mouth. Sitting up, Harry glances down at Remus's face -- lips swollen and red against his pale skin and brown hair, eyes wide and dark. One of Remus's hands travels slowly up from knee to wrist to shoulder, and he tugs Harry down into a hot, slow kiss, letting his fingers wander again from Harry's neck to his chest to his cock.

Snape's eyes lift to see what the two of them are doing. "Feeling neglected?" Harry asks, shifting as Remus curls toward him to try to get his mouth on Harry without disengaging Snape. Snape just smirks and rolls with Remus, sliding potion-stained fingers between paler thighs into the darkness behind them. Alternating his gaze, Harry studies Remus's lips and hand on his own cock and Snape's on Remus, all those different shades of brown-beige-purple-red-gold, until they start to blur together and Remus's hand is jerking as wildly as his breath is hitching, and Harry keeps accidentally kicking Snape because he can't hold still.

Remus comes first, lifting his head with a howl that's louder than any noise Harry has made, and the sight of Remus's gleaming, rosy face contorted with pleasure pushes Harry past control, making him spurt across Remus's cheek and into his hair. He's mortified afterward but Remus looks rather pleased, though he's still flushed scarlet, wiping the whitish fluid in bright damp streaks over his skin. Snape, too, has a streak of semen spilling from the corner of his mouth toward his chin. Diving down, Harry laps at it, feeling Snape's head turn to catch and press his lips.

"Our turn for you now," he tells Snape, pulling the older man across Remus, who rolls slightly to the side to sandwich Snape between them. Harry figures it's his turn to suck and Remus seems very happy to be pressed against Snape's back, kissing and licking Snape's ear and jaw, the fingers of one hand teasing his nipples while the others meet Harry's between Snape's legs.

"Come up here," Snape says hoarsely and Harry thinks maybe he's doing something wrong with his mouth, but Snape pulls him close with an arm around his neck and their faces all come together and their lips take turns devouring each other. Harry looks from Snape's fierce black eyes to Remus's vivid golden ones, then wraps his hand over Remus's on Snape's cock and it only takes a minute before Snape is grunting and spilling over their fingers and across Harry's stomach in sizzling white stripes.

They should clean up, Harry thinks contentedly, knowing that in a minute he'll have to pull his clothes on and stumble out to the bathroom because even if he's not completely drunk, his bladder has had more than enough. But Remus and Snape look so utterly content that he doesn't want to move yet, flicking his gaze from the dark head and inky eyes directly in front of him to the lighter, brighter face winking lazily over Snape's shoulder.

And perhaps it's too bad Colin Creevey can't take a picture, because this is the sort of thing that really should be caught in a photograph, the shadows of skin over skin and the contrasting textures, the thickness of hair and swell of muscle. Snape cocks an eyebrow and Harry realizes that he's been staring at them both with his mouth open, he probably looks like an idiot, but he doesn't care. He leans forward and they both move to kiss him, dark hair brushing his forehead, warm fingers stroking his cheek.

It's pitch black in the room when something wakes Harry up. He's too warm, and someone's scratchy leg hair itches against his thigh. If he sits up, his head will split open, so that wouldn't be a good idea. Better to lie still and take inventory.

Hands. Sticky. Chest. Half-covered in stretched-out shirt, which is the only thing he seems to be wearing. Feet. Cold. That always happens when there's no blanket. Why no blanket? Oh. Because he's on top of the blanket. Him and...

On his right, he can smell firewhisky and rum, plus soap and herbs. And semen.

On his left, it's like a potion brewing, sweet fumes caught in unwashed hair. And leather, and smoke, and something like incense. And semen.

That explains both the bitterness of his mouth and the funny feeling in his arse. If he could see, it might be time for some serious panic -- two! Both of them! -- but he can't see, can't even lift his head. Panicking will just make him sick.

Snape seems to be deeply asleep -- his breathing is even and nearly silent. Remus breathes faster, through his mouth, puffing the scent of stale alcohol in the direction of the other two. When Harry shifts and stretches his cramped shoulder, Remus mumbles something and rolls onto his stomach, snoring faintly.

So Harry turns toward Snape, whose entire body tenses and he fumbles at his side. Harry suspects that he's groping for his wand. He catches Snape's fingers in his own, whispering, "Severus."

"Potter," Snape whispers back in a voice thick with sleep. "Where are we?"

"In Ron's bed," Harry recalls. He thinks about laughing, but the pounding in his forehead warns him not to. Even without remembering clearly, he knows that they are at Grimmauld Place, after the party, after the war. The pillow beneath him holds traces of aftershave and Bertie Bott's Beans. And Hermione's shampoo.

"That's right," Snape rumbles, unsurprised. He reaches across Harry's body, fingers brushing Harry's hip as he hunts for Remus on the far side of the bed. It tickles, and Harry squirms, and Remus mutters, "'m too tired."

"That's right," Snape says again, but with a kind of amused contentment. His hand falls against Harry's chest like he's too exhausted to pull it away. In moments he's fallen back asleep.

Harry thinks about turning so he's not crushed between them, but his muscles don't want to move and his head weighs too much to lift. It's filled with vague memories of how they got there, him and Snape hauling a drunken Remus inside and Remus reaching out with both hands, pulling them both on the bed beside him, and a lot of laughing before Snape kissed first one and then the other.

It's like being caught in one of those dreams where you can't wake up. Except Harry doesn't want to wake up. Not even in the morning. Not even when the alcohol has worn off, when they can no longer use it as an excuse for this sated, cozy slumber.

Any more thinking and the headache is going to become real, so Harry stops. He can feel Remus's warm, damp breath on his shoulderblade and Snape's arm surging faintly against his chest as he inhales and exhales. Harry still can't see a thing, but he thinks it's the safest place he's ever been.

Read the sequel, "Senseless".