Linked drabbles for bloodraven77, gblvr, office_ennui and jazzypom. Warnings: These men are a werewolf and a onetime Death-Eater who don't strike me as squeamish, so bondage, voyeurism, wax, paddling, quasi-bestiality, erotic use of chocolate, penetration with an object, feathers, exhibitionism, domination, pissing, rough sex, mutual masturbation and Legilimency are just some of their consensual activities. J.K. Rowling created all things Harry Potter.

Nonconsensual

"Please."

Snape despises that it sounds like begging, but the werewolf offers no choice. Lupin demands assent for each escalation, refusing to continue until Snape has requested it. Sometimes Snape tries to punish him by refusing to speak, yet Lupin only smiles, patient until Snape finds himself pleading.

Lupin never begs. He joyfully accepts everything Snape offers, but never tries to exploit, never pressures, never cajoles. Sometimes Lupin will whisper, "Would you like me to...?" and if Snape fails to reply, he will not ask again. So Snape has no choice but to blurt out agreement against his own will.

~~~~

Snape can always tell when Lupin wants him. Lupin smiles too readily; his eyes gleam; his teasing fingers caress any objects they touch. The sight of Lupin's hand holding a spoon can make Snape hard.

"This was your fault," he snaps at Lupin after their soup goes cold because he went to his knees, unable to ignore those urgent fingertips.

Lupin never argues. "I'm sorry, Severus," he nods, dropping his eyes. A spell reheats their bowls. Despite the cleaning charm, Snape can still feel residue from the warm eruption inside his own robes; he can still taste the wolf's hunger.

~~~~

"I don't understand why you fight yourself," murmurs Lupin into the ear not trapped against the wall where he has cornered Snape one-handed, moving his clever fingers swiftly over mutinous hot flesh. "Does it excite you to try to hold back from me? Or to think that I won't let you?"

He twists his palm very slightly and Snape gives up, giving Lupin what he wants in a thick splatter across his sleeve. Teeth graze Snape's ear along with the breathy moan that melts the last of his resistance, making him sag into Lupin's waiting arms. "Isn't it good, Severus?"

~~~~

"Don't say that. You don't mean it. You can't."

"I can't love you? Or I can't tell you so?"

"Neither -- both. I don't want you to."

"Why not? Are you afraid you'll have to admit you like it?" Lupin has him pinned to the mattress by his wrists; he is not smiling. "I do love you, Severus. But if you tell me not to say it again, I'll leave. Is that what you want?"

"That's... not..."

"I didn't think so."

The fingers release him. Snape's arms are empty, bereft. "Don't leave," he says. "Please." Begs. His hand seeks Lupin's.

~~~~

When Lupin says I love you, it means you are mine. It means lie on the bed with your hips in the air. It means I forgive if you forgive. It means I am not leaving.

Lupin never begs, but sometimes he insists. "I won't do anything unless you tell me you want me to," he says. Snape understands that the werewolf must have a sadistic streak to put such demands upon him. Occasionally he still makes Lupin wait, but more often he gives in.

When Lupin says I love you, it means that Snape does not have to speak.

Kinks

Severus always insisted on keeping the candles lit. At first Remus thought that his lover did not want any surprises, but later he suspected that Severus must enjoy the werewolf's reticence to display his scars.

"Why?" Remus finally asked when Severus muttered "Lumos" in the darkness. "Do you take some odd delight in how ugly I am? Or does it make you feel powerful to see me as grotesque?"

Severus gaped, then dropped his gaze. "You are not ugly," he scowled. "Though you may blindfold me if you wish. But I will not let you pretend to be with Black."

~~~~

Tighter, Severus would order, more, until Remus was afraid that he was constricting the flow of blood to his hands. Severus' lips would flatten, pulling back into a grimace; then a moment would come when his mouth would relax, the pain seeming to fade. That was always when Remus would fear he had cut off his circulation and utter the spell to loosen the bonds.

"Why do you do that?" Severus snarled.

"I'm afraid of hurting you."

"Then make them taut." Severus shut his eyes, wincing. "When the ties are unyielding, I no longer feel the Mark on my arm."

~~~~

The first time, Remus thought that he must have been careless, leaving old photos on the bedside table instead of replacing them in the album where he kept them hidden. But when it happened again, with photos he was certain he had not removed, he watched with dawning realization as Severus' eyes strayed to the images.

The photos were all of Sirius. Young in some, older in others, he was not smiling in any of them. Remus would have ordered Severus to put them away, but being witnessed by Sirius made Severus fiercely possessive; he took, and Remus let him.

~~~~

On the night Remus demanded that his lover tell him what he wanted, Severus crossed his arms and announced that Remus could entertain himself. Which he did, rather flamboyantly, while Severus stared, rocking helplessly and biting his lip. His fingers clutched at his sleeves so violently that he popped a button off, though he did not appear to notice as it shot onto the bed.

"Yes," Remus moaned, pushing himself open with the tip of his wand, hoping that Severus would intrude and fuck him. It was not to be. Severus came where he stood, watching, without even being touched.

~~~~

Simple indulgent pleasures embarrassed Severus. He squirmed uncomfortably when Remus licked liquid chocolate from his skin; he flinched when Remus lay him back in the tub and sent magical tingling currents dancing over his body. He was mortified when Remus discovered that he had gotten hard from having his boots drawn off and his feet rubbed.

Yet Severus would let Remus thrust between his feet until he came, would suck Remus' gloved fingers, would get to his knees with no more provocation than Remus licking a spoon. Want did not make him cringe so long as it was someone else's.

~~~~

"You want to do this when you're a wolf," Severus growled, locking his ankles around Remus.

"But you know I can't. The Wolfsbane makes it impossible." Remus did not utter the inverse, his wish that the man would fuck the compliant beast until he associated that form with gratified lust. Severus already knew.

"Wolves can fuck dogs. You had Black under the full moon." No need to describe the pleasures of rolling in grass, of tongues and fur; Severus had found those, too, inside Remus' mind. Now he was testing the fantasy. Soon desire would overcome dread, and the past.

~~~~

The sheets were cool when Remus slid into the bed, raising gooseflesh on his skin. He imagined warming the cloth. Marking the linens. Flooding the bed and its owner with his scent. Squatting over Severus, letting out a soft moan of triumph with the spray, waking his lover with delicious heat and the sound of a secret, shhhhhhh, the urgent, selfish assertion of an animal or a child...

In the dark Severus was watching him with the glittering stare of a Legilimens. Remus emitted a guilty whimper.

"What a relief that I have a talent for cleansing charms," murmured Severus.

~~~~

After Azkaban, Sirius had needed to be hurt; he was able to feel pleasure only when it took him by surprise. But Remus could not bear to strike his lover. When Severus had brought the Wolfsbane, it was easy enough to find strands of his dark hair on his cloak. Remus had hit Sirius as Severus Snape.

Yet the real Severus would not be goaded, not even when Remus was much too rough. Severus' fingers were gentle on the wolf's scars; his tongue wrote praises on flesh. Though unworthy, Remus could only punish himself with acceptance...just as Severus wanted.

~~~~

Death-eaters did not flinch from pain. They were adapted to respond to it. Remus knew that he could inflict injuries beyond healing spells without taking Severus past what he could bear.

Of course Remus never tried, for what Severus truly could not withstand was tenderness. A single, slowly moving fingertip behind his balls could reduce him to pleas. A long wet kiss with a wandering tongue and the thrust of Remus' body over his could make him come. So could the merest suggestion of teeth against a nipple as Remus' hand consoled his quaking cock. Tenderness alone made Severus scream.

~~~~

There was little struggle when he pinned Severus down, but when he probed, the Legilimens responded. Remus could feel his own mind bursting, memories gushing forth, images and feelings swift and uncontrolled, very like orgasm. While he pounded into Severus' body, he gave himself away -- his fears, his shame, his joy -- until his lover painfully yielded, accepting, revealing himself.

It hurt more than transformation, but afterward Severus could never doubt him as Sirius had. There would be no Secret-Keeping, no suspicion of betrayal between them. Severus knew him and he knew Severus. Remus could ask no greater proof of love.

Mercy

The first time Remus saw Severus cry, it was because of feathers. Thousands of them, softer than kisses, brushing over every inch of his skin, stimulating each vulnerable spot at once...yet not quite enough, and Severus pleaded for release until tears leaked out of his eyes, spilling down his cheeks.

Remus touched him, but too late; Severus shuddered, clinging to Remus in a cloud of down, ragged sobs escaping his throat. And as he held Severus, soothing his lover with calm satisfaction of being able to bring him to this, Remus knew his own power and his own pitilessness.

~~~~

Severus was the first man Remus had ever known who could truly keep up with him the day before a full moon. There was no moderation: either Snape would hold himself back, allowing Remus to exhaust himself before he let go, or he would abandon himself entirely, coming fast and recovering nearly as rapidly, using whatever spells and potions were necessary to keep pace.

"With a bit of temperance, we might both be less exhausted once the Wolfsbane wears off," Remus said.

"Possibly." Severus sounded as if he might be sulking. "Is that what you want? Less?"

"No," grinned Remus.

~~~~

The word was "Mercy." Severus insisted upon choosing that one, though it made Remus uneasy; he suspected that personal history might make Severus loath to use that word. Indeed, Severus never said it to stop himself from feeling pain, though sometimes when they'd finished he would have to ask for a healing spell.

It was when they talked about the Death-Eaters, as Remus traced the outline of the Dark Mark with a finger, that Severus whispered the word, following a halting description of the torture and death of a Muggle. Remus was surprised: he had not demanded that Severus speak.

~~~~

"I said hold still!" But Severus was unwilling or unable to obey -- twisting, arching against Remus, pushing them both too quickly toward the brink. "If you don't behave, this will all be over."

"You could use Immobilus," Severus panted almost hopefully.

"I don't want to use Immobilus. I want you to hold still because I told you to."

Those words worked like a charm. The writhing ceased. Severus put his arms above his head as if his wrists were bound; he scarcely pressed into Remus' hip. But barely a minute later he came, letting out an unrestrained cry of triumph.

~~~~

"If I asked you not to come until I said you could, could you make yourself wait?" "No," replied Severus stubbornly.

"I don't believe you. Your self-control is excellent."

"But if I anticipated being punished for disobedience, I simply couldn't help myself." Severus looked gleeful, though he was already so hard that Remus knew it must ache.

"Suppose I wouldn't let you come, then. I wouldn't allow you to touch yourself while I told you what I would have done to you, how I'd have squeezed your balls while sucking your..."

With a groan Severus spurted onto his own belly.

~~~~

Remus murmured the words half-asleep, thinking of them as just another endearment: something his lover already knew. But when the relaxed body beside him went rigid, he grasped that he had breached a barrier.

"No one has ever said that to me. Not even my parents," muttered Severus.

Remus could have wept for him, but Severus put his hands and mouth on all the places he knew the werewolf liked best, until Remus gasped the words again shortly before pleasure rendered him incoherent. He grieved for Severus later, silently, after stroking him to sleep.

His reply had been clear enough.

~~~~

Some raids were more dangerous than anyone anticipated. They returned hours too late after tending their wounded. It was nearly morning when Remus arrived at his room.

Severus lay sleeping on the bed, curled like a child around a stuffed toy. When Remus leaned over to look, he saw that the hands clutched one of his cardigans.

His breathing woke Severus, who nearly smiled at him until realizing how he'd been caught. Then his face tightened and he started to stammer an excuse before Remus crawled beside him, pulling the covers over them both.

They would never speak of this.

~~~~

"I want," began Severus, in a voice so low that it was nearly inaudible. Those remained the hardest words for him, crueler than requited love.

"What do you want?" Remus smiled. A long pause followed, and he added, "You know that I'll do anything you ask -- but you have to ask."

There was another silence, with Severus folded in upon himself, biting his lip. Remus wondered what could be so unspeakable; through Legilimency they had few secrets left, and none, he had thought, in the realm of forbidden desire.

Finally Severus met his eyes. "I want...the feathers," he whispered.

Fire With Fire

Remus can tell when the Dark Mark flares to life. There's a pinched look to Severus' eyes and mouth. He moves as if his robes are constricting or his boots have rubbed blisters onto his feet. He hates to be touched; even the most casual contact will make him recoil as though he's been singed. It's how Remus feels just before moonrise.

The Healers suggest salves, potions to treat burns, ice packs, cool baths, yet Severus continues to smolder. Sometimes Remus thinks he takes comfort from the ache itself, like a form of penance. But sometimes it hurts to watch.

~~~~

"Hands aren't enough." Severus' voice is almost apologetic as he puts the curved handle of the stiff paddle into Remus' palm. There's a wrist strap almost as long as the circle of leather. It resembles a hairbrush that has lost its bristles.

Remus smacks his own palm, feels numbness follow the bite. "I can't," he tries to say, but Snape has dropped to his elbows and knees, waiting. Sirius, too, had begged to be hit, craving pain after Azkaban like he still needed to block out Dementors. Severus wants only the heat -- his flushed skin distracted from the deeper wound.

~~~~

Having Remus ejaculate on him is so important to Severus that Remus thinks he must enjoy Muggle pornography, obsessed with brazen spurting pricks rather than the intimate telltale looks and sounds of coming inside someone. Only gradually does Remus realize that it isn't the visuals, but the hot fluid pumping onto his body that Severus wants; not to withhold the tightness of his arse nor his eager, sucking mouth from his lover at the moment of climax, but to feel that heat oozing into his armpit, between his feet, against his cheekbone, places that have never been so warm before.

~~~~

The candle is heated enough to leave welts -- though not, Remus hopes, enough to make the red spots burst. He knows healing spells, but he is still afraid of ripping away skin with the tiny hairs caught in the cooling wax.

"More," Severus grunts, the first noise he has made since the liquid spilled onto him, forcing from him a sharp hiss of breath...so loud that for a moment Remus thought the sound was flesh sizzling. He has no experience with this; perhaps Snape will laugh at his artlessness later. For now he lifts his unmarked arm, repeating, "More."

~~~~

He has asked to be bound to the grate at the wrists and at the elbows, so tightly that the circulation in his forearms has slowed, leaving the skin ashen past the indentations on his upper arms. As Remus shoves into Severus, making him move too, the cloth loosens, chafing bright blazing circles in his skin. It makes Remus think of rubbing sticks together to make a fire. He wonders how hard he would have to fuck Severus for the twisted cloth to burst into flame, and whether there would be a moment of painless oblivion as the Mark shriveled.

~~~~

It isn't that Severus is submissive, nor that he prefers it on the bottom. He fucks Remus vigorously when Remus needs to feel the ardor of possession...which he always does after anything that terrifies him.

The charring of the Mark, for instance. Remus had understood why Severus wished to do it, and that he wanted Remus in the room in case his injuries were greater than anticipated, or Voldemort somehow responded. Yet the moment flame touched skin and Remus smelled burning flesh, he dropped the lamp and rushed out to be sick, leaving Severus alone to put out the fire.

~~~~

It isn't that Severus is submissive, yet something in him said "yes" to the Dark Lord. Some part wanted to accept the Mark, to turn away from right and wrong. Whether that damaged him as a young man or whether prior damage made it possible, Severus is malleable to Remus now. In his agitation, to be flogged is heated distraction, to be pissed on is melting bliss; if Remus feels exultation rather than empathy, if he wishes to humiliate instead of comfort, Severus will accept it just the same.

Remus wonders if he has turned away from right and wrong.

~~~~

"I don't know if I can keep doing this. I hate myself with you like this."

"I see." Severus wears the same haggard expression when the Mark throbs. "I'd imagined that a werewolf might understand."

The Death-Eater has come with the potion to ease the werewolf's suffering. Remus can feel the heat of his body through his robes -- the armor Severus wears to hide his scars, from escape attempts as elaborate as Sirius' from Azkaban or Remus' from his own skin.

"It's because I understand." His cheeks burn with shame, and tears scald his eyelids when he looks at Severus.

~~~~

Mind-reader, he remembers too late. Legilimens. The other wizard has already witnessed the truth, and there is no hiding from that gaze. Severus can see the wolf, the dark creature, the thing Remus keeps hidden from everyone but especially from Severus, the part of himself that says "yes" to everything he isn't supposed to want. Right now especially including Severus.

Rather than looking horrified, however, Severus looks flushed. Aroused. His arm -- with the Mark -- hangs forgotten at his side.

Yes. Show me that.

Neither of them will know later who moves first, like a simmering cauldron that suddenly boils over.

~~~~

Words of passion make Snape blush and squirm. Sometimes he cries out, "Enough," as though an intimate part has been overstimulated...particularly if he's the one doing the talking.

After Sirius went to Azkaban, Remus lay shivering on the floor, unable to bear sleeping in his bed. It was the same after the Veil. He hasn't forgotten tearing his skin, a maddened wolf. But he knows that although love can be more painful than a mark burned into flesh, it also heals.

The faded, discolored skin of Severus' forearm is warm beneath the vise of his fingers. His cock is warmer.