SAFE WORDS
By Your Cruise Director

Compellation

It's three hours until the full moon, and I desperately need to wank.

It's always like this. When I was younger, after Sirius found out what I was and what that did to me besides turn me into a bloodthirsty wolf, it was my favorite time of every month. He knew that he could make me come any way he wanted, and he did...sometimes cornering me to fuck me on a desk in an empty classroom, sometimes using only his hand and the filthy things he'd whisper in my ear. Later, in Grimmauld Place, he was quieter and less inventive but he still took care of me, crawling into my bed to suck me or bringing me upstairs for a furtive pull in one of the unused rooms.

Then he was gone, and, after one awful month when in my misery I forgot to take my Wolfsbane potion -- terrible things almost happened, but Severus figured it out in time, and once again forced me to be responsible -- I had no choice but to hold myself together. As it was while Sirius was in Azkaban, a quick wank has become part of my monthly routine, along with the Wolfsbane and the exercises that make it easier for my muscles to reshape themselves during the transformation. I need sex badly enough that I don't have to think about anything. If unfortunate memories or faces flash into my mind when I come, it's easy enough to blame my condition and long celibacy.

This month, however, Snape is late with the potion, and I have no choice but to wait for him, cleaning and pacing and finally trying to read in faint hope of distraction.

When he finally arrives in the library, shaking floo powder from his robes, I'm almost frenzied. I've long since removed my cardigan yet I'm sweating anyway, holding it across my lap to hide my stiffy. He gives me an odd look when I reach, too urgently, for the bottle in his hand, pulling it just out of my grasp unless I stand up and risk revealing myself.

"I apologize for my tardiness. You may blame your little Gryffindor pet, Miss Granger, who insisted on pelting me with questions while I was trying to put a stopper in this potion and leave Hogwarts." Dark eyes sweep over my perspiring face, down my body leaning forward to seize the bottle, and Snape taunts, "Eager, Lupin?"

Something always makes me respond to the way he says my name -- my family name -- I can't recall him ever calling me Remus, but that's quite all right with me. There's a rolling sound to the L and a throaty moan in the U, as if he's licking and swallowing something; I'm sure he means for it to sound contemptuous, but sometimes (particularly when my mind is clouded by the acute urge to rub my prick into the nearest pliable object) it's excruciatingly arousing. I'm mortified by the little needy noise that escapes through my nose, though at least I can hope that Severus will attribute it to unease at my coming transformation, rather than nearly coming in my pants from listening to his voice.

Few secrets escape those eyes, however, even when I don't think he means to use Legilimency. Long before anyone else realized that my monthly disappearances had a pattern, Severus guessed that I had a secret. He has always been able to read me more easily than others, and I have always been ashamed that he must have known I was sorry for the way Sirius and James treated him yet did nothing to stop it.

I don't need to read Severus' thoughts to see that he has witnessed my excitement and the effect that his voice has on me. Having studied to make the Wolfsbane potion, he must know about what happens to werewolves in the hours before the moon rises, and he stares at me with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. "You become rather pathetic when the animal begins to take over, don't you, Lupin?"

Oh, there it is again, and he's said it just that way, to see how I'll respond. My cock jumps and it's all I can do to keep my hips still, while at the same time I can feel my face turning bright red; I have to bite my lip to avoid making another sound I'll regret. It's obvious that Severus can see my reaction, yet, intriguingly, the repulsion drains from his face, replaced by even more intense interest. "Does being insulted bother you, Lupin?" He knows now, and he's going to use it to torture me.

"It's not the insults," I manage to explain. "It's the way you say my name."

His lips tighten. "You mean as though it leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth?"

"Mmm, no." I have very little left to lose, here, so I strike with the only weapon I have. "I mean the way you wrap your tongue around the first syllable and close your mouth over it like you just can't help yourself."

Severus' eyes go wider than I have ever seen them, and though I've nowhere near his skill at discerning truth from lies, I can see the instant of thrill in them before he puts on his deadliest sneer. "What a very perverse imagination you've developed, shut up alone in this house. Perhaps it is no longer safe for you to visit with others, even after the moon has waned."

He's trying to threaten me, perhaps to make me think he could keep the children from me, but I know that he does not believe that I am any more a danger than I was, not even to him. More importantly, he will never speak of this to anyone -- certainly not to Dumbledore or McGonagall, either one of whom could read the provocation underlying Snape's antagonism. "I have an excellent imagination," I agree. "I imagine that you like knowing what your voice does to me. It isn't as if you've given me the bottle and left."

"Perhaps I merely enjoy witnessing your humiliation...Lupin." But a flush is creeping across his pale cheekbones as he says my name again, and I allow myself respond to the word, letting my eyelids fall shut and my lips part as my hips roll against the sofa. By the time I look back at Severus, he's breathing faster and his eyes are blacker than usual.

"I imagine my humiliation excites you. Except I'm not imagining, am I, Severus?" There's no twist that I can put on his name to give it the same lush twist that he gives mine, but I draw out the S, the way I'd draw out "Yesss" in an erotic situation, and no, I'm not imagining anything. Even though I can't quite see the outline of his body through his robes, I can tell from the way he shifts that he's getting hard, trying to keep his cock tucked away in the folds of his clothing. Pushing my cardigan from my lap, I let him get a good look at what it's been hiding. It's too close to moonrise, I need relief too badly -- even if seeing only makes him flee, at least I'll be able to end the torment.

He doesn't flee. He stands still, staring, swallowing hard, and when I twitch, lifting the fabric of my trousers, his breath turns into a soft moan. Everyone in the Order knows everyone else's business, and though Snape is sneakier than most -- he has to be, to keep the Death-Eaters close -- I'd still wager that it's been a long time since he's been with anyone, probably longer than it's been for me. "You can have it, you know," I tell him. "Any way you want. You could tell me to get on my knees for you, or bend me over the sofa, or you could just stand there saying my name and watching me touch myself until I come for you..."

"Stop," he says in a voice I've never heard him use before. I've watched him lose control, I've known him red-faced with anger and ranting at the top of his lungs, but not choking with lust, and for a moment I'm not sure whether to feel triumph or pity. "Why are you doing this, Lu--" He checks himself.

"As you rightly observed, I become rather pathetic when the animal begins to take over. And you've brought me the Wolfsbane potion -- why don't you let me return the favor? You can use me any way you'd like."

It's that word, use, that defeats Severus, though it's a lie and he knows it. No matter what he wants to do with me, no matter what pleasure he might take from it, this began with my needs and they will be fulfilled if I can only get him to touch me...his wand is out and my clothing is unfastening, unraveling, shirt tugging my arms up as it pulls itself free and flies across the room, trousers lifting my bottom to shove down my thighs and slither away from my feet. He watches me the way hungry first years watch the start-of-term banquet appear on the tables in the Great Hall, very nearly licking his lips, which is the only thing that prevents me from trying to slow the process. So many scars cover my body that even those who have been warned sometimes flinch away, and Snape of all people needs no additional reminders of what I am and what I will become in a few hours.

There is no disgust on Snape's face; a brief moment of surprise at the extent of the damage, perhaps even something akin to empathy, then nothing but greed as his hands begin to remove his own robes. His skin is frightfully pale, even more so than my own, making the raised red skin of the Dark Mark seem to glow. His eyes follow mine, and he twists his arm inward as though he would hide it. It seems that I am not the only one here who has been made to feel ashamed.

"Let me," I tell him softly, standing, sliding a hand up his forearm before helping him remove the rest of his clothes. His robes have a preposterous number of buttons on the sleeves and his boots lace high up his legs; much as I enjoy the look on his face while I struggle to remove them, using teeth as well as fingers, I can't help wondering whether his armor-like clothing is a reaction to James having flipped him over and exposed him all those years ago. He does not relinquish his wand even when we are both fully undressed, and I step back toward the sofa, gesturing at the door to the library: "You might want to use a locking spell."

Once the room has been charmed for protection and silence, he turns, following me to the sofa, where I sit and look up at him. His cock is pointing straight at me from the patch of wiry hair surrounding it, yet he very nearly shies away when I slide a hand across his hip, and I let it drop again. "What do you want, Severus?" At this point there is nothing I want more than to fling myself upon him and rut against his thigh until I come. Still, it wouldn't do to scare him off now, so I take his hand instead and pull him down with me onto the cushions, dropping my voice as I brush my mouth against his ear. His hair is softer than I expect and it smells clean. "Do you want me to suck you? Or do you want to fuck me? Or first one, then the other?"

He mutters, "I won't last that long."

"Neither will I," I admit cheerfully. "But the moon won't rise for over two hours. We can always have another go."

"Not all of us have the metabolism of a werewolf!" snarls Severus. "Perhaps I should come back next month, after I've read up on endurance spells and lubrication charms, and you'll be so much more impressed."

Suddenly it's clear to me how anxious he is -- Snape, who isn't afraid to stand up to Dumbledore, nor to Cornelius Fudge, nor any of the Blacks or Malfoys. It's quite touching. "I didn't ask you to impress me," I remind him. "I asked you to say my name."

"Lupin," he scowls promptly, his embarrassment evident. His voice goes straight to my groin, and I whimper a bit; I imagine it must sound pathetic, but pathetic is what he expects from me. He doesn't resist when I slide my hand across to turn his face toward me, nor when I kiss him. A moment later he's kissing me back, more enthusiastically than I would have expected from him (and, truth be told, more skillfully as well).

This isn't what I had been seeking: it's taking too long, so that part of me wants to scream in frustration, and it's too gentle, not allowing me to grab him and pull him on top of me and beg him to fuck me or suck me or let me rub against his thigh while I suck him. On the other hand, if I'd wanted mindless sex each month before I transformed, I could have had it long before this. I've never been happy fucking someone just to do it, and I stopped trying long ago, while Sirius was in Azkaban and I didn't think I'd ever really be happy again. Happiness has never worked for me the way I think it should. I was overjoyed when Sirius returned, but he was never really happy here and we weren't very happy together. Severus and I have brought one another nothing but grief since we've been children, yet here I am moaning pitifully, trying to give myself to him any way he'll let me, and he is letting me. That makes this something other than mindless sex, doesn't it?

Again he sighs my name when I take his hand and pull it slowly over my skin to where I want it. His palm is clammy at first, tense, but by the time he touches my cock it has grown warm and damp and he lets me guide it, pressing himself against my thigh. I'm so close that I could come just like this, but he stops and moves down until he's looking up at me from between my legs with an entirely wicked expression.

"Lupin," he says, flicking out his tongue so hard on the L that it brushes over my cock, and he does it again when I shout, closing his mouth over me so that the last syllable is only a hum that vibrates through my body. He keeps humming as he moves his lips and tongue over me, taking me in deeper, until my hips are rocking beyond my control and I'm babbling his name and "yes" and possibly some other words. I have every intention of warning him, in fact I pull out of his mouth before I try to thrust down his throat, but he keeps licking obscenely at me and saying my name in that voice until I'm coming, I'm coming, all over his lips and cheek I'm coming and on his tongue in his mouth I'm coming and he closes his eyes and hums and lets me.

"Fuck," I gasp when I can breathe again, because it's one of the few coherent syllables my mouth remembers how to form and because I'm certain he's about to clean his face with the look of revulsion to which I've grown accustomed. Severus, however, believes the word to be an invitation, and without even stopping to wipe his mouth, he rises, rolls me over on the narrow sofa and I feel his wand hovering against the back of my thigh as he speaks charms for hygiene and comfort and something that leaves me delightfully slick and warm.

"I thought you said you needed to read up," I pant as his fingers begin to stroke me, teasing the sensitive opening, working slowly inside me until I'm nearly ready to beg again.

A low rumble escapes him, and I try to recall whether I've ever heard him laugh before. "Like riding a broom, Lupin," he assures me, but his voice is ragged and his hips push urgently against mine. I squirm and bend my knees closer to my chest, feeling him shift over my back, the awkward pressure of alignment before the sharper ache of penetration and the slow, smooth glide as he fills me. He answers my groan with one of his own, and I know it will be quick, but the sting has already faded when he thrusts again and we fit together perfectly, his cock nudging me inside till I jolt forward into his hand. I start babbling again, thrashing against him as I hear him call out and feel the spasms as he comes in me.

Once he recovers, Severus begins to stroke me steadily, muttering into my ear, "You like that, don't you, Lupin. You're going to come for me again, aren't you, Lupin," until I'm garbling my attempts to pronounce his name and spurting the answer into his hand. He lifts his fingers, sniffs at them and then licks one, making a thoughtful noise. "It isn't particularly sweeter from a werewolf."

"Were you expecting it to be chocolate-flavored?" I demand with a laugh.

"From you, that would not surprise me." From him this is very nearly an affectionate comment, and I stop talking before I ruin the moment. We lie together quietly for a little while, and I begin to wonder how much time has passed; I must take the potion before the hour grows too close to moonrise. As if the same thought has occurred to him, Severus stiffens slightly. "Where did you put the bottle I brought you?"

While I wriggle upright and retrieve the Wolfsbane, he picks up his wand from where he has dropped it and casts Scourgifying charms on the furniture and on us. With his eyes lowered, he begins to gather his clothing. "Don't think that this changes anything," he warns.

"No?" I ask, trying to keep amusement from my face, since I could have predicted that he would say something like that. "You don't want to do it again, then?"

Severus turns a gratifying shade of purple. "I meant that you should not expect me to treat you any differently."

"No bouquets of monkshood? No owls bearing silver jewelry? I suppose that this will have to do." Lifting the bottle of Wolfsbane, I tip it toward him with a bowed head before swallowing it down. Perhaps it is my imagination, but it tastes better this month. "I do not expect you to treat me any differently, and I particularly don't want you to start calling me by my first name."

"I assure you that I will not." Severus' frequent disdainful expression has returned, yet his eyes widen slightly as he adds, "Lupin." I reward him with an appreciative hum, and he presses his lips together. "You aren't going to whinge like that whenever I speak to you, are you?"

"I'll try not to, but, Severus, I might not be able to help myself. Unless I'm already feeling quite satisfied."

"Is that a threat, Lupin?"

He draws out the syllables, and, again, I can't resist a moan. "Perhaps it's an offer. Will you keep it in mind?"

Color tinges his face, and he avoids my eyes as he finishes dressing. "Next month I will be certain to arrive early with your potion."

"I'll be waiting," I assure him, and try not to grin wolfishly.

2. Affirmation

Fifteen minutes after the Order meeting ends, there's a knock on my door.

"Hello, Severus."

"Lupin."

He looks good enough to peel and eat in his layers of black. I can't even pretend that this is a surprise; I saw him glancing at me throughout the meeting, and don't think it was revulsion or guilt that made him tense whenever I smiled at him. I tried to look concerned, in case anyone else noticed -- with colleagues who are trained in Legilimency, it's nearly impossible to keep any secrets -- but I did give him one long, hungry stare, lest he should think I regretted my behavior before the full moon.

I could practically smell him breaking into a sweat in his impatience for the meeting to end. He had no bitter words for Dumbledore about our inefficiency, no lengthy prophecies of doom at the hands of Death-Eaters, which is so unlike him that Molly Weasley asked him whether he was feeling all right when we adjourned for tea. I had wondered whether he would come to me before he had to deliver the Wolfsbane potion again. The meeting at Grimmauld Place gave him a perfect opportunity, but I'd worried that Severus might be too proud to take it, no matter how apparent I made my invitation.

A reply, an accusation, even a greeting can be an admission of need, and he knows it; he won't quite meet my eyes as I step back, inviting him with a gesture into my room. Because I had hoped he'd come, I've cleaned the place, stacking my parchments on the table and straightening the cushions on the sofa, but I've left the bedcovers just a bit rumpled in the corner furthest from the fireplace. A little bottle of oil sits on the bedside table where I'm sure it won't escape his notice.

"Would you like some whiskey?" Severus gives me an incredulous look, as if he fears I believe he actually came up here to sit and converse, which makes me bold. "All right. I know you despise small talk. Will you come to bed?"

For a few moments, he looks like he might object to having what we both want offered so bluntly. His hand clenches and unclenches in the fabric of his robes near the pocket where he keeps his wand; I turn my own palms up to show him that my hands are empty, my intentions plain. "You certainly waste no time," he mutters in a tone somewhere between aggravation and admiration.

"Did you want to be seduced? I could fill the room with flowers." Color darkens his cheekbones, but before he can object I step close enough to slide my fingers between his, so that it's my hand rather than his clothing that he's squeezing. "I did think that you'd prefer to skip the pleasantries. Just say yes, Severus."

"Now you're giving me orders?"

There's a threatening growl in his voice, not quite an objection, which goes straight to my groin. "I thought that perhaps I was begging..." He doesn't let me finish the sentence, grabbing a fistful of my clothing and yanking me close for a demanding kiss. We don't talk for awhile after that, while his tongue sweeps my mouth and I rock enthusiastically against him until he begins to unbutton and drop pieces of my clothing to the freshly swept floor. I try to do the same, though his impossibly elaborate sleeves frustrate my too-eager fingers. Finally he makes all the buttons on them pop open with a charm. "Are your robes so complicated just to drive me mad?" I ask him.

"You managed to get them off me well enough last time," he reminds me, and I remember that I unlaced one of his boots with my teeth. Grinning, I drop to my knees and do it again, watching him watch me with great pleasure: if it's a tame wolf he wants, I can behave before I pounce.

What's more, I can see the swelling beneath his robes despite all the layers. "Exsolvo," I whisper, enjoying his hissing breath when the fastenings burst open, letting his cock spring free. Humming happily, I pop the head into my mouth like a sugar quill, tasting the salty skin while above me he moans and clutches at my shoulder. He's leaking already, thickening in my mouth. If I'm not careful this could be almost too easy, so I let him go. "Now will you come to bed?"

"Get up," snaps Severus, tugging at me. Though his voice rushes straight to my groin again and I'm sure he means it to sound as though he's giving the orders, I can guess which of us will soon be pleading. Wand out, he orders the rest of my clothing away, then his own, so that we're standing, naked, facing one another, breathing heavily in the flickering light from my fireplace and candles.

"Now come here," another moan as he lunges forward, biting at my mouth which I let him have at once, and I wonder whether he's deliberately avoiding the bed and everything it represents: shared sleep, comfort, the likelihood that Sirius and I made love there. For now I'm willing to let him have me on the sofa again or against the wall if necessary. Yet some part of my concern must convey itself to Severus, because he tears himself away from me, grabs my wrist and starts hauling me across the room. Perhaps he believes that I suspect him of being afraid, or that I pity him (and perhaps I do, but I don't believe he has probed my mind deeply enough to discover that). I quite enjoy his aggression, but there's an angry edge to it, and I don't want him fucking me just to prove something or to compete with a memory.

"Severus. Wait."

"Yes?" His eyes narrow. "Have you changed your mind, Lupin?"

My entire body responds to the way he uses his tongue to say my name, and I let out a sincere whimper of desire. "No. I want -- last time you used your mouth, and your hands -- will you let me do the same to you?"

"Will you stop when I tell you to?" he retorts. Again his fear of losing control seems stronger than his craving for pleasure. I drop my eyes when I nod, though I'm beginning to suspect that he would not use Legilimency to see if I might be plotting to ridicule him. He has risked enough simply by being here, trusting me that far.

Abruptly I realize how much I had been hoping he would come, how I'd anticipated it even as I'd told myself that it would be his loss if he did not. When we kiss again we are shy with one another, more so than we were the first time, when I had the excuse of the lunar cycle and he could have claimed that it meant less than nothing. We have both chosen now.

Severus sits on my bed, looking up defiantly -- I won't submit to you, werewolf -- and lies back when I encourage him. Gentle touches make him twitch and flinch as though he's uncomfortable. He responds much more readily to being pressed down, having his skin sucked, fingernails, teeth, and there is triumph in his eyes as he watches me learn this. Yet there is resistance as well...a refusal to give over to pleasure.

I want to fuck him, I want to tell him how much I want to fuck him, and at the same time I'm afraid to say it. Last time I promised Severus that he could have me any way he wanted, so maybe he thinks that I prefer to be taken, and maybe that's why he has returned. Indeed, I would gladly let him fuck me to keep him here or to be certain of his return before the full moon. But even if he wanted me inside him as much as I want to be there, I wonder whether he would ever risk the appearance of surrender by asking.

"Talk to me," I beg rather shamelessly. "Let me hear you. You know what your voice does to me. Tell me what you want."

"Why don't you suck me like the greedy creature you are, Lupin," he growls at once, and I give him a long, happy groan before plugging my mouth with his skin -- first the tense insides of his thighs, then the looser sac. "Gluttonous even when the moon is waning?" continues Severus breathlessly as I lick all around. His leg shifts to give me better access, and I let my tongue slide up, finding the ridge, the puckered flesh.

"What are you...!" But his knees are bending while he speaks, hips canting up. He's clean, prepared for this -- he must have considered the possibility that I would touch him here, must have hoped for it even if he wouldn't have asked.

After a moment, I realize that the intimacy I've just offered presumes much more than any query about sexual positions. "Will you roll over? I want to touch the rest of you." His body tenses, but he does so, letting me indulge in the pleasure of lying over him, face in his hair (soft, sweet, he must have washed it for me), my arms and legs pressing his down, cock resting in the hollow of his back just above the ridge of a surprisingly rounded bum. When he mutters my name, I can't hold back another groan of pleasure, but this is not a moment to press my advantage.

Holding his hips, I slide down, easing his legs apart with my own, until I can lick and bite at his bottom. He can't quite stifle his grunts against the pillow, and as I slip my tongue into the cleft and lower my head, the noise turns into a clear if muffled yell. "Lupin, don't stop, fuck..."

He seems to believe that I might stop if he doesn't keep talking, so he babbles, and it's so very unlike him, and so utterly arousing, that I keep it up until my chin is soaking wet and he opens easily around my tongue. "Lupin, please," he moans finally.

Reaching toward the bedside table, I make sure he can see me as I take the bottle and pour oil onto my fingers. A spell would be faster but this needs to be slow, with the certainty that it is welcomed. His bum lifts impatiently as my fingers probe, and I tug the pillow in which he's been muting his voice from beneath his head to push it under his hips. This has the added advantage of allowing me to hear every gasp he can't control, and he pushes back with increasing enthusiasm as I add more and more oil and another finger.

He's rubbing himself against the pillow beneath him as well, pressing down to avoid friction. "Tell me when," I murmur. Severus goes quite still and I'm almost sorry I spoke; for awhile it had felt as if he'd forgotten to hold back. Now I'm not even certain that he will admit he wants more.

"Get on with it already," he says with his familiar derision, which makes me smile. While I put some of the oil onto myself, he shifts the pillow beneath him so that it's under his chest, rising higher on his knees to lift his arse high off the mattress, so that I can reach beneath him with my slick palm and stroke his cock, teasing the foreskin as I press against him and push inside.

Despite his startled yelp, Severus holds still for me, waiting until I'm halfway submerged to spread his knees more widely, changing the angle. He feels so good around me that I can't help letting myself slide all the way in, though I'd intended to thrust shallowly at first, and he drops his head and lets me, bracing his arms around the pillow.

Fucking Severus is pure delight. He's very ready, and he obviously likes being on the bottom -- he didn't agree to this only because I asked. The faster I move, the more vigorously he thrusts himself into my palm, until I'm shoving in deep and not very carefully and one of his hands is over mine, moving on his cock. There's almost no warning before he comes -- a rolling contraction, a strangled grunt, and liquid pours over my fingers in distinct warm bursts.

I'm close, so close, but I don't want to miss this, the sounds he makes with me pressed inside him. I force myself to hold relatively still until his body relaxes from the severity of climax. I start up again more slowly, expecting him to be sensitive, but he shoves himself back forcefully, getting up on his elbows: "Why are you holding back, Lupin? Afraid you'll like it?"

So I fuck him with everything in me, holding one of his hips tightly, and the single utterance of my name from Severus' lips pushes me past the point of endurance. I'm beyond restraint, too, when I come, shouting and clutching at him, strangely moved and grateful although I'm certain he's enjoyed this as much as myself.

I collapse on top of Severus afterward, still inside him, and I'm surprised when he lets me lie there on his back, resting my cheek in his hair, for longer than the few minutes it takes me to recover. He's so much more responsive than I would have guessed, and more generous; I wonder whom he ever would have trusted enough to learn pleasure like this, and am startled to feel unexpectedly envious. It would be extremely unwise to form a physical attachment to someone who has scarcely been civil to me, and upon whom I depend each month for the Wolfsbane potion...nervously my hips twitch, tugging me away from him, and I roll to the side, feeling chilled without his body heat against my damp skin.

"Satisfied, Lupin?" asks Severus in a lazy voice. The sound of my name rolling on his tongue has its frequent effect on me, yet so soon after that powerful climax, the feeling is less acute in my groin, more diffuse all over, and it makes me shiver. All at once I want to be touching him again, so I turn and wrap an arm over his back, letting my forehead rest against his shoulder.

I can feel him squirming around to face me and look up to meet his gaze, which is unexpectedly approachable. "Quite satisfied." A hint of smugness settles over his features, yet it's so rare to see him smile that I return it. "And you? Are you content? I didn't hurt you at the end?"

Severus makes a small scoffing noise. "You really are an animal," he announces, leaving me on the verge of withdrawing again when his arm settles against mine. "But I am not as fragile as you think."

"I don't think you're fragile at all," I object.

"You've been cautious all evening."

This sounds like criticism, and it irritates me, particularly when I'm still feeling so good. "You'll have to excuse me -- before the last full moon it was rare for you to speak a handful of polite words to me." His eyes widen, but his arm remains heavily against me. "I'd no idea whether you came here for an exact repeat or for something different, and given your expressed dislike of werewolves in general and of me in particular --"

"Why would you do this if you believe me to be a lycanthrophobe?" he asks with some of his usual defensiveness returning. Again, as expected, it triggers my own.

"Are you going to tell me that you're not? Don't you stand over me each month to make certain that I take the potion you so resentfully supply?"

"I would not continue to bring you the Wolfsbane if I found the task so odious. And I make certain that you swallow it because you failed to do so on one critical occasion that very nearly cost not only my life, but the lives of several of those young Gryffindors of whom you are so fond." His eyes grow beady and his mouth twists. "You haven't answered my question."

"Why would I do this? It's very simple." It is, of course, anything but simple, but he wants an answer and I want him in my bed again when he brings me my potion in a couple of weeks. "However you may feel about werewolves in general or me in particular, you agreed to this, and I don't have to worry about shielding my secrets from you -- you know what I am and you know about my work for the Order. You're a very private person, so you have at least as much reason to remain quiet about what passes between us as I do. And in case you hadn't noticed, we're quite compatible here."

When I pause to take a breath, he is nodding, and although I am rather proud to have come up with such a declaration without even having rehearsed it in my own mind, I realize that what I have called simple is becoming more demanding by the moment. "Compatible" is a great understatement: the two times we've come together have resulted in the most satisfying sex I've had since I was young, and we're not even past most of our initial unease. And the very fact that we have known one another for so long, even if we've always been antagonists, makes it difficult to dismiss what is happening between us as a careless connection. This is extraordinarily intimate for us -- talking rather than making assumptions about one another.

"Why are you doing this, Severus?" I ask him. His eyes, which have been closely focused on my own, slide away and his arm tenses against me.

"I have the same concerns that you do about protecting the Order. You made an unconditional offer. And, as you said...we appear to be quite compatible."

The way he says unconditional catches my attention, though I'm not certain what it means. "You mean I could have made the offer months ago, and instead I've wasted all this time when I could have been shagging?"

I smile, but Severus refuses to be teased. "You thought about it months ago?" he asks seriously, and I begin to feel trapped again lying in such proximity to him. I did not think about it, precisely, as anything I wanted or expected, but the idea had crossed my mind, though it was in the realm of fantasy, the presumably impossible and not necessarily desirable; it had never occurred to me that he might say yes. Apparently he takes my discomfort as an admission, because he adds in a low voice, "I thought about it. But I thought that Black..."

The loathing that creeps into his voice makes me recoil, yet for the first time I hear the note of frustration. He's as jealous of Sirius, even in death, as I was for a moment of whatever unnamed lover had had him before me...oh, we've been deluding ourselves as well as each other about the possibility of keeping this at the level of fucking, with all our history, with all the injuries we've given one another over the years. The intelligent thing to do would be to acknowledge, reluctantly, that this can only end badly, and to stop it before we damage one another and the Order.

I don't do the intelligent thing. I kiss him. If any part of my mind keeps trying to resist, it is silenced by the soft moan that escapes his nose and the hungry way his hands reach for me. This is not the response of a man who abhors werewolves, nor a man who resents me for being one. Perhaps he's been looking for excuses to hate me. I haven't forgiven him for taking from me a position I loved among people I cared for deeply, even if he believes he did it for their protection...though I suspect he did it because he hasn't forgiven me for that incident so long ago, not only because I terrified a defenseless boy, but because I continued to love another boy, the one who planned the prank.

Is it possible to leave the past in the past? That long-ago night seems far from Severus' thoughts as he mutters, "Lupin," knowing full well the effect this will have on me. And it does: the fact that I have in the past heard him speak my name with disgust does not alter my immediate response. My hips buck against him, his thigh presses mine. The way I feel now, it could be two hours until the full moon.

I know how much I may regret this, but I tilt my throat up to his seeking lips, and I say, "Yes."

3. Extemporization

Three days, that's all we wait. I discover that I'm a bigger coward than I thought, because while I'm sitting in the library wondering whether I dare send him a message, a little owl pecks at the window. "Are you available this evening?" Unsigned, of course, but these are unquestionably Severus' words -- am I available, not would I like a visit, and no mention of himself at all. I scrawl in reply that I shall look forward to seeing him. In truth I'm looking forward to it already.

When Severus steps from my fireplace, brushing Floo powder and ashes from his cloak, I walk over to help him. That's all it takes. Off come the clothes, his and then mine. His robes are soft beneath us on the floor, and he's prepared himself already; as soon as I make that discovery, I need to be inside him as quickly as possible. I have him on all fours before we've said more than ten words to each other.

That, of course, is the easy part. After we recover, two no-longer-young men who can't lie comfortably on a pile of clothing atop a threadbare carpet, there's the awkward business of cleaning up, retrieving some of our clothing and retiring to the sofa, where Severus sips the drink I offer him and tries discreetly to stop his pants from bunching up on his sweaty skin. We have an awkward conversation, ostensibly about our work for the Order, circling around our schedules for the remainder of the month in which neither of us quite asks the other when he might be free. It seems we manage to conclude that seeing one another will be impossible for at least a week.

We last four days, and that's only because we're both determined to see if we can wait longer than the time before. I have the query written hours before I finally summon the owl, and it's back in my hands with a single "Yes" added to it so quickly that Severus couldn't have hesitated, no matter what other obligations he might have had that night. This time I'm heating a kettle when he arrives. We manage a few minutes of conversation about Hogwarts, the latest Ministry edicts on the monitoring of the Floo network, and our mutual antipathy toward fruit-flavored teas before we set upon each other.

Some things we learn slowly, like the fact that Severus' dislike of unexpected sensation is almost as great as my desire for it. A pinched nipple or a sucked earlobe is likely to send me off when I'm close, but Severus tenses, scowls and seems to become unpleasantly aware of his body, taking several minutes to return to his previous state of arousal. Some things we learn more quickly, like not to kiss goodbye unless we wish the goodbye to become heated and prolonged. It occurs to me to wonder whether we kiss so much because kissing makes it impossible to talk. On the other hand, there's no denying that we both enjoy kissing. Severus does it as if he's been starved for it, licking, tasting, not trying to express anything but exploring the sensual possibilities. Any shyness we may have had about this, at least, is swiftly gone.

It isn't possible to know someone's body intimately without discovering some of his secrets. As much as Severus hates surprises, he responds enthusiastically to increasingly forceful demands, even restraint, so long as he can anticipate it. The edge between pleasure and pain is much less distinct for him than it is for me. What to me would be unpleasant, raw repetitive motion of nails or teeth excites him as the feeling grows stronger and more grating. He likes to be taken to a place where his senses can overwhelm him -- where, I suspect, he can rest for a few moments without thought or memory. Afterwards, when he notices me watching his return to awareness, he seems awkward within his own skin again, unwilling to dwell on what has just happened between us. Once he realizes that I can be distracted physically as well, he grows relentless, leaving me exhausted and satisfied yet with a gnawing desire to ask him what this is to him -- simple pleasure, or an attempt to obliterate some part of his past or our past together?

The afternoon before the night when the full moon will rise, he arrives early, while sunlight still floods in from what windows can be opened. He is more curt than usual handing over the potion, and his voice snaps when I ask him about his week, as if he believes I'm trying to distract him from the matter at hand. Then he proceeds to fuck me so thoroughly that it's a wonder I can lift my arm afterwards with the goblet of potion. When he sucks me, then has me doubled over the edge of the bed before I've even recovered, it's as if he wants to test whether legends about werewolf stamina are true...and after that, when he's too tired to respond sexually, he keeps touching me until I have no choice but to show him exactly what it's like to be a creature like myself on the day before a full moon. There's a kind of openhandedness that goes along with his curiosity, an eagerness to fulfill both our desires.

I realize that I would promise a great deal to make sure that he keeps returning.

But the real surprise arrives without warning through the fireplace the next day, while I'm sitting wrapped in a blanket on the library sofa, wondering whether I have the energy to make myself a cup of tea. Severus emerges in a cloud of Floo powder and dust, shakes himself off, and comes over without any sort of a greeting. "Drink this," he says instead, handing me a bottle. "It's something I've been working on."

What's inside smells nearly as bad as Wolfsbane potion, but I swallow it down anyway, startled to think only afterward that I haven't even asked Severus what it is. The effects are immediate: at once I'm less drained, with the dozens of aches in my body fading, and the room no longer seems so cold. "Thank you." I give him an entirely heartfelt smile, watching the corners of his lips twitch in reply. "But I must confess that even pure goatweed is unlikely to make me an entertaining companion for you today."

"I didn't come here expecting an encore of yesterday's performance," he retorts, and I know at once that I've embarrassed him. "This potion is nearly perfected, and I had thought to test it on a werewolf for the mutual benefit of my research and your discomfort. Are you experiencing any unusual effects? Lightheadedness, perspiration, dry mouth?"

"Not at all. I feel fine." In fact I feel quite good. "What's the primary purpose of the potion, Severus?" He doesn't deign to answer me, sitting beside me to take my pulse and shushing me forcefully when I attempt to ask again. His lips move, counting beats. I am suddenly quite certain that he made the potion for me. Whether the contents of the bottle were only an excuse to visit or whether the visit was truly to test the potion, he apparently wants to see me comfortable and well, and even if this might be to satisfy his own selfish urges, the advantages to me are undeniable.

"Your pulse has sped up, but your hands are still cold," says Severus, scowling as he releases my wrist. I take his hand before he can pull it away.

"Why don't we go upstairs? You can warm me up."

"You just told me that not even goatweed would 'warm you up.'"

"I said that I wasn't likely to entertain you. But I'd be happy to make the effort if you'd like."

At his penetrating stare, I regret the choice of words, for effort sounds as though I might not really want it and I'm not certain that Severus will ever admit to liking anything here. Perhaps I might ask the Legilimens another way? I meet his eyes, trying to hold my longing at the forefront of my thoughts, but he shakes his head with a swift, stern frown.

"We must use words. It's too dangerous otherwise."

I'm not certain if he means that I might trigger a onetime Death-Eater's defenses, that he might come across a werewolf's memories, that we might accidentally push beyond acceptable limits -- or that we might understand one another too well, and form a bond that could compromise the Order. But I nod, for quite apart from those hazards, I can't resist the thought of being able to demand to hear his voice asking for what he wants.

"But you haven't answered me. Severus, would you like to come upstairs for some lazy afternoon wanking?"

His breath hitches, and I smile slowly as his pale face flushes. "Do you still have that slippery potion I brought you? You haven't used it all up in the days before the full moon, have you?"

Now it's my turn to blush, for he's certain to notice that there's less in the bottle. "There should be enough for the two of us. And if you're feeling adventurous, I have a plug that's charmed to speed up its vibrations the more noise you make."

Severus opens and shuts his mouth, licks his lips, whips out his wand. "It will be faster to Apparate than to walk."

I've never stroked him off before when I've been so relaxed, just watching him, lying face to face with my free hand tugging at a nipple. One of his knees is bent awkwardly, perpendicular to the bed to hold the plug inside him at the perfect angle, while his thumb rubs damp circles on my lips until I suck it, drawing a loud cry from him that makes the plug set his entire body pulsing. The abandon on his face makes me hungry. I suck each of his fingers in turn until he starts fucking my mouth with them, setting a rhythm I try to mimic on his cock, and when he comes, I take his hand to make him wipe the puddle from my belly so I can lick it off his skin, one finger at a time.

He kisses me when he can't bear this any longer, and keeps his mouth on me as he slides down, using one well-sucked finger on me where he had the plug inside himself. My muscles are still so tight from my transformation that I can't twist or stretch very easily, so he focuses on the one spot on my body that's unaffected, entirely responsive to him. When he starts to talk around my skin, saying my name, I come quickly -- shamefully so, unable or unwilling to resist the pleasure he offers, and it's not the first time -- but rather than bothering him this makes him smirk in satisfaction, and he lets me rest while he cleans both of us up.

Drowsily I feel him check my pulse once more, his fingers warm and tight around my wrist. Then the pressure slackens but the warmth of his hand remains. Still touching, we fall asleep.

Why this should be so mortifying to Severus when we wake, I never learn. Perhaps he missed a meeting or slept right through a class, something I imagine he has never done in all his years teaching at Hogwarts. Maybe it's simply the implied trust, or the comfort. Whatever the reason, he proceeds to try to pick an argument with me -- several, in fact, on subjects as diverse as the number of parchments concerning Order business left lying about on tables instead of being locked up and the fact that I've allowed Harry to borrow books from the library at Grimmauld Place. It's almost comical at first, and I try not to smile indulgently as he finishes dressing and rants about possible spying and students who need to pay attention to their lessons instead of prying around into matters which are not their concern.

Then it becomes a little tiresome. "Severus." He looks at me. "Come here." For a moment I think he will ask why, but he obeys. "Sit down." I'm on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off the side, wearing nothing but my shirt, and there's defiance in his eyes but also a concern that borders on fear, and he sits. I wonder which he's afraid of -- that I'm going to tell him something that will push him away, something far more serious than the things he's been prating on about, or the opposite, that I might make some embarrassing romantic gesture or express some feeling that should have no place here. Holding out my wrist, I tell him, "I think your potion must be wearing off, because my ankles and elbows are sore, but it must have lingering side effects."

Obediently he checks my pulse. "What sort of lingering side effects?"

"Only that I want more of this." Closing my fingers around his forearm, I tug him close for a kiss. His entire body resists, yet he doesn't pull his mouth away, and I become increasingly greedy and shameless, practically climbing into his lap to see how soon he'll stop me. It never happens; he never does. Finally, because I really am uncomfortable and growing tired, I settle against him. "I wish you could stay longer."

"You've never seemed terribly fond of my company, Lupin," he spits. "You and your friends..." I lift my head to look at him. "I suppose you've grown desperate for visitors."

"Do you dislike being with me, Severus?" Clearly he has no intention of answering me, nor even looking at me, so I continue: "I had thought, perhaps foolishly, that things had changed."

As I speak, I'm turning over what he has said in my thoughts. Have I grown so desperate for visitors that I am willing to overlook the past, or have we changed? If Sirius were here...but he isn't, and that's a more dangerous speculation than whatever is happening between myself and Severus, wherever it leads. I must think of him as gone. Of course that has changed me, losing him again, and it seems so unfair to Sirius after he lost so much of his own life. Even so -- and this is perhaps my guiltiest secret -- it is easier to think of Sirius as dead than it was to try not to think of him, all those years when he was in Azkaban. When I conjure him now, it is with love and regret and aching sorrow, but none of the fury and guilt that was as difficult for me to release as it was for him to open himself to what small pleasures he could find after so many years among the Dementors.

Snape is looking at me, right into my eyes. Too late I remember how deeply he could see if he wished. Then, all at once, I remember what he is, or what he was: a Death-Eater, a murderer, a follower of Voldemort, the reason I cannot return to teach at Hogwarts as he will in a short while. For an instant I despise him, and I wonder whether we have changed at all.

Even without Legilimency, he must be able to perceive my disgust. His eyes disengage from mine and he moves away, stiffly, without the posturing anger of his earlier display...Severus, who brought me a potion earlier for no reason I can guess beyond wanting to make me comfortable or wanting to see me. "Everything has changed," I realize, refusing to relinquish his hand, so that he looks at me as the words settle in the air between us. "Please, stay."

"I must go." He sets his jaw; this is not easy for him. "There are matters to which I must attend. I will return later, if you wish."

"Tonight?"

"If you wish," he repeats, and nods when I nod, though I'm not certain that I believe him. Inwardly I curse myself for having pushed, though I suppose it was inevitable. We've both been testing boundaries for weeks now: at some point one of us was bound to go too far, and I suppose in retrospect that it was likely to be me, given how afraid he's been all along of what our being together might signify.

"I should rest anyway. I'll see you later, then." My fingers slide away from his hand, which follows them forward, and for a moment I think that he will lift the hand to my face and kiss me goodbye. But we both know where that may lead and he does not risk it, awkwardly withdrawing his outstretched arm.

I don't really expect him to return, and after a brief trip to the kitchen for something to eat, I read until early evening and let the book fall from my hands when I'm too tired to keep my head upright. My thoughts as I doze off are unhappy, lonely ones, wondering whether, like Sirius, I will soon find myself wandering through Grimmauld Place snapping at the more insufferable paintings, or whether I will finally persuade Dumbledore or Moody to send me on a more dangerous raid. Now that everyone knows what I am, it could be far worse for me if I am taken than it would for any other, but the same was true for Sirius and I watched him fading away behind the walls. I will not let the same thing happen to me.

"And I thought that you were so eager to see me again." The voice that pulls me from sleep is harsh and dry, yet I'm smiling before my eyes are open. "If you need your rest, Lupin, I'll stop wasting my time..."

"Come here." As I pull him down, a gold chain spills from the collar of his robes, and I slide a curious finger along it until the little hourglass pops out. "Meddling with time, Severus?"

"I can hardly spend the night here with you and keep an eye on my detention cases, who will be brewing overnight potions for clearing drains," he drawls. "Next time you might wish to invite me sooner, so that I can make a less perilous departure. Why I should take such risks for you, I couldn't say..."

Spend the night, he wants to spend the night, and he's asking me to provide the excuse. "It's because the sex is fantastic and you know it," I tell him happily, sliding over to make room and sitting up to push his cloak to the floor. "And to punish me for my laziness, you can have me any way you want. Even levitated off the bed."

"Suppose I'd rather rest first, let you recover your energy, and then you can show me what other toys you have stashed away with that one from earlier. Apparently you've had far too much time on your hands to think up such decadent devices."

"You've no idea," I reply quite earnestly as Severus shrugs off the rest of his outerwear and moves to lie beside me. "I was always good at binding charms, you know, and making things turn hot and cold, and controlling stunning spells so that they only made certain specific regions tingle..."

"How wicked, Lupin." The forceful, drawn-out emphasis he puts on my name nearly brings me fully awake. "In the morning I'm afraid that you'll have to demonstrate so I can be certain that you aren't violating any edicts on the use of magic."

"Oh, Severus, I would never. Well, I do have one Muggle artifact that I may have modified somewhat, but once you've felt it I'm sure you'll understand..."

His mouth on mine silences me, and I chuckle inwardly to think that he is kissing me to silence a suggestion that would surely lead to naughty behavior sooner rather than later if I had continued. I'm tempted to say something affectionate to him, but I only return the kiss and settle into his arms. We've had enough surprises for one day.

4. Inflammation

When Dumbledore assembles the Order at Grimmauld Place for an urgent meeting, I don't have to wonder who alerted him to a change in the Death-Eaters' movements. One look at Severus' ashen face and the stiff, uncomfortable way he holds himself tells me where he has been, though I can't know whether Voldemort's anger has touched all who bear his Mark or only Severus in particular. Despite being the wizard among us most likely to be able to predict his former colleagues' movements, he says surprisingly little during the meeting, sitting very still, as if he fears any extravagant gesture could betray him. The pride and sympathy with which the headmaster speaks of Professor Snape's work on our behalf seems not to affect him at all.

As the meeting breaks up, with most of the professors remaining for dinner before returning to Hogwarts while the Aurors make plans for more secret activities, I manage to invite Severus upstairs discreetly. His lips press together and I think he will refuse, but he only nods shortly before joining Dumbledore and McGonagall for a private conversation. I have some tea and say my farewells while he is still occupied, for if anyone might guess that we were leaving together, I am certain that he would not come.

After many minutes have passed, I begin to wonder if he has changed his mind. It's possible that Dumbledore or one of the others requires his presence, or, worse, that he has returned to Voldemort's side in the hope of gathering more information about what the Death-Eaters are doing. It makes me frightened for him, and, worse, frightened for me. This is not an attachment that either of us can afford...

There's a knock at the door and I jump, jittery with anticipation.

Severus comes into the room with the same rigid economy of movement he displayed at the meeting. He lets me take his cloak, then stands near the fireplace looking rather lost.

"Are you cold?"

"Not particularly."

"You don't look particularly comfortable." Silence. "Want to talk?"

"No," he replies shortly.

"Want to fuck?"

I grin at him, but Severus refuses to smile back. "As you once told me, even goatweed is unlikely to make me an entertaining companion today."

It was a mistake to mention sex with him in such a state -- yet oddly enough, sex is a safe topic between us compared to the unasked questions crowding my mind. "Well, what can I get you, love? Tea? Firewhiskey?"

I'd used the endearment as Molly Weasley would have used it, without thought, but at the look on his face, it's suddenly the most dangerous word in the world -- I might just as well have uttered an Unforgivable Curse. "Nothing," says Severus distinctly. While I struggle for something neutral to ask him, he mutters, "I shouldn't have come."

"But you're here, so sit down for a few minutes." Grabbing his shoulder, I steer him to the sofa. He shrugs my hand from his arm and shakes it slightly, as if trying to remove the impression of my fingers; evidently he does not want to be touched.

Then, watching him clench and unclench his fist, I realize which arm I was pressing. "Is it hurting you?" He glances at me. "The Dark Mark. You look as though you're in pain. Can I do anything?"

"What are you suggesting, Lupin, biting off my arm? It's not the right night for that, is it?"

The voice is snappish but there's an edge of relief, too, not having to explain. "There are so many places I'd rather bite you," I tell him, watching as he scratches at the back of his left arm with his other hand. "You look as if you could do with some distraction, and I haven't forgotten how very kind you were to me just before the full moon..." This makes him snort. "Why don't you lie down on my bed, and I'll do terribly wicked things to make you feel better. You won't have to lift a finger. In fact I forbid it."

"Are you going to tie me to the bedposts to be certain I behave?"

"Do you want me to?"

His cheeks darken faintly, and I stop smiling. Oh.

It seems to me that this is a very bad time for this, with him so strongly influenced by something I very much wish could not be a part of whatever happens between us -- will Severus regret, afterward, that he showed me this side of himself because he was in pain? Or worse, will he connect me to that pain? It would be so much easier if his past as a Death-Eater played no part in whatever happens between us...but that is as absurd a thought as if he wished for no reminder that I am a werewolf. He makes me a potion to ease that torment. If I can ease his suffering at the will of Voldemort, which he accepts stoically in the name of the Order, I should be relieved...

"Get on the bed, Severus." His right hand slides away from his left forearm as he moves. My experience with anything like this has been entirely playful, mostly with Sirius when we were younger, based on things we read in books or made up on the spot; I know that there are rules that govern such play for other people, an entire code of conduct about which I know very little. I have no idea what Severus expects, but I suspect that stopping to ask him -- putting him in the position of teacher -- is the opposite of what he'd want right now.

My heart is hammering, but I can't let Severus know that. "Would you like me to undress?" he asks, beginning to do so when I nod. He looks even paler than usual, but the mark on his arm glows black, with the skin around it raised and angry like the edges of a burn. He piles his clothing neatly beside the bed, including his wand, which he often insists upon keeping close even while we're making each other come. I take off my clothes as well, putting my wand on the bedside table along with a bottle of my favorite lubricating potion and a pair of innocuous-looking flat buttons which can be made to vibrate, turn hot and cold or pinch whatever lies beneath them with simple charms.

"Tell me what you don't want," I say.

"No teasing." The reply is immediate and forceful.

"What qualifies as teasing? Tickling?" I know he loathes that, and he nods. "What else?"

"Don't make me believe you're planning to do something if you aren't. And don't stop in the middle."

"Not even if you tell me to stop?" Sometimes he does that, very abruptly, when nothing obvious has changed in what we're doing, and I'm not certain whether he's talking to me or to a memory that's come loose in his mind.

"If I need you to stop, I'll say 'hemlock.'" Severus flushes again, and I betray my tension with a nervous chuckle that his glare silences. "You know what I like, Lupin."

He says my name very deliberately, to arouse me and perhaps to stop me from talking. When I push down on his shoulder to make him lie back, he obeys at once. "Arms up," I tell him. The most effective binding charm I know is the one he used on me once, in the Shrieking Shack, when he believed I was helping Sirius capture Harry, but I won't risk those associations now. Instead I summon my tie from the pile of clothing and wrap it, not very skillfully, around his wrists.

"Tighter," he says. With his arms slanting upward toward the headboard, I'm afraid of slowing the blood flowing to his hands, but a glance at his left forearm makes me realize that's exactly what he wants. I can tie very firm knots -- I practiced on my own ankles, when I was younger, in case I should ever have been caught outside just before the full moon -- and soon I have Severus bound to the headboard, looking up at me expectantly. Despite having my body stretched out over his, he's only half-hard, and lines of pain remain furrowed in his face.

I growl down at him, because he never fails to respond to that instant of fear when I remind him of what I am. No matter his prejudices, there's a part of him that's helplessly excited at the thought of being fucked by a werewolf. A shiver makes his nipples tighten, and I give him a greedy, approving smile. "I'm going to bite your throat now." He moans softly into my mouth as I kiss him, and little noises continue to escape him when my tongue travels down his jaw, onto his neck, tasting and wetting the skin before I latch my mouth onto him and suck. Arching, he tries to press our bodies closer, and I let him feel my teeth, long firm scrapes before I actually clamp them down to pull at the skin.

"Are you trying to kill me or turn me, werewolf?" gasps Severus, who must know that I'm leaving an impressive bruise. My suspicion that he wanted to be marked somewhere other than his forearm is confirmed by the heavy twitching of his cock and the eager way he tilts up to my mouth, belying the words. After witnessing Voldemort's forms of torture, I wonder if there's any magical creature, even the most bloodthirsty, who could seem as ruthless to Snape. Moving down, I set to work on one nipple with my lips and teeth, the other with my fingers, letting him move his lower body restlessly against me. Perhaps he expects me to order him to be still, but if he is distracted from that thing on his arm, this does not seem like a time to tell him to slow down.

I can smell his perspiration, and though in principle I am no more a wolf than any other man while the moon is waning, there seem to be urges tied to scent, or perhaps to pheromones. I've sometimes found myself attracted to someone I don't know very well or like very much, and I have wondered whether I'm drawn to Severus because of something that's more instinctive than rational, given the number of logical reasons I should resent him. Instead I want to taste him even more. Reaching for the wide buttons, I place them squeezing just a bit on his nipples and move to the side so I can bite my way along the curve of his armpit.

I have learned from experience that Severus detests anything less than strong sensation here; careful little licks and nibbles make him furious, whereas biting and sucking and the shameless pressure of a tongue shoving into the hair drive him mad in a much more pleasant manner. "Fuck, Lupin," he yelps once, before launching into the litany of moaned "fuck"s that mean he can't bear to beg but he's begging me not to stop. I can see the muscles knotted in his arm, bent awkwardly in restraint, and wonder what effect all the flexing and clenching has on the Dark Mark. When he starts to quiet, I start over on the other side, which brings a fresh chant of curses and the weight of his leg wrapped around my side to try to hold my hip against his now hot, fully erect cock.

"Are you thinking about being fucked, Severus?" I ask him when I lift my head from his thoroughly sensitized underarm.

"I'm thinking about..." He pauses, eyes narrowing, and I nod fractionally, unsure whether there are supposed to be permissions given for this sort of thing. "...you riding me. With your fingers inside me."

The words make me groan, loudly and urgently. It's possible he made that up on the spot because he knows I can't withstand his voice, but for him to admit any sort of fantasy to me, even one constructed for my benefit is extraordinary. This one in particular, with him tied to my bed, seems so intimate, and not something I'm at all certain my aging body can manage. "Greedy, aren't you," I whimper. "You want me clenching around your prick and filling your arse at the same time..."

"Tell me you wouldn't enjoy that, Lupin," moans Severus, straining against the tie. "Or better yet, shut up and move." I've never imagined him pleading like this. He's absurdly attractive to me as I make the innocent buttons on his nipples tighten up, drawing a choked cry from him. He watches me oil my hands and stroke the slippery liquid over his cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth, but I pick up my wand with slick fingers and use a spell to prepare myself; bound as he is, I can't bear to have him watching me touching myself, opening up for him with my fingers, showing off all my responses. I wonder, too, whether that would qualify as teasing.

Despite the spell, I'm a little constricted as I move over him, and I hiss softly in discomfort as I press down. He curses again, fighting to keep his hips still, though his wrists twist so much in the tie that angry red marks appear, almost as chafed as the skin around the Dark Mark which seems to have faded slightly. I know that whatever soreness I feel is nothing compared to the pain that he has been in, and I force myself to open to him. "Am I tight enough for you, Severus?" Squeezing him inside me, I stretch awkwardly behind my body to shove his legs further apart. He spreads out eagerly, lifting his hips to give me access to the ridged pucker leading into his body, and the movement shoves him deeper into me, which makes us both cry out.

I can't get much more than a fingertip inside him at this angle and I can't move up and down on him much without dislodging it, but that and the buttons gripping and releasing his nipples and the tie stretching his arms must be enough. He only manages a few thrusts before he comes, head thrown back, dislodging my finger with the convulsions inside him. I'm not even close, still uncomfortable from the angle, so I witness all of this with minimal distraction and wonder whether it's lust or familiarity that makes it such a moving spectacle when it might appear ridiculous to a spectator. When his breathing slows, I slide off his cock, leaving a slippery mess on his belly as he blinks at me and I smile at him.

"Would you like me to untie you, or are we just getting started?"

"You haven't finished yet, have you?" he retorts rather breathlessly. "Don't you want to come on me or make me suck you or fuck my arse, Lupin?"

Hearing him talk that way gets me fully hard just listening, and I groan. "This wouldn't be teasing?" I demand, sliding my still-slick fingers up and down my cock. Watching, Severus groans softly too and tilts his head forward, and I move up his body to make him taste it. It's a dreadful angle with him still tied to the bed, his neck straining, my weight practically on his collarbone, squatting forward to feed him the damp head of my cock which he slurps at enthusiastically. I slide a hand around behind his head to help him hold it up, knotting my fingers into his hair, and it isn't until I hear him choke that I realize I'm thrusting with increasing force into his mouth.

Withdrawing quickly, I let his head fall back and shuffle downward. I'm ashamed of myself, losing control like that, but there is triumph in his eyes. "I want to fuck you," I tell him.

"Then fuck me," he agrees, pulling up on his legs to give me access. Getting more oil, I try to prepare him better than whatever stretching he may have received from my single probing finger, but he shifts restlessly: "Stop teasing and fuck me!"

And I do, with his legs bent wide and his wrists raw and red beneath the fabric wrapped around them. I try to be careful at first but he slams himself onto me repeatedly, until my hips are making slapping noises against the backs of his thighs. Severus grunts my name a few times, though whether it's because he likes it or to hurry me along I can't be certain. It doesn't take me long to come, plunging in deep, remembering the look on his face when I felt his wet heat coating my insides.

My fingers are clumsy when I recover and his skin looks near to blistering in spots, so I use a spell to make the tie fall away, then summon a bottle of cool healing lotion and rub it gently over his hands and lower arms until the swelling is nearly gone. The Dark Mark has faded to a vivid red, looking more like a tattoo than a burned welt, and Severus does not flinch when my fingers come close to it. He lies still and watches me, so accepting of comfort that I am reluctant to speak and give him a reason to refuse it.

Cleaning him off should be a simple matter for a spell, yet after his belly has been Scourgified, I can't resist using my mouth on him when I roll him over, tasting the salt on his thighs and the bitterness I've left trickling from him. "That is teasing, Lupin," he warns raggedly, and refuses to smile when I urge him onto his back again.

"Does it still hurt?"

Severus rolls his eyes. "Contrary to your belief, your prick isn't quite enormous enough to wound me."

"Thank you for noticing, but I meant your arm." Now he offers an almost conciliatory smirk with a shake of his head. "You're looking more at ease. Are you all right?"

"I am." He looks at me speculatively for a moment. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," I grin at him, "Your prick isn't quite enormous enough to wound me, either, even in that position."

"That isn't what I meant." His fingers travel to his throat, touching the blossoming bruise, then to his opposite wrist, still faintly chafed. "You don't like this."

His cocked eyebrow hovers like a question mark, and I can't help groaning and covering my face with a hand. "I haven't done it enough to know whether I like it or not. Was that obvious?"

"Only because you kept hesitating instead of taking what you wanted," replies Severus with less disdain than I anticipate. It strikes me as a very Slytherin thing to say. I wonder about the erotic negotiations of his formative years: among the Death-Eaters, would it have been frowned upon to admit that one enjoyed being restrained, or was it expected that any self-respecting wizard would demand whatever he wanted, no matter how perverse it might seem? The most vicious maltreatment of couples of the same sex has come from purebloods who believe that marriage and breeding are everything, yet it's hardly unknown for powerful Slytherins to share their beds with sycophants and protégés of both sexes. I wonder whether that's where Severus learned about physical pleasure, and if I dare to guess who might have taught him.

I suppose that Severus might have faced anything from brutal scorn to an easy acceptance of his most extreme fantasies. But how many people would he have trusted with them? Surely that mark on his arm has isolated him as much as my scars have affected me. Given what I know of Severus, I should think that he would avoid encounters which might give a stranger power over him, yet being involved with someone over a long stretch of time reveals more vulnerabilities. For everything I've learned about him here, he's learned at least as much about me.

"There's nothing in particular I've wanted that you've denied me," I tell him. "I'm sorry if it wasn't enough."

He presses two fingers against my mouth to silence me, looking anything but displeased when I part my lips to lick and suck them. "Don't apologize. It was quite satisfactory." My face grows warm at the uncharacteristic compliment. "But what's the use in pretending to be a tame wolf?"

The words strike deep, though the insult barely covers his desire to have me do all of this again. Does he understand how hard I've always tried not to act like an alpha wolf? But why should he believe it, now that he's witnessed intimately the pleasure I can take in dominating him? He's encouraging it -- he wants me to want to do this again. I suspect that there's something in him that wants to submit...not just here with me or any previous lovers, but whatever drove him Voldemort and then to the Order.

We hold each other for a few minutes while I think about the Dark Mark and the pain Severus carries with him for a choice he made so long ago -- a choice I've often wondered whether my best friends helped to bring about with their careless cruelty and myself with my silence. I'd always thought that Sirius despised Severus with an intensity that seemed unnatural -- how could anyone hate someone so much if he didn't see some part of himself reflected there? I wonder how much of Severus' loathing of the werewolf always stemmed from his own fascination, and his resentment of that, rather than of myself.

It's far too late for an apology for things that happened when we were children, but I'm humbled at the trust he's chosen to place in me. "Severus," I begin softly, but there's no reply, and when I glance at his face, I realize that he's fast asleep. The furrows of pain around his mouth and eyes are finally gone. I watch him for awhile before finding my wand and putting out the candles and the fire.

It's warm in the bed, comfortable, safe, and I am helplessly aware of the danger of becoming accustomed to those feelings.

5. Inhibition

"Unnhh," groans Severus when he rediscovers his vocal chords. They sound ragged, having been used to shout more than once in the previous several minutes, and although I can barely move, I can't help but feel pleased with myself. Slumped over him, I listen to his heart gradually slowing its pounding and feel my muscles melt in relaxation against him.

"Mmmmlove." I hadn't thought I could still do this three times in a morning without the pull of the waxing moon on my blood, but since Severus woke me in the darkness by scraping his teeth over the scar on my shoulder, there's hardly been five minutes when we haven't been touching one another. When he's agitated, only restraining him and fucking him hard will calm him. Still, he indulged me first, tonguing his way down my body for the sort of decadent, unhurried cocksucking that makes me want to speak adoring nonsense to him. I channeled the urge into possessing him, leaving us both sated and exhausted.

"Untie me, Lupin, before my wrists snap."

The warm mass beneath me lurches, forcing me to shift so that I can keep my balance. Severus' chest is damp and just furry enough to tickle. "Lie still," I protest.

"Not until you get me out of this. The skin on my arm is starting to peel off." The headboard creaks when he tugs. "We need a charm to repair your bed before the wood starts to splinter."

Raising myself on my hands, I grumble at him while I reach for my wand. "That's entirely your fault." A moment later, Severus is rubbing his wrists while I do my best to reverse the damage to the headboard and the wall behind it. "You struggled more than usual."

"You made those little clips tighter than usual."

"I didn't hear you objecting. I believe your exact words were 'Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!'" Despite the sweat cooling on his face, he flushes, and I lift an innocent-looking metal ring from the bed. "Tormino." The ring clamps down on my finger, which I waggle at him as if scolding. "Such vulgar language from a wizard of your stature. I couldn't decide whether to smack your bottom or give you what you asked for."

"As I recall, you did both. Laxo," retorts Severus, stretching and shaking his left wrist as the circle snaps free, dropping back to the mattress. "They respond to your voice. You're the one who made them bite down."

"I know, but the way you wriggle when your nipples are gripped is remarkable." My grin becomes an excuse to kiss him openmouthed, teasing his lower lip between my teeth before letting go and soothing it with my tongue. "Do you want me to stop biting you?"

"It's in your nature. Can't be helped. You're a dark creature, Lupin."

When I growl, Severus wriggles. "See, you like me that way."

"I suppose I've learned to tolerate it." A frown creases his brow, and he rubs at his arm again. Picking up the end of the fabric I'd used to tie him to the headboard, I stroke it across Severus' cheek, knowing that it will tickle.

"Admit it. You like it."

"As usual, you are exaggerating."

"At least I'm not telling an outright lie. 'Tolerate it,' indeed." The trail of cloth continues across Severus' throat, down his chest. "You love all of this. I've never seen you happier."

"Typical Gryffindor arrogance." Severus starts to reach for my hand, halting the slide of material that's raising goosebumps over his upper body and making his nipples harden again. But I move too quickly, catching his fingers in my own, dropping the fabric as I pin him flat against the mattress. Although Severus tilts his chin defiantly, there's little resistance in his pinned arm; his lips part, and surprise flickers through his eyes. I'm certain that he's eager for more of the game.

"Tell the truth! You love this." We're both breathing more quickly, and Severus' muscles are tightening, preparing to fling me onto my back. Pressing down before he gets the chance, I grin into his face. "Admit it. You love me. Say it -- tell me you love me."

There's a moment while I'm still smiling, trying to comprehend the searing pain that makes him clench his eyes shut, before he mutters, "Hemlock." I blink at him in incomprehension until he repeats it, more loudly: "Hemlock."

The term finally penetrates my mind; I scramble backward, crawling off Severus' body. He sits up, wincing, and reaches for a blanket to cover himself.

"Are you -- " The warning glare that Severus shoots in my direction makes clear that he is not joking with me. My voice catches in my throat, and I have to pause to swallow. "Was I hurting you?" When his eyes remain narrowed and dark, I look away. "Just because I said that?"

"You didn't say, you ordered." The voice is icy as he pulls the blanket tightly around his shoulders.

"Severus, that wasn't an order! We were playing..."

"We were, and I wished to stop."

He is sliding toward the foot of the bed and the clothing he's left scattered on the floor. I reach for him, stopping short of actual contact when a blanket-clad arm jerks away from me. "I'm sorry," I say to his back. "I wasn't trying to compel you to --" I can't say the word. "I wouldn't try to command anyone to say that. I didn't think we were being serious, and I expected you to respond by mocking me again. I apologize." Nodding curtly, Severus puts on his shirt, not even bothering to wipe away the sweat that makes fabric stick to his skin. "You don't have to leave." When there is no pause in his movements, I slide from the side of the bed to retrieve my own clothes. "Will you stay long enough to have something to eat?"

"I have essays to finish marking."

"You could do that here. Or later. Or tomorrow." I try to smile but I'm afraid my words have come out like a plea. "Severus...I didn't intend to force any sort of confession, or commitment, or whatever you might believe." When, again, he does not reply, I take several steps away to give him space as I finish dressing. By the time I've finished, my voice has grown untrustworthy, and when I speak it is rushed and uneven. "Listen, I can't recall whether you've actually spoken that word to me, but we've used it as a term of affection..."

"I don't use 'terms of affection,'" he cuts me off in a disgusted tone.

"Bollocks." It's such a typical thing for Severus to say that under other circumstances it would amuse me, but I'm not feeling very droll at the moment. "You call me 'werewolf' as an endearment. You use the name of my House at Hogwarts -- even my own surname!"

Severus very nearly spits his reply, "I do not call you 'love' as you insist upon addressing me!" This is true, though his response increasingly has been to smirk when I slip up and say it to him, as if it's a joke between us, if not a confession.

Fully dressed, he raises his wand and uses Scourgify to clean the sheets, then makes the bedcovers tuck themselves into neat, tight folds. "Why would you feel the need to use a safeword?" I ask him. "Why not just tell me that you're not comfortable saying that?"

"I had been under the impression that the purpose of a safeword was to intervene without forcing one to justify oneself," snaps Severus, rubbing at his arm. I wonder whether I bound him too tightly, and he was too embarrassed to say anything about it, so he reacted to my words instead.

"I'm just trying to understand."

"There is nothing else to understand. You made a demand and I refused it. If you cannot accept that, then we should stop what we are doing and..."

As quickly as I can, I interrupt him. "I do accept it. I'm doing a very poor job of trying to apologize and put things back where they were." My voice sounds far steadier than I feel. A few minutes ago we were on the verge of orgasm and now we are on the verge of all of this ending, as he creeps away from me, gathering his things. I know the look on his face: it's the one he gets when something happens to pull him into the past, a combination of physical and psychic pain. My impulse is to go to him, and it makes me ache to have to fight it. "Everything's been so pleasant, Severus...I got quite carried away. Please, can't we have some tea and calm down?"

"Not now." He's moving even more quickly, urgent in his desire to get away from me, keeping his limbs close to his body like he's protecting himself from any declaration that I might make. I have no choice but to let him go, so I only nod in resignation when he says, "I will contact you later if I can."

I'm already turning away, heading toward the bathroom and the cold water that will restore reason, when in my peripheral vision I see Severus bend over his arm in front of the fireplace, his mouth open in a soundless cry. He's even paler than usual, and the floo powder between his fingers falls to the floor in a glowing trail.

"Severus?"

"Don't -- touch -- " he warns, half-raising his free hand to stop me. After a moment he straightens, still ashen, his arm twisted as if it's been burned, cradling the Dark Mark against his chest. "Lupin, I need your help."

Panic and relief surge in equal measure when I step toward him again. My thoughts are as knotted as my stomach, which wants to rise into my throat. A summons from Voldemort could mean a death sentence for Severus; his haste to leave might have nothing to do with what I said; he can hardly bear to let me see him like this; I can't recall his ever having asked me for help so plainly. "Anything. What can I do?"

"I must go immediately. Tell the Headmaster..."

"To assemble the Order?"

His head jerks in negation. "Just that I've been summoned. I will travel through Hogsmeade but I dare not linger."

"Severus..." I want to ask him to let me know as soon as he's safe, but I'm afraid of his reply. "Be careful."

Even this is foolish, unnecessary advice, but he scarcely seems to notice me as I hold out the pot with the floo powder to him. Clearing his throat, he grabs a fresh pinch, distinctly says "The Hog's Head," and disappears.

The most difficult aspect of telling the Headmaster is not facing the sympathy in his eyes when he silently acknowledges the reason his potions professor has been visiting Grimmauld Place. Rather, it is my realization that although Severus will certainly travel from wherever he is now directly to Hogwarts, I have no pretext to ask to be notified when he is safe, and I doubt that he will contact me himself. I can only nod in gratitude when Dumbledore informs me that all Order members will be alerted if anything seems to be amiss.

Then there is nothing I can do but wait while the hours pass...too many hours. When Voldemort assembles the Death-Eaters, he does not keep them gathered for long; several of them hold important positions in the magical world from which they cannot disappear without attracting attention, and they are not yet prepared to reveal their allegiance. If it is only Severus whom Voldemort has summoned, it may mean that he has been betrayed somehow. I am terrified to think that if I have upset him badly enough, he might give himself away with a random thought despite all his skill at Occlumency.

It's very late and I'm lying awake in my bed when I hear footsteps and the rustling of a cloak. Grabbing my wand, I swing myself upright at once. "Who's there?"

"Were you expecting someone else?" Severus' voice is tired but acerbic as ever. "If you've made other plans for the evening, Lupin..."

I've ordered the candles to light themselves before he's reached me and I meet him halfway to silence him with a kiss. He's still pale, a bit hunched over; I'm surprised at the heat with which he returns my greeting before we part to look uneasily at one another, abashed at coming together like this after the way we parted. "Are you hurt? Have you eaten? Tell me what you want. Can I do anything..."

"You can shut up and get back in bed," he interrupts me this time, putting out the flames I've just lit as he presses me back in the direction from which I've come.

"But are you all right? Did you speak to Dumbledore? What did Voldemort..."

"I saw the Headmaster just before I arrived. We agreed that the less you know of my movements, the safer it will be for both of us." It occurs to me that Severus nearly always refers to Dumbledore as "the Headmaster," just as he refers to Voldemort as "the Dark Lord." He is never incautious with his words, and I was a great fool to think that he would use such a powerful one as "love" simply because I asked. "Now lie down." He kisses me again, and although it's thorough and sensuous, there's something different -- an urgency for contact that I've never sensed in him before.

I want to examine him -- even in a nearly dark room, I can recognize the effects of the Cruciatus curse in the stiffness of his movements -- but he doesn't let me. Ordering me to be still, he undresses and arranges me on the pillows. We do not speak, but my mind is far from silent.

There are magical words that work like spells -- casually spoken curses which bring about unpleasant results, small blessings of protection after sneezes or before travel. Even Muggles know this. My own parents called me "love" with much the same ease that Molly Weasley uses the term, something to which I have never attributed any great significance. Still, over the years, though I have often had cause to hate what I am, I have never doubted that I was loved, not even in that awful time after James died and Sirius went to Azkaban.

I wonder if Severus believes that by slipping that particular word into conversation, I have been trying to affirm it as truth. He has barely spoken, and his mouth is now occupied elsewhere, shattering my thoughts with an expertise possible only to an attentive lover. This isn't the lazy indulgence of the early morning, when he would let me get close, then slow down, prolonging my pleasure. His tongue opens me, his palm moves over my cock, then his hand and lips switch places and his fingers press inside me. He mutters my name -- the word he claims is not a term of affection -- tongue snaking across the head of my cock while his other hand strokes relentlessly.

It is overwhelming to be touched like this, and I am vocal in my response, telling him how good it is and how much I want it. Despite the pain that I know must linger in his body, his tongue is tireless and his fingers seem to anticipate where I'm going to want them next. But my fatigue from the morning and the incredible stress of the day remain with me...plus I don't trust my voice, when I begin to lose control, not to say things it shouldn't.

Despite what I told Severus earlier, I can admit to myself now that I did want to force a confession from him, even in jest, if only for the excuse to reciprocate. We all know how Voldemort was nearly destroyed by the power of Lily Potter's love for her son. If love is deadly to the Dark Lord, I don't suppose that those in his inner circle dare to let it touch them deeply. The words crowd my head, distracting me, and I can't quite reach climax; it remains beyond my grasp until finally the ache overwhelms the pleasure, and I have to stop him, pulling away with a moan of frustration and regret.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his expression pinched. "Is this supposed to be my punishment for this morning?"

"Oh, Severus, it's not punishment at all. I'm exhausted. I've been worried sick about you." My eyes close, but my tongue continues without my permission. "And I'm not sure I can keep fucking you and pretending that fucking is all it is to me."

"Then don't," he says, extremely irritably.

"Don't keep fucking you? Or don't pretend?" My eyelids remain shut, but I can feel him shifting, preparing to get up, and I grab at the part of him nearest my hand. His breath hisses, startling me, and when I blink my eyes clear I see that I've seized his left arm, unnaturally warm beneath my fingers. As I jerk my hand away, gasping an apology, he twists it so that I can see the Dark Mark, faded now but still dark at the edges like a recently-made burn in his skin.

"You understand how this ties me to the one who put it there. You're not a complete idiot -- you had top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Stupidly, I blink at him. "I know he uses it to summon you. I saw what he did to you earlier." Severus compresses his lips, and I remember how much he wanted to avoid allowing me to see. At the time I had assumed he did not want me to witness something so intimate, but perhaps he feared my reaction to seeing how deeply he was still connected to the Death-Eaters. And then I wonder if the pain is always so acute. "Can he feel you through it as well? Does the Mark hurt you if someone says...that is, if someone expresses certain feelings for you, or the other way around?"

"It's nothing so simple as that." His voice remains extremely cross. "I am accustomed to the pain. I am also a superior Occlumens. The Dark Lord would have to kill me before his curses could make me speak about the Order. But, as I'm sure you know, everyone has vulnerabilities they may overlook. An unsupervised house elf, a friend who rats..."

"And you think love would make you weaker."

"Any distraction could make me weaker. Don't turn this into something grandiose." He's striking hard, aiming to hurt me; I must be pressing very close to the truth, or at least to his fears. Severus' glare is sharp and his tone is harsh. "You don't honestly pretend to feel about me as you felt about Black?"

"He's dead, Severus."

Whatever he had thought I might say, it clearly wasn't that, and he waits as if expecting me to elaborate before continuing himself. "Black is dead because he was foolish enough to try to rescue Potter and walked right into a trap. That's where love got Sirius Black." The scathing words don't cover the hitch in his voice. He must be perfectly aware that I've just dismissed Sirius and that I haven't denied the feeling he labeled grandiose. "Don't you understand what the Death-Eaters would do if they found out about this?" He gestures at the bed. "They wouldn't need to know about the Order. The Headmaster couldn't protect you. It's enough that you're a werewolf. They would kill us both."

It all makes very little sense to me: I suspect that the Death-Eaters might kill him merely for associating with a werewolf, and that if Voldemort cracked Snape's defenses far enough to learn my name, I'd be marked for death for reasons other than my condition. If he's so terrified of love, why doesn't he simply deny it? He could have looked straight at me and told me that it wasn't true.

Unless that would have been a lie, and the power of the word is every bit as important to him as his use of names.

"If you loved me you couldn't ever tell me so." Severus gives me an impenetrable stare and appears to be perplexed when I smile. "Because that might put both our lives in danger -- it might leave a trace that you couldn't obliterate with a wand. If I asked, you'd have to silence me in a way that left no room for further discussion. Is that correct, Professor Snape?"

Despite the grin, I can't help being saddened by this. Severus evidently believes that to speak might inscribe us with a mark that Voldemort would sense. Yet if all love, if all willingness to die for another, was as powerful as Lily's for Harry, then the Potters could have protected one another, and the Longbottoms, and I could have saved Sirius. Some deeper magic must work in the flesh between parents and children.

His eyes have moved from mine, but Severus isn't moving from the bed, let alone trying to flee the room. A kind of elation creeps through me. I could not have picked a worse moment than I did this morning to demand to know exactly what I meant to him, just as he was being beckoned by one in whose presence he dared not even think my name. Yet he came back here to me, to escape whatever suffering he felt.

"What a master of self-delusion you are," he says wearily, as if he's too tired to argue the point. "If I tell you that you sound like an arrogant fool, you will only insist that it proves my wish to protect you." Though I am hardly the only master of self-delusion here, I consider this carefully, then nod. "I really can't win, can I."

"In point of fact, you've already won." His skeptical expression makes me smile again. "Would you like your prize now, or would you rather wait until we've recovered a bit more?"

"What is my prize, Lupin, your arse?" asks Severus in the excessively forceful tone that he knows I enjoy so much when he's saying my name or anything suggestive.

"No, no. Your prize is what I'm going to do to your arse. Which you will love...though you don't have to tell me so."

Given his skill as an Occlumens, I don't know why I've never really noticed before how terrible Severus is at disguising his feelings. I could always tell when he was angry or revolted, but it's terribly easy to see when he's aroused, and -- though I doubt I've ever witnessed it before so clearly -- when he's happy. "If you think you're up to fucking me, Lupin, I assure you that my arse can take whatever preparation you require," he scoffs. "Let me know if it's too much effort for you."

"Oh, it's no effort at all. But, Severus...I'm still not sure what nonsense I might utter in the heat of the moment."

"Then I shall make an effort to ignore you. Unless, of course, you use a safeword."

"You'll listen to me if I use a safeword?"

"Of course. You can use mine if you wish. It has a pleasant guttural conclusion, like 'fuck.'"

I stare at him, and then I burst out laughing. "'Hemlock.' Is that why you picked it? You're right." It doesn't sound as enticing coming from me as it did from Severus, but I don't hold words in my mouth and taste them the way he does, with a precision that gives every term an added layer of meaning. "Perhaps I'll say it just for the fun of hearing it."

But we end up having to change "hemlock" as a safeword. By the end of the night, it has become a private joke.

Coda: Conium Immaculatum

"You're smiling, Lupin."

"Has the Ministry passed an edict against smiling?"

"I merely wondered why, since you were looking at me."

"Oh. I suppose I was."

"Well? What's so amusing?"

"I was thinking...hemlock."

"'Hemlock.'"

"That's right. Hemlock, Severus."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"I suppose I should have said 'I hear.' Or 'I understand.'"

"Do you promise?"

"I do."

"But do you concur?"

"...hemlock."

"As in, stop?"

"As in, hemlock."

"Are you only repeating it because I said it?"

"When have I ever repeated anything just because you said it?"

"An excellent point, love. That is, hemlock."

"You're still smiling."