~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Severus Snape sat at the staffroom table, grumbling temperamentally.  He knew he wouldn't enjoy afternoon tea with the werewolf, but he also didn't imagine being locked in with Remus Lupin would be quite this intolerable.  After the second staff meeting following the boggart incident--Lupin had been too ill from his monthly transformation to make the first--Snape attempted to leave quickly, but the headmaster caught his arm.  Dumbledore suggested, both politely and sternly, that he and Lupin should stay behind until they worked out their differences.  Or at least until they came to some sort of understanding.  The old man never could abide bickering among his staff.

The werewolf adored the idea, and why shouldn't he?  Any chance to torment Snape with his insufferable levity seemed to be very much Lupin's ... cup of tea.  And there he sat, humming softly, a slight smile on his face, while slowly stirring the contents of his cup.  Every vibration of his vocal cords made the Potions master want to scream.

"How can you be so bloody happy all the time?" Snape snarled through clenched teeth, fixing Lupin with what he knew was an extremely irritated countenance.  Setting down his cup and saucer with a clatter, he stood and turned away.  Only his head jerked back instinctively when the werewolf spoke.

"I suppose the same way you manage being so morose," Lupin replied mildly with a smile, the cheerfulness of which was equal in degree to the incense showing in Snape's features.  "When one has already resigned oneself to the fate of being a monster, what else remains to mourn?"

The annoyance instantly dropped off Snape's face.  Lupin may well have resigned himself to his fate, but Snape struggled every day with his past.  His monstrosities were many and varied, and they didn't haunt him only when the moon waxed to its fullest point.

"Everything," Snape whispered, shrugging.

Lupin also relinquished his tea to the staffroom table, steepling his fingers in his distinctive way.  His manner spoke of imagined wisdom and self-satisfaction at that wisdom.  And Snape always found this condescension one of the werewolf's most trying idiosyncrasies.

"You aren't a monster, Severus.  Disagreeable?  Yes.  Sarcastic?  Certainly.  A monster?  Never."

"Why do you say that, Lupin?  You think you've cornered the market?"

The werewolf chortled.  "No, but it does take one to know one.  I daresay I know exactly what you are, Severus, and you are decidedly not a monster."

"Can you not even allow me to relish a moment of self-loathing?" Snape asked, absentmindedly rubbing the Dark Mark through the sleeve of his robes.

Lupin shook his head.  "No."

The werewolf offered him another pleasant smile, which Snape felt the urge to slap off Lupin's face.  He pictured himself doing that very thing, but some deep, primitive instinct told him Lupin would only enjoy that.

Shouldn't reinforce undesirable behaviour, Snape thought with a mental shrug.  Isn't that how one trains a dog?  Why else would he continually taunt me with his disgusting happiness, if not to goad me into striking him?  Why do I even allow him to get under my skin?  I care not one whit what he thinks of me.  So why does his cheerful disposition aggravate me so?  And why do I fall for the ploy every--single--time?

"Well, if I am not a monster, then what am I?" Snape asked, falling back into his chair and taking a sulking sip of tea.

"Why don't you tell me?" Lupin asked.

Again the pleasant smile.  Snape drained his cup, replacing it and the saucer almost immediately on the table.  His hands balled into fists, and he thought how good it would feel--just one solid punch.  He'd attacked countless people as a Death Eater, but then he'd always used his wand.  Why did the thought of punching Lupin--attacking the werewolf with his bare hands like a heathen--possess him so?  Was it because this werewolf was also a wizard?  No, that couldn't be it.  He certainly wasn't afraid of duelling with Lupin.  So what was he afraid of?

Lost in his thoughts, he'd hardly noticed the werewolf had risen from his chair and crossed the room.

"Thinking of hitting me?"

Lupin whispered close to his ear, the warm breath and hoarse voice making Snape's skin prickle.  The werewolf had obviously taken in his clenched hands, gloating over his barely repressed anger.  Snape was angered more by the fact that he had allowed Lupin to revel in how maddening he was, even if only for a moment.  He sat upright from his previous slump with a jolt, banging Lupin's chin squarely with his shoulder.

The werewolf straightened, uttering a strangled cry, and turned, leaning against the table.  Then, placing a finger inside his mouth, he drew the digit back out, red.  Popping the finger back into his mouth, he sucked off the blood.  This vision caused a sudden twitch in Snape's groin, so he looked away.  Was that why he wanted to punch Lupin?  Merely the thought of their skin touching...?

Hit?  Not quite the verb I was contemplating, Snape thought, now actively trying to keep his face impassive.  Oh, for God's sake, don't blush! he chided himself, turning his chair to avoid the werewolf's scrutiny.

"Bit my lip," Lupin said, and Snape could hear the smile in his voice.

"Sorry," Snape said, studying the material of his robes in his lap, willing the heat and stirring he felt there to go away.

"Shouldn't apologise, Severus," Lupin replied.  His tone indicated the werewolf was no longer smiling.  Out of the corner of his eye, however, Snape could see Lupin's gaze was still intent on his face.  "Someone might mistake you for a creature with a heart."

"I have a heart," Snape answered, in a dangerously hushed tone.  As he turned his face back toward the werewolf, he hoped his eyes reflected even half of the anger consuming him.

"Yes, you do," Lupin answered, his face scientifically expressionless.  "I can hear it beating ... exceptionally fast.  And I can smell--"

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as though he were a wine connoisseur with a glass of untasted Bordeaux.  The Potions master then had a vivid metal image of Lupin's swirling a wineglass of his blood beneath his nose, raising it to his lips.

Rubbish!  He's not a vampire.

"Is that ... adrenaline?" Lupin asked.

The werewolf's smile had returned, but this time it wasn't pleasant.  What was it?  Not exultant ... not scornful ... not even predatory.  Was that meant to be ... lustful?  Lupin reached out with his foot and slowly turned the chair so Snape fully faced him.

Why, of all the chairs in this room, did I choose the one that swivels?

Bending over with his face perilously close to Snape's, the werewolf placed a hand on each of the chair's arms.  Snape knew this stance all too well, although Lupin was the last person he would expect to employ such a tactic.  The Potions master had used it himself to intimidate many a student over the years, and--with his formidable presence and lethal voice--this posture usually worked like ... well, like a charm.

"Are you afraid of me, Severus?" Lupin whispered.

"No," Snape said quickly, looking away again.

"What, then?  What is causing this 'fight or flight' response?  Unless--unless it isn't fear.  But what else could it be?"

His voice was barely more than a whisper; Snape, however, flinched as if he were shouting.  But he knew Lupin never shouted.  He was far too happy to shout.  Then a voice in the back of Snape's head made him fully aware of his subconscious fear.

It's desire, you dolt!  Unbridled passion!  He's trying to seduce you, and you don't even know it's working--you unmitigated fool!!!

Snape recoiled even more, whispering, "I simply don't enjoy being this close to a werewolf."

Lupin was bound to see through that, for Snape's reaction was all too transparent:  his nostrils flaring slightly as he savoured the werewolf's scent, the blush on his cheeks he could no longer suppress, the fear in his eyes that he might give in to something he'd never realised he wanted before this afternoon.

Gently placing a hand against his cheek, Lupin turned Snape's head back to face him.  Something like electricity ran through him as the soft fingertips gravitated down his neck--barely touching his skin, tickling and tantalising him--and rested lightly on the button at the top of his robes.  He shivered.

"You aren't a very good liar," Lupin whispered.  The werewolf's other hand came out of nowhere, and together the two deftly undid button after button.  "Are you afraid of me, Severus?" Lupin asked again, as he worked on the last few.

"Yes," Snape replied, barely audibly, still shivering.

He followed the werewolf's eyes as they absorbed what they could see of his svelte chest.  Then Lupin eased the Potions master's robes back onto his shoulders, until Snape sat bare-chested and blushing.  Even though he was still clothed in his open robe and pinstriped black trousers, he felt particularly vulnerable.  The same light brush of fingers traced across his pectoral muscles, down his sternum, around his nipples.  Drawing soft, fine lines along his ribs--almost but not quite moving to embrace him--Lupin licked his lips and exhaled.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" Snape snapped.

"Why are you afraid of me?"

"Because you're--"

Brazen?  Desirable?  Wanton?  Aggressive?  Disgusting?  Attractive?  What is the word I am looking for?  Does a word even exist to describe such a mixed bag of emotions?

Snape's mouth opened and closed a few times--as though he were a fish on the shore gasping for breath--while his brain sought the proper reply.  Then the blasted organ below his nose acted all on its own, ignoring his thought processes.

"--being indiscreet."

Again the werewolf laughed softly, moving his hands back to the chair's arms.  Snape felt a poignant combination of relief and disappointment.

"Is that the best you can do?" Lupin asked.

"What do you mean?" Snape shot back, no longer angry, but still extremely rattled.

"Afraid Dumbledore might walk in?  Or McGonagall?  Or any of a dozen other people who would be shocked to know why you act as if you hate me?  Scared they might learn what you really want?  If fear of being discovered is your best excuse--"

"Give me time.  I'll think of something better."

"No, I think I'd rather not.  I will, however, give freely of my time, if that would help you come to terms with ... other things."

Snape expected to see some shadow of the former mirth in his face, but Lupin said this flatly, his expression inscrutably serious.  If possible, he leaned closer still.  With the werewolf's face just inches from his own, a kiss was all Snape could think about.  Lupin's lips were full and looked inviting, still freshly moist from when he'd run his tongue over them only a moment before.

His tongue, Snape thought with longing.

"If you give me a good, honest reason why you're afraid of me," Lupin whispered, "then I'll back off.  If not--"

"What?" Snape asked sharply.

The werewolf sighed and smiled finally.  "I suppose I'll be forced to kiss you."

He said it.  He'd actually said it.  Besides Lupin's searching fingertips, before now, it had been only innuendo and tone of voice.  But now he'd said that, Snape felt they'd reached the point of no return.  His breath caught in his chest, and he stood suddenly, knocking Lupin backward against the table and sending the chair gliding toward bookshelves opposite.  The werewolf staggered, looking momentarily confused.  Then he smirked, folding his arms over his chest.

"I didn't hear a reason," Lupin said.

"No, you didn't," Snape said curtly.  "And you won't."

Lupin's eyebrows rose.  "Considering the ultimatum I only just gave you, that is practically an invitation."

"It wasn't."

Snape finally noticed his robes were still hanging open.  Blushing again, he quickly wrapped the material around his exposed chest, folding his arms to keep himself securely covered.  He dared not take his eyes off the werewolf long enough to button his robes.

"Why don't I believe you?" Lupin asked.

This was really too much.  The werewolf.  Making a pass at him.  In the staffroom, no less.  Lupin was enjoying watching him squirm.  And Snape was scandalised to realise his body at least was enjoying it, as well.  The touch of those teasing fingertips.  The werewolf's scent.  The look in Lupin's eyes--delightfully feral.

The werewolf stepped forward slowly, and Snape backed away until he struck the bookshelves.  But what was he actually afraid of?  That Lupin was trying to seduce him, or that he wanted to be seduced?  When he'd closed the distance, the werewolf reached out, catching Snape by the wrist.

Snape thought Lupin might kiss him then--hoped he would, more like--but Lupin only stared deeply into his eyes.  Loosening his hold on Snape's wrist, Lupin slid his hand up Snape's hand, opening his fist with his thumb.  Drawing Snape's palm to his lips, Lupin kissed and licked each mound of flesh lightly.  He then took Snape's fingers into his mouth, one by one, gloriously suckling each of them in turn.  Teeth, lips, and tongue--working together--produced the most amazing effect.  The heat and stirring Snape had experienced earlier in his groin were now melding into a fully-fledged erection.

"Have a reason yet, Severus?" Lupin whispered before turning his attention to the last finger, eyes still locked onto Snape's.

Snape could only shake his head.  The werewolf released his hand, instead placing his own on either side of Snape's face.  Lids drooping and lips parted in anticipation, Snape waited for Lupin's kiss.  For the feel of those full lips pressed against his.  For the tongue which teased his fingers so expertly only seconds before.  But the kiss didn't come.  Instead, Lupin worked his own brand of magic--something never taught at Hogwarts--on the skin of Snape's neck.  The Potions master gasped, then moaned, as the werewolf kissed, sucked, and nibbled his throat.  He pulled Lupin closer, hands delving into his hair.

"Lupin, I..."  Snape moaned again, and then he suddenly remembered where they were.  "Oh, Gods!  Lupin, stop that!  Stop it this instant!"

"Why?"  The werewolf pulled back with a slight smile, again parting Snape's robes with gentle fingertips.  "Because you like it?"

"Ye--No! ... Does it matter?  I asked you to stop."

"Sounded ... more like ... an order ... to me."

As he spoke, Lupin trailed kisses down Snape's neck to his smooth, hairless chest.  Then he slowly lowered himself, doing the same on Snape's quivering stomach, which lurched involuntarily with pleasure.  The werewolf's left hand was on the small of his back, holding him in place, the thumb hooked in the waistband of his trousers.  Lupin's thumbnail moved back and forth, tracing a pattern on his skin.  His right hand glided up and down the back of Snape's thighs, the nails grazing him lightly through his robes and trousers.  More blood rushed into his groin.

"But you ... should know ... I never ... play by the ... rules."

Lupin exhaled with the last word, blasting a stream of cool air along the ring of saliva he'd licked around Snape's naval, sending shivers up his spine.  Then the werewolf knelt on the floor.  Snape mastered his pleasure almost immediately, grabbing a handful of the Lupin's hair.

"I said stop!" he barked, pulling the werewolf's mouth away from his skin brusquely.  Unfortunately, this did not have the desired effect.

"Oh, Severus!"  Lupin moaned, bowing and turning his head so his hair was pulled more, straining against Snape's grasp like a horse chomping at the bit.  "How did you know I like it rough?"

Just a suspicion, Snape thought, swallowing hard.

"I don't particularly care how you like this or anything else, Lupin."  He meant the words to have more force behind them, but his deep voice quavered.

"Don't you?"

The werewolf raised his face to meet the Potions master's eyes.  Pulling against Snape's hold on his hair once more, Lupin closed his eyes in rapture, a low growl erupting from the back of his throat.  Snape's groin responded to the sound, his erection growing painfully stiff now.  Surely the werewolf could feel that through his trousers?

Feel it? he thought with scorn.  He can probably hear the blood coursing through it!

As much as he thought he wanted to, Snape didn't let go.  And Lupin, again bowing his head, rubbed his slightly parted lips along the shaft of Snape's erection where it was outlined through his trousers.  He then followed that with his teeth, intensifying the sensation.  Snape groaned, thrusting his hips forward, and released Lupin's hair, hands dropping to his shoulders.  But the werewolf sat back on his heels, and then stood, smoothing his hair.

He stopped.  Why did he stop?

"Lupin?" Snape asked, chagrined.

"Yes, Severus?" the werewolf asked, as cheerfully as always.

"Why--?"

"Why did I stop?  Are you mad, Severus?  Someone could walk in on us any minute."  Again leaning close, Lupin breathed an erotically hoarse whisper into Snape's ear.  "Besides, this room won't allow the use of our full voices.  I know myself well enough to know I won't be satisfied with lukewarm passions.  And I want you to beg me."

The werewolf took a step backward, seemingly anxious for the Potions master's reaction.  Snape stared, slack-jawed, for a few seconds.  At last, closing his mouth with an audible snap, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"My room--ten o'clock," he replied curtly, finally buttoning his robes.

"That will do for now."

Lupin smiled, again infuriatingly pleasant.  Then he strode to the door, turning the knob easily without applying a charm.  Snape's jaw dropped again as the werewolf wheeled about.

"It seems as though you were free to leave at any time, Severus," Lupin said.  "Now, why didn't you think to try the door?"

Chuckling softly, the werewolf left.