Category: Angst/fluff

Rating: R for m/m affection, implied slash, drug references and bestial overtones

Summary: Sometime during PoA Snape watches Lupin sleeping. Part of "Far too good…" series

Thanks to Dovie and Hazelnut for the smart swift beta

In sleep, he seemed to be even more beautiful.

His face like this, relaxed and soft, looked younger, so much younger and so much less troubled. Once, he stirred and rolled over towards me and at this gentle invitation, I reached out, my fingers shaking as I hesitantly touched his soft cheek. My heart stopped then as his eyelids fluttered, opening sightlessly, showing just the opalescent pinky white of his eye, before closing again. His lips quivered for a second or two, wavering, wanting, perhaps wanting—or was that just my fancy?

Frozen, I watched, as his quickened breathing slowed again, deepening, as he moved from his fleeting wakeful moment, falling back into sleep without noticing me. So helpless.

So tempting.

But I dare not even kiss him for fear I break the spell--my own spell. For fear I disturb the precious peace he has found here. This perfect sweet oblivion. This pathetic glimpse of purgatory in a life of sheer hell.

I am not a lover, but I feed his addiction. I supply what he craves. The drug that soothes his savage beast. Without my drug he rages, he bucks and roars and claws. Without my drug terrible things will happen. He knows that. He knows he needs me.

This I can give him. While I cannot give him ecstasy, I can give him peace. I am his black robed sandman, his swooping, silently watching Orpheus. No one else can give him this. No one.

Not even those who get to touch him. Those who get to press his bare flesh with hot demanding fingers. Those who get to pull sharp cries and helpless pleas from those perfect potion craving lips. Those who get to see his eyes alight with pure aching need. They cannot bring him the release I can.

I am his supplier. I feed his addiction.

As he feeds mine.

But, although I can turn the raging beast of his pain into a quietly sleeping wolf, I cannot calm his hurting human self. I cannot take away the pain of dead friends or betraying lovers or a dark beast in the night, leaping from the shadows to rip and tear, to infect and kill.

There is no potion that can erase the past.

And I should know that.

I should know.