BY : Sal
Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Remus
Dragon prints: 3371
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.



PAIRING: SS/RL. Nummy treats there



DISCLAIMER: Not mine. But they could be *gets kleptomaniac look in his eyes*

SUMMARY: Songfic to the song ĎLaidí by James. Remus and Severus have in interestingly relationship, complete with self-hatred and sex games. Yay! And a bit of self harm for good measure

ARCHIVING: Was on but not any more the bastards. Is here, at Hades Inc., and wherever else with have it. Want it? *incredulous stare* Just ask. Or if itís for MSTing purposes steal it, have your wicked way with it, and send me back the finished product *loves MSTís*




Snape, and this is a truth that few are aware of, is a great connoisseur of beaute ise is austere in taste, monochromatic indress and appearance, and would be able to live easily among the Spartans of ancient Greece - advocates of no clothing for the under twelves and the murder of sickly children. However, he can still appreciate the exquisite nature of others. From the glowing and rich beauty of the Renaissance icon to the single drop of a glistening tear on a blood-black rose, from the lush and bountiful curves of Madame Rosmerta to the intricate moves of Quidditch, Snape can see their appeal.


To him they are objects that in one way make the world a more bearable place to exist in, while they also taunt him with their unattainability. To this list Remus Lupin used to belong; Snape knew of his sweet, melancholy nature and tired but lovely face, but the glorious body hidden under his scruffy robes was the stuff of fevered Slytherin dreams, torturing the Potions Master until he physically shook with frustration and anger. To this list he used to belong ...


\This bed is on fire with passionate love//


Silver is a colour that Snape always associates with his lover. His hair, warm honey entangled with strands of spun silver thread. Lycanthropic silver when the full moon takes him away to dance with Diana. Eyes of steel and silver and slashes of black that haunt his thin face. The colour of Wolfsbane. The metal that burns soft flesh and creates thin lines of silver which flow over his body.


Now he is coloured and dappled by the starlight which trickles through the narrow and dusty mullioned windows, painting his naked skin matt silver as he sleeps. He lays on his stomach, arms supporting his head, ribcage rising rhythmically, sheets wrapped around his hips. When he sleeps he looks a little more at peace, a little less like Professor Lupin and more like the young boy that Snape desired and hated during their days at Hogwarts.


Snape, silent as a panther, treads the worn granite to the four poster. He does not want to wake the man with noise, but in a far more pleasurable way that would be mutually beneficial to both parties. Fingers, feathery with their caress, trail from the still slightly tense shoulderblades, bumping over each prominent vertebrae, down the slender but deceptively strong back. Severus knows that Lupin is far too thin, but he finds the sinewy, languid and slim frame impossible to keep his hands away from. He slips a finger, then two, under the pale creamy material that covers Remusí lower back, feeling the first swell of a smooth, almost boyish buttock under his questing hand. A slight smirk curls the Potion Masterís narrow but passionate lips; what he finds so incredibly attractive about Lupin is how he doesnít realise how insane he drives those who desire him. His coquettish way of looking apologetically under his eyelashes could force a man to kill for him, and the obscene way he moistens his lips ... a man would die for those lips to be pressed against his own.


Remus twists in the bed, suddenly aware that he is noone,one, while Snapeís hand continues to explore the exciting area of his lover that is hidden by cotton. Dark satanic eyes connect with silver and the werewolf arches as those talented fingers creep between his thighs, massaging. He lifts his snaky hips, kicking at the sheet and pushing it down to tangle around his ankles, exposing the firm rounded beauty of his arse for the man he loves and obeys. Lupin always sleeps naked for his lover.


The exploring fingers are abruptly removed, leaving Remus pushing his hips up, trying to re-establish contact. His disappointment is halted however, when he sees thaape ape is carefully removing his robes and unbuttoning his high-necked tunic. Everything he removes is folded; billowing cloak made neat with almost militaristic precision, battered boots lined up under the chair that Snape is laying his clothing on. Tunic follows, as do his rather unfashionable narrow trousers. Remus writhes, pressing his engorged member into the cotton in his frustration to have the man in his bed, wishing that, for once, his lover would just rip his clothes off and take him there and then. Once the Potions Master touches him, the werewolf cannot rest until he is thoroughly purged of his desire and passion. He needs him more than Snape will ever know.


As naked as his mate, Snape finishes fussing over his discarded clothes and saunters back to the four-poster. He slides his hands under Remus, pushing upwards hard and forces him to lay on his back. Both know that if he wanted, the latter could easily resist, but they like their games to have a dominating factor. The Potions Master slithers astride his prize, sitting on his lower stomach and allowing his loverís hardness to brush against him tantalisingly. Hands reach out and hold the more submissive man down by the shoulders and he leans forward to capture that beautiful mouth, catching the pouting snapdragon lower lip between his teeth and chewing gently.


Mouth on mouth, tongue battling against tongue in searing kiss. Hands that roam and touch and torment, making each of them moan and shiver with ecstasy. The dark manís lips touch fluttering eyelids and the bridge of the straight nose. After slaking his thirst at Remusí mouth, Snape continues downwards, tongue flickering like the serpent he is, tasting clean flesh doused with a reviving layer of salt. Lupin rolls his head back, lengthening his neck for his loverís ministrations, and is rewarded by teeth nipping a scorching line from his jaw, down his pulsing jugular, to a rosy nipple. Lips suction around the hardened flesh, drawing it out even further. Itís brother is not forgotten, and a thin saliva trail crosses flesh at the end of that wicked tongue, nibbling not-so-gently on the twin.


Down, ever down. Lascivious tongue probes Remusí navel, forcing silvery hands tangle in shoulder-length ebony in pleasure. Down...down. Hands holding the Potion Master in place now, expectancy in their grip. Eyes of shadow gaze into eyes of steel and a slight nod causes Snape to move towards the prize. Mouth encircles hard, hot flesh, sucking it back into his needy throat, tongue playing over the oversensitised underbelly, teeth tormenting the spongy head.


Hands convulse in the black, a short gasp hissing through Lupinís teeth, his eyes squeezing shut with wanton need.


A rhythm is being established, and Snape is withstanding the pressure at the back of his throat, tasting the first seepage from his lover. The werewolfís hips are starting to press his enflamed member into the hot, moist and willing mouth of the Potions Master, his mind starting to surrender to the white noise of ultimate pleasure. He does not caring if his actions hurt the man who is servicing him with such expertise, he worries nothing about his sharp nails piercing scanty flesh. Exquisite release is his goal, and nothing else can stop him. As Snape starts to gently massage his testes the passion rips through him and he comes shuddering, howling.


\The neighbours complain about the noises above//


From next door, which just happens to be Professor Sinistraís chamber, a loud banging on the walls makes the partners come to their senses.


Snape wastes no more time; he is painfully erect and needs to be released. A finger dives into his mouth, emerging slick with saliva and semen, and pushes into the tight channel between rounded buttocks. Lupin gives a satisfied sigh and wiggles his arse, allowing the finger to impale him deeper. A second finger in introduced, hooking and scissoring. Remus holds his thighs to his chest, allowing the Potions master easier access and entry, but it does not take long for him to be prepared enough for Snape to enter.


He presses into the werewolf gently at first, savouring the almost extreme tightness that envelops his flesh; well-trained muscles gently massaging as he arches forward as far as he can, then slides backwards. As he becomes more and more sure, his thrusts begin to gain pace. Between them, Lupinís limp member becomes filled with blood as skin rubs skin and his prostate is skilfully probed by Severusí deep, hard pounding.


\But he only comes when heís on top//


They explode simultaneously, Remusí scream and the Potion masterís prolonged groan melding together into a barrier of noise.



~ My therapist said not to see you no more

She said Ďyouíre like a disease without any cureí

She said Iím so obsessed that Iím becoming a bore ~


Single-mindedness is what makes Snape an excellent Potions Master and inspired lover. Not only does he know the theory, but he practices until he is utterly perfect. It is part of his obsessive nature which makes him such a valuable ally and an extremely dangerous enemy, for he will not stop until he has conquered all adversity.


This could be personified as a small black worm that lives deep in Severusí dark and terrifyingly intelligent psyche. It is a worm that will eat away at him until he is totally convinced that he is in a safe position. This worm is especially lively when Snape falls in love; it stems from his miserable, heartbroken and lonely years at Hogwarts. Love, he feels, is something he is rather unworthy of, and for someone to love him is impossible. He sees himself as too twisted by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, too emptied of human thought for someone to give themselves emotionally as well as physically to him.


This is why he obsesses about Remus. Snape had been in love exactly twice in his forty years, once before he fell and now. Lucius had too much pressure upon him from society to allow himself to give himself completely to this dark Slytherin angel. Remus, however, is another matter. Their relationship is fulfilling, but the Potions master cannot halt the feeling that one day, when someone better comes along, his werewolf will leave him.


Until that day occurs, he will continue to think about Remus every second of every day. He will see his eyes in the glint of a sickle, his in in the honey he puts in his tea, his lupine movement in the high-shouldered strut of Fang the boarh. Ev. Everything Snape looks upon reminds him of his lover, and if he ever leaves him ... but the Slytherin knows his Gryffindor wolf will always be there. At least he thinks so.



\Ah, you think youíre so pretty//


Lupin knows that Snape thinks himself attractive, and this to some extent worries him. Not saying that Snape is ugly - far from that. Remus finds as much pleasure in gazing at Severus as the latter does with the former. There is something in that pale, brooding face with itís broad, high cheekbones and narrow, slightly sneering lips. Hawkish is a word often used to describe the Potions master, as his chasm-black eyes and aquiline features conjure images of noble birds of prey. Proud is another characteristic closely associated with Snape; his upright bearing, slightly arrogant tilt of chin, and his mindset indicate he is a man who cannot be fooled. He is broader than his lover, a little taller, a little thicker-set, but still slender and elegant. Snape can move like a dancer if he chooses; Nureyev or Nijinski or Barishnikov would have been jealous of the fluidity that he possesses.


Remus considers that finding yourself attractive is rather normal; he does not think himself particularly handsome, but he knows he can look quite nice. The issue he has with Snape is that he knows that this outward emotion masks hidden feelings. The Slytherin hides his neuroses with pride and vanity; in the depths of his heart he knows he is worthless and disgusting. Much of this is caused by the terrible guilt of becoming a Death Eater. However, Snape has been concealing his true feelings for so long, he has come to believe the sanitised version, and Remus knows that is not healthy.



\Caught your hand inside the till

Slammed your fingers in the door

Fought with kitchen knives and skewers//


Self-loathing. Snape suffers from this. He can not see why Lupin is with him. He can not comprehend why Dumbledore keeps him in a job even though he has been a traitor to all that was good and decent. The Potions master was not been popular when he was a pupil in Hogwarts, but his hatred of himself has sed fed further than even the most poisonous Slytherin could reach.


He, like Remus, has scars. Thin twisting lines of sliver that trace the delicate skin of the insides of his wrists, short slashes that mar the flesh of his left arm. Razor cuts, knife cuts, cigarette burns, crushed fingers, bruises, needle marks, bite scars, rope burns - the list is endless and it is all to let the pain of his torment free. Physical agony releases his mental anguish, and for a few minutes after he has watched his blood drip from his thigh or chest or wherever else he chooses to let the instrument of his sanity cleave he feels at peace with himself.


Lupin understands to some extent, for he punishes himself when he is in werewolf form. Pain can be cathartic...



\Dressed me up in womenís clothes

Messed around with gender roles

Bound my eyes and called me pretty//




The werewolf can smell Snape very near to him. The intoxicating smell of sexual frenzy, lust and excitement tinges the air, colliding into Remusí brain and serving to make him even harder. Bound, gagged, blindfolded - at the mercy of his cruel lover - no escape for the werewolf.




That voice, dripping and hoarse with desire, looks upon the restrained figure. A Slytherin scarf, rescued from Lost Property, hides those sparking eyes. Chains he has summoned lash his arms behind the hard wooden back. Snape is obviously feeling sadistic as these bonds have a small amount of silver within them; not enough to pain Remus greatly, but just enough to cause discomfort and the characteristic blistering circling his wrists.


The beauty of Lupinís body is accentuated by what he wears. Boots made of the softest black calf-belly suede stretch from their slight heel to the curve of his knee. Here, leather meets creamy skin, even the quality of the footwear cannot compete with the smooth silken flesh of the werewolf. He only wears three other items; a studded black dog-collar with a d-ring so a leash can be attached, the scarf that restricts his gaze and makes him helpless. And the corset ...


Made from the same material of the boots, the black suede clings to Remusí glorious body, accentuating his slender waist. It is in reality more of a tunic, but Snape has Ďmodifiedí it with a few well chosen spells, turning a rather modest garment into a skin-tight dream.


Severus loves the tactile questions that have been raised. Which is softer - skin or suede? He kneels between the booted legs, rubbing his cheek from leather to thigh like a cat showing its love for its master. His fingers follow, drifting from toes, over the rather prominent ankle bone, up long shin to the flesh that beckons. They continue, taking their time to slide from knee to hip, reaching more suede and skin until they slide between those long thighs and started to tickle. The Potions Master needs to see his loverís face, so magics away the scarf.


The image is complete. Honeyed hair, a little long for a boy but appealingly gamin for a girl, makes Remus look like a youth again. Lockll oll over his pale forehead, and for a nanosecond he looks like one of those slender models from the sixties. This is added to by the perfect Audrey Hepburn make up which makes large eyes seem even more huge; the flick with the liquid eyeliner and the smoky eyeshadow gave the silver an almost pewter appearance, glowing with a never seen lustre. Snape groans, his body reacting to the androgynous perfection that is chained before him.


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