The Truth Will Out

BY : BunnyBopper
Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Remus
Dragon prints: 1087
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from writing this story.

Remus knows he should tell the Headmaster what happened (with one or two details spared of course) but the more he’s thought about it, the more he understands why Severus resorted to the most extreme of measures to get to the truth. It isn’t hard to see how, in his desperation, Severus’ perspective became twisted. No-one (other than Remus himself, perhaps) would be more motivated to locate Sirius Black, after all. 

There was also the fact that he needed  Severus. If Dumbledore sacked him for misconduct, or the ministry carted him off for unauthorised use of Veritaserum, Remus would have no choice but to leave Hogwarts as well. Severus kept him safe after all.   

So Remus decided to keep quiet and act as though nothing had happened. Several weeks had passed, Remus’ transformation had been and gone, and Severus, too, seemed content to act as if everything was normal and had gone back to ignoring Remus at every opportunity. Whether it be in the corridors, at the table during breakfast, or even at the monthly staff meeting, Severus acted as though Remus wasn’t there. Which was fine with Remus: he’s quite happy to forget the whole thing.   

At least, that’s what he tells himself during the day - the nights are a different story.   

At night, Remus’ head is filled with Severus; Severus tying him down, Severus stripping him, Severus making him give voice to every perverse thought that’s flitted in and out of his head throughout the day, Severus refusing to let him come until he’s satisfied Remus has spilt every sordid detail. It’s that last image that always causes him to break his resolve, has him touching himself in a hot and hurried frustration that always ends, too quickly, with Severus’ name on his lips.   

In the mornings, he takes a long, scalding shower, and is slightly less disgusted with himself by the time he’s finished. The only time Severus had so much as looked at him was during one of these (particularly shame-ridden) mornings. Remus was running late and, instead of drawing attention to himself by traipsing through the Great Hall in the middle of breakfast, had decided to nip into the staff room for at least a coffee to get him through the day. He hadn’t noticed Severus sitting there, eyeing him over the Daily Prophet, until he was half-way through pouring and almost ended up scalding himself. Severus’ eyes bored into his and Remus was so shocked that he couldn’t look away. He said nothing, not even a customary snide remark, but Remus thought he saw his lips pull into a smirk before his face was covered by the paper once more.   

By now, Remus has convinced himself the whole thing is one-sided; the product of one who longed for intimacy yet felt wholeheartedly underserving of it. Yet, Severus’ words still linger at the back of his mind, causing a rise of conflicting emotions and unanswerable questions whenever they force their way to the forefront.   

...it’ll be much more interesting to find out for myself...  

Did that mean Severus did have something up his sleeve? Was he just biding his time, waiting until the next full moon? Was he thinking up a new way to humiliate him right this moment? Each time Remus asks himself these questions he feels a gut-twisting thrill of excitement, and each time he squashes it back down.   

When the waxing moon creeps around again, slower than it ever has before, Remus retreats to his office early, imagining Severus will want to get the forced interaction over with as early and as quickly as possible. He waits, becoming more and more agitated as the hours tick by, but Severus still hasn’t arrived long after the student curfew has set in. Was he not coming? Had he decided to give up brewing Wolfsbane without even having the courtesy to let Remus know? Or was this some kind of test?   

Remus dithers in his office a few moments more before taking a slow, shuddering breath. Whatever the reason, he was going to have to make his way to the dungeons.   

  

***   

  

He stands in front of the door to Severus’ office, clears his throat once, wrings his hands three times, then turns and walks the length of the dungeons’ musty corridor twice, before coming back to stand in front of it. He clears his throat again, with more determination this time, and taps on the door. After several beats, he hears a long sigh followed by Severus’ voice bidding him to enter.  

It’s the first time Remus has been in Severus’ office. He’s there, of course; sat behind a desk that’s littered with various instruments used for measuring out ingredients, several tattered books with their covers missing, and stray pieces of parchment on which indecipherable notes had been scrawled in his unmistakable hand. He’s scribbling something now and doesn’t bother to look up from whatever it is. “I was expecting you hours ago,” he says.   

“I’ve been the one waiting for you!” Remus retorts. Great. Put on the defensive already. “If you’re expecting me to start coming to your office you need to let me know – I cannot read minds!”   

Severus looks at him then, something strange glinting behind his eyes in the low candlelight. “No. You cannot.” There’s an implication behind the words Remus doesn’t understand. His smile is cold, and Remus feels like someone slipped a cube of ice down his back. “Your potion is waiting for you,” he says, pointing to a cauldron that sits on the far side of the room.   

Remus walks over to it without a word. The Wolfsbane sits within the cauldron as promised and nothing about it seems unusual about it this time. There’s a ladle lying casually to the side of it but no goblet to be seen. With no sign that Severus is going to tell him where to find one, and with Remus being too stubborn to ask, he has to scrabble about the room trying to find one for several minutes, the heat rising higher and higher up his neck as he feels Severus’ eyes on him the whole time.   

Finally, he finds one. A rusty old thing but it would do. By now Remus would drink out of Severus’ shoe if it meant getting out of that room. He swallows a measure of the potion, grimaces at the taste as always, but, thankfully, suffers no other ill effect. He sets the goblet down without bothering to rinse it and makes to leave.   

“I know what you’ve been doing.”   

Remus stops dead. When he spins around to face Severus, he thinks for a moment he might have imagined the words for he has gone right back to whatever he was working on, apparently paying Remus no mind. But then he places his quill gently down on the table and looks at him expectantly.   

“What exactly are you accusing me of this time?”   

Severus raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, I think you could hazard a guess...”   

Remus’ mind instantly turns to the shameful pursuits he’s taken to indulging in. The ones that leave him calling Severus’ name night after night. But there’s no way Severus could know about that, surely. Maintaining eye contact with him is a struggle but Remus is determined not to appear guilty by looking away first.   

“I’m afraid I can’t even begin to,” Remus replies, pleased that his voice remains steady.   

Severus rises from behind the desk in one fluid motion. He’s in front of Remus in an instant, placing a hand on his chest to feel the hard thud of his heart that betrays his composure. He brings his mouth so close Remus can feel the faintest brush of his lips against his. It makes him dizzy.   

“I know you’ve been thinking about me...” Severus whispers, the hand over Remus’ heart drifts lower, reaching the front of his trousers before coming to rest on the bulge that’s steadily forming there.   

Remus can only respond in gasps as Severus begins to stroke him firmly through the fabric. His head whirls with thoughts. A thousand reasons to flee from the room bounce around, drowning each other out in their effort to be the loudest. What keeps him rooted to the spot, though, is the intense, mounting need.   

He reaches to pull Severus closer, tilts his head to close what little distance is left between their mouths, but Severus pulls his head-and his hand-quickly away.   

“Get down on your knees,” Severus says.   

It’s an order. Clear and firm. Remus’ body moves to obey before his brain can hope to catch up. The dungeon floor is shockingly cold. He reaches up to Severus’ own trousers, quick and keen, tongue moving to moisten his lips automatically, but, again, Severus stops him, grabbing Remus’ wrists and pushing him off.   

“Show me.”   

“W-what?” asks Remus.   

“Show me what you’ve been doing while you think about me,” Severus says, a note of irritation at having to repeat himself slipping into his voice.  

“I-”   

Severus places his forefinger under Remus’ chin and tilts his flushing face upward to look at him. Remus can’t meet his eyes, so he keeps his focus on Severus’ mouth, half tilted in a smile that is as cold as ever.   

“If you’ve been using me as fuel for your nightly gratification,” Severus says, looking down at him all the while, “then I think it’s only fair...”   

Remus sucks in a breath. He’s always been a people-pleaser and somehow that extends even to situations like this.  

He inches his knees apart slightly. Slowly, he slides his hand down beneath his trousers and takes hold of his cock. At first, he barely feels anything – the prickle of embarrassment in his neck, as though he’s being stabbed with a hundred tiny needles, is the only sensation he’s able to register. But soon the pleasure floods him, building with each slow, stroke. He releases the breath he’s holding, allows himself to close his eyes-  

“Not like that.”   

-and opens them again. They flick up to Severus in alarm, trying to determine what he’s done wrong. He didn’t understand. Severus had asking him to show him how he did it: as far as Remus knew, there was pretty much only one way. Severus just looks down at him, eyes narrowed with impatience and looking - almost -  bored .   

Then Remus realises. Of course: Severus would want him exposed.   

His breaths are already coming fast as fear and excitement squeeze his chest. Everything is heightened from being scrutinised by Severus; the chink of metal as he awkwardly undoes his belt, the steady drum of Severus’ fingertips on the desk, the chill air that surrounds his as he bares himself, and the hard throb of his cock despite it all. He looks up at Severus again who doesn’t give him so much as a nod of encouragement, but he’s stopped tapping his fingers so Remus guesses this is what he wants.   

A moan escapes him as the touch of his own hand resumes. This is about the most humiliating thing Remus can imagine. On the ground with his cock out, being forced to touch himself in front of someone he isn’t sure wants to fuck him or kill him. And the worst part is that he isn’t being forced: he wants this. God, he wants this so, so much.   

Severus’ face remains impassive as Remus begins to fist himself openly. The only thing betraying his interest is the grip of his hands against the desk and the unmistakable outline at his crotch, hovering torturously at Remus’ eye level. Somehow, perhaps to compensate for Severus’ lack of reaction, Remus feels as though he has to perform. So, he arches and tilts and parts his lips and groans louder than he ought to, each aspect of the display only serves to increase his own pleasure.   

He must be doing something right because Severus moves closer to him, yet his hips remain just out of reach. The crude, wet sound of made from the movement of Remus’ hand comes faster and louder and it turns him on all the more. Remus wishes he could touch Severus too, aches to take him in his mouth, but he doesn’t dare make a move to again. He knows Severus is going to make him suffer this through to the end. His breath hitches as he nears the edge.   

“Slow down.”   

Remus whimpers. He slows his hand a fraction, desperation threatening to take hold of him.   

“I said slow down,” Severus repeats firmly. “I don’t want you to come yet.”   

With a grunt of frustration, Remus takes his hand away. He looks up at Severus, panting hard, and awaits further instruction. Maybe now they could finally-   

“Did I tell you to stop?”   

Fuck. Remus is dangerously close already, there’s no way he won’t be able to come if he starts up again, and from the look of the smug look on Severus' face, he knows this fine well. But what choice does he have?   

He’s moaning in earnest now, deep groans than could be mistaken for pain, with each agonisingly slow stroke. It’s a matter of moments before he’s reduced to begging.   

“Severus, please, can’t - oh god - can't, fuck-”   

Useless words stream out of him and Severus ignores each and every one. The orgasm is blinding when it comes. Remus at least tries to keep it slow, to draw it out as long as possible to please Severus the most, but he can’t even manage that. His hand jerks wild and erratic and with it comes the familiar warmth of release.   

Tears sting the corner of Remus’ eyes as emotion overtakes him. Part of him wants to scrape together whatever remaining dignity he has and leave without a word; the rest wants to beg Severus for forgiveness for he-isn’t-quite-sure-what. But then he feels a cool hand on his cheek, the soft caress of a thumb over his lips.   

“You did well,” Severus murmurs and Remus is taken aback by the tenderness in his voice.



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