Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Aftercare	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Remus Views: 17017 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A/N: First attempt at proper BDSM. It may be a bit vanilla compared to some other stories in this genre, but I still had a lot of fun writing it. This story was heavily influenced by the graphic novel series Sunstone by Stjepan Sejic. Please note, since it's not available in the tags, this fic also contains a werewolf (Remus) knotting in human form.
Aftercare

Part I: Secrets

Remus Lupin knew that his housemate had a secret.

Trouble was, he'd be damned if he even had the vaguest inkling of what it was.

Harry James Potter, son and godson of his lost best friends, and godfather to his own child.

Now in his mid-twenties, he had yet to decide on what sort of career path to take, he seemed to have become something of a gentleman of leisure, and spent his time using his sizable inheritance to contribute to a number of post-war causes, but otherwise did next to nothing with his time.

From a parental standpoint, Remus found this somewhat worrisome. Harry couldn't do nothing for the rest of his life, after all, but with each concern that Remus vocalized, it was met with a dismissive wave of his hand and some sort of blanket reassurance that everything was fine.

“Don't worry, Remus,” Harry would say with a reassuring smile, “I know my place. Don't worry so much.”

After each of these conversations, Harry would slip off for the evening, and come back positively reeking of sex. His highly sensitive werewolf nose picked up the scent at once, though if Harry was aware of how he smelled, he never let on.

Remus was uncertain how often Harry went off and did—whatever it was that he did to come back smelling like that. Life had become more than a little complex for Remus, especially after he was taken back as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts by Minerva. Like with the few other parents on staff, his quarters' Floo connection connected directly to Andromeda Tonks's home, where Teddy stayed during the school year, and really, the only time he ever saw Harry for any stretch of time was at Christmas or over the summer, when he roomed with the young man at Grimmauld Place with his young son.

Even so, the distinct impression that Harry had some sort of strange secret burned in him, and Remus itched to know what it was.

The summer after Teddy's sixth birthday, Harry had announced one evening that he was going out.

This was nothing new, given that Harry went out quite a lot, and whenever he did, like the strong scent that always returned with him, Remus never failed to notice the distinct crackle of a strong glamour that disguised him from throat to foot when he headed off each time.

Remus had never pried, but it was curious, and after months of this, Remus was finally determined to find out what the hell was going on.

After Harry left, Remus put his plan into action. He stood from his place near the fire, and tossed a handful of glittering Floo powder into the grate.

“Home of Andromeda Tonks!” he cried, and he knelt in front of the fire as he was swept all the way to his ex-Mother-In-Law's house.

“Remus!” the older woman cried when his head appeared in her fireplace, and dropped her evening tea all over herself. “Whatever is the matter? You don't usually call so late.”

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Andromeda,” he said quickly, “it's nothing incredibly important, but something has come up and I need to step out for an hour or two and Harry isn't in. Do you think you could come by Grimmauld Place and keep an eye on Teddy while I'm gone?”

“Oh, of course, you don't even need to ask,” she said at once, her face breaking into a small smile of relief. “Step back, I'll be right through.”

“Thanks,” he replied, and pulled himself back.

Not a full minute later, Andromeda's spinning form filled Grimmauld Place's fire, and she tumbled out onto the hearth. She stood and brushed herself off, the tea stains already gone, and Remus offered her a small smile.

“I really appreciate this, Andromeda,” he said earnestly, “I shouldn't be gone more than an hour or two.”

“Take all the time you need, Remus,” she said with a small smile, “Lord knows you push yourself too hard, between Teddy and your job at the school...we all need time for ourselves.”

He nodded his thanks, and stepped out into the front garden. He wasn't certain where Harry may have gone, but he wasn't a beloved Defence professor for nothing, and he knew a number of tricky little spells—both the kind that shoved wads of chewing gum up the noses of poltergeists, and those of a more serious nature.

Remus used his barely-used werewolf instincts to follow Harry's scent to the nearest Apparition Point, where the trail ended. He then removed his wand from his pocket, flicked it once, and muttered, “proximus magicus calles.”

The air around him seemed to thicken, and a thin blue light encased his body. Remus shut his eyes and followed the pull, intent to see where Harry would disappear to so often.

When Remus next opened his eyes, a shocked sputter escaped past his lips before he had the good sense to stop it.

He was standing before a night club, but it was unlike any night club he had ever seen—even in his heydays of letting Sirius drag him around to all sorts of ridiculous places. He was so shocked in fact that the question of, what would Sirius think of this? Had only just begun to cross his mind, closely followed by what Tonks's reaction may have been. Strangely, he couldn't see either of them protesting to this—Sirius would have been deliberately lewd, and Tonks likely would have wanted to tag along with Harry, and possibly even try to drag Remus along with her.

He looked at the club's sign again.

Cock & Bull.

Even if he had been a more naïve person, the patrons milling about outside left no question about what sort of establishment this was.

Men and women in collars being led around like dogs in scantily clad outfits that would just barely qualify as clothing at all, older men and women leading about fresh-faced boys and girls, clearly adults, but dressed up to appear much younger than they actually were, men and women in leather with riding crops or whips affixed to their belts, the women dressed in sinful heels and a number of other scandalous outfits that Remus couldn't even begin to describe.

Remus's werewolf instincts told him without the shadow of a doubt that Harry was inside that place, and his mind had gone fuzzy at the implication. He felt a flush of shame begin to creep up his neck as the idea of the fit young man in one of these objectifying outfits floated to the forefront of his mind; his mouth went dry, and his cock gave an interested twitch.

Immediately, Remus shook his head violently.

This is Harry, he thought fiercely, your best friend's only son. James and Sirius both would kill me for even thinking about him like that.

However, despite his reservations, his curiosity was certainly piqued.

Though Remus was painfully aware that he was not dressed for the occasion(his current attire almost grandfatherly compared to the people milling around him), he did he feel that donning a ridiculous amount of leather would make him feel any less out of place. Swallowing thickly in an effort to quash his nervousness, he covertly cast a small transfiguration spell on himself, altering his facial structure just enough that Harry was unlikely to recognize him, and he made his way towards the doors.

Remus paid the man at the door a cover fee of two sickles, and slipped inside, and was immediately overwhelmed.

It was crowded, but not uncomfortably so, and the sharp tang of leather seemed to hang in the air like a perfume as he took in the sight of the people inside the club. Most of them were dressed in even less than they had been outside, and Remus felt very much like he had walked straight into a pornographic magazine—in particular when a man walked by in little more than a leather g-string, and moments later a woman walked by in almost the same outfit(if one could call a g-string and stilettos an outfit to begin with), except with pieces of what seemed to be electrical tape affixed in little X's over her nipples.

Aside from the smattering of tables and a bar, the other other thing that occupied the space was a low stage, its drawn curtain awash in red light. Remus drew his attention away from the stage and back to the people that occupied the club. He felt caught between curiosity and shock at the sight of some of the people kneeling at the feet of those who occupied the tables, their heads resting against their knee or thigh, while the domineering partner stroked and caressed them like a beloved pet. Many of the kneeling young men and women were as close to completely naked as could be, in leather or lacy undergarments, and a few with adornments on (or in) their genitals themselves.

“You're a virgin, aren't you?” a sweet, feminine voice suddenly said, and when Remus turned to see who was speaking to him, he almost fell over in shock.

There stood Luna Lovegood, smiling placidly, her hand twisted through a leather leash that attached itself to the throat of one Neville Longbottom. It seemed as though neither of his ex-students recognized him, but Luna had always been unnervingly perceptive, and the last thing he wanted was for her to work out who he was.

“I know I look young for my age,” Remus teased lightly, “but I haven't been a virgin since I was fourteen.”

“I mean a virgin to the scene, silly,” she replied with a giggle. “You're so nervous. Don't let me scare you away, though, the show will be starting soon, and the sub playing tonight is...special.” Luna finished her statement with a sweet, wistful smile, then turned to Neville and cradled his jaw in her hand, and pecked his lips lightly. “Come,” she said firmly to him, as though he were a dog, “you've been so good tonight, let's get you a treat, hmm?”

Neville smiled and nodded, and did not speak as Luna led him away.

As the pair disappeared into the crowd, Remus was beginning to feel that he had seen enough, and desperately wanted to get home to his son, but at the same time, he wanted to find Harry, if nothing else to make sure that he was actually all right.

Just as suddenly, the lights began to dim, and Remus instinctively turned his attention to the stage just as the curtain drew back. As his brain processed what he was seeing, his breath caught and his mouth went very dry.

Some sort of hangman's apparatus had been erected in the middle of the stage, and a young man was been suspended from it by the wrists with thin red rope. It was high enough from the ground that it stretched his arms and torso taut, but low enough that he was kneeling on the stage's floor, with his thighs parted shamelessly. He wore a blindfold, a pair of leather pants, a thick black leather collar, and nothing else.

The blindfold that he wore totally obscured his identity from the audience, but the sun-kissed golden skin and very untidy black hair immediately clued in Remus to the youth's identity. Never in his life had he seen Harry look lovelier, not had he ever seen Harry ever look so blissfully at peace. His position had forced every muscle to tense, his skin seemed to sparkle with a thin sheen of sweat, and his chest was heaving, but even so, the look he saw on Harry's face gave Remus the impression that there was nowhere in the world that Harry would rather be.

Another man walked onto the stage to polite applause. This man was dressed in tight black trousers and an artfully designed masquerade mask of gold and white, and nothing else. It was still more clothing than the uncomfortable-looking undergarments that Harry was wearing, but Remus supposed that that was the norm in this strange, sexual world.

The man that stood over Harry was very handsome. His head was shaved, and he was broad shouldered, dark-skinned, and very muscular. He was at least a foot taller than Harry, and seemed to radiate power and control. In his hands he held a riding crop, and the sight of it sent a jolt of unease through Remus—Is he going to beat Harry before an audience? he wondered, a feeling of abject horror settling in the pit of his stomach, That's just sick.

Except...he didn't.

The man trailed the end of the riding crop up Harry's inner thigh, and even from such a distance, Remus could see Harry shiver, and his hamstring twitch. At the joint where his hip and thigh met, he brought down the small piece of leather down against Harry's skin with more force, and he saw Harry jerk in the bindings, but he looked far from uncomfortable by the small hit.

The look on his face was one of pure bliss.

Remus could see a distinctive bulge in the front of the pants that Harry wore, showing the audience just how much he was enjoying it as the other man began to trail the riding crop up Harry's chest at an infuriatingly slow pace before he brought it down again, a little harder this time against his left nipple.

Harry cried out, but again, the pain seemed to be pleasure, and Remus felt entranced by what he was seeing.

The performance continued, and it was like a dance. Small strikes here and there, never enough to cause more damage than to temporarily inflame the flesh, and when it was over, the man freed Harry and gathered him in his arms in a close embrace. Harry clung to him, and he could see Harry shivering, though Remus could not tell if it was from cold or arousal.

A pair of stage hands wheeled the apparatus off the stage, and replaced it with something that looked like a large X. It was quite clear what this thing was for, what with the leather restraints affixed to the four corners of the thing, as well as a few others around the middle. Remus felt his stomach turn over again at the sight of it, and unconsciously he licked his lips.

The man kissed Harry once in full view of the audience, then led the blindfolded young man over to this new apparatus, and Harry rested against it on his stomach. He seemed completely comfortable as the man affixed the straps to his wrists, ankles, around his waist, and attached a short chain to the collar at his throat. Remus could see in the way that Harry fidgeted that it was not constrictive enough to hurt him, but he was still completely immobilized, and Remus shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably as he watched.

The man traded the riding crop for a tasselled whip, and in his free hand he drew his wand.

With a quick wave, Harry's only garment of clothing disappeared, and the crowed applauded and cheered. It was not a lewd or perverse sound, but more like an audience who had gotten to their favourite part of a show.

Harry's pert arse was difficult to not look at, moreso after Remus noticed a strange glint between his pert cheeks, and he swallowed thickly past the distinct dry mouth feeling that once more overcame him.

An anal plug had been inserted at some point much earlier, and now Remus could see a glinting mauve heart-shaped jewel peeking out, catching the light occasionally, and making it next to impossible for Remus to look away.

Like with the riding crop, the man got Harry used to the sensation of the whip first. He trailed the tassels up the back of Harry's calves, thighs, arse, and back. Every time, Harry's muscles would twitch involuntarily, and Remus saw a shiver course through the young man. He did this roughly four or five times, but Remus found that it was difficult to keep track, as Harry's bodily reactions were close to hypnotic.

Without warning, the man suddenly lifted the whip and brought it down against Harry's back with a sharp snap!

Remus winced just as Harry let out a pornographic moan, and he watched with morbid fascination as the whip was brought down again and again against Harry's back, buttocks, and thighs, and even as the flesh turned an angry red, Harry was completely relaxed, as though he was experiencing nothing more intense than a relaxing massage.

At the end of it, the man returned Harry's pants to their rightful place, released the bindings, and pulled Harry into a close embrace, while he pressed a kiss to his temple. There were tear tracks on Harry's face, but Remus could not recall ever seeing him happier as he clung to the taller man. His smile was reserved and relaxed, and even as the blindfold was removed, his look of utter peace did not change.

Remus slipped out of the club before the pair had even left the stage, and headed home. He was numb with shock and confusion at what he had witnessed, and as he got home, bid Andromeda goodnight, and headed to bed himself, he felt as though he could not process any of it.

Close to two in the morning, Remus heard Harry return and pad softly up the stairs and to his own room. His acute werewolf hearing enabled him to pick up the noise easily, but as always, he was courteous and quiet, and did not disturb his godson's sleep as he went.

~*~

The days passed, and Harry gave no indication as to where he spent his nights. His interactions with Teddy were the normal, loud, thunderous chaos they always were—with the pair of them racing through the main level of the house, as well as up and down the stairs like a pair of primary-schoolers(or small rhinoceroses), while Remus intermittently barked at them to tone it down. Harry's protests that it was his house, and therefore he could treat it how he wanted were ground to a halt only when Teddy pitched over the railing of the stairs, and only Harry's innate Seeker skills enabled him to catch the tot in time.

Remus's summertime work as a budding novelist under the nom de plume, Lupé Bleidd, went more or less uninterrupted by their antics, though that particular type of work did leave him with a lot of free time to think about what he had seen that fateful night now over a week earlier. In particular, it have him time to reflect on the dreams that had followed his witness of it.

Erotic dreams of the like that he had not experienced since his Hogwarts days plagued his subconscious—of Harry bound, at his mercy, and in the place of the dark man Remus had seen him with, it was he himself, Remus Lupin, delivering the blows upon the young man, and each strike would make him moan and keen like a bitch in heat. Each time, Remus woke drenched in cold sweat, with cold semen dampening his flesh and bedsheets, while inside, his wolf howled with desire, and his human mind was overwhelmed with guilt. He did not simply want Harry—he wanted to dominate him.

Remus shivered at the desire, and as the full moon slowly drew closer, where the wolf's mind ended and his began became even more muddled than usual, and he began to fear just what he might do to Harry if the young man caught him at the wrong moment.

More worrying still, at least to Remus, was the strong likelihood that whatever happened, Harry might enjoy it.

~*~

The following afternoon, Teddy and Harry disappeared to the Burrow for an afternoon with the Weasleys, and Remus found himself alone in the blissfully quiet house.

He knew that Harry's intent was so that he could work on his novel in peace without Teddy and him disturbing him, but Remus found it next to impossible to sit still.

Remus wandered upstairs with his head in the clouds, and he stuttered to a stop outside Sirius's old bedroom, which had been convertedin recent years into Harry's room. Even so, Remus could smell traces of his ex-lover underneath the strong smell of Harry.

Something drew Remus in, and without wholly realizing what he was doing, he slipped inside the bedroom. The scent of Harry washed over him much more intensely, and once more his arousal spiked at the thought of the young man.

As he looked around, Remus did not know what he had expected to find. After his recent discovery of Harry's late-night extracurricular activities, he half-expected to walk into some depraved sexual dungeon, and not Harry's bedroom, but it looked the same as it always did.

The walls had been painted a soft blue, a modest queen-sized bed was pushed into the corner, and a bedside table, a wardrobe, and a writing desk, all made of expensive stained oak had been arranged around the room, and a perch for his new owl, Faust, sat near the window.

It was completely normal, and it aroused no suspicion whatsoever. The books that were stacked on the bedside table were mostly storybooks for Teddy, and a few volumes related to Quidditch were also jumbled in with the rest. There was nothing present that would indicate that Harry seemed to get off on being whipped and bound.

Against his better judgment, Remus stepped forward uncertainly, and checked the room for secrecy charms, and immediately found one, which he broke through before he could rethink the action. At once, a heavy black trunk, almost twice as large as Harry's old school trunk, materialized at the end of the bed.

I shouldn't be doing this, Remus thought as he stepped towards the trunk uncertainly, albeit curiously, this is a complete invasion of privacy...

Despite his protesting conscience, Remus's body moved towards the trunk seemingly of its own volition, and when Remus dug his fingers into the seam, it opened without any resistance.

The moment that it had creaked open, Remus's breath caught, and his eyes widened.

Leather and latex clothing items, lengths of rope, three different types of gags that all seemed to have different uses, handcuffs made of leather, blindfolds from something as simple as a strip of satin to as complex as a strange sort of helmet-like contraption, cock rings, narrow metal rods that Remus prayed did not go where he thought they would go, metal teardrop-shaped anal plugs from the size of a chicken's egg to the size of a large fist, all of them with different gems affixed to their bases, dildos in alarming shapes and sizes, a number of things that looked like chicken's eggs, and several books that seemed to cover everything from safe sex to rope-tying techniques and everything in between.

Perched right at the top of the lot was a small journal with a nondescript black cover, and Remus felt himself teetering between burning curiosity and the dizzy feeling like he had seen more than enough to last him a lifetime. This was not his world, but it most certainly seemed to be Harry's. Remus rocked on his heels as he deliberated, but in the end, he caved to his curiosity, and withdrew the little journal. Remus sank down onto the bed as he flipped it open to the first page, dated more than a year earlier, and began to read.

Finally sacked up and went to Cock & Bull. Luna said that I might find what I was looking for there, and at the time, I had no idea what she meant by that. Seeing Neville trussed up like a Christmas goose is something I won't soon forget, though.

I stuck close to Luna most of the night. To be honest, I was a bit freaked out by everything—I've never seen anything like it, except in naughty magazines, but that's different. Seeing it in real life was something else.

About half an hour after I got there, I was thinking about leaving when I bumped into someone I didn't expect to see—Blaise Zabini! We didn't exactly get on at school, given our Houses, but he was different than how he was in school. Hell, he was hot.

I remember that he was wearing these close-fitting leather trousers, he had a riding crop attached to his belt, and he was wearing this long leather coat, a little less Motorbike Gang-style, and more Evil Dungeon Master. Evil in a sexy way—not in a dark wizard way.

He promised that he wouldn't hurt me, which, frankly, I doubted. More likely Malfoy was hiding somewhere and they were waiting to hex me when they got me alone or something. But Luna seemed to really believe that Zabini wouldn't hurt me, and he led me to this back room. I have to admit, I was really curious, so I didn't really put up that much of a fight, so if I had gotten hexed, it would have been my own stupid fault. I didn't though.

This back room was the most mental thing that I have ever seen. Zabini led me down this long passageway, and he stopped at one of the last doors. Inside, it was this huge room, dim, but you could still see what was going on. It was like something out of a fantasy (or nightmare, depending on who you are). There were men strapped into all sorts of contraptions, bound, gagged, being whipped or slapped, caned, fucked mercilessly, sometimes by more than one person—it was insane.

I was getting a little more freaked out, and I think Zabini could sense that I was nervous, and he kissed me, and Merlin's Tit—could that man kiss. I can't really remember exactly what he said, the way he was holding me, the smell of sex in the room, all of it had made me sort of numb. In a good way. I know for sure it wasn't a spell or hex, it was just the heavy atmosphere of the whole thing. What I do remember him saying is this(which, to be honest, he was making it really hard to focus on anything at all, because he wouldn't stop touching me and turning my brain into goo)—

“Harry,” he said while he ran his hands down my back and cupped my arse, “I am going to free you from yourself. Let go, and put your trust in me.” At this point, his hands slipped inside my trousers and pants, and his hands on my arse made it even harder to listen to him.

“You will submit to my whims, and you will love it. Before the night is out, you'll be begging me to hurt you just a little bit more, and you will weep when I deny you,” he continued, and even began to kiss my neck, which was so gentle, so sensual, that it flew int he face of literally everything that was happening around me. “I will push your limits, I might make you cry, and you will love every sweet second of it.”

“But—” this single word, paired with the fact that he had stopped touching me brought me careening back to reality, and I wanted to scream. It had all felt so good. As it would turn out though, it seemed as though he stopped to make sure that I heard him. “If it ever becomes too much for you, there will be a word—a single word that will break my power over you, and force me to stop,” he said, “what will that word be? Tell me now.”

I picked Quidditch, of course, and he laughed at me. It wasn't a mean or cutting laugh though, it was probably the closest thing to a good-natured laugh that I have ever heard from him. At this point, he helped me get out of my clothes, and I stumbled over some stupid phrase, like, “I don't normally do this sort of thing,” or something like that, and he just smirked at me. I reckon the fact that I'd never done this before was pretty obvious to him.

Blaise led me over to this really freaky contraption, and he picked up something on his way over. I think I jumped at least a foot in the air, because suddenly he was running this knobbly, leather something down my spine and between my arse cheeks. At the same moment, he held something up in front of me. It was a leather collar. I hate to admit it, but the sight of the thing was just so arousing, though I have no idea why.

“If you put this on, Potter, you are mine. You shall refer to me as Sir, and you...my pet. There is no turning back once I claim you, little lion, and no one is permitted to touch you but me.”

I don't know why his possessive, domineering words had such an effect on me. It was weird, every word he spoke, I could just feel my cock responding to it, and he'd barely touched me yet. I was scared—hell, I was petrified, but I still accepted the collar.

Blaise strapped me to the contraption, and I was spreadeagled before him, and totally at his mercy. It was so strange. I couldn't move beyond some small fidgeting, I had a former rival (or, at least. House rival) at my back, none of my friends were around, but never in my life have I felt more safe than when I was strapped down like that.

Blaise wasn't finished with his accoutrements for me; he pulled off my glasses and put this sort of cap thing on me. It was leather, or dragonhide, I'm not sure, and it covered my eyes and ears, and pinched the bridge of my nose. It didn't close it, I could still breathe, but I couldn't smell anything. It was so strange. It also completely blinded and deafened me—he'd taken away three of my senses, but it only thrilled me more.

The next thing to come was a sort of gag. It wasn't like the ball-gag that I've seen in magazines, there was a hole in the middle of it that I could stick my tongue out of, and still breathe comfortably, but my voice was still a bit garbled—not that I was really talking all that much by that point.

The last thing that Blaise did was something I had yet to try, and while I was never against it, it was certainly not something I would have had the nerve to do on my own, or suggest to a partner.

I felt a lubrication charm run through my arse, and he prepared me with his little finger. Hardly any preparation at all. I've been fucked in the arse before, this was nothing new, but I was a little unnerved by how little preparation he gave me.

Then I felt it.

Cold, slick metal pressing against my arse, something large, far larger than the feeble preparation that Blaise had provided me with would warrant, and I remember groaning pretty loudly as he shoved the butt plug in, and then relaxing as the thing settled inside me.

It was the most amazing thing I have ever felt.

I didn't see it before it went in, so I have no idea how big it really was, but it felt huge. Every time I clenched my arse it felt impossibly full, and the hard metal was unyielding no matter how hard I pushed against it or clenched around it—and I never wanted Blaise to take it out. It just felt so, so good.

My brain had been reduced to goo again. I felt Blaise move, and he suddenly turned my head, and he kissed me through the gag.

He didn't kiss me for long, I think it was more to make sure that I was all right, then he circled to my back again.

That was when the whip entered the picture.

I had never imagined that pain could be pleasurable, but as those thin ropes of leather hit my back, the stinging sensation made me moan again, and squirm. He wasn't hitting me very hard, just enough to make my skin twinge, but not actually injure me.

The whip came down on me again and again, I actually lost count of how many times he whipped me, and as time went on the blows got harder, and it stung more and more.

I was crying, I remember my face being wet, at least, but he didn't stop, and I didn't want him to. My cock was almost ridiculously hard, not dimmed at all from the pain. Because of him temporarily blinding me and deafening me, I couldn't take my attention away from it; there was nothing else to focus on but the pain that he was inflicting on me.

When he finally stopped, I was crying even harder, but I don't even know why I was crying. I felt so pathetic, because I knew that it wasn't the pain making me cry—I'd never really been much of a crier, and let's be honest, I've been in much worse scrapes than something like this. He removed the plug from my arse gently, and it twinged a little as it came out, but nothing agonizing. He then removed the gag and the blindfold-cap-thing, and the whole world came rushing back. It was beyond overwhelming, and when he finally released me from the contraption, I couldn't hold my own weight, and just collapsed.

I think he expected this, because he caught me, and carried me over to this settee off to one side of the room. He helped me clean up and calm down, and just...held me. He didn't assume control, or spit out a caustic remark, he was so gentle, it was a little scary actually. I asked him about what was going on, and he called it Aftercare. A way for us to come back down to earth from the play we had just engaged in, and he was right—in that moment, I did feel cared for.

I left not long after that. The whole experience was really draining, but in a good way. I asked about the collar after I'd gotten dressed, and he ran his finger along the edge of it, and I remember that that small touch was enough to make me shiver.

“You can keep it, if you like, Harry...it looks good on you,”—

“What the hell?”

The sudden voice caused Remus's head to snap up.

Standing in the doorway was Harry, his face contorted with horror and anger in equal measure.

Remus's mouth dropped open, and the little book in his hands tumbled to the floor.
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Aftercare