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The Truth Will Out	By : BunnyBopper Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Remus Views: 5655 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 8
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Perhaps it was due to the fact it was four o’clock in the morning. Perhaps it was because he was trying so hard not to think about Severus, his mind was hyper-aware of everything going on around him. Or perhaps the bastard really had slipped something into the flask of bitter coffee he was steadily sipping from. Whatever his reason for having heard the sound, Remus could no longer deny it was a growl. A very distinctive growl. Not one that—try as he might—he could convince himself belonged to a Grindylow that had strayed too far from the lake or something far nastier that had wandered out of the forest. No. There was no question that this growl belonged to a dog. And a very angry one at that.
Against his better judgement, Remus had abandoned the relative safety of the torchlight courtyard and clambered through the bushes in search of the sound—the little bits of twig and leaves still clinging to his robes and hair attested to this. But there had been nothing to see. No sign of man nor beast. (Nor both, as the case may be.)
And now that the patrol was finally over and the Grounds have gone from being shrouded in darkness to being harshly exposed by the winter sunshine, it seems to Remus more and more likely that his mind had been playing tricks on him. A guilty conscience mixed with lack of sleep along with a distinct lack of...other things.
No need to mention it to Dumbledore. Or anyone else for that matter.

***

Remus lasts one more day before he finally snaps. The following evening had been predictably—painfully—cordial. A knowing smirk from Severus being the only indication that his nightly visit was anything more than the Potions Master charitably using his skills to help an ailing colleague. And tonight appears to be going exactly the same way.
“Just how much longer are you going to torture me?” Remus asks, sounding as bitter as the Wolfbane still burning his throat.
The look Severus gives him is unfathomable as he slowly takes the empty goblet from Remus’ hand. Then he takes one long, pale forefinger and runs it along the goblet’s rim, pausing when he reaches the part that Remus’ lips have just touched.
And then Remus swears that he  feels  it. As plain as if Severus was tracing that finger over his burning lips right this moment.
Severus circling of the rim starts up again, but this time the sensation jumps to Remus nipple. It isn’t a place where Remus is usually sensitive, but right now, it’s all he can do not to turn into a squirming mess right in front of him.
“If I wanted to torture you, Remus—,” Severus’ finger slips over the rim to slide tantalisingly down the goblet’s edge and, for Remus, the feeling is exactly the same as if it was running down the length of his cock “—you would know about it.”

***

It’s one o’clock in the morning and, despite his best effort not to be, Remus is awake. The events of the past seventy-two hours have left him exhausted—so much so he’s becoming borderline delirious—and yet his aching cock makes sleep impossible. He’s already torn off his pyjamas as even the rub of fabric had proved far too stimulating, but each time it brushes against the covers as he turns over again and again, it twitches in hopeless frustration. And then there’s the problem that every time he does relax just enough to let his mind start to drift off, Severus creeps right back in there.
Or, more specifically, Severus’ hands. It could hardly be denied that Severus neglected certain aspects of his appearance—his hair, his teeth, his distinct lack of variety in personal style. But those hands... he must take good care of those. He used them constantly after all. Slicing and chopping and squeezing every last drop of pus from Bubotuber plants. Polishing, crushing and grinding Bicorn horns into the finest powder. Doing that all day every day would make anyone else’s hands tough as Dragon Hide. But every part of Severus’ hands—from the pads of his fingertips to the delicate skin that stretched across his knuckles—were soft.
Another thing about those hands was the way they moved. Whether they were performing the most complex wandless magic, or simply stirring honey into a cup of tea, each motion was purposeful. Precise. And each time he laid one of those hands on any part of Remus, it had been no different. Every graze, every caress seemed perfectly placed to leave him desperate for more.
It was more than just being a skilled lover—it was as though Severus could read his mind. James and Sirius would complain about that sometimes. Each time that scrawny boy had deflected one of their spells with the perfect counter curse before the words were even out of their mouths, they would laugh and accuse him of being some sort of ‘creepy legillimens’. Privately, they reasoned that he was too stupid to be born with that kind of talent, but Remus was now starting to wonder if there really was something to it.
He was also wondering about that magic Severus had used on him earlier. It must have been something to do with the trace of his saliva left on the goblet. While it seemed simple, it really was an impressive bit of spellwork. The concentration it would have taken to visualise Remus’ body under his robes, recalling each contour with complete accuracy was no easy task. Added to the fact that he had done it wordless and wandlessly...
Remus’ cock throbs harder with each beat of his quickening pulse. The memory alone almost pushing him over the edge.
And then—suddenly—Remus feels those hands again. The ghost of one cupping his balls, the other wrapping itself firmly around his erection. He cries out, but the need for sensation quickly outweighs his shock. The muscles of his thighs clench tight as his hips strain upwards, pushing himself further into the hand that may or may not be really there.
But almost as soon as he moves, the sensation vanishes. His hips slump back down into the mattress as his hand rake desperately through his hair. Perhaps Severus had finally succeeded in—quite literally—driving him insane.
Or perhaps not. For once he has finally grown still again, those unseen hands start up again. Remus’ breath hitches in his throat as he realises that this is very real and very much happening. Taking the hint, he does his best not to move, but Severus is going so torturously slowly and it just isn’t enough. He bites his lip, harbouring under the delusion that if he just keeps his movements subtle enough, he could work up enough friction to finally fucking come. But, of course, as soon as he tries it, the hands withdraw altogether.
Remus grips the bedsheet between both of his fists, lets out something between a swear and a whimper of complete and utter frustration. His eyes are stinging with unshed tears as he forces himself to lie still once more. The hand returns, but this time he feels it somewhere else entirely.
“Oh, gods,” Remus breathes as his ass parts slightly. The unseen fingertips are hot and somehow slick against him. They probe lazily at his hole for what feels like an excruciatingly long amount of time before entering him with ease.
With this, Severus doesn’t seem to want him to hold back. No matter how much Remus writhes and thrashes, those fingers never once stop moving inside of him.
The tears are falling now, blurring what little Remus can still see of the darkened room. He’s been finger-fucked before. The first time was with Benjy Fenwick during one of their brief trysts that tended to take place between Order meetings. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, and with a war raging around them, they didn’t have a lot of time to figure it out. Then there were his own fumbling attempts to do it himself, bent at awkward angles while the pathetic stream of water from his cheap shower trickled over him. He never got very far with that either.
But this is something else entirely. Like he’s on fire from the inside out. Waves of pure sensation, start deep inside him, radiating up into his belly until he can even feel it from the tingle of his toes all the way up to his burning cheeks. It feels so good but it’s just not enough. His cock throbs with each pulse of those relentless fingers and Remus feels as though he might explode if he doesn’t touch it soon.
Without thinking, he grabs hold of his neglected cock.
“Patience.”
Severus’ voice brings Remus back to his senses. He lets go. At this point he’s not even surprised to hear him—exactly as though he were whispering in his ear—as well as feel him. Remus has no idea whether he is actually in the room, using some sort of invisibility magic, or whether this really is some advanced form of Legillimency. And right now, he doesn’t care. The only thing he can think about is how badly he needs to come.
As Severus’ fingers continue their tireless work, the sensation deep within him begins to change. What previously had been ‘not enough’ quickly threatens to spill over into ‘too much’. The safeword dances on the tip of Remus’ tongue when suddenly he hears something else. Another person's ragged breathing mixing in with his own. Here or not, the sound betrays the fact that Severus is experiencing the same pleasure.
Remus is not sure how he knows this but he does. In that instant, he feels everything Severus is feeling. The contraction of his abdomen, the thrust of his hips, the grimace of pleasure stretching over his face as he gets closer and closer to the edge. Almost as if their bodies are one and the same.
Then finally it’s enough. The pressure building deep inside of him crashes through his entire body and he’s thrashing against it. Come leaks out of his cock and onto his stomach, but he barely notices. What he’s feeling is so all-encompassing, so intense, he forgets to breathe. His head rolls back against the pillow as he soundlessly mouths Severus name again and again.
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The Truth Will Out