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Uncle Remus	By : TheLadyFeylene Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 5599 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: Remus and Harry do not belong to me. I am making no money off of this.

Warning: Not only is this SLASH, it's disturbing slash as well. Underage sexual situations, and just one messed up situation. It's male on male, graphic. You have been warned. NC-17!

Dedication: To Kitten, for helping me flush out this idea. And thank you to IcyEyes202, for all the much needed input on this story!

Author's Note: As you have been warned, this is rather disturbing. Dark, and twisted. But haven't you all come to expect that from me? ::Grins:: Enjoy! First person POV, Remus. This was *supposed* to be an entirety piece, but it seems it wants to be a series. Damn! Oh well. If you've got issues and want to flame, e-mail me, don't do it publicly please.

Uncle Remus

I shouldn't look at him like this. I shouldn't let my eyes wander over his body when he isn't looking at me. I shouldn't linger on his form, or let my eyes trail down to the firm swell of his backside, or the lean ling of his hip and thigh. But I do. I hunger for him, in ways I know I should not.

I would run, if I could. But I am his protector, his guardian. Until Sirius' name is cleared, he stays with me. The past year was full of trials and dangers, and he is in need of forms of protection only an experienced wizard can offer. And I was chosen, as is fitting. Sirius is still on the run, Sirius who would do his job properly. Who would shelter Harry, protect him, not lust after him.

I am ashamed. I have never before found myself salivating over a young boy. Young hardly begins to describe it. He isn't even of age, though only by months. My tastes have always run to other men, but of my own age. My fancies are usually filled by Sirius, and sometimes in the very dark of night Severus. Why they have turned to Harry, I do not know.

"Is everything okay, Uncle Remus?"

Uncle Remus. It's what he calls me. And I shudder, disgusted with myself that I long to hear that name pulled from his lips in wanton desire.

"Fine Harry." I smile. I hope it is disarming.

"It's only you've been staring at me, and I didn't know why."

"Just thinking." I say, glad of my self control. I have made a practice of keeping myself calm and composed. My face gives no hint of the fear that has seized my throat. I tear my eyes away, forcing them to look elsewhere. Harry returns his attention to his book.

Why? Why am I doing this? It is immoral. But I cannot help it. His image is branded on my mind. He is a fey child, mysterious and saturnine. There is a subdued sensuality about him, and I cannot pull myself away. It is in the way he moves, the way he speaks, carries himself. My eyes return again to him, and he does not see. He turns a page in his book, and I admire his slim fingers, turning the simple movement into an elegant dance. No one else, performing the same movement, would evoke such a reaction in me.

I feel old, and tired suddenly. I am more then twice his age, and yet I long for him. But longing is all I do. I am not so far gone in my lust to pursue the lad. That would be unthinkable. I have restraints. Control.

I watch, eyes fixated on him, as he licks the tip of his finger to turn another page. I shift, suddenly uncomfortable. What I would give, to be that finger. To be caressed by his tongue. I can imagine what it would feel. Soft and warm, sliding over the planes of my flesh. Tracing the contours of my face, my throat, my torso. Delving lower.

My mind paints the tabloue behind my eyes. Harry, between my thighs, pleasuring me with his mouth. He is soft and gentle, and he takes me lovingly, my hand tangled in his hair...

No! This is perverted. I am no Humbert, so lost in my lust. What would James say, if he knew what in my deepest passion-dreams, it is his son's name that I call out when I reach my peak? I am ashamed. Ashamed by my thoughts, and by the primal reaction so obvious only to myself. I am thankful for my loose robes.

Until now, I have kept these wanton thoughts to the late of night. But now the come to me by day. And they are far darker and more sinful then this. I sometimes allow my mind to go further. I have fabricated what it would be like to mount him. To sheath myself in his tight virginity. I am only assuming he is virginal, but I believe myself to be accurate in my assumption. I can feel it, buried to the hilt inside of him...

I sigh softly, hands clenching tightly in my lap. The flow of blood has changed rapidly, and I feel lightheaded. But at least it is discreet. Or so I hope.

What would I say, if he were to notice? If his verdine eyes were to turn to me, questioningly and accusingly? Would I lie, give him some falsity to placate him? Most likely. I lie quite eloquently, when I want to.

"You're doing it again, Uncle Remus." He says with a smile. My jaw clenches, and I just nod.

"I'm sorry." I say, and just smile. Composed. Calm.

"Everything's going to be fine." he says, and I cannot help but genuinely smile. He thinks I am worried. I am, but not about the war. I am worried over sitting here pondering these licentious thoughts. I am fantasizing tarnishing him, all the while watching him.

"Yes." I say, nodding. "It is."

I can no longer be in the same room with him. Even being in the same home is torture. This cottage is small, and there have been too many opportunities for me to look, to steal a glance, to linger too long by the half open doorway to his room, hoping to glimpse smooth white flesh. I find, to my horror, I have unconsciously timed it so I walk by his rooms when I know he is changing, or has just showered.

I am becoming that which I hate. I excuse myself, politely, and walk slowly to the safety of my bedroom. I close the door and sink to the floor, as my legs will no longer support me. What am I? I am truly some monster from a fairy tale, perverse and depraved. Harry is practically my own son. He thinks of me as an uncle, so proved by the pet name he requested and I approved.

Uncle Remus. I shudder at my own depravity. That I long to hear him cry out *that* when I bring him to climax. Can I somehow blame these cravings on my lycanthropy? It would be so easy.

The pressure between my legs is unbearable. I must relieve myself, but I fear to. I am afraid of my fantasies, of what my mind will supplant reality with. I know I will try and forcing the thought of Severus into the fore of my mind. Fantasies involving him are often far darker then fantasies surrounding Sirius, and I am in a dark mood. I rise, unsteadily, and make my way to my bed. I lie back, hastily unfastening the ties of my robe and slipping my hand down between my l I I am wearing nothing beneath.

I think of Severus. His hair, slick and black and falling in a sheet to his shoulders. His aquiline features, dark glittering eyes. I close my eyes, envisioning it. It is back at Hogwarts. We are teachers. He brings me my potion, but closes the door behind him. He faces me, telling me if I want it, I must offer him something in return...

This is a well used fantasy. This submission. It is taking my mind off of Harry....damn! Why did I have to think of him? Now the scene changes. Harry comes to me, begging for extra help. But he does not wish to learn of things we cover in class..

I cannot stop it. My hand refuses to still in it's ministrations, and my mind refuses to replace the image of Harry. Harry, kneeling beneath my desk, eyes intense as he performs fellatio on me. My breathing hitches as I increase my thrusts, as my mind compensates. It is not enough. I lick my palm, slicking it, before returning to my shameful task. I clench my jaw, my hand working faster as I give loose to my imagination.

I can feel my climax building. A part of my mind is still disgusted by all of this but I am beyond caring. I can picture it so clearly. My mind's eye disturbs me. I tangle my hand in the sheets. wishing it were Harry's hair. I increase my tempo yet again, adding finesse to it. I caress myself, and I strain for my climax as my fantasy continues. I am immune to all around me. I am focused solely on my impending climax.

It is beginning. My body tenses before it begins it's spasms, and I groan as I peak, not able to keep his name off of my lips. It is quiet, but deafening to my ears in the silent room. It drains me completely, and I fall back, not caring for the mess. I am exhausted. And, as always, disgusted. The smell of sex is heavy in the room. It mingles with my own scent, and the scent of pine and cinnamon that I favor. And the barest scent of Harry...

The room is too silent. I should be able to hear Harry, in the next room, turning his pages. But I hear nothing. I can smell him though. I should not be able to smell him between rooms...

Panic seizes me. I force myself to remain calm. It is only imagination. Sensory memory kicking in too high. I take a deep breath, and turn my head. My worst fears are realized. Harry is standing in my doorway, watching me wide eyed.

~~~~~~~~~

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Uncle Remus