The Subtleties of Loneliness

by Keelywolfe

 

He smelled him first. Before the footsteps on the stairs and the brisk knock on his door, he could smell the faintest traces of juniper berries and the eyewatering reek of peppermint. One was from hair oil and the other from hands that were chapped from being washed too often, and as smells went the combination was nauseating at the very least, sitting very strongly in the sinuses of one who was not quite human.

Setting aside his book, Remus took off his reading glasses and inhaled deeply, ignoring how his stomach roiled uneasily. Nauseating, yes, yet it was also comfortingly familiar.

Even though he knew who was there, he waited politely, picking idly at the loose threads hanging from the arm of his shabby chair until the knock came. He got to his feet slowly, moving to the door and opening it to see cool, dark eyes staring in at him from the darkness.

"You're sooner than I expected," Remus observed, stepping aside to allow his visitor inside.

The other man didn't move, instead arching a dark brow and asking, "Is that a problem?"

"No, not at all," said Remus with false carelessness. His visitor was so easily antagonized, the bite in his voice as wondrously familiar as his scent, but nothing was going to be accomplished if he didn't step inside the door.

Sometimes he didn't. He would stand on the porch for a minute or two and then turn around and leave without a word, and all Remus could do was watch helplessly, desperate words that begged for him to return lying unspoken on his tongue. He had been called many, many things in his life, true things and otherwise, and Remus was not about to add beggar to the list, no matter how wretched he became.

An agonizing moment of waiting, the faintest groan of the boards when the other man shifted his weight as if to turn away, and just as panic began to rise, Snape said, finally, "Then let's get on with it, shall we?"

---

The cool leather that circled his wrists creaked slightly as Remus tested his strength against the bonds. He couldn't break them, he knew. Whatever strength he gained in his werewolf form was temporary; he wasn't a true Animagus and he couldn't control his transformations.

A guilty shiver of excitement went through Remus at his helplessness, as it always did. At this moment his very existence was in the hands of Severus Snape, who at the very least could leave him like this, spread out and naked on his worn mattress to scrape the skin off his wrists as he struggled free of the cuffs. At the worst...Remus wasn't certain he wanted to consider the worst Snape could do.

There were rumors about the former Death Eater, things that were only spoken of in whispers, and only into certain ears. Certainly the parents of the Hogwarts students knew nothing of it, and Remus wondered at the effort Dumbledore must go through to keep it that way, as well as what Snape had done to earn that kind of protection.

Some of the rumors were lies, horror stories that were based more on residual fear of Voldemort than reality, and some, as Remus knew first- hand, were not. As for the amount of truth in the rest, Remus had long ago decided that he was better off not knowing.

The cool, impersonal touch of a hand on his bare thigh warned him that they were beginning and Remus closed his eyes, not needing to see Snape to know that the other man had stripped down to his trousers.

"Why did you agree to do this, truly?" asked Remus, softly. He didn't really care about the answer, the overbearing silence pushing him to speak.

"Because I wanted to." There was a delicate brush of leather against his skin, the almost fluid slither of a whip, Snape's own because as he explained once, just as one does not use someone else's wand indiscriminately, neither should you with any other tool, not when your own gives a much more personal touch. Another graze of slick leather, a warning, followed by a sudden line of liquid fire burning hotly across his back and he arched involuntarily, already anticipating the next strike. The loud crack of the whip was almost worse than the blow itself, that split second before the knowledge of coming pain became a reality. Once, twice, lines of acid-hot pain streaking over his skin.

The torment of the lash was replaced with one of a different kind, the soft brush of a fingertip tracing the crimson line that the same hand had cause only a moment before. He felt the soft brush of hair on his shoulder as his tormentor leaned forward to whisper, "Because you're letting me."

Snape's fingers sketched an abstract pattern between the reddened welts that were scattered over his back. They slid stealthily upward, over the curve of his neck to fondle damp cheeks, and if Remus were to look down he knew he would see the crimson of his own blood staining the tips of Snape's fingers, diluting pink into his tears. "You are never more beautiful to me than when you cry, do you know that?"

"Yes..." he managed, nearly a sob because the gentle touch ceased, slender fingers pulling back and he knew what was going to happen next, he knew, and he still wasn't prepared, the pain boiling out of him as the lash struck, over and over and there was nothing but heat and pain, and God, he needed it, wanted it, losing himself to the raw reality of nothingness, wrapped so deeply in the crimson swath of velvet agony that he barely noticed when it stopped.

The harsh sting of antiseptic cut through his fog and he hissed aloud, trying to arch away from the cloth that was cleaning his back. It pulled him from the peace of blank nothingness when he wanted nothing more than to stay.

"Be still," Snape said brusquely, wiping away streaks of blood. Remus relaxed, somewhat bemusedly allowing Snape to clean the tiny wounds, even if it was unnecessary. One of the admittedly few perks of being a werewolf was healing very quickly. An hour or two and the marks would be completely gone.

Tossing the rag aside, Snape reached up and unfastened one of the cuffs, tossing it away. Remus shifted onto his side, watching with darkened eyes as Snape undid the other cuff, rubbing the lightly chafed skin almost absently until Remus tugged slightly. Snape released his wrist instantly, a hint of mortification in his eyes as he moved back enough to let Remus sit up.

Unselfconscious of his nudity, Remus retrieved another damp cloth from the side table and wiped at his tear-encrusted cheeks, almost sighing at the pleasure of being clean, and coolness of the cloth against his overheated skin.

Snape was still watching him, his eyes unreadable and Remus was about to suggest that they have some tea, as they always did after these sessions, when Snape suddenly leaned forward and kissed him. Gently, a marked contrast to his brutality of minutes ago as the tip of his tongue stroked over Lupin's lips, begging for entrance that Remus denied, pulling sharply away.

"No, it can't be like that," said Remus softly, a simple statement of truth as he tried to ease the wounded light that flared in Snape's eyes. "We both get what we want from this. You get to fulfill your urges to hurt someone, and I fulfill...my own urges," he finished quietly, his courage failing him at speaking his needs aloud.

"And what of other urges?" Snape asked harshly. "I know you have them." Slender fingers trailed over his bare thigh, too-dry skin rasping over sensitive nerve endings. He curled his hand around Remus' cock, and Remus was already erect, had been since he'd first stripped his clothes away and he had never bothered to hide it. Snape's warm hand pumped lightly, coaxing flares of pleasure as hot as pain, while his thumb rubbed circles over the fluid-slick head.

Remus allowed it for the briefest of moments, sighing at the intimate touch of another's hands. Then he gently caught Snape's wrist, stopping him.

"If you have other urges, you'll have to satisfy them elsewhere. I can't give you that, nor can I accept it," Remus said, as kindly as he could even though he knew that it wouldn't be enough.

It wasn't. Hurt blossomed in those dark eyes that were not as unemotional as many believed. It was pain that had erected icy walls over those eyes, and Remus ached at the knowledge that he had caused more pain still.

But there were rules, carefully chosen the very moment that this had begun, rules that Remus could not allow to be broken, even if he had wanted to.

The hurt in his eyes was shuttered quickly behind coldness as Snape pulled sharply away and stood, saying frostily, "Very well."

Remus watched as he gathered his robe, dressing with unseemly swiftness until he was wrapped as tightly in his clothing as he was in his dignity.

"I'm sure you'll understand if I don't care to stay for tea?" said Snape dryly, and he waited a bare moment for Remus to murmur, "Of course," before he swept out of the room. Footsteps echoed across the polished hardwood floor, followed by the soft click of the door as it opened and closed.

Closing his eyes, Remus strained to hear the steps ghosting across the porch as Snape walked a polite distance from the house before he Apparated and left Remus alone again.

Curling up on the worn mattress, Remus stared blankly at the far wall, his thoughts in turmoil. The stinging pain of the welts on his back were already starting to fade away, and he concentrated on the pain, willing it to stay only a bit longer, the phantasm of pain infinitely better than the reality of loneliness.

"Where are you?" he whispered aloud, to no one in particular since no one was there to hear him. Not the man who had left him here in exile, not the man who was trapped far away in an exile of his own, who was sorely missed with every breath Remus took. Not the living and not the dead. No one and nothing but his own voice, the soft rasp of his own breathing as he hugged his legs tightly against his chest and buried his face in his knees as he shivered in the coldness of his room.

 

-finis-

 

Comments and questions to:  mailto:keelywolfe@gmail.com

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