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He'd been so careful.
He'd caught Lupin half-asleep in that monstrosity of a bed -- and why the man couldn't be bothered to remove the moldering curtains and cast an elementary cleaning charm on the sheets beggared explanation, but then, no one would call him fastidious. He'd borne him back before he could fully sit up, eating the stammered questions out of his mouth until he fell silent at last. He'd visited his own unwanted desire on Lupin's lean, scarred body as though he could punish the man with pleasure for inflicting this helpless longing on Snape against his will. Mouth, hands, hair, the weight of his body, the slide of his cock, he'd applied them all at a speed designed to send Lupin out of control. To show him what it was like to be powerless.
And Lupin had responded with gratifying abandon, as though deprivation had wrought on him the same desperation that longing had wrought on Snape.
His own cock he ignored as always, giving it no attention except the incidental caress of Lupin's scar-rough belly. It didn't matter. He would compel surrender. That would be a more profound satisfaction than the mere sputter of physical completion.
So careful. Lupin had hardly had a chance to open his eyes before Snape had delivered a caress that closed them again, hadn't been able to raise his hands before the pressure of Snape's teeth had sent them back down to grasp the sheets. Snape had rained kisses upon him as though they were blows, and Lupin had crumpled under the assault, writhing, panting, trembling, crying out.
And it was only in the last moments -- when Lupin's dazed eyes opened, and met Snape's ravenous gaze, and closed again as his cock spasmed and spat against Snape's hip, and he caught a laborious breath and sighed out, almost too low to be heard, "Severus" -- that Snape realized exactly whom his trap had caught.
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July 12, 2004