Author: Mosh Title: Anoesis Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
In a lot of ways Moody could sympathise with Grimmauld Place. It was old, for a start. It was ugly. It had seen its fair share of dark magic. And it was crumbling, against its will. He had only gone there to drop off some papers for Dumbledore. He’d put them on the kitchen table, staring out of the window deep in thought about the coming meeting as the winter sun rose languidly above the houses across the street. But then he’d got distracted as a strange thumping sound drifted down from upstairs. And now he found himself sitting in the hallway on the second floor, holding Remus Lupin in his lap. “Padfoot...” “All right, lad, it’s all right.” Moody pulled Remus against him, the werewolf’s naked skin heated and damp in his hands. He’d managed to crawl out into the hallway, but hadn’t got very far; his bedroom door was hanging open a few feet away. He was shivering violently, yet his body felt extremely hot and he was wet with sweat. “You've got a fever by the look of it.” Moody patted his pocket, but realised with a sigh he’d left his hip flask at home. Of all times to be without it. “Padfoot... I...” “Calm yourself down. It’ll pass.” Moody could feel Remus’s muscles still twitching, his shoulders shaking and fists clenching through the spasmodic aftershocks of his transformation. Moody looked down at his own hands, palms lying flat against Remus’s scarred torso. He couldn’t help but notice how their scars differed; Remus’s were deeper, redder and raw-looking, whereas his own were pale, silvery lines scattered carelessly across the back of his hands like quill flicks. Absently, he stroked one of the red welts on Remus’s shoulder with his fingertips. Remus flinched and moaned. “I'm sorry, lad.” Moody sighed. “My fingers are too rough.” His wand was digging uncomfortably into his hip through his pocket, almost as if it was reminding him it was there, but Moody refrained from using any of the healing charms he knew. He would not heal Remus with magic, no way. To heal properly, one must work through the pain - that's what he had been brought up to believe. It made a wizard stronger, more knowledgeable. When he’d lost his leg he had insisted, as adamantly as one could in a state of so much pain, that there were to be no healing charms, no strong painkillers, nothing, but for the use of Singing Balm to cauterise the wound, preventing death by blood loss. During the first two days of his recovery he had screamed himself mute, but he’d felt better for it. Though, the mediwizards who had stupidly attempted to sedate him hadn’t. Moody’s mouth curled at the thought. It had made him stronger, or at least, feel stronger. Remus was already a strong wizard - Moody had ascertained that from very early on. But Remus, to his knowledge, hadn’t been so unfortunate as to catch flu around the time of the full moon before. And, looking at him curled against his lap, it was tempting to try to do something to help him. But in truth, Moody didn’t know what exactly he could do to ease the other man’s discomfort. He knew how to cauterise - he’d never forget that. He knew how to extract glass, wood, metal, even magical residue - in extreme cases - from a wound. But a fever? That was something that didn’t just affect the body. And he certainly didn’t know how to fix someone’s mind, bar knocking them out or Obliviating them, neither of which would do any good at this point. He managed to get Remus onto his feet and lead him through to his bedroom. “Hot... I can't... sorry...” Moody pushed Remus down onto the bed, picking up his legs and placing them on the mattress. He turned towards the door, paused, then turned back. “Do you want some water, Lupin?” Remus didn’t answer; he looked terrible, shaking and flushed one moment, shivering and pale the next. Moody sat down on the edge of the bed, putting his hand on Remus’s shoulder to comfort him somewhat. “You picked one hell of a time to get ill, you know,” Moody said softly. “Anyone would think you were purposely making life difficult for yourself.” He shook Remus gently as he spoke, quite sure that his words were going unheard. Remus mumbled something too incoherent to decipher, rolling onto his side towards Moody, pressing himself in an arch around his waist and hanging on. Moody patted him on the arm and started to get up, but stopped instantly when he heard Remus mutter something under his breath. It had sounded like... Again, Remus spoke, barely audible, finishing on a half-cough-half-moan. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lupin,” Moody said, now finding himself quite unable to move. “It’s the fever. I'll fetch someone who’ll be better at this sort of thing.” Remus shuffled closer, his hand closing around Moody’s hip as if to stop him from leaving. Moody could feel the werewolf trembling violently against him, and as Remus curled closer still, he also felt the unmistakable press of the werewolf's arousal against his lower back. Moody quelled his sudden moment of unreasonable panic, putting it down to Remus mistaking him for Black. That had to be it - Remus had been, after all, asking for Black. Remus pushed his hips forwards, moaning an urgent, pained sound. “Please...” “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Moody said again, quieter this time. He swallowed thickly, deciding that the best place to look was Remus’s face. But his sweaty face led to his sweaty neck, Adam’s apple rising and falling as he swallowed, which led to his sweaty chest - scratched badly, pale and very lightly muscled - which inevitably led to his belly, flat and shining with moisture, rising and falling, rising and falling. “Please?” “I can’t, my hands are too rough!” Moody said loudly, startling himself with the thickness of his voice. Perhaps a Cooling Charm would be a better idea after all... though he hated to have to resort to magical intervention for something that should be ridden out for Remus’s own benefit. Damn it, but this fever wasn’t doing either of them any good. He found himself wiping damp hair away from Remus’s forehead, feeling ashamed for shouting at him. It wasn’t his fault. Remus turned his feverish face into Moody’s palm, breath hot and fast against his skin. He began jerking his hips upward, trying to find something to ease the aching tension. Moody thought about rolling him over so he could rub himself to climax against the mattress, but he couldn’t just leave him like that - what if he suffocated himself in the process? He seemed to be wobbling on the edge of consciousness as it was. What perfect bloody timing to get ill. “When you’re well enough, you do realise you’re going to hate me for this, don’t you lad?” He tore his hand away from Remus’s pale, clammy cheek, turning on the bed so he was facing the younger man properly. The restriction of his trousers and robes against his own cock made him wince as he moved. Placing one hand on Remus’s stomach and soothing his burning skin as gently as he could, Moody leaned down and took Remus’s flushed wet cock into his mouth, letting it slide slowly across his tongue. The body under him jerked suddenly, and he could see Remus’s hands clawing at the bed sheets beside him. He closed his eyes, intensifying his grip to hold Remus still. Unable to stand the constraint of his trousers, Moody rubbed at his groin uncomfortably. He vowed not to go any further than that, but damnit, it was near-painful. Remus became caught between crying out and coughing as Moody sank quickly down over his cock, sliding his tongue down the underside and then drawing back up to the tip, savouring the feel and taste of him. He wanted to stop and yell at himself for doing this - for not thinking, for allowing himself to give into his want - but his mouthful of hot, twitching werewolf prevented anything more than a guttural growl. It had been too many years to count since he'd done this with another man - back when he was whole, handsome. “Sir... ius...” Oh, God. Moody closed his eyes, freeing his cock from his trousers and pulling on it hard. He gave up on holding Remus down, allowing the werewolf to thrust his hips up, prick sliding across his tongue so hard Moody thought he might choke from it. But he kept licking Remus’s darkened shaft, flicking his tongue out to catch the small drops of pre-come that pearled at the tip, while he worked his fist over his own erection. Feeling guilty and far too hot, he sucked Remus hard, half wanting to get it over with, and half wanting to hear the younger man moan again. And Remus did, his body arching off the bed and jets of come shooting down Moody’s throat. Moody’s fisted himself faster, finally spilling across his hand and wrist, and part of his bunched-up robes with a desperate groan. For a moment he let his release wash over him, let himself forget where he was, who he was with and why there was heavy guilt clawing at his mind. His hands were shaking as he released Remus and sat back. He didn't look, but he could hear Remus’s gasping breaths beneath the pulse of his heartbeat in his ears. He stumbled off the bed, trousers trapped around the tops of his thighs, still clutching his softened prick with one slippery hand. He could still almost feel Remus's skin under his palms, the taste of him surging through Moody like a drug. Stifling the urge to lick his lips, Moody made his way downstairs, ignoring the startled wail of Black’s mother as he slammed the front door on his way out. Only one thought nagged him that night, plagued him so much he couldn't get any of his remaining Order paperwork done. Would Remus remember what had happened?
* * * * * * * * * *
“Alastor, may I have a word?” Cursing inwardly, Moody stopped, his hand poised on the door handle. He thought he’d managed to sneak away after the meeting. “What is it, Lupin?” he said, keeping his calm as he turned. “I-” Remus began. He frowned. “This is going to sound strange, but-” And again, he paused, seeming to contemplate what he was trying to say. “The other day, after the change, I fell ill. I can’t remember much of anything, but I have this vague impression you were there. I... you weren’t there, were you?” Moody stared at the youngster, whose face had been flushed with fever; mouth open wide in a cry, eyes squeezed shut from ecstasy, when he’d last seen him. He swallowed thickly. What would someone like Lupin see in an old, battered fool like him? “No, lad," he finally said. "I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Outside, in the biting cold snow, Moody cursed the image that had been bothering him since that day. Of Remus and Black, young and beautiful, wrapped together in bed, touching and sucking and fucking each other. Angry at himself, he pulled his travelling cloak tightly around his body and trudged his way towards home. ~Fin~ |
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