Belle
“Where are we going?” I ask while trailing half a step behind him. I watch as the curly tips of his hair brush against the collar that’s peeking out from under his loose sweater as he turns his head to look at me.
“Somewhere we can play your game,” He reaches back and yanks me in step with him. “Keep up.”
We’re not heading to the common room. It looks like we’re going to the Transfiguration Courtyard. Rose’s warning rattles in my head but before I have a chance to question again where we are going, the door clangs shut behind me. I take a moment to look around and I see that I’m in a room that looks like a small utility closet with a few crates littered on the ground. In an upper corner of the room, there is a softly flickering light that I initially dismiss as a torch light but then Remus waves his wand and mutters,
“Revelio,”
A steep, narrow staircase reveals itself inside the small closet, and, again, Remus motions for me to take the lead. There’s no railing on the staircase so I hold my hands out slightly to improve my balance as I ascend the stairs. Still, I ungracefully trip on the last stair and lurch forward to meet the ground. But I don’t hit the floor with a thud, instead a strong arm circles around my waist and lowers me gently to the floor. I stare incredulously up at him for a moment then I see his usually unbreakable poker face, crack. Without warning, his face breaks into a grin and his body is heaving in laughter. I wish I could say it’s not infectious but I can’t because soon I’m desperately trying to stifle my own laughter.
“It’s not funny!” I exclaim through my restrained chuckles. He’s still laughing as he offers me a hand up.
“I wish you could’ve seen your face,” He tugs me to my feet. A moment passes between us as our laughter quiets down but it’s short-lived as I notice the small eclectic room behind him.
Instead of walls, there are bookcases on the left and right flanking walls. The bottoms of each shelf have small twinkling lights attached to them and illuminate the spines of each book. There’s a brown velvet sofa against the far wall adorned with Gryffindor red throw pillows and a folded beige blanket. Floating candles bob gently near the roof. There are several small tables littered with books and inkwells. There was parchment stacked on the floor and sketches of drawings pinned to the walls. The drawings are beautiful stills of different sceneries, the Whomping Willow blooming in the springtime, a partially frozen Black Lake, and a firefly-lit field. I circle the room and recognize a few portraits of Sirius, James, and Peter as well. He captures their carefree demeanor perfectly. I pause on a portrait of Rose braiding flowers into Lily’s hair. A pang of jealousy whips through my chest and I wonder when the three of them were together and why I wasn’t there. All of our friends are featured in these drawings but not me because Remus couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me until he took an interest in the meetings with my mother. How much had I missed out on accommodating his ego? I look back at Remus and he’s watching me carefully.
“They’re really beautiful,” I say staring at my shoes trying to will the feeling away and failing spectacularly. Remus stays quiet but I see his shoes walk by me and hear the sound of the sofa as it gives way under his weight. I linger in the middle of the room but eventually, turn around and cross my hands over my chest.
“What is this place? Your sex attic?”
“Oh, we’re starting now. No this is not a sex attic. It’s a place I found during our first year before Sirius befriended me.”
“Those were good times,” I mutter. He rolls his eyes at the comment. “Well, why have you brought me here then?”
He smirks, “To get you alone and vulnerable. None of our friends know about this place and I’ve warded it so no one else might stumble upon it. I want you to myself today.”
I feel the color drain from my face while at the same time, my heartbeat quickens. Then he’s laughing again, this is another of his sick jokes aimed to get a reaction from me and I’ve played right into it.
“Relax, B. You’re the one who wanted to ‘get to know each other.’ Come sit.”
I sit on the couch and clutch one of the throw pillows to my chest. I murmur into the plush pillow, “It’s your turn.”
“What was that?”
I sit up from the pillow, “It’s. your. turn.”
He leans back and smirks, “Thanks, and now it’s yours.” I stare at him blankly. He really is impossible. He pushes all my buttons and then relishes in how flustered and irritated he makes me. I take a deep breath and try to ground my emotions.
“You said that most nights are rough for you, why is that?”
He shrugs, “Nightmares. Why was last night rough for you?”
I shudder, “Nightmares, What are your nightmares about?”
“Pass, what are yours about?” I stare at him, surprised that he would use his pass on something as trivial as a nightmare. I fold my hands over my chest, it’s either tell him or use a pass. I suppose it’s not a secret.
“I get nightmares about the night I lost my mother and father.”
He nods but doesn’t offer his sympathy; it catches me off guard how nonchalant he is about it but I suppose that’s how someone would act if they didn’t care. I’m glad he doesn’t ask more. Most people bombard me with apologies or worse ask how it happened. Remus is always good about respecting that boundary if nothing else. I follow up immediately, eager to change the subject,
“What do you dream about?”
He turns to look at me with a surprised expression on his face. He’s already used one pass and I know that pride dictates that he answer this question. He ponders the question,
“Do you mean what I dream about at night?”
I shake my head, “No, not necessarily, what do you dream for yourself?”
He rubs his neck and I glance down to where his hand touches. I wonder what might happen to him if I decided to kiss his pulse point. Would he unravel under my touch? He might hate me on principle but his body wants me. His answer rips me away from my thoughts,
“I dream about good coffee on Sunday mornings.”
“That’s it?”
“Sure,” He responds nonchalantly. “What’s wrong with dreaming of the mundane?”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I just assumed you dreamed bigger than that. I know James and Sirius do. All they’ve ever wanted was to fight for a cause.”
Remus picks up a sketchbook and a pencil and starts sketching. His eyebrows knit together in concentration as his hand, delicately holding the pencil, drags across the page. His dark green eyes flick across the page and occasionally at me. I feel my skin prickle with self conscious awareness as it becomes obvious that the sketch contains me and I fight the deep blush threatening to overcome me.
“And when the time comes, I will have their back. I don’t let all that political bullshit bother me too much.”
“I remember,” I scoff at the memory of Remus staying in the classroom with our bigoted DADA professor.
Remus doesn’t look up from the sketchbook utterly transfixed by whatever is materializing through his fingers onto the page. “All three of you seriously lack a single instinct of self-preservation. I don’t know what’s so wrong with wanting a quiet life surrounded by few close friends. Drawing the wrong kind of attention to myself won’t be helpful.”
“Right, you would rather let the hateful bastards of the world run amok until they're executing werewolves or centaurs or whomever else they deem ‘dirty.’ Seems like a solid plan.”
Apparently, this strikes a nerve because he looks up from sketching with that familiar angry fire dancing in his eyes. “I never said that!”
“No, you didn’t say anything! You just sat there along with everybody else because as long as it doesn’t affect you, you can’t be bothered,” I say with equal fire.
He looks for a moment like he will yell back but his eyes rake over my face instead. He exhales and goes back to the sketchbook. He only glances back up briefly to say, “It’s your turn.”
I’m not actually sure that it is my turn but the question is out of my mouth before I even think about it, “Why do you hate me so much?”
He chuckles, “I don’t hate you.” He says it like it’s as clear as the sky is blue but the look on his face says something entirely different. There’s knowing in his expression, and maybe something else, guilt?
This blatant lie, whether it has stemmed from his guilt or not, has me raging again, “Bullshit! You’ve hated me since my first year. I remember in the first year I would try to hang out with you four and you would always find a reason to leave! Or what about when you cornered me months ago? What did you say again, something about lacking self-control and that I’ve been a troll for 5 ‘bloody’ years. You think that’s not hatred?”
He’s stopped sketching now and his eyes stare at the page with a grimace. The silence is deafening as my accusation hangs in the air; it’s as cold as ice and it freezes the two of us in its fury. Then my anger melts like someone has poured boiling hot water over it when Remus scoots closer to me on the couch. My body tenses as I wait for the increasingly familiar of his hands on my body but instead, I feel his breath on my face, minty as he speaks softly,
“Look,” he places the sketchbook in my hands while my gaze is still fixed on his. He speaks the word with a calm in his voice; it’s a tone that I’ve never, ever, heard Remus use before. I search his face for something I can read but this Remus is so unfamiliar to me so, a hazy confusion and blinding curiosity settles in my mind. I glance down at the sketchbook and for a moment I think my heart stops.
It’s me, sitting on the velvet couch with my leg tucked under the other that’s dangling off the side of couch. My mouth is pursed and my eyebrows are scrunched. My fingers are grasping at the pillow tightly. There are twinkling lights all around me that glint off my hair and the ribbons weaved in them. He’s captured the scene beautifully but he’s really captured the look in my eyes. They’re perfectly shaped and burning with the fire of an argument that I no longer remember. I flip the page and I see Remus’s hand twitch as if he were going to snatch the book back but he doesn’t.
As I flip through the pages I’m met with drawing after drawing of myself. In some, I’m laughing with our friends, in others I’m studying in the library or reading a book. They’re all from this year, when Remus was meant to be hating me and I was avoiding him, apparently not as well as I had initially thought. My hands pause on a sketching of myself sitting by the fountain dated a day after that awful DADA class.
“What is this supposed to mean?” I ask softly; I run my fingertips over the sketch. Remus is still hovering over my neck; I can still feel his warm breathe as he whispers,
“It’s not you’re turn, B.” He reaches to move my hair back, exposing my neck. My eyes flutter as his breathe tickles my now exposed skin.
“So ask your question.”
“Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re angry?” I feel the smirk on his face as my cheeks heat up. I try to give him a scrutinizing stare but all I see in his eyes is sincerity.
“You don’t hate me then?” I ask the question again because for some reason his answer did not align in my brain with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response.
He nods thoughtfully, “You have the unique ability to vex me. I’ve never met another person who infuriates me like you do.”
I shake my head, “I need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ Remus.”
He lets out a chuckle, “That’s what I’m talking about! Why do you need me to spell it out for you? Anyone else would read what I said as a very obvious ‘no’; they might even appreciate the ambiguity.”
I turn my nose up indignantly, “Well I’m not ‘anyone else’.”
“Thank Merlin for that. Everyone else is dreadfully uninteresting, B. But you are fascinating, infuriating, but utterly captivating. So, to answer your question,” he pauses in a way that has me hanging on for the next word. I searching his eyes for any hint of deception but finding only the truth. “No, I don’t hate you.”
My heartbeat quickens and I feel myself moving in closer. He leans in, his mouth hovering over mine. His confession coupled with his proximity to me intoxicates my senses and I can feel my insides clench while my body trembles. His hand reaches up to stroke my face with his knuckles,
“If you want me to stop, you have to tell me now.” I feel his lips ghosting over mine and I’m fighting to stay sane. There’s a tremble that started in my hands that is now shaking my entire body with excitement and desire.
“Please–” I say and our lips collide. Something in my chest explodes like a tingly firework that radiates through my body and down through my fingertips. I find myself both breathless and completely convinced that I no longer need air to survive; all I could ever need is this feeling. The feeling only he could give me. Our lips move against each others in chaotic synchronicity each movement exciting an even more impassioned response from the other. His lips are soft and warm, he tastes like chocolate and bitter tea leaves.
He pulled at the pillow in front of me and discarded it across the room, then he placed his hands gently on my waist and pulled me into him. Our thighs touch but I know I need more so, I pull myself up and throw my leg over his lap. He groans into the kiss and I feel his hands grip my hips a bit tighter. I feel his tongue trace my bottom lip and I gasp in surprise and sigh as he uses the opportunity to explore my mouth with his. My hands move carefully up his arms and over his broad shoulders then I thread my fingers through his hair. I let the silky strands fall through my fingers and tug lightly at the base of his head. My eyes open in shock as Remus whimpers and a thick golden hazy pride washes over my body.
Remus pulls away and I’m awestruck by the blush rising over his entire face. How had I spent years knowing this person and not ever seen him blush? How had I never noticed how fucking gorgeous he was? I feel his hands slide from my hips to my thighs, exposed by my pleated skirt. I shiver at the feeling of his skin on my skin and the memory of the several times his hands were in-between my legs.
As if he could read my mind, he starts to slide his hands under my skirt. My eyes catch his while my hand grabs his wrist. A million worst case scenarios flicker through my mind in the span of a second but I decide i don’t care about any of them. I’ve been wet all year for this wretched man and all I want is to take what he’s offering, consequences be damned.
I push his hand up towards the tops of my thighs and I grind down on his lap. I can feel the evidence of his arousal press against my underwear and we both groan in response. His fingers graze over my heat sending electricity shooting through my body.
“Remus,” I gasp, breathlessly. The heavy breathing between us is deliciously obscene and I know that if I can feel how wet I am, surly Remus has felt it over my completely soaked panties. He bends his head down and places kisses and bites against my throat and my chest. His hand grips my waist and grinds my core against his other hand that’s busy pressing circles against my clit. I’ve never felt so much pleasure at once; I must have died because this is surely the blissful heaven religious fanatics are all on about.
I’m so lost in thought that I miss it when he removes his fingers from my clit as his other hand rocks my hips backwards. I’m about to whine in protest when he pulls my close again and I can feel one finger slide inside of me. My eyes shoot open and I scream in surprise.
“Oh Merlin, fuck!” I moan as he curls not one but two fingers inside of me; continuing to rub tight circles over my clit. I can hardly feel my limbs as I approach the edge of the greatest pleasure I’ve ever felt. I’m holding on for dear life when the sinful man underneath me opens his swollen lips and says,
“You’re so fucking beautiful, B. Are you going to cum on my fingers?”
His words has my core clenching around him. “Ugh, yes,” I’m panting and whining and fighting for just one more push. He captures my lips in one last heated kiss before he commands me,
“Take it from me B. Take your pleasure and make yourself cum on my fingers. Cum all over me.”
It’s only them that I realize for half a second that I’m no longer relying on his hand to push and pull my hips against him. Something about that realization, coupled with his dirty words, and the way he’s watching me sends me over the edge. I’m gasping and screaming and falling apart over him.
I try to shift my body lower, to the floor. I’ve never had an opportunity or desire to touch someone this way but I want to now. Merlin, I want to make him squirm and make those little noises. But he holds me in place and I look at him questioningly.
He strokes my back as I try to catch my breathe, “I can’t tell what I like better, kissing you or pissing you off.”
“Kissing you,” I blurt just as breathless as him. “Definitely kissing you.”
He smirks, “That good, huh?”
I shove back and fall on the couch with my legs over his. It’s clear to me that for whatever reason he isn’t interested in my reciprocating right now.
“Humble as ever, LU-PIN.” I grin up at him and he rolls his eyes. Then he grabs my chin, leans over, and bites my bottom lip, hard.
“Mhmph– Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” I smile. He lets my lip go with a smirk.
“I didn’t peg you as a pyromaniac,” he leans back into the couch. I scrunch my eyes in confusion and he chuckles deviously, “You’ll get it eventually.”