Chapter Text
Nose On The Grindstone: Live with KEXP
With all of the stop and go over with, and a very brief acknowledgement of safe practices, Harry reaches out to pull Remus down onto himself. “You’re overdressed for what I want.” His hand goes to Remus’ waistband to tug lightly on the elastic, and he looks up at Remus from beneath thick, dark lashes. He’d been frozen earlier by his own lust. However, the distance from his fiery need allows him to explore the side of himself that has never felt safe enough to make demands, or to be snarky. His chest is lighter than it has been in his entire life, and it’s all thanks to Remus, and his friends, and the life that they are building for themselves.
Remus’ heart does a flip inside his chest, under the intense gaze, and he nods sagely, “and could you remind me exactly what it is that you want? My memory just isn’t what it used to be.” Remus smirks and leans closer to trail kisses down Harry’s jawline. He pauses to lick and nip the spots that Harry responds to best, before working his way to the hollow under Harry’s ear, and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. His only concern is Harry’s fingers digging into his shoulders and how he softly whimpers for more.
Once he releases the tender flesh, and begins licking soothing stripes over it, Harry finally answers. “I want you to quit teasing and fuck me! Please, I need you.” His voice gets higher pitched with each demand and his fingers traverse Remus’ back to cup his arse, pulling their hips together harshly.
“Mhm… I remember now,” Remus groans and rocks his hips into the firm warmth of Harry’s slowly filling cock. His lips seal over Harry’s collarbone, and he nibbles over to Harry’s shoulder. Something about the muscles and skin there, calls to him constantly. His mouth yearns to go on an expedition of Harry’s body, littering marks across his skin like a secret map. The urge to lay claim to every spot that brings Harry pleasure is strong, but he’s been given his orders, and Harry won’t let him continue his detour for much longer without becoming whiny, and demanding. Cheeky Brat. Remus smiles fondly at the thought that Harry feels safe enough to snark and tease him. The ever-present pride he feels toward Harry swells until it’s hard to breathe through the surge of emotion inside him.
Harry writhes into every touch, eagerly pulling Remus tighter against him in an effort to urge him on. Despite his recent orgasm, he begs for something he has no frame of reference for. He understands the mechanics mentally, but he aches with the need to have it indelibly written into the very fabric of his body. Remus leans back onto his knees, and the loss of his mouth is jarring. Harry stills. The sight of Remus tugging Harry’s hands back to his waistband makes his mouth go dry. He can feel the atmosphere changing between them, like the barometric pressure of a storm growing in the distance causing an unexpected awareness of his bones.
Remus offers only a slight nudge, and Harry’s fingers know what to do. He rolls the last barrier between them down in awe. Each centimetre of exposed skin creates an even bigger desire to explore Remus, in the same way he’d been explored. “I want to taste you.” He tears his gaze away from Remus’ flushed cock -pointing proudly down toward his shockingly strong thighs- and watches the flicker of need in Remus’ eyes at his words.
Remus shifts, kicking his briefs off the bed with a shaky huff of air. “ Mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo .”
Harry blinks once, slowly, confused, “what did you just say?”
Remus’ smile softens his features and the crinkles around his eyes deepen into mischievous creases. He answers, “my body is your body,” rolling down to the mattress beside Harry. He collects a chaste kiss before relaxing into the bed. “Help yourself to me, little lion.” Remus pulls Harry’s hand to his heart, and it’s all the invitation Harry needs to drag himself up to hover over Remus’ prone body.
Harry traces Remus’ scars with delicate fingertips. His hesitancy, fueled by lack of experience, fades with each quiet gasp that escapes Remus’ mouth. He kneels closer, bringing their mouths together in a searching kiss. Harry’s heart beats out a staccato rhythm, like the wings of a snitch, and he's soaring.
Perfect.
He pulls back to find Remus’ eyes closed, and he puts to practise the instruction Remus had so masterfully shown him. He kisses scar decorated skin with the devotion of a scholar studying the ancient texts, deliberate with every caress. He has no idea what turns Remus on, but as he charts a path down his pale, blushing throat, he’s thrilled with the encouragement falling from Remus’ lips. “Oh Harry,” cut off by a moan, “yeah, just there, clever boy.”
Harry finds the knot of muscle that connects Remus’ neck and shoulder, and he sucks hard. The reaction is immediate. Remus’ voice is barely more than the rumble of far off thunder, a gentle growl that causes Harry's insides to quiver. He loosens his hold on the muscle slowly and notices the mottled bruise left behind. He experiences a moment of hesitation, but Remus’ hand threads gently into Harry’s hair, urging him silently to continue.
The press and play of their bodies is new, but Harry’s feelings for Remus have been building through weeks of friendship and caretaking. The setting might be novel, but his desire to see Remus happy and proud of him is not. Harry craves Remus’ praise more than his next breath, and he breaks contact to speak in a murmur against Remus’ collar bone. “How am I doing, Daddy?”
The shy question punches into Remus’ chest, and he fights to inhale through the vice around his lungs. When he speaks, it’s ripped from him, rough and low, "baby boy, you are doing so good." His fingers spasm slightly in Harry's riotous hair, and he continues, "when your mouth is on me, I struggle to-ah!" His voice lifts to a moan when Harry's teeth find his nipple unexpectedly. Harry's lips spread into a smile, but his teeth continue to toy with pebbled flesh, and his tongue grazes over the tip in short flicks. Harry’s head buzzes pleasantly under the evidence of Remus’ pleasure and he continues his ministrations.
Remus fights against the desire sparking through him to continue babbling soft encouragement. “So-, ugh so good for me, love.” He devolves into soft groans and pleased noises the lower Harry moves down his abdomen. Remus fights valiantly to keep his eyes open, but loses the battle under Harry’s thorough inspection.
Without warning, Harry bites down over his hip with enough force to bow Remus’ spine, and tear a choked sob from him. He’s still recovering from the shock when Harry flattens his tongue and applies steady, even pressure to the abused flesh for a heart stoppingly long second. Remus’ body has gone loose and boneless from the flood of endorphins, but Remus lifts his head to look down at Harry with eyes gone golden and feral.
Harry pulls back just enough to lock eyes with Remus, and drags his tongue over the spot in a slow, deliberate stripe. His heart is in his throat. Harry has no idea what drove him to close his teeth over Remus’ hip so sharply, but the searing look Remus levels at him reassures him. Then Remus speaks one word. “Mine,” and a low growl starts in Remus’ chest, prompting Harry to slither one hand up to feel the vibrations through his sternum. After the rumble fades, and the full weight of Remus’s gaze has been settled firmly on him for longer than he can withstand, Harry lifts his head and turns to look at Remus for the first time.
The sight of Remus’ cock stops Harry in his tracks.
It’s huge.
He’d felt Remus through layers of clothing, soft, and pressed against his arse while he was being held. He’d also felt Remus get hard or semi-hard at least a couple of times, although neither of them had ever acknowledged those instances. He’d think of the feeling of Remus half hard against him while wanking, and on the exceedingly rare occasion that he was able to slip one finger into that private place between his legs, he’d imagined what Remus might feel like there.
Now, Harry is face to face with a gorgeous fucking cock, and he is too turned on to think of anything but tasting it. He stares for entirely too long, and his mouth begins filling at the thought of what is to come. He speaks, breaking the spell. “Can I?” He asks softly and motions vaguely to where Remus’ cock jumps with apparent interest.
Remus pushes himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Harry. Harry’s lips are red and swollen from all of the biting and kissing, and he looks sinful. “Absolutely, but, I might have to stop you sooner than you’d like, if you still want me to split you open.” Remus speaks the words in a low, needy tone, and Harry’s mouth purses into a surprised ‘oh’ over the decidedly naughty choice of words.
Remus looks as serious as Harry’s ever seen him, and all of a sudden Harry’s reminded of exactly what he wants– that empty ache inside of him filled by Remus.
Harry rocks his hips involuntarily where he kneels between Remus’ legs. The movement squeezes his thighs and puts pressure on the sensitive skin under his balls causing him to groan out loud. “Yes. Mhm. Please.” Harry murmurs while his lips close the distance to land in featherlight kisses over Remus’ cock. He starts at the tip, only allowing his lips to land and lift along the delicate texture of the crown. He kisses, and kisses, down over the proud rim, finally teasing his tongue along the seam of it.
Remus is consumed by the sensation of Harry exploring every millimetre of his sensitive prick in tortuous detail. He pants and praises Harry between soft gasps, “So good, that’s right, go on baby,” each thought is barely formed. Then, Harry swallows him halfway down and Remus begins goading Harry in earnest. “I knew you would be good at this. So eager to please me, like you were made for this.” Remus’ mouth is off and running, offering up teasing words until Harry begins moving with purpose. Harry’s no practised professional, but he’s enthusiastic and sloppy, and it’s more than enough to drive Remus wild.
Where Harry lacks skill –he possesses devotion, and the taste of Remus on his tongue is divine. His eyes remain prayerfully down, and he grips and kneads into the muscles of Remus’ thighs in a rhythmic manner. Harry hums and preens under Remus’ exaltation, those words stirring him up to move on to other things.
Harry rocks his head up and down a few times, slurping loudly, partially because of the excess saliva that’s running down the length of Remus’ cock, and partially because he enjoys the sound and feeling of sucking Remus off. Harry’s enjoying himself almost too much, rocking his hips in an effort to create friction. His body warms at the thought of Remus inside him. After a moment he pulls off with a sheepish expression. “I think, I-I’d like to… I’m ready.” Harry bites his lip and lifts his face to Remus.
Remus reaches down to take hold of Harry’s upper arms, and hauls him up along his body until their chests are solid against each other. “You’re ready?” Remus makes the words a question, but they both know what is being asked and answered.
Harry inhales, and the comforting scent of Remus’ room fills him with an overwhelming sense of unabashed joy. He leans down to kiss Remus deeply, grateful that he’s able to touch and taste to his heart’s content. Harry ends the kiss with a handful of smaller kisses, then he finally pulls back to answer, “Make love to me, Remus,” he presses a soft kiss to Remus’ forehead. “I’m ready.” His cheek. “I want this.” The other. “I need you.” One more searing kiss, and Remus lifts his head up from the mattress, braces his hand over the small of Harry’s spine and rolls until their positions are flipped.
Harry gasps out loud.
Remus continues the kiss, deep and searching, while his hands seek out all of those places that leave Harry shaky and whiny underneath him. He twists, then pinches one of Harry’s nipples causing him to buck delightfully into the touch, a soft groan escaping their fused mouths. Remus takes the opportunity to slide their cocks together with a gentle thrust, and urgency rolls through him unexpectedly. He’s achingly hard and Harry rocks up to keep their hips pressed close together in a tantalising chase that is not nearly enough from his sweet boy.
Remus plants his hands beside Harry’s ribs and pushes himself up in a half push-up position. “You’ll soon have me, I just need to open you up.” Remus declares softly, but his hips shift slightly and Harry’s reaction gives the moment more weight than it had before. A quiet curse leaves Harry’s parted lips, and he scrambles to comply with Remus’ directive. “Ah, ah, let me show you.” Remus takes hold of Harry’s smaller body, and with exceeding care he moves Harry to rest against the centre of the headboard, his head supported by a carefully positioned pillow. His hands skate over Harry’s body reverently before coming to rest on his narrow hips.
Remus spreads his fingers experimentally, curling the four fingers of each hand around to Harry’s back, and anchoring his grip by pinning Harry’s hip bones with his thumbs. Remus finds Harry’s eyes closed and his head sinking deeper into the pillow with each choked breath he takes. “Do you like when I hold you here?” He calls Harry’s attention back to himself with the question, and watches Harry struggle against the hold experimentally.
Harry knew Remus was strong. He’s proven his strength in a number of ways, and yet, each time it takes Harry by surprise. The latest reminder, however, undoes him. Remus’ firm grip on his hips is enough to send every pent up fantasy steamrolling through his mind. “Mhm, I love how strong you are. How safe you make me feel.” Harry answers honestly, knowing better than most that strength is worthless with the wrong intentions behind it. Remus has only ever used his strength to protect and care for Harry, but soon he’ll use it for much more intimate purposes, and Harry wants that very much.
The air catches in Remus’ lungs, and he stills, just long enough to feel the burn of emotion in the back of his throat. He lowers himself to kiss Harry senseless, slowly pressing teasing kisses to Harry’s mouth. Every time Harry tries to deepen the contact, Remus pulls away. He only resumes kissing Harry after he calms his frantic attempts, allowing Remus to set the pace. He takes it excruciatingly slowly, using just his lips and teeth to work biting kisses into Harry’s bruised lips, while he savours the soft hiccuping inhales Harry takes. When he finally slips his tongue into Harry’s mouth, they are both nearly delirious with the want of it, and he uses the distraction to Accio his personal lubricant into his palm.
Remus pulls away from the kiss at the moment of impact, and smiles down at Harry’s glassy-eyed expression. He also notices a distinct lack of back-talk, and snide commentary coming from Harry. “I suppose the only way to shut that pretty little mouth of yours up, is to keep it well occupied.” Remus imagines that knowledge will come in handy in the future, should Harry ever wish to explore any other kinks he might be interested in.
Harry hears Remus’ teasing, as if through a pleasant haze. His smile goes wide and he gives the only words he can offer. “Green… please, daddy.” His mind is fuzzy, but he’s grounded in the moment by the weight of Remus’ body on his.
Remus knows the signs of someone entering subspace and had suspected that might be something Harry would naturally drift to during their encounters. He’s surprised by the ease they’ve seemed to have, switching between different terms of endearment, but Harry has made his decision for what he wants now, and Remus feels an answering tightness in him at the shift.
Remus lifts the bottle up, explaining as he uncorks it and pours some out into his hands. “There are spells I could use, baby boy, but as often as you allow me, I will stretch you open slowly, and watch as you come apart for me. Only when you’re begging, will I finally fit myself into you. Do you understand?” Remus checks in, waiting for a response, and stoppers the bottle while carefully balancing the warm oil in his hand.
Harry moans at the image, practically mewling in response, and begins nodding his head affirmatively. "Yes. Please. Now." He is reduced to one word answers, but he spreads his legs wider, laying himself open to Remus' touch eagerly. Every nerve is a live wire and his body has been crying out for more for so long that he can scarcely think over the torrent of need inside him.
Remus offers up one last gentle caress of his lips against Harry’s mouth, then leans back with a satisfied look to begin prepping Harry for what is to come. He trails his fingers down the length of Harry’s cock and balls, watching the dance it elicits. His fingers sink between Harry’s muscular cheeks, gliding over his hole, carefully spreading the oil between his cheeks. Remus continues teasing over the spot where Harry wants him most and is enraptured by every expression that crosses his gorgeous features.
Harry has never felt so close to someone as he does at this moment. Remus’ finger circles the tight ring of muscle between his legs and tortures him with the promise of it, pressing the pad of his finger against the centre of Harry slowly without actually breaching him.
It’s not enough.
Harry grows increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress and lifts his knees, planting his feet on the bed in an attempt to leverage his hips down onto that tempting finger, but Remus tuts softly at him and pulls his finger away entirely. “Good boys are patient…” Remus’ voice trails off in reprimand.
The breath Harry’s been holding escapes as a shaky groan, and he forces himself to relax his hips under the reproachful look in Remus’ amber eyes. He’s the epitome of calm and collected despite his straining cock, and Harry can barely stand it. He needs more, “please,” he cries out softly, pleading for Remus to touch him again. He’s not ashamed to beg, in fact, at this point, he’s ready and willing to beg if it will earn him what he wants.
Remus finally takes pity on Harry, he’s done such a good job of asking for what he wants, and the wolf’s growl demands he satisfy his mate. Remus bites his own lip to help him focus beneath the heady rush of Harry begging him for more and he returns his lubricated finger to that tempting opening. “Anything for you, my little lion.” He pushes in slowly, working Harry open incrementally, until he’s nearly two knuckles in and Harry’s panting. “You’re doing so good, baby boy,” Remus applauds Harry while he waits for him to adjust to the intrusion. Then Remus slowly withdraws and advances until his finger is fully surrounded by Harry’s warmth. It takes everything within him not to rush through this, the most important step in the whole process. However, he possesses decades of self control, earned through years of warring with the moon and its sway over his primal nature.
“More. More. More.” Harry chants, barely able to keep his eyes on Remus’ hand as it disappears between his thighs. He’s rewarded for his efforts, and Remus begins an easy push and pull, sliding that sturdy finger into him over and over again in a steady movement that has Harry canting his hips into every touch. Remus slides his finger in and out of him until there is no more resistance and Harry rocks faster, hoping to encourage Remus with his body, if not his words. When Remus doesn’t add another finger, Harry speaks again, voice low with desire. “Please, Daddy, I need more- Oh!”
Those pretty pleas are cut short as Remus gives Harry exactly what he’s asking for so beautifully. He adds another well-lubricated finger alongside the first and pushes in with one swift thrust. Harry opens for him –just like Remus knew he would– and he pauses to give Harry time to process the added pressure. Remus uses the opportunity to watch Harry’s face twist with the sensation of being stretched and he has to check in. “How’s that baby? Is that what you needed? You want to feel full?” Remus curls his fingers upwards, seeking the hard gland that will bring Harry even greater pleasure. It only takes a few strokes before Harry’s voice leaves his body in a strangled sound.
Oh gods!
Harry can’t contain the shiver that takes over him when Remus touches that spot, his eyes slam shut and his head bows back against the pillow. His hands fight the sheets, then skate over his own chest as if the touch might calm the blaze burning through him, finally settling back on the bed in a bid to anchor himself. He’d known what the prostate was, he’d even tried to stimulate it himself, but he’d never managed it when he was exploring. It’s sharp, a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.
Before he can recover from the shock of it, Remus begins thrusting into him faster, twisting his fingers to touch that spot randomly, so that Harry can’t ever prepare himself for the spark of pure electricity it sends shooting up his spine. “Fuck!” He cries out after one particularly sharp press, and Harry would do anything to feel Remus inside of him, he can’t wait another minute. His mouth opens to spill a litany of pleas for Remus to take him. “Please, more. Gods! Please.” His thighs burn already from the strain he exerts as he desperately chases the pleasure Remus offers him. “Daddy,” one of Harry’s hands lifts from the bedding to grasp Remus’ bicep, “please,” his hips rock rhythmically up, “I need you,” his nails bite into Remus’ skin with a sharp sting, “Daddy!” His voice has reached a fever pitch, high and without enough air to support it.
Remus feels his own control slipping. The wolf snarls and snaps with every pained cry of pleasure falling from Harry’s wrecked lips. His cock hangs heavily at the junction of his thighs, weeping precome without any external stimulation.
The urge to claim Harry as his, once and for all, is a mantra in his subconscious.
Mine. Ours. Mate.
With a last rational thought, Remus wedges one more finger into Harry along with the pair that is scissoring in and out of Harry, he fights to fit all three inside. He manages just a few incomplete passes, and then he withdraws completely. “I’m going to take good care of you, love. I promise.” His own breathing is ragged as he snatches up the bottle of lubricant, and uncorks it with abandon– sending the top flying across the room. He pours a generous amount over his fingers, and reaches down to spread the slippery oil over his cock with one strong sweep of his fist down its length.
Harry aches with the loss of Remus’ fingers, but his eyes are transfixed to the captivating sight of Remus slicking himself up. Daddy’s going to take care of me. “Kiss me?” The words appear out of thin air, summoned by his need to be consumed by Remus. He’s not even sure he’s spoken, his bottom lip is still locked in a death grip between his front teeth, but then Remus is leaning over him and setting the messy bottle of lube down on the nightstand. His face hovers closer, and Harry wonders how anyone could have ever reduced him to Moony when it’s clear that he’s the north star. Harry knows without a doubt that he could navigate anything so long as Remus is there showing him the way.
Harry’s eyes are bright in the light of the torches, brilliant green outlined and emphasised by full, dark lashes. He’s flush with desire, and looks at Remus like he’s hung the moon. The whispered question inside his mind, asking for something Remus would never deny Harry, guides him to seal his mouth tenderly to Harry’s. Both men’s lips are soft and sensitive from their time together, and they kiss with the barest brush of lips against each other.
Harry’s arms come up to wrap solidly around Remus’ neck, and his legs mirror the movement around Remus’ waist. “Take me, I’m yours.” Harry speaks against Remus’ mouth, or he means to. Then Remus grips his thighs, angling his hips, and presses in. At first there is a slight burn, but soon the searing stretch gives way to a feeling of being home. Harry’s suddenly speared open, and so full that he might fall apart under the weight of his joy.
Remus slides into Harry as slowly as he can manage, breathing through the sensation of being held so thoroughly by the man he loves. Harry clings to him, using every bit of his body to confirm how much he cares for Remus, and it’s that swelling sense of love that leads Remus’ first full thrust into Harry. He bottoms out with a groan into Harry’s ear, “You’re doing perfect, Harry.” He kisses the sweat damp skin of Harry’s neck, greedily licking the salty taste of Harry into his mouth. “My clever boy, so fucking good.” Remus partially collapses under the sensation of being buried inside of Harry. They are as close as they are physically able to be, and he never wants to leave.
Yours.
The ache of being stretched open is nothing compared to the feel of Remus’ chest expanding against his own with every breath.
The burn of it could never overtake the feeling of having his legs curled around Remus’ strong hips and thighs.
Harry never thought he’d have something this wonderful in his life. He’d never expected to find this all-encompassing sense of safety and security, paired with passion that ignites him from the inside out. “Move, please…please. I need you to,” Harry’s hands knead into the muscles at Remus’ shoulders, tugging him closer while his hips struggle to move from where they are pinned to the bed.
Remus nods, his face pressed into the pillow supporting Harry’s head and then he lifts up onto his elbows to look down into Harry’s face from centimetres away. “Like this?” The question is timed perfectly with him slowly dragging his cock out of Harry, until only the crown is caught inside that extraordinarily tight ring of muscle, and then he pushes back into Harry with one strong tilt of his hips.
“Ah, mhm, yes.” The words are practically sobs, choked and wet as they tear through Harry. Remus repeats the same slow backwards movement, and thrusts in harder the next time. “Daddy, ah, ahh,” Harry is reduced to soft moans and cries as Remus sets a pace that is somehow teasingly slow, and still powerful beyond his wildest imagination. Each time Remus reaches the deepest part of him, Harry is filled with a growing heat at the base of his cock, and he can’t help but dig his nails deeper into Remus’ back in an effort to hold him there.
Remus is already close, Harry’s noises of encouragement and his body’s response to their love-making spurs him higher and higher. He fights to keep his thrusts smooth and slow, worried about hurting Harry, until Harry begins rocking up to meet him. “Just like that, baby, do what feels good.” Remus’ words have a tangible effect on Harry, because soon Harry’s nails bite into his skin with a sharper sting, and Remus knows he will wear the marks for a while. Remus shifts his knees just a bit, needing better traction to continue fucking into Harry, and Harry screams out during his next forward stroke.
Harry’s eyes have been closed for some time, but when Remus changes his angle and slams into Harry’s prostate, they fly open from the intensity of it. Remus’ stomach drags over his cock with every thrust and the combination of both sensations drives him to the brink unexpectedly fast. Harry’s mouth falls open on a nearly constant moan, and he cries out for Remus to do something, “Close, so close, fuck me harder. Please!” He’s barely aware of his own demand, but Remus’ hips piston into him even faster. The slide and slap of skin against skin is finally louder than the breathy moans and sighs Harry manages to form.
Remus moves on instinct, and with every movement his lungs burn with the need for oxygen. He is compelled by Harry’s euphoria and his own compulsion to give his sweet boy everything he desires. Remus’ eyes never waver from their scrutiny of Harry, he is glued to the sight of his boy tipping closer to ecstasy.
In the time between one exquisite slide of Remus’ cock into him, and the next, Harry’s face screws up with pleasure, and he cries out a warning, “ Fuck, I’m coming. ” Harry’s entire body goes rigid, and then he whispers a soft, needy, “Daddy,” and his cock throbs between them, pulsing and covering their chests with his arousal.
The sight of Harry’s eyes wide and unfocused, his mouth wrenched open in a silent scream, and the feeling of Harry spasming around him is too much, and it drags Remus down directly behind him. He thrusts once, twice, then Remus cries out and closes his mouth over Harry’s shoulder in a primal claim. The possessive bite is as necessary as his next breath. As their orgasms rip through them, and he fills Harry with his spend, Remus marks Harry with his teeth.
Ours.
Mate.
The wolf howls in a gravely timbre inside his mind, the self-satisfaction a palpable thing, but Remus doesn’t have any objections, and Harry writhes and moans his enthusiastic consent as they both sink boneless into the mattress.
— — — — —
Harry returns to his body in stages.
First, he’s aware of the nearly dead weight of Remus sprawled half on top of him, and it’s not claustrophobic, it’s fucking phenomenal.
More slowly, he takes notice of a growing ache where Remus bit him in the heat of the moment.
That too, had been incredible, and Harry turns his head just enough to feel a gentle, tugging pain. He’s interrupted while cataloguing the reminders of their first time together. “Did I hurt you?” Remus’ voice is a hoarse whisper near his ear, and Harry can sense the undercurrent of fear stampeding through those simple words. He rushes to shush Remus.
Harry’s words are simple, but effective. “I loved it. I love you.” Harry grips Remus’ back and welcomes the answering shiver and groan, “I could ask you the same thing…” Harry trails off when Remus finds his shoulder and begins lapping at the aching bruise. Harry whimpers unintentionally at the contact, and his body melts under the attention. He’s sore in more places than one, but his brain is poorly set custard, and his heart sings inside his chest. He tries to stay awake, wanting to bask in the afterglow of his first time with the man he loves, but instead, sleep claims him while he fights to hear Remus murmuring his own declaration of love and that might be his new favourite way to fall asleep.
— — — — —
Harry wakes to Remus wiping his stomach and between his legs with a warm, damp washcloth, and he opens bleary eyes, trying to make sense of what is happening. “No, come back here.” Harry whines, and makes grabby hands at where Remus stands beside the bed, unabashedly naked, wearing only the marks of their lovemaking like trophies.
Remus continues his careful movements, but looks down at Harry with a smile. “The cheek is back. I guess I’ll have to work harder next time.” He leans down to kiss Harry tenderly, and then pulls away to speak against his mouth. “You were wonderful, Harry. I…” Remus stops, thinking hard about how intense everything had been between them. He’s never felt so incredibly vulnerable and safe simultaneously before now. He’s turned himself inside out and bared his innermost thoughts and fears to Harry, and yet, that connection has allowed him to become a better version of himself. He’s never felt at home in his own body, until now.
Remus crawls into the bed and fits his body neatly against Harry’s, wrapping one arm across his stomach and pressing his lips to Harry’s temple. “I…” He starts and stops, unable to form the words to describe the magnitude of the emotions inside of him. Just when he is about to give up, and repeat those three unsubstantial words, Harry interrupts his musings.
Harry’s words are soft and rounded at the edges, blurry from sleep and orgasm. “Does it always feel like that?” There is a tugging sensation just below his sternum, a connection to his magical core that is new and confusing. His instinct is to worry that thread of connection and to send a pulse of magic through that invisible chord.
Remus gasps and lifts his hand to his chest as though he’s been physically hit. “Harry. Do that again.” His voice is quiet with wonder, and a dawning realisation.
Harry turns his head, to face Remus properly, and lifts an eyebrow in question. “Do what again?” Confusion filters over his face, but despite the question, he sends a smaller spark of power into that tether and watches Remus twitch his fingers over the same small spot on his ribcage.
Merlin and Morgana.
Remus closes his eyes, and tests his theory. He searches for his magic, imagining it as a physical form inside his body. Remus has spent so much of his life shielding and protecting himself from the somewhat feral nature of his magic, that he is often unaware of it, unless he’s actively tapping into it for duelling or other intense spells.
As he isolates and unravels layers of protection meant to insulate him, he finds a newly formed mating bond thrumming within him. In his mind the string is a vibrant thing, bright gold and begging for him to pluck it like a guitar. He sends an answering flare of magic through the bond.
Now that he is aware and open to it, Remus can feel, rather than see Harry’s response to this unexpected outcome. The bond sings, and he’s rewarded with a quick wave of feelings that aren’t his own. They’re gone before he can examine them in detail, but he gets an overwhelming sense of elated shock. He opens his eyes to search Harry’s face, needing to see for himself that Harry isn’t devastated by this turn of events.
Harry’s mind spins wildly. He looks over to Remus, watching the face that’s become so familiar to him crinkle with concern. Harry could trace those lines all day, if he’s given the opportunity. He loves watching the concentration, and attentiveness displayed in each brilliant feature. He makes eye contact, and inhales softly.
Harry’s not upset, simply confused. He tries to reason how, why, and when this could have happened. He thinks over everything that transpired between waking up and now. They’d never made vows, they certainly hadn’t done a handfasting ceremony, soul bonds can happen spontaneously, but it’s exceedingly rare in this day and age. “Are we?” He doesn’t finish the question because there is only one thing he could possibly be alluding to.
Remus exhales slowly, and rolls onto his side so that they can face each other without straining their necks. He reaches out the hand he’d removed from Harry earlier, to touch the downy soft hair on Harry’s stomach. “It would appear so, little lion.” He hesitates, at a loss for how to soothe Harry. He doesn’t know what Harry needs from him right now, and he doesn’t want to make assumptions based on a flicker of emotions through their link. “What do you need from me?” He asks the question around the growing lump of fear in his throat.
Harry’s face transforms, a secret smile spreading his mouth wide, before a light-hearted laugh bubbles out of him. He reaches to take hold of Remus’ hand, and brings it to his lips, where he presses kisses to the tops of their knuckles for a moment, before answering. “You’ve already given me more than I ever dreamed of. You’ve shared every part of yourself, and I’ve done the same in return. The evidence is right here,” Harry presses their clasped hands to his chest, “soulmates… Who would’ve guessed it?”
Remus’ heart speeds faster with each word from Harry, then he’s crying –honest to gods– happy-tears and closing their mouths together in a kiss that’s just a little salty. The bond flickers and flares at the contact, and it sends a shiver through both men. When they pull apart, Remus says, “does that mean you’ll be sleeping in here from now on?” His lips lift in a sly smirk, and Harry swats at his chest playfully.
“As if you could get rid of me now, old man.” Harry laughs –a joyful noise– and Remus joins in, laughing until his sides hurt.
— — — — —
Later, after they’d cuddled, and fucked, and cuddled some more, they eat a late breakfast. Harry drinks his tonic, and they wait.
They wait for the awful sickness to return.
They wait to have their giddiness made a mockery of.
Hours pass, and nothing changes. Harry doesn't get sick, and everytime he shifts next to Remus on the settee, Remus leaps to attention. After one particularly overzealous reaction to Harry getting up to use the loo, Harry levels Remus with a stern look and says, “I just need to use the loo. Are you worried I’m going to fall in?”
Remus shrugs his shoulders in a half-hearted apology. “Sorry, I’m just on edge. I think I’ll write to Severus for clarification.” His analytical mind needs to know if this is a temporary reprieve, and if they should expect Harry to become worse later.
Remus moves to sit at his desk, and Harry calls across the room, “We’re both on edge, it’s okay.” He smiles softly before turning and leaving the room.
Severus
There has been a significant change in Harry and I’s relationship, and the tonic is not working as it should. Could we meet to discuss the implications?
Remus
Remus paces impatiently after sending the hasty note. He’d tried to be as vague as possible so that its subject wouldn’t be easily known in the rare event someone intercepted the message. The action is a leftover from the war, a paranoia that he’ll likely never fully shake, combined with his desire to protect Harry from rumours.
When he comes to the pinnacle of his path, Remus is blocked by a rumpled-looking Harry, his face angled for a kiss, lips puckered softly. Remus folds himself down and presses their lips together with a fond smile. He will never tire of these soft moments, and the trust between them. The kiss causes the bond connecting them to ignite and tighten, until their arms and hands find each other and they cling together hungrily.
The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts them, and they spring apart to hear Severus say, “I see things have changed quite drastically.” His voice is schooled into his signature bored monotone, but Remus and Harry look at Severus with nearly identical guilty expressions etched onto their features. Severus flicks his eyes up, to the stonework of the ceiling, and speaks again, softer this time. “You’ve bonded… and now Harry is not suffering ill effects from the detox?”
Severus summarises the situation without missing a beat, and Remus questions his friend. “Does that mean you have a theory?” His fingers remain tucked under the back of Harry’s jumper, rubbing soft patterns into the skin there. He can’t bring himself to break contact with Harry, even in spite of Severus' presence, but thankfully Harry’s hands still grip his waist snugly as though the feeling is mutual.
Severus sweeps his arm toward the sitting area and calls for tea service. Without any fuss, Harry and Remus settle onto the settee closer than strictly appropriate. They quietly whisper to each other, and touch casually. Harry’s arm is slung low behind Remus’ back, his fingers under his jumper, tracing languid circles into the skin of his waist. Remus’ hand is secured heavily over Harry’s thigh, a comforting weight and warmth. The bond grows and stretches, alive and settling into place more firmly with each passing moment. It buzzes and thrills through each of them, and the euphoria is clearly evident in their matching awe-filled gazes towards each other.
Severus remains passively stoic until the house elf appears with a tray of delicious treats and sandwiches. There are more cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches than Remus and Harry typically request, but otherwise the offerings are bountiful and diverse.
Harry is surprised to find himself ravenous, but before he can get up to prepare a plate for himself, Remus squeezes his thigh, leaning forward to arrange a hearty meal and a cuppa for him. “They brought that blueberry loaf you like so much,” Remus tells him quietly, placing the plate into his lap with a napkin underneath to catch any errant crumbs. Harry is once again overwhelmed by the love and care Remus offers so freely. His heart pounds with the knowledge, and his mind leaps to thoughts of their future. Harry might as well be totally alone with Remus for all the attention he pays Severus, until he hears the gentle rattle of a cup and saucer which causes him to glance over.
Severus watches the display of easy affection without so much as a hint at what he thinks of the situation, but he speaks fondly when his voice raises just slightly above his normal octave. “It is plain to see what has changed between you, and I have to say that I couldn’t be happier for the both of you. A spontaneous bond is a rare and wonderful thing to experience. I’ve never personally seen one, and I’m honoured to bear witness to yours.” He keeps his eyes between where Harry is shovelling food into his mouth with a surprising speed, and where Remus sits watching the younger man.
Remus takes a breath before answering, “Thank you Severus, that carries a lot of weight coming from you.” He pauses before continuing, “does our bond have something to do with the tonic not working as expected?” Remus gives voice to the only question in his mind, and waits for an answer.
Severus calculates the probable explanations for what’s occurred, and speaks. “There are a lot of possibilities, but I believe that when your cores became bound to one another, there was a tidal wave of magic, magic that could be whatever was most needed. I believe the strength of the magic flushed the rest of the potion from Harry’s system. A sort of bond-induced detox. The bond desires both of you to be healthy and sped the process.”
The part of Severus that is dedicated to the study and analysis of things, wishes there was a concrete way to have collected data on the entire situation. He mourns the fact that they will never know for certain what occurred, but he’s quietly confident that Harry is healed and no longer in need of added precautions. He does, however, clarify one thing for both men. “We do know through many studies that while the bond settles, you two will need to remain in your rooms for the next several days. It’s of no concern, since you were supposed to be detained for the detox, but the bond will require a fair amount of closeness until it has settled. I promise not to tell anyone outside of this room, and once it has become more solid, only the most attuned to you will be aware of it.” The words roll like water off his tongue, but he has the decency to look ashamed at the thought that they might have to share this sooner than they’d like.
Remus groans internally at the thought that other people would know about their bond without them being able to decide together, when to share that information. Although, there have already been people made aware of the nature of their relationship, and it’s been nice to have that support. He’s thankful for his own friends, and Harry’s, for protecting them from the beginning. “How do you feel about all of this Harry?” He turns his body, so that he’s shielding Harry subconsciously, and reaches out a careful hand to touch Harry’s face.
Harry regains his connection with the moment when Remus tenderly brushes his fingers over his cheek. “I think the people who already know won't be terribly nonplussed. Surprised? Yes, but, I know they’ll be happy for us.” Harry turns his face into Remus’ hand and smiles against his palm. He presses one kiss there and pulls away to look back at Remus’ face. “How are you handling all of this?” Harry’s tone is serious and calm. He wants Remus to feel comfortable sharing his concerns and has never failed to appreciate the way they’ve communicated from that first day.
Remus considers everything for a moment, unwilling to give anything less than a completely honest answer to the sensitive question. He opens his mouth. And starts with “I,” He pauses, thinking of those words that had failed him earlier. Before he’d known about the bond, but after he’d already realised he was an absolute goner. When he’d recognised how badly he wanted to ask Harry for more than this little space of time in-between the war and Harry’s future. He wants more than just the safe cocoon of Hogwarts before Harry leaves to explore the world.
Now, Remus hopes for a lifetime of learning, and growing and falling together. Those words, and emotions bubble to the surface and spill easily and earnestly. “I could not be happier to be yours, to have you as mine. I want to spend my time loving and caring for you, and allowing you to take care of me. If you never want anyone to know, other than those we care about, I will be content. And if you want to tell the world, I will stand beside you.” Remus takes a break to pause for emphasis, and to breathe, before continuing his profession of faith. “Harry, you are it for me, little lion.” His eyes are fond, and his voice only dips a little when he speaks next. “More than that.” Remus’ expression grows mournful, knowing that things won’t always be easy. “I won’t always do what is best, but I will always give you my best. And when things go wrong, I will be there to help figure out how to make it right. I love you.” Remus pours out his soul, the words flowing like water over a fall. He didn’t mean to get so deep, but he always wants Harry to know where he stands, and to feel heard and respected.
Harry melts against Remus, laying his ear to Remus’ chest in a tender cuddle.
Severus stands and walks toward the exit, speaking over his shoulder as he opens the portrait. “On that note, I shall take my leave.” No one sees the wistful look cross his face as he moves past the threshold and swings the portrait shut quietly.
Harry does his best to absorb the moment, the tender vows Remus made still ringing in his ears and the steady thump of his heart beating against his ribcage, he breathes deeply and centres himself before he speaks. “Yes. To all of that. I want to wake up next to you, and fall asleep to the sound of your voice. You are my safe place, the person who helps me make sense of everything without pushing me to be anything I’m not.” Harry speaks with conviction, his words soft and steady.
The bond flares vividly and Remus can feel the strength of Harry’s affection. His emotions are as wild and stubborn as his magical core, and Remus burns with the intensity of Harry’s trust and unconditional love for him.
“I used to daydream about having my parents back, of living the life that was stolen from me, and while nothing will replace what has been lost, I look forward to our future more than you could know.” Harry’s thoughts wind down, but the chord between them is still alight with their soul's connection.
Remus holds him close, until holding becomes kissing, and kissing leads to soft contented sighs, and Harry is happier than he ever thought possible.
((((((((((( Epilogue )))))))))))))
— World cup, New York, America —
"Harry, are you sure you want to do this?" Remus asks, his hand steady at the base of Harry's spine, as he finds their seats in the private box
"Yeah, I'm quite sure." Harry surprises Remus, settling onto his lap as easily as he does in private. He even manages his patented wiggle immediately upon contact. The boy is a nymph, and Remus occasionally pretends he doesn’t absolutely adore all of the attention, but it’s only a little more believable than the times Harry pretends he isn’t reduced to a puddle whenever Remus growls low and loud in his ear while taking him from behind. His inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by Draco, and Remus returns to the conversation. He squeezes Harry’s hip just enough to convey the effect he’s having on Remus in a public area.
"Harry, I've offered to buy The Daily Prophet multiple times, we can craft the narrative you want the world to read." Draco drawls without glancing over to where Harry is reclined on Remus' strong thighs.
"Thanks for the offer Draco, but I could buy the paper myself, if I were that concerned. You should see the size of my combined vaults. I've heard they rival yours…" Harry trails off at Draco's shocked gasp and sharp look. He smirks and lifts an eyebrow towards the blonde before devolving into a fit of laughter. Once he's done gasping to catch his breath -a response to the reaction he's elicited- he continues more reasonably. "Let them speculate. If they knew the half of how well shagged we both are, they'd all be green with envy."
Remus tries and fails to maintain his composure. They’ve been bonded and living together for more than six months, and Harry’s sharp wit still surprises him at times. He wraps his arms more securely around Harry’s waist and draws him back onto his lap until he can rest his cheek against Harry’s shoulder, then he pitches his voice low and speaks only loud enough for Harry to hear. “If you keep taunting like that, I might have to steal you away in the middle of the match for an encore of this morning’s performance.”
Harry chuckles darkly, but it’s swallowed up by the cheers of the stadium as the teams fly onto the pitch one by one. A member of the press trails behind, snapping photos for promotional use, but he stops and loops back to take a photo into their booth. Harry turns to face Remus and plants a lingering kiss on his lips, just as the bulb flashes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, old man.” Harry pulls back with a wink, and waves boldly to the man behind the camera.
The entire group surrounding them pipes up with their own commentary on Harry’s choice of venue for making their first appearance as a couple. Hermione suggests for the hundredth time on the trip, “honestly, Harry. Why not just set up an interview and get it over with?”
Ron exclaims, “oi! Are you two lovebirds going to actually watch the match, or make out the entire time?”
Luna reminds Harry of something she’d said not long after they’d first gotten together. “They share an aura now.”
Neville offers up a quiet, “it’s kind of cute how in love they are.” His cheeks blush and he looks over to Pansy with a soft smile.’
The group takes turns teasing them until the lights dim, and the players swoop into position.
— — — — —
The headline of The Daily Prophet the next morning isn’t nearly as salacious as expected, but the photo of them kissing front and centre says more than words ever could, just how happy the two men are.
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