Okay
Title: Okay
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1,209
Pairing: Lupin/Tonks
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: After Sirius' death, how will they ever all be okay again?
Warnings: impulse sex, slight mention of Remus/Sirius, slight disregard of canon
“I don’t want to go home,” she said from where she was leaning against the marble wall, knees drawn to her chest but her arms limp at her sides. “I don’t want to go back to work and I don’t want to go home.”
This was probably the first time anyone had died in front of her, he realized. She was too young to have known anything from the last time.
Sirius had died, hadn’t he? That was what happened to people who fell back behind that tattered veil. But Remus could still almost feel him, like there was some uncanny, unseen third presence standing next to him and looking back and forth between her and the Floos running the length of the room.
He was going back to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t have anywhere else to go, he didn’t have a home. Sirius had been his home for the last five months.
“Come home with me,” he sighed, holding his hand out.
She slipped hers into it and they both pulled. If Remus wasn’t mistaken, she was shorter than usual. Listlessly they each tossed a pinch of powder into the flames of the one lit fireplace and stepped through, muttering “Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”
Sirius was here too. There was his tea mug, sitting on the wooden table, and the bag of dead rats on the floor beneath it.
“Gross,” she said, dropping the bag back to the floor. “I’m making a sandwich.”
Remus snorted at the irony of it all, of her curious nature and her strong stomach. He knew she wasn’t actually hungry, knew she just needed something to keep her occupied. But so did he. He picked up the mug of tea and set it in the sink, not willing to pour out the dregs, and filled the kettle from the tap. She took it from him and set it on the stove, tapping the burner with her wand as he pulled two clean mugs from the cabinet above as well as two plates.
In a familiar sort of fashion she put a sandwich on each plate, and he moved to set them on the table. Tonks held up a third sandwich in her hands and looked at it questioningly, as if the meal had made itself.
“He’s still here, isn’t he?” she asked, and Remus nodded.
The teakettle whistled and Remus walked to the stove, poured tea in the clean mugs and a little more into the mug in the sink. He took the sandwich out of her hand and stuffed it into the mug as well, leading her to the table where they both sat and ate in silence.
“I don’t want to die,” she said finally, the last bite of the sandwich stuffed in the side of her cheek.
“I do,” he said, and she turned on the bench to face him.
“Why?”
“I don’t know how to be alone anymore.”
“But he’s still here,” she argued.
“He’s only waiting,” Remus confessed. “He’s waiting to see if I’ll be okay or if I’ll come with him.”
Tonks picked up the plates and the mugs and set them in the sink. She sat on the table in front of him, stretching one leg to either side, and methodically began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Remus reached out to hold her hips in his hands, then slid his fingers to the rivet of her jeans.
It was the same familiarity, the same sensation that while all of this was entirely new, undressing her would one day be old hat. Remus felt like Sirius was guiding him, showing him what to do now that he was gone, and to his surprise he actually felt his body responding to her touch.
She leaned back, bracing her hands on the planks of the table and drawing her knees to her chest again. He didn’t bother with modesty or propriety and slid her underwear over her bottom with her jeans, extending her legs up until he could pull them free. She leaned forward again, her legs tucking around him as she pushed his shirt down his shoulders to where it pooled around the buttoned cuffs.
“We don’t have to,” Remus said in a hushed voice. “You don’t have to do this.”
“This is how you’ll be okay,” she said, slipping her thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and pulling him closer.
He leaned down and kissed her, feeling the urge for normalcy, to want what was before him. It was surprisingly gentle, her lips uniquely soft and small under his. Her fingers, also small and soft, were working the button and zip of his pants, and Remus was almost startled to find himself already hard as her hands pushed his underwear down with his trousers as well. His hands held her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the table, and without thinking he slipped one between her legs. She sighed happily against his mouth, pressing forward against his hand.
“You’ll be okay,” she whispered again, her gentle hand closing around him and causing his hips to jerk sharply forward. Remus grunted. She batted his hand away and shifted herself to the very edge of the table, guiding him into her slowly, controlling his movements with her hand.
Remus wanted to push forward, his instincts wanted him to take control, but a voice inside his head told him to just let go. Sirius wanted him to give in, to relax. Had anyone ever learned of what they had shared they would likely have been startled, but those who knew them well would have been nothing less than shocked that Remus had been the instigator.
Roles reversed, with Tonks using the leverage from the table to push herself to him, Remus felt a sense of surrender. For the first time in years he wasn’t the one doing the fucking, he realized as her hand traveled behind him to pull him even deeper. He was being fucked.
From the soft little moans that had begun to escape her lips and the unabashed stare of her half-closed eyes, he knew this wasn’t a pity fuck. Tonks wasn’t just sad or afraid of her own mortality; she was watching him, twisting her hips and looking for a reaction. She was trying to please him, and as his eyes snapped back into his head involuntarily, Remus understood what a good job she was doing.
The urgency and need of it all was an aphrodisiac in itself, and as her body shook with spasms and her lips cried his name, Remus found himself grasping at his own release. He was breathing hard, panting, and beside him he could sense Sirius.
‘You’ll be okay. Look at her, you’ll be better than okay, you’ll have anything you want. I’ll be okay too.’
With a grunt he came, staring at the flush of her cheeks and the desire in her eyes. She leaned forward, kissing him gently, softly, on each cheek. Her thin arms wrapped around his shoulders as she pressed her mouth to his, and as the presence beside him began to wane, Remus began to cry.
“Shhhhh,” she soothed, rocking him, holding him to her. “It’s okay. We’ll all be okay.”
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1,209
Pairing: Lupin/Tonks
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: After Sirius' death, how will they ever all be okay again?
Warnings: impulse sex, slight mention of Remus/Sirius, slight disregard of canon
“I don’t want to go home,” she said from where she was leaning against the marble wall, knees drawn to her chest but her arms limp at her sides. “I don’t want to go back to work and I don’t want to go home.”
This was probably the first time anyone had died in front of her, he realized. She was too young to have known anything from the last time.
Sirius had died, hadn’t he? That was what happened to people who fell back behind that tattered veil. But Remus could still almost feel him, like there was some uncanny, unseen third presence standing next to him and looking back and forth between her and the Floos running the length of the room.
He was going back to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t have anywhere else to go, he didn’t have a home. Sirius had been his home for the last five months.
“Come home with me,” he sighed, holding his hand out.
She slipped hers into it and they both pulled. If Remus wasn’t mistaken, she was shorter than usual. Listlessly they each tossed a pinch of powder into the flames of the one lit fireplace and stepped through, muttering “Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”
Sirius was here too. There was his tea mug, sitting on the wooden table, and the bag of dead rats on the floor beneath it.
“Gross,” she said, dropping the bag back to the floor. “I’m making a sandwich.”
Remus snorted at the irony of it all, of her curious nature and her strong stomach. He knew she wasn’t actually hungry, knew she just needed something to keep her occupied. But so did he. He picked up the mug of tea and set it in the sink, not willing to pour out the dregs, and filled the kettle from the tap. She took it from him and set it on the stove, tapping the burner with her wand as he pulled two clean mugs from the cabinet above as well as two plates.
In a familiar sort of fashion she put a sandwich on each plate, and he moved to set them on the table. Tonks held up a third sandwich in her hands and looked at it questioningly, as if the meal had made itself.
“He’s still here, isn’t he?” she asked, and Remus nodded.
The teakettle whistled and Remus walked to the stove, poured tea in the clean mugs and a little more into the mug in the sink. He took the sandwich out of her hand and stuffed it into the mug as well, leading her to the table where they both sat and ate in silence.
“I don’t want to die,” she said finally, the last bite of the sandwich stuffed in the side of her cheek.
“I do,” he said, and she turned on the bench to face him.
“Why?”
“I don’t know how to be alone anymore.”
“But he’s still here,” she argued.
“He’s only waiting,” Remus confessed. “He’s waiting to see if I’ll be okay or if I’ll come with him.”
Tonks picked up the plates and the mugs and set them in the sink. She sat on the table in front of him, stretching one leg to either side, and methodically began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Remus reached out to hold her hips in his hands, then slid his fingers to the rivet of her jeans.
It was the same familiarity, the same sensation that while all of this was entirely new, undressing her would one day be old hat. Remus felt like Sirius was guiding him, showing him what to do now that he was gone, and to his surprise he actually felt his body responding to her touch.
She leaned back, bracing her hands on the planks of the table and drawing her knees to her chest again. He didn’t bother with modesty or propriety and slid her underwear over her bottom with her jeans, extending her legs up until he could pull them free. She leaned forward again, her legs tucking around him as she pushed his shirt down his shoulders to where it pooled around the buttoned cuffs.
“We don’t have to,” Remus said in a hushed voice. “You don’t have to do this.”
“This is how you’ll be okay,” she said, slipping her thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and pulling him closer.
He leaned down and kissed her, feeling the urge for normalcy, to want what was before him. It was surprisingly gentle, her lips uniquely soft and small under his. Her fingers, also small and soft, were working the button and zip of his pants, and Remus was almost startled to find himself already hard as her hands pushed his underwear down with his trousers as well. His hands held her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the table, and without thinking he slipped one between her legs. She sighed happily against his mouth, pressing forward against his hand.
“You’ll be okay,” she whispered again, her gentle hand closing around him and causing his hips to jerk sharply forward. Remus grunted. She batted his hand away and shifted herself to the very edge of the table, guiding him into her slowly, controlling his movements with her hand.
Remus wanted to push forward, his instincts wanted him to take control, but a voice inside his head told him to just let go. Sirius wanted him to give in, to relax. Had anyone ever learned of what they had shared they would likely have been startled, but those who knew them well would have been nothing less than shocked that Remus had been the instigator.
Roles reversed, with Tonks using the leverage from the table to push herself to him, Remus felt a sense of surrender. For the first time in years he wasn’t the one doing the fucking, he realized as her hand traveled behind him to pull him even deeper. He was being fucked.
From the soft little moans that had begun to escape her lips and the unabashed stare of her half-closed eyes, he knew this wasn’t a pity fuck. Tonks wasn’t just sad or afraid of her own mortality; she was watching him, twisting her hips and looking for a reaction. She was trying to please him, and as his eyes snapped back into his head involuntarily, Remus understood what a good job she was doing.
The urgency and need of it all was an aphrodisiac in itself, and as her body shook with spasms and her lips cried his name, Remus found himself grasping at his own release. He was breathing hard, panting, and beside him he could sense Sirius.
‘You’ll be okay. Look at her, you’ll be better than okay, you’ll have anything you want. I’ll be okay too.’
With a grunt he came, staring at the flush of her cheeks and the desire in her eyes. She leaned forward, kissing him gently, softly, on each cheek. Her thin arms wrapped around his shoulders as she pressed her mouth to his, and as the presence beside him began to wane, Remus began to cry.
“Shhhhh,” she soothed, rocking him, holding him to her. “It’s okay. We’ll all be okay.”