Whee! Fic Reveal "Coming In Late" (Neville/Remus, NC17)
Title: Coming In Late
Author: florahart
Recipient: bryonyraven
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Neville/Remus
Summary: Neville is new to all of this, and his friends become concerned.
Warnings: nothing here that should need warning, I don't think.
Disclaimer: I am shockingly lacking in werewolves and herbologists. It's criminal. Also, I have no rights to the HP franchise and it's pieces; I just play with them.
A/N: Written for bryonyraven for sunandsmut Thanks to regan_v and setissma for beta help.
Coming In Late
Neville wasn't sure how to explain the rumpled state of his shirt, nor the marks on his throat and chest, nor even the fact that he'd been unable to locate one sock. He shuffled in at a quarter to seven, intending to have a quick shower and get cleaned up and out the door before Ron or Harry woke.
He was, therefore, somewhat less than thrilled to find Harry in the kitchen, bare arse poking out of the icebox as he bent to drag out another bottle of fizzy Muggle soda. Neville couldn't help but sigh; Harry was apparently some sort of soda savant, going through dozens of bottles of the stuff each week with no ill effects to his physique--from which Neville averted his eyes, now that he'd thought of it, only to sneak another glance because really, Harry's arse was quite worth an ogle--nor his teeth or digestive system.
Unfortunately, the sigh worked quite contrary to his keen desire to slip in unnoticed, and Harry looked around. "Oi, Nev. Sorry, I know. Dressing gowns are good. But you were asleep and Ron doesn't mind, and Suse has already seen my… Wait. I thought you were asleep."
Neville shook his head. "No. I was …out." He kept looking away and back, torn between embarrassment and jealousy at Harry's uncomplicated comfort, naked with his bollocks hanging down between his thighs. "I just, um, just came in."
Harry stood and sauntered closer, sucking down a long slurp of his soda with an easy grace that unfortunately reminded Neville rather clearly of several parts of the reason he was coming in at this hour. He felt his face heat, and that was before Harry's eyes lit up. Oh, shit. "You were out? And in, looks like. In and out repeatedly, possibly quite enough times to lose count." He reached for Neville's chin and twisted his unresisting head back and forth. "And all covered in prizes, aren't you? Are they all over?"
Neville finally gathered the presence of mind to step back. "I. Um. Harry!"
Harry grinned and ran his hand through his hair. "Aw, come on, Nev. No harm intended. It's just, I've never had a good opportunity to twit you about anything like this. Lousy mate you are, never giving me anything to work with!" He took another long draw off the bottle and went back to the icebox, returning with an apple. "You should have breakfast," he said. "Need to keep up your energy."
"I. Uh. Already ate," Neville stammered. This was true, both literally and in the sense of having learned several times more about the art of oral sex in the past ten or so hours than in the rest of his life prior to last night.
Harry snickered, but let it go, for which Neville was quite grateful. He stepped back again and then, Gryffindor courage be damned, turned and fled to his room and then to the bath. Thank God Ron hadn't been up, too.
~**~
It was impossible, Neville concluded as he worked, to concentrate on any one damned thing when one had tender sore bruises all over one's body. That mouth had been thorough, he thought with a smile, recalled teeth grazing his throat, his thighs, his hips and ribs and nipples until he fairly throbbed all over.
His nipples were, if anything, even sorer than the rest of his body, after hours of tugging and tasting and rough pulls from eager fingers.
And he quite should not be thinking about that; now he was hard--again, which should be entirely impossible--at half ten in the morning whilst digging in manure to transplant the guillotine ferns, when he really needed to keep his mind on the task at hand. He was going to have to wait until tonight. Tonight, when he could take all that practical experience he'd gained last night, and see about applying it.
He wasn't sure he was going to make it until four.
~**~
The shower, cleaning off all traces of dirt and sweat from his long day in Greenhouse Five, felt wonderful. As the day had gone on, Neville had found himself more and more sore, both muscularly and from the bruises, and finally on his way home, he'd gone to a chemist at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn; the products they sold were legal but sometimes a bit disreputable or …his Gran would say they were for people lacking in the class to avoid the need for such things. He'd acquired a packet of parchroot sucker salve on the advice of the proprietor, and read the directions carefully, then selected the option that would leave the marks but relieve the soreness. He mixed the paste carefully with ingredients on hand and cupped it in his palm and spoke the charm to pull it up his arm and spread it over his body. He waited the requisite hundred thirty-four seconds before uttering the command to end the charm, and then stepped into the lukewarm shower.
The pain of his muscles and bitemarks washed off with the potion, which was transparent on his skin but rinsed angry red at first, then pink and opaque white as his pain eased. He turned up the heat once the water ran clear and enjoyed the steam as he rolled his neck about under the flow. He resisted the urge to touch himself; that was for later. While if last night was any evidence, he wasn't likely to lose anything by touching himself, still, he wanted to wait. He got out and dried off, carefully storing his packet of salve under the sink behind his shaving kit, and went to get dressed.
~**~
He once again tried to come in quietly. It wasn't practically dawn this time; he was home at a respectable hour. However, he was nearly as rumpled as he'd been the night before, and was at least as sore, in whole new ways because--and he'd known this intellectually, but at this point the reality of it was still a bit surprising--there had been lots more to try.
Loads.
And they weren't done.
At this point, he was still having a hard time believing a number of things. To begin, he was still a bit startled there had been sex in the first place. He couldn't quite get over that part. And then, it still seemed even more fantastic that it had happened more than once, both in the sense of it not having been a single furtive quick event the first night, and in the sense of having led to a second…encounter. And beyond that, there was talking. While they were doing other things. Talking about what they were doing, and about other things, and he'd never really given a great deal of consideration to how it would feel to talk about and during sex--mostly because he'd never actually thought he'd be having much of it--and now, he felt his face heating up all over again as he recalled some of the conversation, about his cock and his balls and what he liked, what he wanted, what he expected… He sighed. And that didn't even include the part about the entire casualness with which they sort of fell together, not because it was simple, because Merlin knew it wasn't, but just, they seemed to fit. And Neville, now that he thought about it, hadn't ever expected to fit with anyone.
He shook his head and tried to pull himself together as he stepped through the door.
This time, it was Hermione in the kitchen.
He felt his face all but explode with heat. Having Harry twit him about sex was one thing, but here he was coming in obviously freshly-fucked, and tonight would be a night Hermione was staying over. He was perpetually surprised by how comfortable she seemed about the fact she and Ron were sleeping together, except that he wasn't, because she'd always been the level-headed one. At least she wore a tightly-belted robe when she left Ron's room.
"Hi," she said simply, pouring water over her tea leaves. "You want?" She reached for a second mug.
"Um." Neville closed his eyes and nodded. God. He couldn't even mange a straightforward hello?
"Good date?"
"Um." Damn it.
Hermione grinned. "I'll take that and the blush as a yes. Good for you, Nev." She set the kettle back down and added sugar to his before handing it over, blowing carefully on the surface of her own, then grinning at him and muttering a cooling charm. "I can't seem to remember the stupidest things, like, oh, how I can just cool this. Who're you seeing, anyway? I don't think I know."
"Um." Neville sighed at himself. "It's really pretty new, so I don't know if we're seeing each other--"
"Course you are. I think if you're having a lot of sex, you can probably call it that. I mean, unless you're paying for the sex, because that would be different, but if you were going to do that you'd have done it years ago, so I expect--"
"No! No, I just. It's not." Neville stopped. "I just feel kind of funny explaining."
Hermione gave him a funny look. "Explaining? I'm not sure you really have to explain anything, Neville. I mean, I just wondered who she was, but I didn't particularly want a blow by blow account."
Neville managed not to say anything about the topic of any sort of blowing, and bit his lip. "Just, it's not a she, is all," he said.
Hermione blinked. "Oh. I didn't… Why didn't I know that? Well then, who is--"
"You coming back to bed any time tonight?" Ron was in the kitchen in his low-slung boxers before he realized Neville was there. "Oh. Hi. Sorry. You were just gone a while."
She shrugged. "Neville and I were talking."
"About what?"
"Nothing. Just catching up." Hermione glanced at Neville with a shrug, and he was glad. He felt funny about telling Ron. Or Harry, for that matter. It wasn't that he was ashamed, it was just, it was a little awkward. He'd never mentioned it before, and it seemed weird to tell them now, now that he'd seen them parading about in all sorts of states of undress, not that he'd ever do anything weird, though really, they were both worth looking at, and, and bollocks, he was sitting there saying nothing like an idiot.
He grinned to make up for spacing out, and waved as he left the room, headed for the shower and the salve once again. They had a lunch date tomorrow which he thought might include more than just lunch, though he had to admit his ability to judge this was probably a bit less than expert. Either way, he didn't want to be too sore.
~**~
He ran into Hermione twice more in the kitchen. The first time she simply asked if he'd had a good time, then made him a cup of tea and discussed her recent research on some work with lily hybrids that had been done toward the end of the Grindelwald era; the research had been hidden, and fairly effectively, but she hadn't worked out why, and she wondered whether Neville had any idea.
He did, as it happened, have a thought or two, though no real information. In the end, they agreed to share what they knew, and Hermione started making lists. Neville took his copy, an hour and three cups of tea later, slightly overwhelmed but also exhilarated to have had a perfectly rational adult conversation with an old friend even before he showered away his bruises.
The second time was when everything started to get a bit …strange.
Neville was already feeling a bit awkward about talking to anyone about his relationship, simply because, well, he'd never been in anything that could properly be called a relationship, and he didn't quite know how to explain this. A …thing with another man, and he'd never mentioned his attraction to men before, and besides that he was just a little bit afraid Ron and Harry would find that scary or …off-putting, he supposed, then it was also not exactly romantic. Well, no, that wasn't true. It was, but it was also rough and hard and fast, and in no way soft or slow, and he had the idea that both of them, with Hermione and Susan, were sometimes, well, soft and slow. With flowers or candles or some such. No, actually, he knew that, because he saw the flowers in vases, the dripped wax on the table, the discarded boxes of chocolates (emptied) in the rubbish.
And when Hermione saw the clawed nailmarks on his neck, the tearing teethmarks, the bruise beneath his collarbone, her eyes widened, and explaining it now was going to be difficult. "It doesn't hurt," he said, once he worked out what had her worried. "No, honestly."
She pressed her lips together and he could tell she didn't believe him. And it was true, the scrapes and bites were really quite prominent this time, plus he'd continued leaving the marks, if not the soreness, each night, and he probably did look a right wreck.
Damn. "Honestly," he tried again. "It's. It's fine. It's not bad."
She bit her lip, then nodded, and offered him the mug in her hand, which was, in fact, sweetened the way he liked it. They took up talking about the lilies again, and though her eyes kept straying to his throat until he self-consciously buttoned his collar higher, they really got a great deal of ground covered, and he hoped it was going to be all right.
The next morning, Ron and Harry were standing at his door when he opened it to go to the loo, and they were waiting when he came back.
Obviously, he was going to have to explain.
He stammered for some times about bruises and bites and scrapes and how getting them was …good and, um, fun, and kind of really exciting and no really, he was liking it, and no one was doing anything horrible to him and then oh GOD Harry! Harry had tugged open the front of his dressing gown and both of them were staring at his chest.
He looked down.
Well, all right, it did look kind of bad. There was a week's worth of overlaid bruises, the newest ones maroon and livid, dotted amongst the purple-black of yesterday's and the gray, green, yellow, and blue of older marks.
And that didn't even count the scrapes and scabs. "It's just it's getting harsher because, I mean, it would, of course, this week, and-- It's fine. I swear."
"Just, if you need anything, mate," Harry said, clearly not quite buying Neville's story. "I mean, that first night you weren't like this.
Ron nodded. "You know we'll help. You shouldn’t have to tolerate being …mauled."
Neville protested again, but he was pretty sure they thought he was covering for someone. Maybe he was going to have to find somewhere else to live. He didn't want to worry anyone.
~**~
Neville looked up at the night sky as he walked toward the bridge. He could have just Apparated, of course, and in a way he wanted to because it'd be faster, but he rather liked the walk, and in the cool twilight, under a near-full moon after a day that was just too warm for comfort, he liked it even better.
As he stepped closer to the arched center of the path over the little stream he stopped and turned to look behind him; he could have sworn he'd heard something, but no one was there. Or at least, no one he could see. After a moment's consideration, he shrugged and went on. There were plenty of dark things in this world, many of them invisible, but Neville knew that he wasn't walking without attention, that he wasn't being particularly incautious, and as most of those dark things could have him for lunch without breaking a sweat--or, well, without panting, in the case of creatures that didn't sweat, or… anyway--fretting about the prospect wasn't productive. He went along his way and paid the occasional shuffle behind him no mind. It wasn't after all, getting any closer.
Finally, he arrived at an address which it had taken him three tries to correctly see. It wasn't under any sort of secret charm or anything; it was there to see, if you knew it was; it was merely the sort of disillusionment charm that one might live under, if one wanted to stay in a part of the city Muggles frequented, living quietly. He turned in, to the space that almost wasn't there, and went up to the door.
He didn't knock, though it took him a moment to gather himself to just turn the handle and go on in; this wasn't his house, and the notion of having free permission to just …enter at will was a bit bedazzling yet. He wiped his hand on the side of his trousers first, then went in.
"Hullo?"
"Ah, Neville. You're early." Remus poked his head out of the kitchen and beckoned. "Come on. Roast is nearly ready to go in, and then we've got a bit of time before it's ready."
"Um." Neville paused as he arrived in the kitchen, first because he was startled yet by the familiarity of Remus's swift kiss and then because he remember he had to tell him about the weird conversations with his friends. "I think. Can I ask a question?"
Remus frowned and wiped his hands on a towel, then lifted Neville's chin gently. "Sounds serious. Is everything all right?"
"Yeah! Oh, you're brilliant, and we're, um. Scary, kind of, in a really good way, but." Neville swallowed. "It's just, I think I'm sort of worrying people."
"People?"
"Well. My friends. They're all concerned. Because of all the…" He stopped and tugged the collar of his shirt aside.
Remus's eyes widened. "That does look rather--"
"Wait. Here's the thing. I like it. I mean, I've been taking away the soreness because, you know, I'm not really liking the pain part, except when I do, but I like the marks, and I could get rid of them too, but I want to keep them and have you keep making more and plus tomorrow you'll not, I'll have to just remember, and I--" He was startled to be stopped by Remus kissing him. "Oh. Was I babbling?"
"A bit, yes, but that wasn't why I kissed you."
"It wasn't?"
"No. I like that you like to show what I like to put on you. And I possibly should have mentioned before now this trait is exacerbated at this time of the month."
Neville thought about that. "Because for you you're marking me--"
"And you want to stay claimed, as it were, yes."
"I, um. Yeah, I do. But, is it." Neville stopped, not quite sure what he wanted to ask. Something about the tendency of the wolf to claim more and more, but without sounding as though he objected, or feared the wolf itself; he knew Remus took measures to be safe.
"It's always there. And you like it, so I let it be. Still. Perhaps you shouldn’t show your friends when it's quite so much as all that." He nodded toward Neville's throat, then followed his own nod with his lips, suckling at the scrape on Neville's collarbone.
"Uh. Roast?" Neville said. "I don't want to ruin supper."
Remus grinned. "You are quite distracting, but honestly, it won't hurt it to set a moment." He went back to lapping at the bruise beneath the scrape until Neville groaned and slid his hands around his waist, pulling him closer. "Don't want to waste any more time," Remus mumbled against him.
Neville quite agreed.
After a moment's thought, he called his wand to his hand and pointed it at the oven. He could do this. The roast went in smoothly, and Neville glanced at the clock. "Takes an hour or so?"
"Something like," Remus said, looking over his shoulder at Neville's work. "Is this a proposition?"
"I. Maybe?"
"Don't doubt yourself so, Neville," Remus said. He brushed one more kiss, then stood back and lowered his voice. "Now. Was that a proposition?"
"Yes. It was a proposition," Neville said, trying to make his voice firm and a bit startled to find that by so doing, by stating what he wanted, thinking what he wanted, he wanted it all the more, even though he knew his face was rushing full of blood and he wanted to fall through the floor even as he also wanted to push Remus back against the wall. " I." He faltered, then took a breath and tried again. "I propose you take me in the next room and make me. Um. Beg."
Remus smiled gently at him. "Beg for?"
Neville felt his face heat even hotter, which shouldn’t be possible given clearly all his blood was busy filling his cock, but he swallowed again and answered. "Beg for you to put your …cock inside me."
"Beg for me to fuck you?"
"Yeah. That. For that." Neville bit his lip and waited.
"What if I don't want to?"
"I. Please?"
Remus chuckled. "Just as well you beg so nicely, isn't it?"
Neville wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so instead he impulsively leaned forward again, gasping as this brought the front of his trousers against Remus's. He was a bit surprised to be hustled quite so quickly into the next room, but then, he wasn't; everything about this relationship--relationship!--was too fast, gloriously so, and he was never in control and he never had to think, only feel, and he hoped that was all right, but he thought it was, and oh shit, he was thinking again, and that never went well.
All at once, his clothes, only his, were gone, dumped in an untidy heap on one arm of the couch, and Remus was crouching, just a bit, to bite at his nipple, the one that didn't have the lovely scrape next to it already. Neville groaned and leaned forward into Remus's lips, eager enough to nearly overbalance them. "Please," he said, only stammering a bit.
Remus looked up and a low growl seemed to rumble up Neville's chest and throat as he kissed his way down Neville's stomach. "What was that?"
"P--Please." He stammered a bit more this time, but Remus's lips were on his cock, so it was probably excusable, maybe, and then sharp fingernails were digging into his arse and he was gasping and groaning and probably begging already, and inside two minutes he was bent over the back of Remus's couch, gasping and whining as he was filled, as nails and teeth dug into him again and Remus's patched trousers rasped against the hairs on the backs of his legs, as he groped for purchase against the upholstery with one hand and for his throbbing cock with the other.
He didn't need to beg further, of course, but he did. He couldn't seem to shut up while they were doing this, babbling requests for more and needing harder and faster and more and better, and when it wasn't that pouring out his mouth, it was endearments he wasn't sure it was all right to be saying but they just, they were there and he said them, and they never seemed to make Remus slow down, though so far he hadn't said anything like that in return. And then he was coming, spilling against the back of the couch and dripping onto the floor as Remus bit down into the flesh of his shoulder and came as well.
"Lovely," Remus murmured against his sweaty skin. "And we've time for more."
Neville looked at the clock and agreed, they did. He smiled and took Remus off to the bedroom for a more leisurely shag before supper.
~**~
When Neville came in, at half four, he found Harry in the kitchen, this time in jeans and nothing else, and once again rummaging in the icebox. "Do you ever go more than a couple of hours without a soda?" he asked before he thought.
Harry turned. "Yes, but I was waiting up for you."
"I. What?"
"You should invite him to supper, you know."
"I. What? Wait. I hate it when I say the same stupid thing twice."
Harry laughed. "Soda?"
"Invite whom?"
"Professor. Er. Remus."
"Wait, how did you--you followed me."
"Kind of. I thought I should tell you. Just, Hermione said. And we saw, and then. Bugger."
"Uh."
"No! I don't mean bugger, like, I mean. Uh." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "We were just worried for you, mate. But you, um. Seemed safe enough. From what we could see."
"We?"
"Me and Ron. We left! Once we realized. I mean."
Neville felt his cheeks turning the pink that was practically constant, these days. "Once you saw."
"Well! Sitting room! Open window!"
Neville closed his eyes. "I told you I was fine! Um. Is it all right? That I. That Remus. Um."
Harry shook his head. "I didn't say you should have him to supper so we could hex him. Could have done that while he had his eyes closed."
Neville groaned. "I meant--"
"I know. It's fine, Nev. Just, you don't have to pretend… and also? There are charms, if you want to cover up the--"
"I don't."
Harry nodded and finished his soda. "I imagine he likes that, then."
"And me. Um. Harry, can we have this conversation not in the middle of the night?"
Harry tossed the bottle into the rubbish, though it bounced right out and into the recycle barrel, a charm which was almost certainly Hermione's doing, and headed back through the sitting room.
Neville sat down, stared at his soda for a few more minutes, then went outside and Apparated to Remus's house. If it was fine, and Hermione and Susan could spend most nights there, and that was normal, which it was, then he was damn well not going to lose the rest of the night before the full moon. He was sure Remus could be persuaded to come with him.
If he begged.
Author: florahart
Recipient: bryonyraven
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Neville/Remus
Summary: Neville is new to all of this, and his friends become concerned.
Warnings: nothing here that should need warning, I don't think.
Disclaimer: I am shockingly lacking in werewolves and herbologists. It's criminal. Also, I have no rights to the HP franchise and it's pieces; I just play with them.
A/N: Written for bryonyraven for sunandsmut Thanks to regan_v and setissma for beta help.
Coming In Late
Neville wasn't sure how to explain the rumpled state of his shirt, nor the marks on his throat and chest, nor even the fact that he'd been unable to locate one sock. He shuffled in at a quarter to seven, intending to have a quick shower and get cleaned up and out the door before Ron or Harry woke.
He was, therefore, somewhat less than thrilled to find Harry in the kitchen, bare arse poking out of the icebox as he bent to drag out another bottle of fizzy Muggle soda. Neville couldn't help but sigh; Harry was apparently some sort of soda savant, going through dozens of bottles of the stuff each week with no ill effects to his physique--from which Neville averted his eyes, now that he'd thought of it, only to sneak another glance because really, Harry's arse was quite worth an ogle--nor his teeth or digestive system.
Unfortunately, the sigh worked quite contrary to his keen desire to slip in unnoticed, and Harry looked around. "Oi, Nev. Sorry, I know. Dressing gowns are good. But you were asleep and Ron doesn't mind, and Suse has already seen my… Wait. I thought you were asleep."
Neville shook his head. "No. I was …out." He kept looking away and back, torn between embarrassment and jealousy at Harry's uncomplicated comfort, naked with his bollocks hanging down between his thighs. "I just, um, just came in."
Harry stood and sauntered closer, sucking down a long slurp of his soda with an easy grace that unfortunately reminded Neville rather clearly of several parts of the reason he was coming in at this hour. He felt his face heat, and that was before Harry's eyes lit up. Oh, shit. "You were out? And in, looks like. In and out repeatedly, possibly quite enough times to lose count." He reached for Neville's chin and twisted his unresisting head back and forth. "And all covered in prizes, aren't you? Are they all over?"
Neville finally gathered the presence of mind to step back. "I. Um. Harry!"
Harry grinned and ran his hand through his hair. "Aw, come on, Nev. No harm intended. It's just, I've never had a good opportunity to twit you about anything like this. Lousy mate you are, never giving me anything to work with!" He took another long draw off the bottle and went back to the icebox, returning with an apple. "You should have breakfast," he said. "Need to keep up your energy."
"I. Uh. Already ate," Neville stammered. This was true, both literally and in the sense of having learned several times more about the art of oral sex in the past ten or so hours than in the rest of his life prior to last night.
Harry snickered, but let it go, for which Neville was quite grateful. He stepped back again and then, Gryffindor courage be damned, turned and fled to his room and then to the bath. Thank God Ron hadn't been up, too.
~**~
It was impossible, Neville concluded as he worked, to concentrate on any one damned thing when one had tender sore bruises all over one's body. That mouth had been thorough, he thought with a smile, recalled teeth grazing his throat, his thighs, his hips and ribs and nipples until he fairly throbbed all over.
His nipples were, if anything, even sorer than the rest of his body, after hours of tugging and tasting and rough pulls from eager fingers.
And he quite should not be thinking about that; now he was hard--again, which should be entirely impossible--at half ten in the morning whilst digging in manure to transplant the guillotine ferns, when he really needed to keep his mind on the task at hand. He was going to have to wait until tonight. Tonight, when he could take all that practical experience he'd gained last night, and see about applying it.
He wasn't sure he was going to make it until four.
~**~
The shower, cleaning off all traces of dirt and sweat from his long day in Greenhouse Five, felt wonderful. As the day had gone on, Neville had found himself more and more sore, both muscularly and from the bruises, and finally on his way home, he'd gone to a chemist at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn; the products they sold were legal but sometimes a bit disreputable or …his Gran would say they were for people lacking in the class to avoid the need for such things. He'd acquired a packet of parchroot sucker salve on the advice of the proprietor, and read the directions carefully, then selected the option that would leave the marks but relieve the soreness. He mixed the paste carefully with ingredients on hand and cupped it in his palm and spoke the charm to pull it up his arm and spread it over his body. He waited the requisite hundred thirty-four seconds before uttering the command to end the charm, and then stepped into the lukewarm shower.
The pain of his muscles and bitemarks washed off with the potion, which was transparent on his skin but rinsed angry red at first, then pink and opaque white as his pain eased. He turned up the heat once the water ran clear and enjoyed the steam as he rolled his neck about under the flow. He resisted the urge to touch himself; that was for later. While if last night was any evidence, he wasn't likely to lose anything by touching himself, still, he wanted to wait. He got out and dried off, carefully storing his packet of salve under the sink behind his shaving kit, and went to get dressed.
~**~
He once again tried to come in quietly. It wasn't practically dawn this time; he was home at a respectable hour. However, he was nearly as rumpled as he'd been the night before, and was at least as sore, in whole new ways because--and he'd known this intellectually, but at this point the reality of it was still a bit surprising--there had been lots more to try.
Loads.
And they weren't done.
At this point, he was still having a hard time believing a number of things. To begin, he was still a bit startled there had been sex in the first place. He couldn't quite get over that part. And then, it still seemed even more fantastic that it had happened more than once, both in the sense of it not having been a single furtive quick event the first night, and in the sense of having led to a second…encounter. And beyond that, there was talking. While they were doing other things. Talking about what they were doing, and about other things, and he'd never really given a great deal of consideration to how it would feel to talk about and during sex--mostly because he'd never actually thought he'd be having much of it--and now, he felt his face heating up all over again as he recalled some of the conversation, about his cock and his balls and what he liked, what he wanted, what he expected… He sighed. And that didn't even include the part about the entire casualness with which they sort of fell together, not because it was simple, because Merlin knew it wasn't, but just, they seemed to fit. And Neville, now that he thought about it, hadn't ever expected to fit with anyone.
He shook his head and tried to pull himself together as he stepped through the door.
This time, it was Hermione in the kitchen.
He felt his face all but explode with heat. Having Harry twit him about sex was one thing, but here he was coming in obviously freshly-fucked, and tonight would be a night Hermione was staying over. He was perpetually surprised by how comfortable she seemed about the fact she and Ron were sleeping together, except that he wasn't, because she'd always been the level-headed one. At least she wore a tightly-belted robe when she left Ron's room.
"Hi," she said simply, pouring water over her tea leaves. "You want?" She reached for a second mug.
"Um." Neville closed his eyes and nodded. God. He couldn't even mange a straightforward hello?
"Good date?"
"Um." Damn it.
Hermione grinned. "I'll take that and the blush as a yes. Good for you, Nev." She set the kettle back down and added sugar to his before handing it over, blowing carefully on the surface of her own, then grinning at him and muttering a cooling charm. "I can't seem to remember the stupidest things, like, oh, how I can just cool this. Who're you seeing, anyway? I don't think I know."
"Um." Neville sighed at himself. "It's really pretty new, so I don't know if we're seeing each other--"
"Course you are. I think if you're having a lot of sex, you can probably call it that. I mean, unless you're paying for the sex, because that would be different, but if you were going to do that you'd have done it years ago, so I expect--"
"No! No, I just. It's not." Neville stopped. "I just feel kind of funny explaining."
Hermione gave him a funny look. "Explaining? I'm not sure you really have to explain anything, Neville. I mean, I just wondered who she was, but I didn't particularly want a blow by blow account."
Neville managed not to say anything about the topic of any sort of blowing, and bit his lip. "Just, it's not a she, is all," he said.
Hermione blinked. "Oh. I didn't… Why didn't I know that? Well then, who is--"
"You coming back to bed any time tonight?" Ron was in the kitchen in his low-slung boxers before he realized Neville was there. "Oh. Hi. Sorry. You were just gone a while."
She shrugged. "Neville and I were talking."
"About what?"
"Nothing. Just catching up." Hermione glanced at Neville with a shrug, and he was glad. He felt funny about telling Ron. Or Harry, for that matter. It wasn't that he was ashamed, it was just, it was a little awkward. He'd never mentioned it before, and it seemed weird to tell them now, now that he'd seen them parading about in all sorts of states of undress, not that he'd ever do anything weird, though really, they were both worth looking at, and, and bollocks, he was sitting there saying nothing like an idiot.
He grinned to make up for spacing out, and waved as he left the room, headed for the shower and the salve once again. They had a lunch date tomorrow which he thought might include more than just lunch, though he had to admit his ability to judge this was probably a bit less than expert. Either way, he didn't want to be too sore.
~**~
He ran into Hermione twice more in the kitchen. The first time she simply asked if he'd had a good time, then made him a cup of tea and discussed her recent research on some work with lily hybrids that had been done toward the end of the Grindelwald era; the research had been hidden, and fairly effectively, but she hadn't worked out why, and she wondered whether Neville had any idea.
He did, as it happened, have a thought or two, though no real information. In the end, they agreed to share what they knew, and Hermione started making lists. Neville took his copy, an hour and three cups of tea later, slightly overwhelmed but also exhilarated to have had a perfectly rational adult conversation with an old friend even before he showered away his bruises.
The second time was when everything started to get a bit …strange.
Neville was already feeling a bit awkward about talking to anyone about his relationship, simply because, well, he'd never been in anything that could properly be called a relationship, and he didn't quite know how to explain this. A …thing with another man, and he'd never mentioned his attraction to men before, and besides that he was just a little bit afraid Ron and Harry would find that scary or …off-putting, he supposed, then it was also not exactly romantic. Well, no, that wasn't true. It was, but it was also rough and hard and fast, and in no way soft or slow, and he had the idea that both of them, with Hermione and Susan, were sometimes, well, soft and slow. With flowers or candles or some such. No, actually, he knew that, because he saw the flowers in vases, the dripped wax on the table, the discarded boxes of chocolates (emptied) in the rubbish.
And when Hermione saw the clawed nailmarks on his neck, the tearing teethmarks, the bruise beneath his collarbone, her eyes widened, and explaining it now was going to be difficult. "It doesn't hurt," he said, once he worked out what had her worried. "No, honestly."
She pressed her lips together and he could tell she didn't believe him. And it was true, the scrapes and bites were really quite prominent this time, plus he'd continued leaving the marks, if not the soreness, each night, and he probably did look a right wreck.
Damn. "Honestly," he tried again. "It's. It's fine. It's not bad."
She bit her lip, then nodded, and offered him the mug in her hand, which was, in fact, sweetened the way he liked it. They took up talking about the lilies again, and though her eyes kept straying to his throat until he self-consciously buttoned his collar higher, they really got a great deal of ground covered, and he hoped it was going to be all right.
The next morning, Ron and Harry were standing at his door when he opened it to go to the loo, and they were waiting when he came back.
Obviously, he was going to have to explain.
He stammered for some times about bruises and bites and scrapes and how getting them was …good and, um, fun, and kind of really exciting and no really, he was liking it, and no one was doing anything horrible to him and then oh GOD Harry! Harry had tugged open the front of his dressing gown and both of them were staring at his chest.
He looked down.
Well, all right, it did look kind of bad. There was a week's worth of overlaid bruises, the newest ones maroon and livid, dotted amongst the purple-black of yesterday's and the gray, green, yellow, and blue of older marks.
And that didn't even count the scrapes and scabs. "It's just it's getting harsher because, I mean, it would, of course, this week, and-- It's fine. I swear."
"Just, if you need anything, mate," Harry said, clearly not quite buying Neville's story. "I mean, that first night you weren't like this.
Ron nodded. "You know we'll help. You shouldn’t have to tolerate being …mauled."
Neville protested again, but he was pretty sure they thought he was covering for someone. Maybe he was going to have to find somewhere else to live. He didn't want to worry anyone.
~**~
Neville looked up at the night sky as he walked toward the bridge. He could have just Apparated, of course, and in a way he wanted to because it'd be faster, but he rather liked the walk, and in the cool twilight, under a near-full moon after a day that was just too warm for comfort, he liked it even better.
As he stepped closer to the arched center of the path over the little stream he stopped and turned to look behind him; he could have sworn he'd heard something, but no one was there. Or at least, no one he could see. After a moment's consideration, he shrugged and went on. There were plenty of dark things in this world, many of them invisible, but Neville knew that he wasn't walking without attention, that he wasn't being particularly incautious, and as most of those dark things could have him for lunch without breaking a sweat--or, well, without panting, in the case of creatures that didn't sweat, or… anyway--fretting about the prospect wasn't productive. He went along his way and paid the occasional shuffle behind him no mind. It wasn't after all, getting any closer.
Finally, he arrived at an address which it had taken him three tries to correctly see. It wasn't under any sort of secret charm or anything; it was there to see, if you knew it was; it was merely the sort of disillusionment charm that one might live under, if one wanted to stay in a part of the city Muggles frequented, living quietly. He turned in, to the space that almost wasn't there, and went up to the door.
He didn't knock, though it took him a moment to gather himself to just turn the handle and go on in; this wasn't his house, and the notion of having free permission to just …enter at will was a bit bedazzling yet. He wiped his hand on the side of his trousers first, then went in.
"Hullo?"
"Ah, Neville. You're early." Remus poked his head out of the kitchen and beckoned. "Come on. Roast is nearly ready to go in, and then we've got a bit of time before it's ready."
"Um." Neville paused as he arrived in the kitchen, first because he was startled yet by the familiarity of Remus's swift kiss and then because he remember he had to tell him about the weird conversations with his friends. "I think. Can I ask a question?"
Remus frowned and wiped his hands on a towel, then lifted Neville's chin gently. "Sounds serious. Is everything all right?"
"Yeah! Oh, you're brilliant, and we're, um. Scary, kind of, in a really good way, but." Neville swallowed. "It's just, I think I'm sort of worrying people."
"People?"
"Well. My friends. They're all concerned. Because of all the…" He stopped and tugged the collar of his shirt aside.
Remus's eyes widened. "That does look rather--"
"Wait. Here's the thing. I like it. I mean, I've been taking away the soreness because, you know, I'm not really liking the pain part, except when I do, but I like the marks, and I could get rid of them too, but I want to keep them and have you keep making more and plus tomorrow you'll not, I'll have to just remember, and I--" He was startled to be stopped by Remus kissing him. "Oh. Was I babbling?"
"A bit, yes, but that wasn't why I kissed you."
"It wasn't?"
"No. I like that you like to show what I like to put on you. And I possibly should have mentioned before now this trait is exacerbated at this time of the month."
Neville thought about that. "Because for you you're marking me--"
"And you want to stay claimed, as it were, yes."
"I, um. Yeah, I do. But, is it." Neville stopped, not quite sure what he wanted to ask. Something about the tendency of the wolf to claim more and more, but without sounding as though he objected, or feared the wolf itself; he knew Remus took measures to be safe.
"It's always there. And you like it, so I let it be. Still. Perhaps you shouldn’t show your friends when it's quite so much as all that." He nodded toward Neville's throat, then followed his own nod with his lips, suckling at the scrape on Neville's collarbone.
"Uh. Roast?" Neville said. "I don't want to ruin supper."
Remus grinned. "You are quite distracting, but honestly, it won't hurt it to set a moment." He went back to lapping at the bruise beneath the scrape until Neville groaned and slid his hands around his waist, pulling him closer. "Don't want to waste any more time," Remus mumbled against him.
Neville quite agreed.
After a moment's thought, he called his wand to his hand and pointed it at the oven. He could do this. The roast went in smoothly, and Neville glanced at the clock. "Takes an hour or so?"
"Something like," Remus said, looking over his shoulder at Neville's work. "Is this a proposition?"
"I. Maybe?"
"Don't doubt yourself so, Neville," Remus said. He brushed one more kiss, then stood back and lowered his voice. "Now. Was that a proposition?"
"Yes. It was a proposition," Neville said, trying to make his voice firm and a bit startled to find that by so doing, by stating what he wanted, thinking what he wanted, he wanted it all the more, even though he knew his face was rushing full of blood and he wanted to fall through the floor even as he also wanted to push Remus back against the wall. " I." He faltered, then took a breath and tried again. "I propose you take me in the next room and make me. Um. Beg."
Remus smiled gently at him. "Beg for?"
Neville felt his face heat even hotter, which shouldn’t be possible given clearly all his blood was busy filling his cock, but he swallowed again and answered. "Beg for you to put your …cock inside me."
"Beg for me to fuck you?"
"Yeah. That. For that." Neville bit his lip and waited.
"What if I don't want to?"
"I. Please?"
Remus chuckled. "Just as well you beg so nicely, isn't it?"
Neville wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so instead he impulsively leaned forward again, gasping as this brought the front of his trousers against Remus's. He was a bit surprised to be hustled quite so quickly into the next room, but then, he wasn't; everything about this relationship--relationship!--was too fast, gloriously so, and he was never in control and he never had to think, only feel, and he hoped that was all right, but he thought it was, and oh shit, he was thinking again, and that never went well.
All at once, his clothes, only his, were gone, dumped in an untidy heap on one arm of the couch, and Remus was crouching, just a bit, to bite at his nipple, the one that didn't have the lovely scrape next to it already. Neville groaned and leaned forward into Remus's lips, eager enough to nearly overbalance them. "Please," he said, only stammering a bit.
Remus looked up and a low growl seemed to rumble up Neville's chest and throat as he kissed his way down Neville's stomach. "What was that?"
"P--Please." He stammered a bit more this time, but Remus's lips were on his cock, so it was probably excusable, maybe, and then sharp fingernails were digging into his arse and he was gasping and groaning and probably begging already, and inside two minutes he was bent over the back of Remus's couch, gasping and whining as he was filled, as nails and teeth dug into him again and Remus's patched trousers rasped against the hairs on the backs of his legs, as he groped for purchase against the upholstery with one hand and for his throbbing cock with the other.
He didn't need to beg further, of course, but he did. He couldn't seem to shut up while they were doing this, babbling requests for more and needing harder and faster and more and better, and when it wasn't that pouring out his mouth, it was endearments he wasn't sure it was all right to be saying but they just, they were there and he said them, and they never seemed to make Remus slow down, though so far he hadn't said anything like that in return. And then he was coming, spilling against the back of the couch and dripping onto the floor as Remus bit down into the flesh of his shoulder and came as well.
"Lovely," Remus murmured against his sweaty skin. "And we've time for more."
Neville looked at the clock and agreed, they did. He smiled and took Remus off to the bedroom for a more leisurely shag before supper.
~**~
When Neville came in, at half four, he found Harry in the kitchen, this time in jeans and nothing else, and once again rummaging in the icebox. "Do you ever go more than a couple of hours without a soda?" he asked before he thought.
Harry turned. "Yes, but I was waiting up for you."
"I. What?"
"You should invite him to supper, you know."
"I. What? Wait. I hate it when I say the same stupid thing twice."
Harry laughed. "Soda?"
"Invite whom?"
"Professor. Er. Remus."
"Wait, how did you--you followed me."
"Kind of. I thought I should tell you. Just, Hermione said. And we saw, and then. Bugger."
"Uh."
"No! I don't mean bugger, like, I mean. Uh." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "We were just worried for you, mate. But you, um. Seemed safe enough. From what we could see."
"We?"
"Me and Ron. We left! Once we realized. I mean."
Neville felt his cheeks turning the pink that was practically constant, these days. "Once you saw."
"Well! Sitting room! Open window!"
Neville closed his eyes. "I told you I was fine! Um. Is it all right? That I. That Remus. Um."
Harry shook his head. "I didn't say you should have him to supper so we could hex him. Could have done that while he had his eyes closed."
Neville groaned. "I meant--"
"I know. It's fine, Nev. Just, you don't have to pretend… and also? There are charms, if you want to cover up the--"
"I don't."
Harry nodded and finished his soda. "I imagine he likes that, then."
"And me. Um. Harry, can we have this conversation not in the middle of the night?"
Harry tossed the bottle into the rubbish, though it bounced right out and into the recycle barrel, a charm which was almost certainly Hermione's doing, and headed back through the sitting room.
Neville sat down, stared at his soda for a few more minutes, then went outside and Apparated to Remus's house. If it was fine, and Hermione and Susan could spend most nights there, and that was normal, which it was, then he was damn well not going to lose the rest of the night before the full moon. He was sure Remus could be persuaded to come with him.
If he begged.