Showdown Fic - Coniston Water (3/3)
Title - Coniston Water (3/3)
Author -
joely_jo
Rating - R
Characters - Remus/Tonks, plus a couple of minor OCs, but please don’t run screaming, none of them are called Mary.
Warnings - Sex in the this part, though it's probably more 'smut with a soul' than outright smut. I should probably warn for angst, as well.
Prompt - Grey
Word Count - This part weighs in at 3691 words.
Summary - Remus returns to his family home to scatter his father’s ashes. Tonks accompanies him and together, they lay to rest some other ghosts.
Author’s Notes - The prompt ‘grey’ spoke to me of a place and a metaphor and this was the end result. I’ve always wanted to write something like this, and I figured I ought to do it before Book Seven came out. I decided to punctuate this piece with one or two photographs, to sort of give everyone the feel of the place I’m talking about. I hope this is okay.
In terms of placement in canon, this piece is set sometime around the final events of OotP. Many thanks to
writermerrinand
gloryforeverfor the beta read.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
“Goodnight Tonks… Remus…” Alice calls from the jetty as Remus rows away. The light is fading and, after the afternoon of tea and talk and toast half-burned in front of the fire, Tonks is tired. She sinks a little on the bench seat, a sigh flooding out of her lungs. Her emotions are all burnt out, the tension almost unspeakable.
He can tell all this just from looking at her.
Rowing steadily across the lake, he ponders the play of the light on her skin, the way her eyes begin to grow heavy with the rhythmic swooshing of the oars. He smiles when they finally close. Minutes later, her breathing turns slow and he realises that she is asleep. Truly asleep.
He presses on, though his pace is a little slower. All the rowing he’s done in the last few days has made his arms ache, and he finds himself thinking how easy it would be to just pull his wand from his sleeve and apparate them both across the water to the warmth of the living room at Low Water End. But even as he thinks the thought, he knows he wouldn’t do it. This lake is not the place for magic. Or at least, not the kind he knows.
As the jetty and boathouse emerge into view, Remus turns the boat around so he can line it up without knocking the sides and waking Tonks. She stirs a little in her sleep, slumping forwards even more, so that he can now barely see her face, as he pulls the boat alongside the jetty. He climbs out and then considers what to do. Still on the water, the boat is too unsteady to try to carry her out and reluctantly, he decides that the only way is to wake her.
He bends over and lifts her head gently. She mumbles something unintelligible, then shifts against him, childlike. Something bubbles like oil in his heart and, without even realising what he is doing, he lets the back of his fingers run themselves over her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin. He sighs.
“Come on, Tonks,” he whispers and tugs her up, awkwardly adjusting her sleeping weight and trying to compensate for the rocking of the boat. She wakes, surprisingly without a start, and her legs fold out underneath her.
“Remus…” she murmurs.
“It’s all right, Tonks. Just hold on to me.” He pauses, swallows. “I won’t let you go.”
He feels her arm snake around his waist and with a heave he helps her out of the boat. Her head falls onto his shoulder and they begin to walk back to the cottage.
The cottage door squeaks as he opens it and he allows his body to relax, just a touch. He eases her down onto the sofa. “There you go,” he says in a soft voice. “Home, now.”
She nods sleepily. “Thank you.”
“It’s fine.” A yawn splits his face. He turns toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make some hot chocolate. Do you want some?”
But there is no reply. He looks back and sees she has curled up and fallen back to sleep. He smiles at the picture she presents; mere girlishness and innocence. “Sweet dreams, Tonks,” he says.
****
“Don’t move.”
A cackle, evil personified. “‘Don’t move’? The little boy tells me not to move.” Another laugh. “What are you going to do, little boy? That’s your father’s wand and Mummy and Daddy aren’t here to save you. Oh, no, they’ve gone to their friends’ house. They’ve left you all alone.”
“I said, don’t move. Or I’ll kill you.”
The stench of fetid breath, the rank heat of it bearing down on him. His heart racing. Oh no. Oh no. “You won’t kill me. Now come with me, or I will bite you and your parents. And you wouldn’t want that, now, would you?”
A hand stretches out, ragged fingernails questing towards him. A scream. His own. Moonlight filling the hallway, like a ship sailing in the night. The man before him shaking, screaming, growling. A guttering in his throat. Bones cracking, stretching.
Oh no.
Panic surging through him. Oh no, no, no. “Mum! Dad! Help me!”
A whimper, then a howl. Unearthly. Slowly, amber eyes fix on him in the darkness, glinting with malevolence.
He feels the sink of teeth into his throat, the snarl and snap of jaws as they strip away, leaving flesh hanging loose and blood pouring. He screams in terror, the scream turning into a howl as the pain courses through him. The wolf looks up at the sound, freezes. Its ears press back against its head and it looks at him in fear. He cries out again, closes his eyes against the agony, and feels the darkness drag him down.
Down.
“Remus, come with me,” says a voice through the black. He opens his eyes and sees Tonks behind him, etched in the shadows. “Come with me,” she pleads, holding out a beckoning hand. He can’t quite see her face. “It’s okay. It’s got to happen, but I’ll be here. I’m waiting for you.”
Remus wakes with a surge and a sputter, like a diver trapped a minute too long beneath an ice sheet. His breath rattles in his chest and, embarrassed at his loss of control, he looks around himself hurriedly. Tonks is still asleep on the sofa, and he looks shakily away. The sweat beads on his forehead and he swipes a hand across his temples, pushing his hair out of the way. The dream has left him disorientated and he steels another look around the room, placing himself, subconsciously checking out the shadowy corners, scoping for movement.
He breathes out, forcing the breath to be slow and calming. He pinches the top of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then rubs his eyes.
A moment later and he eases himself out of the armchair he was sitting in, wraps the tartan throw around his shoulders and takes himself out of the door. The night is cool and fragrant with the scent of honeysuckle and he heads for the summerhouse. He steps onto the veranda and sits, breathing deep of the sharp air. It surges in his lungs, unpolluted, fresh, and he starts to feel the prickle in his skin dissipating. It is something else about this place he has forgotten; the air so clean and earthy, speaking to him of nature and time out of mind. He sighs and stretches.
Pulling the throw around him tighter, he watches as a hawk moth circles the lantern on the hook at the end of the veranda, bouncing fitfully against the glass every now and then. He ponders the futility of the insect’s existence; to not know the moon from an oil lantern.
He stares up into the clear sky, seeking the celestial body that rules his life. It hangs there, like the oil lantern, in the sky, pale, apparently unmoving, and wonders if he hasn’t also spent his life much like the unfortunate moth, bashing up against the moon as if it were an oil lantern to light his way. Has he ever known the difference? Has he been confused by the moon when he should have been looking for the light?
He sighs.
****
Tonks wakes slowly, not from any unnatural reason, but simply because she is cold. She blinks into the darkness of the room. Stretching her limbs out, she feels the pain of sleeping in a strange position settle in her neck. Moonlight is filling the room, and she listens to the silence, somehow knowing he is not in the house.
It is then that she spots the front door slightly ajar, open just an inch, but sufficient enough to allow a draught to creep inside. She stands and moves to close it, then stops, her hand hovering over the handle. Through the window she sees him on the veranda of the summerhouse, sitting on the steps, wrapped in the throw from the back of the armchair. His head is tilted back and she realises that he is staring at the moon, motionless, as if pinned by its beauty. The colour of his hair catches the silvery light and turns mottled, like a grey wolf’s back.
Destiny.
Alice’s words return to her mind as she watches him and as she creeps out to meet him, her wand glowing with lumos.
****
Remus feels her presence before he actually sees her, senses her like one would pick up a faint scent of home. He doesn’t move until she is nearly beside him, until the glowing end of her wand picks out his form completely. He smiles inside. She has come to him, and it is time.
It is time.
****
Tonks knows he knows she is there and for a moment, his silence and stillness irk her. How can he be so distant when what she craves is that which makes him who he is? She opens her mouth to say his name, but instead, he speaks, “Tonks, you’ll catch your death out here.”
“Oh, well,” she says.
He smiles, flashing her a glint of teeth in the darkness. “Come here,” he murmurs and spreads his arms, inviting her in. She hesitates a moment, uncertain of how to proceed. She can read the intent in his eyes, the desire that has slow-burned for months now finally daring to catch fire. Stepping forwards, she goes to him and he pulls her into his embrace, almost smothering her with the throw.
A second of panic flitters through her and she tenses, ready for flight. “Shh…” he whispers. He lets out a slow, sighing breath and strokes her hair. In answer, she nestles her face into his neck and smells his scent, imprinting it on her brain. He rests his chin on the top of her head and they stay that way for a long moment.
Finally, he speaks, “Isn’t it amazing?”
“What?” she asks, her voice reverentially quiet.
“Look,” he encourages and tilts his chin upwards. She looks upwards, over his exposed throat to the point his gaze is fixed upon. “The moon.”
She nods and studies the three-quarters full disc floating in the sky. Then, unbidden, her eyes fall to his throat again and she considers the position he has placed himself in; she beneath him, his throat raised… Vulnerable. Submissive. Wolfish.
It tears at her heart. Her hand creeps up and she trails a finger over his Adam’s apple, feeling it bob as he swallows. “Remus,” she says.
He looks down, into her eyes and suddenly, she knows what is going to happen. Her fingers reach up to smooth his hair aside, seeking confirmation that he is still man and not beast. He shivers at her touch and smiles, as if sensing her uncertainty. “It’s me,” he says, softly. His head begins to lower towards hers.
“I know, I know,” she murmurs.
The kiss is nothing like what she has expected. It is not awkward or sudden or rough. It is everything but those things. He nudges her nose with his, caressing it, then his lips move over hers, like velvet over crushed silk. He plucks at her lower lip, then touches a little more tangibly, then withdraws. His hands creep up to encase her face, their size surprising her as they cover her cheeks completely. He looks into her eyes and she sees a question there. “Yes,” she tells him, in answer.
His mouth twitches in a tiny smile, then he presses his forehead into hers. She feels the cool of his skin and remembers that they are outside. She is no longer cold, though, because something primal has risen in her gut, something that burns like the sun. She whispers his name against his skin.
The second kiss is deeper than the first, open-mouthed, and she feels the heat begin to surge and bubble inside her. “Ohhh…” he sighs into her mouth, and she hears the lowness of his voice, the pitch of desire. There is longing in his sound, as if she has woken some hidden part of him that has lain slumbering for years. A flicker of colour through the grey.
When she meets his mouth again, she feels his tongue slip into her and she shivers with the sensation. “Remus,” she says again. There is no doubt in her mind now. She stands and holds out her hand for him to take. “Come with me.”
He looks at her. In the darkness, she stands in front of the oil lamp, haloed by its yellow light and he jumps, as if startled by realisation. She smiles at him, seeing the comprehension in his eyes and waits for him to take her hand.
****
The moon paints their path back to the cottage. He stumbles now and then, his feet seeming to be heavier than lead, but she keeps hold of his hand, an anchor and rope. She guides him, steers him, keeps him held safe in her grasp and he knows now.
The question he has felt has been unanswered for so long now is clear. He knows. They approach the door to the cottage, still hanging open, and step inside. His breath surges in his throat, the knowledge of what they are about to do quickening his blood. He tries to calm himself, knowing that if he doesn’t, this will not run the course he hopes for.
****
Tonks feels him pause as they enter the living room. She meets his gaze and sees a shadow behind his eyes. He seems overwhelmed, like he is being tossed on a turbulent sea, and she wonders what he is thinking, whether he is in doubt now. She leans up to kiss the soft skin at the side of his neck, trailing her lips up over his jugular to the faint down of hair beneath his ear. He groans. His hands sweep up her back, bunching up the material of her shirt into hot fists of cotton.
Invitation in her eyes, she guides him to the hall and then starts up the stairs, leading him in almost motherly fashion. When they reach the door of her bedroom, the guest bedroom, he smiles. It is faint and tugs at the corners of his lips reluctantly, as if shy, which, she thinks, is quite possible. Remus’ smile is a thing of beauty but a thing bestowed only rarely. And now she knows the reason for it.
She backs up towards the bed, stepping through the shafts of moonlight that pattern the floor, watching as he subconsciously steps over them, as if they are solid. The corners of the room hang in shadows, and they both scope them out, he instinctively, she as a result of her training. She steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around his thin waist. He is whipcord tense and she frowns, rubbing his back lightly. Her head presses itself against his chest and she hears the rapid beating of his heart, like the first drops of rain in a thunderstorm. “Shh…” she soothes. “It’s okay.”
He looks down at her, all eyelashes and hooded lids, and she thinks that she has never seen such tenderness. He pulls back and lifts his jumper over his head, then his eyes fall to the buttons of his shirt. A tiny frown forms on his forehead as he unbuttons it.
Moments later, it is gone and she finds her eyes tracing down his torso. There are scars, as she expected, but they are more varied in size and pattern than she imagined. Some are long and thin, others shorter, whorled with layers of scar tissue. One or two are still angry, red. He ducks his head self-consciously when he notices her staring and her heart leaps. “Oh, Remus,” she says, “you’re beautiful.”
He shakes his head and looks up at her, his heart open wide to her. He sits on the edge of the bed with a sigh and she steps into the v of his thighs. She smoothes his hair back from his face then reaches up and slowly removes her own shirt. His eyes grow large at the sight of her skin. Reaching out with tentative fingers, he touches her waist, sending tiny shocks rippling through her. His eyes rove over her stomach, up to her bra and chest and neck, then he sighs.
In answer, she takes off her bra and the expression on his face falters with the surge of desire. He tugs her closer. His head insinuates itself between her breasts and he breathes in deeply, as if trying to take her scent into him.
Hands glide up her back loosely. He whispers her name, the name she allows only her parents to call her, and sighs again. A kiss on her stomach, then another just above her heart, then finally, his lips curl around a nipple and he sucks it into his mouth. Her stomach flips at the pleasure of the sensation and she closes her eyes against his ministrations. His other hand traces up and cups her other breast.
After a moment, he breaks away and sweeps her onto the bed beside him, laying her out as if she is some kind of goddess and he, a mere mortal granted an audience with her. He trails hands and lips over her, cataloguing her, listening to the soft moans and sighs as he strips the rest of her clothes from her and sheds his own. He lays himself next to her, in relief, and prints kisses on her forearms, her stomach and her thighs, leaving sparks in his wake. She arches, growing desperate. “Remus,” she manages to utter and he looks up at her, his eyes as dark as the night that surrounds them. “Come here,” she whispers.
He smiles and obeys, crawling into her arms, his skin hot and his body ready for her. “This is it, isn’t it?” he asks in a sudden moment of clarity, as he settles himself over her, pressing into the cradle of her thighs.
She doesn’t answer verbally, but nods and kisses his collarbone, feeling the bone and the knobble of repeated breaks beneath the skin. He lifts his head and kisses her deeply, his tongue pushing into her mouth just as she reaches for him and guides him into her.
The sound that urges from him as he sinks down is almost ragged, almost pleading.
****
Remus feels himself being swallowed up by her; every part of his body sinking into her, physically and emotionally. He hardly dares to move, so complete is the experience of their joining. He feels, suddenly, that he is gone to a second plane of existence, where pleasure and happiness and surging love are a part of the ether. It is somewhere he has never been before and for a moment, he is frightened. But then, he feels her hands on his lower back, pressing him into her further, her breath in his ear whispering encouragement and her legs wrapping around his.
She is comfortable with this he realises, and thinks that if she is comfortable, then perhaps he ought to be as well. He drops his head and kisses her again, turning himself over to the sensation.
****
Tonks opens her eyes to look at him as he begins to move and what she sees sends a shiver of love down her spine; Remus is above her, eyes squinted closed, concentration etched on his face. She has often wondered if, in moments where humanity becomes blurry, whether he would change from the quiet and reserved man he is, but realises that, right now, as he makes love to her in this precious house, that he is still the same. He is Remus and right now, his every molecule is focused on her.
She arches her back as he pushes into her rhythmically. Words of half-intelligible love tumble from his lips as he slips his arms around her shoulders and gathers her up to him. Her legs pull up and wrap around the tops of his thighs and he groans at the new position, and she knows he is hanging by a thread. He whispers her name again, chanting it through half a dozen repetitions, before he presses into her a final time. The deeper push sends her over the edge and she spins through a cycle of pleasure, realising only as she slides down that he is sliding with her. She hears his quiet gasp, even now reserved, as he comes.
When she opens her eyes, they are greeted with him looking down at her with an intensity so raw she wonders whether his heart is bleeding out right there. His hands cup her face and he kisses her, savouring their contact. Tears are glassy in his eyes and he looks away, shaking with emotion. “Oh…” he murmurs, “Oh my…” His voice trails away.
She recognises his stop as the moment of surrender; a man spread out before his lover and reduced to his bare bones. She hears him sob into the pillow. “It’s okay,” she breathes into his neck, kissing the skin there. “It’s okay.”
Slowly, she eases free of him and scoots up alongside him, pulling him close to her. He pushes his head against hers in a gesture of such dependence that she shivers. Her hands reach for the eiderdown and she pulls it up over them both. In the cocoon of warmth it creates, she feels him lighten and relax again, and her own eyes grow heavy. She kisses his forehead once, then his cheekbone and, finally, his lips, before allowing herself to sink down into sleep.
****
When he dreams that night, he dreams not of shadows and cold blood or angry yellow eyes glinting in the darkness, but of making love to her. In his arms, she turns to pure light and he cries out in joy at the beauty of it.
Through the window, the moon watches them sleep.
The End.
There we go. Hope you liked it!
Author -
joely_jo
Rating - R
Characters - Remus/Tonks, plus a couple of minor OCs, but please don’t run screaming, none of them are called Mary.
Warnings - Sex in the this part, though it's probably more 'smut with a soul' than outright smut. I should probably warn for angst, as well.
Prompt - Grey
Word Count - This part weighs in at 3691 words.
Summary - Remus returns to his family home to scatter his father’s ashes. Tonks accompanies him and together, they lay to rest some other ghosts.
Author’s Notes - The prompt ‘grey’ spoke to me of a place and a metaphor and this was the end result. I’ve always wanted to write something like this, and I figured I ought to do it before Book Seven came out. I decided to punctuate this piece with one or two photographs, to sort of give everyone the feel of the place I’m talking about. I hope this is okay.
In terms of placement in canon, this piece is set sometime around the final events of OotP. Many thanks to
writermerrinand
gloryforeverfor the beta read.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
“Goodnight Tonks… Remus…” Alice calls from the jetty as Remus rows away. The light is fading and, after the afternoon of tea and talk and toast half-burned in front of the fire, Tonks is tired. She sinks a little on the bench seat, a sigh flooding out of her lungs. Her emotions are all burnt out, the tension almost unspeakable.
He can tell all this just from looking at her.
Rowing steadily across the lake, he ponders the play of the light on her skin, the way her eyes begin to grow heavy with the rhythmic swooshing of the oars. He smiles when they finally close. Minutes later, her breathing turns slow and he realises that she is asleep. Truly asleep.
He presses on, though his pace is a little slower. All the rowing he’s done in the last few days has made his arms ache, and he finds himself thinking how easy it would be to just pull his wand from his sleeve and apparate them both across the water to the warmth of the living room at Low Water End. But even as he thinks the thought, he knows he wouldn’t do it. This lake is not the place for magic. Or at least, not the kind he knows.
As the jetty and boathouse emerge into view, Remus turns the boat around so he can line it up without knocking the sides and waking Tonks. She stirs a little in her sleep, slumping forwards even more, so that he can now barely see her face, as he pulls the boat alongside the jetty. He climbs out and then considers what to do. Still on the water, the boat is too unsteady to try to carry her out and reluctantly, he decides that the only way is to wake her.
He bends over and lifts her head gently. She mumbles something unintelligible, then shifts against him, childlike. Something bubbles like oil in his heart and, without even realising what he is doing, he lets the back of his fingers run themselves over her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin. He sighs.
“Come on, Tonks,” he whispers and tugs her up, awkwardly adjusting her sleeping weight and trying to compensate for the rocking of the boat. She wakes, surprisingly without a start, and her legs fold out underneath her.
“Remus…” she murmurs.
“It’s all right, Tonks. Just hold on to me.” He pauses, swallows. “I won’t let you go.”
He feels her arm snake around his waist and with a heave he helps her out of the boat. Her head falls onto his shoulder and they begin to walk back to the cottage.
The cottage door squeaks as he opens it and he allows his body to relax, just a touch. He eases her down onto the sofa. “There you go,” he says in a soft voice. “Home, now.”
She nods sleepily. “Thank you.”
“It’s fine.” A yawn splits his face. He turns toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make some hot chocolate. Do you want some?”
But there is no reply. He looks back and sees she has curled up and fallen back to sleep. He smiles at the picture she presents; mere girlishness and innocence. “Sweet dreams, Tonks,” he says.
****
“Don’t move.”
A cackle, evil personified. “‘Don’t move’? The little boy tells me not to move.” Another laugh. “What are you going to do, little boy? That’s your father’s wand and Mummy and Daddy aren’t here to save you. Oh, no, they’ve gone to their friends’ house. They’ve left you all alone.”
“I said, don’t move. Or I’ll kill you.”
The stench of fetid breath, the rank heat of it bearing down on him. His heart racing. Oh no. Oh no. “You won’t kill me. Now come with me, or I will bite you and your parents. And you wouldn’t want that, now, would you?”
A hand stretches out, ragged fingernails questing towards him. A scream. His own. Moonlight filling the hallway, like a ship sailing in the night. The man before him shaking, screaming, growling. A guttering in his throat. Bones cracking, stretching.
Oh no.
Panic surging through him. Oh no, no, no. “Mum! Dad! Help me!”
A whimper, then a howl. Unearthly. Slowly, amber eyes fix on him in the darkness, glinting with malevolence.
He feels the sink of teeth into his throat, the snarl and snap of jaws as they strip away, leaving flesh hanging loose and blood pouring. He screams in terror, the scream turning into a howl as the pain courses through him. The wolf looks up at the sound, freezes. Its ears press back against its head and it looks at him in fear. He cries out again, closes his eyes against the agony, and feels the darkness drag him down.
Down.
“Remus, come with me,” says a voice through the black. He opens his eyes and sees Tonks behind him, etched in the shadows. “Come with me,” she pleads, holding out a beckoning hand. He can’t quite see her face. “It’s okay. It’s got to happen, but I’ll be here. I’m waiting for you.”
Remus wakes with a surge and a sputter, like a diver trapped a minute too long beneath an ice sheet. His breath rattles in his chest and, embarrassed at his loss of control, he looks around himself hurriedly. Tonks is still asleep on the sofa, and he looks shakily away. The sweat beads on his forehead and he swipes a hand across his temples, pushing his hair out of the way. The dream has left him disorientated and he steels another look around the room, placing himself, subconsciously checking out the shadowy corners, scoping for movement.
He breathes out, forcing the breath to be slow and calming. He pinches the top of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then rubs his eyes.
A moment later and he eases himself out of the armchair he was sitting in, wraps the tartan throw around his shoulders and takes himself out of the door. The night is cool and fragrant with the scent of honeysuckle and he heads for the summerhouse. He steps onto the veranda and sits, breathing deep of the sharp air. It surges in his lungs, unpolluted, fresh, and he starts to feel the prickle in his skin dissipating. It is something else about this place he has forgotten; the air so clean and earthy, speaking to him of nature and time out of mind. He sighs and stretches.
Pulling the throw around him tighter, he watches as a hawk moth circles the lantern on the hook at the end of the veranda, bouncing fitfully against the glass every now and then. He ponders the futility of the insect’s existence; to not know the moon from an oil lantern.
He stares up into the clear sky, seeking the celestial body that rules his life. It hangs there, like the oil lantern, in the sky, pale, apparently unmoving, and wonders if he hasn’t also spent his life much like the unfortunate moth, bashing up against the moon as if it were an oil lantern to light his way. Has he ever known the difference? Has he been confused by the moon when he should have been looking for the light?
He sighs.
****
Tonks wakes slowly, not from any unnatural reason, but simply because she is cold. She blinks into the darkness of the room. Stretching her limbs out, she feels the pain of sleeping in a strange position settle in her neck. Moonlight is filling the room, and she listens to the silence, somehow knowing he is not in the house.
It is then that she spots the front door slightly ajar, open just an inch, but sufficient enough to allow a draught to creep inside. She stands and moves to close it, then stops, her hand hovering over the handle. Through the window she sees him on the veranda of the summerhouse, sitting on the steps, wrapped in the throw from the back of the armchair. His head is tilted back and she realises that he is staring at the moon, motionless, as if pinned by its beauty. The colour of his hair catches the silvery light and turns mottled, like a grey wolf’s back.
Destiny.
Alice’s words return to her mind as she watches him and as she creeps out to meet him, her wand glowing with lumos.
****
Remus feels her presence before he actually sees her, senses her like one would pick up a faint scent of home. He doesn’t move until she is nearly beside him, until the glowing end of her wand picks out his form completely. He smiles inside. She has come to him, and it is time.
It is time.
****
Tonks knows he knows she is there and for a moment, his silence and stillness irk her. How can he be so distant when what she craves is that which makes him who he is? She opens her mouth to say his name, but instead, he speaks, “Tonks, you’ll catch your death out here.”
“Oh, well,” she says.
He smiles, flashing her a glint of teeth in the darkness. “Come here,” he murmurs and spreads his arms, inviting her in. She hesitates a moment, uncertain of how to proceed. She can read the intent in his eyes, the desire that has slow-burned for months now finally daring to catch fire. Stepping forwards, she goes to him and he pulls her into his embrace, almost smothering her with the throw.
A second of panic flitters through her and she tenses, ready for flight. “Shh…” he whispers. He lets out a slow, sighing breath and strokes her hair. In answer, she nestles her face into his neck and smells his scent, imprinting it on her brain. He rests his chin on the top of her head and they stay that way for a long moment.
Finally, he speaks, “Isn’t it amazing?”
“What?” she asks, her voice reverentially quiet.
“Look,” he encourages and tilts his chin upwards. She looks upwards, over his exposed throat to the point his gaze is fixed upon. “The moon.”
She nods and studies the three-quarters full disc floating in the sky. Then, unbidden, her eyes fall to his throat again and she considers the position he has placed himself in; she beneath him, his throat raised… Vulnerable. Submissive. Wolfish.
It tears at her heart. Her hand creeps up and she trails a finger over his Adam’s apple, feeling it bob as he swallows. “Remus,” she says.
He looks down, into her eyes and suddenly, she knows what is going to happen. Her fingers reach up to smooth his hair aside, seeking confirmation that he is still man and not beast. He shivers at her touch and smiles, as if sensing her uncertainty. “It’s me,” he says, softly. His head begins to lower towards hers.
“I know, I know,” she murmurs.
The kiss is nothing like what she has expected. It is not awkward or sudden or rough. It is everything but those things. He nudges her nose with his, caressing it, then his lips move over hers, like velvet over crushed silk. He plucks at her lower lip, then touches a little more tangibly, then withdraws. His hands creep up to encase her face, their size surprising her as they cover her cheeks completely. He looks into her eyes and she sees a question there. “Yes,” she tells him, in answer.
His mouth twitches in a tiny smile, then he presses his forehead into hers. She feels the cool of his skin and remembers that they are outside. She is no longer cold, though, because something primal has risen in her gut, something that burns like the sun. She whispers his name against his skin.
The second kiss is deeper than the first, open-mouthed, and she feels the heat begin to surge and bubble inside her. “Ohhh…” he sighs into her mouth, and she hears the lowness of his voice, the pitch of desire. There is longing in his sound, as if she has woken some hidden part of him that has lain slumbering for years. A flicker of colour through the grey.
When she meets his mouth again, she feels his tongue slip into her and she shivers with the sensation. “Remus,” she says again. There is no doubt in her mind now. She stands and holds out her hand for him to take. “Come with me.”
He looks at her. In the darkness, she stands in front of the oil lamp, haloed by its yellow light and he jumps, as if startled by realisation. She smiles at him, seeing the comprehension in his eyes and waits for him to take her hand.
****
The moon paints their path back to the cottage. He stumbles now and then, his feet seeming to be heavier than lead, but she keeps hold of his hand, an anchor and rope. She guides him, steers him, keeps him held safe in her grasp and he knows now.
The question he has felt has been unanswered for so long now is clear. He knows. They approach the door to the cottage, still hanging open, and step inside. His breath surges in his throat, the knowledge of what they are about to do quickening his blood. He tries to calm himself, knowing that if he doesn’t, this will not run the course he hopes for.
****
Tonks feels him pause as they enter the living room. She meets his gaze and sees a shadow behind his eyes. He seems overwhelmed, like he is being tossed on a turbulent sea, and she wonders what he is thinking, whether he is in doubt now. She leans up to kiss the soft skin at the side of his neck, trailing her lips up over his jugular to the faint down of hair beneath his ear. He groans. His hands sweep up her back, bunching up the material of her shirt into hot fists of cotton.
Invitation in her eyes, she guides him to the hall and then starts up the stairs, leading him in almost motherly fashion. When they reach the door of her bedroom, the guest bedroom, he smiles. It is faint and tugs at the corners of his lips reluctantly, as if shy, which, she thinks, is quite possible. Remus’ smile is a thing of beauty but a thing bestowed only rarely. And now she knows the reason for it.
She backs up towards the bed, stepping through the shafts of moonlight that pattern the floor, watching as he subconsciously steps over them, as if they are solid. The corners of the room hang in shadows, and they both scope them out, he instinctively, she as a result of her training. She steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around his thin waist. He is whipcord tense and she frowns, rubbing his back lightly. Her head presses itself against his chest and she hears the rapid beating of his heart, like the first drops of rain in a thunderstorm. “Shh…” she soothes. “It’s okay.”
He looks down at her, all eyelashes and hooded lids, and she thinks that she has never seen such tenderness. He pulls back and lifts his jumper over his head, then his eyes fall to the buttons of his shirt. A tiny frown forms on his forehead as he unbuttons it.
Moments later, it is gone and she finds her eyes tracing down his torso. There are scars, as she expected, but they are more varied in size and pattern than she imagined. Some are long and thin, others shorter, whorled with layers of scar tissue. One or two are still angry, red. He ducks his head self-consciously when he notices her staring and her heart leaps. “Oh, Remus,” she says, “you’re beautiful.”
He shakes his head and looks up at her, his heart open wide to her. He sits on the edge of the bed with a sigh and she steps into the v of his thighs. She smoothes his hair back from his face then reaches up and slowly removes her own shirt. His eyes grow large at the sight of her skin. Reaching out with tentative fingers, he touches her waist, sending tiny shocks rippling through her. His eyes rove over her stomach, up to her bra and chest and neck, then he sighs.
In answer, she takes off her bra and the expression on his face falters with the surge of desire. He tugs her closer. His head insinuates itself between her breasts and he breathes in deeply, as if trying to take her scent into him.
Hands glide up her back loosely. He whispers her name, the name she allows only her parents to call her, and sighs again. A kiss on her stomach, then another just above her heart, then finally, his lips curl around a nipple and he sucks it into his mouth. Her stomach flips at the pleasure of the sensation and she closes her eyes against his ministrations. His other hand traces up and cups her other breast.
After a moment, he breaks away and sweeps her onto the bed beside him, laying her out as if she is some kind of goddess and he, a mere mortal granted an audience with her. He trails hands and lips over her, cataloguing her, listening to the soft moans and sighs as he strips the rest of her clothes from her and sheds his own. He lays himself next to her, in relief, and prints kisses on her forearms, her stomach and her thighs, leaving sparks in his wake. She arches, growing desperate. “Remus,” she manages to utter and he looks up at her, his eyes as dark as the night that surrounds them. “Come here,” she whispers.
He smiles and obeys, crawling into her arms, his skin hot and his body ready for her. “This is it, isn’t it?” he asks in a sudden moment of clarity, as he settles himself over her, pressing into the cradle of her thighs.
She doesn’t answer verbally, but nods and kisses his collarbone, feeling the bone and the knobble of repeated breaks beneath the skin. He lifts his head and kisses her deeply, his tongue pushing into her mouth just as she reaches for him and guides him into her.
The sound that urges from him as he sinks down is almost ragged, almost pleading.
****
Remus feels himself being swallowed up by her; every part of his body sinking into her, physically and emotionally. He hardly dares to move, so complete is the experience of their joining. He feels, suddenly, that he is gone to a second plane of existence, where pleasure and happiness and surging love are a part of the ether. It is somewhere he has never been before and for a moment, he is frightened. But then, he feels her hands on his lower back, pressing him into her further, her breath in his ear whispering encouragement and her legs wrapping around his.
She is comfortable with this he realises, and thinks that if she is comfortable, then perhaps he ought to be as well. He drops his head and kisses her again, turning himself over to the sensation.
****
Tonks opens her eyes to look at him as he begins to move and what she sees sends a shiver of love down her spine; Remus is above her, eyes squinted closed, concentration etched on his face. She has often wondered if, in moments where humanity becomes blurry, whether he would change from the quiet and reserved man he is, but realises that, right now, as he makes love to her in this precious house, that he is still the same. He is Remus and right now, his every molecule is focused on her.
She arches her back as he pushes into her rhythmically. Words of half-intelligible love tumble from his lips as he slips his arms around her shoulders and gathers her up to him. Her legs pull up and wrap around the tops of his thighs and he groans at the new position, and she knows he is hanging by a thread. He whispers her name again, chanting it through half a dozen repetitions, before he presses into her a final time. The deeper push sends her over the edge and she spins through a cycle of pleasure, realising only as she slides down that he is sliding with her. She hears his quiet gasp, even now reserved, as he comes.
When she opens her eyes, they are greeted with him looking down at her with an intensity so raw she wonders whether his heart is bleeding out right there. His hands cup her face and he kisses her, savouring their contact. Tears are glassy in his eyes and he looks away, shaking with emotion. “Oh…” he murmurs, “Oh my…” His voice trails away.
She recognises his stop as the moment of surrender; a man spread out before his lover and reduced to his bare bones. She hears him sob into the pillow. “It’s okay,” she breathes into his neck, kissing the skin there. “It’s okay.”
Slowly, she eases free of him and scoots up alongside him, pulling him close to her. He pushes his head against hers in a gesture of such dependence that she shivers. Her hands reach for the eiderdown and she pulls it up over them both. In the cocoon of warmth it creates, she feels him lighten and relax again, and her own eyes grow heavy. She kisses his forehead once, then his cheekbone and, finally, his lips, before allowing herself to sink down into sleep.
****
When he dreams that night, he dreams not of shadows and cold blood or angry yellow eyes glinting in the darkness, but of making love to her. In his arms, she turns to pure light and he cries out in joy at the beauty of it.
Through the window, the moon watches them sleep.
The End.
There we go. Hope you liked it!