Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/440770.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Remus_Lupin/Oliver_Wood
  Character:
      Remus_Lupin, Oliver_Wood
  Additional Tags:
      Abandoned_Work_-_Unfinished_and_Discontinued, Voyeurism, Underage_Sex,
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Lusty_Month_of_May
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-05-01 Words: 2701
****** The Agony and The Ecstasy of Poor Mr Lupin ******
by supergrover24
Summary
     Remus Lupin has a voyeurism kink.
Notes
     A/N: Parts 1-4 of an abandoned WIP, originally for the lusty month of
     May challenge at
     [http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=93.2]
pervy_werewolf.
Originally Posted on LJ between May 1-4, 2005.
When he was 14, Remus discovered something about the Quidditch changing room
that he didn't share with anyone else—not even Sirius. There was a small
section of the wall, just about five square centimetres big, that wasn't
protected against spells. They were studying wards, and he'd randomly picked a
wall one night to see if he could figure out which had been employed and he
learned that there were anti-spying spells all over the room.
Except for one tiny spot just above his head, the dull grey of the wall shining
like a beacon in the brilliance of the wards surrounding it.
Remus only peered through it that one time—and weren't advanced spells
brilliant?—but he didn't fix it or report it. He didn't want his friends to
tease him for being a spoilsport, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't get in trouble
for mucking with the wards in the first place. Over time he forgot all about
it, especially when faced with falling for his best friend, and then losing him
because Sirius couldn't bother to think before acting. In fact, Remus didn't
think of it again until he was teaching at Hogwarts, all those years later, and
he overheard some fourth years complaining that wards were almost as bad as
potions.
Later that night, while making his rounds, Remus made a detour to the changing
room to see if the hole still existed. He was sure that it had been fixed by
now, and was shocked to discover that same spot, glaring in its lack of
swirling colours. Where once he had to stand on his toes to look through the
crack, he now had to bend over. After a quick glance around to ensure his
privacy, and with a whispered spell, Remus once again peeped through the secret
opening in the wards.
Only this time, there was something to see. Or rather, someone.
A boy…almost a man, really, standing under the water cascading down over his
back, head bowed, arms outstretched and braced on the wall. Remus didn't know
who he was, except that he must be a sixth or seventh year, because no one
younger could have deltoids like those; flexing as he stretched, the ripple of
the muscles playing down his back to the curve of his arse.
Remus shifted, pressing closer to the wall, and realized suddenly that he was
hard, that his cock was throbbing in his trousers and he couldn't remember the
last time he'd been so instantly aroused. He let his hand slide down the wall,
pretending that he wasn't going to cup himself, that he wouldn't press his heel
against the base of his cock to slow his excitement.
The boy in the showers shifted, and Remus swallowed a gasp at the movement. The
boy had spread his legs, thrusting his arse out ever-so-slightly and his left
hand had left the wall and was—dear gods--moving slowly in a way that no one
could mistake for anything other than what it was. Remus knew he should look
away. He was a teacher and this was a boy—one of his students, one he was meant
to protect, however ironic that notion was.
Still, he watched those back muscles, the firm globes of the boy's arse as they
tensed and flexed the closer he got to orgasm. Remus pressed harder against his
cock, determined not to break this one rule, refusing to become that dirty old
man who wanked over young boys, but then the boy turned, and Remus saw the
smooth chest and the taut nipples, and tried so hard not to look down to see
the--fuck--beautiful prick moving in and out of that tight fist, and still,
Remus wouldn't look up. He didn't want to know whose trust he'd violated, whose
privacy he'd invaded, but even as he reached into his trousers and grasped his
cock, he couldn't help himself. He let his eyes travel up, away from the body
that was more man than boy and to the face of Oliver Wood, head back, mouth
open, imagining the moans that must be echoing in the cavernous shower as
Oliver's body shook with the force of his orgasm.
Remus felt his own climax building and tried to stave it off, but it was too
late, and the pulses of his release washed over his hand, the heat of it
burning his skin, like the shame burning his soul.
**
Remus lay in his bed later that night, tossing and turning, trying desperately
to sleep, but unable. Counting kneazles didn't work, nor did reviewing the next
day's lesson plans in his head. Finally he sat up, elbows on his knees, face
buried in his hands.
He'd masturbated—out in the open where anyone could have seen—because of a
student. A boy he had to teach in little over three hours. A boy who was more a
man, whose cock was long and thick and the way it looked, peeking out of the
strong fist that gripped it—
"No. Remus, you perverted old sod, you will not starting thinking about that
again."
Shaking his head in resignation, though he told himself it was determination,
Remus threw back the covers and got up from the bed. He would find something to
distract him from thoughts of Oliver Wood's flat stomach and the way it
quivered when he—
"Damn it!"
He wrapped his dressing gown around his shoulders, frustration making his arms
refuse to slide easily into the sleeves. Breathing deeply, trying to focus on
the task at hand, he slowed down...one arm at a time; sash pulled tight 'round
his waist and knotted many times for good measure. Remus looked down his body,
the graying chest hair poking out of the gap, and laughed. No way would a
beautiful boy like Wood want to be tied down to his bed, arching his back as
Remus raked his nails down the sweat slicked skin, glistening in the
candlelight—
"Papers."
He'd grade those essays on the proper way to cast and block the Babbling Curse.
Reading those would surely put him to sleep. Nothing was more mind-numbing than
the same six points written out twenty times in all the same way. Second-years
really weren't the most creative students.
Four rolls of parchment and a bottle of spilt ink later, Remus pushed
everything away and let his forehead meet the hard surface of table.
Repeatedly. No matter what he did, what disparate thoughts he tried to grab
hold of as they flitted through his brain, Remus knew it was hopeless.
His body was one over-sensitised sense memory of arousal, fear and loathing,
and he knew that the more he tried to fight it, the more desperate he'd be to
give in.
And how much sweeter it would be when he surrendered to temptation.
Desperate, he rose from the makeshift desk and began pacing the room. Along the
wall with the fireplace...
Oliver grinned at him from beneath the rushing water, hair plastered to his
head, water dripping from his nose.
.
...left toward the coat rack, neatly side-stepping the ottoman he'd kicked
earlier in a fit of anger...
A pink tongue appeared between Oliver's lips, licking the gathering drops of
water away before he dropped his gaze to the floor.
...left again, trailing his right hand along the stone wall as he approached
the heavy door that kept Remus locked inside as much as it kept others out...
The coy act didn't last long, and when Oliver raised his head again, there was
an intensity burning in them, daring Remus to stop hiding and to step under the
spray with him.
...and a final left turn brought Remus to the door of his bedroom, the four-
poster bed calling to him, offering up its warmth and security, a sanctuary
from his libido and his conscience.
**
Muttering, Remus entered his bedroom, eyes focused on breaking the tangle of
knots he'd tied into his sash earlier. What on earth had possessed him to put
three, no four knots in this damn thing?
"Professor?"
Remus stopped short at the whisper, head snapping up to stare at his bed.
At the man on his bed.
At the naked, blindfolded man tied to his bed.
"Professor? I was afraid you wouldn't come back."
Remus didn't say anything, choosing instead to take in the vision before him.
Pale skin was on display, interrupted only by the slashes of black across the
man's eyes and wrists. There was the lightest dusting of hair around his
nipples, and a darker trail leading down from his navel. Remus purposely didn't
look at the cock, instead tracing the line of muscle that seemed to start from
the man's collarbone and continued along his arms, outstretched and pulled taut
against the leather cords securing him to the bedposts.
Remus swallowed, imagining those hands wrapping around the bonds, curling into
fists as the pain and pleasure Remus was inflicting got to be too much for the
man to bear.
Suddenly, the dressing gown was off, and Remus found himself on his knees
between spread legs. He ran his hands up from the man's ankles, feeling the
fine hairs as they raised and separated between his questing fingers. Up, up,
up ever so slowly, over the calves to the knees, dipping behind them, searching
out sensitive spots.
"Please, Professor."
Remus pinched the skin under his fingers, eliciting a gasp from his quarry.
"Don't talk. Or I'll be forced to gag you." At the man's sharp intake of
breath, Remus chuckled. "No, I want to hear the noises you make. Your moans,
your screams, the way you fight to catch your breath. Just no talking.
Understand?"
The man nodded.
Knowing it wouldn't be seen, Remus allowed himself a small smile before he
pushed the man's legs further apart. He admired the visible strain on the
thighs, the tightening of quadriceps, and most especially, the way those
beautiful balls jumped, exposing the dark pink hole that Remus couldn't wait to
taste.
"Mmm, Oliver. I could eat you up, you know."
Remus smacked his lips purposefully, enjoying the way Oliver arched up as if
offering himself up for dinner. The movement caught the light of the full moon
shining in through the window, combining with the flickering of the candle
flame to give Oliver's sweaty skin an almost nacreous sheen. Remus groaned as
he gave in to his need and licked the jutting hipbone. He put all his weight on
Oliver's legs, trapping him against the bed while Remus tasted the salt, traces
of soap and boy exploding on his tongue.
It was too much, and Remus didn't want to wait any longer. He grasped Oliver's
prick, long and slightly curved, and ran his tongue around the tip, coaxing the
shining head from its covering. The taste wasn't enough, though. He needed
more...more of Oliver, more of the youthful innocence one could only find in a
seventeen-year-old boy's body. Panting, he grabbed Oliver's thighs again and
pushed his knees up to his shoulders, exposing the hole where the scent was
strongest.
Remus paused to briefly flick his tongue over Oliver's hole, the musky taste
almost sending him over the edge. This was the taste he craved, the taste he'd
missed for so many years. Youth, virtue...trust.
He couldn't stop himself, couldn't stop the frisson of need that was crawling
up his spine, threatening to explode from every fibre of his being. Remus bent
Oliver in half and slid his cock inside the tight heat, loving the way Oliver
arched up to meet him, arms straining against his binds, the scream echoing in
the tiny room.
Remus thrust harder, over and over, wrapping his hands around Oliver's throat
as he did so, feeling the thrum of blood, the pureness of Oliver's soul as he
took it from him. Remus was close, so very close, and the scent was getting
stronger; the tears leaking out from under the blindfold emanating the salty
smell of lost innocence and Remus had to taste, had to lap up the tears with
his tongue but it still wasn't enough, but Remus didn't know how to get more.
And then the moon shone brighter, the wet streaks glistened and Moony broke
free and sank his teeth into Oliver's neck and there, there was the taste he'd
been craving and it was good and full of life and hope and promise and he was
taking it and—
Remus covered his mouth with his hand as he ran to the bathroom, barely making
it to the toilet before he became violently ill. He sat on the floor, shaking,
until the early morning light appeared.
**
Remus went through the next day in a haze. Lesson plans were abandoned for all
lower-year classes; instead he told the children to choose a topic they'd
already discussed and to write three feet of parchment on it—starting in class.
Sitting behind his desk, he wrote furiously in his journal, scribbles that no
one other than he could read, not that it stopped students from approaching him
with questions, trying to read over his shoulder.
He was still in his chair when the seventh years trooped in that afternoon. All
four houses in one class had seemed like such a good idea at the start of the
school year. Now, though, a few days from the full moon, Remus's nerves were
raw and the overpowering scent of teenaged hormones was setting his skin on
fire. He kept his gaze on his journal until the last student settled down and
there was silence in the room.
Taking a deep breath, which he immediately regretted due to the onslaught of
innocence sweat soap blood arousal, Remus set down his book and stood to face
the students that would be hardest to fool. And Oliver. Sweet, beautiful,
innocent Oliver, who stared at Remus in a way that was completely not special,
because all the others were looking at him the same way.
Like he was a professor on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
"Class is cancelled for today. Go enjoy the weather." Remus collapsed back into
his chair and closed his eyes. The classroom exploded with the muted chatter of
teenagers suddenly set free. Plans to meet on the Quidditch pitch or by the
lake were heard, and he ignored the whispers of a clandestine rendezvous being
arranged. Leave, he thought. Just leave me alone with my perversions.
"Professor?"
No. It was another fantasy, another dream. He didn't need to open his eyes
because there was no one in front of him. Oliver Wood was not speaking in that
delightful brogue and he was definitely not begging Remus to bugger him
senseless over the desk.
"Professor Lupin? Are you okay?"
No. He was definitely not okay.
"Yes, Mr. Wood?" Remus sighed, opening his eyes. "Is there something you
needed?"
Dear Merlin on a jumping broomstick, the boy was blushing. What possible reason
could he have to be blushing? Did he somehow know that Remus lusted after him?
Did he know that Remus had spent the last thirty hours or so thinking of how
his pale skin would look gleaming with sweat, red welts from a whip only adding
to the perfect beauty? Did he think of Remus the same way? Did he suddenly
realize that Remus had transformed not into a werewolf, but into Ginny Weasley,
with a crush the size of Great Britain on Harry?
"Professor?" Remus realized with a start that he'd closed his eyes again, and
opened them in what he hoped was a calm manner.
"I just wanted to hand in that essay you assigned for last class. Um, you said
I could hand it in today? Because I was sick? Remember?"
"Yes, Mr. Wood, of course." Remus reached out to take the roll of parchment
from the boy, using all of his self-control to not jump when their fingers
brushed. So hot, so alive. "If that is all, you should go meet your friends."
Oliver smiled and nodded before he turned to leave. Remus watched him walk away
and tried to tell himself that he wasn't.
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