Title: Wish You Were Here

Disclaimer: Characters herein do not belong to me. They belong to other people with a lot more money and clout then me.

Author: Lady Feylene

Warning: Slash. Male on Male intercourse, rape, a little bit of torture. And much twistedness.

Pairings: Lucius/Remus, Severus/Remus, hints of Sirius/Remus.

Dedication: This is for...eh. That nice guy at the bike rental place who only charged me an hour's rent for an all day rental. Gods bless a large rack and low cut shirts. ;-)

Author's Note: Written in beautiful Yosemite Valley. I was going to do a lot more writing, but I haven't had time. Now, on my last night, listening to a Pink Floyd CD, I was inspired. This is written in first person present, but it spans years and years and years. It's Severus speaking, just for a heads up. It sort of dark, sort of weird. I like it though

Wish You Were Here

Sometimes I wish you were here.

Not here in this room, you *are* here in this room. But here beside me, rather then beside him. In all honesty, I can't see what appeal he holds for you. He is a cruel man, and I cannot entertain notions that he treats you kindly at all. I have seen the bruises on your face as many times as not, and I am sure there are plenty of bruises that I can't see.

He is an attractive man, yes. I will give you that much, but looks are not everything. In fact, looks mean very little. And *I* am not unattractive. But your eyes fall to him, not to me.

What does he give you? A warm bed, promises of safety? And a gilded cage. You are not a fool. You must see he thinks of you as an animal. A very exotic and tame animal, but an animal. I suppose you are. But aren't we all, when it comes right down to it?

What is there, that separates man from the animals? I have traveled the world, and seen many things. I have seen man and beast, and I see little difference between the two. No. This is not true. An animal-one without rational thought as we see it-does not make excuses for the evils it does. It does no evils, simply acts in the name of survival.

Are you, then, acting in the name of survival? Did you fear, for your life? I don't see why. You hardly were a soldier. You perhaps scored a walk on role in war, but nothing more. Or did you see yourself backed against the wall? An animal in a trap. And you would rather lick the hand that offers to feed you then to bite it.

You looked down upon me because I killed. And what do you think he does? He does as his lord orders him, as I did once as well. And he has killed far more then I. You must smell it on him, when he comes to your bed of nights. The stink of blood and death and hatred.

These cannot be arousing scents to you. Or can they? Perhaps they call to a certain primal aspect of you. Do you ever have the need to rip, to tear, to kill? do you long have prey fall before you, snapping in your jaws as blood spurts across your tongue?

Are you rough in bed, as your species would dictate, or are you tender as your nature would have one believe? I mix of the two, I am certain.

But it is not my place to know these things. It is his. And he knows I have looked upon you recently, with eyes not of loathing but of interest. And he flaunts you. His hand on your knee, his lips against your ear. And always his eyes upon me.

You must see what it is he does. But you laugh and smile, and oftentimes will turn your head to catch his lips. Do you enjoy the pain? Is that it?

You must. And what is it, that he does to you? Do his fingers leave those bruises, or something far more sinister? Perhaps he lashes you, strikes at you. Bites you. Do you bleed, for him? And when he takes you, does he prepare you, or does he simply thrust into you like an animal in heat?

That's what it comes down to, doesn't it. You've traded in any claim you once had to humanity. You allowed yourself to be collared, leashed and chained to his side. And he won't let go of you easily, when you realize you've made a mistake. He will hold onto you. And then what?

Will you spit and hiss and strike against him? Or will you subdue yourself, resign yourself to a life as a lap dog?

I would never make you my dog. My bitch, perhaps, but never my dog.

You're looking at me. I cannot read your eyes. I have never been able to read your eyes. In school, in passing, here, now. But you do dip your head to me, and slyly grin when he isn't looking. I am inclined to believe you are flirting with me.

You are. You excuse yourself. He is busy. Papers of some sort. He pretends as if he were important. He is not. I wait. I make my excuses. He is oblivious.

You are waiting for me in the hallway. You walk away, casting eyes over your shoulder to see if I follow. I do. How can I not?

But it is not what I think. You shove me roughly against the wall. You tell me not look at you in that way, that I am asking for trouble. I kiss you. You turn against me. You truly are an animal. You do not hi with a closed fist, but with an open palm, nails out. You strike like a woman.

And then you draw back, apologize, and tell me it's for my own good.

I tell you that you don't know what's good for me. I could force you, if I truly wanted to. But I have desire to drag you unwilling to my bed. That is what he does, not I.

You look saddened, all of a sudden. I am tempted to bare my soul to you, but I do not. I am not a stupid man. I may be infatuated with you, but I am not going to throw all caution to the wind on account of that. You raise your hand to my cheek, and your fingers are rough. I can feel callouses on the pads of your fingers. You kiss me, and it's a bittersweet thing. You sigh against my lips, and you lean your head against my shoulder and say things softly that I cannot hear. But my arms go around you, and I hold you. And then you pull away, shaking your head.

You must go back to him.

***

Another day. Near the end. You are still by his side, but your eyes dart here and there. An animal looking for escape. His lord has been by recently. You hid. I do not blame you. And now it is night, and he and I are speaking on many things. War, life, religion...

The hour grows late. He invites me back to his rooms. A nightcap, he claims. I know it is something different, but morbid curiosity urges my on. I did not throw my lot in with Voldemort for no reason, I have my cruelness. All men do, I simply do not deny mine.

He leads me to his chambers. You are there. Naked, spread upon the bed. You are an Adonis, smooth and golden. And you seem surprised to see me. You move as though to cover yourself, but he stops you.

He tells me I may watch.

He directs me to a chair. He moves over you, and I can tell that you are frightened. He either does not care, or does not see. Or perhaps neither. Perhaps he enjoys it. He holds you down, his hands rough on your body. He does make you bleed.

You hardly make a sound, through it. I wish I could say it disgusts me, but as his knifes cuts thin swathes across your body, I do become aroused. You whimper, straining away from the blade. He laughs. He threatens you, his voice like silk. I yawn, as though bored. He laughs.

He asks me if I am enjoying myself, and I shrug. He cuts you deeper.

He is clever with his knife. He twists it inside of you, before climbing atop you himself. There is hatred in your eyes. You lay beneath him like a board. When he is done, he laughs again, and offers you to me.

I tell him I do not wish a battered corpse for my bed mate. He scowls, kicking you. Tells you to show some life. You growl.

He claims you are broken. He has no more use of you. How funny. He rarely grows bored with his toys so easily. He has only had you what, a few months? But at least he has grown tired of you.

I ask what plans to do with you. He shrugs, and flips his knife casually in his hand. I move to stop him. I will take you, I tell him. Once you are healed, you will suit my tastes well. He shrugs, offhandedly. He has no use of you, and makes a gift of you.

I force you to dress, and take you to my rooms. You will not look at me. You know I have saved your life. You rest. You heal. You come to my bed when you are well, but you are somewhere far away when I make love to you. I ignore it. I take you many times, delighting in the feel of your skin beneath my hands, my lips.

I release you after the war. I give you the option of staying by my side, or of leaving. You leave me.

What did I expect? I watched you go. You never looked back. You are an animal, Lupin. An animal seeking whatever survival it can. You gave yourself to me, knowing I would keep you alive. I never asked for your body, I never would have. But you felt there was a need. You owed my a debt.

There was no debt. I am not an animal. A gift is a gift, Lupin, regardless of what it is. You likened me to Lucius, and that was a mistake. No matter. I will play your little game, and I will pay you back in kind. You've wounded me, though I doubt you see it as such.

Did you ever care for me? I doubt it. You traded in once more. That is all you ever do. Trading once bed for another, one life for the next. And you smile through it all, toss your head, laugh a little. You play the part of the willing whore, refusing cold comfort for a warm bed.

***

You have not changed. Looking at you now, as you take that damned potion, you have not changed. You are, in essence, Albus' whore. Though it is not your body you're selling, it is your talents. You have no true skills as a teacher, but you are homeless and penniless, and you will take whatever is offered to you. And even now you are batting your lashes at me, and smiling and cocking your head. How many times did I wish that you were here, in the school? And hated myself for it.

Whatever desire I had for you once comes crashing back, unbidden. But I ignore it. Stalk out, cursing your name. I hate you. I hate what you do to me. I swore I would never look upon you with warm eyes again and now you are here, inviting me to share your bed once more.

I wonder if your friends ever saw you for what you really were. Is that why you ran with them? Because they protected you, your secret. They gave you a sense of family, a sense of belonging. All that is gone now. All you have left now, is me.

And I will not make myself available to you. I loathe you.

***

I loathe you. Even as you writhe under me, moaning my name, I hate you. You've brought me to this. You've broken through to me, and I have lost control. You were lucky, the last time. The boy was there. You could not present yourself to me with the boy there. But this time...

Tis time you were waiting. Tired, and saddened, with haunted eyes and a tired smile. You offered e a drink, and fool that I am I accepted. You claimed you just wanted a bit of company, to sit and chat with a familiar face. I relented.

You were subtle. Your hand on my knee, every so often. Your eyes. Large and timid and so damn hunted. And then you began to cry. It was in earnest. I sighed, grumbled, and placed a hand on your shoulder. You collapsed into me. And then your lips were on mine, your hands slipping my robes off, and I gave into you.

Now we lie together, and you bury your head in my chest. I can still feel your hot release against my thigh. You are warm in my arms, and frailer in my arms then you were so many years ago. And there are more scars across your body. You ask me if this was all right, and I give a dry barking laugh. You ask me now?

It was all right. I find I have been in much need of an intimate encounter. And you are all I have left, as well. The only other lover I ever took fell to the Aurors, killed before his prime. I miss him still. You must miss Black. I know he shared your bed in school. But that is not something to think of now.

You lift your head to me, and kiss me once more. You ask me to stay with you. That is dangerous, but I agree.

***

I should have known it was as before. You go running back to Black, the moment the opportuniy presents itself. But that's all right. I do what I can, and though I do not get your lover the punishment he deserves, I at least get you removed from this school.

You come to me, before you leave. You plead with me to listen to you, to allow you to explain. I do not care for your excuses. I pull you to me, I kiss you, and then I take you roughly over my desk. I will take what you have given me, and nothing more. You have given me your body, that is all. Do not offer me false words of caring or tenderness. There is no caring or tenderness in you. I find my release, and shove you roughly away. I do not care for yours. I do not care for you. I have fallen for your lies and pretty eyes one too many times. First with Lucius, now with Black. And I do not care for it at all.

I send you on your way, without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~