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For [livejournal.com profile] angharad04. May this find you happy and sane, and take your mind of mother-in-laws. When you read this one, LOCK THE DAMN DOOR. Or jam it with something. *grin* You wanted lemons, and lemons you shall receive.

Title: Original Sinsuality
Author: featherxquill
Pairing: Minerva McGonagall/Remus Lupin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Set against the backdrop of Harry's fifth year, Minerva pays a visit to Grimmauld Place. It is a tense year. People take comfort where it is offered.

A/N: I'm kind of obsessed with Tori Amos at the moment. 'Original Sinsuality' is from her album, "The Beekeper", and the lyrics in the story are from that song.




Original sin? No, I don’t think so. Original Sinsuality…


The London night was cool on her skin, Grimmauld Place deserted. Her heeled boots clicked on the asphalt as she walked, slowly, approaching the house with a sense of something like apprehension, something like reverence. She did not know why; it was the same old dump as always, but quiet now without the buzz of the school break. She, Albus and the children back at Hogwarts, the Weasleys returned to the Burrow. Only Remus and Sirius remained there.

Remus.

She shook her head, irritated with herself. That boy, that man… his quiet acceptance of his lot in life, his calm voice of reason between Sirius and Severus, the fierce intelligence behind his eyes… She felt something for him in the pit of her stomach, the depths of her heart and the hot centre of her womanhood that she did not want to acknowledge. The silly naivety of a woman far past her prime; something that had grown out of admiring him as a student. Ridiculous and inappropriate.

She climbed the stairs and rapped on the door.

He looked tired when he answered, exhausted. And no wonder, the moon that hung in the sky was nothing more than a sliver. It had been full very recently. But he smiled, and it lit up his face.

“Minerva, come in…”

There was a fire burning in the living room, and he took her cloak from her shoulders as she entered. Just for a moment, it felt like coming home.

“Can I get you something, Minerva? Tea, ginger newt?

She smiled. “That would be lovely.” Kreacher was nowhere to be seen, so Remus made the tea himself when they entered the kitchen – set the pot to boil on the stove.

“There’s nothing like making it yourself, real. Like my mother did.” He turned, then, and those intelligent eyes of his were alight with curiosity. “How are things at the school? How’s Harry?”

She let out a heavy breath. “Harry seems to be doing well enough, though the nightmares are troubling him badly, I think, after what happened to Arthur. Albus wants to arrange some Occlumency lessons with Severus.”

One tawny brow arched up into his hairline. “Severus?”

A smile twitched at her lips. “Yes, I know. I think he’s afraid of doing it himself, of You-Know-Who’s feelings coming through Harry.” Then she scowled. “As far as the school goes, that horrible woman…” Her throat choked with anger, and she could not speak.

His eyes met hers, and there was something in their amber depths that made the anger leave her, and be replaced by something else. Shame, mostly, at what him looking at her did to her knees, and the warm centre between her legs.

Silence reigned for a time, as the water boiled and he set about making tea for them both. When he stepped close to her and pressed the warm mug into her hands, though, she was reminded of why she was there.

“How are you coping, hauled up in here? How’s Sirius? Albus is very concerned. We all are.”

He moved back a little, so their eyes met, but did not step away. Something hot and cold shot up Minerva’s spine. “The full moon was… not good, this time.” He didn’t elaborate. He knew she understood.

When he had been in first year, unsure and frightened, like all first years, but with the added burden of a monthly transformation that tore his mind to pieces, the young wolverine had taken a small comfort from the warmth of a tabby cat curled against its belly. Later, of course, teenage pride had ended that, but in that first year Minerva had enjoyed the feeling of being able to give some consolation to a frightened little boy.

“Sirius is frustrated, and sullen. He’s locked himself in the attic with Buckbeak, again.” He looked away for a moment, and lifted the mug to take a sip. When he raised his head again, there was such weary pain in those eyes that she just wanted to kiss it all away. “It’s like he thinks I won’t understand. Like he doesn’t realise that he’s not the only one who’s been locked away, misunderstood, and persecuted. He seems to find a better companion in the hippogriff.”

She closed the distance between them, and lifted her hand to cup his cheek. “We all take comfort where we think best to find it. It does not mean he loves you any less.” For a moment, she regretted the action, the intimacy of it. She expected him to pull away from her, but their eyes locked, and he seemed to read it all in her gaze. He twisted his face in her hand, and his warm lips were on her palm, kissing it softly. He lifted his hand to lay it over hers, and twined his fingers with hers.

“Can I take some from you, tonight, Minerva?”

She stepped closer to him, and there were tears on her lashes as she pressed her face to his, cheek to cheek. “Perhaps we can take some from each other.”


He lit the candles in the bedroom as she disrobed, so that the flickering orange light captured her movements, caught the shadows on her throat and beneath her breasts. It had been a while, for her. Despite how much she had fantasised about this, she was nervous as the last of her clothing fell to the floor, and he laid his wand on the window sill and was began to unbutton his own.

“Let me help you…”

And she was there, nimble fingers plucking at the buttons of his shirt, exposing his muscular, hairy chest inch by inch, tracing fingertips over the gossamer scars that marred the satiny surface of his skin, but only made him more animal and beautiful. He was pulling the pins out of her hair, raking his fingers through it, and her tongue trailed over one of his nipples. He let out a guttural growl, and buried his face against her neck, breathing her scent and kissing hungrily at her throat with all the fervent desire of a wolf.

He was strong against her, so very strong and male. His shirt was discarded to the floor, and she dropped to her knees upon the carpet, lifting her eyes to meet his, fingers working open the muggle jeans. It could have just been the reflection from the candles, but she was sure she could see fire in his eyes. That animal smile was upon his lips, and then she freed his erection from the jeans.

“Oh, Remus…” But all thought was gone. Everything, gone as she parted her lips and took him inside her, and his fingers twined into her hair. One hand wrapped about his length, and the other lifted to cup his balls. Growls from deep within his throat, whispers of her name that made her warm, all warm and hot, as she drew her lips back along his length, licked at the head, and scraped her teeth along him. Both his hands were in her hair, alternately massaging her scalp and taking fistfuls of the silken blackness, guiding her strokes and moaning, almost howling with approval.

She could feel him tightening, feel the taut muscles of his thighs straining, then his hand was grasping a fist of her hair again, and he was pulling her away. “No…” His voice was gravel, and his lips twisted once again into a devilish smile. There was definitely fire in his eyes. “Ladies first.”

He helped her to her feet, kicking the jeans away with an impatience that showed just how much he wanted her; then he was pressing himself against her, pushing her back. Their foreheads touched, and his lips were upon hers, and the kiss was hungry and wanton and every bit as intense as his gaze. His fingers laced through hers, and he lifted her arms above her head, pushing her back toward the bed and lowering her onto it, hovering over her like an angel, or a predator.

Leaving her arms over her head, he let his hands travel down them, trailing over elbow and shoulder and down to cup her breasts, kissing her face, her throat, and then down to her nipples, twisting them playfully, lapping at them, hardening to granite beneath his touch. He trailed lips over her stomach, sliding down, parting her knees to kneel between them. Fingernails raked over her thighs, lifting first one leg and trailing hands over calves as though to mould her beneath him, or capture her very contours for his memory, then placing her ankle on his shoulder. Lifting the other leg and paying special attention to the foot, tickling beneath it then sniffing at her toes, drawing them, one at a time, into his mouth. Worshiping her, devouring her. Laying the foot on his other shoulder.

He slid toward her, so her legs pushed out over his head, and he nibbled at her behind the knees, then up her thighs. She felt herself arching herself toward him, desperate for his touch, and he smirked.

“You smell wonderful.”

She reached down then, and twined her fingers in his hair as he had hers, burying them in that unruly mop, and pulling him toward her. Dissolving into the bed as his tongue touched her, and his fingers slid within her, one finding her clitoris and rolling over it, again and again.

Head arching back against the bed, moans upon her lips, cries, not caring if Sirius heard them, if the whole world heard them. He was tender and rough and his cheeks were sandpaper against her skin. Spinning, heat rising within her, whispering her name, then tugging at his hair again, forcing him to stop.

She could hear the breathlessness in her voice. “I’ve never been much into chivalry. I want to come when you come.”

He smiled, and moved up to kiss her again, hard and passionate and tasting of where he had just been. “If you insist, Minerva.”

She reached down to wrap her hand about him again. Smiling, and twining her legs about his waist, she guided him into her.

Heat, then, nothing but heat and scent, her fingernails scoring lines down his back and his teeth at her throat, becoming but one beast, a beast of limbs entwined and sweat on skin and moans; moans and cries, and the world spinning.

The world exploded, she screamed and he howled, actually howled, as her mind shattered into tiny fragments and he came deep within her, and then they collapsed on each other, warm and sticky and smiling.

He lay beside her, facing her, trailing fingers through her hair, knotted up now, and brushing it out of her face so he could look at her. Her eyes were on his lips, on the minute expressions of his face. Their legs were still twined together lazily, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. He’d propped his head on a fist now.

He smiled. “I hope those Gryffindors can spare you for one night. I don’t want to let you go, just yet.”

It had been so, so long since she had felt this, the warm security of someone wrapped about her, the illusion of having nothing else in the world to be concerned over while in those strong arms.

“I’m sure they can.” Her smile was every bit as lazy and satisfied as his, but there was laughter in her eyes. “I hope we didn’t keep Sirius awake.”

He laughed, then, threw back that wolfish head and cackled, then kissed her, lips and eyelids and the tears of happiness that were once again glittering on her cheeks.

Eventually they cooled, and slid beneath the duvet. He pulled her against him, and she curled comfortably into the arc made by his body, against his stomach like the tabby cat had all those years ago with the frightened first year.

This time, however, she could not deny that she took some comfort from it, too.


…You are not alone, I say. You are not alone in your Darkness.

Date: 2005-04-27 06:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] angharad04.livejournal.com
Thank you so much for taking the time to write me such a beautiful, and stimulating, piece! This has truly made my day much brighter! :) Thank you again!

Date: 2005-04-28 03:27 am (UTC)
ext_6725: (Default)
From: [identity profile] featherxquill.livejournal.com
*Beams* I'm glad you enjoyed!

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