A/N: For those of you who didn’t understand the joke from the last chapter, “le petit mort” literally translated means “little death” in French (which I don't speak, so please forgive any mistakes in this and other fics). It’s a euphemism for “orgasm.” ::snickers:: Now run along back to the last chapter so you can laugh at the dirty joke before continuing with the fic. I know you want to. ;)

 

Chapter 12

 

I close my eyes tightly, trying to block out everything, trying to regain my control. But with my eyes closed, my other senses sharpen. I can feel every line of his body pressed against mine as well as I feel the rough wood of the door at my back. His bare hands on the skin of my wrists feels hot enough to burn, but I can’t care. My body craves the heat as it always does when he’s the source, despite the desperate refusal in my mind.

 

I try to wriggle out of his grip, but his fingers only tighten as the muffled sound of a moan comes from the back of his throat. I don’t question it as I force myself to stay still, trying to fight the reaction of my own traitorous body.

 

Hot air washes over my face with his every ragged exhalation. My own breath is shallow and erratic.

 

Get me out of here. Get me out of here, part of me begs, pleading with anyone who might be listening, while the rest of me, egged on by the wolf, longs to press closer.

 

I force my eyes open and am swallowed by grey, drowning, drowning. No. No. Get me out of here.

 

I could count every one of his sooty black eyelashes if only I could tear my gaze from his.

 

Get me out. Get me out. I can’t handle this.

 

He’s so close I’m scared to breathe. I don’t know what to do. I just know I have to get away, quickly.

 

I wish I had my wand.

 

I can’t think.

 

I hook one foot behind his ankles and jerk forward. He goes crashing backwards, but he doesn’t release me as he falls and I land on top of him.

 

“Oof!” the breath is knocked out of both of us simultaneously as he hits the flagstones and the impact jolts through me as well.

 

For a moment I can’t move, then my lungs fill. “Hurt?” I gasp the question automatically, before I remember once again that I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t. I shouldn’t.

 

And he’s shaking his head, but I don’t know if he’s answering my spoken question or my thoughts.

 

He’s still holding my wrists, but our positions are now reversed. His hands are above his head and it’s my body pressed against his, my weight pinning him to the ground. Part of me thrills at the power of this position and the wolf echoes the somewhat triumphant buzz, but another part of me is horrified.

 

What am I doing? I have to get away from him.

 

“Remus?” his voice is hoarse and I can feel my body melting into his at the sound. “Remus, please…”

 

And then I do it. I don’t know if it’s what he’s asking for, or even if it’s what he wants, or if it’s what I want, or why I do it. But I feel like I’m falling, and then my mouth is pressed to his.

 

There’s a crack as his head hits the stone, but he’s kissing me back, lips pressed roughly to mine, and it’s awkward, noses banging and teeth clicking sharply together. I grind my hips against his and he deliciously pushes back. He shifts again against me, and some part of my brain recognizes that he’s released my wrists, and now I’m the one holding his hands to the cold stone.

 

Then my teeth sink into his lip and his little startled gasp of pain jerks me back to the present.

 

Oh, God! What am I doing? What… what…?

 

I let go of him and scramble to my feet, backing away from him once more, staring down at him in shock and terror and want.

 

He drags his eyes open and stares back at me, grey irises darkened with lust and some emotion I’m too scared to name. He looks like a debauched angel, lying spread on the snowy ground, cheeks flushed, lips bright red and bee stung, hair and robes spread around him.

 

Dark angel, I think. Angel of Sin. Wanton Lucifer.

 

“Remus?” he croaks, looking confused and slightly dazed.

 

How did I let this happen? I was supposed to be angry. I wasn’t supposed to…

 

“Remus, what are you doing?”

 

Survival instincts kick in and I whirl on the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges in a surge of strength.

 

Run away, is all I can think as I half sprint, half tumble, down the stairs. Run away. Run away. Run away…

 

Back through the corridors, up to the seventh floor.

 

I gasp out the password to the Fat Lady. She gives me a Look, but doesn’t say anything, swinging open to admit me to Gryffindor Tower.

 

There’s no one in the common room, to my great relief. I don’t even know how many people have stayed for the holidays.

 

Up the spiral staircase to the Sixth Year boys’ dormitory. I shut and lock the door, then sag against it.

 

What is wrong with me? I’m angry. I’m angry.

 

But it’s not him I’m angry with. It hasn’t been for a while. I should have known better. I can’t stay angry with him. I never could. Not even when he deserves it most, as he surely does now.

 

I bang my head back against the solid door.

 

All right, I think. Maybe I’m not angry with him anymore. That doesn’t mean I forgive him. And that doesn’t mean I trust him.

 

But you do, that oh-so-practical voice that sounds horrifically like Lily states. You don’t want to, but you do. You can’t help it. You’ve never been able to help anything you feel where he’s concerned.

 

I can so, I retort and immediately cringe at my wonderful impression of a five-year-old.

 

No, Lily’s voice responds, still sounding perfectly reasonable and completely calm.

 

Why does she sound calm? Why is she always calm? Why am I the only one who is never calm?

 

You try to prevent whatever it is you feel, but you can’t. You fight it, you suppress it, you ignore it, but you cannot prevent it.

 

I bang my head against the wood at my back again. It doesn’t help, just makes my head hurt from the physical pain of the forming bruise as well as my upsetting thoughts.

 

I rest my aching head gingerly against the door, half regretting telling Lily to leave. She deserves a break from everything, and I’m glad she’s having fun away from here, but I miss her, and feel rather desperate for her company. James, too. I could owl him, of course, or her, but I know I won’t do it. I can’t ruin their holidays just because I can’t handle myself.

 

I’ll just have to stay away from him, I decide. I’ll avoid him until they get back. If I’m not around him, I won’t do anything foolish.

 

The memory of his lips against mine washes over me and I can’t suppress the moan that rises up from my throat. My blood boils and I can feel the phantom heat of his body ghosting over mine.

 

My hands start to drift of their own accord and I swiftly bang my head against the door again, hoping the pain will wipe out anything else.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

I head for the bathroom, praying a cold shower will do what the growing lump on my head will not.

 

This is not going to be easy.

 

TBC