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Summary
Where will all that anger go?
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Lupin stretched out on his stomach, watching him. Passive as a land mine, and Snape despised him for being here.
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"Tell me you hate me. Tell me to go to hell."
"I can't," Lupin said from behind the fall of his hair, and then he did cry out as Snape struck him.
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Excerpt:
"So." Snape stared at the man on his doormat. With a suitcase. "Come to make amends, Lupin?"
Teeth, too many of them to be called a smile. "No. I've come to make you suffer. Personally." Lupin shoved Snape inside, somehow shutting the door behind him. He glanced around the flat once, predatorily, and then walked with long, knowing strides back towards the bedroom.
Snape had his wand out and would not lower himself to stalk after Lupin spluttering indignation. He took a deep breath, and then another, before walking down the corridor, making his boot heels a threatening staccato.
Lupin had the suitcase open and was moving his clothing into Snape's wardrobe. Snape sucked his breath in as the rage screamed like a cyclone in his head.
"Expeliarmus," Lupin said over his shoulder. "Accio Severus' wand." It snapped into his outstretched hand and disappeared. Sleight of hand, Snape thought dismissively. Lupin was a tricky bastard.
Which was why the buttons on his shirt were slipping open, one by one, from the neck down.
"Do you think," he said, voice low with barely-repressed fury, "that you can just walk in here and--"
"And what, Snape?" Lupin turned around. "Make you apologise? God forbid, make you want to be redeemed in my eyes? No." His mouth twisted again in that non-smile; his eyes made Snape recall that he was a Dark Creature. "But I can make you writhe." He waved his hand, and the shirt slipped down off Snape's shoulders, ghosted down to the floor.
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