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Drunk on the Scent of Your Skin

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It's the smell of him, more than anything else, that drives me wild.

Just the faintest whiff, particularly around the full moon, and I'm hard as a rock and aching beneath my heavy dress robes. They're too heavy, especially for summer, but the thick fabric is necessary for my delicate work in the Potions lab. I spare a moment to wish that I'd taken the time to change into something lighter when I left the shop. Sweat clings to my skin, pooling in the small of my back and around my groin. Of course, it's not surprising that I'd forgotten to exchange my robes for something lighter. I could hardly be expected to pay attention to mundane trivialities when faced with such an unexpected assault on my senses.

She was just a regular witch, nothing special at all about her—except for her scent. No, not her scent. She smelled of bread dough and sour milk and absentmindedness, but layered on top of that was an alluring fragrance not her own, one that I was all too familiar with. I handed her a vial of Pepper-Up potion and felt my cock twitch alarmingly as I caught another potent wave of that enticing sell. The witch must have stopped at the charity down the street before dropping into the Apothecary. They had to have touched—shaken hands, going by the rich, earthy scent of her palm. It took all my restraint not to grab her hand right there and take a deep whiff. I have better control than that, and my employer might be willing to overlook my monthly inconvenience but I doubted his leniency would extend to molesting paying customers.

No matter. My break shortly followed, and I lost no time before slipping out into the baking sun and strolling down the crowded Diagon streets towards my destination. The summer months are always the worst, bringing out witches and wizards in droves and magnifying the noise and the stench. My enhanced senses can be useful, particularly in my profession, but there are times when it feels like every inch the curse the rest of the world thinks it is.

The cool of his office is a welcome reprieve, but it does nothing to banish the sweat and grime already coating my skin after only a five minute walk in the dusty alley. Under normal circumstances, I'd be quick to cast a Cleaning Charm and rid myself of the unclean feeling. But these are not normal circumstances. I want him to smell me. I want my scent to linger in his nostrils the way his does mine.

He hasn't looked over at me yet—he's busy talking with an older couple—but his nose flares when I enter the room, and I know he can smell me, smell my arousal. He looks up and shoots me a warning glance, pretending that my heady aroma isn't making desire stir deep in his belly.

The full moon is in two days, and I know he's hungry. We both are.

"Draco," he murmurs once the couple leaves the office. His voice is as soft as always, but I hear the thread of steel beneath it. "What can I do for you?"

He knows exactly why I'm here, why every month without fail finds me haunting his office. We work on opposite ends of Diagon Alley, and most of the time we manage to avoid running into one another altogether, but there's something that calls me to him when the full moon approaches. Truth be told, it calls me to him always, but during the full moon it's inescapable. I take a deep lungful of air, a subsonic growl of contentment rumbling deep within me at the rich, comforting scent that fills my nostrils. He smells like home. Like mine.

His jaw tightens, and I can see the effort he's expending in not taking his own deep breath. He knows if he does, it'll be that much harder for him to resist the pull, that much easier for the wolf to urge him to follow his base instincts. A grin splits my face at his restraint. Things would be so much easier for him if he wasn't always trying so desperately to deny who he is. I understand better than most the shame and the self-hatred that our shared condition inspires. But for all his experience and Gryffindor courage, I've still managed to accept and live with the wolf more successfully than he has. He may have helped me when I was first bitten three years ago, but he wasn't able to teach me how to embrace the wolf. How could he, when he'd never fully managed to do so himself? No, I had to learn that on my own.

"The full moon is in two days."

"I know when the full moon is," Remus snaps. I shiver. He's usually so placid and calm, doing his best to seem unassuming and non-threatening. It fits in nicely with the family-man persona that he's so hell-bent on projecting, with his Auror wife and chubby-cheeked progeny. I much prefer him like this, grappling with the howling beast inside him, his anger and desire prowling just beneath his skin. Salazar, the power of him. I long for him to unleash it, for him to cast aside the meek mask he wears to placate the idiots who will never see him as their equal. He isn't. He's so much more. His frustration pours off him in deliciously pungent waves, and I take another deep lungful. He longs for release, too.

"The Wolfsbane Potion will be ready tonight, around eleven." I keep my voice, calm, even. I don't want to scare him off with my excitement.

"I can't come 'round that late. Dora and I like to put Teddy down to bed together."

I bite back a chuckle. It's a pathetic excuse, and Remus knows it. "Teddy is four years old, I doubt he's staying up until eleven. Go home after work, eat dinner with your wife, and tuck your dear son into bed. Then meet me at eleven. I can't imagine Dora will mind if you pop out for a bit to pick up such a critical potion."

Remus rubs at his eyes. His hands are shaking. I want to whine and press up against his body, offer him comfort, but he's not ready for that. Not yet. "Draco…"

I let myself take one last deep breath. My prick twitches beneath my thrice-damned robes at the subtle addition to Remus's already intoxicating fragrance—arousal. It's a spicy, subtle aroma that makes me want to drop to my knees right there in Remus's office. I struggle to remind myself that now's not the time.

"I'll see you tonight, Remus. Don't be late."

My wolf keens pathetically as I turn away, but I do my best to placate the eager beast. Soon, I tell him.



It's ten past eleven when the tinkling of bells sounds from the front of the apothecary, letting me know I'm no longer alone. I don't need the bells to tell me that. The moment the door opened, his scent flooded the room, making my heart race and my prick harden. I let him wait for a few moments before leaving the workroom to greet him.

He's restless, agitated, and I can feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. It's always harder to control our emotions this close to the full moon, but Remus insists on trying. He should know by now how futile it is, how...unrewarding. Remus is still so caught up in playing a game rigged against him, a game that nobody wants him to play in the first place. I'm more than happy to offer him a more pleasant alternative.

"I'm glad you could make it."

Remus huffs impatiently. "You didn't give me much choice, did you? Where's the potion?"

"In back. Follow me."

I turn and head back towards the workroom, hoping he'll follow. It's a bit of a gamble. There's no reason for him to come back here with me, no reason that I can't bring the potion out to him all wrapped up and ready to go. Just as there was no reason for him meet me so late at night, when nobody else is around. He could just as easily have dropped by tomorrow to pick up his monthly potion. Remus is no idiot. He knows full well why I've asked him here at this hour, why I'm leading him away from the large windows that line the shop's front.

He hesitates for moment, before following me back behind the counter. My wolf howls in primal satisfaction. He's wavering.

I shed my heavy robes when we pass into my lab and hang them up by the door. Remus stills, likely immobilised by the sudden deluge of my scent pouring over him in the small space. I'm not wearing much underneath, just a thin pair of trousers—no pants—and a tight v-neck t-shirt. I roll my head, pretending I'm stretching out the kinks from a long day of work and watching as Remus's eyes focus on my throat with a naked, predatory hunger that should terrify me. My cock throbs instead and begins to fatten, and I know my trousers won't hide my arousal. Not that it matters anyway—Remus can smell how much I want him.

"Hmm, let me see, where did I put it…"

I feign absentmindedness and begin to search for the misplaced potion. The walls are lined with wooden shelves, and each one sags with the weight of books, rolls of parchment, and various bottles and vials of potions and ingredients. It's a comforting kind of chaos, my lab. So easy to lose track of things, despite the size. As I search, I use the opportunity to brush up against Remus as much as possible, rubbing my scent on him as I press past his sturdy frame. He's not immune to my charms. I can tell that the smell of me is starting to overwhelm him, and the spice scent of arousal permeating the room is no longer just my own. His hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists at his side, and his entire body is strung tight with a glorious tension.

Remus is close to breaking, and I think I've pushed him right up to his limit. It's time to end this charade. I make a small sound of intuition and bend over to retrieve the potion from where I stored it earlier. I make sure to spend a good long while rooting around the low shelf, my arse fully on display. Remus's sudden spike of want hits me like a Stinging Hex, and I almost hit my head on the shelf from the strength of it. I suppress a smile as I withdraw, potion in hand.

Remus looks wrecked, his eyes barely human. A feral beast prowls beneath the surface, kept in check by the thinnest of margins. God, he smells unbearably delicious, all musk and want and roiling power. It's all I can do not to bury my nose in his neck, not to lick at his salty skin and taste the raw heat of him. Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I give in to what my body is telling me is right?

I step towards him, closer, closer. He lets out a warning growl when my chest brushes against his own, but I ignore it. The smell of him is too much. It's intoxicating, and I feel giddy with it. Bold. My nose brushes his chin before following a line down his stubbled jaw and pressing into the hollow behind his ear. I breathe deep, my brain going fuzzy and my knees weakening with the head spinning rush of it. Remus's entire body vibrates with a steady purring growl, but it's too late to warn me off, I'm already drunk on him. My tongue darts out and tastes the sweat-damp skin of his collarbone, rich and salty-sweet.

Remus snaps.

A blur of motion and suddenly I'm pressed back against my workbench, the smooth wood digging into the curve of my arse as Remus molds himself against me. His hands dig into my hair, his hips grind against my own, and his mouth finds mine in a brutal kiss. It's all teeth and tongue, and I open myself up to it eagerly. I've unleashed the beast, and I'm more than willing to pay the consequences.

With a savage tear, the buttons on my trousers go flying, and the flimsy material pools at my feet. I hump against him impatiently, barely registering the almost painful rub of my bare prick against the rough material of his jeans. I'm too desperate, too mindless with want. Each deep lungful of air brings more of Remus's intoxicating scent, that unique and powerful blend of pheromones that makes me want to turn over and present my arse like a bitch in heat. I want him in me. I need him to fuck me.

He spins me around and bends me over my workbench. It seems I'm not the only one who's desperate to feel Remus's thick cock splitting me open.

The wood beneath me is smooth, worn down from years of potion preparation. I thoroughly clean the surface every night, but the smell of bitter herbs has sunk deep into the grain. For just a second, the scent of something other than Remus manages to clear my head. Behind me Remus is unbuckling his jeans, and in his primitive state, I sincerely doubt he's thinking about preparation. My wand's across the room, but I manage to grab a vial of healing salve at the far edge of my work station. I pull the cork out with my teeth and splash half the contents on my palm before twisting back to spread some slick over my entrance.

Remus growls a warning, and his hand slaps mine away. My arse is his, and he doesn't want anybody else touching it, not even me. His eyes catch mine, and my stomach flips at their feral gleam. He's still dressed, jeans riding low on his hips as his thick, dark cock pokes out from unbuttoned flies. My mouth waters, and a little whine leaves my throat. I barely have enough sense to reach out with my wet hand, spreading the leftover slick over his throbbing erection. Remus rumbles in satisfaction, before shaking me off and guiding me back down against the table, pinning me flat with a hand against my upper back.

Trapped as I am, I can't see the moment when he finally pierces me, but I can feel it. The slick eases the way, but his cock burns as it enters my unstretched arse. It's like he's trying to shove a damn Bludger bat up there, but the feeling of his hand on my back and the smell of him all around me grounds me. It hurts, but even the pain feels good...real. This is right. This is perfect.

He doesn't go slow or gentle. Remus fucks me with an inhuman brutality that has my wolf howling and my blood singing. It's rough and violent, his teeth in my neck, my nails drawing blood as they claw at his arse, both our voices gone hoarse from shouting and moaning. He fucks the fight right out of me, until I'm a limp and eager mess, utterly pliant beneath his demanding strokes. I don't know how long it lasts, how long until I come all over the floor without a hand on my prick, how long until he bays his release to the ceiling, his cock buried balls deep in my fucked-out arse.

We stay like that for a long while afterwards, his softening prick still inside me as we recover, wrapped in our mingling scents like a warm blanket.

It's obvious when the base satisfaction of a conqueror transmutes into cowering guilt and shame. Ah, Remus the wizard returned. I don't make it easy for him. When he slides out of my arse, I give a long, satisfied moan—not entirely fake—and arch my back attractively. I can feel his come sliding out of my arse, and I don't have to look back at him to know he's staring. He won't be able to help himself; no wolf can resist such a display—the sight of their seed and the scent of their claim. As good as I no doubt smelled before, I'm twice as alluring now, with Remus's scent literally dripping out of me. It would take a herculean effort to turn away from such an offering, but Remus is nothing if not self-sacrificing.

I don't mind. I've got what I wanted, for now.

I push myself off the table, stretching out the muscles in my back as Remus tucks himself back in. He tries to look anywhere but at me, but it's a small room, and I know I present quite the filthy sight.

I feel fantastic. God, Remus is a brilliant fuck, so rough and commanding, giving me and my wolf exactly what we need to stay calm and centered. I am always unbelievably randy around the full moon, but none of my anonymous fucks have ever satisfied me so completely. My good mood makes me feel generous, and I take pity on poor Remus. He's still so conflicted, so tethered to wizarding morality. Remus just isn't ready to accept that there's nothing wrong with the wolf, that indulging his base desires is so much healthier than suppressing them.

I reach for the Wolfsbane Potion on the table, and tuck it into the front pocket of Remus's jeans. I must confess, I linger a little, brushing against the soft bulge of his groin before backing away with an innocent smile.

"Thanks again for...coming, Remus. You know you're welcome to stop by anytime."

Remus scowls, though I can still smell the desire on him. "I'd say once a month is enough, wouldn't you?"

I shiver. "Not at all. I'd have you fuck me like that every day of the week and twice on Sundays if I could get it."

Remus swallows with an audible click. I've never been so bold before, but surely he has to know how much I want him, how desperately my body craves him? I make do with these monthly seductions, the memory of nights like tonight holding me over during the months when he is able to resist. But that won't satisfy me forever.

"Goodnight, Draco."

Remus walks out of my lab, stiff-backed and carrying far more tension than a man who had such spectacular sex not ten minutes ago has any right to hold. Salazar, with all that tension, I bet he's ready for round two already. So am I. How I wish he'd come back through the door and have his way with me all over again. I can so perfectly picture it, how he'd push me to the ground and lick me open before putting me on my knees and mounting me like the wolves we are.

He roars and slams the front door of the shop as he leaves—no doubt the heavy scent of my renewed lust has nearly pushed him past sanity. Poor, darling Remus. He's going to lose his mind if he keeps fighting me on this, fighting himself on this. We both want the same thing: him, in my bed every night, fucking me senseless, satiating the eager pack animals that live in our breast. We're not meant to be alone. Apart.

No, I won't be satisfied with a—admittedly spectacular—fuck every other month for much longer.

Someday soon, Remus will be mine.