Things I Have But Could Have Done Without

It seems my friend Remus Lupin has a stubborn streak.

We had specific orders to report to two different places, and yet he insisted on delivering me personally here to Number Twelve before reporting to Dumbledore.

Of course I objected. "Side-along is hardly necessary. I'm not a child, Remus!"

He only said quietly, "Trust me, Tonks. I'm quite aware of that."

Pondering the meaning of this rendered me speechless, which is rare. He, too, recognized his opening and grabbed me tight, immediately apparating before I could protest.

"Goddamnit, Remus, let go of me!" I am fairly shouting now, as Sirius's face comes into view. Were he not so bloody exhausted, I think he would be amused at us. Instead, he holds a finger to his lips. I'm being shushed by Sirius? Now there's something you don't see every day.

"The kids are all still sleeping," he says. "We were up all night. Tonks, you okay?"

"She's fine now, Sirius. The rib is completely healed. She'll just be sore for a day or two. Few bruises, maybe." Normally I would be infuriated at someone answering questions on my behalf. But somehow it doesn't bother me so much when Remus does it.

It's also nice to not have to think at the moment, as my brain is scrambling to make sense of about a million and one other questions. My mind is reeling. I still don't know much about the circumstances surrounding Arthur's attack. The . . . weirdness . . . of last night has me feeling a bit bewildered. It's been a confusing 24 hours and I haven't quite wrapped my head around it all yet. Looking at Remus now, back here in familiar surroundings, things should be back to normal. But they're not. Something's different. He's not meeting my eyes, and . . .

Wait, one of them just asked me something. "What?" I say. Not even sure who I'm directing that to. But Sirius is smirking; caught me staring at Remus. Shite.

Remus hasn't noticed anything, or pretends not to have. "No matter. I'd best be off straight away. Dumbledore's waiting. See you both later." And just like that, he's gone again, leaving Sirius and me standing there in awkward silence.

For one brief moment, I think Sirius is going to start in. Ribbing, teasing, interrogating, something along those lines. But he surprises me with a gentle hug. I must look worse than I feel. "We were worried about you. Dangerous line of work you've gotten yourself into."

"Yeah, yeah . . ." is all I can come up with, as I head for the kitchen. I'm starving.

"Moony took good care of you, then?" Sirius is studying me.

"Of course," I say, in way that I hope sounds indifferent. "You know Remus."

This elicits a broader, knowing smile. I really am shite at stealth. "Sure, I know Remus."

"What?" I ask defensively, although I know full well what he's on about. It would be much easier to appear affronted if he weren't so annoyingly observant.

"Nothing, nothing," he says. But his cocky smile translates the 'nothing' to 'something.'

Just then, Harry comes through one door of the kitchen, looking like complete shite. What the hell happened last night?

But I have no time to greet him, as Moody comes busting through the other entrance and addresses me straight away. "Tonks, you and I will be escorting Molly and the kids over to St. Mungo's after lunch. I'll need to brief you on last night's events before we go. Join me in the library?" Not a request.

I nod and rise to follow. So much for lunch.

**************

The moon is high in the sky by the time we all reenter the front hall at Grimmauld Place late that evening.

"Thank you again, Tonks, for all your help" says Molly, in a louder-than-necessary voice, as Sirius comes to greet the kids and help collect cloaks. But then she steers me to the side and whispers, "Are you still sore, dear? I haven't had a chance to ask how you're feeling, what with the day we've had." I love that Molly keeps my injury between us, even though I never asked her to. I guess I really haven't given her enough credit.

"Not to worry, Molly. The potion really was amazing, just like you said. Couldn't believe it - I was good as new this morning." She smiles, and heads, of course, to the kitchen to start dinner.

I join the others in the parlour, and am surprised to find that Kingsley and Remus are here, as well. I nod my greeting to everyone and take the only empty seat, on the settee next to Ginny, who is chattering away about something. The group is in better spirits this evening, having seen with their own eyes that their dad is on the mend. Although apparently Harry has retreated to his bedroom. Sirius reckons he's exhausted, but after talking with him on the train, my guess it that he's still a bit freaked out. I know I am. Still, it's good to see the Weasley kids laugh and joke with Sirius and each other.

Somehow, though, I'm not really tuned in to it.

Remus still seems reluctant to look at me, and I am starting to be a bit worried that I've done something to offend him. Did I only imagine the tension between us last night? Maybe I was high from the potion and he was just being patient with me and my overactive imagination. What have I done? I almost kissed him. Thank Merlin that owl showed up when it did or I surely would have had to endure the "you're a sweet girl, but . . ." speech.

Clearly I need to put things right. I can't have him uncomfortable around me. I need, really need, for things to be the same between us. His friendship, along with Sirius's, has been the only thing keeping me sane the last few months and I can't do without them.

When everyone is called to dinner, I muster up my courage and begin to head over to the side of the room where Kingsley and Remus are sitting. To my tremendous relief, Remus approaches me first, a tired smile on his face. "Staying for dinner?"

"No, I think not tonight. Best to clear out and let the Weasleys settle in."

He nods in agreement. "Kingsley and I were just saying the same thing. Care to join us at the Leaky for a bite instead?" I'm so relieved at how casually he asks that I could cry.

I feel guilty leaving Sirius, but as I glance over and hear him inquiring with Ron about Harry, I realize that I could be standing here naked and he wouldn't notice. Sirius will have Harry in the house for the holidays now. Another reason to get out of the way for awhile. Remus is watching them as well, and he turns back to me to share the smile.

"Bit of a crowded house, here. In a good way, I think."

"I agree."

-------------------

Later, after a hearty meal and far too many drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, we have all brought each other up to speed on what we know about Arthur's attack and Dumbledore's plans for going forward. We've chosen a small table in a far corner, but we're still speaking in hushed tones.

"Continuing to guard it is not going to be enough," Kingsley concludes. "It's not effective and it's just too dangerous. Dumbledore's got to come up with another plan."

Remus shakes his head in frustration. "But surely he can't be considering suspending the guard duty? He'll leave it wide open."

Kingsley just shrugs. "He could double us up for guard duty, for added safety. But I don't see how our numbers will allow for that. We're still too few. And, besides, working in pairs will make us too recognizable to the D.E."

Remus shoots Kingsley a look that I'm not supposed to be privy to. But hell, I'm right here. I'm not blind.

"What?" I press.

I feel sure Remus will answer me, but Kingsley speaks first. "When we travel in groups, or even pairs, they'll know we're on Order business."

"How's that?"

"Dumbledore suspects they have identified most of our membership."

"What?!"

"Shhhhh . . ." They urge in unison.

"Sorry," I whisper. "Shite, though - why hasn't he told us this? We're all targets now."

Finally, Remus speaks. "He's planning to, at the meeting after Christmas. Didn't want to ruin anyone's holidays by informing them they're wearing a bulls eye, I suppose." He attempts a sarcastic chuckle, but doesn't quite pull it off.

None of us speaks for a minute as I consider this information. Finally, Kingsley turns to Remus. "It's getting late, and I really need to get on. Did you still want me to help you with those wards on your room?"

"Room?" I say, completely confused.

Remus looks surprised by my question. "Er . . . I took a room here. The house is so crowded with everyone there for the holidays." Oh. Right. I am probably expected to clear out as well. I didn't even realize it.

"There are a lot of rooms," I say.

"Yes, but there are also a great many Weasleys to fill them," he says with a smile. "Molly's got enough on her plate. Don't worry about me. I could go home, but I felt it would be easier to be nearby. Told Sirius I'd pick up Harry's gift here in Diagon, and I'm escorting the family to the hospital in a couple of ..."

"ahem - " We seem to have forgotten that Kingsley is waiting on Remus.

"Oh, yes. Thanks, Kingsley," says Remus, backing up his chair. "I'd appreciate your help. Better safe than sorry."

"Wait - " I start. They both look at me like I've got two heads. "You should go on home, Kingsley. You've been up for two days. I can help Remus with the wards. Besides, I do owe you a favor." Kingsley doesn't need telling twice. I can tell he's exhausted.

Remus checks in with Tom while I use the loo, and then we head up to the top floor, where there is only one small attic room. It's tiny, but warm and actually has a pretty view of a snowy Diagon Alley. Didn't realize it had started snowing . . .

Since joining the Order, Dumbledore has required us all to cast protective wards on our homes. Creating a ward involves casting a stealth sensoring spell near all entrances and windows, while simultaneously performing a complex repelling spell on the premises themselves. Only the most accomplished wizards can achieve this single-handedly, using wandless magic for one spell, while reciting the incantation for the other. For most of us it requires a two-person effort. Still, we're done in about five minutes, without having to stop once to start over - something that has happened every time I've done this with anyone else. Remus and I work well together, it seems.

"So . . ." he begins, awkwardly. "Thanks, again. For helping me with this."

I realize something, then. "You could have done it by yourself, couldn't you?"

He grins, modestly. Caught. "Yes," he admits. "But Kingsley offered and, well . . ."

"You didn't want to show up an Auror." That's so Remus.

He just shrugs. "He's got enough on his mind. As do we all." Right. That new piece of information. I don't want to think on it too much, as it has rattled me more than I think it should. I'm an Auror, for Christ's sake.

"You reckon Harry's all right?" I inquire, mostly to distract myself from my spiraling doubts. "Didn't see him come down to dinner."

"Honestly, I don't know. Sirius said he was pretty shaken this morning."

"Well, of course he's shaken. He witnessed a murder attempt. And he has no clue what the hell's going on in his head. You should have heard him on the train, Remus. He's so confused. He's certain this is his fault. . ." I trail off, and am mortified to realize there are tears in my eyes. Normally, I'm not much of a crier, but the full measure of physical exhaustion and emotional upheaval of the last couple of days is finally beginning to overwhelm me. And I'm monumentally embarrassed. Remus is the last person I want to see me fall apart.

Instinctively, I turn away to hide my face, but he pulls me back round. "Tonks? What is this about? This isn't you. You know Dumbledore's got a plan for what's happening with Harry. Has something made you question that?"

"No." Yes. "Yes. I don't know. I mean, I'm just worried in general. They know our ranks, Remus. We're not recruiting at the pace we anticipated. The Ministry is imploding. Arthur was a sitting duck there last night. I'm worried about who it'll be next time. Hell, Remus, that could have been me. Or you."

He just looks at me. Waiting for the rest. It's really no use holding back. He can see right through me. Sighing, I plunk myself down on the edge of the one small chair in the room. Remus follows suit and sits down on the bed, still silent.

"I don't really know what's going on with me. When I joined the Order, I knew it was dangerous, but it just seemed so abstract. I believed - believe - so much in what we doing and I thought I understood the risks. Like at my job. I've never really been all that emotionally invested in my work at the department, so it's been a hell of a lot easier to swallow setbacks, others' injuries. But now . . ."

He's listening raptly. Leaning forward. "Now?" A single tear escapes and rolls down my cheek, and I feel too exposed. I lower my head and examine my hands as if I've never seen them before. But I need to finish. Need to get all this doubt and fear out from where it festers. And really, Remus is the logical choice.

Trying like hell to keep my voice even, I quietly try to explain.

"It's different now. That's all. All of a sudden, death seems to be around every corner. You can almost feel the fear and anger settling in like some bloody disease. Is it me? Or are things getting worse, not better?"

"Tonks . . ."

"Remus, the Order has become my home, my family. I'm having a hard time being objective. The idea of losing . . . any of you . . . it's getting to me." After a loud and quite unattractive sniff, I look up to find that Remus is kneeling now, in front of me.

"Okay," is all he says. It's not a question because he knows it's not okay. He can't tell me everything will be fine, and somehow it's more reassuring that he doesn't try. Honest. He respects me enough not to bullshit me with meaningless platitudes. This is why I trust him as I do. His eyes are so kind . . .

Without hurry, he takes my hand and presses it to his cheek, never taking his eyes from mine. Then, all of a sudden, what I see there surprises me. The way he's looking at me . . . it's not sympathy, not consolation. I've never seen him look so, well, vulnerable before, and somehow it's thrilling and unsettling in equal measure.

He refuses to break his gaze, as do I, and as a result I am quite literally hypnotized. I'm not sure whether he's waiting for some response from me or not, but I'm incapable of making any movement, and actual speech is entirely out of the question. So I just stare at him, hoping beyond hope that he won't pull away from me.

Thankfully, he doesn't misinterpret my stupor as repulsion, because he slowly takes my hand from his cheek and very gently moves it to his beautiful lips. I watch, transfixed, as he allows his eyes to gradually close, and then bestows on my palm the most perfect little kiss imaginable. Gentle, and almost passable as platonic except for the fact that he allows himself - just barely - to taste the skin there. It such a small thing, but the raw intimacy of it almost makes my heart stop.

Stealing the briefest opportunity to observe him while his eyes are still closed, I am amazed at this man before me. No one else in the world has ever so easily been able to calm me, set me at ease in one moment, and in the next, turns my insides into a warm puddle.

The way he holds himself, still guarded, reveals his internal struggle with this new discovery we're making, this previously uncharted ground in our friendship. Relationship? Unbidden, an image is called to my mind of a house of cards. I feel like every move, every sigh, every breath I take could influence the way this goes. Could send the whole delicate balance into a tailspin. It feels that tenuous. He is that cautious. I know him too well.

So I keep quiet. Try my best to disguise my wildly beating heart. But when he looks at me again...

Oh, my. The look in his amber eyes seems to see right through me.

Instinctively I look away, turn my head - almost shyly - to the side. To hide, I guess. He takes the opportunity to lean in and touch his lips to my cheek. Is he still just comforting me? It begins as very chaste, really, but then his mouth lingers there for a moment. My body is responding to what I think, hope, is happening. Don't move, Nymph. Don't move.

I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until I audibly exhale, inwardly cursing my selfish need to breathe, and shuddering in a small way as I do. A raw ache sneaks into my chest and takes up residence there, making me dizzy enough that I physically need to lean forward a bit and rest my forehead on his shoulder.

Struck by the need to pull back and see him, still not trusting my own perception of what's happening here, I raise my head and meet his eyes. I think I'm going to pass out.

We stare at each other for what feels like forever, but is probably only a few seconds. Frozen. Desperately, I try to read him, see what he's thinking, feeling. To determine if it's remotely similar to what's happening in my head, my body. Clearly we're both attempting to choose a path from the many that lay in front of us.

Just as I am sure he's about to pull away, to explain it all away in that damn sensible way of his . . . everything changes.

He leans forward, closing the few inches between us and lightly brushing his lips against mine. Testing the waters. It's quick, yet he doesn't pull back afterwards. He just stays there, his lips still almost touching mine, until I lose all patience and lean in again, making the decision for us.

He groans quietly as he allows himself this, and raises his hands to cup my face. Although I can barely take stock of what's happening, I do manage to notice that his lips are amazingly soft as they part slightly over mine. The kiss is soft and firm and just right. And somehow familiar, which is plain mad, since this is all so new. It's over far too quickly, but then he pulls me into a tight embrace that has us clinging to each other, a bit overcome with the turn of events.

"This is probably a bad idea," he murmurs against my neck, but his breathlessness gives him away.

I should say something, contribute to the decision-making process he still seems to think we're involved in. But for some reason my voice doesn't seem to be working properly. Instead, I press more tightly to him and finally take the deep breath I've been denying myself.

The oxygen helps matters, because I'm suddenly struck with the appreciation of this rare opportunity that's kneeling in front of me in the form of Remus Lupin. And more, the awareness of my newly-formulated goal of not letting it pass me by.

I slide my hands up his back over his shoulder blades ... he's so bloody warm ...and into the soft hair at his nape. Because I can't resist. Because I'm nearly dying with not doing it. And, oh, it's as smooth as I imagined it would be.

When he pulls back to face me once again, I initiate a proper kiss, opening my mouth to tentatively explore his. He meets me halfway, and I can barely quell the moan that forms, or the spreading heat that is beginning to dominate my body. When we eventually break apart, Remus resumes his place at my neck, but with a noticeably different pace, ravishing it with warm wet attention. Affectionately nipping the skin just below my ear, he traces a path there. His warm breath follows and it makes me shiver.

It's best, I think, to pretend that this is some sort of casual thing, right? He knows I've had physical relationships with male friends before. Just for fun, or just for comfort. It's been the topic of many light-night, firewhiskey-encouraged discussions at the kitchen table with Sirius. So he probably assumes that's what I have in mind. And he'd be more comfortable with that, right?

Right now I'm perfectly content to let him file this encounter away in whatever neat little corner of his mind that he needs to, as long as he keeps doing that thing to my ear, thank you very much. Merlin, who knew?

I thought snogging Remus would be gentle. Affectionate. Maybe even comfortable. Gods, did I think that? I did. But the way he's touching me now is making me feel anything but calm. He's taking it slow, to be sure, but he's also slowly driving me mad. His fingertips barely graze the collar of my shirt as he peppers kisses back down my neck and dips the very tip of his tongue into the hollow of my throat. His touch is gentle, but experienced, and, truth be told, a bit too leisurely for my liking.

But all I can do is clutch to the back of his neck and hope he doesn't stop. Every touch is like a lightening bolt of pleasure that shoots through me from the pit of my abdomen down to the tips of my toes.

To my momentary horror, a throaty moan finally escapes me. But it doesn't seem to dissuade him. He stands, offers me his hands, palms outstretched. I take them (who the hell wouldn't?) and rise slowly to my feet, albeit rather unsteadily. But I am too aroused now, to let this slow things down. I don't hesitate for a second before I move up swiftly for another searing kiss, desperate to feel the warmth of his mouth once again. Sure enough, he opens it readily to the kiss, and the warm slide of our tongues is enough to turn my knees to jelly.

Since my ability to stand is deserting me, I lean heavily into his welcoming arms. This offers me my first concrete evidence of his state of arousal, as I can feel him through his trousers against my hip. I'm not sure, though, if that's an admission he's willing to make at this point. God, he feels so good.

Somehow this gives me the confidence to slowly begin easing us backward toward the bed, pulling him down with me. Initially, he eases himself up on the bed with me as we continue the heated kiss. But as I slowly move my thighs to give him room to settle, and our momentum shifts, he seems to wrestle with the notion of his weight on mine, of being the one in control. The cycle we've established is maddening. He's so sure and polished one minute, and holding back the next. It's obvious he's no timid lover when he puts himself to the task, but he won't let himself take that final plunge now.

Well, the hell with this. Everyone in this room is thinking too fucking much.

Throwing caution to the wind, I roll over on top of him without breaking our kiss and settle atop him. I feel, rather than hear, his small gasp, but despite his surprise the new position spurs him on. His hands splay across my back, urging me closer to him, and I can't resist the need to grind against him.

"Oh, God," he breathes, instinctively moving his hands from my back down to my arse as he relishes the feeling of my heat bearing down on his erection. The feel of his warm hands through my thin trousers is fantastic. As I break our kiss to assault his neck, I am rewarded by a soft growl, and it makes me feel powerful to elicit such a response from a wizard like Remus.

Slowly his hands are finding their way up under my jumper, tracing circles on my back, sliding his palms across my sides the way he did last night. As he moves those incredible fingers in between our bodies to just under my breasts, I lose my concentration and raise my head to look at him once again. Seeing the question in his eyes, I nod quickly, before either of us changes our minds, and he tugs at the hem of my jumper to bring it slowly up and over my head. After it's discarded, he leans back on his elbows and just looks at me - first, into my eyes and then down to my body.

"You are so beautiful, Tonks."

I imagine my eyes must have widened at his compliment because he's actually taken aback my reaction. He almost laughs as he pronounces, "You actually have no idea how bloody attractive you are without morphing."

My heart may burst out of my chest. Not so much at the compliment itself, but at the realization that it brings. It's a biased opinion he gives. He feels something for me. And now I know it. I can't help but beam. Really beam at him like an idiot. And for the first time since we started this, the mood is a bit lighter. The tension, lessened.

He sits up, me still in his lap, and cups my cheeks with both hands. For a moment, I prepare to meet his kiss, but he shocks me by giving me a devious grin and then dipping his head instead. Lowering his mouth to my breast, he drags his tongue across one nipple with agonizing slowness. I'm going to pass out.

Somewhat desperately, I scramble to get my hands under his shirt, running my hands up his bare back to find something to hold onto. To keep myself from falling over. Mercifully, he lowers me to the bed as he continues to lavish attention on my chest and belly. Lying here, blissfully lost in his ministrations, I realize that never in a million years would I have imagined myself half starkers in the dingy attic room at the Leaky, wrapping my entire body around Remus and being completely aroused by the roughness of the faded scars that play across his back. I am aching to feel more of him. So much so that I am fairly whimpering now, which is slightly disconcerting, as I can't remember a time when I've ever whimpered before - in bed or otherwise.

How can we not have realized how desperately we needed this? Is it strange that I'm not embarrassed? I'm rubbing against him like a complete tart and I'm way past caring. The scope of what I feel for this man is overwhelming; my need to see this through is all consuming. All at once, I'm struck with the revelation that as much as I want this, it could also be really good for him. No, I could be really good for him. I've been wanted before, but have I been needed? Doesn't he realize I'm his for the taking?

Words materialize on my tongue, ready to be spoken, telling him exactly how I feel. But I can't. Any confession might derail him and that possibility just can't compete with the sensations of his warm mouth surrounding my nipple, his rough chin grazing my flesh. I grab his head and guide him back to my mouth, to prevent myself from accidentally expressing what I'm feeling.

Remus takes the opportunity to slide his hands up the insides of my thighs, coming unbearably close to where I'd like him to touch me. I feel his hand on the waist of my trousers, and in one smooth motion, he pulls them down to my knees, and then off completely. I don't even realize my knickers have slid off with them until I feel hands return to my now bare bottom. It's too much to take. Like the tart I apparently am, I shift my legs apart just a bit, hoping he'll understand my desire for him to continue his path. He does. Oh my God.

When he cups one warm hand against me the sensation is almost enough to send me over the edge. Then he slips one, two fingers inside me, and finally I cry out, all reason completely driven from my brain.

Unable to show any further restraint, I slide my hands down between us to his abdomen, where I begin to work the buttons on his trousers. Unfortunately, this seems to raise some sort of alert for him. I swear I almost sob in protest as he withdraws his kiss and stills my hand at his waist. We are both breathing erratically.

"Tonks, we shouldn't be doing this."

"I disagree," I counter, leaning back up to recapture his lips. He pulls away slightly as if to resume his objections, so I assault his ear with my tongue instead. He groans, and I can actually feel his resistance waning. His hold on my hand loosens. I can feel his erection leap against his trousers.

"Please," he says in a strangled way, "I'm in no position to refuse you."

As I stroke his arousal through his clothing, I whisper, "Then don't make me ask."

Remus growls again, instinctively pressing himself into my hand. "You don't know what you do to me, Tonks. . . I'm in over my head. You've been driving me to distraction for months," he murmurs against my mouth. I can't contain my smile and I pray it doesn't look like gloating. He bites my lip, his hands grasping my hips.

I thread my hands into his hair, and I implore him, "Please, Remus."

"Apparently my judgment is ... impaired when it comes to you," he says.

Laughing, I pull him into another bruising kiss, while I work quickly to rid him of his trousers. Once I've freed him from his clothing, I can't keep my hands off him. Right away I wrap one hand around the length of him and he shudders. It's bloody fantastic.

Taking a deep breath, he looks into my eyes, and leans in for a soft, chaste kiss on my cheek. Mysteriously, it's the most erotic thing he's so far. And just as I ponder this, he quickly slides inside me, filling me completely with warmth and strength, and making me gasp with surprise - and pleasure. Automatically, I arch against him, willing him to move. Leaning heavily on one elbow, he slowly, maddeningly begins to rock his hips against mine . . . thrusting . . . whispering unintelligible words into my ear, and caressing every part of my body he can reach.

I can't help but allow my eyes to flutter shut, enjoying the sweet contradiction of the softness and the friction between our bodies. It's the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. He touches me like no one's ever done before. In a way I'll never, ever forget. Bold and erotic, but inexplicably still tender and loving. It feels so bloody right and so strong that I hold nothing back anymore. For some reason, my voice is hoarse and low, and I'm surprised at myself when I realize that I'm begging.

And after that it's like he can no longer tolerate the space between us. Rather than press his hips down into mine, he grips my arse more firmly and pulls my body up into his arousal, sliding his large hands between the mattress and my arse. He doesn't realize his strength, and it's almost rough the way he lifts me to him like a rag doll. Incredibly, it makes me feel adored. I love seeing him like this: guard down, control gone, surrendering to instinct. He's beautiful.

Dizziness overtakes me, bringing me closer and closer to release. I know that when I finally let go, I'll be lost - both physically and emotionally. There will be no going back to what was before. Not for me. Through the amazing heat and depth of kissing him, making love to him, a mad thought comes to me: borrowed room, borrowed time. Whatever this moment represents, it might slip from us if we're not careful; the thought is wrenching. Once again I close my eyes to mask the wetness forming there.

"Tonks?" I hear him murmur, beckoning me back. But I can't think now. Can only feel.

"Tonks, open your eyes," he whispers shakily into the breath we're sharing. "Be here with me."

My eyes leap open at the raw emotion behind this request. I muster all my strength to focus only on him as we lock our gazes and stay like that. He rests his forehead against mine, and I feel myself slipping away. I can't hold on much longer . . .

"Remus, I can't hold on much longer . . ."

His grip tightens on my waist as he pulls back and drives deep into me.

"Yes, love, now, now..." he mutters. I wrap my legs around him, as I feel him begin to shudder. He explodes into me, pulling me over the edge with him as I gasp his name over and over...

And then I am lost.

Sometime later, as I reluctantly begin my descent back to reality, I feel him move to roll away. But I'm not having it.

"Don't you dare, Remus."

My bossiness is rewarded with his conspiratorial smile as he complies and comes back in close to wrap himself around me once more. Only then do I start to drift off again.