Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Delirium Tremens ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Severus woke with his head feeling as though some incompetent student - likely Longbottom - had broken it in half. His throat was dry, his tongue like sandpaper as it scraped the roof of his mouth. What in God's name had he consumed last night?

He tried opening his eyes, but the sunlight made them water miserably. Brilliant. And now, more fully awake, he was slowly becoming aware of the aches in his body, particularly the burn at the base of his spine that suggested that whatever he had drunk, he had not ended the evening alone.

That, of course, was when he became aware of the sound of muffled breathing that was not his own: long, heavy breaths in, followed by exhales that sounded more like sighs. It seemed he had not been alone much at all last night.

He envied the breather for his peace while he, Severus, suffered through this nasty awakening. He began to try to inch his eyes open, carefully, so as not to let in too much light at once. He had to escape, or at least see who his partner was before the other got a chance to see him.

Eyes watering maddeningly - and he had to wonder why it was, exactly, that his eyes had so much liquid when his throat was insufferably dry - he finally managed to push himself up on his hands. His head reeled at this, and he barely suppressed the wave of nausea before it crawled up his throat. Spots dancing before his eyes, he stifled a groan.

He prayed to whatever god would listen that the man in his bed was a stranger, but if his memories of the previous night served him properly, that was unlikely. Before he could bear to look, he went through the few, hazy details he could recall. He grimaced; unless he had taken Granger's father to bed, it was likely to be another Order member. Shit.

Giving in, he turned his head, those impish spots doing the tango around a fit, wiry torso. It was his luck, really, that the man had folded a pillow over his face, leaving Severus to play detective. Sighing to himself, he lifted the sheet to inspect further.

His eyebrows shot up, and he could feel heat rising in his cheeks. Well. That certainly put his discomfort into perspective.

He had no idea that any of his idiot colleagues might have such redeeming qualities.

Letting the sheet drop again, he tried to focus. He needed to know who this was, and there was the problem of a leanly muscled arm and a pillow in the way. Carefully, he gave the pillow an experimental tug. It slid a little ways with no protest from the sleeping man, and so he pulled again. This time, the arm slid, too, gave way and fell. The man's hand knocked Severus' wrist down against a very warm, very enticing chest, and Severus jerked away in fear that he had woken him.

The body shifted and made a noise, muffled by the pillow. Severus backed away slowly, trying hard not to bounce the mattress as he moved. It no longer mattered who it was; if Severus were sloshed enough to fuck a colleague, then the other man must have been just as bad off, if not worse. Severus' only chance now was to get away before he was caught, before he had to deal with the awkward morning after scenario.

He made it to the edge of the bed without incident, except that the man stirred again, startling Severus. He scrambled then, feet hitting the floor… followed by the rest of him. In something of a panic, Severus cursed to himself and tried to kick the tangled sheets off his legs.

All this, and his head and stomach chose to rebel again. He had to swallow a few times, rolling to his back. Which was, of course, when he looked up to see the very plain face of Remus Lupin staring down at him, the corners of his lips turned up.

“What?” Severus snarled, voice hoarse. “Have you never seen—” a grown man rolling around naked on your floor? He couldn't rightly finish that question, so instead, he repeated, “What?” This time, though, to his further humiliation, he sounded almost whiny.

And Lupin, bastard that he was - and completely lacking the bloodshot eyes Severus knew he should be sporting - began to laugh at him.