impersonals - R/T - R/NC17

Title: Impersonals
Author: Gun
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns this. Bill Gates owns Microsoft. I don't even have a freaking bottle of wine at my place.
Pairing: Remus/Tonks
Rating: hard R to soft NC17
Summary: Remus Lupin enters into an email conversation with a young woman whose profile he finds on an internet dating website. A tale of love, low self esteem and choosing between a nice young deviant and a woman with a champagne bottle up a most curious place.
Warnings: Inept dirty talk, and possibly the chance of rendering the latest CDC guidelines for 'pre-pregnant' women utterly redundant by convincing people to never want anything sexual ever again.
A/N:Written for the pantymelts computer challenge.
Word Count: 4000 words



Dear N,

Erm... I've never done this quite before. The email thing, that is. I have a cousin who... well, knows more about computers than my peers would. This kind of thing, either. I saw your personals ad and don't quite know if this is too forward...

Bugger it.

I'm a thirty-seven year old single male, education background though currently unemployed. Six-one, not entirely an adonis. No children. I'm not particularly interesting, so nothing really of note about me. So far, clean criminal record, which is a positive, I suppose. Erm... I had a goldfish, but I don't really anymore. We don't speak of the incident in my household anymore.

Feel no pressure to respond to this email: I don't even know how to respond to the damn things myself.

-R

***

Dear R,

Given that you're the first person to not use the words 'cock', 'tits', 'fanny', or '1978 Fiat' in an email to me, I thought I would respond. You didn't say much in your profile about yourself, but I actually thought your email was quite sweet! You seem like a real sensitive new-age guy.

Erm... where to start? I'm twenty-three, if that doesn't bother you, single and working in law enforcement. I only finished my training about a year ago, so I'm still a bit poxy at it! I've been told I'm smart, but to be fair an equal number of people (a former teacher, notably) have said the exact opposite. In my spare time I read and make sure my cousin doesn't break his parole violations. I'm not all that tall, I guess, but I kind of think I pass whenever I go out. Only three men leaning out of cars to yell disparaging comments so far, so all's going well!

Hope to hear back from you,

-N

ps. Don't worry, I have no idea how these things work either: one of my colleagues has been trying to show me, but he's just way too enthusiastic about the concept of computers (or anything electrical, for that matter) and it all goes over my head!

***

Dear N,

Alas, were it to be that I were either sensitive or new age: I've been told by a friend that I'm an emotional cripple and an impossibly crotchety one to boot. These always come when I don't bring him back a treat whenever I do the groceries.

Your email cheered me up immensely; I've been ill of late, and haven't really been in the best of moods. I was so glad you responded to me, to be honest. I mean, not like I was desperate or anything, but my circle of friends is woefully small. Could it be the horrible personal hygiene, my lack of social graces or my terrible taste in music? Frankly, half the fun is in guessing, but this doesn't diminish how happy I was to see that someone wasn't frightened away entirely by my letter.

You sound like an interesting person (I have a friend who sounds just like you, actually), and I'm glad I responded to your personals ad instead of the woman below you: to be perfectly honest I was not too impressed with what she was doing with that champagne bottle and if I'd wanted to see that much of the female anatomy I would have been a gynaecologist. But you seem normal and nice and somewhat pleasant, and I hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours,
-R

***

Dear R,

I'm sure Champagne Bottle Woman is a very nice person, and I think that you're just jealous of the love between a woman and a long-necked bottle.

Well, I'm not as interesting as it might seem. But I can put my legs behind my neck and fit my entire fist in my mouth. Take that as you will.

You seem very down on yourself: I bet you could tell some interesting stories of your own and I'd love to hear more about you.

Cheers!
-N

***

N,

Your flexibility and cheer have once again improved my day, which has been much more productive than any other day this week: I not only went out to get takeaway, but I decided, on a crazy whim, to take my rubbish out to the bins as well. I ought slow down, that's the sort of thing that can give you a heart attack.

I had to put up with an idiot acquaintance today. I really wanted to push him down the stairs but unfortunately there were other people around. Bother.

Cannot wait to hear from you, and your legs, again;
-R

***

R, you cheeky thing,

You oughtn't push people down stairs, though I felt the same urge myself yesterday. Unfortunately, a very staid friend of mine was beside me as this idiot was descending, and I fear he would have thought badly of it.

My legs have nothing to say, but are glad you finally brought them up: that flexibility comes in handy sometimes.

Cheers!
-N

***

Dear N,

I sincerely apologise for those last remarks about you, it was incredibly rude and unbecoming of me.

Apologetically yours,
-R

***

Don't be silly! These are personals ads - what, were you expecting us to sit about discussing the weather? I did put this up with the intention of at least having some kind of dirty banter: it's been months since my last boyfriend and the man I'm interested in at the moment is painfully inept at recognising even the slightest bit of flirting. I've not worn underwear once going over to his house, and he doesn't even notice! Not even when I bend over a countertop! It's enough to drive a girl barmy, it really is. I could parade about naked and he wouldn't even raise an eyebrow. Hmm. But if this kind of talk upsets or offends you, I can stop, if you like.

-N

***

N,

Well, I am British, after all. I fear my sex life is rather like Schroedinger's cat: it cannot be seen, therefore it doesn't exist. Though I do question why anyone would want to put a cat in an airtight box. Seems a bit cruel to me.

You don't have to stop writing to me like that, if you don't want to; I don't mind it at all, I just didn't expect anyone would talk to me like that. I've not been very lucky with women, and even talking about the weather is nice for me. I'd like to know more about you: what you look like, what you like... not in any dodgy way, of course.

Once again, sorry for before, and for the frankness of this letter,

-R

***

I laughed for about ten minutes even though I don't know what Schroedinger's cat was! I tried to get my dad to explain it to me (it's more his culture than mine) and I tuned out after a bit. Oh well.

Well, as far as what I look like... um, I'm a bit pasty, but that's what England weather does to you! At the moment, I have red hair, but I'm thinking of going black, or something a bit shocking, I don't know. I'm not all that good looking, but I suppose I'm okay: not massively stacked or anything, that would be from mum's side. I inherited a lot from what they look like, I'm a bit smallish and I normally have their face. But anything more about how I look will be a bit dodgy, so I'll have to leave all else up to your imagination, I suppose!

I like anything, really, I do: if you promise not to tell, I'm not the most... erm, inexperienced person out there. I've been around the block a bit and I do know what I like. Guys, and a few times girls. I like smart guys, really: I have a thing about desks.

Got to run - my colleague wants to show this computer to our boss. Don't know why, it's not like the boss will ever be able to use it for anything.

Cheers,

-N

***

Dear N,

I fear you mightn't like me much, because I'm not really all that smart, but as of yet I've not been killed from drowning, fires or wayward knives so I suppose I get by. I'm trying to picture what you look like in my mind: how can you 'normally' have someone's face? You sound pretty to me, though. I like red hair. I'm not as experienced as you, though: as I've said, I'm not really popular with women.

I've been using this at one of those internet cafes, and it's quite expensive so I try not to take long. Best be off, thanks for your last email.

-R

***

Dear R,

Actually, I find inexperienced men cute. They're so eager and easy to train! Mind, last time I had one I found him a bit too eager... if you know what I mean. Not very satisfying, but I've never really had problems with doing it myself.

You haven't told me about the things you like yet! I've told you about myself, I want to know more about you. Come on.

-N

***

N,

It's hard to explain: sometimes I feel like a complete deviant just by thinking about the things I like. It's hard enough avoiding been seen as a pervert by the people around me, so I just push it back. It's no offence to you, really: I enjoy hearing what you tell me.

-R

***

R,

I like deviants. You shouldn't feel ashamed of what you like: I'm not going to think any less of you for telling me. I feel a bit dirty sharing all this stuff with a stranger, but part of me really likes it. I wish this computer were in a more private place, to be honest. I wish I had a picture of you in mind, because I like imagining the face of the person having me.

-N

***

N,

Are you sure you don't mind? I'm so much older than you, I don't want you to feel threatened, or anything like that.

-R

***

It takes a lot to scare me, believe me. (And I like older men.)

-N

***

N,

... well, it's weird. I don't know how I explain it. At this point, it's been so long since I've been with someone that just about anything does it for me these days. I like seeing women in skirts with stockings: the ones with the seams running down the back. I had my hands tied behind my back once - I liked that, a bit. I like it when they don't wear any makeup except for lipstick, and when they have to take their shoes off so I can see their feet.

I apologise if this is too much for you.

Regards,

-R

***

R,

I really liked hearing what you like. I've never worn stockings before: don't really have the shoes for it, they're all just dirty old joggers at the moment! I should probably get some, if we ever decide to meet. I'd like to meet you one day, I think. What kind of look do you like? I want to hear more.

Cheers,

-N

***

What look do I like?

I don't know. Short hair, at the moment. I don't care what she looks like so long as she wants to be near me and touch me and would want to sleep with me. I want someone who won't recoil when I touch her, and I want someone who makes noise. I like hearing when someone likes it, it's been so long since I have. To be honest, and if you'll pardon me this, the last person I heard was myself.

-R

***

R,

I'll make any sound you make me make: I'll yell, I'll cry, I'll groan, I'll stutter. I wouldn't mind feeling you touch me: I like being grabbed and touched and stroked, and I need to feel hands, or a mouth, or anything playing with me at the moment.

-N

***

N,

I don't feel like I deserve this conversation with you now. There've got to be men out there richer, and younger than me: I feel so lucky to hear you say all this that I would do anything you wanted me to do to you. If you introduced yourself to me in the street I think I'd die until I had the chance to take you somewhere private, or at least away from people.

-R

***

R,

I don't want to hear from other men: I thought I wanted someone but he avoids me now. I think there's someone else for him. I want to hear from you, because you're nice to me and you don't speak to me like I'm a stupid kid, and all I do all day is sit at my desk at work and wish I could just tie your hands up and bite your neck and lick and suck you until you burst. I want to feel someone pulling my hair and thrusting into me hard, and burying their face between my legs. I wouldn't even care if someone saw.

-N

***

I thought of you last night. I thought of you knickerless, in the stockings, and I just wanted it hard and messy. I didn't get to sleep for half the night because of that thought, and also from the thought that you don't mind me sharing this with you: it feels so liberating to finally talk like this. I want to watch you and hear you telling me disgusting things you've done, and run a bath for you and run the soap all over your body and between your legs until I'm stroking you and slipping my fingers inside you. I want to spend an afternoon taking you against the door and making you scream.

I literally can't wait to hear from you: every time I open something from you I feel like a normal person again.

-R

***

Oh, fuck. You have no idea how much I need it at the moment. I want you to take me into the bath and soap me up and touch me, and maybe you can shave me so I'm smooth so it'll feel better to your tongue and lips.

Would you let me stay with you afterwards? Most of the time, guys just kick me out when they're done with me.

-N

***

I don't know your name, or what you look like, or even if you are what you say you are, but I want you so much I'd never let you leave. You could stay with me - or run away from me - whenever you want and I wouldn't mind in the slightest. I don't care if you even change your mind about all the things you've said and just want to talk to me when we meet. I have no idea who you are, I feel so incredibly lonely I just need to talk to anyone, to have them want to talk to me: a friend of mine has been so distant to me lately and I don't know why: all I know is that I'd do anything to have her back, but I want you too.

Thank you for listening to me whinge.

-R

***

Dear R,

I want to meet you. I've thought about it and I want to see your face and feel you against me. I don't care what you look like or what your name is. If your friend never speaks to you again you'll always have me, because I can talk to you and feel smart and honest, and pretty for a change, without hearing you demand anything of me. I've lost a friend recently too: the man I told you about, who I thought I loved, but he never knew it and now I don't know it, and I just need someone to show me the slightest scrap of positive attention.

Let me know a time, and a place, and how you want me to dress and look.

-N

***

N,

I worry if you see me, or know what I am or what people think of me that you won't want to so much as look in my direction: I want to meet you and see you, but I fear you'll be hurt if you see what I'm really like. I don't care what you look like or what you wear: so long as I know it's you.

If you want your friend over me after meeting me, I'll understand perfectly. It won't be the first time, and it won't be the last. Tell him: I know I'd want to hear it.

-R

***

R,

I don't care. I don't care if you're fat, or a convict, or anything: I want the person I'm speaking to in these emails. And while you'll talk to me, I'd rather that than anything: it's so much harder to tell someone you love them than it is to tell them you want them to fuck your brains out. I'll try.

-N

***

Dear N,

Tell them in a note: anything. I'll understand. But if you still want to meet me, I'll be free from noon on Friday under the television in Times Square.

-R

***

R,

I'll see you there. I'll have red shoes and stockings on. Noon, Friday.

-N

***

"Muggle book, Tonks?"

She looks up at him from across the table and sticks her tongue out. "Yes, you know, I am cultured occasionally," she whispers, trying to avoid being heard by McGonagall, who's delivering a long, detailed and thoroughly boring report.

He pulls it away from her and inspects the cover. "1984. I think I read that one years ago, back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth."

"Nice to hear you talking to me, finally."

"You're the one who's been avoiding me."

"As if!" Emmeline Vance looks up at her in surprise at the loudness of her statement, and she leans in closer to him. "Just playing hard to get with you, is all."

"You needn't bother."

"What are you up to after this?" She closes her book and sticks a piece of card into it to hold her place.

"You know my exciting routine: sleeping, napping, the occasional siesta..."

"Wish I could be there for it."

"Mr Lupin and Miss Tonks, is there something you'd like to share with the group?" McGonagall looks down at them severely, and Remus turns red when all the faces turn to look at him and Tonks.

"Erm, no, miss."

"Are you two passing letters?"

"You know, I have started behaving myself since school," he says cheekily, flicking at a bit of stray breadcrumb on the table in front of him.

"That may well be. Miss Tonks, what did you just put in your book?"

"Nothing, I swear!"

McGonagall scowls, and resumes reading from her report. Remus grabs a scrap of paper from in front of him and hastily scrawls, with the tiniest quill he can find: "what are you doing after this?"

Tonks replies: "going out on a blind date."

He replies: "as if you are."

She replies: "you're just jealous you didn't meet this guy first."

He smiles at her, feeling a bit funny as he looks appraisingly over her. She's left her hair short and messy, and there's the distinct trace of red on her lips, though the rest of her face is bare and pretty. However, his appraisal is cut short by a dig in the ribs from Sirius, who's drawn a revolting picture of Severus and Lucius Malfoy in crude positions. He smiles, fakely, and tries to pay attention to the rest of McGonagall's report: which thankfully only takes another minute or two before Dumbledore adjourns the meeting.

He sits back in his chair, nerves rising as he runs his fingers through his hair. He wonders if she'll turn up when he arrives at Times Square. He braces himself: it won't be the first time a woman stands him up, and definitely not the last too. He reflects on how stupid it was to listen to dating tips from Arthur Weasley, and his many praises for the fabulous new muggle technologies, and hates himself when he realises he will have to string a million lies to keep N from ever knowing about himself.

Tonks is the last to leave him in the kitchen, and as she stands her face is paler than normal, and she looks a bit fidgety. "Erm... have fun. With your napping and stuff, that is."

"You too. On your date, and stuff."

She accidentally - and the term is used loosely - lets the card fall onto the table behind her, and walks slowly to the counter to take off her robes and adjust her muggle clothing. He catches a glimpse of his name on the card, and with her back turned he furtively picks it up and turns it over, and his heart sinks when he reads the words:

I LOVE YOU.

He looks at her and sees her looking quite pretty in a plain black dress to her knees: on her feet, flat red shoes, and on her legs a pair of stockings with a seam drawing his eyes north, and as she leaves the room a million little cogs in his head jam into place.

"Oh, God... Tonks, wait."

She turns to him, a slightly confused look on her face. "I have to go, really, I do--" She seems so eager to get away from him: as if ashamed of her admission.

"I think we need to sit down and talk."

"But I'm meeting someone--"

"--at Times Square, I know."

She looks at him for a second before she flushes bright red and her mouth drops open. "Oh."

For five minutes the two don't move from their positions: Remus examines his card from every angle, and she fidgets with her dress, her face bright red. He feels so stupid and disgusting, and when he finally looks up to her face he wishes he'd never ever met her or said a word to her.

"It's me. Who you were talking about in those email things to me."

"I... I didn't know... "

"I'm so sorry."

She walks slowly to the table and pulls out the chair beside him, sitting down slowly into it. Her knee brushes against his, and her skirt rides up so he can see the tops of her stockings. He was so bold in his emails, but now he's timid and scared and so ashamed. He feels her hand on his cheek, stroking him absently.

"It's weird, isn't it: how you told me all that stuff about yourself when you thought I was a stranger."

"It is, a bit." He takes her other hand and taps his foot nervously against the ground. "You probably think I'm some disgusting old pervert or something, now."

"I don't." She kisses him on the cheek, and rests her head on his shaking shoulders. "What are you afraid of? I don't bite."

He laughs. "You said you did, in your thing to me."

"I will, if you want me to."

"It's so weird. Like, still wanting to meet this fantastic person who told me they didn't care and that they don't mind what I'm like and--"

"I still don't care."

"You don't think that those things from me... that they're not from me?"

She smiles softly, and he sees that her lipstick isn't quite on straight and her hair is a bit messier than she probably tried for, and the seam in her stockings is crooked. "It's hard reconciling the fact that there's never been this second person out there who wanted to meet me."

"I still want you. You know, if you want me, that is, I won't mind if you think I'm an absolute deviant idiot or anything--"

She presses another kiss onto his cheek, this time closer to his lips. "I asked you to do something in those email-whatsits."

"Let you stay with me?"

He felt her slide into his lap, and she took his face in her hands. "Is there a bath in your ensuite upstairs?"

***