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Stroke Play

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Lupin stopped the golf cart and Snape stepped out, wondering why he'd agreed to this stupid game. This was their fifth outing in a week and Snape honestly could not understand why they spent so much time together when they weren't even friends.

Snape pulled a driver out of his bag and gripped it tightly.

"You look like you know how to handle your wood," said Lupin, winking for some reason that Snape, despite being the youngest professor in Hogwarts history and inventing a shit ton of powerful spells, could not understand.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Something in your eye, Lupin?"

Lupin just smiled and shot his ball across the fairway. Snape's eyes were glued to the rippling muscles underneath his golf shirt, the tight little ass nicely outlined by the too-tight pants he'd decided to wear for some reason. His stomach fluttered, probably indigestion from the candlelight dinner they'd had the night before. Or something. He took a swig of antacid potion but it didn't go away and why could he not stop staring at Lupin's ass? Why??

He was so distracted his ball went right into a sand trap. Dammit. He was making a fool out of himself in front of Lupin. Not that it mattered. Because he hated him. He'd told him straight out during their moonlight boat ride, but did the idiot ever listen? Because obviously Lupin was the idiot. Obviously.

They finally reached the putting green, and Snape could not get that damn ball in.

"Sometimes it takes a few strokes to get it in," said Lupin, in that insufferably modest way of his.

"I don't need pointers from you, Lupin," Snape snarled. He gripped his putter so tightly his knuckles were white.

Lupin came up behind him. "You want a looser grip on that shaft," he whispered, making Snape shiver for some reason that was probably just the cold air and not Lupin's breath in his ear.

He put his arms around Snape and showed him how to grip his putter. He obviously had no concept of personal space, and Snape just stood there because of course Lupin was just being an annoying show-off and there was no other reason he was pressed up right against his ass. And the little groan that escaped Snape's lips was obviously just intense displeasure.

The werewolf let go and Snape prepared to sink the ball.

"Don't put too much force into your stroke," said Lupin. "Ease your way in."

Snape, who naturally assumed they were still talking about golf, because why wouldn't they be, rolled his eyes.

He was so distracted he missed again, and it was completely obvious to him what was going on. That rat bastard Lupin, that rugged wolf-man with the puppy dog eyes and sculpted cheekbones and that stupid golf shirt he’d left unbuttoned so Snape could see the tangle of chest hair just begging to be tugged...what was he doing again? Right. He was clearly trying to throw Snape off his game. Well. He could play just as dirty. He grabbed Lupin's firm, supple ass- strictly for the purpose of winning the game, of course, no other reason-and Lupin's ball went right to the rough.

Seventeen holes later, after much more ass-grabbing, whispering and ear-nibbling, they had over 200 strokes each. The day was cool and windy but Lupin was sweating, did he have some sort of glandular problem?

He leaned over and whispered in Snape's ear. "How about we go back to my place and work on our technique?"

Snape scowled. As though he needed golf tips from this rank amateur.

"I hate golf."

He threw his cloak over his shoulder and walked off the green with a triumpant smirk on his face. Lupin was such a moron.