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Get Back | Tomorrow Never Knows

***

Five minutes and one illegally-procured broomstick later, he was hovering outside the bathroom window of Suite 3. A slow circuit of the building had told him there were six rooms above the pub, odd and even numbers flanking a central hall. Rooms with odd numbers ran along the front of the tavern.

The window was as filthy as the one downstairs, and he tried to keep his nose from actually touching it as he peered in. The bathroom was filthy, too, barely more than a cubbyhole; the bathroom door was open, and Sirius could see part of the room beyond. A sagging chair. A scarred bed stand. One corner of the bed, haphazardly-made. He wrinkled his nose. Some suite. Surely Red Eyes, with his elegant mien and his fine clothes and his ready supply of galleons, could afford a nicer fuckpad than this.

Then again, a fifty-something man who liked to shag teenage boys probably couldn't be too choosy, could he?

Carefully, Sirius eased the window open and climbed in, a fragment of an old Muggle song playing faintly in his head. It was tricky, trying to keep the cloak from slipping off as he struggled off the broom and through the tiny opening, but he managed it. Well, he was a Marauder; there was likely no piece of mischief he couldn't handle.

What he would find in the next room was another story.

He stuck his head in. The room was tiny, and the rest of it was as ugly and dusty as the small portion he had already seen. Red Eyes was nowhere in sight, but Snape and Malfoy were. Big time.

Standing at the foot of the bed. Half-naked, arms wrapped around each other. Kissing.

Sirius stared at them. For all of his fevered imaginings, he didn't know what he had expected, really, but it certainly hadn't been this. This looked nothing like the desperate, ravenous kisses he and Snape exchanged, biting at each other, trying to hurt, trying to win - competitors, even in that. This was slow and languid and luxurious, lips caressing lips, mouths meeting and pushing and sliding and opening in perfect harmony; here and there, a low moan broke through the kiss, and Sirius could see the muscles working in Malfoy's throat as he sucked on Snape's tongue.

He never let me kiss him like that.

Well, that was only technically true, he supposed. He had kissed Snape like that once, though Snape didn't know it. On their very first night together, after Snape had passed out, Sirius had kissed him, and it had been, well...nice. No struggle, no biting, no gnawing each other's faces and fighting for dominance - just a nice, slow, deep kiss.

But Lucius Malfoy apparently merited such treatment when Snape was awake.

Sirius clenched his fists, suddenly furious that he'd had to sneak and steal what Snape was offering Malfoy so freely, and in that moment he could have stood by and watched gladly as the two of them were ripped apart by wild dogs.

He moved further into the room, closer to them, edging along the wall. He didn't know why he was moving; he didn't even know why he was still here. He only knew that he couldn't stand what he was seeing and he couldn't walk away.

They were both naked now. Malfoy had Snape's ass in his hands and was using it like a handle, grinding the younger boy's groin into his. He was biting Snape's neck, that tender spot just at the start of the shoulder, and Snape was boneless in his arms, head back, eyes closed, delectable mouth open on soft gasps that Sirius could almost taste. Another helpless surge of anger swept over him. It was just a hickey, for Christ's sake, and the little whore looked like he was going to swoon.

The slut. The cheap, easy, faithless little cunt. He was going to pay for this if Sirius had to make his ass sing.

Lips still glued to Snape's neck, Malfoy eased him down onto the bed. He traced the shell of Snape's ear with his tongue, sucked briefly on the lobe, then released it with a soft smack. "So..." he whispered. "What do you think of him?"

Snape tensed, his eyes opening warily. "I don't want to talk about him."

Malfoy laughed softly into Snape's neck. "I don't want to talk at all," he smirked. "But I'm afraid we must, sometimes." He ran his tongue along Snape's jaw and captured his mouth again in another brief, hot kiss. "He wants you, Severus. He really does. I saw it in his eyes."

Snape shuddered - no doubt thinking about those eyes - and grabbed Malfoy's head in both hands. "Later, Lucius. Not now."

Malfoy smiled. It was a real smile, full of warmth and amused affection. It brought an answering smile from Snape, a smile that softened his strange features and made him almost handsome, and Sirius had never hated either one of them more than he did at that moment. Forget wild dogs; dismemberment was too good for them. "Then what...now?"

For answer, Snape pulled his head down. Another kiss. Long. Slow. So deep it was hard to tell where his mouth ended and Malfoy's began. "Use your imagination, you fucking Slytherin."

In the end, Malfoy used more than his imagination. Considerably more. And Sirius was there for it all. A bizarre sort of detachment settled over him as he watched, covering his fury, but not dulling it. It was as if a second personality took over, offering bland, random commentary while the real Sirius waited, silent, stewing, throbbing with jealousy and rage.

Merlin, his nipples are sensitive. Look at them perk up when the arsehole tongues them. I haven't really paid enough attention to them, have I? Not so much as a tweak, now that I think - Ouch! Christ, that had to hurt. Watch the teeth, arsehole, that's my property you're gnawing on...Gods, he really loves it though, doesn't he. Bloody little pain slut. Maybe I should try some nipple clamps on him. Some of the really nasty, magic ones that suck while they bite. Chomp those little titties 'til they scream...Now what the fuck are you doing? Well, that's...different. Belly-button tongue-fucking, live from Hogsmeade. Sounds like an ad for bad Muggle television. Shit, it really gets him going, though, doesn't it? His cock twitches every time Malfoy sticks his tongue in. Maybe I need to have a go at that myself. Snivvy does have a sexy stomach. Yeah, I could get into th - What are you stopping for? Don't stop, you git, he loves it...Oh. Well. Guess he loves that, too. And look at Malfoy go! Shit. Maybe I need to practice more. How the hell is he taking him that deep? Hey, arsehole, can you breathe? I guess you can. Too bad. Guess you're just a natural-born cocksucker, then. But at least I play with his balls. What are they, orphans? Give them a squeeze, for Christ's sake! Nice and hard - he likes it rough. But you already know that, don't you, arsehole? Sure you do. You damn near bit his tits off a couple of minutes ago. Jesus, you really must be good at that...he's close already...do you swallow, arsehole? Do you want to--?

"Fuck me," Snape said suddenly. His hands clutched convulsively at the long white silk of Malfoy's hair; his voice was unrecognizable, harsh and weak and shaking with need. "Please, Lucius, please, now."

Malfoy released the suction with a loud pop and smiled. "You're so demanding, Severus," he purred. "And so perverse, considering how close you were to release. Glorious..." Lick. "Shattering..." Lick. "Devastating..." Lick. "Release." He snaked out his tongue and swirled it slowly over the head of Snape's cock, and Snape arched, his body a trembling white bow.

"Please!"

The sheer need in the word, that one word, ripped through Sirius like a knife. How hard had he had to work to hear that word from Snape? How long had he had to spank and screw and taunt and threaten him to wrench it, kicking and screaming, from Snape's lips?

Just fuck him already, he thought. He suddenly felt very tired. Just fuck him and get it over with, so I can get out of here.

Either Malfoy was a mind-reader, or he was even hornier than he looked: he had Snape's knees up to Snape's shoulders and Snape's hole stuffed fat with rich-boy cock almost before Sirius could blink. There was no teasing now, no playing, not even any real preparation - just two fingers in, barely-slicked and shaking with impatience, stretching Snape clumsily before the prick slammed home. One thrust, two, three, each one lifting Snape clear off the mattress - and of a sudden Snape was coming, jerking, humping, clawing at Malfoy's ass. Malfoy gave a tremendous shudder and froze, buried deep in the spasming body, sinking his teeth into Snape's shoulder to muffle his cry of release.

A little quick on the trigger there, eh, Blondie? Sirius jeered silently. But his heart wasn't really in it. Snape looked completely wrecked, and it was hard to gloat after watching another man fuck his lover into what appeared to be an irreversible coma. He passed out. Son-of-a-bitch. And here I thought I was special.

Malfoy panted over him for a moment, head hanging, eyes closed, before easing himself out of Snape and settling beside him. He studied the slack face with amusement. "Severus?"

Nothing.

Gently, Malfoy tweaked a nipple and tried again. "Severus?"

Still nothing.

Malfoy's smile turned wicked. He slid his hand down Snape's body and ever-so-lightly skimmed his fingertips along the spent prick. A shudder whipped through Snape, a gasp tore from his throat, and his eyes flew open wide. "Fuck!"

"Just did." Malfoy teased the fingers along his length again, and Snape squirmed away frantically, grabbing at Malfoy's hand.

"Merlin, Lucius, stop! Gods, I - You know I can't stand that!"

"I do. But I can't resist. You wriggle so prettily, Severus. As though you're suffering the most exquisite torture." The gleam in his eye at the word "torture" was a bit unsettling, Sirius thought. Like he might be wishing it was a razor blade he was dragging along Snape's cock instead of his fingers. “Besides, I had to bring you around somehow."

Snape blushed. "I blacked out again."

"You did."

"Why do I do that?" Snape looked so genuinely flustered, it was almost cute. Made Sirius want to pat him on his messy little head. "Why does that always happen to me?"

Malfoy's laugh was deep and dirty. "Well, I'm no mediwizard, Severus, but I'd wager the size of that Quidditch bat between your legs has something to do with it. Frankly, I'm surprised you don't faint dead away every time you get an erection." Snape's blush deepened, and Malfoy laughed again, wrapping his arms around the younger wizard's waist. "Honestly, you're still such a child sometimes. Who cares why it happens? It's brilliant. And it does such marvelous things for my ego."

Join the club, arsehole.

They lay in silence, a cozy tangle of arms and legs, Malfoy lazily stroking Snape's back, Snape playing with Malfoy's hair. After a few moments, Snape spoke into the quiet. "How did he know?"

Malfoy didn't even open his eyes. "How did who know what?" he mumbled.

"You know who. How did he know about my father?"

Malfoy shrugged and cracked one eye. "I told you, Severus. He just...he just knows things." He shifted - uneasily, Sirius thought - and pulled Snape a bit closer. "I think he might be a Leglimens."

"A what?"

"A Leglimens. A wizard who can read minds."

Snape frowned at the ceiling. "I've never heard of that."

"Well, now you have." Malfoy's voice was drowsy again. "Now go to sleep."

With obvious reluctance, Snape closed his eyes. Less than a minute later, however, they were open again, staring thoughtfully at nothing. Sirius recognized that look - brow creased, a little frown tugging at his lips. It was the same calculating look Snape sometimes wore in Potions or Transfiguration, on the rare occasion when his Dexterity Draught wouldn't thicken properly, or his owl turned into a quaffle with wings. "But I wasn't thinking about my father."

Malfoy groaned. "You're always thinking about your father, Severus." He stretched, yawned. "And in any case, sitting in a pub full of drunken reprobates probably wouldn't put him far from your mind."

Snape's face tightened. "You have an ugly mouth, Malfoy."

Malfoy sighed. "Severus, it's no secret what your father is. You must know that."

"And what is he, Lucius?" Bitter. Angry. Ashamed.

"A drunk. A thug. A Muggle-loving has-been who treats you like shit just because you like the Dark Arts and don't see evil wizards behind every bush."

Well, that was tactful, Sirius thought. But surprisingly candid, coming from Malfoy. Certainly, Sirius couldn't disagree with him; pretty much the whole school thought that Snape's father was some kind of nutter. Perhaps not as nutty as his wife, who was reportedly locked up in the psycho ward at St. Mungo's, but a nasty piece of work nonetheless. Just the Howlers he occasionally sent his son - all of which were savage, some of which were already the stuff of school legend - proved that.

And did Snape really think it was such a secret? Christ, the rumors about his parents were one of the biggest reasons Snape was considered such an oddball, although Sirius himself had never held that particular aspect of Snape's weirdness against him. Not with the number of nuts on the Black family tree. Indeed, from what little Sirius knew of Snape's father, the old fruitcake sounded like a perfect match for Sirius's mum.

"I've never told anyone," Snape said now, as if Malfoy had not spoken at all. "Not all of it. Not even the half of it. I--" He lowered his voice. "Not even you know all of it, Lucius. Not the really bad parts. But he did. He knew." He heaved himself up on one elbow and looked at Malfoy through the heavy curtain of his hair, his face earnest and puzzled and a little frightened. He looked very young and very vulnerable, and it made that strange something tighten in Sirius's chest again.

"I told you, Severus. He makes it his business to know." To Sirius, Malfoy sounded careful. As if "he" might be listening to them, even now.

"My life is none of his fucking business," Snape spat suddenly, viciously, and Malfoy went as white as his hair.

"Don't talk like that!" he hissed. "For the love of Salazar, Severus, don't ever say anything like that again. Don't even think it."

Snape stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Lucius, he can't hear us." Malfoy said nothing. Snape grimaced. "Are you that afraid of him, then?"

Malfoy began stroking his back again, avoiding his eyes. "It isn't a question of fear, Severus," he said. His voice was calm once more; his face said he was lying through his teeth. "It's simply a matter of respect."

"Bollocks. You don't respect anyone."

"I respect him. And if you had anything in that head of yours besides curses and adolescent melodrama, you would, too."

"I can respect him without pissing myself every time I say his name."

Ooh, that was a shot. Sirius expected Malfoy to bristle, to bluster and deny, but the blond did none of it; instead, he gave a wan chuckle and a playful slap to Snape's backside, a reaction that seemed to surprise Snape as much as it did Sirius. "What I said before I'll say again, Severus: you're still such a child. I do forget that, sometimes."

Snape scowled, squirming slightly under the caressing hand. "Lucius--"

"Enough." Another soft slap. "Go to sleep. You said you didn't want to talk about him, so we shan't." He pulled Snape closer, still fondling his ass, and nuzzled under his ear. "And I want to sleep, too. You wore me out, you little snake."

"I should be going," Snape said, nevertheless relaxing into the embrace. "It's getting late."

"The room's paid up for the night. I expect I'll want to fuck you at least two or three more times before morning." He squeezed lightly between Snape's legs. "Perhaps I'll even have a ride on this monster at long last."

Oh, isn't that cozy, Snivvy? Sirius thought. We both have the same nickname for your cock.

"I really shouldn't," Snape said. And all the while just about humping Malfoy's hand, the slut. "I don't need any more detentions."

"You won't get a detention," Malfoy assured him. "Father's friends on the Board will take care of everything."

That seemed to settle the matter, more or less. The debate went back and forth another minute or so before it dwindled down to a sleepy exchange of mumbled words and caresses and kisses, then to nothing at all.

Sirius waited, listening to the even, mingled breathing for a full five minutes before he dared to move. Carefully he stood, pushing himself up along the wall, using it for support; his legs were as asleep as the pair on the bed. The items in his pockets - the belt and switch and paddle - slapped lightly against his thighs, as if to remind him that they were still there, and more than willing to be used.

He needed no reminder. Both Slytherins were already deeply asleep, their wands lost in the careless tangle of clothing on the floor, and it would have been all too easy to overpower them. Tie them up. Cast a silencing charm on the room. Give Malfoy a long-overdue thrashing, give Snape the ass-whipping of his life, and still have enough energy left over to fuck Snivvy six ways from Sunday.

And he'd make sure Malfoy had a ringside seat. Let Malfoy see every twitch and tremor he drew from that struggling body, let him hear every helpless whimper and moan Snape tried desperately not to make. He'd shag him nice and long and slow and let Malfoy eat his heart out, watching another man, a man who could actually last more than thirty seconds in the saddle, turn his little fucktoy inside-out.

Now was his chance.

Now.

He didn't move.

He didn't want it, he realized. Any of it. Didn't want to punish Snape, didn't want to struggle with him, overpower him, force him to respond. He'd already done all of that, and where had it gotten him? He was the one standing in this shitty little room alone, breathing the reek of Slytherin sex, burning with a jealousy that tasted like bile in his throat.

He stared at the two bodies entwined on the bed. They were sleeping nose-to-nose and cock-to-cock, their hair spilling and mingling on the pillow, black silk shot with white. Malfoy's hand was still between Snape's legs, slightly cupped, possessive even in slumber; Snape's hand was on Malfoy's. Sirius didn't know which hand bothered him more.

I held you like that once, you ungrateful little whore. Only once, and, just as with the kiss, Snape had been unconscious throughout, but, still, Sirius had enjoyed it. Lying skin-to-skin, sharing warmth, kissing away Snape's nightmares, had made Sirius feel almost tender towards the little git, and he hadn't felt that way toward anyone in a very long time. Not since Reg was a toddler, at least.

This was what he wanted. What Malfoy had, right here, right now. And not just Snape curled up in his arms, seduced and sated and tamed, but all of it, all of it. Snape's face, eager, welcoming, trusting... smiling. Snape's eyes on his, burning, adoring and ecstatic. Snape's hands on his body, all over his body, as they had been all over Malfoy. How would those hands feel on him? What would it be like to have those elegant fingers combing through his hair, caressing his back, digging into his straining buttocks as he slid in and out of Snape's tight heat?

Gods, he wanted to know. He had to know.

Might as well wish for the moon, Paddy. It was James's voice, James at his cynical, tell-it-like-it-is best. You know that, don't you?

Sirius didn't leave the room. He fled from it.

***

He didn't even attempt to go to Snape that night. In the first place, he doubted very much there would be a Snape to go to, and, in the second...well, he didn't really care to know for sure.

So he went to bed early, Malfoy's words ringing in his ears - I expect I'll want to fuck you at least two or three more times before morning - and surprised himself by falling promptly, deeply asleep.

Asleep, and dreaming.

***

Almost half of it was inside Snape now, twisting and probing, stretching him gently. It was thinner than Sirius's prick, but longer - and much, much harder. There would be no give to it when Snape tightened around it, none at all, and every squeeze would produce a faint but oddly pleasant ache. And the magic! It would be unlike anything he'd ever felt, glowing inside him, sparking, tingling, quivering.

Was Snape feeling it yet? Oh, yes. He was rapidly getting hard again, the fear on his face shifting to helpless arousal.

"Oh, yes," Sirius murmured. He let his head drop back and half-closed his eyes, his hips moving slightly, mimicking the thrusting motions of his hand. He was getting as much pleasure from the act as Snape was; he felt as if it was his cock buried in the Slytherin boy instead of his wand.

Aware of Snape's eyes on him, Sirius murmured the linking spell again -
"Simpaticus" - and twisted another two inches of wand into the Slytherin. Snape arched, pressing down hard with his thighs against the arms of the chair, and Sirius shuddered and hissed, "Oh, yes!" once more, clutching blindly at Snape's ass.

Snape fell back, panting - then he shoved himself abruptly upwards, impaling himself on the remaining few inches of wand, tightening his muscles savagely as if to say,
Take that, arsehole.

"Fuck!" Sirius's eyes flew open, shocked and glaring. For a moment, he looked at Snape blankly, not even seeing him; then he narrowed his eyes. "Oh, Snivvy wants to play, does he?"

His hand stole down to the wand now buried in Snape's hole and touched it lightly. Snape threw back his head with a cry as the quiver under Sirius's hand became a hard, steady vibration. Sirius touched it again, angling it to pulse relentlessly against Snape's prostate; Snape began to hump helplessly, and Sirius couldn't tell if he was trying to get away from the intense sensation or trying to get more.

Then Sirius ducked his head down between Snape's thighs again and took half his impressive length in a single gulp. He twisted the wand in and out, sucking hard enough to make his cheeks ache, and all at once Snape was coming, coming without any warning, coming in a bitter-salty flood down Sirius's throat, and Sirius was coming, too, spraying the ornate carpet between his spread knees with cream.


Right on their fucking House crest, he thought fuzzily, letting Snape's cock slip from his mouth. Brilliant.

Still on his knees, he slumped forward and wrapped his arms around Snape's waist, resting his forehead on Snape's crotch. Despite the weight, Snape made no move to buck him off or squirm away. He made no move at all, and when Sirius was finally lucid enough to register this, he lifted his head and took a look
.

Son-of-a-bitch, he marveled. Passed out again. And, then, on the heels of that: Damn, I really am good at this.

He climbed slowly to his feet and tucked himself back into his jeans. It took longer than it should have; his fingers were fumbling, his hands shaking. That sex-link spell - the Simpaticus Charm, it was called - had worked like...well, like a charm. Sirius had felt everything through his wand, as strong and hot and
right there as if he had been fucking Snape himself. He glanced at the rug again, a mean little smile tugging at his lips. He had kept his promise to Remus - at no time had his cock actually breached Snape's sanctity - and he had still managed to shoot like a bloody geyser.

Not to mention the fact that he had fucked Snape into a boneless, brainless, insensate heap.

Again.

The smile became a grin. He felt almost giddy as he unspelled Snape from his awkward sprawl in the chair and carried him, long limbs dangling, to his bed. Jesus, it was almost
too easy. And it was only their second night together. At this rate, he was going to have Snivvy emitting heartfelt sighs in his direction and doodling "Mrs. Severus Black" on his homework before the week was out.

He laid Snape carefully on the bed. The Slytherin gave a whispery little cry as Sirius arranged his legs in a more natural position, and Sirius gave him a speculative look.
Probably sore from having them spread so wide, he thought. And they'll probably be on fire tomorrow.

He glanced across the room. The little jar of whatever-it-was was still on the rug beside the chair, where Sirius had tossed it, where Snape - thank the gods for small favors - had slipped on it. Without really thinking about it one way or another, Sirius aimed his wand at it and murmured,
"Accio," and the jar flew into his hand.

He looked at it. He opened it. He sniffed it. He scooped out a small amount in his palm, about the size of a sickle, and tested its texture between his fingertips, as he had tested it earlier on Snape. Well,
in him, anyway. He hadn't been mocking Snape; it really was quality stuff, silky and warm and wondrously light.

He looked at Snape again. The Slytherin was still out cold; he would never know. And Sirius was feeling so good, so outrageously pleased with himself - and with Snape, too, when you got right down to it - he supposed he could afford to be charitable. Just this once.

Besides...the odd kindness here or there could only help him reach his ultimate goal. What was it the old Muggle song said?
Try A Little Tenderness?

He sat on the bed and began massaging the salve into Snape's thighs. He kept his touches light, brief, as non-sexual as possible, even when his fingers came close to Snape's most intimate parts. He didn't want to hurt the little dork, but he didn't want to arouse him, either; in the first place, it would defeat the purpose, and in the second, he couldn't get it up right now with a gallon-jug of Boner Bloom.

As he worked, Sirius reflected. It was surprisingly pleasant, doing this; it was amazing how much easier it was to be nice to Snape when the snarky shithead was unconscious. Hell, just having his mouth shut for any length of time did wonders for his personality. Why, if he—

Snape moaned. It was not a moan of pleasure or pain, but of sorrow. Despair, even - it sounded perilously close to a sob.

"Don't," he murmured, and his hands pushed feebly against Sirius's. "Don't, don't, just leave me alone, why can't you just leave me alone?"

Sirius froze. Snape's eyes were still closed, but his brow was furrowed, and his agitation was real. And growing by the minute.
A nightmare, Sirius realized, going weak with relief. Just a nightmare.

But, oh, those words struck just a bit too close to home.

"You let him...you never stop him...never help when I need you...why don't you ever stop him?"


Stop who? Sirius wondered wildly. Me? James? Malfoy? Your father? It could be most anybody, he supposed; Snape's tormentors numbered in the dozens.

And why did that thought make him feel hot and queasy with shame?

Snape's struggles were getting stronger; Sirius had been holding him down without even realizing it, and now he backed off, afraid Snape would wake up. Snape stopped his flailing, but his weeping grew more intense, his body shaking with anguished, gut-deep sobs. Sirius felt the old contempt try to rise within him -
there goes Snivellus again, hey, bawl-baby, what's a matter, fall off your broom again and bruise your little arse? - and then disappear without a peep. Snape looked terrified, more frightened even than he had been of the wand inside him; even worse, he looked helpless. Helpless, and bewildered, like a child who was in terrible pain and didn't understand why no one would make it stop.

He looked so much like Regulus that it hurt.


I should get out of here. Right now, while I still can.

But he couldn't. He couldn't, any more than he'd ever been able to turn Reg away when he came to him in the night, tear-streaked and trembling and terrified of the storm crashing outside his window. Reg when he was no more than three or four years old and still scared of just about everything, Reg back before everything got so ugly and twisted and fucked-up between them. Reg, back when Reg still needed him.

Sirius swallowed. Took a deep breath. He even glanced around, as if someone might actually be watching, before reaching out a tentative hand and placing it on Snape's brow. His other hand was clamped hard on his wand, his eyes glued to Snape's face, and, gods help him, if Snape's eyelids so much as twitched, he was going to find himself hexed halfway to Hell and back.

Nothing. The hand did not awaken Snape, but it didn't calm him, either. He continued to sob quietly, his words now so indistinct and choked that Sirius couldn't understand any of them. And that look, that unbearable, lost look, was still on his face.

Sirius thought back. What
had he done with Reg when he was having a nightmare? What had he said to him? Gods, he couldn't remember. It had been ages ago. It had been a fucking lifetime ago.

"Shhh," he whispered, feeling lame and foolish and terribly self-conscious. Awkwardly, he stroked the damp black hair, smoothing it back from Snape's forehead. "Shhh, it's all right, everything's all right. Go to sleep. It's all over now."

Snape shook his head slightly, as if in denial, and moaned again. Sirius repeated the words and the calming caresses, torn between rueful amusement and an embarrassment so deep it was almost painful.

Gods, what would anyone think if they could see this scene? he wondered, still "Shhh"-ing and stroking absently. What would Prongs say, or - oh, gods help me - Peter? That little rat would never let me live it down. Probably have to kill him to stop him running his gob. He cast another furtive look around, then caught himself. What was the point? Even without witnesses, this was utterly humiliating.

But it was working.

He glanced down at Snape's face. It
was working, wasn't it? Snape's brow had smoothed, and his sobs had tapered off to an occasional whimper or wet sigh. Sirius felt an unexpected swell of pride. Well. It looked like he hadn't lost his touch, after all. And he felt something else, too, something warmer and deeper and better than pride, something he hadn't felt in so long that he didn't even recognize it at first.

Tenderness.

The memory came to him in a rush, so powerful and immediate it was nearly time-travel, so strong it made tears sting his eyes. The storm raging outside. The low murmur of the house elves working downstairs. The warm, sweet, sleeping weight of the small boy in his arms, and the knowledge that his arms were the only place his little brother wanted to be. The safest place.


Little git. He stroked his hand through Snape's hair again and continued the caress down, along his temple, his cheek, his jaw. Snape made a soft sound low in his throat - sleepy, contented - and a smile Sirius couldn't squash curved his lips. Oh, yeah. Just like Regulus.

He looked down at himself. He was already lying on the bed, close to Snape, but not quite touching him; he didn't know exactly when or how that had happened, but it had. He looked at the clock, which said it was well past two. He looked at Snape, sleeping deeply and peacefully and apparently dreamlessly now, and wished with all his heart that he could join him. Just curl around him like a blanket and close his eyes and pretend, perhaps, that there was a storm outside. Just for an hour or two. Just for old times' sake.


Might as well wish for the moon, Paddy. It was James's voice, James at his cynical, tell-it-like-it-is best. You know that, don't you?

He ignored the voice. He could do it, he mused. It wasn't as if he couldn't protect himself. He had his wand, while Snape's was still clear across the room. He could put a waking spell on Snape, one that would rouse Sirius the instant the Slytherin opened his eyes. He could put a low-level ward on himself. He could—

Snape was awake.

Snape was awake. Facing him. Staring at him. They lay nose-to-nose and cock-to-cock, Snape's face no more than an inch or two from Sirius's. That face wore no expression at all, and his eyes, those queer, bottomless black eyes, were unfathomable; even at this distance, Sirius could see nothing in them but his own shocked and rather sheepish reflection.

And then Snape smiled.

It was a real smile, a smile that softened his strange features and made him almost handsome, and Sirius had never wanted him - had never wanted
anyone - more than he did at that moment. And he wanted all of him, all of him, down to the last detail: the snarky bits, the geeky bits, the dangerous bits that snarled and sneered, the endearing bits that smiled invitingly, the sexy bitch who fucked like a seasoned whore and the guileless child who sobbed in the darkness of untold dreams. All of him. For now, for ever.

Thinking
Might as well start somewhere, Sirius tilted his head and kissed him. Really kissed him, tenderly and thoroughly, clenching careful fingers in his hair. It was crazy, he knew it was, the whole thing was crazy, but Snape must have been just as crazy, because he was kissing back, just as tenderly, just as thoroughly, wrapping his arms around Sirius's neck and writhing lazily, teasingly against him. His lips left Sirius's and brushed his ear.

"Fuck me," Snape said suddenly, his breath hot and tickling, sending shivers down Sirius's spine. "Please, Sirius, please, now."


Please. A word he couldn't resist, not from those lips. And Sirius. Not "Black," not "Gryffindor," not arsehole or fuckhead or shit-for-brains or any of a hundred other vicious insults, but Sirius. His name, wrung out in ecstasy and desire, carried on that beautiful dark voice like a prayer.

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes." Covers were tugged down, clothing shed, and Sirius felt Snape's hands on him for the first time. Stroking. Squeezing. Pulling him close.

Then they were kissing again, and somehow they had rolled and Snape was on top of him, impaling himself on Sirius with delicate, gasping little thrusts, and his hands were everywhere, everywhere, and Sirius was coming and Snape was coming and it was better than good, it was perfection, it was exactly the way Sirius had imagined it.

It was exactly the way it should be.


***

It was only a dream.

Oh...oh, shit.

He should have known. Even asleep, he should have known. It sure as hell hadn't happened like that in real life. Oh, some of it had - the first part was dead on, from fucking Snape with the wand right down to the Florence Nightenwitch bit with the salve, right down to Snape's nightmare and Sirius's clumsy comforting. Right up until the smiling and the kissing and that glorious, honey-sweet, slow-motion shag.

Maybe if I don't open my eyes, I can slide back into it...

And Sirius had slept with him. Literally slept with him, cozy as two spoons in a drawer. Not one of his brighter moves, Sirius knew - he didn't care to think too long or too hard on what Snape would have done to him, had he awakened first - but no harm had been done. Unfortunately, no smiling or kissing or glorious slow shagging had been done, either, and it figured that the best part of the dream would also be the one part that never happened.

Oh, it happened, mate. At least it was his own voice taunting him this time. It just didn't happen with you.

Malfoy. The mere thought of him was enough to chase the last of the dream's sexy-sweet residue away, and Sirius gave up and opened his eyes.

Were they together right now? he wondered. Bah - of course they were. Probably rocking the Hog's Head off its rotting foundation, humping away like a couple of horny rabbits, while Sirius lay alone and miserable and grasping at the tatters of a dream. Were they laughing at him? Had Snape told Malfoy about him? Sirius wouldn't put it past him. Probably made him feel sly and clever, getting on his back for Sirius all week long and then putting his ass in the air for Malfoy. Oh, yeah. That probably made old Snivvy feel slick as shit through a skrewt. They were probably laughing their asses off right now, thinking of poor, pathetic Sirius Black wandering the halls of Hogwarts, looking for his bedtime treat and not finding it. Poor, pathetic Sirius Black, with only his hand for company.

You Slytherin bastards, he thought, as furious as if they were actually in front of him, convulsed with mirth. You'll be laughing on the other sides of your faces when I'm done with you. One word from him, just one, and he could have Snape expelled and Malfoy in Azkaban before you could say "statutory rape." Love to see Daddy get you out of that one, you slimy albino prick.

He punched the pillow in silent frustration. Who was he kidding? It was a lovely thought, and a tempting one, but he knew he'd never do it. What was the point? Malfoy's old man probably would get him out of it, somehow - that fucking family had more money than Gringotts - but Snape's father, former Auror or not, didn't have that kind of pull. Malfoy would skate, Snape would hang...and where would that leave Sirius? The last thing Sirius wanted was to see Snape kicked out of Hogwarts. Especially now, when Sirius was so close to breaking Snape at last. So close he could feel it.

He lay back, forcing himself to calm down. Three more days. He had just three more days before classes began again, three more days of skeleton-staffed, empty-halled, prefect-less freedom in which to win Snape over. And he could win him over; of that he was certain. He knew what to do now. Oddly enough, he supposed he had Malfoy to thank for that - watching them together, infuriating as it had been, had given him some very clear ideas about the care and handling of Severus Snape.

Keep it rough, but not too rough. Snape clearly enjoyed being dominated, and he seemed to have a kink for mild pain, but he needed to have a little control, too. Temper the insults with humor and affection - Snape hadn't liked it when Malfoy called him a child, but the hand fondling his bum had taken the edge off his anger. Talk to him. Listen to him, or at least pretend to: Sirius doubted Malfoy was any more interested in Snape's troubles than he himself was, but if Lucius Malfoy could fake it, then so could Sirius.

That went for the whole approach, actually: if Malfoy could do it, Sirius could, too.

Malfoy doesn't have to tie him up like a bloody human sacrifice every time they shag.

Sirius sighed. Yes, that was a problem, wasn't it? Bit of a sticky wicket, as old Phineas Nigelus would say. Snape's compliance in bed only went so far - he never tried to prevent Sirius's attentions to him, but he always fought like a demon once they were underway - and Sirius didn't think that was likely to change. No matter how gently he approached Snape, no matter how understanding and affectionate and faux-attentive he might try to be, he would still have to use, at some point, some level of force. And it was awfully hard to convince your lover he was not being violated when you had his legs tied behind his neck and his cock bound up like a sausage hanging in a butcher's shop window.

But it couldn't be helped. He couldn't trust Snape, and without some other way to control him...

When the answer hit him, it was so perfect, so breathtakingly simple and brilliant, he nearly jumped out of bed and ran for his parchment and quills. If Moony had not been in the next bed and deeply asleep, he probably would have. Instead, he lay grinning ear-to-ear, utterly delighted with himself. Hell, even Snape himself would have to admire this twist: it was positively Slytherin.

Sometimes he really did think he was in the wrong house.

Anyway, he didn't need parchment or quills. He knew exactly what he was going to write. Right to the point, as blunt as he dared. Blackmail was a Slytherin concept, maybe, but the actual execution would be very Gryffindor, short and straight and done. And no, Sirius would not actually follow through on the threat, but...well, Snape didn't need to know that, did he? Perhaps he'd catch on sooner rather than later - he was far too clever not to - but three days of believing was all Sirius needed from him.

I know what you did in Hogsmeade. If you don't want anyone else to know, meet me in the small room just under the third-floor staircase at eleven-thirty. P.S. Come alone.

Three days. And then it would be over.

Sirius grinned. He was feeling much better. One of the best things about being Sirius Black, he reflected, was never getting stuck in a dark mood. He was just no good at being miserable for long.

Chapter 4

Comments

( 2 Things We Said Today — Dear Sir or Madam )
dphearson
Oct. 19th, 2005 10:46 am (UTC)
And so sirius follows Severus and Lucius- and watches them make love.

Poor Sirius doesn't even undertsnad that is what is going on,a nd hat is wha he wants. He's eaten up with jealousy, and doesn't seem to want to understand that what he wants is Severus' love, not his submission.
hb_princess
Oct. 19th, 2005 08:32 pm (UTC)
Exactly! Snape is coming to mean something to him, something he didn't count on, but he just doesn't see it. Wanker.
( 2 Things We Said Today — Dear Sir or Madam )