Once again a one-shot of mine gets a sequel. Anyway, this is the follow-up (the ONLY one I have planned, I might add – it’s hard enough to keep up with the MOTW story arc) to “Here Comes The Snake”. It started out nice and silly and lighthearted and, erm, it got dark. I swear, it was supposed to be a PWP. Something happened, it acquired plot with the sex, and by the end it’s a bit creepy. The primary pairing is Snape/Draco, with hints of Snape/Lucius, Draco/Lucius, Snape/Draco/Lucius, and Lucius/Voldemort. If you’re squicked, turn back now. (Don’t worry, it’s all consensual this time. Just a little weird.)
Disclaimers: Don’t worry, J.K., I’ll give them back. Except maybe Sevvie, who can live in my bed. *eg*
“Some marks never wash off, eh, Snape?”
Lucius sodding Malfoy. Lord sodding Voldemort. Satin sodding duvet that wouldn’t stay put – a situation that left Severus more than a little chilly the few times he woke up in the night. Once again he wished he were back in his own bed at Hogwarts. It being Christmas holidays, though, he didn’t actually need to be there (as Lucius was so kind to point out). So, in traditional can’t-let-them-suspect-anything fashion, he wound up in a bed far too large for any decent purpose, in a guest room far too close to Draco’s for any sense of propriety.
Bloody catamite. Too damned pretty for his own good.
It certainly didn’t help that Lucius was ready to offer the brat up on a silver platter.
Severus felt his eyes glaze over at that particular image. No, no, no! Get those thoughts out of your head! Voldie in a thong, Voldie in a thong—no, not Draco in a thong! He growled and crushed the silk-covered pillow around his head. In a fit of… well, he was sure it was something sensible (like choosing not to ruin sheets that probably cost more than he earned in a year), he’d washed his hair before bed. This inevitably made it completely reckless. It kept sticking to the pearl grey silk; whenever he moved, Severus could feel long, dark strands prickle with static. Just one night, just one miserable night and he could go home to the dungeon where icy humidity froze any static that might come his way.
Sometime just short of seven, when the sky beyond heavy pale curtains showed a streak of warm grey through a small crack, he was awakened yet again; this time it was by the sounds of unsteady footsteps and singing under someone’s breath. “… Zoot suit riot, throw back a bottle of beer. Zoot suit riot, pull a comb through your coal black hair…” Severus closed his eyes and tried not to think about what he’d like to pull through his coal black hair. He was quite startled to hear a soft click and see a thin shard of light break across the polished ash floor.
“Who’s there?” he snapped.
“Professor?” The door opened wide enough for Draco’s slender silhouette to break the torchlight. He could make out just enough detail to see that the suit which had put him in this mess was rumpled, the carefully combed hair mussed beneath the silver fedora. Severus grappled with the duvet, trying to keep it from sliding down again. He had good reason to.
“What are you doing in my room? Get to bed.”
“I’ve been in bed.” The lazy, self-satisfied smirk floated with his soft drawl. Snape huffed. It masked his threatening dizziness. Oh, how he wished term was in session so he could send the boy Lolita away with a few carefully extracted points.
“I’m thrilled for you. That doesn’t explain what you’re doing in here.”
“Tell me why you’re here first.” Snape very nearly threw a pillow at him. How dare Draco ask that? Didn’t he know it was rude?
“I’m a guest of your father’s. Not that it’s any of your concern. Why are you here? I’m sure that after your night of wanton rutting you’re more than exhausted.” Oh, god, no. Severus gripped his face and gritted his teeth as Draco stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.
“I don’t know. I’m kind of awake.” In the scant light from between the curtains Snape could make out wetness glistening on the brat’s pouting lower lip. The image it brought to mind was certainly not befitting a Hogwarts staff member. “Anyway, I didn’t get what I wanted.”
Severus raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “And, pray tell, what was it you wanted?” Large eyes glittering in the muffled silver light of early dawn – the same colour as those tilted eyes – said everything with a demure round glance. Oh, bloody Hell. “Get out of here, Mister Malfoy.” Draco sidled up to the bed and sat languidly on the edge. Snape could smell cigarettes and alcohol, the sweetness of cannabis and the heady bitter tang of sex. “Draco, I’m going to have to tell your father about this—“ silken pink lips pressed against his and bottled any other empty threats he might have had. The sharkskin suit hissed against the slick covers.
“I’ll be lonely if you make me go.” The stupid boy didn’t understand how much more persuasive his mouth was when it wasn’t talking. Severus found his spine.
“You will be out of this room and in your own – by yourself – by the time I could to three, Mister Malfoy. One… two… threeee…” his ominous snarl rose an octave as slender, milky fingers wrapped around the guilty lump in the duvet. Even through layers of cloth and feathers they were skillful. Severus whined softly and collapsed, eyes wide and jaw slack, against the ashen headboard. Dowels bit into his back but they were nothing compared to the gentle dancing pressure sending cold sparks through his intestines.
“I don’t think you really want me to go, Professor. I mean, I’d be perfectly happy to, but then I might have to tell, say, Professor Dumbledore that you were watching me.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed in the dark. “You really are your father’s son.” A soft chuckle, like low chimes, teased his ears and mingled with his sharp breaths.
“Does that mean I can stay?”
Severus fumbled for his wand. He tapped a white candle by the bed and found Draco’s face – lids heavy, shell-pink lips moist and parted, silver nearly swallowed by endless black – far closer than he’d expected. The serpent tie at his throat was loose, three buttons undone to reveal snowy skin and the white ribbed edge of his skimpy undershirt. Severus’ heart sped up at sight of the thin cotton fabric. The boy smelled of heat and promises. Wrapping a sallow hand around the back of his slender throat, Snape pulled him close enough to run the tip of his tongue along a line of muscle. He could hate himself by daylight.
Draco moaned. His small hands grasped at Severus’ hair. It was fluffy with static, and the boy seemed to approve as he wove it with his fingers. Their soft touch against scalp sent cool shivers down long, bumpy spine. The sensation pooled between his hipbones. He took Draco’s face in his palms – he’s barely a child, Severus! What kind of filthy monster are you? – and stroked a sculpted, fragile cheekbone. Only pale purple smudges in the thin skin below his silver eyes marred that albinistic beauty. “Lock the door.”
Draco nodded and looked far more coy than he was allowed through his white fringe of lashes. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew his wand. Like him, it was short, slender, and pale as moonlight on snow. It fit perfectly in the cleft of his first two fingers, secured by a narrow thumb. He lifted it gracefully up and back. “Compingo!” he whispered against Snape’s thin lips. Snape pushed his mouth against Draco’s and met an impossibly soft tongue in a fever fight. Severus pressed his hands against a thin, gently muscled chest and felt smooth, young pectorals forged by hours on the pitch. He slid his flat palms up, over shoulders, down slim arms layered with soft lines of definition, pushing the jacket down so it puddled on the duvet.
“You are going to listen to me, Mister Malfoy,” he hissed against the shell of one porcelain ear. “You will do everything I tell you – everything – or else I promise to make the next year and a half of your life a Hell beyond your wildest nightmares.”
“My father won’t like that.” Playing that game, was he?
“Your father, my wretched little toy, all but offered you naked, bound, and delivered to my bed.” Softest pink ran over one high cheekbone and met its mate in the middle of that straight, pointed nose. He was going to hate himself beyond rational thought once the sun rose enough to show him his sins but, for the love of god, he didn’t care. He shoved Draco off the bed. “Strip.”
Draco pulled himself up, looking rather offended, and brushed himself off. The hat had slipped back on his head and rather a few strands of hair hung messily over his eyes. They were crinkled with his previous activities and stiff with pomade and sweat. He tried to straighten his back but only succeeded in giving it a serpentine curve that emphasized his slender waist. Severus watched quietly as the boy closed his eyes and slid a hand up the back of his neck. He flipped the brim of the hat, caught it, twirled it swiftly down his arm, and tossed it neatly on the foot of the bed. He smirked, and Snape’s unsteady heart fluttered. The catamite licked his pouting lips, leaving the swollen red flesh shiny and inviting. He knew perfectly well what he was doing – the wretch needed to learn some respect.
Small, smooth hands pressed flat against his abdomen and Draco slid them upwards. With a teasing finger he slid the knot of his tie down, down, all the way down and off the tip of the viper’s tongue. Snape’s member twitched under the covers; Draco noticed and smiled. Eyes glinting in the low light, he flipped up his collar and unthreaded the tie. He started to toss it on the floor. Severus held out a hand and motioned for him to throw it his way. He caught it easily. The silk felt like skin when he wrapped it around his hands.
One green-and-black strip of cloth slid over the fine, soft linen of Draco’s shirt. He let it fall down his arm deliberately slowly, watching its path before glancing up at his prey. That’s exactly what I am: prey. Perhaps it’s time he learned that not even the food chain is so cut and dried. His mouth was open just enough to reveal the pink plane of his tongue and the perfect ivory of his bottom teeth when he tilted his head. The other strap over his shoulder fell with a nudge and a wriggle and with that motion he betrayed what his baggy trousers had so skillfully hidden. The child was a slut. If he would so brazenly come to an ugly creature well over twice his age there were no limits to his lust. Unless he truly did take after his father, and reveled in unpleasant contrasts such as black and sallow, or red and serpentine white.
Severus mulled this distantly as the brat started tugging at the bottom of his shirt. It fell loose around his hips and he slowly, oh, so slowly ran short fingers down the row of white metal buttons. Being a Malfoy, they would be platinum, as would the tiny cufflinks with “DM” in emeralds no larger than pinpricks. The cufflinks hit the floor one at a time. Simpering fops, exhibitionists to the last. The fabric fell away, though, and Severus thought that perhaps it wasn’t always such a horrible thing. The lovely, alabaster boy – who would never be any less pale, if his father’s broken genes were any indication – in little more than thin white cotton so tight his nipples peaked through with a pink hue and shifting pale silver trousers that looked like the full moon stolen down and made matter, was clearly skilled at exhibiting himself, and clearly suited to it.
When the long, deep green chain dangling from waistband to knee to pocket released with a click, Severus loosed his hand and again reached out. Draco smirked impishly. Suddenly, the chain sang through the air and smacked hard against Severus’ thin palm. Snape hid his wince; his skin would be quite red, the chain’s teeth having bitten painfully on contact. He still grasped it and yanked it out of Draco’s hands the moment it touched. Yes, yes, definitely his father’s son. He’d have the Mark within a year. If he didn’t already. Draco’s eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in barbed submission. He would do whatever was asked of him as long as he felt he’d been the one to ask. Another unfortunately Malfoy trait, that, one that needed to be broken.
“Hurry up,” Severus growled. Draco smiled sweetly and responded by gliding his palms up his abdomen, over his chest, crossing them to rest on his shoulders, and letting one slide down the other arm to the waist of his trousers. For agonizingly long seconds he fondled the hidden hook, teasing it, stroking it with his fingertips until it climaxed with a soft shush and fell open. Severus’ back tensed and he did his best not to show the lust writhing beneath his abnormally hot skin. The low rush of the zipper did nothing to help this, nor did the flash of thin silver silk stretched taut and tempting. He saw that it had gaped, when Draco uncrossed his arm and worked the trousers down just enough to let them slide to the floor. The thick-veined flash of brilliant red, of blood unmarred by pigment, made the pressure in his groin surge and shriek for attention. Snape left his hands sitting in his lap – that’s what Draco was for, after all.
The boy bent down long enough to untie his ridiculous black-and-white shoes and kicked them off while he stepped out of his trousers. The white shirt was barely lighter than his flesh, but the smooth pink shading he had acquired left no doubt as to where one ended and the other picked up. He stretched his arms languidly over his head, body stretched and boxers rippling like water. The patches of hair under them were as white as that on his head, his startling eyebrows, his heavy lashes. A few of the same nonexistent shade had started to litter his chest, but even in the low light Severus could see they were still soft, intangible cobwebs. In any other situation he might linger over them, let them float in breath and flush with sudden tugs.
“I thought I told you to hurry up.” Snape was disturbed to find his voice husky, as much sand as silk. Draco wasn’t so disturbed. He smoothed shifting fabric over his hip. It pulled even tighter, gaped enough to give a hint of coarse white hairs dotting the bottom half-inch of his shaft.
“You need to learn patience, Sir.” He smirked. The silver rings of his eyes nearly drowned completely.
“I have patience, Mister Malfoy. You need to learn respect.”
“That’s what my father says.” The smirk widened to a beaming grin. Severus swallowed hard at the double entendre. Sick, hedonistic bastards, the lot of them. It wouldn’t have come as a surprise to learn Lucius took his son’s virginity himself. Much to his disappointment, a burst of tickling tension flowed out of his pelvis and into his guts at the thought. He forced away the image of Draco’s back against his father’s chest, his own chest against Severus’, Snape’s legs wrapping them both. He was a sick bastard, they all were, but at least he had limits.
Much to his relief, Draco dipped his hands into the waistband of his shorts and lifted out his shirt. The reality of a gently sculpted stomach with that narrow stripe of white running from navel to crinkled silk halfway down slender hips was enough to press back his imagination. The ribbed fabric went slowly, and this time he was grateful for it. Every second it took to reveal a perfect white chest with only the barest protrusion at the bottom of his ribcage was a second he triumphed over the Death Eater inside. He glanced past Draco for a moment, and saw the sun was nearly over the horizon. Snape’s heart rate increased violently. He couldn’t do this in the sunlight; it would sear him as it would Draco’s unprotected skin and leave him naked to his own self-loathing.
“Finish, boy.” His sharp, staccato voice echoed slightly from the pale walls. Everything around him was pale: the room, the boy, the depth of matter and soul. Only he stood out. Only his dark grey nightshirt and unruly black hair and piercing black eyes that hid him so thoroughly from the world didn’t fit. “Now!”
Draco jumped at the order. Yes, pale. Just like his father, he put on such a show of dominance, and wilted so quickly at the first chance to submit. He yanked the shirt over his head, sending his short, deathly hair into a flurry about his beautiful face. The pallid shorts quickly followed. While Severus would have dearly loved to feel their liquid coolness smooth against his skin there was no more time. He shoved back the duvet, reached for the insipid brat, and dragged him onto the bed by a fragile wrist. Sallow hands on shoulders made of blood and milk pinned him. Without a word, Severus took the tie and bound Draco’s wrists. He grabbed the boy’s ankles from the floor, hoisted them on the bed, turned him, used the green chain – the only other thing of substance he could see – to affix him to the headboard. It wrapped several times around his arms easily. Draco squirmed and whimpered. He didn’t protest, though, and the redness welling from his groin twitched whenever the chain bit especially hard.
Severus stared stonily at him as he yanked his nightshirt over his head. He threw it on the bed and it skittered on the slick duvet. With a long finger he stroked inside the ridges of Draco’s arse. It came back slick with oil and someone else’s heat. A deeper inspection showed that he was still loose, still gaping and begging and needing to devour. He moaned when the finger went in, and whimpered when it came out. Severus straddled his chest and pushed the finger into that pale pink mouth. It sucked greedily, tongue wrapping skin and running jellylike over nerves. Sensation began pooling in the middle of Snape’s chest. It sliced through his heart and solar plexus, and razed its way back down to his swollen groin.
He leaned forward, feeling that thin chest strain under his weight, and pinned the boy’s head with an arm on each side. “You’ll do what I say, won’t you?” Draco nodded. Small beads of sweat shone on his upper lip, glittered on his forehead. One dripped down his temple as he turned his face to trace his tongue over the Dark Mark so wantonly exposed. Severus snarled. For a shining moment he considered lifting his hand to break the boy for his cowardice; instead, he let Draco think it was a noise of pleasure. His flushed arm was still bare, but it wouldn’t be for long.
Snape shifted his weight. The dark, throbbing weight at his pelvis pressed against Draco’s lips. “Suck.” He closed his eyes when young lips ran smooth and tight and greedy up his length. It was so painfully tempting to leave the boy to finish here, to take the jets of flame shooting through his body and leave him for the house-elves to find. It would certainly impress Lucius. However, impressing Lucius was no longer as high on his list of ambitions as perhaps it once was. Draco moaned softly around hardness. “Slut.” He would grow to become the Death Eaters’ willing receptacle – if he hadn’t already. Severus was torn between desire to protect him from that dismal fate, and leaving him to it. Perhaps best to leave him to it.
The pressure between his hips built all too quickly in a mouth too young to be so well trained. He wrapped a hand in that stiff white hair and pushed Draco’s head into the pillow. The boy cried out softly in pleasure (or pain) and Severus pulled his wet member from the sodden velvet mouth. He moved quickly, flipping Draco on his stomach and forcing him to his knees. The sight of that small hole clenching again and again refilled him with his mindless lust. Now, though, it was blackened further by the grim understanding of his own substance in a house of ghosts. For an instant he took pity on the fragile boy whose fate he didn’t envy. A light kiss on the small of his back made Draco start. He whimpered. “Just fuck me. Please?”
“Are you that afraid of a little kindness?” The boy’s weak whine was a thorough “yes”.
Lucius, you sick, sick monster. Offer your only son up as willing sacrifice to beasts playing gods. But that was how it went. He ought to know – he was one of them.
Before his weakness could get the better of him, Severus pushed himself against the small hole and into the slick and the spent. Draco cried out. Snape pictured his face, hidden between slim shoulders, mouth gaping and stretched with pleasure much the same as his hole, thin tears dripping from the corners of his silver eyes. Pleasure, pain, humiliation, it was all the same after a while. His chemical-stained fingers nearly met around that slender waist and he let them brace against the delicate pelvic girdle over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over to the cries and moans and soft pleas of the son of his enemy.
Spoils of war. That was all it really was. Just spoils of war.
The twin muscles drawing him that little bit deeper than he could go on his own became more insistent. Severus became increasingly aware of the shudder in his own chest, of the incomprehensible whimpers beneath him. He braced himself. At least let the boy have his pleasure – god knew there were those of his ilk who wouldn’t. He controlled himself, letting some of the building sensation wash out before it could join the hard knot buried in his hips. Draco rocked with the motion as well as he could. His bound arms kept him at bay, though, and that frustration was evident in his strained cries. Finally, after a long sheet of endless, wordless moans he tensed and choked and gave a rather disconcerting squeak and the perfect satin of the duvet was marred by viscous white drops.
He gave the boy a minute to catch his breath. Severus found he’d opened his mouth to ask if Draco wanted him to stop when that perfect-pale head turned and looked up at him with such fear that he had to start again. It wasn’t fear of rape, or beatings, only of disappointment. He thrust quickly, eyes shut, face aching from the strain of tension. The muscles were simply tight now and they clenched voluntarily. The dragging pressure found the knot of sensation, teased it, toyed with it, raked fingers of lightning across it. One sliced through the knot and his vision went white. Fire grew through his guts. He cried out, deaf and blind, living only on the animal senses of touch and unnerving smell. When he collapsed in a twitching pile next to the boy he found those silver eyes looking at him. They begged for approval.
Severus cursed himself as he leaned forward to press his lips gently to Draco’s. The silver eyes closed, and a layer of pained anticipation washed out of his body. Quietly, Snape freed him and even went so far as giving him a moment to rest before shoving him off the bed. “Get dressed, and get out.”
“Yes, Sir.” He watched the window while Draco hurried into his clothes. The sun was up. Broken yellow light cut through the crack in the curtains. It made everything real. Draco opened his pink mouth and, for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something. Instead he found his wand under the bed and hurried to the door. It closed behind him, and Severus stared at the sunlight, wondering what ever made him think he could leave them behind.
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