Chapter Text
“New guy starts tomorrow.”
Severus taps the ash from his cigarette into a tray, takes a drag and exhales slowly. He doesn’t look at Barty, just lets his gaze linger on the boy onstage, studying him through the haze of smoke. Wonders if Crouch will take the hint and fuck off.
“You met him yet?”
No such luck.
There’s a drizzle of halfhearted applause. Severus puts his cigarette in his mouth and claps absently, three times.
“Nope.”
They both sip their scotch, finish their cigarettes, and watch the band begin to dismantle their gear.
“Avery says he’s a bit of a toff.”
Severus’s eyes drift again to the lead, now deep in conversation with a man wearing an ugly brown suit. Severus used to know the guy, back in another life. Used to look up to him. Now he sort of pities him.
The singer glances over his shoulder, straight at Severus. Severus raises an eyebrow and smirks.
“Sounds like Avery,” he says absently.
“Thought you were seeing that bass player.”
“This is the new one.” Severus replies, peering down at his cigarette.
“Oh no, I liked the other one.”
“So did I,” he says. “But it had run its course. You know how these things are.”
Barty didn’t. Could barely get a woman to stick around past breakfast. Still, he nods like he does.
“Will you sign this one?”
“I’m not sure,” Severus says.
The young man finishes his conversation and begins walking toward them. Severus watches him approach; tall, lean, magnetic. “I haven’t decided yet.”
He did look good on stage, he would no doubt look good on the cover of magazines.
“Hi.”
“That was good,” Snape tells him.
The boy pulls out a cigarette, wedging it between his lips as he rummages through his pockets.
“Like anyone was even listening.”
Severus flicks his lighter on, leans in, and cups his hand to light the cigarette for him in one smooth motion.
“Cheers,” he mumbles gruffly.
“They will. Patience.”
“Easy for you to say. That guy gave me his card, told me to call him. Gerard something.”
“Anderson,” he tells him. “Gryffindor.”
“Right yeah. Forgot you know everyone.”
“Will you?”
“Why, you jealous?”
“Maybe.”
The boy smirks briefly. “Good.”
Severus watches his beautiful face through a haze of smoke. He can feel Barty’s eyes on him. He closes his eyes briefly. Give him strength.
“Derby,” he says to the boy. “Barty Crouch,”
Barty insinuates a hand between them with a grin.
“A&R. Slytherin,” he announces, giving the boy a slow once-over like he’s sizing him up to eat him whole. Have a little fucking subtlety, Severus thinks. Though eating people alive is sort of what they do.
“Is there any reason for me to stay?” he asks.
“Don't think so, boss.”
“You’ll let me know if the next one’s any good?”
“Of course.”
“They probably won’t be.”
“Right.”
“But if they are… I don’t want fucking Gryffindor getting to them first.”
“Got it.”
“Where’s Avery?”
“Boss. You can trust me.”
Severus gives a short nod. Crouch’s taste was questionable but he was committed. Worked almost as much as Severus did. Always the first to get to someone, could smooth talk a cobra. A good man to have on your team in other words.
“Come on,” Severus says to the boy.
They rise and Severus rests a proprietary hand on his waist.
“Boss,” Barty says, eyes flicking between the two of them, eyebrows raised, tongue darting out over his lip.
Severus pauses. Christ. Why fucking not. He tips his head up once. “Don’t fuck it up,” he tells him.
At the door, he presses some money into the bouncer’s hand and a taxi materialises.
“Good night, Mr Snape, sir,” the bouncer says, closing the door behind them.
“Acton,” Severus tells the driver.
At his flat, they take the lift up to the fifth floor. He lets them in, leads the boy to the leather couch, backs him up gently, tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear, and kisses his neck.
”This place looks like a fucking museum.”
Severus had bought the place post-divorce. His version of a clean slate. Camden had been halfway to unaffordable by then, and gentrification had done him a favour; the sale of his old flat had allowed him to trade up.
Acton was no Notting Hill, but it was only a few stops away on the tube, and this place—clean, modern, minimalist—did not reek of memories. It was two bedrooms, higher-spec than his old one, and quiet. It suited him. He barely lived in it, anyway.
“I’m not here often,” he tells the kid.
The boy moves to the window. “Christ, look at that bloody view.”
Severus trails a hand down his cheek, over his lips. “I’m more interested in this one,” he tells him. “You’re quite beautiful, aren’t you?” He’s not sure if he means it kindly.
“So are you.”
He drops his hand, sneers. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?”
He walks across the room, pours two fingers of single malt into heavy-bottomed glasses, and queues up some music on his iPod.
He hands the boy a glass, though the quality would be lost on him. Probably a waste of good whisky.
“Take your clothes off.”
The boy takes a sip, then sets the glass on the coffee table with little ceremony. That’s two-thousand-pound scotch you’re drinking, Severus thinks, have some respect.
“Have you always been like this?”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. A prick.”
Severus drinks. “Yes,” he says. He waves a hand at the boy’s shirt. “Off.”
The boy pulls it over his head, fly undone, smirk intact.
“What were you like when you were my age?”
A whiny little pussy, Severus thinks. “Worse,” he says. “I’ve mellowed with age.”
The boy grins, now stripped to the waist. “Bet you were dead sexy.”
Severus cups the back of his head, brings the glass to his lips. “That’s an ‘81 Laphroaig. It tastes like smoke and seaweed drizzled with honey. Swallow. That’s it. Can you taste that?”
The boy nods.
Severus takes another sip, leans in, and feeds him more with his mouth, tasting the peaty scotch on the boy’s tongue. When it dribbles down the side of his chin, Severus wipes it with his finger then slips it into his wet, waiting mouth.
“What does it taste like? Be interesting.”
The boy appears to think, his eyebrows furrowing attractively like a model in a perfume commercial.
“It’s like… it’s like walking at the seaside in winter.”
“Good boy.”
He sits back, glass set down, nods at the trousers to come off.
The boy obeys, lean and golden, flat stomach, taut skin. It could make you sick if you let it, that much physical beauty in one person. When Severus motions again, he climbs into his lap, hard and waiting.
“You’ll get a call from Barty tomorrow,” Severus says, idly tracing circles around the head of his cock. “He’ll offer you a contract. You’re going to sign it.”
“Okay,” the boy pants.
Quite sweet really.
Severus imagines him to be a young quivering deer and himself a slavering lion. Claws out, teeth bared.
