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Bucktoothed and semitransparent, pretty to no one,
butt of a joke and protagonist of a cartoon,
you make ridicule seem inescapable,
not at home anywhere
sunlight might penetrate the circuitous air,
or else at home only on paper,
a mockup of a colony on the moon.
—Stephanie Burt, “To the Naked Mole Rats at the National Zoo”
“Snivellus! Snivellus! Snivellus, wait!”
Snape wasn’t sure what snapped in him, but when it snapped, it snapped for good. One minute, he was being chased down for some good old-fashioned verbal jousting by the single most persistent bully in existence; the next, he had him backed into a wall, his wand jammed right between his eyes. “Enough,” he hissed, and Black’s eyes grew lidded and dropped to his lips. “You will stop baiting me, or you will learn curses you hadn’t even thought possible.”
“And then what?”
Snape’s eyes floated down to Black’s own lips, which curled into a seductive smirk. “Teach me a lesson, Professor.”
Snape blinked, then lowered his wand, just a little. “You’ve been very naughty,” he said slowly. “I might just give you detention instead.”
“Isn’t that a lesson too?”
A still, awkward moment, wherein Snape thought, Oh, fuck, with a sort of horrified, crystalline clarity. Then he registered Black’s hard cock against him, and logic left the building once again. “You’ll never learn.”
“Teach me anyway.”
Snape pulled back, ignoring Black’s whine. “Where’s your bedroom?”
Fuck, bad idea—
Black blinked, grinned, laughed, and took the lead, grabbing the front of Snape’s robes and tugging him along for the ride.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck—
“I thought you’d never break,” Black said conversationally, and Snape grimaced as he followed, trying to ignore the fact that they’d only even been at it for about two months, and that he himself hadn’t even made it to the second week back at Hogwarts. When they arrived, they both started stripping at once; Black appraised him, then said, “My God, I cannot wait to have that inside me.”
Snape tops again, Snape thought gloomily, and appraised Black in return. The man was so gorgeous it was a little disturbing, more reminiscent of a statue or a nymph than a person; a Veela, perhaps, felt comparable, had they come in male form. He was upsettingly gaunt, but carried a haunting beauty that translated into graceful movements as his long hair draped over his perfect neck. “Detention,” Snape snapped, and Black grinned. “You’ve been a persistent pest these past few weeks. If I’d known attending the Order would garner me a hanger-on, I might have stayed at home.”
“Thank Merlin you didn’t,” Black breathed. “Please, Professor, can’t I make it up to you?”
“On your hands and knees.” Black scrambled to comply. Snape appraised him: horny, desperate, hard cock pert against his stomach, hair falling flush against his face. He suppressed the flash of raw desire that overcame him, then harnessed it, casting a number of lubrication and safe sex charms as he approached. “Naughty boy. Perhaps this will go a ways toward making up for what you’ve done.” And he smacked one hand against Black’s arse cheek.
Black gasped. Snape slid a finger into his slick entrance; Black cursed and writhed against him as he worked him open, adding another finger and crooking them inside. He knew he’d hit money when this was met with a gasp and a whine, and then a moan as he scissored him open. “This is what you get,” Snape said, smacking his other arse cheek. “What you get for your incessant pursuit of me.”
“Thank Merlin,” Black gasped, and Snape introduced a third finger. Black let out a long, strangled moan; Snape worked him until he panted, “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
“Manners.” Another smack. “Please what?”
“Please fuck me, sir.”
“I am,” Snape said, and Black moaned. Then he laughed as Snape pulled out, a gasp cutting him off as his cock penetrated him. “Naughty, naughty.”
“Yeah, Snape, yeah—”
Snape grabbed Black’s hair; Black let out such a loud moan that he blinked a few times before getting back with the program, thrusting in and out of him with as much vigor as he could manage. “Bad—bad—boy—”
“Snape, Snape, Snape—”
When Snape came, he pulled out; Black groaned, turned around, and kicked him lightly. “You have to make me come now.”
“Yeah. Your turn to fuck me.”
“Oh,” Black said, some look passing across his features that Snape couldn’t interpret. Then it turned into a wide grin. “Oh!”
“Let’s see if you absorbed the lesson,” Snape said, and the horrible grin widened further. “Get on with it.”
“Not a chance. Think I’ll go for extra credit.” Black flipped Snape over on his stomach, cast a number of charms, and then licked his way down his arse, laughing into his hole when he jumped and swore. “I won’t settle for less than an O, sir.”
“I see,” Snape managed, and moaned as Black licked into him. “Merlin!”
“No, it’s Sirius.” Black laughed at his own joke, then got to work in earnest; Snape was a panting mess by the time he pulled out and poked his cockhead against Snape’s hole. “Ready?”
“Get on with it!”
Black laughed again, grabbed his hips, and worked his way in at an infuriatingly slow pace; every time Snape complained, he somehow grew even slower. Then, abruptly, they were joined at the hilt, and Black jerked his hips back, laughing with unfettered delight as Snape’s own hips chased his cock backwards. “Looks like teacher needs a lesson in patience.”
“I do not!”
Black’s thrusts were lazy and brutishly short, though this translated—to Snape’s horror—to a kind of aching tenderness, Black gentle inside him as his cock filled him, pulled out, filled him again. Gradually, he quickened; Snape voiced as much approval as he could at this turn of events, and was met with faster and harder and more.
Black pistoned into him at a rapid pace, laughing as Snape grappled at his sheets. “I want my O.”
“So do I.”
A beat, and then Black—to Snape’s dread—laughed, moaned, and came all in the same breath. “Fuck!”
“Indeed.”
Black pulled out, flopped onto his back, and laughed wildly for what felt like several minutes. “Wow.”
“Whatever.”
“I mean, wow. I wasn’t expecting—Merlin.”
“Yeah.” Snape scowled. “This”—he gestured between them as he sat up—“never happened.”
Black grinned. “Couldn’t agree more. Same time next week?”
Snape opened his mouth to protest, thought about it, and deflated. “Couldn’t agree more.”
They usually didn’t fight until everyone cleared out—it was part of why Snape always found some reason to trail Dumbledore, though he hadn’t realized until this past week, recounting the encounter in loving, obsessive detail—so it wasn’t odd that he hung around, at least as far as anyone noticed. Black, however, gave him an unbearably smug look. “Hello, there.”
“I hate you,” Snape snarled. Black’s grin widened. “Oh, God, fuck me again—”
“I knew it!” Black crowed, and pumped his fist in the air. “I knew it, Severus Snape is a bratty little bottom, I knew it—”
“You should fuck me against the wall,” Snape said, crazed. “Oh, no, I’ve lost the fight—”
“You’ve lost the fight,” Black agreed, but it didn’t feel like a joke anymore. “Big time. What should I do with you, Snivellus?”
He lunged; Snape resisted the urge to moan as Black began divesting him of his clothing. When they’d stripped, Black turned him around to face the wall and attacked his neck with his teeth and his arse with his fingers, letting out a satisfied noise as Snape let himself writhe and moan with as much abandon as he wanted. “Harder, harder—”
“Patience.” Black bit his tender neck, crooking his fingers against Snape’s prostate as he groaned. “I win. I think I’ll take a while with my prize.”
“Oh, God damn—fuck!”
Black’s cock entered him, filling up places that had, all week, felt empty; Snape scrambled for purchase against the wall, then felt Black’s hands take his own as he settled into a rhythm, Snape’s cock hard against himself as Black plunged into him over and over. Then Black brought their joint hands down to grasp his aching cock.
Black laughed when Snape gasped, letting go of his other hand to fondle his bollocks. Snape braced himself against the wall, bent enough to reach his own cock and take Black’s, but not so much that the wall wasn’t a persistent percussive threat. “Fuck, Snape, you’re gorgeous.”
“Shut up. Just shut up.”
“Whatever you say, princess.” Black sniggered, his hips snapping his cock back into Snape’s prostate before he could think of a witty reply. “Wanna keep fucking in my room after this? I could rim you until we’re ready to go again.” He let go of Snape’s bollocks and ran the hand up and down his back, then fisted it in his hair and started on the other side of his neck.
When Snape came, Black did too; then he grabbed Snape’s shirt and dragged him back to his room before he had the chance to protest. “What is it with you and rimjobs?” Snape grumbled, and Black grinned at him with completely disarming sincerity. “Erm.”
“I never have been able to sate my appetites,” Black murmured, and licked his soft cock before he had the chance to groan. “Let’s see how long it takes you to get hard again.”
He had to use concealment charms on his neck that week; these worked with the students, but Dumbledore gave him a hard look when he came by for a conference regarding the war. “What are you hiding, Severus?”
Snape crossed his arms over his chest. “None of your business.”
“Of course it’s my business. I’m responsible for you.”
“You are not!”
Dumbledore looked unimpressed. “Did Voldemort hurt you somehow? Did you go to Pomfrey? What happened?”
Snape sighed, debated, pictured his reaction, and lifted the charm. “Courtesy of Sirius Black. Really none of your business. Can we get back to the war now?”
The gaping had indeed, Snape decided, been worth the humiliation. “Albus?”
“Right. Voldemort’s forces—”
That Friday, as usual, there was an Order meeting; Black approached before everyone had even cleared out, sitting atop his table and leering openly. “Snivellus. Fancy seeing you here.”
Familiar, comforting rage bubbled up in Snape, outweighed only by lust; he glared back, and glared harder when Black flinched. Then a smirk played at his features, and he murmured, “You wanna get out of here?”
“Do you want every person in this room to know we’re fucking? Go talk to Lupin.”
Black pouted. “I’m talking to you.”
“You shouldn’t be.” Snape met an incredulous Lupin’s eyes, shrugged, and grimaced. When Lupin approached, he said, “You should keep a better eye on your strays.”
“Ha ha.” Now Black, thank Merlin, was scowling too. “I just wanted to ask him about—about Harry.”
“He hates Harry. With a passion.”
“Oh.” Black looked legitimately lost for a minute. “You really can’t even tell me how he’s doing?”
“Go ask Dumbledore. As far as I know, Potter remains the consummate spoiled brat he always has been.”
“He grew up in a cupboard making friends with snakes.”
“A likely story.” Black gave Snape such a hard look that he glanced away. “Fuck off.”
He watched as Black approached Dumbledore, and Lupin left; Dumbledore glanced between him and Black a few times, then beat a hasty retreat.
When the room emptied, Black turned around and stalked towards him, barely-contained rage vibrating on his features. “You’re hateful,” he accused. “A violent, hateful, smarmy little freak.”
“How are you going to punish me?”
He’d expected the playfulness of the previous two encounters to return, but Black’s face was stormy as he reached him. He grabbed Snape by his robes and stripped them off, then divested him of his shirt and trousers, yanking down his pants and casting a lubrication charm before he bent him over the nearest table and penetrated him with two fingers at once.
“Fuck!”
“I tried to be nice, Snape,” Black said darkly. “It didn’t work out. I’m going to punish you by not letting you come at all. You get to orgasm next time you see me.”
“What?”
Black reached around and pinched his nipple hard, then worked in a third finger with punishing swiftness. Snape’s cock grated against the top of the table; he wandlessly summoned his robes and threw them over the table just to ease the friction, moaning when Black slapped one of his arse cheeks in chastisement, then grabbed his hair and pulled his neck up to bite his earlobe. “Do you want my cock?”
“What do you think?”
“Beg for it.”
“I’d rather die.”
Black laughed a dark laugh; Snape gulped and reached for his own cock, cursing when Black beat him to it, fisting the base to stop him from coming. “I already told you. If you want to come, it’s going to be alone. You’ll get to orgasm next week. And I’m going to take my time with mine.” He pressed his hard cock, still fully clothed, into the crook of Snape’s arse. “Inconsiderate little brat. I ought to have you eight different ways.”
“Okay,” Snape gasped, and Black’s fingers stuttered inside him. They regained momentum after a moment, and a fourth finger entered the mix; Snape moaned as wantonly as he knew how. “Black, yes, Black—”
Black swore softly, softly enough that Snape thought he hadn’t been supposed to hear it, and muttered, “Lovely.”
“What?”
“Disgusting,” Black sneered, and Snape felt himself relax. “You’re a disgusting little man.”
“Look who’s talking. Coward.”
“At least I have the courage to take what I want.” Black’s fingers left his arse, replaced swiftly by his cock; Snape swore as Black continued to fist the base of his cock as he thrust into him. “I don’t think so. Not today.”
Snape considered begging, but the idea was so repugnant that he just ended up cursing him instead. “Bastard—bastard—I hate you—bastard—”
When Black came, he pulled out; Snape swore, but Black didn’t relent. “Go home.”
“What?”
“I meant it. If you want to come, you’ll do so alone. Get out of my sight.”
When he got home, Snape collapsed against the nearest wall, tossing himself off in a few quick strokes to the thought of Black’s cock inside him and the sound of his voice saying, Not today. Not today.
Work was, as usual, a waking nightmare that week; on Friday, Black didn’t approach, instead exiting to the hallway until even Dumbledore had gone. When he re-emerged in the kitchen, Snape stood, displaying the hand in his trousers; Black gave him a look of such vitriolic disgust that he couldn’t decide between fleeing and moaning, and settled—unfortunately—on a flinch.
Black blinked and looked away, then glanced up and gave him a heated gaze. “What? You didn’t get to come last time, so you take matters into your own hands?”
“Let me blow you,” Snape said, and Black’s eyes widened. “Right here, right now.”
Black sighed. “If you insist. My idea was to tie you to my headboard and blindfold you and fuck you raw. Orgasms and all.”
Snape released his own cock. “For both of us?”
“I guess I can face-fuck you first,” Black mused. “You’ll just have to trust me on that one.”
“I don’t even trust you to tie me up.”
Black looked devastated. “You don’t? I’ve been thinking about it all week. I have a whole vision for the scene. I’ve won the fight, obviously, so now I’m going to have my wicked way with you.” He strode forwards until their chests were brushing. “You can’t fool me, Severus. I know how you like it now. Let’s just have a safe word.”
“Fine. What?”
Black tilted his head. “Innocence.”
Snape winced. “Yeah.” Then he shook himself. “Oh, no. What a terrible fight we’ve just had. I can’t believe I’ve been forced to concede.” He ignored whatever was going on in his stomach and chest as Black’s face split wide open into a grin. “What are you going to do with me now?”
Black grabbed his wrist. “Have my wicked way with you.”
“Oh, no,” Snape said sarcastically, and followed. He tried not to focus on the hand around his wrist, even as he recognized it as a lost cause; Black’s thumb stroked his skin minutely, in a gesture Snape doubted he was even aware of.
When they arrived in his bedroom, they both stripped, and then Black stalked towards him and manhandled him until he was facing the bed. Then he cast incarcerous twice, and Snape got hard so fast he got a little nauseous. Huh, he thought, and then Black secured a blindfold over his eyes.
Huh, Snape thought again, less coherently, and Black kissed the back of his neck and ran a light hand down his side. “I think we’ll save you blowing me, though that’s a lovely image,” Black said. “For now, let me give you pleasure.”
“Okay,” Snape moaned, and Black was silent. He was totally unable to perceive him until his hands were prying open his arse and lubed-up fingers were making their way inside. “Fuck!”
“Good?”
“Yeah, yeah—”
Snape writhed atop Black’s fingers, though the bonds made it difficult to really get purchase, and Black let out a breathy, satisfied little noise. “Beautiful,” he whispered, and Snape squirmed. “That’s just beautiful.”
“Black—”
Black took hold of his cock, and Snape lost his train of thought. He thrust his prick into Black’s hand as the man’s other hand penetrated him, working up to three fingers, then four. Then, thank Merlin, the man’s cock was inside him, and Snape came just as his prostate was stimulated for the first time.
He swore, and Black laughed and kept thrusting into him. “Gonna use you,” he grunted, “for my own pleasure.”
“Black, God, Black—”
“My sniveling little sex slave,” Black said. “My perfect whore.”
Snape moaned and wondered if he could get hard again, and Black said, “Gonna use you up. Make you into a little slave for me.”
“Black, Black, Black—”
Black fucked him for so long that he did, indeed, manage to get hard again, compounded by the darkness and the bindings, and Black laughed into his ear. “Good boy.”
Snape moaned, and Black got him off with a few quick strokes and then came too, inside him, and then pulled away. When Black untied him, he lifted the blindfold and flopped down onto the bed; before Snape could leave, Black’s head was on his chest.
Oh, no—
“That was—”
“Yeah.”
“I mean—”
“I know.” Snape sighed as Black started playing with his chest hair. “Unless you want to shag again, I should probably go.”
“I could suck you until we get hard again, then fuck you into the mattress.”
Snape tilted his head. “Okay.”
It was a startlingly intimate thing, Black crawling down to take in his limp cock; Snape wanted to be upset about it, but the overstimulation soon drove all but pleasure right out of his mind. Bad, bad, bad, he thought vaguely, as good good good sensations roiled through him; Black met his eyes, then closed his own and bobbed up and down on his soft cock again.
It took ages for him to get hard again; when he did, Black looked up, his eyes growing wicked as he reached up, grabbed Snape’s hips, and trailed one hand down his crack and along his perineum, his laugh vibrating through Snape’s body as he swore. When he pulled off, Snape swore again; Black surged up, met his eyes, and then redirected his mouth to Snape’s jaw, trailing sloppy kisses from one ear to the other.
He just almost kissed me—he wanted to kiss me—
“Like this?”
“Flip me over.”
Black looked disappointed, but complied readily enough; then he trailed his hard cock down Snape’s back and poked it against his arsehole. “Should I open you up again?”
“No need.”
Black laughed in open delight, and then his cock was inside Snape for the second time that night. His knees bracketed Snape’s hips as his cock glided in and out of him, and he took Snape’s hands in his own and laced their fingers together against his sides.
Sentimental animal—
But Snape was too busy gasping and moaning to voice his apprehension. Instead, he grasped the bit of Black in his reach, to his horror pleased when the man held on.
He wanked to the memory of the bondage for the next week, sometimes more than once a day; when Friday rolled around, he felt like a live wire, and had to restrain himself from approaching Black first after the meeting ended. When the man did, he looked exhausted; Snape sneered and asked, “Do you even want to fuck at all?”
“I don’t suppose you’ll top me? I’ve had a week.”
Snape didn’t change the sneer one bit. “Of course.”
Black perked up a little. “Really?”
“I’m a bottom, not an animal.” Black laughed. “Just don’t make me top you often.”
“Naturally.” Black sighed. “How long do you suppose we’ll be doing this?”
“Until you find another lover.”
Black brightened considerably. Snape winced. “Alright, come on, come fuck me. It can be as simple as you want.”
“He thinks I’m inconsiderate too,” Snape mumbled, shelving his hopes of being bound again and trying to figure out how to give Black a memory worth wanking in the faculty bathroom for. What didn’t involve them facing each other, didn’t take outlandish effort on Black’s part, and did give him so much pleasure he’d be thinking about it for days?
I wish I knew more about sex, Snape thought glumly, and then it came to him: the Prison Guard.
“Here’s a scene for you,” Snape said, and stepped forwards and grabbed Black’s wrists in one hand, turning around to head vaguely in the direction of his bedroom. Black’s hands explored his own wrist as they walked, his touch punishingly gentle. “I’ve been assigned to guard you at Azkaban. How dreadful a task. I think it might be time for a strip search.”
He risked a glance, just to gauge Black’s reaction; the man looked, primarily, delighted. “I’ve been a bad boy,” he agreed, his grin widening. “Where are you taking me, Mr. Guard?”
“We’re in your cell. This is all public. It’s—”
“Left.”
“Right. It’s a very luxurious cell, isn’t it?”
“Thank Merlin it has a bed,” Black said, and made quick work of his own clothes as Snape released him. He giggled as Snape threw his front down against the bed, grabbed his wrists again, and cast sex charms with his free hand.
“Hold your own hands. Keep them behind your back.”
“Yessir.”
“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” Snape said, and Black laughed. He stripped off his own robes, then seized Black’s arse and squeezed hard. “Open wide.”
Black’s legs spread. Snape probed him with a single finger, then two, then three, then four; then he pulled out. “I think this calls for a deeper search.”
“Oh, no,” Black said weakly, lust dripping from his voice. “Oh, no, Mr. Guard, don’t.”
“I give the orders,” Snape snapped, and thrust his cock into him. Black laughed, then moaned, and his hands started to loosen, and Snape gripped his wrists to hold them together. “We’re through when I say we’re through.”
“Whatever you say, sir,” Black gasped. “Oh, Severus, harder—”
Snape obeyed. When he came, Black came too, and then his knees seemed to go wobbly. Snape hoisted him up onto the bed and appraised him. “Good?”
Black gave him an idiotic, lidded, doey-eyed stare. “Perfect.”
The week after that, Lupin stuck around. “I’m bored,” he announced. “And suspicious. What is it you two fight about week after week?”
“Our sordid pasts,” Black said, at the same time as Snape said, “Stock options.”
Black started sniggering; Lupin looked unimpressed. “You just hate each other for no reason.”
Snape glanced at him, considered an hour of this, considered not getting off at all, and made an executive decision. “We’re shagging.”
“What?”
“We’re shagging,” Black repeated, his tone filled with glee. “Time for you to leave.”
“What?”
“Please tell me you’re tying me to the bed again,” Snape said. Black crowed in obvious victorious malice. “That was—you’re going to tie me up again, right?”
“I was thinking a gag.”
Lupin’s face went from lost to green. “You’re shagging.”
“We’ll start shagging with you in the house if we have to,” Black said. Snape suppressed a manic grin.
“Fine,” Lupin said. “But we are talking about this later, Padfoot.” He wagged an admonishing finger, then turned around and left.
“Bondage?” Snape said, and Black grinned.
The week after that was one of the worst weeks he’d ever had; when Black approached him in full view of everyone at the Order meeting, he didn’t have it in him to be anything but grateful. “I don’t have the energy for anything adventurous,” he warned in a low murmur. Black raised an eyebrow. “Or even particularly strenuous. But I do still want to fuck.”
“Well thank God for that,” Black said, and pulled back the arm that had been reaching for him. “I’m so bad at this.”
“At what?”
“Secret relationships.” Black laughed. “I don’t—”
“Had a lot of them, have you? And this isn’t a relationship. It’s just sex.” Mundungus looked between them a few times, met Snape’s eyes, blanched, and turned to leave; Snape attempted to ignore the possessive rumble that started up in his chest as person after person glanced at Black, then left the room.
“Right. Obviously. Is it the best sex you’ve ever had too?”
“No.”
“Who was?”
“A man named Michael,” Snape lied. There hadn’t even been any Michael, but Black didn’t need to know that. “He was an expert, unlike you.”
“I am too an expert. I’m a sexpert.”
“Every week?” came a voice, and they looked up into Lupin’s tired eyes.
“Every week,” Black agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Moony?”
“Yeah.” Lupin gave Black a rough hug, ruffling his hair, then gave Snape a cordial nod, rolling his eyes when Snape returned it with the V. “Very mature, Severus.”
“Leave.”
Lupin sighed and left. Snape turned back to Black, who was watching him with a look Snape couldn’t decipher, but knew contained awe. The look vanished in an instant, replaced by his customary swagger; Black leered, stood, and held out a hand. “You coming or not?”
“I certainly hope so.”
Black groaned, but he squeezed Snape’s hand. “So I’m thinking doggy-style,” he said. “I’ll fuck you from behind in my bed, and then you can go home.” This made him sound nearly despondent, which Snape elected to ignore. “Sound good?”
“Sure.”
“What? Would you rather do something else?”
Black sounded hopeful. Snape cursed internally. In truth he wanted to snog until he fell asleep, but there was no way in hell he was ever going to admit that. “No. Sounds great.”
“Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m just exhausted. I half don’t want to shag. I’m afraid I might fall asleep in the middle.”
Black stumbled, then turned around and blinked a few times. “You know we don’t have to, right?”
“The other half of me wants it desperately.”
Black laughed. “Well, I live to serve. I’ll fuck you into next week, and then you can go home.”
“Okay.” Snape sighed and bit his lip. Black’s eyes traveled to it before he shook himself and turned back around, tugging him into his bedroom and starting in on his robes. Snape let it happen, fighting the urge to sway against Black and bury his face in his chest, then losing. “Fuck.”
“You poor baby,” Black cooed. “Do you want to just cuddle?”
“No,” Snape lied, his voice muffled by Black’s robes. “Let’s shag.”
“Your voice says one thing, but your body says another.” Black ran a hand through his hair, laughed, and rubbed his back in horrible soothing circles. “Look, if you want to stay, you can stay, okay? But I don’t think you’re up to sex.”
“God damn it,” Snape moaned, feeling untethered. I shouldn’t have stayed at all. Fucking—
“Bed for you,” Black said, and led him over to it, laying him out on his back and standing to strip down to his pants. Then he flopped down on his stomach next to Snape, slung an arm over his similarly clothed waist, and asked, “Feel like snogging?”
Oh, fuck—
But Snape couldn’t stop himself from nodding, any more than he could dam the tides; Black’s face broke into a wide grin, and he climbed right on top of him and kissed him.
The next morning, Snape woke up in Black’s bed, nuzzled into the man’s side; when he stirred, the arm around him tightened, then relaxed. “Good morning,” Black murmured, and kissed him before he could express that he was in a nightmare. “What did you dream about?”
The question caught him so off-guard that he answered honestly. “You.”
This earned him another kiss; Snape didn’t bother not to melt into it, though the alarm bells that went off in his brain at anything even resembling a positive interaction with another person were blaring so loudly as to be deafening. “Anyway, erm.”
“I dreamt that Buckbeak and I went on a cruise,” Black offered, and Snape scowled at him.
After they’d gone about their morning ablutions, they tumbled back into bed, kissing all the while; Snape shuddered when Black’s hard cock poked against his arse in interest, reaching down and stripping him of his pants. “Now you,” Black panted, and Snape obliged him; after a few charms and a few fingers, Black slid into him, kissing all the while.
Too intimate, too intimate—
Nevertheless, Snape held on.
He thought about skipping the Order that Friday, but Dumbledore liked him to give updates on the Dark Lord’s movements; who the hell was he to disobey the whims of his truest master?
So he went, and met Black’s eyes, unsurprised by the heat and terrified by the frisson of joy behind them. Everyone cleared out, eventually, though Mundungus made noise about staying for a drink; the second Snape said, “You know what? Me too,” he fled.
“I terrify that poor little man,” he realized, and Black let out a hearty laugh. “What did I ever do to him?”
“Dumbledore adores you. That’s enough even without the whole… tall, dark, and mysterious thing.”
“I’m an open book.”
Black laughed again. “Listen, I have something to ask. I know we have this whole petty rivalry thing going on—”
“There’s nothing petty about it! You’re a bully!”
Black’s teeth gnashed, and he gave Snape an unimpressed look. “Rich coming from you. Remus has told me about your teaching methods.”
“Potions is a dangerous subject! I—”
“So have Ron and Hermione. At least I pick on people my own size.”
Snape looked away. “This is about Potter?”
“Actually, I was going to ask you to call me Sirius during sex.” Snape choked on air. “The name Black reminds me of my family. It isn’t sexy. It pulls me out of the whole thing.”
“Why should I care?”
“I’ll call you Severus.” Snape crossed his arms over his chest. “And I’ll suck your cock in thanks.”
Snape uncrossed his arms. Black—Sirius, Sirius, Sirius—laughed in open delight. “Can’t believe I’m shagging someone who bullies his students. I always have had atrocious taste.”
“You bullied me.”
“And then I stopped. We even tried to apologize. You never really grew up.” Sirius sighed, suddenly looking very old. “I wish you would let people help you, Severus. I’m sure that Albus has tried. I’d be willing to listen, if there’s some complex you need to work through to stop being quite so dreadful.”
“This is just who I am. There’s no way around it. I’m a mean, hateful person.”
“Yeah.” Sirius sighed. “Well, at least you’re incredible in bed.”
Snape tried and failed not to preen; there was a dizzying moment where he missed Lily so much he could barely stand it, and then he said, “Well, Sirius. Are you going to fuck me or not?”
Sirius surged forwards and kissed him.
The week after that, both Mundungus and Lupin stuck around; Snape departed after about three minutes, pretending not to notice the devastation on Sirius’s face as he left. It was almost one in the sleepless, sleepless morning when he decided: fuck it.
The house was quiet as he padded back to the kitchen, but a hiccup led him where he needed to be; he changed course for Sirius’s bedroom, unsurprised to find him curled up against the headboard in a defensive ball, a bottle of firewhiskey in hand. “Snape?”
“Thought we were on a first name basis now.”
“Severus? What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping for sex.” Snape sighed. “But you’re too drunk. I guess I’m just here to tell you to go to bed.”
“Oh.” Sirius’s posture somehow grew even smaller as Snape took the bottle of firewhiskey and stowed it atop his nightstand. “Severus?”
“What?”
“Do you like me?”
It was only the raw helplessness in his voice that made Snape hesitate. Then he answered honestly. “No.”
“Oh.” A beat. “I like you.”
“You shouldn’t. I’m a monster.”
“What?”
“You already knew that.” Snape patted Black’s exposed knee, sighed, and manhandled him until he was lying down. “Time for bed.”
“Monsters tuck people in?”
Snape considered hitting him, just to prove the point, and found himself drawing his blankets up to his chin instead. “Sometimes. Get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay. Will you kiss me?”
“No.”
“Monstrous.” Sirius’s tone was very gentle. “Sleep well, Severus.”
“You too.” Snape ran his hands all over Sirius’s face, tapped his lips twice, and left.
The week after that, he begged off the Order; by Monday evening, he was so unbelievably distracted that despite his better judgment, he flooed into Sirius’s house just after dinner. “Yoo-hoo! Black! Where are you, Sirius? Bla-ack!”
“Snape?” came a voice, and Snape groaned and followed it to the kitchen. Lupin blinked a few times, then gave him a polite grimace. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve come for sex,” Snape said, and Sirius lit up. “We missed each other on Friday.”
“You did?”
“He means we didn’t see each other. Obviously we didn’t miss each other.”
“What? Ew.” Snape shook his head a few times. “Look, are you going to leave or what?”
“I was here first!”
“Oh, don’t be a pain, Moony.”
Snape suppressed a grin of victory; Lupin scowled. “This isn’t right,” he said. “You shouldn’t—”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “He thinks we should break up.”
“We aren’t together.”
“Which is why you should break up.” Lupin gathered his things, stood, and lunged at Snape, jabbing an accusatory finger at him. “If you hurt him, I’ll end you.”
Shite, shite, shite, shite—
Snape rolled his eyes. “That implies that Sirius can’t handle himself. You’re not going to develop feelings for a monster, are you?”
Pain flashed ever-briefly across Sirius’s features; Snape continued to swear internally. Lupin paused. “Monster?”
“He—look, will you just leave already?”
“Fine.” Lupin shook his head a few times, then turned around and headed out. Snape turned; before he could say something cutting, Sirius met his lips with a kiss.
Shite shite shite shite—
By the time he regained his senses, they were both naked and in Sirius’s room; Snape shook his head a few times as Sirius bowed his own, bringing it to Snape’s nipple and biting down hard. “Fuck!”
“I really did miss you,” Sirius said, in entirely too casual a tone. “Were you sick or something?”
He bit Snape’s other nipple before he could answer. “Or were you avoiding me? I’m sorry about last week. I’m just an affectionate drunk.”
“O-oh.” Snape shook his head. “Erm, it’s fine.”
“Good.” Sirius ground their hard cocks together; Snape gasped. “How do you want it?”
“Like this. Take me. On your bed.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll imagine I’m fucking one of your muggle supermodels.”
“Just for that, you’re on top,” Sirius growled. “Obviously I’ll top, but you’re going to ride me.”
“What a terrible fate,” Snape said sardonically, and Sirius pinched his swollen nipples, laughing as he gasped.
He climbed on top of Sirius, plunging onto his cock without prep; Sirius moaned, then laughed, his hands coming up to guide his hips. “Christ, Snape, you’re beautiful.”
“What?”
“Beautiful,” Sirius said again, and reached up and tugged him down for a kiss. Snape, helpless, succumbed to the tide of his affection, riding his hard cock, kissing his unfairly perfect lips. When they came, they did so together, staring into one another’s eyes. Snape tried not to think about what he’d seen there, the sheer molten depths of the thing, and failed utterly.
He rolled over onto his back, willing himself to get up; instead, Sirius scooted over to cuddle and laid his head on Snape’s chest. “Good?”
“Always.” Snape winced. “You are fairly competent at sex, I mean. You’re no Michael, but—”
“I think I’d like to duel this Michael.” Sirius giggled and bit his nipple again, laughing when Snape gasped. Then he crawled on top of Snape and kissed him, in a terrifying way that had absolutely nothing to do with sex; Snape’s alarm bells were ringing, but he melted anyway.
On Friday, Sirius made everyone leave; Snape ignored how, instead focusing on how to break it to Sirius that this was going to have to be the last time. It had already spiraled wildly out of control by the time Snape had outed himself to Dumbledore, of all people; by now their non-relationship was what could only be termed a catastrophe in motion.
This resolve lasted until Sirius kissed him; Snape felt his eyes flutter closed, his hands go to Sirius’s hips, their bodies swaying in tandem as the back and forth of their tongues composed tiny symphonies.
This isn’t good, Snape thought vaguely, and Sirius pulled away and said, “So the plan for tonight is that I rim you, then I blow you, then I tie you up and fuck you after you’ve come.”
“Okay,” Snape said, and Sirius grinned at him and kissed him again. “We really should break this off.”
“You promised me until I find another lover.”
“Was that a promise?”
“Yeah,” Sirius lied, and Snape took his hand and bit lightly between his thumb and forefinger. “O-oh.” He swayed as Snape did what he could to make love to his hand, licking and sucking his fingers and trailing his tongue along the various lines of his palm. “Severus, Merlin.”
“You should fist me sometime.” Sirius went a little cross-eyed. “You should do everything to me that a lover can do to his lover.”
“Okay,” Sirius breathed, and Snape closed his eyes. “Even weird stuff? Gross stuff? Where’s your line?”
“Everything,” Snape said, and Sirius shuddered against him. “Everything you want from me, it’s yours.”
They headed upstairs to the bedroom, hand-in-hand; when they arrived, Sirius stripped him, then gave him an odd look. “What?”
“I want—”
Sirius broke off and rubbed his face. “It’s stupid.”
“What?”
“I just want you to boss me around,” Sirius said. “Pretend I’ve lost the fight. Obviously I can still top, but—will you boss me around?”
“Of course.” Snape appraised Sirius, then shoved him to his knees, suppressing a grin when his eyes widened. “My, my. What shall I do with you?”
“I’ll have my revenge, Snivellus!”
Snape felt his mouth twitch. He approached, dragging his cock along Sirius’s face and watching as his eyes widened. “I think I’ll make you suck my cock, but not before I get my come all over you.” He grabbed Sirius’s shoulder, hauled him up, and threw him to the top of the bed, bracketing him with his hips and trailing his hard cock along his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his legs, until Sirius was panting and covered in precome. “Mine,” he said, crazed; Sirius bucked against him. “I own you.”
“Yeah, Snape, yeah—”
Snape slapped him right on his cock, though only slightly; Sirius mewed in pleasure. “That’s Severus to you.”
“Sev, Sev, Sev—”
Fuck, Snape thought, and said, “Now you have to suck my cock.”
“Oh no,” Sirius said weakly, and opened wide. Snape walked on his knees back up to his mouth, bollocks bobbing against Sirius’s body; Sirius moaned as he fed him his cock, inch by inch.
He kept going until he was almost ready to come, then pulled out and let it splatter all over Sirius’s face. Sirius giggled, licking his come-soaked lips, and Snape said, “You said something about tying me up?”
“Bugger that. Just toss me off, and let’s go to bed.”
“Alright.” Snape grappled at the nightstand for his wand, cleaned Sirius up, and then pulled the covers up over them and brought their bodies together, stroking Sirius’s cock with lazy, smooth strokes, until he came, and Snape cleaned up again and then laid back down. Snape’s hand reached where Sirius’s hair would be at the same instant Sirius’s head met his chest. “We need to break it off.”
“I know,” Sirius whispered. “I don’t want to.”
Snape sighed. “Neither do I.”
The next week, Snape had to give what felt like an hour-long presentation on the Dark Lord; when everyone finally left, Sirius didn’t move from his seat in the back of the room. “We need to break it off,” he said bleakly. Snape nodded. “It had already gone too far when I asked you to call me Sirius.”
“It had gone too far when I outed us to Lupin.”
“Yeah.” Sirius watched him with that hollow gaze. “Fuck, Sev.”
“Fuck,” Sev agreed, and then felt himself start. When was the last time he had thought of himself as anyone other than Snape? “I don’t like who you turn me into.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” Sirius stood, came to him, and laced their fingers together. “I promised Moony I would end it. Tonight.”
“And who is he to dictate what you do and do not do?”
Sirius huffed out a laugh. “You said the same thing.”
“Well, we should still shag first.”
Sirius kissed him.
They made their way upstairs, kissing and groping and utterly wrapped up in each other, and then Sirius cast a lubrication charm and nosed down his back to his arse. When his tongue entered Snape, something about it felt like a prayer, and he gasped and writhed and gripped the sheets, and when Sirius pulled out he whispered, “Lovely.”
Snape shuddered, and Sirius plunged into him, his hands running up and down Snape’s sides, a feather-light touch that made him shiver and gasp, and Sirius said, “Snape, God,” and Snape came.
Sirius came too, and pulled out and wrapped him up in his arms and tucked Snape’s head under his own. “We’re not breaking off shit.”
Snape nodded, and Sirius took his face in one hand and kissed him. “Fuck Moony. You’re mine until I say otherwise.”
Snape nodded again. Sirius laughed. “My sweet little Severus,” he cooed, and Snape tried not to care how much the name was rubbing off on him yet again. What the hell would even happen if he regressed to the person he had been back when he’d used that name for himself? He’d still been getting bullied by Sirius back then. Was it possible to make a new Sev? What would it mean that that person belonged entirely to Sirius Black?
“Severus? Are you okay?”
Snape closed his eyes. “No. This was the last time.”
“What?”
“I can’t keep doing this, Black.” He kept his eyes closed, but felt the name hurt him. “I’m not cut out for whatever intimacies you think I may someday be capable of, and this whole thing has gone way too far. I knew that within the first month.”
Black’s voice was very small. “You did?”
“You tried to cuddle with me.” Snape opened his eyes and stood. “No more. The sex isn’t worth it.”
“I’m not worth it.”
Snape sneered. “That too.”
Black left him alone the next week; the week after that, he followed him into the hall. “Snivellus! Fight me!”
Snape turned around, disarmed him swiftly, and snapped his wand in half, throwing the broken remnants at his feet. “What?”
“What?”
“You could have won that easily?”
“Of course I could have.” Snape looked down his nose at Black. “I’m done flirting with you. Go figure out your new wand.” And he turned around and left.
The following week, Black left him alone; the week after that was Christmas. The week after that, he finally lost the fight about who was to teach Potter Occlumency, and when; Black went personally to retrieve Potter from whatever precious inanities occupied his idiotic time. Snape glanced at Potter, then at Black; Black scowled, then deflated. “See you in a mo’, Harry,” he mumbled, and left.
Potter watched Snape in open suspicion. “What do you want?”
As he was leaving, Black cornered Snape, new wand jabbed in between his eyes before he had the chance to think about it. “I knew you only got me because I was vulnerable.”
“And what on Earth would you have to be vulnerable about?”
Black sneered. “You’d better teach that child Occlumency like your life depends on it.”
“Or what?”
The wand dug deeper into his forehead, a frisson of pain tendriling out from the center. Snape tried to ignore his own reaction to the closeness; Black’s lip curled. “I’m sure I can think of a suitable punishment.”
He laughed when Snape’s gaze dropped to his lips, his mouth parting. “Don’t you just wish.”
“Yeah,” Snape blurted. Black’s eyes closed, just for an instant; he used it to lunge for the wand, twirling it in his fingers. “Never get too close, or they’ll take it.”
“Don’t I know it,” Black said, and gave him a bleak look. Snape winced and returned his wand; Black looked away. “You’ll do your damndest to keep Voldemort out of his head.”
Black guffawed when Snape flinched. “Seriously?”
“Don’t say his name!”
“You really are pathetic.” Black shook his head a few times. “Get out of my sight.”
The week after that, the Order lasted well into the night; Malfoy Manor was nothing short of a madhouse, and Snape had spent half his week brewing various restorative draughts in addition to all the recreational drugs, hating himself all the while. At least the breakout gave him a break from poking at the tender part of himself named Severus, wondering what lay within.
He was so tired afterwards that he didn’t notice he and Black were alone until Dumbledore was leaving; he winked, mouthed, have fun, and headed out the door.
Snape grimaced; Black glanced at him in open confusion. “What was that about? He approves of us fighting now?”
“He thinks we’re still shagging,” Snape said, and Black started coughing. “I outed us to him the first time you marked up my neck so much I needed concealment charms.”
“Oh.” Black looked stunned. “Wasn’t that—”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Black looked away. “Do you want to?”
“Obviously. We shouldn’t.”
“Who gives a damn about should?”
Black burst up and started pacing. “Merlin, Severus, who gives a damn about should? What is it that you want? Why not—”
“I want,” Snape said, very quietly, “to stop helping the Dark Lord. To defect openly. To end this madness that is my life, running from place to place, never sleeping, never eating, always existing in the service of others. Want says give up. Should says carry on. I have to give a damn about it.”
“Oh,” said Black in a very small voice. “You don’t—you don’t like Voldemort?”
Snape flinched. “The Dark Lord,” he said, “is repugnant. This”—he jerked down his sleeve—“says I have no choice in the matter. I might as well use it for good.”
“And shagging me is evil?”
Black’s voice was still small. Snape sighed. “No. But it isn’t right, either. You’re already attached. And I’m nothing. I’m emptiness in the shape of a man. I’m going to tear apart your heart.”
“You already have.”
“Oh.” Snape looked down. “Well, imagine if I’d let it go from that last time.”
“I have.”
“Then imagine it with you having realized that I’m a—a hole in the world.”
“You aren’t.” Black’s voice was fierce. “You aren’t a monster, and you aren’t nothing. You’re supposed to be mine.”
“We don’t always get what we want.” It was weak, and Snape knew it; Dumbledore telling him to have fun was still swimming in his vision. “If we start this up again, there’ll have to be rules.”
Black’s head shot up. “I can work with that.”
“No face-to-face.”
“Okay.”
“No kissing.”
“O-okay.”
“No cuddling.”
“Fine.”
“No first names.”
“Oh, come on!”
Snape frowned. “Don’t call me Severus, then. I’ll call you Sirius all you want.”
“That’s—fine. You know what? Fine. But if you break the rules, I get to reap the rewards until the next time.”
“What, you think I’m going to accidentally cuddle with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Snape rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, anyway, erm. Want to sixty-nine?”
Sirius’s grin was genuine, if pained. “Okay.”
The week after that, Snape approached Sirius after the Order meeting; the man leered, then sighed. “So I was thinking maybe we should pick a less suspicious day,” he said. “What about Saturday nights?”
“You just want to socialize on Fridays. Have your cake and eat it too.”
“So?”
Lupin approached. “What’s going on here?”
“Update,” Snape said, at the same time as Sirius said, “Harry.” Lupin raised an eyebrow, and Snape continued, “His Occlumency. He wanted an update. It’s going abysmally.”
“It is?”
“Yes,” Snape said smoothly. “The boy is a world-class idiot. If you’ll excuse me.”
He was required by the Dark Lord on Saturday nights, which he hadn’t had the chance to express; on Sunday, though, he went ahead and flooed over. Sirius was, of course, not alone; Lupin glared at Snape when he made his way through the kitchen doors. “What are you doing here?”
“Erm,” Snape said, and failed to think of a convincing lie. “Erm.”
“He’s here for sex,” Sirius said, and stood. “Thanks for coming, Moony.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re back together.” Sirius grimaced. “But there’s all sorts of rules now about how I’m not allowed to so much as look at him. You don’t need to worry.”
“I most certainly do! Severus, go away.”
“Seriously, Moony.”
“Well, you’re always Sirius.” Sirius groaned; Lupin grinned. Then he deflated and gave them both hard looks. “I don’t approve of this.”
“Don’t I know it. Go away, Moony.”
“Alright, alright.” Lupin stood and gave Sirius a hug. “Be safe, Padfoot.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius stretched and made eyes at Snape as Lupin departed. “What happened to Saturday?”
“The Dark Lord always wants me. Sundays?”
“Alright. Come on.” He held out a hand, then rolled his eyes when Snape strode purposefully ahead of him. “Seriously?”
“Hand-holding counts as cuddling, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Fine.” Sirius pouted at him. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s consider this a revenge fuck for breaking my wand.” And he pushed Snape forwards. “Still can’t believe you did that. You little fucker.”
“You deserved it.”
“For wanting you?”
“Foul actions have foul consequences.”
“Wanting you is foul?”
Sirius sounded stunned. Snape turned around and sneered. “Obviously. Are we going to fuck or not?”
“I think I need a minute with that one.” Sirius shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m hung up on you.”
“You’re what?”
Snape considered re-ending it then and there, but Sirius just rolled his eyes. “Figure of speech. It’s what you call it when you give a damn about your lover.”
“Oh.” Snape shook himself. “Come on. Sex. Fuck me from behind in your bed, why don’t you?”
The following week, he showed up to an entirely empty HQ; there was something uncanny about it, though he wasn’t sure what. Sirius greeted him in the hallway by jumping him, grabbing him and attacking his neck with his teeth; Snape felt himself melt, and cursed his utterly bestial sentimentality.
“Come on, come on—”
“Now who’s impatient?”
“Think I’ll fuck you right here on the floor,” Sirius said, and Snape moaned. Sirius divested them both of their clothes, then threw him down on top of his discarded robes; Snape shuddered and let him.
On Sunday, he arrived just after dinner; Sirius yelled, “In here!”, and Snape followed him to a cluttered parlor, where Sirius had set out an extra glass of firewhiskey on the opposing table. “Here. Catch up to me, and then let’s fuck.”
Snape eyed him, took the glass, and sat. “This is a ploy to spend time around me.”
“So what?”
Snape didn’t have an answer, so he drank; Sirius gazed at him in open longing, which turned dark when Snape scowled. “So what?” he repeated. “So I came to like you. So what?”
“I should make a rule against conversation,” Snape realized, and gulped his drink as Sirius let out a dark laugh. “Or at least about fucking you drunk.”
“How much colder can you possibly get?”
Snape stiffened. “You really have no idea, do you?”
“What?”
“I’m topping tonight,” Snape decided, and Sirius’s eyebrows shot up. “No more alcohol. I’m going to fuck you over that couch.”
“Okay,” Sirius breathed, and Snape stood and unclothed him with as much disinterest as he could muster. Sirius looked at him oddly, then shrugged and stripped Snape in return, a bit of dejection creeping in when Snape stopped him as he reached for his shirt. “Is this some kind of scene?”
“If you like.” Snape sighed, bent him over the couch, and cast a few charms; then he worked a finger in as clinically as he knew how. “Tell me when.”
“What?”
“When you’re ready for another.”
It was only a few minutes before Sirius said, voice wavering, “When.”
“And again.”
By the fourth finger, he was shaking against Snape; Snape ignored his discomfort until he gasped, “Stop.”
Snape pulled out; Sirius turned around, stood, and shoved him into the wall. “What the hell?”
“You said it was cold,” Snape said, and grabbed Sirius and manhandled him until he was on his stomach again, but this time lying atop the couch. He stripped fully, climbed on top of him, and let his fingers re-enter him with feeling, pleased when the man let out a mew of pleasure. “That’s cold.”
“I—I take—take your point,” Sirius gasped, and Snape leaned down and kissed his shoulder blades one by one. “Oh, God, fuck me.”
“Of course.” Snape penetrated Sirius with his cock, reaching around to bring his back flush with Snape’s torso and lacing their fingers together atop his chest. He fucked him in slow, lazy rolls of the hips, concentrating on the closeness even as he cursed himself for it. “Good?”
“Severus, Severus, Severus—”
“That’s Snape to you.”
Sirius let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “For fuck’s sake.”
“What?”
“Just keep—keep—Severus—”
Snape kept fucking him until he was about to come, then grabbed his cock; Sirius gasped, moaned, and laughed, which triggered Snape’s own orgasm. “Jesus Christ, Sev.”
Snape pulled out and collapsed on the couch. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“I don’t think I can help it. Is it worth breaking it off again to you?”
“No,” Snape said, and stood when he realized they were cuddling. “It isn’t.”
The following week, Sirius jumped him the second he set foot in the house, grabbing him and kissing him like his life depended on it. Snape kissed back for so long it felt silly to enforce the rule; he followed him to his room, panting, “How drunk are you?”
“Don’t—don’t—”
“Just this once,” Snape said, and Sirius kissed him again.
The week after that, he arrived with his guard up; Sirius looked amused when he exited to the hallway, shaking his head a few times. “Sorry about last week. I really was wasted.”
“Thank you.” For a minute, they stood in perfect stillness. “I’ll break it off for real if you do that again.”
“Noted.” Sirius’s eyes seemed to laugh at him. “Let’s do it in my bed, at least.”
“Oh, alright.” Snape followed Sirius to his bedroom, stripping as Sirius did the same. “Top me.”
“With pleasure.”
Snape laid out face-forward on the bed, and Sirius sighed and came to him and started working on getting him opened up. He was blessedly quiet as his fingers plunged into Snape, and as he replaced them with his cock, Snape let himself relax into the soft bed, the warmth of Sirius’s body.
Sirius thrust into him for a very long time, his hands on Snape’s hips, his chest against Snape’s back, and Snape thought, I can live with this.
He could live with it.
The next week, Sirius was quiet. He was quiet as Snape arrived, and as he shoved him against the wall and kissed his neck; he was quiet as he turned Snape around, cast a stripping charm, and penetrated him with his fingers. He was quiet as he entered him, and as he came; he was quiet as Snape moaned his name, splattering the wall with come.
“What is with you today?” Snape demanded. “Why are you acting like a zombie?”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t,” Snape realized, and left, trying not to care as Sirius’s doleful eyes haunted him the whole way home.
The week after that, thank Merlin, Sirius seemed to be back; he attacked Snape with his lips the second he was in eyeshot, kissing everywhere on his face but his lips and seizing his arse in both hands. “Gonna fuck you so good,” he panted, squeezing hard and sloppily kissing Snape’s jaw again. “Gonna fuck you like—you’re going to beg.”
“I am not.”
“Gonna tie you to my bed and fuck you like an animal,” Sirius insisted, and Snape felt his prick grow entirely on board. He resisted the suddenly-overwhelming urge to kiss him, instead turning towards his bedroom and beginning to make his way upstairs. Sirius followed, smacking his arse and laughing as Snape jumped. “If you know your own name by the end of this—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Snape said, and looked back to see Sirius smiling.
Snape let himself be tied to the bed face-down, his cock straining as Sirius raked his nails along his sides and then dug into his hips. He gasped as Sirius penetrated him with two fingers, pumping and twisting and stretching him open. Then, after no time at all, his cock was slamming into him, brutal, desperate, and Snape strained against the bindings in a futile attempt to reach his own cock.
Sirius attacked his neck with his teeth, and Snape arched it for better access, and Sirius was still pounding into him so hard it hurt, and Christ, why had he made the rule about fucking him from behind, why was Snape so monumentally and fundamentally stupid and broken—
Sirius reached around and stroked his cock, and Snape came embarrassingly quickly. Sirius fucked him for a long time after that, until all he knew was sensation, until he couldn’t think at all, until he was crying out with a wordless, voiceless keen, and at last Sirius came.
“Gonna leave you tied up for a while,” Sirius said, and Snape moaned. “Think I’ll eat my come out of your arse.” And he felt a tongue pressing into him.
He couldn’t even summon the word “overstimulation,” much less stop himself from experiencing it, and Sirius seemed well aware of that; he started stroking Snape’s soft cock again, until he got hard, until he came again, and rimmed him even through that, until he was panting, until he wanted to cry. When he pulled away, he said, “Stay.”
Snape moaned again. Sirius started kissing all over his back, and the delicate touches made him tremble, until he was writhing and pulling at the bonds, and Sirius laughed. “Do you think I should let you go?”
Snape couldn’t speak. Black laughed again, and pulled away, leaving him tied up, his eyes hot on Snape’s back. He left him tied up until at last Snape stopped thrashing, and then the bonds vanished, and Snape fell face-forward onto the bed and moaned one last time.
“Fuck,” Snape managed, and Sirius laughed. “Jesus.”
“Mind if I fuck you again? Like this?”
“Oh, Jesus,” Snape said, and Sirius turned his face over just enough to look at him, then seemed to judge for himself Snape’s inability to stop him. He pried open Snape’s arse cheeks and started pressing into him, and Snape said, “Sirius. Sirius, Jesus.”
“Good boy,” Sirius crooned, and seized him by the hair and pulled his neck up off the bed, just a little. His strokes grew faster and faster, until they were slamming into Snape’s sensitized hole, until pain and pleasure were so intertwined that all Snape could do was let out breathless little whines and let it happen.
Sirius took a very long time to come, but when he did, he cleaned up. “Alright. You can go.”
“You expect me to move?”
A laugh. “Well, the alternative is cuddling with me.”
Snape let it happen, hating himself all the while. Sirius let out a contented little noise and wrapped Snape up in his arms, and Snape whimpered a little and said, weakly, “I hate you.”
“I know, gorgeous.”
“I hate you so much.”
“Loud and clear.”
At last, Snape managed to pull himself away. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m gonna go.”
“Okay,” Sirius said, and kissed his fingers as he stood. Snape fled.
The week after that, Sirius was absent again. He was there physically, of course, but mentally he seemed to inhabit another dimension; he fucked Snape by rote, like it was just another chore that had been assigned to him by the traitorous whims of life. He was three perfunctory fingers in when Snape said, “Sirius?”
“What?”
“Do you actually want to fuck?”
A beat, and a stuttering motion inside him; Sirius sighed, bit his shoulder lightly, and said—dully—“I always want you.”
Snape groaned; Sirius’s fingers exited him, replaced instead by his cock. “Dammit, Severus.” He laced their fingers together against the sheets, pounding into him with rather more vigor than he’d had a second ago. “What do you want from me?”
“Sirius, Sirius, Sirius—”
Sirius’s voice choked on a sob. “I’m trying so hard, and I still—”
Oh, Snape thought, and brought their joined hands close enough that he could kiss Sirius’s palm. This garnered another choked-off sob; the man plunged in and out of him in none-too-gentle motions, wild with a longing that Snape wasn’t stupid enough to misunderstand. When he came, Snape came too; then they collapsed together, Sirius’s head on his chest as Snape stroked his forehead and face and hair. “I can’t give you what you want.”
“I know. You have to stay for a minute.”
“What?”
“Let me reap the rewards of you breaking the cuddling rule. It’s part of the rules. Stay for a minute.”
“Alright, alright.” Snape sighed, brought Sirius’s hand up to his mouth, and kissed his palm again. “I hate you, you know.”
This time the sob was intermingled with a laugh. “I know. I hate you too.”
“What about another scene?”
They were cuddling again, to Snape’s chagrin; Sirius had been drunk when he’d showed up, and had talked Snape into joining him, climbing into his lap the second Snape began to make eyes at him. Sirius tilted his head in interest; Snape kissed his neck and sighed. “Teacher/student again? That was a good one. Or what about a scene where you bully me, and punish me sexually?”
“I liked it when we talked about ourselves,” Sirius whined. “Can’t we do that again?”
“No. What scenes do you think we could do? We could plan on it ahead of time. I think you should tie me up again, too.”
“How about a married couple?”
“Very funny.” Snape scowled. “I suppose hostility isn’t always entirely necessary.”
“Let me show you.”
“I’m not fucking you face-to-face.”
“You think I don’t know that? You won’t even kiss me.”
“You still want that?”
“Merlin, Severus, of course I want that! Of course I bloody want that. You really think—”
Sirius cut off, shook himself, and took another gulp of firewhiskey. “You really think I’ve just forgotten last semester? What it can be like when you let yourself want me?”
“I always want you,” Snape corrected. “That was liking. And it’s dangerous. For all involved.”
“It was liking?”
Sirius looked unbearably hopeful. Snape scowled. “Are you ready to fuck yet? I think I’d like to sit on your cock right here on this couch.”
“Should I make a rule about gentleness?”
“You do that, and it really is over.”
“Severus?”
“Sirius.”
“Won’t you at least look at me?”
That Sunday, Sirius was waiting with a stormy expression. “Moony talked to you on Friday, but I know you,” he said, and Snape looked down. “Teach Harry Occlumency again.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“He is a brat,” Snape snapped. “He invaded my personal things. He—”
“He’s basically muggleborn! You shouldn’t have had a pensieve where he could access it.”
“Be that as it may,” Snape allowed, and Sirius gave him such a despairing look that he cut off. “What?”
“Voldemort”—Sirius laughed at Snape’s flinch—“targets him constantly. He’s in the poor boy’s head. Can you even begin to imagine—”
“Can I?” Snape snarled, and jerked down his sleeve. The room went utterly silent; Snape bared his teeth. “I’ve been trying to teach him for three months now. He has made no progress. None. Do you understand how utterly incompetent—”
“Maybe it’s your fault. I know you’re a bad teacher.”
Snape hissed at him; Sirius sneered. “Try again. Try harder. Or this really is over.”
“You think that’s a threat?”
Sirius lunged forwards and kissed him. Snape was caught up in the frenzy of tongues for a minute, then pulled away. “What the fuck?”
Sirius’s face glowed in triumph. “Of course it’s a bloody threat. Teach him differently. Try harder.”
Snape looked down. “He’ll never learn.”
“Try anyway.” Sirius shook his head. “You’re getting punished today. I’m going to lock you in a cock cage until you get home.”
He summoned Potter to his office the following day, sitting him down and staring into his vacuous eyes. “New plan,” he announced, and Potter blinked. “It is clear that the direct approach will never work for you. You will read this book”—he handed over his old, battered copy of The Mental Arts—“like your life depends upon it. You may be incapable of the practice, but I am going to attempt to teach you to clear your mind. If this approach is successful, eventually you will be able to clear your mind of the Dark Lord.”
“Yes, sir. Sir?”
“Potter.”
“I’m sorry I looked in your pensieve.”
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not lying!”
“I’m not lying, sir.”
Potter let out a loud sigh. “I’m not lying, sir. I’m sorry I looked in your pensieve. Were you really friends with my mum?”
“The first step to clearing the mind is growing comfortable with absolute stillness and silence,” Snape said. Potter, thank Merlin, obeyed.
That Sunday, as always, he went to see Sirius; when he tracked him down in a sitting room, the man gave him an indulgent smile and patted his own lap. “Good deeds deserve good rewards.”
“What?”
“You’re teaching Harry again. I can see it in your posture.”
Snape slumped and, despite his better judgment, went to him. “My posture?”
“You aren’t too stiff. I think you would be if you hadn’t followed up.”
“I hate you,” Snape said. “Violently.”
“Yeah, me too. Let me give you a massage tonight. Come on, let’s go to my bedroom—”
Snape followed, and let himself be massaged; when Sirius turned him over on his front, there was a still moment of prolonged eye contact, and then Sirius breathed, “Oral?”
“Fine by me.”
Sirius looked up at him and grinned, and Snape got a little dizzy, remembering with an internal curse why there was a rule against fucking face-to-face. But what was he going to do, stop Sirius mid-blowjob?
Sirius took Snape into his mouth, and Snape let his head flop down onto the pillow and his hand find its way into Sirius’s hair. He held on as Sirius bobbed atop him, sucking him all the way down into his throat, and when he came, he chanced another glance at Sirius’s face.
The man looked punch-drunk, and gave him an awful earnest look. “Let me fuck you like this,” Sirius breathed. “No, don’t roll over, let me—”
“No kissing,” Snape said sternly, and let him.
And things stayed like that, for a while. Sirius pushed, and Snape retreated; Sirius begged, and Snape relented. He did his best not to think about it when they weren’t actually together, but found himself consumed by thoughts of Sirius almost all of the time. Why did the man spend so much time sequestered inside himself, going where Snape couldn’t follow? Was there any way to predict when it would or wouldn’t happen? Why did he even care?
But he did care, and undeniably so; he got a cold feeling when Sirius vanished, a sense of impending doom, of utter and absolute dread. He found himself slipping to get him to come back from that silent retreat of the mind: cuddling, kissing, even fucking face-to-face a few times. He could feel Sirius’s hope growing again as these periods of absence grew fewer and farther between, and his own panic rising, but had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
In late June, Potter approached Snape in his office. “Voldemort,” he gasped, and scowled when Snape glared. “Sir—you have help me, Sirius is hurt, I’ve had a vision—he’s being held captive in—”
“Very well. Let’s not be hasty.” Snape drew his wand, cast his Patronus, and said, “Check on Sirius.”
The doe galloped off; Potter gaped. Snape resisted the urge to shrug or rub the back of his neck, resolutely sitting still until a silver Grim entered the room. “I’m fine,” came a deep, warm, amused voice. “Did something happen?”
“He’s fine,” Snape repeated. “Go away.”
“Oh,” Potter said. He looked so relieved that for a second, Snape could almost bring himself to pity. “Will you look at my shields? I really did think I was getting better.”
“We’ll have to work on recognizing false visions next semester,” Snape realized in horror, and Potter brightened.
He went by afterwards, cocking his head at Sirius to exit the room as Moody and Lupin watched him suspiciously and Shacklebolt and Tonks waved. “Severus? What happened?”
“Potter got a vision of you getting held captive,” Snape said, and despite himself took Sirius’s face in his hands. “The Dark Lord attempting to lure him out, no doubt. We have to mobilize everyone to go deal with it, but I—I—Sirius, you have to promise you’ll stay here.”
Sirius’s laugh was bitter. “Don’t I always?”
“I can’t do anything either. Not if I want to maintain my cover.”
“All you do is help the bloody Order!” Sirius exploded. “All you do is report intel and give us heads-ups about raids and come up with brilliant tactics and—and—”
“Sirius?”
“And I’m useless.” Sirius shook his head. “Come on, let’s go figure out what to do next. I’m going to go get my two-way mirror in case Harry tries to call.”
Kreacher, it turned out, was the source of their woes; Dumbledore’s disappointment was palpable as he subjected Sirius to the lecture of a lifetime, as was Kreacher’s terror and Snape’s glee. Afterwards, they decamped to the kitchen to wait for the advance team; Dumbledore shot them a number of sidelong looks, which Snape only really registered at the same time he registered that their legs were pressed together under the table.
When he jerked away, Sirius looked hurt; Dumbledore laughed. “Young love, eh?”
His voice was a little hesitant, and very wry. Sirius’s, when he spoke, was utterly exhausted. “It isn’t like that.”
“Oh.”
Now Dumbledore looked a little sad. So, to Snape’s chagrin, did Sirius. “He hates me,” Sirius said, as though Snape weren’t even in the room. “It’s an uphill battle to get him to look at me, much less talk to me when there isn’t some kind of emergency.”
“Emergency?”
“Like when he wanted to stop teaching Harry Occlumency.” Snape felt his face burning. “Barring that, it’s—anyway, ‘love’ is not the word I would use.”
Is it? Snape wondered, suddenly horrified. Sirius’s hopelessness was, he abruptly realized, one of the single most depressing things he had ever encountered. He had known this, known it for months, but something about this encounter brought the vagaries of their affair into stark relief. Is this just the best I can do, and he thinks—
Moody and Shacklebolt arrived, fresh with news; the Department of Mysteries, thank Merlin, was utterly empty.
Snape stayed after, even despite his better judgment; when Sirius shot him a grateful look, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. It took ages for everyone to clear out, and Snape was yawning by the time they did; when Sirius approached, Snape watched his gaze flicker to his lips, then away. “Dumbledore,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe he brought it up.”
“Yeah.” Snape looked away. “I can’t believe you talked about me like that in front of him.”
“Was I supposed to lie? Just because you’re physically comfortable with me—”
“I’ve never been psychically comfortable with anyone,” Snape blurted. “Not ever in my life. Not even Lily.”
“Yeah.” Sirius sighed. “I picked up on that.”
“You came close,” Snape continued, even as his better instincts screamed. “Last semester. That’s why I broke it off.”
“I did?”
Sirius looked unbearably hopeful. Snape looked away. “Anyway,” he mumbled. “I’m glad the Dark Lord doesn’t hold you captive.”
A beat, and then Sirius roared with laughter. “Me too!” he hooted, and Snape felt his mouth twitch. “Ah, hell, Severus. I’m glad you’re here with me now.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
The joy left Sirius’s face. “Nothing. Sorry. Absolutely nothing at all. Do you want to fuck?”
“Fine.”
“We don’t have to. We could just cuddle.”
“It’s against the rules.”
Sirius laughed a short, dark laugh. “Bugger the rules! What do you want?”
Snape kissed him. A beat, and then Sirius kissed back; they were wild, frenzied against one another. “Good,” Sirius panted. “What else do you want?”
“Hold me,” Snape blurted, and Sirius’s eyes went wide. “Just—just—oh, God, the rules—”
“When’s the last time you really enforced those? You cuddle with me every time.”
“I’m a monster,” Snape moaned, and let Sirius take his hand and tug him up to bed.
The next morning, he woke up in Sirius’s arms; he scrambled away, dressing in haste and making his way back to Hogwarts—thank Merlin—in time for breakfast. When he got home, thankful he didn’t have to teach that day, he sat down on his couch and tried to figure out what it was that was making the knot that lived in the bottom of his stomach particularly ravenous today.
“Love” is not the word I would use. What other words were there? What could describe this thing between him and Sirius, this bewitchment that made Snape seek him out every Sunday like clockwork? For almost a year now, they had been shagging; at every turn, Snape had done his damnedest to destroy intimacy wherever he found it. What was left at the end of all that? What could he hope for or look towards?
I don’t have to care about the future, because I’ll just be dead, Snape remembered. The thought comforted him, though the knot tightened; he was as afraid of death as anyone else, though he did his best not to show it. But the idea of the Dark Lord killing him was also an immense relief, one that relaxed his tense shoulders and let his eyes close.
It was better for Sirius not to care. The only thing at the end of that tunnel was heartbreak.
I need to break it off again, Snape realized gloomily. For his sake.
This resolve lasted until that night, when the Dark Lord informed him that Wormtail was in need of lodgings; then, suddenly, Sunday was the only thing on his mind. When it came, Sirius was distant again; Snape guided him up to his room, stripped him, and whispered, “What do you need?”
Sirius’s eyes shot to meet his; there was a moment of prolonged contact, and then he looked away. “You’ll never love me, will you? Things will never change.”
“No,” Snape agreed. “Change how?”
“I wish you came by more than once a week,” Sirius said, and turned around and took his face and kissed him before he could protest. “I wish you would tell me what goes on in that mysterious head of yours. I wish I knew everything there was to know about you.”
Another kiss; Snape surrendered, helpless, to the sudden wave of affection. “I wish you’d let me follow through on what you said. Let me do to you everything a man can do to his lover.”
“What would that entail?”
“Weird stuff. Gross stuff. Finding a line.”
“You know my line.”
“Can’t we explore it all together?”
A beat, and Sirius pulled away, that desolate absence returning. “You don’t want a partner. You want an escape. That’s why you keep running away.”
“Yeah,” Snape managed, and Sirius gave him a look of unmistakable pity. “Sirius, it isn’t—there’s more to it than you.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t intend to live through this war.” Sirius made a horrible choking noise. “You don’t want a partner whose mistress is death.”
“No.” Sirius looked, abruptly, exhausted. “I suppose it’s alright for him to be my lover?”
“Why not?”
“Hung up,” Sirius mumbled. “I’m disgustingly hung up on you. I don’t know how to—to destroy that hope.”
“Hope for what?”
“That someday you’ll want my mind.”
“Well of course I want your mind,” Snape snapped, and Sirius’s eyes grew huge. “Why do you think I tried to end it? I wish it had kept.”
Sirius laughed, some odd mixture of joy and pain giving a garbled quality to the sound. “You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it.”
“Look, are you up to fucking? I can just leave if—”
“You’ll never change,” Sirius said, and flopped down onto the bed. “Give me a blowjob. Or fuck me.”
“Okay.” Snape nosed his way down Sirius’s body and trailed his tongue along his cock, pleased when the man gasped. He started slowly, but soon had him all the way inside; he did what he could to make it good for him, deploying all the tricks he knew and trying to make his own enjoyment clear.
When Sirius came, he gestured at Snape to come up to him, and they huddled together, Sirius’s hand finding its way to Snape’s cock. “Come on,” Sirius breathed, stroking him slowly. “Come for me.”
When he did, he wasn’t sure what to do. “Cuddle with me,” Sirius said muzzily, and Snape sighed and cursed internally and obliged him. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.” Snape sighed again, trying to ignore the way Sirius shook against him. “Why do you get like that?”
“What?”
“Sometimes it’s like you’re just gone.” It scared Snape a little, though he would never admit it. “Why is that?”
“I dunno.” Sirius nudged Snape’s chest with his nose, burrowing deeper. “I think at least part of it is how much I hate this house. Being here is—I might as well still be in prison.”
“Don’t say that.”
Sirius laughed, though the sound was bleak. “Thought you hated me. Shouldn’t you want me to suffer?”
“It isn’t that kind of hate.”
“There’s more than one kind of hate?”
“As many as there are types of love.” Snape sighed and combed a hand through Sirius’s hair. “I shouldn’t even be here. Dumbledore told me to stick by the Dark Lord’s side as much as possible.”
“Fuck that. Come by more often.”
“What?”
“It’s summer. If that’s your only hobby, you need another one. Come by more often.”
“Sirius—”
“Come by more often.” Sirius surged up against him, kissing him with fervor. “Please. Come by more often. I miss you all the time.”
“Sirius—”
“Please.”
It was the tone of raw helplessness that broke Snape. “Fine! Fine. Wednesdays?”
Sirius settled back into his side. “Whenever you want.”
On Wednesday, Snape made his excuses in the early evening, to his dread finding Podmore and Moody already at HQ; Podmore waved, while Moody gave him a suspicious glance. Sirius, on the other hand, stood, took him by the elbow, and steered him out of the room.
“Sirius?”
“How do you feel about exhibitionism?”
Sirius kissed him before he could answer; Snape groaned very softly, pulled away, and whispered furiously, “Moody’s bloody eye—”
A beat, and Sirius pulled away, his whole face beet-red. “Right. Shite. Right.”
When they returned to the kitchen, Moody shook his head a few times. “You chaps need us to leave?”
Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you mind?”
Snape felt himself turn bright red. Podmore looked confused. Moody glared, then belted out a harsh laugh. “Figures. Knew he should’ve found man’s men to lead this effort.”
“Like he isn’t one of us,” Sirius snapped, and Podmore’s confusion grew. Moody, however, looked away; Snape felt helpless, like he was drifting along a series of conflicting tides. “Anyway, it’s fine. Sorry.”
“Sorry,” Snape echoed, and Moody gave him a sharp look. Podmore shook his head and turned back to the map of Britain they’d been detailing; Snape turned to Sirius and hissed, “This is why there’s a rule about kissing.”
“Because normal men get as close as I intended to get to you.”
“We are normal.”
Sirius looked at him with unbearable softness. “Don’t suppose we could go back to yours?”
“Wormtail lives there.”
“He what?”
“What?”
Moody was looking at them again, an ear upraised; Snape sighed and cocked his head at Sirius for them to join him and Podmore around the table. “The Dark Lord has assigned me the task of hosting Wormtail,” he said, not bothering to hide his gloom. “That fucking rat.”
“Literally,” Podmore said, and Sirius laughed. “Blimey, that’s awful.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Any good intel?”
Moody’s eyes were sharp, wary, intelligent, and both focused on him. Snape sighed, opened his mouth, and spoke.
Eventually, Podmore and Moody left to act on his intel; when he looked up, Sirius was watching him with an expression Snape had seen before, but still didn’t understand. “What?”
“Will you hold me for a while?”
“What?”
“Forget it.” Sirius stood, stretched, and shook himself. “I thought maybe—but you’ll always enforce the rules when it suits you.”
“I’m sorry,” Snape said, helplessly; Sirius gave him a sharp look. “I don’t know how to be anything else. I thought it would be enough that I came around.”
“It is. Sorry. It is.” Sirius sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I just—”
“I know.” Snape bit his lip, then shook himself. “We should break it off for real. I bet Vance would sleep with you.”
“What?”
“I promised you until you found another lover. She could be your lover.”
Sirius closed his eyes. “She would, wouldn’t she?”
“In a heartbeat. She looks at you like Christmas dinner.”
Sirius was swaying a little now. “I doubt she runs and hides the second things get intimate. She seems like a very well-adjusted woman.”
“Yeah.” Snape felt a hot spike of possessiveness flare up in him, even despite having been the one who’d suggested it. But then, how could he expect Sirius to fight for something Snape tried to destroy at every turn? “Fuck me. Right here, right now, where anyone could find us.”
“How many people d’you think already know?” Sirius wondered idly. “Dumbledore. Remus. Mad-Eye. How many more have turned right around and gone home when they heard us fucking?”
“Not Podmore.” Snape surrendered to a heated kiss, even as he berated himself; Sirius looked just the slightest bit hopeful as he pulled away. “Over the table.”
Afterwards, Snape sighed and stood; Sirius watched him with that idiotic, doleful gaze of his. “I must return to the Dark Lord.”
Sirius looked away. “Right,” he said. “Have at it.”
The Dark Lord seemed satisfied when Snape lied and said Dumbledore had insisted on weekly check-ins in addition to meetings of the Order; Wednesday and Sundays became a time to relay information in addition to seeing Sirius, which made him feel just a little bit better. At least the mayhem was contained; at least his loyalties were confusing to all involved, and not just to the Dark Lord or Dumbledore.
Sirius didn’t seem to doubt them; when everyone left to go deal with the raid on a muggle village Wormtail had planned, he gave Snape that impenetrable look again. Was there tenderness there?
You don’t want him to feel tenderness towards you, Snape thought, and glared at the stragglers until only Lupin remained. He looked between them, sighed, and said, plainly, “The man isn’t good for you, Padfoot.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Sirius didn’t look away from Snape’s gaze. “He’s utterly incapable of love.”
“That’s right,” Snape agreed. “I can’t feel anything. I think he should shag Vance.”
“Vance?”
Lupin sounded so surprised that Sirius broke eye contact; they both looked at Lupin, who seemed lost at sea. “He promised me until I find another lover,” Sirius said bleakly. “Apparently she’s attracted to me.”
“Worth a shot,” Lupin agreed. He sounded stunned. “You hate him.”
“Passionately.”
“You’re hateful.”
“Yeah.”
Lupin still looked lost at sea. “Harry gets here in a few days. So do the Weasleys. You two should be more careful.”
“Than what?”
Lupin snorted. “He looks at you like you’re the only man he’s ever seen. You look at him like he’s the only man you want to see.”
Oh, Snape thought, and resisted the urge to sit down hard. It was that obvious, the thing between them? It had breached containment to that extent? Why did he even bother to enforce the rules?
Why did he even have rules?
“Well, I won’t keep you,” Lupin said, patting the table and standing. “Be careful, Padfoot.”
“I always am.”
Lupin snorted, shook his head, and departed; Snape glanced up at Sirius, wondering if his desolation was showing. “Snape? Are you alright?”
“I’ve made a mess I can’t clean up,” Snape said. Sirius’s face shuttered. “I’ve toyed with your feelings. I’ve obliterated my own. Don’t sleep with Vance.”
The blinds over Sirius’s eyes reopened. “You mean that?”
“The rules are ridiculous,” Snape said. “We’re already attached to each other. What do they accomplish?”
“They punish both of us.”
Snape looked away. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Didn’t I? I got too close. I wasn’t so much attached as half—”
“Stop.” Sirius, mercifully, stopped. “If we’re to do this, we’ll have to go slowly.”
Sirius’s head shot up. “I can work with that.”
They sat in silence for a long time after that, digesting, and then Sirius came to him and sat in his lap and kissed him. “Just let me know how slowly,” he whispered, and kissed him again. “I can be whatever you need.”
“Okay,” Snape said, and ran his hands up and down Sirius’s sides. “Okay.”
The next time he went by, Sirius approached, eyed his lips, and bit his own. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Snape kissed him; Sirius melted. “What do you want? How can I please you?”
“What?”
The voice was not Sirius’s but Molly Weasley’s. Snape winced, groaned, and rubbed his forehead. “We’ll be out to everyone in the British Isles by end of summer at this rate.”
Sirius barked out a startled laugh. “You’re telling me!” He turned. “Molly, could you give us a minute?”
“O-okay.”
She fled. Sirius sighed. “Sorry. I can’t prevent—”
“No.” Snape gestured forwards towards the kitchen. “Back to it.”
When everyone had left the kitchen, Sirius backed him into the nearest wall and fucked him slow, whispering threats of tenderness into his ear as his hips and cock and lips made good. They collapsed into a puddle on the floor afterwards, Sirius holding Snape as he buried his face in his chest and trembled. “This is completely out of control.”
“Yep.” Sirius sounded faintly thrilled. “Do you regret it?”
“Yes.” Snape didn’t move. “When you aren’t there, it’s—I’ve begun to notice.”
“You miss me?”
“Well—”
Sirius broke into peals of delighted laughter. “I miss you too, Severus.” A long, dreamy sigh. “You know you can come by as often as you want. I’d be happy to see you every day.”
“I know.” Snape shook his head against Sirius’s chest. “Shut up.”
“Harry’s here, you know. And the Weasleys.”
“Already?”
Sirius laughed. “Yeah. Are you going to keep coming around?”
“I don’t think I have a choice.” Snape sighed. “I’ve grown too used to you.”
On Wednesday, the house was somehow even more packed than it had been; Snape met Sirius’s eyes, watching as he grimaced and ran a hand back through his hair, then turning around and making a beeline for his bedroom. When Sirius finally arrived some two hours later, he looked nothing short of devastated; then he caught sight of Snape, and went still. “Oh. Hello.”
“Hello.” Snape stood up and kissed him. “I didn’t feel like socializing.”
“I can see that.” Sirius laughed and dipped him dramatically and kissed him again; Snape tried and failed not to swoon. “You stayed anyway.”
“I knew where your bedroom was.” Snape shook himself and started stripping Sirius of his garments, running hands along his tattoos and berating himself internally.
Then he sighed and kissed Sirius’s shoulder, wondering if there was a version of slowly that would be too slow, that would drive Sirius away. Was there any way he could still win? His weakness was that he wanted to try anyway, that he was too soft to keep pushing Sirius away. What if he drove him away by being coy, sweet, entirely too gentle?
“Severus?”
Snape kissed the base of his neck, then his chest; he kissed his way down his chest to his cock, and took him in deep, despite himself pleased as Sirius gasped. He made Sirius come, then crawled up and nuzzled into his side, ignoring his own erection and wondering what would be enough of not enough.
“What was that for? Can I toss you off or something?”
“I just wanted to.” Sirius shivered. “I always want you.”
He didn’t register that he’d fallen asleep there until the next morning, warm against Sirius’s side; he groaned and stood, ignoring Sirius’s noise of vague distress. “Warm,” he mumbled. “Comfy. Don’t go.”
“Wormtail will be expecting me.”
This woke Sirius up; he watched Snape with bleary eyes, sighed, and stood up and kissed him so thoroughly he was gasping by the end of it, clutching the unkempt hair at the base of Sirius’s neck. Oh, he thought dizzily, and Sirius said, “Give him hell for me.”
That Friday, he made his way to Sirius without thinking about it; Lupin looked between them a few times before raising an unsubtle eyebrow. I’ve come untethered, Snape realized, and then, Sirius has become my tether.
“Severus?”
“I just want to be near him,” Snape said, with a plainness that horrified him; Sirius’s hands twitched towards him as Lupin’s eyebrows shot up. “Erm—”
“I wish I could touch you,” Sirius said, and Lupin let out a very long sigh. “I wish—”
“Yeah.”
“I suppose I’m just chopped liver,” Lupin mumbled. Neither Sirius nor Snape broke eye contact. “You two are ridiculous, you know that? Ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Snape mumbled, and looked away. “Anyway, erm, hi. I’ll see you on Sunday?”
“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, and Snape left.
On Sunday, Potter was in the kitchen with Sirius when he tracked him down; Snape sneered, groaned, and turned around to leave. “Professor? What are you doing here?”
“It is Order HQ,” Snape snapped, and fled to Sirius’s bedroom. It was nearly an hour until the man arrived, amusement written all over his features; the amusement turned to a deep gratitude as he registered Snape’s presence.
“You stayed.”
“It’s Sunday.”
Sirius came to him and kissed him; Snape melted, and let himself get lost. They fucked slow, face-to-face, Sirius’s hands cupping his face as he plunged into Snape in lazy, indolent waves. “With me?”
“Yeah, yeah—”
“Severus,” Sirius breathed, far-too-familiar awe spreading across his features. “I love you.”
“Oh,” Snape said. Then: “I know.”
Sirius swore, and Snape came; Sirius’s cock stuttered inside him, and then he came too, pulled out, and rolled over. “You knew?”
“You aren’t subtle.” Snape stayed on his back and closed his eyes. “We don’t have to talk about it.” Please don’t make me talk about it.
“How?”
“How often does one need to be made love to?”
“Oh,” said Sirius in a very small voice. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t—”
“I know. Come here.”
Sirius, thank Merlin, came to him, and didn’t say much as Snape combed his hands through his hair. “So much for slow.”
“Just pretend I never said it. It was during sex. I don’t think that counts.”
“Okay.” Snape stroked his face. “I don’t even believe you anyway.”
“You said you knew.”
“I know how you think you feel.” Sirius made a wounded noise. “But I’m not a lovable person. I’m a tool. A monster. A thing.”
“This is why I wish I wouldn’t,” Sirius said, and Snape felt himself go still. “Everyone is lovable, Severus. People even love Voldemort.” He sighed and kissed Snape’s neck when he recoiled. “Of course they can love you. Of course I do… of course I do.”
“That’s repellent.”
Sirius barked out a laugh. “You’re telling me!” A beat, and he started giggling even harder, shaking his head as Snape gripped him. “Ah, hell. We never have a choice in these things. I thought you were going to let it go. I suppose I should have known. You have to latch onto my weakness, eh? Dissect it until it means nothing to you.”
Snape sighed and shook his head. “I should probably go.”
“Of course you should. Do you want to?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Then stay.” Sirius wrapped an arm around Snape’s chest and held on tight. “A little while longer. Just stay.”
As he was leaving, he encountered Arthur Weasley; the man blinked a few times, then offered a hesitant smile. “Hullo, Severus. Late night work for the Order?”
“Something like that.” Arthur tilted his head. “How did you know you loved Molly?”
Arthur blinked profusely, then laughed. “Are you in love?”
Snape looked down. “I don’t… know.”
“She and I loved each other at once,” Arthur said kindly. “From our very first date we were inseparable. We both leapt in headfirst. That’s what I’d suggest.”
“Oh,” Snape managed. “Thanks.” And he fled.
On Wednesday, he went by late; Sirius was already puttering around his bedroom when he arrived, a stricken look on his face. “Oh,” Sirius said, and came to him and reached for his robes. “Hello. I didn’t know if—I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Whatever,” Snape mumbled. “Here I bloody am.”
“Here you are,” Sirius agreed, and kissed him. He stripped him as they kissed, and led him over to the bed, where they tumbled together in a confluence of bodies. He kissed Snape all over, from the bottoms of his feet to beneath his knees; Snape was shaking by the time Sirius entered him, pressing their foreheads together and whispering, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
They laid together, afterwards, engaging in the cuddling that had become routine again; Snape sighed and held Sirius as best he could, stroking his shaking arms and kissing his trembling brow. “You shouldn’t want me.”
“Lost cause there.”
“Yeah.” Snape sighed and closed his eyes. “You…”
You love me, he thought, dismayed as the words became trapped in his mouth. You love me so much it’s—
“Me.” Sirius kissed his shoulder and sighed. “Stay a while? What do you spend all your time doing, when you’re not here?”
I can scare him away, Snape realized, and spoke.
That Sunday, when he made it back to his bedroom, Sirius gave him a peculiar look. “I keep thinking you’re not going to come back.”
“Well, that’s—”
Snape sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’ve been letting yourself like me. Last time you did that you broke it off within weeks.”
“It’s hopeless,” Snape said plainly, and hope sparked in Sirius’s eyes. “I even asked Arthur for advice about you.”
Sirius blinked, then roared with laughter. “You what?”
“It’s hopeless,” Snape said again. “Would you come here already?”
The summer passed like this, little frissons of joy in between spurts of pain and terror; when Dumbledore summoned him in a panic, the underlying joy evaporated. “You can’t die,” he managed, and got to work with his potions; he only realized the incident had been on a weekend when Wednesday rolled around and he was approached by a dog Patronus.
The dog didn’t say anything; Snape swore, cast a calendar charm, and set aside his work, apparating directly into Sirius’s room and wincing when his eyes widened. “Emergency,” he managed, “There was an emergency this weekend, I’m sorry I didn’t—”
Sirius deflated. “Oh. Sorry. I just—”
“No. Thank you for reminding me. I had no idea what day it was.”
“If you’re busy—”
“I really am. I’m sorry.” Snape went to him and kissed him. “I’m sorry, I have to—”
“Padfoot, where’s the—”
To Snape’s horror, it was none other than Potter who barged into the room; Snape sprang apart from Sirius, who unfortunately had been kissing the palm of his hand. Potter gaped, then scowled; Snape sneered back. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What the hell are you doing here, sir.”
Potter gaped some more. “Why is he in your bedroom?”
“Erm—”
“Ew! Snape?”
“Maybe you’d better go. Severus?”
“Right,” Snape said, and fled.
On the last Friday of the summer, he debated skipping the Order entirely; then he went ahead and went, beholden to his own sense of responsibility. Sirius glanced at him, grinned, and cocked his head; Snape thought about not going to him, but half the room knew they were shagging anyway. “Hey,” he said, and sat down on the table above him while they waited. “Wish I could kiss you.”
Sirius turned a little pink. “O-oh?”
“How did Potter take it?”
“How do you think?”
“Yeah,” Snape said, hoping but doubting it wasn’t glumly. “I really do absolutely loathe that child.”
Sirius laughed a little. “I know. I wish you wouldn’t. He’s the most important person in my life, you know. If he asks me to break up with you I’ll do it.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe you should try being nice to him?”
“I’ve never been nice to anyone.”
Sirius laughed. “True, true.”
Lupin approached; Snape grimaced. “How are you, Severus?”
“Worse now that you’re here,” Snape said, and Lupin groaned. “Why are you here?”
“Sirius is my best friend. Are you going to keep hurting him?”
“Probably.”
“It’s none of your business,” Sirius snapped, and Snape looked at the floor. “I’ve made my choice, Moony. You’re going to have to live with that.”
“Or I could kill him.”
This did not even remotely resemble a joke.
They kept bickering until the meeting started; afterwards, everyone gave them a wide berth—even Lupin. “It’s good that he cares so much,” Snape said, inanely; Sirius tilted his head. “You really do need a keeper.”
“I do not.”
“Desperately,” Snape insisted. “Your bedroom?”
The night term started, he flooed over to Sirius’s. Sirius blinked at him a few times, then broke into a wide grin. “Severus!”
“Come back to mine. I finally have a place to myself.”
“What?”
“The castle’s cold. Come warm my bed.”
“God, you’re so romantic.”
But Sirius followed him through the floo to Snape’s rooms; he laughed a little at the lack of decor, then shoved Snape up against the nearest wall and kissed him. “I can stay the night?”
“I guess so.” Snape rubbed the back of his neck, then found both his hands captured by Sirius’s. “I think I’m too tired for sex. I just wanted—”
“Okay,” Sirius breathed, and kissed his knuckles. Snape cursed himself, then remembered: Be too gentle with him. Be too open. Be too much. Be you. It’ll drive him away even faster than cruelty.
Which hadn’t been working at all.
He tugged Sirius back to his bedroom, then stripped him down to his pants; then he laid him out on his bed and watched him until he squirmed. “What?”
“Lovely,” Snape said, and Sirius squirmed again. “I get to sleep with you.”
“That’s my line.”
“It is?”
Sirius laughed. “This has been my fantasy for a year now. It’s finally come true. Will you hold me?”
“Fine.” Snape stripped too, and went to him, suddenly unsure what to do with his arms and legs and hands. “Oh, Sirius, you have to leave me, I’m a monster—”
“Not this again.” Sirius slumped forwards, his shoulders hunching. “You’re my monster.”
“Oh.” Snape felt himself go very still, and despite his better judgment wrapped his body around Sirius’s back. Sirius relaxed into him, and Snape said, “Dumbledore is dying.”
“What?”
“He has a year.” The words flowed out of him, unable to be contained. “You can’t tell anyone. It’s already sealed.”
“I gathered that.” Sirius sighed, and didn’t move out of his grip. “Poor Albus. Thanks for telling me.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
Sirius yawned and settled in against his chest. “No, you don’t. Tell me more stories until I fall asleep. What was this emergency that made you ditch me the other day, anyway?”
The next night, he went back to Grimmauld Place; Lupin was there, and stood the second he entered the room. “Ah. Have fun, Padfoot.” And he bustled out the door.
“Coming back to mine?” Snape asked, and Sirius’s whole body seemed to brighten. Incandescent, he thought, a little giddily; they held hands as they made their way to the floo. “Feel like fucking?”
“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, and gave him that same bright look.
Things were good, after that, so good it was downright frightening; he thought it would end, that the goodness would cease, but it continued for so long that in late September, Snape broke.
When he didn’t go by Grimmauld Place for the Order meeting, he assumed that would be the end of it; unfortunately, Sirius came through his floo around ten, yawning and stretching as he started forwards. “Hey. Bad day? We missed you at the meeting. Let’s—are you okay?”
Snape was sitting on his couch, staring into space and praying for death; Sirius approached, appraised him, and then—to his horror—turned into a dog and jumped up on top of him. “Ah,” Snape said, and petted behind his ears. “I was freaking out about how well everything’s been going. Between you and me. I think this cements it.”
Sirius whined and buried his face in his chest, then looked up with an inquisitive expression; Snape allowed the parade of horrors to continue. “I don’t deserve this,” he said, and closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We barely even know each other outside of sex. What do I know about you? Where you grew up. You got a classical pureblood education. You were a bully in school.” Sirius whined again. “Basic biographical details. What are your hopes? What are your dreams? Because I’ll let you in on a secret about me. Mine involve dying gloriously in battle.”
Sirius stilled against him, then buried his face in Snape’s chest again. “I’m not a good match for you, or for anyone. I’m not a good person. I’m a monster. I know you say I’m your monster, but I don’t—I can’t—”
He choked, to his profound terror, on a sob; Sirius shifted human and took him in his arms, whispering sweet nothings until he felt his shaking abate. “What do you want to know?”
“What?”
“About me. What else do you want to know?”
“Everything! That’s the problem!”
“Are we going too fast?”
“What?”
Sirius sighed and combed a hand through Snape’s hair. “You said we’d have to go slow, and then you started summoning me every night. Is it too fast for you? Do you want to slow down?”
“No. Yes. No. No.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to leave me of your own initiative. To see me for what I am, and run.”
Sirius blinked, then laughed. “Never gonna happen.”
Snape moaned, and Sirius sighed and took him more fully into his arms, settling back against the couch and lacing their fingers together. “You’re overwhelmed.”
“How’d you figure that one out?”
Another laugh. “Do you want to keep talking about it? To fuck? To go to sleep? We could take a bath together in that big bathtub of yours. I think I’ve wanted to wash your hair for—”
“Oh, thanks.”
Sirius giggled. Snape felt his insides turn to pudding, and swore internally. “I want to be alone.”
“Really?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He contemplated a cessation of warmth, a return to the death spiral of his own thoughts, an empty bed, and sighed. “Well, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Let’s take that bath,” Sirius decided. “And I’ll make love to you.”
Snape scowled. Sirius picked him up and carried him, grinning when he balked. “My monster,” he said, and Snape shivered. “What would you do for me?”
Anything.
“You’ll twist my words no matter what I say, won’t you?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Sirius agreed. “Now. Let me tell you all about myself. My favorite color is red, for one. For another—”
The next day, Sirius came by. Snape was, as had begun to feel inevitable even after only two days, frenzied; Sirius took one look at him and sighed. “Come here. Let me give you a massage.”
Snape, despite himself, went to him, relaxing as he started working on the knotted muscles of his neck. Sirius told him a story about his time in Azkaban in a low murmur, and Snape wondered who he was now, who he had become.
They retreated to bed, and then Snape got up and started pacing. “Umbridge is relentless,” he announced, and Sirius made a sympathetic noise. “My job feels like it’s under constant scrutiny. I don’t know how anyone is supposed to live like this.”
Sirius crooked a finger, and Snape went to him again; they settled back into bed, Sirius making noise about Umbridge having undone all the hard work he’d put into his neck. “Hard year,” he said, and Snape barked out a laugh. “Oh.”
“What?”
“I’ve never heard you laugh before.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Snape grumbled, and Sirius sighed and laughed and kissed the back of his neck. He was struck, suddenly, by all that he had now; instead of agonizing over the day, over the Dark Lord, over the war, he was in this warm, safe, hidden embrace, shielded from the darkness in his own mind by a man who loved him openly. “Oh, Sirius.”
Sirius hummed and bit his shoulder, and Snape relaxed into him, abruptly boneless. “Just hold me for a while?”
“That’s the plan.” Sirius pulled him down onto the bed, wrapping himself around Snape as fully as he seemed able; then he told him a story about his time on the run, combing through his hair and kissing his face at odd intervals. “Sev? Are you asleep?”
Snape was too tired even to grumble, and just burrowed deeper into Sirius; Sirius laughed very softly, kissed his brow, and whispered, “I love you. I wish you’d believe me that you aren’t a monster at all.”
The next week at the Order, Lupin approached him, waving Sirius away when he attempted to stay. “So you and Sirius,” he said, and Snape looked down. “It isn’t going away. Ever.”
“I don’t know about—”
“Don’t play games with me, Snape.” Lupin’s voice was very cold. “He doesn’t even sleep here anymore.”
“Well—”
“You need to start taking care of him the way he takes care of you,” Lupin said, and Snape squirmed. “I’ve had about enough of watching him tie himself into knots trying to defend your behavior. This can’t go on. If you’re going to be his partner, then be his bloody partner. Or I will destroy you.”
“Roger that,” Snape managed, and Lupin waved Sirius back over. After the meeting, they decamped to Hogwarts; Sirius flopped down onto the couch and pouted. “What?”
“What did Moony say to you?”
“He told me to take care of you. Do you want me to top you or something?”
Sirius blinked, then started laughing. “Sure. Okay. He told you to top.”
“I don’t—” Snape picked up Sirius’s feet and sat down beneath them, then worked off his socks and started on a foot massage. “How’s this?”
Sirius’s eyes fluttered closed. “Brilliant.”
“What else can I do? How do you want to be cared for?”
Sirius hummed. “It’s been nice being able to talk about myself,” he said muzzily. “I guess you could top me once in a while. And this is nice too. You could try harder to anticipate my needs, I guess. Or you could romance me.” He met Snape’s eyes, grinning a bit wickedly. “You could tell me you love me.”
“Sirius—”
Sirius closed his eyes again, and sighed. “Just a little joke. Sorry.”
“I—I—I would if I could. I promise I would.”
Sirius’s eyes flew open. “What?”
Snape closed his own. “Merlin, Sirius, don’t make me say it again.”
A beat, and then movement, and lips against his own. “You love me?”
“I suppose you’re tolerable.”
“You love me.”
“Whatever.”
“You love me.”
Snape kissed him. “Would you just shut up?”
“You care about me, Snivellus has feelings—”
Another kiss, and Sirius melted against him.
After they shagged, they collapsed together, Sirius’s head on Snape’s chest; Sirius started laughing, and then weeping. “Oh, Merlin, what—”
“I’m just so fucking happy,” Sirius whispered, and Snape stilled. “I didn’t ever think I’d be this happy again. Everything—aside from the war, everything is just—I’m so fucking happy, Sev.” His voice took on a tone of reverence. “You love me.”
“I didn’t even say it.”
“You wanted to. That’s good enough.” Sirius laughed against his chest. “I know things aren’t quite the same for you, but I swear. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”
What came next, to his dread, was Christmas. Sirius had been ebulliently happy for the past two months, and Snape couldn’t bring himself to spoil the actual day, so he flooed over after dinner at Hogwarts, a hastily-wrapped gift in hand, horrified to find Lupin, Potter, and the entire Weasley family in the sitting room. “Erm,” he said, and Molly gave him an unbearably kind look. “Erm. Erm, that is—”
“Hello, Professor,” Potter said. He sounded defeated; Ronald gave him an incredulous look. “What’s that?”
“Erm,” Snape said, and handed it to Sirius. Now all eyes were on him; Sirius gave him a blatantly loving look and unwrapped it, showing a deafeningly silent room the collection of bath products, expensive truffles, and travel guide of European beaches. “For after the war. You know.”
“Oh,” Arthur said. Then: “Oh! Won’t you join us, Severus?”
His children squawked, but Snape couldn’t make himself not sit down when Lupin vacated the spot next to Sirius, hoping no one noticed when their fingers brushed. “I didn’t get you anything,” Sirius murmured. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright. I wouldn’t have either.”
Potter was watching him with a distrustful gaze; he stuck around as long as Lupin when the room began to clear, giving Snape a hard glare. “I don’t know why he wants you, but he does.”
Lupin started choking. Potter paid him no mind. “I think he can do better, but he refuses to listen to me, so I’ll say this: if you hurt him, I will end you.”
“Remember to whom you are speaking, Mr. Potter. I still have the power to award you detention.”
Potter snorted. Lupin looked appalled. Sirius let out a very long sigh. “I don’t care. You won’t hurt him. Or else.”
Snape sneered. “What makes you think I intend to?”
Potter started blinking rapidly. Sirius approached him and started murmuring, then led him out of the room; Lupin fixed Snape with an incredulous gaze. “Harry knows about you two?”
Snape shrugged. “Has for ages.”
“I think Arthur figured it out too. Just now.”
“Obviously.”
“He’ll probably tell Molly.”
“She already knows.”
Lupin blinked, then laughed. “Merlin, Severus, you’re out to half the country!”
Snape felt his mouth twitch; Lupin sighed and shook his head. “That was a brave thing you did, coming here.”
“What? Shut up.”
“You really care, don’t you?”
“I keep trying to tell you he loves me,” came a voice, and Snape turned to Sirius. Whatever look was on his face made Sirius’s own go very soft; Lupin sucked in a harsh breath. “Hey, there.”
“Hello.”
“Oh,” said Lupin in a very small voice, and they both turned to him. “I’ll just be going, then. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas,” Sirius said, and hugged him. Snape stayed behind, and found himself yawning as Sirius approached. “Merlin, how late is it?”
“Let’s go to bed. You can sleep here.”
“Okay. Why haven’t you broken up with me?”
“What?”
“You said if Potter—”
“Oh.” Sirius laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Loophole, kind of. He’s never actually directly asked me to leave you.”
“Oh. You still would?”
“Yeah. He has to be my priority.”
“Yeah.” Snape sighed. “I suppose that would be another approach.”
Sirius’s face crumpled. “You still want me to leave you?”
“I don’t deserve you. You know that. I’m—”
“Not on Christmas. Can we please not do this on Christmas?”
“Do what?”
“The self-flagellation thing. It’s punishing, Severus.”
“Oh.” Snape scowled and let Sirius lead him back to his juvenile old bedroom. “It’s punishing?”
“Extremely.” Sirius yawned. “Thank God you can just stay the night, I’m so sick of all this sneaking around—”
“It’s been a year and a half,” Snape realized in sinking horror. “A year and a bloody half now. You’re never going to leave me.”
“Do we have to do this on Christmas? Can’t we find a beach to visit instead? After the war, you said. Can’t we think about that instead of your hate?”
“When you put it like that.”
Sirius sighed, laughed, and held out his arms. “Come here.” He kissed the back of Snape’s neck as he settled into his arms, then let out a far more contented sigh. “Thank you for coming. We don’t have to hide around the house anymore. Thank you.”
“Whatever,” Snape mumbled. “I didn’t realize how much you cared about that.”
“I’d never let you leave my side if I had my way.”
“Oh.” Snape scowled. “Do you have to be so bloody romantic?”
“Yep.” Sirius popped the “p” and kissed the back of his neck again. “Thank you for my gifts. Where do you most want to go out of all the beaches?”
He found himself freaking out again about a week later, as the new year rumbled into life; that night when Sirius flooed over, he took one look at Snape and let out a labored sigh. “Who let you near your own thoughts?”
“Ha ha.” Snape ran a hand back through his hair as Sirius came to him and hugged him, letting himself be maneuvered and held. “I know you know I don’t deserve—”
“You hated me before all this. You thought I didn’t deserve the time of day. Suddenly you think I have to be protected?”
“Well—”
“Let me be the arbiter of what you deserve,” Sirius said, and Snape shivered. Sirius bit his shoulder and shook his head. “My monster.”
“I just—where does this end?”
Sirius let out another long sigh. “There is no end. There’s just life. It’s up to us to keep on living.”