Chapter Text
There came a knock on his door late one night and he rose from his chair to answer it with extreme prejudice, muttering furiously about inept students needing constant attention at all hours of the night.
He twisted the knob angrily and yanked open the door. “What—” There was nobody there.
“Please excuse Mippy, sir,” squeaked a tiny voice.
Severus clenched his jaw and looked down. The tiny elf was shaking with the effort to carry a large portrait over her head.
“What do you want?”
“Madam Headmistress sent a note! Portrait delivery, sir. Please, sir, Mippy can magick onto your wall?”
“I didn’t get a note,” he growled at her. “This is absolute nonsense. Go away.”
“Mippy shall place it on your wall and be gone, as requested by Madam Headmistress, sir.” The elf swallowed audibly. He could practically hear her knees clattering under the weight of the ornate, gilded frame.
“No,” he replied irritably, waving his hand in dismissal, which the elf obviously couldn’t see from under her large burden. “I will speak to Headmistress McGonagall in the morning.”
Crack.
The portrait disappeared from Mippy’s back and the elf finally looked up at him with large, bulbous eyes. He glared down at her and every bit of her, including the tips of her giant ears, vibrated with fear. Then, her gaze shifted and her eyes widened as she looked at something behind him. Severus turned. The portrait hung on the wall right above the fireplace, the gold frame gleaming ominously in the flickering light.
Swiftly, he rounded on Mippy. “You insolent little—”
Crack.
“GODDAMMIT!” he yelled to the empty hallway.
He slammed the door shut, stalked over to the fireplace, and sneered up at the empty canvas. The subject of the painting was nowhere to be found. He grasped both sides of the frame and made a concerted effort to pull it from the wall. It didn’t budge an inch. He stubbornly continued straining until his back audibly cracked and something began throbbing painfully. Fuck this, he thought irritably and pulled out his wand.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a deep, cheerful voice. Severus startled and icy dread trickled down his back. The voice was a familiar one. He stepped back and glared up at the newly-arrived occupant of the portrait, who was grinning down at him with utter delight.
“Dolohov,” Severus sneered. “What a pleasure it will be to stuff you into the dark depths of the Hogwarts storage closet.” He raised his wand.
“Oh I don’t think so, Sevvy.” Dolohov winked at him. “I have so many delicious plans for us! Besides, Mippy fastened me to your wall with a Permanent Sticking charm. Even a Muggle jackhammer wouldn’t be able to pry me off of these castle stones.”
“I’ll just summon the elf. She removed you once—she can do it again.”
“Oh, but dear Minerva won’t allow it. I drove her up the wall, ha!, and now she’s foisted my portrait upon you. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. Yes, you’re a greasy-haired, sour-faced little beast, but I’d much rather be here than in Fillius’s room. He was her second choice, you know.”
He continued to chatter on about McGonagall and his time with the other ‘esteemed’ portraits in her office. “They couldn’t stand having a former Death Eater nearby! Oh, it was such fun goading them. Amrose Swott would turn a lovely shade of purple every time I said Divination can’t be taught! ”
“Do you ever shut up?” hissed Severus, who had abandoned his wand after every severing and de-gluing charm failed spectacularly. He gave one final yank at the blasted frame and finally accepted that it was, indeed, utterly cemented to the wall.
“Oh, just give up, already. You’re embarrassing us both.”
Severus stepped back with a harsh sigh of frustration. He stalked over to the door and began preparing what he would say to Minerva about this outrageous act of blatant betrayal! He racked his brain thinking of what he had done to slight her. Nothing! He had been a perfect, silent gentleman. Gone were the jealous feelings regarding her elevated position at Hogwarts. He was quite content to slink back into the shadows of the castle and do his job without complaint. He reached for the door handle.
“No, no, Sevvy,” sang Dolohov from his perch. Somehow he had conjured a glass of vodka that he was swirling and sipping with an amused grin on his face. “Minnie is sleeping and you mustn’t disturb her beauty rest. In fact, you look like you need a rest as well, yes? Torturing the first years can be very tiring, I imagine.”
Severus stood at his door, glaring into the wood, and conceded, with great effort, that perhaps Dolohov was right. It was almost midnight and Minerva didn’t take kindly to being disturbed after hours unless it was an emergency.
“First years are the worst,” he muttered in response to Dolohov’s question and he rolled his sore shoulders as he made his way to the bed in the corner of the room.
“Tell me all about it, zmeyka,” said Dolohov cheerfully, “while you change into your ancient sleeping robes. Don’t you know the young wizards simply wear boxer shorts to bed?”
“I will tell you nothing,” snapped Severus, trying not to think about how portrait Dolohov knew about the new fads regarding underwear. He stepped behind the screen near his bed to change.
His room was spacious with tall, wide windows that looked over the grounds. It was an open floor plan with the kitchenette, study, living area, and bedroom all contained within the large space—which meant that Antonin fucking Dolohov now had a full view of almost every part of the room except for the enclosed bathroom and the space behind the screen where Severus also kept his wardrobe.
Dolohov could tease him all he wanted, but Severus was decidedly grateful to be fully clothed in sleeping robes. His eyes seemed to be everywhere. Slytherin green, they were, and flashing within the enchanted paint of the portrait in an uncanny likeness of his true form.
“Ah, still quite handsome, all buttoned up,” smiled Dolohov when Severus emerged from behind the screen.
“Shut up, Dolohov,” he said dully and sat heavily on the side of the great empty bed.
“Understood, my dear zmeyka. I’ll shall go make my rounds while you sleep.”
Severus rolled his tired, gritty eyes and slid under the covers. The room grew quiet and he drifted into a restless sleep.
*****
“Tell me what to do,” she begged, chest heaving, tears in her eyes. “Please.”
The desperation in her voice made his heart lurch. He was frozen, his limbs numb and useless.
She began sobbing. “I need…please. I want…” Her hands clawed towards him.
Frantically, he shook his head and edged away. “I can’t,” he said in a low voice, terror making his heart pound viciously within his chest. “I will not.”
Her head tossed back and forth in wild, heartbreaking cracks. She keened miserably, her hands shaking as she attempted to touch herself. She couldn’t, though, and the moment her fingers dipped into her cunt, she turned and heaved, splattering vomit onto the dark stones.
She let out a fearful scream of frustration and curled into herself, hands lifted awkwardly away from her body.
“Help me…” she whispered through her tears. “Please.”
“No,” he said helplessly, dropping to his knees before her. “I can’t…”
*****
He woke up gasping and clutching the robes at his chest. They were choking him, dammit, and he longed to throw them off!
“A dream, Sevvy,” said a soothing voice from the wall. “You are safe.”
He blinked away tears and frowned at their existence. What the hell kind of dream was that? He reached for the memory of it but it slipped out of his grasp and faded away, as dreams often do.
He drew his wand from under his pillow. “Tempus,” he mumbled. Four in the morning. Might as well get up. He was too unsettled to sleep any longer and the earlier he got to the Great Hall for Saturday breakfast, the fewer people he would see.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting up,” he said with a sigh.
“No. It is too early. Back to bed, Sevvy.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Would you rather I called you malen'kaya lan'?”
“I don’t speak Russian.”
Dolohov grinned. He was lounging on the settee painted in the background of his portrait. “It means ‘little doe.’”
Severus sent a hex across the room that scorched the wall within inches of the hideous gilded frame. Dolohov didn’t even flinch but his eyes darkened.
“Go back to bed,” he commanded, his tone serious.
“But this is when I usually—”
“Bed. Now.”
The words cracked over him like a whip. A whip that brought strange relief. Severus found himself sliding back into the warm covers and settling his cheek onto the cool, dry side of his pillow. The interruption of Mippy bearing the cursed artwork had put him in bed later than usual and he was so weary. Of everything. Of teaching those sniveling brats, making the same old endless potions, and listening to the constant gossip and chatter of his colleagues who didn’t quite seem to realize they were supposed to be the adults in the room. Life had lost its allure…although, Severus wasn’t really sure there was a time he had enjoyed living. Dying from Nagini’s bite had seemed fitting at the time—an end to his pitiless, depressing existence. That he hadn’t was yet another disappointment.
*****
When he awoke again, bright shafts of sunlight were streaming through the large castle windows of his room. He took a moment to stretch luxuriously in his bed before dread coiled into his gut. Another weekend. Endless hours of time alone in the screaming silence of his room. He didn’t dare venture out—he was tired of being spat on and hissed at and hexed in the village. “Death Eater,” they whispered when they passed him by. “Murderer.”
It didn’t matter that the Wizengamot had cleared him of all crimes. It didn’t matter that the only respected journalist at the Prophet had done an exposé outlining Severus Snape’s “invaluable contributions to the war effort.” Wizardkind had made up its mind as soon as Dumbledore fell from the tower and nothing was going to change it.
Hogwarts was the only place he still commanded respect, but he couldn’t stand mingling among his colleagues and worse, the students, during his time off. So, puttering around his room in loathsome solitude was the least offensive of his options.
Except he wasn’t quite alone anymore. His eyes shifted to the portrait. Dolohov wasn’t there but Severus was sure he would return to torment him soon enough.
They had hardly known each other as Death Eaters. The masks did a good job of keeping them all separated. The Dark Lord was notoriously paranoid of his powerful followers forming alliances and attempting a coup, so the anonymity of the robes and masks was a strategy to control them. It had been surprisingly effective. Well, that and the deadly combination of Legilimency and Cruciatus.
Severus dressed, ate two pieces of toast, drank a terrible cup of tea, and sat staring morosely out of the window.
“Quick, she’s coming,” gasped Dolohov from the wall, his hair disheveled, as if he had been sprinting through portraits.
“Who?” asked Severus, rising with alarm.
“You must let her in!”
Severus glared. “I must do nothing! Now tell me what you’re on abo—”
A tentative knock interrupted him and he pressed his lips together.
“Don’t just stand there like an idiot! Get the door!” hissed Dolohov.
Scowling, he made his way to the heavy wooden door and opened it.
Her head was down so all he could see was a wild nest of faded brown curls. She was small, shoulders thin and frail, and she wore Gryffindor robes, which was unusual garb for a Saturday. Most students chose to wear more casual clothes on weekends, like t-shirts and denims. Her arms were laden with books, which reminded him of—
“I don’t know why I’m here,” she whispered to her feet.
Severus glanced back at the portrait behind him but Dolohov had disappeared.
“Are you lost?” he asked the girl with a resigned sigh.
“No, Professor.”
She lifted her head.
“Miss Granger?” he said, aghast. What in the world was wrong with her? He hardly recognized her horrifyingly frail and frazzled appearance. Severus frowned and considered taking her to the hospital wing.
The girl was an Eighth Year student with special permission to finish her studies and take her NEWTs at the end of the school year. Only a few particularly bright students had requested and been approved to return for an extra year. Most of the war-torn students in their class had found jobs offered by sympathetic magical citizens who shrugged and said OWLs were good enough.
“You have been absent from my class the past few weeks,” he said, folding his arms.
“This was a mistake,” she whispered and turned to go.
“Stop.” Dolohov was back. “Bring her in, Severus.”
The girl began trembling but turned back and followed Severus when he beckoned her inside with an annoyed eye roll. They both walked to the portrait of Dolohov and stopped, looking up at him.
“Take her books, Severus.”
He sighed and held out his arms. She clutched the books tighter and then, eyes flitting around, set them on a nearby end table herself before returning to the portrait.
“Do you know who I am, moya milaya?” he asked softly, staring down at her with an unreadable look.
The girl nodded quickly. Two tears ran down her pale cheeks and dripped onto her uniform. She pressed her palm to her chest and shuddered, her back bowing as she curled into herself.
Ah, yes. The curse of Antonin Dolohov. Severus had been called to the hospital wing that night. He had been horrified by the wound and had provided all the help he could to Pomfrey as the child screamed and writhed until a Dreamless Sleep potion had thankfully knocked her unconscious. It took her weeks to recover from the unknown curse and her scar had remained red and angry far longer than it should have.
At the time, Severus had been furious at Dolohov, but his hands were tied. If he had lost his temper at every vile, despicable thing a Death Eater had done to a child, he would’ve outed himself to Voldemort within a week and been quickly ‘disposed of.’
At least Dolohov was dead, even if his portrait was still haunting them.
“I apologize for the…decor,” ground out Severus. “Would you like to leave?”
She nodded her head without meeting his eyes and began to shuffle back to the door.
“I can help you,” said Dolohov quickly. “The curse is manifesting, yes, little dove? You are in pain.”
She froze, barely breathing. Severus watched as she closed her eyes and more tears trailed from under her dark lashes.
He glared at Dolohov. “You’re only making this worse,” he said in a low voice, hovering protectively over the girl.
“Alas, I cannot give you all you need, little dove. However, Severus will help.”
She shot Severus a look of abject fear mixed with hopeful longing before shifting her head so her matted hair covered her face once more. His heart lurched at the emotional toll the curse was ravaging upon her in addition to the physical changes. She was a mere shell of the girl—the woman—she had been even six weeks ago.
“What did you do to her?” growled Severus, rounding on Dolohov with his wand raised.
To his satisfaction, Dolohov raised his hands in supplication. “It was an experimental curse,” he admitted slowly. “Even I do not know the full effects—or the countercurse.” He glanced over at the girl who was now weeping softly under her curtain of hair. “But it is my intention to find out and fix what I so carelessly broke. I give you my word, little dove,” he said beseechingly.
The girl peeked out from under her hair.
“But,” Severus lowered his voice, “what does this have to do with me? How exactly do you expect me to…help?” He curled his lip. He was becoming more and more desperate to solve this problem and rid himself of both the girl and the possessed canvas on his wall.
“I am a mere portrait and this will require…hands-on…treatment.” Dolohov stared at him with a challenge in his gaze. Would Severus be so cruel as to send Miss Granger away in such a state?
“Fine, what do I do?”
“It will take time.”
Severus sighed. “An hour?”
“Days. Longer. You will have to do research on my behalf. But once my little dove is feeling better, I’m sure she will help.”
“She isn’t YOUR–”
“Miss Granger, please sit down on Sevvy’s sofa. It’s more comfortable than it looks, I imagine.”
She did as she was told, sinking down upon his old, black velvet sofa with a soft sigh of relief. Bringing her knees to her chest, she watched Dolohov warily with just her eyes showing through her tangled hair.
“Severus, you will listen carefully and follow my instructions exactly. Do you understand?”
Severus, still standing by the portrait with his wand at his side, nodded reluctantly. Dolohov was serious, he could tell, and there was something about his commanding tone. Something that did things to Severus, he realized with a shot of self-loathing. You pathetic, disgusting fool, he thought to himself.
So often he thought of himself as old, past his prime, practically wizened, likely because of the fresh-faced eleven year old children crawling all over the castle. He sighed. But forty wasn’t old. It was perfectly normal to still have wants and needs...and feel your cock twitch when a violent, terrifying ex-Death Eater commands you to follow his directions regarding a young woman. Handing over control was both terrifying and electrifying and the subsequent heat that suffused his body made his skin itch.
“Sit down on the sofa with Miss Granger,” Dolohov instructed.
“Don’t call me that,” whispered the girl.
“What would you prefer, little dove? Shall I call you moya milaya? Or perhaps zayka?”
“Wh-whore,” she whispered. “Slag-g.” She pressed her eyes into her knees and trembled more violently.
“No, moya milaya. This is the curse making you feel this way. Will you let me help you?” he implored. “Do I have your permission, my little dove?”
She gave a tiny nod of her head which was still buried in her knees.
“Aloud, my dove.”
“Yes,” she whispered faintly.
The dark gaze Dolohov leveled on Severus was quite different from the concerned warmth he showed to the girl. “We start with simple touch. Take her hand.”
Severus’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t do this. Could he? Holding hands. When was the last time someone had even touched his hand, to get his attention or hand him a flask or accidentally grab the same dish he was reaching for? Years. And she was a student! It was wrong, contemptible, career-ending.
“Now,” commanded Dolohov.
Hesitantly, he reached out. The girl was gripping her shins with her hands. Slowly, he slid his fingers under hers and grasped the delicate softness of her hand. A deep shudder went through her body and a whimpery sigh left her lips. Still, she remained hidden.
“Stroke her hand with your thumb.”
Severus complied, his thumb rubbing softly over the fragile bones of her knuckles. She shivered again.
“Severus, start a fire in the fireplace. And summon a blanket.”
He frowned and reached for his wand with his other hand. With a quick flick, he lit the fire. Another swish had a blanket from his bed flying over.
“Wrap it around her. We need to warm her up.”
Awkwardly, he draped his blanket around her with one hand, cringing slightly as he wondered the last time he washed it…or rather, gave it to the elves to wash. He rarely let them into his private space, preferring to clean his room and his things himself. Laundering his black Professor robes was acceptable, but blankets and bed clothes were more personal, somehow.
She unfurled herself to let him cover her, still keeping her hand in his as if breaking the tentative link between the two of them might shatter her further.
“Are you all right?” he had the courage to whisper in her ear as he put the blanket over her shoulders.
She finally looked at him with wide brown eyes encircled in bluish bruises and shook her head.
“I am dying,” she whispered.
“No, little dove,” said Dolohov in a warm, teasing voice. “You are not dying. I know it feels horrible now, moya milaya, but you will feel much better soon,” said Dolohov.
To Severus, he said, “Her arm. Trail your fingers up and down her arm.”
Her skin was like paper and he was almost afraid that pieces of her would flake off from his touch. She closed her eyes, the ever-present tears still continuing their salty stream down her face. What the fuck was this curse? He was sure she had not been like this a few weeks ago. And certainly not two years ago when Dolohov had blasted her in the chest. She had been quieter in his class recently, yes, but still turning in higher than adequate essays, still making perfectly fine potions. And she looked…normal…as far as he could recall.
She shuddered again. “It hurts,” she moaned, and Severus looked up at Dolohov with raised eyebrows.
“It is not enough,” Dolohov said and hardened his gaze. “Her clothes. Vanish them, Severus.”
Severus reared back, wrenching his hand away and standing. She screamed as the connection was lost and fell back on the sofa, writhing in pain.
“How dare you!” roared Severus. “I will do no such thing!
“Enough.” Dolohov’s voice snapped over him and Severus pressed his mouth shut. “You will touch her, Severus. You will bring her to orgasm with your fingers and you will do it now.” His voice was deep and magnetic…hypnotic. Severus felt his cock rise within his trousers. Without thinking, he strode over to the girl, knelt down, and flicked his wand. Her clothes disappeared.
“Please,” she begged through sobs.
Severus reached out his hands and paused, shaking. He couldn’t force them any further. Panic flared through his mind. He didn’t–he didn’t know–how–
“Severus, tell me.”
“I’ve never done this,” he confessed, shame making his ears burn red.
The girl let out a heart-stopping keen, weeping, weeping…
She rubbed her thighs together and cried out again as if the movement had been painful.
“Put your hands on her shoulders,” ordered Dolohov. Magnetic. This time, his hands moved forward. He placed them on her shoulders. She was still so cold but as soon as his hands made contact, she let out a deep, shuddering sigh and calmed. “Good boy.” A drop of precum welled at the tip of his cock and seeped into his underwear.
“Run your hands down to her breasts, softly. Slowly.” Hypnotic. She moaned as his fingers grazed over her nipples. A moan of pleasure. A soft exhale left his throat and his cock throbbed.
“Yes, very good. Tease her nipples with your fingers. Cup the softness of her breasts. Kiss them, Severus.” Mesmerizing.
He…obeyed. Oh Salazar, did he obey. Her skin heated under his touch. Her nipples became rosy and hardened into tight little buds. Her breasts felt heavy in the palms of his hands. He lifted them gently and rubbed his thumb over her nipple.
“Yes, oh please, Dolohov,” she begged. “More…”
Severus leaned forward and pressed a featherlight kiss upon the fullness of her breast, right above her nipple. She cried out and pressed closer.
“Take her nipple into her mouth, moy prints…Yes, suck it, just like that. Watch her. See her back arch? Her chest lift? She is so beautiful, yes?”
“Beautiful,” murmured Severus, lifting his lips from her delectable nipple. To his surprise, her skin had tasted…sweet.
The girl whimpered at the praise, turning her darkened eyes from Dolohov’s portrait to Severus. Shaking, she shifted, offering her other breast to Severus’s lips. Eyes on hers, he bent and sucked it into his mouth, running his tongue over the tight bud of her nipple.
“Ah, very lovely, my beauties. Severus, join her on the sofa and pull her back against your chest. Good, yes, up like that. I see that glare for taking you from our dove’s breast, but don’t you think our good girl deserves relief?”
Severus found himself nodding, caught in whatever dark spell Dolohov had woven over them. The girl wiggled her bum against his hardness and moaned once more. He was still fully clothed, buttoned up to his neck, long sleeves, holding the girl close as she shivered and writhed, bare and beautiful, over the soft wool of his robes. Pale, glistening skin against dull black fabric. The contrast made him ache with…fuck, he didn’t know. If he thought too hard, it was overwhelming. Confusing.
Dolohov’s voice cut through the noise. “Reach your hand around her hip and run your fingers through her curls, up and down. Spread your legs, my sweet. Yes, very good, my beauties. Severus, dip your fingers into her cunt. You shall find it wet for you.”
He marveled at the silk of her arousal slipping through his fingers. He touched her…within. Fuck, it was so inimate, he felt like he might shatter into a thousand pieces. His body hurt . Fear and want battled within his chest. The voice, he thought frantically. Listen to the voice.
“Find her clitoris, Severus. Higher, yes, watch her. Pay attention. You will let him know he has found it, little dove, won’t you? With your beautiful cries and sweet wimpers.”
As soon as his finger drifted across the little raised nub at the apex of her cunt, she gasped and arched her back, causing him to immediately lose the spot in all of her dripping slickness.
“Grip her hip with your other hand, Severus. Good. Must keep our eager girl in place, yes?” His voice was a growl, a rasp, both soothing and grating, and it melted over Severus like honey.
“Yes,” he whispered, gripping her tightly. His other hand slid up and down the slippery depths of her cunt and he felt a spot–just there–that he could—
“Fuck her with your fingers, moy prints. Slip them inside as if they are your cock, thrust them, grind them into her walls. Yes, you feel that?”
He felt it. Rough and raised and when he pressed upon it, she wailed, her eyes fierce and pleading upon Dolohov’s painted face.
“Back to her clit. Can you find it with your thumb while you continue pumping your fingers, clever Prince? I know you can do it.”
Severus flushed hotly and shifted his hand, reaching his thumb up to flick across the swollen bud of her clit. Loud, whimpering breaths heaved out of her as she shook within his arms, tightened over his fingers, clamping, oh fuck, his dick throbbing, dripping.
“Good, Severus. Don’t. Stop.”
He continued his pace, falling into her gasps, mesmerized by the velvet grasp of her cunt. He imagined it clutching at his cock as he thrust within her warm, wet depths.
Suddenly, she tensed, every muscle of her body clenched, her breath peaked and held, and then—
And then—
“COME,” roared Dolohov.
And she exploded in his arms like a flower bursting into bright, vivid color. Her pussy squeezed his fingers in wild pulses and her hands reached down to grip his wrist, locking him in place as she rode out her climax with rolling hips. He ran his gaze down her shaking chest, her swaying, delectable breasts, her shivering stomach, the thatch of soft, downy curls now wet with her own come. Eventually she calmed and melted into Severus. He realized he was still tightly gripping her hip and let go. She let out a small noise of protest, prompting him to place his arm carefully around her middle.
“Ah, so beautiful. Severus, slowly pull out your fingers. She is sensitive now, my Prince.”
He did and rubbed his fingertips together, marveling at the dewy slickness coating them. Her come . He had made her come !
“Taste it, Severus. Bring your fingers to your lips and suck.”
The girl sighed and looked up at him with soft, heavy eyes.
Slowly, Severus brought his fingers to his lips and drew them into his mouth. He groaned, closing his eyes. Sweet and heady and unlike anything he had ever tasted. His aching cock throbbed once more.
“Delicious, yes?”
“Yes,” he breathed. He licked off every drop under Dolohov’s careful scrutiny.
“Ah, our girl sleeps. Carry her to the bed, Severus and return to the sofa. Gently!”
Some of the haze cleared from his mind as he lifted the girl in his arms and carried her to his bed. He laid her down on the usually empty side and watched as she curled up into the space, clutching his blanket in her fists. Her cheeks were pink now, her breaths deep and even as she slept.
“Sevvy,” called Dolohov. “We are not finished.”
Severus returned to the sofa and sat, lifting wary eyes to Dolohov. What more could the portrait possibly want? He had complied with every order despite breaking every rule of decorum he possessed. God, he was depraved! He half expected lightning to fork from the ceiling and strike him down. And he deserved it! This was madness and a storm of agony began building in his chest. He would have to—
“Open your trousers,” Dolohov growled, interrupting his wild thoughts.
What? No! He couldn’t be suggesting…
“You did not think I would leave you in such a state after you were so good, my Prince? So obedient. You have earned relief.”
Anxiety curled into his gut as he regarded Dolohov with fearful anticipation. Severus rarely took himself in hand. He always enjoyed the pleasure of an orgasm, yes, but the sickening, desperate shame that accompanied it usually deterred him. He didn’t know exactly where it came from, the need to shower and scrub himself bloody after masturbation, and he tried not to think about it too hard, but it was likely related to his hazy, fucked up childhood.
“I can’t,” he choked out and tears blurred his vision.
“You will listen to me, Severus, and follow my commands,” the voice whipped out. “It is not you who does this, but me, your dominant, rewarding you for being so good as you helped our little dove.”
Severus shook his head miserably.
“Open your trousers.” Dolohov’s voice softened into a warm pool of water, enveloping Severus, dulling the shameful taunts within his mind.
Still shaking his head, Severus obeyed, his fingers brushing against his hard cock as he unbuttoned his trousers. He let out a soft groan.
“Good. Draw it out, my Prince. Yes, such a beautiful cock. Use your wand to lubricate your hand. Ah, you know the spell! Very good, Severus. Now wrap your hand around yourself and begin stroking.”
Severus was fully submerged within the voice, Dolohov’s voice, and sighed as it flowed around him in gentle currents. He stroked his cock slowly, drawing out his pleasure. He was already so aroused from his time with the girl that an orgasm lay in wait, ready to pounce at the first sign of desperate movement.
“There is no shame in this, Severus. Only pleasure, yes?”
He found himself slowly nodding, stroking...stroking…oh it felt so good. Tingles trailed down his body in a decadent wave, gathering warmth low in his stomach. He closed his eyes.
“That’s it. So good, sweet Prince. Think of our little dove, Severus. Her scent, her taste on your lips. She was heaven, was she not? An instrument to be played by sensitive fingers, and my Prince, you played her so well. Remember how she cried out when she came? How she tightened around your fingers and gushed her sweetness down your hands?”
“Ahh!” Severus growled as he came, thrusting wildly into his hand. His spend splattered across his chest and stomach, more than he had ever come, more than he thought possible.
“Beautiful, malen'kaya lan'.”
He lay there, his long limbs sprawled across the sofa, and sucked in deep breaths of cool air. Already, the impulse to stand and trudge to the shower prickled at his neck. Shameful. Deviant. Sick. He yanked up his trousers and buttoned them with violent twitches of his fingers.
“Severus.”
His head snapped up to meet Dolohov’s emerald green gaze. The paint flickered in the firelight.
“Get in bed with our witch.”
A protest welled up. “No, I must—”
“No. I will allow you to shower after a nap. Our little dove will need tending to as well. Right now, you will get in bed, put your arm across her waist, and you will rest.”
Relief poured through him as he simply followed the command. He climbed into bed, gingerly laid his arm across the girl, and closed his eyes. She sighed in her sleep and wiggled closer until her back was once again pressed against his chest. Severus drifted off feeling strangely safe, if not a bit too warm.