A/N: This piece was written for the 2014 HP Drizzle Fest on LiveJournal. I've only changed a minor grammatical error or two, so the gist of it is very much as it was when it was originally posted. You can find more information about my prompt below.
This was my first attempt at writing this pairing (SSDM), which I've been intrigued with for some time, and also my first effort at writing (hopefully decent!) slash. *gulp*
So, to my usual readers, be forewarned as per above. To everyone else, if the pairing or slash material is not for you, then proceed with caution or, as the Pythons would exclaim, "Run away!"
Many thanks to onecelestialbeing for alpha'ing and cheerleading this nerve-wracking first effort of mine and to my lovely beta, Brittny, for all her immeasurable help and support, as always!
(WINNER OF THE DARK SIDE (DEATH EATERS/SNATCHERS) - THIRD PLACE: "BEST SLASH SMUT" IN THE FALL/WINTER 2014 HP FANFIC FAN POLL AWARDS! Thank you to ALL who voted for my first slash effort! What an honour!)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox. No money, just fun.
LJ Fest: HP Drizzle Fest
Warning(s): Slash, Mild Language
Prompt: On the run right after HPB, Draco and Severus wait out a storm before joining Voldemort (in a cabin, in Spinner's end, in a cave?). Draco finally realises how much Snape has done for him and wants to show him how grateful he is.
Suggested Character(s)/Pairings: Draco/Severus
Any optional extras: I see much potential for cuddling for "warmth" and seductive Draco going after a not-as-reluctant-as-he-appears Snape. :)
Draco wrapped the threadbare blanket he'd been offered tighter around himself, more out of nerves than for comfort. The Drying Charm Severus used on his clothes had done its job, so, technically, he didn't require the blanket for added warmth that the elder Death Eater was wordlessly providing him. Still, he'd accepted it without complaint, even if it was moth-eaten and stunk of having been stored away in a forgotten dresser drawer for too long. He would have preferred that it smelled like him, actually.
Severus hadn't said much on their journey here. In fact, since they'd entered the dark wizard's rather dreary home only minutes ago, he hadn't spoken a single word. Upon setting foot into Spinner's End for the first time, which smelled fairly musty, as though it hadn't been regularly used in years, Severus had directed Draco towards the hearth at once, where a warm fire now crackled and radiated consoling heat into its confined quarters, instructing him wordlessly to take a seat. He'd then swept out of the room without explanation, leaving Draco momentarily alone to mull over his many cluttered thoughts of this past evening.
The howling wind that shook the gloomy house's foundation, as well as the downpour of rain that splattered across the rooftop, felt strangely soothing. It rivalled the dramatic events that had unfolded over the past hour, a roller coaster ride of terror, shock, and disbelief that had left Draco numbed with guilt and anxiety.
Albus Dumbledore was dead. The Dark Lord would be immensely pleased—well, pleased that the task had been completed and that his greatest enemy was no longer a threat to his power-hungry plans. He wouldn't be remotely satisfied with Draco, however, who'd been appointed the task of killing the Headmaster at the beginning of term. That left the young man's present state of mind whirling and his stomach twisting into nauseating knots. He shivered from head to toe, despite the comforting heat emitting from the fireplace.
What would his excuse be to the Dark Lord once it was revealed that he hadn't gone through with the assignment? The truth? Ha! The thought nearly made Draco bark out loud.
He'd watched, eyes wide with horror, as the great wizard, Albus Dumbledore, was struck down directly in front of him, not by his wand but by another's: Severus Snape's. The man's elderly frame jolted from the vivid green light that struck him in the chest before he collapsed backward, cascading over the Astronomy Tower and out of sight.
No, the truth that Draco had been a coward wouldn't suffice. The Dark Lord wouldn't appreciate an incompetent young Death Eater afraid of his own shadow working—and failing—amongst their ranks. Floundering wasn't an option his family could afford. Draco was going to pay for his reluctance to strike, for his lapse in judgment, for showing some moral fibre regarding the life of another, perhaps by way of the ultimate sacrifice: with his own life.
There were two options: tell the truth or lie. Lying to the Dark Lord, the world's most highly skilled Legilimens, was about as pointless as trying to sustain life without air. Merely considering the notion was idiocy turned on its head, but the truth would only get him killed, surely? He'd need Severus's council on how best to approach the Dark Lord when the time came in a matter of, what, hours? Minutes? They could be summoned at any moment, and here he was, rocking back and forth before an old working fireplace like the scared shitless cad that he was, on the verge of bursting into tears or roaring with laughter that his life may possibly be cut short.
Maybe you're going mad.
A sudden clash of thunder and lightning rolled over the skies above, and Draco inadvertently shuddered into his blanket. Was that the sound of his impending doom, or was it simply the eye of the storm presently lighting up the night sky, swirling about him like some mocking whirlpool that had so quickly and brutally become his existence?
A familiar towering dark figure was suddenly standing in front of him, obscuring his fuzzy view of the flames. Draco's eyes flickered upward to stare into the man's pale, miserably gaunt features. He was unusually beautiful, Severus Snape—Draco had thought so for as long as he could remember carrying deeper sentiments for the wizard—with those richly engrossing black eyes that contained so many undisclosed secrets, those enviously long eyelashes that made him unconventionally prepossessing in an almost feminine manner, and that cool, alabaster skin that exhibited every hard line, crevice and blemish that were such an alluring part of his unorthodox appeal.
"Drink this," he commanded with an air of irritation; or maybe it was boredom.
Draco blinked away his uncertainty regarding the meaning behind that remark by taking the glass of something into his hand, weathered, callus digits briefly brushing his warmer, unused finger tips. That fleeting contact shot an electrical charge straight through Draco's body. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He downed the liquid without issue, wincing as the burning awareness of singeing Firewhisky spilt down the back of his throat. He hissed sharply and inhaled a deep breath through his nostrils.
"Here," said Severus, who'd swiftly snatched the glass from Draco's hand to refill it with another round; he handed the glass back to a dazed-looking Draco, who didn't hesitate to down the Firewhisky a second time, despite the fact that it left his throat on fire.
After recouping from the second painful swig, Draco handed the glass off to Severus, who proceeded to pour himself a round as well. An intrigued Draco observed the professor scarf down the fiery liquid without so much as a minuscule flinch of discomfort. It was both impressive and oddly arousing to observe, and, though he blushed at the unclean thoughts that crossed his mind, Draco suspected—or hoped, rather—that Severus believed he was simply having a reaction to the strong booze flowing through his bloodstream.
Then again, he'd never notice how I really feel. Inconsiderate bastard.
Unaware of Draco's contemplations, Severus let out a heavy sigh that didn't sound normal. It brought Draco immediately back to the present: bleak and frighteningly uncertain as it was. Severus undoubtedly was experiencing more than his share of Death Eater duties tonight, judging by the burdensome lines that marked him as too haggard a man to be healthy, and the physical, emotional and magical strains of the past hour were contained all over his drained face. Draco was instantly reminded of what the man had done for him, stepping in and sparing him of a literal soul-crushing charge. That hadn't been the least bit expected.
He spared me. Compassionate bastard.
Sure, in the months leading up to this gruesome hour of passage, Severus had been up Draco's backside more than the stressed schoolboy cared for. He'd cornered Draco a number of times about the important tasks expected of him—in shadowy, abandoned corridors of the castle, at Professor Slughorn's ghastly Christmas party, after intense D.A.D.A. lessons—demanding to know how Draco was holding up with bringing the Vanishing Cabinet up to snuff, and generally trying to feel out his mental state. It had aggravated Draco to no end that Severus somehow thought him unsuited or unfit to succeed, but then, he wouldn't have ever expected the professor to perform the Killing Curse for him. Who on earth would willingly rip their soul by taking the life of another?
Apparently, Severus Snape was prepared to perform such putrid honours, knowing it wasn't his undertaking to complete. He'd saved Draco of a tremendous burden, one that would have had everlasting consequences.
He may have been a foolishly naive twat in many respects, but a Slytherin was more perceptive to his fellow Slytherin than those in other houses could ever come close to discerning, and Draco could sense that the traitorous deed Severus had gone through with was weighing heavily on his conscience. He had ripped his own soul, after all.
Draco hardly knew how best to express the mess of emotions he was riding out. The alcohol affecting his brain helped ease some of the tension, though. At least, it was taking the edge off. Once standing before the Dark Lord, however, Draco fancied he likely wouldn't be feeling as loose and relaxed as he was now.
Fuck. What am I going to do?
Severus slunk into the chair opposite him, the empty glass clasped between his elegant, bony-shaped fingers. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with several slow, evenly rendered breaths. The storm continued to moan and bellow outside, but the two Death Eaters huddled close to the hearth on this grisly night sat perfectly still, seemingly immune to nature's wrath; or, perhaps, they were finding themselves consoled by its bravado.
"I can't believe..." Draco blurted out after several minutes of uninterrupted silence; his thought went unfinished, though, which prompted Severus to open his eyes, lift his head, and raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Perhaps it's best if we don't speak on it," he suggested, his voice monotone. Yet the caution he hinted at about breaching the topic both were thinking on was palpable.
Draco swallowed thickly and nodded in agreement. He darted his eyes towards the fluttering flames, wishing nothing more than to become lost in their vibrant dance, but the alcohol running through him was already losing some of its edge. His mouth felt suddenly parched, his hands fidgety and unable to keep still. His left leg tapped up and down at a relentless, angst-ridden pace.
"Thank you," Draco let slip softly before he could stop himself. The gratitude was pained as it tumbled out of him, but he simply had to express something of how he was feeling, and that was that he owed Severus far more than a bloody 'thank you'.
I owe him my life. Not that the bastard cares.
Draco purposely kept his eyes lowered. He didn't wish more pain to be brought on his guilty conscience by meeting Severus's eyes, only to have the wizard's want for nothing confirmed therein. Severus Snape, who'd many a time made it abundantly clear that he desired nothing that Draco or anyone else had to offer him, wouldn't take kindly to Draco's outburst of appreciation—he'd anticipated that much—so the silence that followed suitably echoed those ill feelings.
After several stifling seconds, Draco couldn't withstand chancing a glance. However badly Severus may demand that he take back his gratitude, Draco wouldn't concede, but he would look the man he loved in the eyes. Curious, steel grey irises glimpsed across the short span of the hearth. Severus was staring intensely back at him, his expression stony and his reaction obscured by that typical hooded gaze he wore for everyone. The longer the seconds ticked by, though, the more fleeting glimmers of hostility, resentment, pain, and fear navigated across their depths, so subtle that another would have easily missed them.
"Severus, I..." Draco started. It was only in private that the professor allowed the young man to address him informally, and his dark eyes blinked, quietly acknowledging such familiarity with appreciation; but he shut Draco down before he could say more.
"Don't," he warned in a pained whisper.
"But, I - I owe you so mu—"
"You owe me nothing, you understand?"
The words were brusque and final, leaving no room for negotiation. Draco frowned, befuddled, but settled for shutting his trap. He'd expected this, so it was his own damn fault for feeling hurt. Severus was obviously agitated and not remotely interested in discussing what he'd done, no matter how greatly Draco thought a talk was warranted. He'd saved his bloody life, for Merlin's sake, and stepped in when it hadn't been asked.
How am I to repay him? How can he say I owe him nothing?
Draco shifted about in his chair, for the time being maintaining the silence Severus seemingly craved. He could use some more of that Firewhisky, though. They both probably could. It might do Severus some good to open up, if only a fraction or two, and let Draco in. Did the professor think him an idiot in addition to a self-serving prat?
Probably, Draco lamented churlishly. He doesn't realise a bloody thing.
Unconsciously, Draco scowled. He certainly hoped Severus didn't think as little of him as that. Yes, Severus Snape had proved repeatedly impossible to get through to; to peel back that tough-as-nails exterior to get to the heart of his character underneath. But, Draco knew that man was there. He'd always known. Why the hell wouldn't Severus let him in?
Because he doesn't recognise, and he never will.
Draco found himself, in the unsettling, quiet minutes that followed, longingly staring on at the disengaged elder, whom he'd known virtually all his life—not solely as one of his Hogwarts teachers but also as a close family friend—and couldn't help the unhappy slight that gnarled its way into his conscience. Severus's barriers were up, his face was remote and turned away, and he was now all but ignoring Draco.
He asked nothing; he wanted nothing.
Eying the forsaken bottle of Firewhisky propped on the side table next to Severus, Draco gave in, inched forward in his chair, reached across the gap between him and the professor (half expecting those usually alert, raven eyes to flicker towards him and convey a 'no' to stop him in his tracks), and wrapped his hand around the bottle's handle. When he wasn't ordered to refrain—Severus didn't so much as blink in his direction—Draco took it as a silent invitation to help himself and pulled the contents towards him. Severus, meanwhile, continued to stare vacantly at the floor. He looked...lost. A scarred animal left to fend for itself in the thick of night after doing something horribly, unforgivably bad.
Without thinking, Draco extended his other hand, at first, to extract the empty glass still clutched in Severus's hand, but as soon as his unsteady fingers covered Severus's larger, overworked hand, all the blood rushed to his head. There was a nervous fluttering in his chest as he and Severus unexpectedly locked eyes, their wordless exchange intense and, to Draco, fairly unknown. Still, he couldn't convince himself to look away, as if Severus held some magical pull on him that couldn't be shattered. It forced Draco to stare deeper into those mesmerising black pools, like a helplessly hypnotised moth drawn to an unobtainable flame.
The seconds trickled by at a seemingly disinclined pace until Draco finally found the stamina to speak, "I..." But the words easily caught on his tongue; he settled for a restrained, "I'm sorry," that barely registered above of the howl of the storm.
"For what?" Severus didn't hold back in questioning, either accusingly or curiously; Draco couldn't decipher which.
"For... For everything."
"And how is 'everything' a reason for your particular apology?"
"It - It isn't, but—"
"Then you have nothing to fault yourself for."
Draco's tentative frown deepened with heightened concern. "I have a lot to fault myself for tonight, Severus..."
Giving the young man a slightly pained look, Severus clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the empty glass Draco sought. "You didn't push me to do what I did."
"I know... But, Severus, you spared me—"
"Sparing you doesn't make my actions yours to beg pardon for."
"For fuck's sake, I know that! I just..." Draco stammered, his grasp on Severus's hand unmindfully tensing in the heat of their exchange, his long-held feelings for the man he'd give everything to, if Severus would only let him, brimming just beneath the surface. "I just wish I could take what you did back... That's all..."
"Because it was my burden to bear! Not yours!"
"Don't attempt chivalry, Draco," Severus spat heatedly, indignation igniting those brilliant eyes. "Not now, not ever. It doesn't suit you."
Draco pressed his lips together to keep from returning Severus's nasty remarks. The cold bastard wasn't someone easily loved or easily loving. Even as he'd cast the Killing Curse on Albus Dumbledore only an hour ago, he displayed no teary remorse in the aftermath. In fact, his entire demeanour towards Draco since they'd arrived at the professor's home had been frosty at best, and Draco didn't know whether to be alarmed or in awe of Severus's immeasurable ability to keep himself together when he was ready to fall to pieces, and not over his own welfare alone.
"Fine," he replied tersely and started to back away from Severus, "I won't then."
All of a sudden, Draco found himself being effortlessly tugged forward by the hand he still clasped, and, in the next instant, the bottle of Firewhisky was manhandled out of his grasp and back into Severus's safekeeping.
Believing he wasn't being permitted another swig to calm his nerves, Draco glared daggers at Severus and tried to back away a second time. "Sod it!" he snapped and whipped his head sideways.
Severus had placed the bottle carefully on the side table. Before Draco could fully turn away from him, he'd exercised his free hand to snatch Draco's opposite wrist, using both to tug the younger man closer. Draco stared down at him, confusion lining his brow, but, when he didn't proceed to fight Severus's advances, the professor pulled the insecure blond wordlessly, and without the aid of magic at his fingertips, into his lap.
Lean, powerful arms suddenly enclosed Draco's trembling form, replacing the shabby blanket that had somehow ended up shoved down around his waist. He wasn't mindful of shivering—nervously, excitedly—in Severus's arms, but the elder was aware of the fact, and he settled the matter by silently pouring Draco another tumbler of Firewhisky. He pressed the glass directly to Draco's lips, and, silently, Draco guzzled down the unpleasant contents a third time, hardly flinching as the dulled burning sensation attacked his throat. Severus, too, topped himself off with another glass before casting the bottle aside, thereby shifting all of his attention onto the overwrought handsome man seated on his thighs, who was eying him with a mixture of anxiety and utmost desire.
Between Severus's comforting body heat, the crackling fire that blazed on amidst total darkness, and the pounding rain that reverberated beyond this blissful bit of shelter, Draco eased into Severus's security, the added encouragement of the booze providing him enough confidence to draw as near to Severus as he so dared.
All the unconveyed anxieties and worries from earlier this evening were gradually slipping away as Draco coiled himself further into Severus's embrace, the tenderness the professor displayed so unexpected—so delicate and unassuming—that, before Draco was aware of letting his emotions crack, his lower lip was quivering.
He doesn't recognise. Does he?
Draco knew the answer, though. He could sense the breadth of Severus's genuineness through this simple act of being held. Severus wasn't a person to be touched or to touch others often, if at all. He could as easily have shoved Draco aside when he reached out to take his hand, sputter scornful words that would have left Draco offended and changed, but here Severus was, instead surprising him by cushioning his head to his chest, as if to protect the innocent Death Eater from the storm they both found themselves unwittingly tied to. He even allowed Draco to—unassertively—slide an arm around his shoulder and embrace him in return.
Half hidden by a drapery of wet, straggly black hair, Draco's face in that moment contained all the peace he'd so long sought and thought would never be. He couldn't have felt more right with the world then and there, even as it dimmed and darkened outside—out there—stained with the blood of the fallen Headmaster of Hogwarts. He shivered again, this time with sickening dread.
Severus Snape was no murderer. Draco didn't understand the reasons why Severus had stepped in at the last moment—perhaps he'd never ascertain so much as a portion of the truth that lay behind the wizard's confounding actions—but it certainly hadn't skipped Draco's attention when Severus hadn't objected to his mention of being spared of the dreaded task of killing Dumbledore. Whether Severus took over out of pity or some reticent obligation Draco wasn't aware of, he was sure of one thing: the beautifully conflicting figure he clung to at this hour, with everything he felt for him that would likely go unreturned, couldn't possibly be a cold-blooded killer.
"Don't talk," Severus quietly asserted, though without the brisk air from before.
Draco's mouth slumped in disappointment. "I just want to—"
"No, Draco," Severus stated with more urgency, stumping the younger's reply, "don't."
With a dismal sigh of defeat, and with the calmness the alcohol was having on his system, Draco yielded, but he wasn't about to ignore the advantage of such close proximity. How long had he yearned for this very thing: to recline against Severus's chest, to breathe in his scent, to hold and be held in return?
Does he recognise? Does he see?
The booze was making Draco bolder. Yes. He'd help Severus to see.
One of his shaky hands slithered from around Severus's shoulder to the front of the professor's cravat, thoughtfully tracing its tight neckband, detecting the shape of Severus's defined Adam's apple underneath such soft, silky fabric. He could hear Severus's fixed breathing puffing through his nostrils, and, when the man imparted no snappy warnings to halt his efforts, Draco moved more self-assuredly on to the series of buttons that ran down the front of his stiff frock coat, sensing the sharp contortions of Severus's sinewy frame through its mould—marked breast bone, hard nipples, honed ribs.
Draco was exploring without actually touching Severus's skin, and yet, it was highly intimate; he was hardly prepared to stop. His hand halted once it reached the top of Severus's trousers, however, especially when he detected the man's breathing grow notably heavier.
With his hand suspended, and feeling unsure whether or not to press on, Draco's eyes sheepishly peered into the professor's fine-looking face. Severus was staring fixedly ahead, his jaw taut and his sensually thin lips smoothed together. The contrast of dark shadows and the strong glow coming from the fireplace gave him a strikingly, almost grand allure, like a suspenseful creature whose beauty only came out at night.
All Draco could suddenly think about was running his wet tongue over the cupid's bow of Severus's mouth or kissing his way along his imposing jawline or mapping his lips down the front of that sharply hooked nose.
Unexpectedly, he groaned, and Severus's eyes glistened, suddenly staring into his, intrigued by that aching response. "Severus," Draco gulped, sounding, and probably looking, the timid, inexperienced schoolboy that he was.
Severus didn't respond but he did inch closer, moving to the side of Draco's face. Draco inhaled sharply as Severus's warm lips all of sudden kissed the pulse point at the side of his neck. It was heavenly. Severus was kissing him, caressing his skin as though it were something fragile, sacred. The burning sensations that flooded Draco's body made him wiggle his toes and his legs shake, even though he was seated. He moaned and shimmied closer, leaning into those heated lips—lips that, for so long, he'd wanted to touch him. And now they were.
Soon, Severus's pecking progressed to a series of teasingly demonstrative flicks of his tongue. Draco turned beet red in the face as he attempted to stifle a number of aroused gasps into his shoulder. Severus's masterful tongue was far more effective on him than Draco ever would have figured, and, for several minutes, he continued to kiss and lick Draco's flesh, roving from the blond's fluttering pulse point to his jaw, stopping just as he'd started nibbling at the lad's ear lobe. His breath was hot on Draco's skin, and Draco huffed with exasperation when it all came to an abrupt standstill. The rumbling thunder overhead matched Draco's twinging, cumbersome titillation.
"Hey! Why are you—"
Severus swiftly pressed a finger to Draco's lips to abstain all further discussion; or rowing. Don't talk, Draco, the younger wizard reminded himself, desperate for Severus to start kissing him again, preferably on the lips and...well, everywhere else. Go with it.
Draco went still in Severus's lap, wide, eager eyes fixated on his. Then, Severus's long, slender digit moved, slithering about Draco's pursed lips, trailing their outline like one of his precious phials before forcing itself unaggressively into his mouth.
Although surprised, Draco hungrily began to suck the length of Severus's index finger, like a sweet Liquorice Wand from Honeydukes, his eyelids fluttering closed to relish this newfound prowess. Severus watched Draco's demonstration with a thirsty, greedy intensity of his own. The lad was sucking and savouring with fervour, clearly enjoying himself, until Severus unexpectedly reared his finger back and removed it with a coquettish pop. Draco's eyes shot open to stare into that ghostly exquisiteness of a face—tragic and capsizing on his unspoken heart. His chest was beating rapidly.
Severus's palm drew forward to cradle Draco's cheek, onyx irises silently expressing their desire for more. Could such uncommunicated dialogue be misinterpreted? No. He'd just been sucking on the man's finger, and it was sexy as all getup. Inwardly, Draco was elated, and could hardly fathom his good fortune. His breathing quickened in excitement at such a turn of events, for Severus, in his understated way, was telling Draco he wanted him.
That tenderly executing hand slid down Draco's neck to spread across the blond's heaving chest, detecting his rampant heartbeat through his uncharacteristically dishevelled robes, and followed its natural progression towards Draco's trousers, already bunched at the crotch seam. Aware of his growing erection, Draco flushed red, for Severus was paying it ample mind, sharp eyes glued to the tightened area. His dexterous hand started cupping and massaging him to attention from the outside, long fingers moving deliberately slow, with purpose.
For all the inexperience Draco had in this department, he easily presumed Severus Snape was a man well-acquainted in the recreation of sex. The way that hand moved over him didn't lie. Yet Draco wasn't nervous. The Firewhisky had certainly helped in that regard, too.
Severus's hand worked over him masterfully, and it wasn't long before Draco was panting and trembling, his eager anticipation mounting with every deliberate rub and scrunch of his bits. If Severus would just reach in already and grope him with that bloody hand...
"Ugh," he moaned lowly, jutting his hips about and pushing his hard-on against Severus's hand. "More. Ugh! More!"
"Mr Malfoy," came an enticing growl in Draco's ears, "you won't come till I say you can."
Draco reared back and tried to shoot the professor a threatening glare, but his vision was dizzy, his writhing lower body pushing enthusiastically for more hand, more touch, more everything. "Who says - you get - to be in charge?" he challenged through his teeth.
Severus cupped Draco forcefully and shoved the tip of his nose to Draco's cheek. "I do."
Such authority, and from such a rich register, had Draco fighting off a shiver that coursed combatively down his spine. Bare skin was soon breeched beneath his school uniform, his robes hastily tossed off without the care he'd have normally given them. Severus hiked up Draco's shirt so that he could access the buttons on the lad's trousers. One by one each button came unclasped. Draco startled a bit, all of a sudden the nerves of what was to come catching up with him, but he was too engaged—too thrilled—to put a stop to it. He wanted this. He'd wanted this for ages. He'd follow Severus's lead, and let the wizard have his way with him, however he saw fit.
At long last, Severus's palm wrapped around Draco's hard cock, thereby pushing his boxers down so as to let his erection breathe freely, and began to stroke steadily, deliberately. His hand—balmy and rough at the finger tips from years of working hot cauldrons—stroked his hard-on as though it were perfectly suited to the job.
Draco had never masturbated so well under his own hand before, but, now, in Severus's grasp? He was hitching and moaning and writhing all over the professor's lap, not long after clutching onto the front of Severus's robes, desperate for something to cling to.
"N'ugh! Oh! Oh, that's good. Yes... Mmm!"
Without warning, Draco was no longer being felt up. He immediately snarled and bore his teeth at Severus, intent on reaching for his wand if he had to.
"Your wand's somewhere at the bottom of that clump that is your house robes," Severus bluntly cut in, tearing Draco's eyes briefly away towards the black mass of strewn cloth on the floor. A hint of the Slytherin crest glinted between the folds, but then his robe was suddenly flung into the shadows out of reach.
"Hey! What the hell—"
"What have I said about not talking?"
Draco scowled, still puffing from being aroused and then having everything cut short, and defied Severus's command. "I'll have you know that Father had that uniquely tailored and—"
"Flattering," Severus interrupted, sounding not remotely interested.
Draco would have hissed for him to get on with things, but any words on the tip of his tongue were cut off by the sudden twitch of his mushroom tip. Severus was circling its head with his finger. Draco stared on, yearning, as Severus proceeded to take some of his pre-come into his mouth. Again, he shuddered in suspense.
"Now, then," Severus purred seductively, taking back control of the situation; he nodded towards the worn carpet in front of them, "lay down."
Although still a bit miffed, but too horny to keep up the protest, Draco rose from Severus's lap, his legs shaky and unsteady, but hadn't so much as made it to the rug before he was being ordered to disrobe entirely. "And you?" he inquired after Severus, who was also on his feet and loosening his cravat.
Well, that's a start, he thought happily.
With his cock throbbing for much-wanted attention, Draco hurriedly sat his bare arse down on the rug and gazed up at Severus, itching to be reunited with the long-sought after figure about to disrobe in front of him. However, much to Draco's confusion, Severus, in the midst of removing his shirt (having already discarded his cloak and coat), abruptly turned away from him. Draco's wounded whimper brought him to a halt mid-turn.
"I want to see you, Severus." The reluctance—or, perhaps it was fear—that passed over Severus's drawn features didn't go amiss by the younger. "All of you," Draco added softly, with earnest.
Uncertain black irises scouted their surroundings a moment longer, evidently contemplating whether or not stripping before Draco was wise. Thunder and lightning, which had intermittently been filling the silences, rang out overhead once more. The two Death Eaters no longer paid the storm any mind, though.
Thankfully, Severus settled for compliance. He finished undressing, each button he slowly undid, whether from the front of his crisp white shirt or his impeccably uncreased trousers, escalating Draco's excitement, not to mention his sorely deprived hard-on.
With Severus's naked flesh at last exposed to his hungry eyes—there were curious gashes and blemishes, somewhat obscured by the drastic lighting, zigzagging across his peck muscles and shoulders—he stepped forward and kneeled down before Draco, all of him as requested. Draco's gaze trailed at once to his impressive length. He wouldn't have expected anything less. Severus's majestic nose was admirable on its own terms, and Draco had fantasised about the man's matching manhood enough to figure he was probably close to the mark, if not spot on.
Discovering that he was damn close in his assumptions, a smirk broke out on his flushed face, spreading quickly from cheek to cheek. Severus's half-raised cock—pale and pink, with a shrub of speckled black and grey hairs—awaited his assistance. He shifted onto all fours and crawled forward. Severus, sensing the young man's ravenous intentions (the intensity his face bore was nearly comical), rose high on his knees to bring his cock together with Draco's open mouth.
At once, when the two joined, and Severus found himself embedded within warmth and wetness and a working, flickering tongue, his body awakened fully, and he hissed in response. He snatched up a handful of Draco's blond hair, fisting wispy strands between his fingers. With the aid of his hand and grinding hips, Severus guided an unversed Draco back and forth, expressing what felt good, when to slow down and where to direct his unoccupied hands.
Draco lost sight of his own arousal for a short time, too determined to please the professor but also impatient to taste every inch of him whilst permitted. He was like an overly enlivened pup in need of proper training, and Severus was uncharacteristically patient—at least, when it came to oral sex instructions, apparently—and directed Draco's efforts with ease, panting heavily as things progressed.
"Now, kiss me," Severus ordered after a time. Draco ran his motivated tongue up the bottom of Severus's cock to peck his tip, but Severus chuckled, stopping him short and dragging his mouth up to greet his. "No, here..."
Soft, curvaceous lips that tasted of Firewhisky and lingering tobacco caressed Draco's, pulling him deeper and deeper into their raging consummation. He craved more of their delicacy that so strangely differentiated from the hardness of the man himself. Draco's cock, and Severus's, too, twitched and rubbed one another as anticipation surged and mounted, their bodies trembling and desperate to seek out ever more of the other's sweet taste, of their goose-pimpled flesh.
Severus's mouth finally broke apart from Draco's, noting the lad's inability to hold out much longer. Yet he wasn't willing to make a quick, messy affair of Draco's first time. It would be overwhelming, fierce, glorious...
Or you stop right here and now, Severus.
Why, though? There was no going back for him or for Draco. Draco had more of a chance, certainly, but not Severus. He'd relinquished the sanctity of his soul by granting Albus his final request: a peaceful passing. He couldn't take that back nor could he reclaim what had been lost. But, Draco...
Draco was staring into Severus's eyes, wearing a most imploring, almost downcast countenance that tossed Severus's insecurities aside. The young man's mouth was puffy from their vigorous snogging fest up until a moment ago, as well as from working Severus so ardently to attention, when he'd rather cruelly put a halt to things—again.
"Don't stop," Draco pleaded to him, his voice hushed as he took Severus by the hand. "Don't think about this. Don't reconsider anything." He moved in cautiously for a small kiss that was wishfully accorded. "Please... Don't stop."
Another two or three fluttering, unseasoned kisses mapping across Severus's lips and he was returning Draco's innocent gesture with vigour. Slender, yet brawny, arms reached around to hug the young wizard to his chest. Severus's hands slid down Draco's bare backside to clench his tight arse and thrust their cocks together. Draco gasped, and, once he'd adjusted to Severus's aggressive rhythm, he ground his hips in synch and in rapture.
A few more forceful tugs at his now fully aching cock rendered Draco speechless. He reached out, eyes squeezed shut, to take Severus's shaft in hand, too, wanting to match the professor's greedy ministrations, switching between stroking and fondling Severus's tightened balls. Soon, Draco was unable to do much of anything but grunt and gasp, swiftly preparing to either relieve his painful cock or work his pounding heart to its very last beat. It felt as though it might burst straight through his chest.
"Turn over," came another one of Severus's abrupt commands, changing their foreplay on a whim.
Although gasping for breath, and ready to give into his body's need for release, Draco ungracefully scooted around so that his back was facing Severus. He was too overwhelmed to argue or ask what the hell Severus had in mind. He just wanted to come, damn it, whilst those delicious hands worked themselves raw all over him; to have that delectable mouth do so, too.
Severus hurriedly eased Draco's arse cheeks into the air and guided him backward on his hands and knees, until Draco could feel Severus's engorged cock rubbing up between his cheeks. As all movement ceased, and with the professor's breaths audibly raspy from behind, Draco curled his fingers into what little to nothing could be seized of the tatty rug.
Severus Snape was about to fuck him. Well, Draco certainly hoped that was the case, or he'd let the ruddy carpet get him home at this rate.
The fluttering of wand movement caught Draco's ears. The cool sensation of lube being rubbed all over his arse made him inhale, nervous anticipation spiralling.
"You will come when I say."
The words had barely registered to Draco when he suddenly found himself being stretched and filled from behind, but not, at first, with Severus's cock but two of his fingers. The sensation wasn't only new; it was not what he'd expected. He immediately face-planted into the ground to muffle a series of reckless cries that had broken his resilience, fingers flexing and pawing uselessly at the frayed nylon within his grasp.
Severus didn't cease, however. He worked steadily over Draco's writhing, quivering form, long fingers both expanding and prepping Draco for proper penetration. The poor lad wouldn't be able to hold out much longer, though; that much was becoming clearer and clearer by the minute.
After allowing Draco to become relatively used to the sensation, and with hands freshly holding Draco's hips high in the air, Severus finally pressed himself into Draco's pucker until his balls met the wizard's buttocks. Letting forth a great, guttural moan of pleasure, Severus drew over top of Draco to hug him fiercely around the waist. Once he'd sensed Draco's breathing ease, he began to plunge into him, puffing out a sharp breath with each prominent thrust.
Draco slowly raised his head, his back beginning to arch and his entire body jerking with every violent shove of Severus's throbbing cock into him. It both hurt and aroused, ached and thrilled. Before long, Draco was inching backwards to meet Severus's plunges, grabbing hold of one of the professor's hands that presently dug into his chest, wanting to squeeze his hand through this joined moment. Thin hairs repeatedly tickled Draco's shoulder whilst hot breaths whiffed into his ear as they rode each other steadily home.
Him. He's finally giving himself to me. The glorious bastard.
Granted, it might have been all but a fleeting thought in Draco's mind, barely accessible given how quickly his body was singing for release, but Draco willed himself to hold onto whatever small piece of hope it provided through the rest of their wild, stirring copulation—his first.
"What I've - been - wanting - all along," he panted, cock twitching more pre-come as one of Severus's hands groped his balls.
"Oh?" Severus hissed in his ear, pausing to nibble aggressively at its' lobe. "You shouldn't - imagine - such horrors."
"Fuck you," Draco puffed out through his clamped jaw.
"That's right," Severus snarled and sneered his crooked teeth, though Draco couldn't see. "Fuck me."
Draco's sight was swimming in and out, his mind and body streaming fast towards the finish line, and he couldn't slow himself down. Not anymore.
"I - I can't!"
"No. Not yet."
"I can't, Sev—"
"Nearly there," Severus returned, his panting just as unrestrained.
Somewhere not far off the thunder roared and clashed with bright lightning. The down pour of intense rain increased in strength, as if purposely to match the two Death Eaters shagging violently in the house beneath, clinging to one another for shelter, for hope.
"Come for me," Severus finally permitted Draco with an animal-like growl.
And, at last, Draco willingly caved. He clamped up, curving his spine into Severus's chest. Severus, too, tensed over him, digits pinching tightly to Draco's sweaty flesh. Then, after a blissful moment that consisted mostly of the outside storm raging on and heavy panting from two overrun wizards who'd finally released themselves, ecstasy gave way to slowing heart rates and a thrumming peace, of which every nerve in Draco's body tingled in satisfaction.
He and Severus remained huddled within their fixed embrace for nearly a minute, as if unable to let each other go. Then, Severus slipped out of Draco and collapsed onto the rug with a tremendous thud. Draco followed suit, and the two chose to re-entangle themselves together, their limbs protesting but their hearts determined.
Eventually, the pouring rain dulled to a soft pitter-patter. The comforting heat provided by the fireplace at their backs kept Severus and Draco from shivering, gradually drying their naked, intertwined forms of all lingering perspiration. The buzz from the Firewhisky hadn't worn off; if anything, it simply enticed them to sleep.
Draco had almost nodded off when he felt Severus suddenly shift behind him and started awake. At first, he feared Severus might be withdrawing from him now that hindsight could provide either a for or against what they'd done. He was more grateful than he could possibly admit to when that turned out not to be the case.
Severus had Accio'ed Draco's robes into his hands, enlarged them to fit them both, and draped the fabric over top of their bodies, re-situating himself cosily at Draco's back. Draco let the silence reconvene a while longer before he found the stamina to break it.
"Mmm?" the wizard lazily grunted; perhaps he'd actually fallen asleep.
"That was...my first..." Draco admitted quietly. "You were my first, you know."
A lengthy pause later, "I know."
"I... I'm glad it was you. I'd wanted it to be..." Draco's throat bobbed up and down, though he didn't dare move, waiting; wondering what the hell Severus might say to that.
There was another pregnant pause, followed by a rather tremendous-sounding sigh. "I confess, I am, too..."
Draco felt his chest swell. A confession. One he could only hope to have heard but never would have believed would come.
He cares for me. He does. The glorious bastard fucking cares for me after all.
Draco clasped tightly to one of Severus's hands, both of which were wrapped warmly around his front, and shut his eyes to hopefully drive away the tears that prickled his eyes. He wouldn't lose his composure. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn't openly dramatise their emotions for all to see. And Severus Snape was the last likely candidate who'd appreciate the horrifying sight of a schoolboy—or anyone, for that matter—tearing up in front of him.
All because of your stupid, silly infatuation with someone so bloody unobtainable.
Oh, how utterly humiliating and uncouth he was acting. Yet the horrible and wonderful events of tonight, both expected and unexpected, had turned out to be the worst and best moment of his young adult life. Draco wouldn't trade this intimate moment with Severus for anything, not even to bring back Albus Dumbledore and start this sultry June evening all over again. He wanted and cared for the wizard with such intense fanaticism that even the storm that churned beyond these walls, and a menacing Dark Lord who would beckon soon enough, couldn't alter his feelings.
Does he recognise now? Does he see?
It was unanticipated, faint, but it was a clear-cut answer. The answer to suspend all of Draco's former disbeliefs. He tugged Severus's hand to his face to appreciatively kiss the inside of his palm. Severus would make no reference to this small exchange they'd had in the hours to come, but his private acknowledgement to Draco would instil them both with enough hope to sustain their sanities for days, weeks, and months to come.
Whilst listening to one another's even breaths, as well as the coming storm that would soon summon them away from these cosy confinements, Severus and Draco drifted off into erratic sleep. Their rest would be short-lived, for the Dark Lord would summon them to confirm the news of the death of the greatest sorcerer known to Wizard kind; but, for the moment, Draco would contentedly rest in Severus's arms—his lover, his first.
A/N #2: Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.