The Slave - Part Five
Yikes, it's been over a month since this behemoth was updated. Never the less, things are coming to a head. You get a two-fer today, yay! And as always, special thanks to lemonade8 for all her support and inspiration.
Title: The Slave, Part Five, by teddyradiator; illustrated by lemonade8
Challenge: Tattoo
Rating: R for language, other stuff
Length: 11 X 100
A/N: This hasn't been beta'd, so don't pick on poor stgulik - she didn't make any of the mistakes! The characters in this story are the property of JKR, etc etc make no money blah blah blah...
Severus could not make himself get out of bed. Lying there, literally stewing in his own juices, he wondered if he finally had gone mad. He glanced down at his flaccid member, and felt disgust. What had he been thinking?
The prossie had been all pro. She’d even acted interested, but that was as false as those voluminous breasts. And wasn’t that just a fairly accurate summation of an evening that had gone tits up? He hadn’t really wanted her, and he hadn’t wanted Hermione go and get her.
So why in Merlin’s name did he make her do it?
He sat up, groaning. What a disastrous mess this was turning out to be. All these grand intentions; what had he hoped to accomplish? He’d already taught Granger the importance of jumping to conclusions.
He glanced over at his reflection in the mirror. “Severus Snape, this is not who you are,” he muttered.
“Is it not? Coulda fooled me, cockers,” sneered the mirror, speaking in the same coarse Mancunian drawl as when he’d first charmed it at seventeen.
In twenty-eight years, he’d never managed to teach it to change.
Actually, he’d never been too good at training himself either, apparently.
He scratched a badly-shaven patch on his chin, and heaved a sigh of relief. Granger had come back inside. He could sense her humiliation and anger; it registered as waves of pain, clawing at him.
It had started as a joke; a little power trip to show her who was in charge. He knew it would eat her alive to fetch a prostitute for him, but he still had enough residual resentment in his soul to see it through.
Hardly.
Once they got down to business, he couldn’t get it up. Oh, she was skilled; he just couldn’t do it.
Finally a surreptitious spell enabled him to at least perform, but he felt indescribably dirty, as if he were the whore and she was the client. He closed his eyes, trying to at least finish it, when the image of Granger swam in his vision. He pushed it away, thinking that would be the absolute worst dereliction in a long line of disservices he’d already given her.
But her image glued itself to his frontal lobe like it was held by a Sticking Charm, and he remembered her climaxing in his arms, and suddenly his desire roared guiltily into life.
His cock grew rock hard, and despite the distress he could feel in Hermione’s thoughts, he realised with queasy self-loathing that he wanted her. Not like this, not servicing him like the prostitute, but he wanted to get to know her, learn her from the inside out.
He wanted to apologise, and he wanted to start over, but all he could feel was this wave of arousal, and then he was thrusting, and the woman beneath him was panting in his ear and even though she smelled of cigarettes and unsuccessful deodorant he pictured Granger’s face and he was coming-
He sprang out of bed, heart pounding. With a groan, he pulled on his trousers. He was pretty sure he’d cried out when he climaxed, and he was pretty sure the prossie had heard the name he’d bellowed as well. And she was savvy enough to put two and two together.
“Gods, what a mess,” he groaned. Still, an impressive record; he’d managed to offend two women with one orgasm. Perhaps he should Floo Minerva at Hogwarts and tell her he knew all about her secret trysts with Pomona. Go for the Hat Trick.
He crossed to the fireplace, scowling.
“Look, Snape, I told ya, it’s just a compelling tattoo. What exactly is the problem?”
Severus glared at the half-blood. “Stop bullshitting me, Rob. What kind of geas is enclosed within the ink? You’ve placed something in there.”
Rob Brackfawn looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you so convinced I’ve added something to the spell?”
“Because it makes me-” Severus bit back his words. “I’m doing things I wouldn’t normally do. That’s all I’m prepared to say. You must have done something more to the tattoo.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’re lying!”
Rob shrugged. “Sorry you think so, but I'm not.”
Severus snarled, “You’ve added to the compelling portion of the spell. It’s making me do and say things to the girl I have no intention of doing.”
“Have you checked the tattoo for any compulsion spell?”
Glaring, Severus answered reluctantly, “Yes. And no, I didn’t find anything, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. If I discover you’ve done something and you’re not telling me the truth about it-”
“You just keep telling yourself that, Snape. You just keep telling yourself you couldn’t possibly be doing these things on your own. Not like you at all,” Rob smirked nastily.
“You bastard-”
“Save your histrionics for the girl, Snape. Whatever little game is going on between you two has nothing to do with me, so don’t even try and lay this at my door. You wanted her, you got her. I’m sure you’ve heard of the phrase, ‘be careful what you ask for’.”
Rob cut off the Floo call with a flash of green fire. Severus sat back on his haunches, and closed his eyes. He wished he had a time-turner and could erase the past few days.
He got to his feet, and started downstairs. Now or never.
He felt the panic before he reached her bedroom. She was having a nightmare, and he eased the door open, thinking he would wait until it passed.
She was lying on her stomach, clad in a vest and plain knickers. The bedclothes were bunched beneath her, and the moon kissed her shoulders with pale, silvery light, making her skin gleam in the darkness. Her wild hair covered her face, and he could see it shivering. She was trembling all over.
“Please, no,” she was moaning, and the despair in her voice made the hairs on his arm prickle with unease.
He gingerly sat down beside her on the bed, and placed a hand on her back. She moaned, and arched up against it. “Please help me,” she whispered.
He stroked her back. “Wake up, Hermione. It’s just a dream,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she said. “It never ends.”
Unnerved, he pulled his hand away. “Just wake up. I’ll be over.”
He saw the tattoo glowing at the base of her spine, calling him like a siren. A sudden, almost painful arousal bloomed in his groin, and he felt lightheaded as most of the blood in his brain traveled south.
Title: The Slave, Part Five, by teddyradiator; illustrated by lemonade8
Challenge: Tattoo
Rating: R for language, other stuff
Length: 11 X 100
A/N: This hasn't been beta'd, so don't pick on poor stgulik - she didn't make any of the mistakes! The characters in this story are the property of JKR, etc etc make no money blah blah blah...
Severus could not make himself get out of bed. Lying there, literally stewing in his own juices, he wondered if he finally had gone mad. He glanced down at his flaccid member, and felt disgust. What had he been thinking?
The prossie had been all pro. She’d even acted interested, but that was as false as those voluminous breasts. And wasn’t that just a fairly accurate summation of an evening that had gone tits up? He hadn’t really wanted her, and he hadn’t wanted Hermione go and get her.
So why in Merlin’s name did he make her do it?
He sat up, groaning. What a disastrous mess this was turning out to be. All these grand intentions; what had he hoped to accomplish? He’d already taught Granger the importance of jumping to conclusions.
He glanced over at his reflection in the mirror. “Severus Snape, this is not who you are,” he muttered.
“Is it not? Coulda fooled me, cockers,” sneered the mirror, speaking in the same coarse Mancunian drawl as when he’d first charmed it at seventeen.
In twenty-eight years, he’d never managed to teach it to change.
Actually, he’d never been too good at training himself either, apparently.
He scratched a badly-shaven patch on his chin, and heaved a sigh of relief. Granger had come back inside. He could sense her humiliation and anger; it registered as waves of pain, clawing at him.
It had started as a joke; a little power trip to show her who was in charge. He knew it would eat her alive to fetch a prostitute for him, but he still had enough residual resentment in his soul to see it through.
Hardly.
Once they got down to business, he couldn’t get it up. Oh, she was skilled; he just couldn’t do it.
Finally a surreptitious spell enabled him to at least perform, but he felt indescribably dirty, as if he were the whore and she was the client. He closed his eyes, trying to at least finish it, when the image of Granger swam in his vision. He pushed it away, thinking that would be the absolute worst dereliction in a long line of disservices he’d already given her.
But her image glued itself to his frontal lobe like it was held by a Sticking Charm, and he remembered her climaxing in his arms, and suddenly his desire roared guiltily into life.
His cock grew rock hard, and despite the distress he could feel in Hermione’s thoughts, he realised with queasy self-loathing that he wanted her. Not like this, not servicing him like the prostitute, but he wanted to get to know her, learn her from the inside out.
He wanted to apologise, and he wanted to start over, but all he could feel was this wave of arousal, and then he was thrusting, and the woman beneath him was panting in his ear and even though she smelled of cigarettes and unsuccessful deodorant he pictured Granger’s face and he was coming-
He sprang out of bed, heart pounding. With a groan, he pulled on his trousers. He was pretty sure he’d cried out when he climaxed, and he was pretty sure the prossie had heard the name he’d bellowed as well. And she was savvy enough to put two and two together.
“Gods, what a mess,” he groaned. Still, an impressive record; he’d managed to offend two women with one orgasm. Perhaps he should Floo Minerva at Hogwarts and tell her he knew all about her secret trysts with Pomona. Go for the Hat Trick.
He crossed to the fireplace, scowling.
“Look, Snape, I told ya, it’s just a compelling tattoo. What exactly is the problem?”
Severus glared at the half-blood. “Stop bullshitting me, Rob. What kind of geas is enclosed within the ink? You’ve placed something in there.”
Rob Brackfawn looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you so convinced I’ve added something to the spell?”
“Because it makes me-” Severus bit back his words. “I’m doing things I wouldn’t normally do. That’s all I’m prepared to say. You must have done something more to the tattoo.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’re lying!”
Rob shrugged. “Sorry you think so, but I'm not.”
Severus snarled, “You’ve added to the compelling portion of the spell. It’s making me do and say things to the girl I have no intention of doing.”
“Have you checked the tattoo for any compulsion spell?”
Glaring, Severus answered reluctantly, “Yes. And no, I didn’t find anything, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. If I discover you’ve done something and you’re not telling me the truth about it-”
“You just keep telling yourself that, Snape. You just keep telling yourself you couldn’t possibly be doing these things on your own. Not like you at all,” Rob smirked nastily.
“You bastard-”
“Save your histrionics for the girl, Snape. Whatever little game is going on between you two has nothing to do with me, so don’t even try and lay this at my door. You wanted her, you got her. I’m sure you’ve heard of the phrase, ‘be careful what you ask for’.”
Rob cut off the Floo call with a flash of green fire. Severus sat back on his haunches, and closed his eyes. He wished he had a time-turner and could erase the past few days.
He got to his feet, and started downstairs. Now or never.
He felt the panic before he reached her bedroom. She was having a nightmare, and he eased the door open, thinking he would wait until it passed.
She was lying on her stomach, clad in a vest and plain knickers. The bedclothes were bunched beneath her, and the moon kissed her shoulders with pale, silvery light, making her skin gleam in the darkness. Her wild hair covered her face, and he could see it shivering. She was trembling all over.
“Please, no,” she was moaning, and the despair in her voice made the hairs on his arm prickle with unease.
He gingerly sat down beside her on the bed, and placed a hand on her back. She moaned, and arched up against it. “Please help me,” she whispered.
He stroked her back. “Wake up, Hermione. It’s just a dream,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she said. “It never ends.”
Unnerved, he pulled his hand away. “Just wake up. I’ll be over.”
He saw the tattoo glowing at the base of her spine, calling him like a siren. A sudden, almost painful arousal bloomed in his groin, and he felt lightheaded as most of the blood in his brain traveled south.