Ficlet: Stay
Title: Stay
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,359
Pairing: Sirius/Severus
Content: D/s, Bondage, non-con fantasy, fingering, orgasm delay
A/N: Unbeta'd since I ain't a writer
I’m lying on my back with my hands tied to the headboard. It is only by virtue of magic that I was able to follow the instructions sent via owl this morning, but here I am, stripped and secured with my wand out of reach, listening for the sound of the floo.
I never know when he will arrive. I began my preparations as to be ready at 12pm sharp as noted in the instructions but the small muggle clock on the night table reads quarter past noon.
He keeps his own time. It’s something I’ve come to accept about our arrangement.
It's half past before I hear the flare of the floo and then another five minutes before I hear him step onto the second floor landing. I will myself to remain silent and still at the sound of the bedroom door opening.
Without meaning to, I hold my breath, only releasing it when he comes to stand at the head of the bed.
He’s dressed in his teaching robes with their severe collar and over abundance of buttons meant to give the impression of man as impenetrable fortress. During the normal course of things this suit of armor doesn’t work on me, but here in the dim light of the shuttered bedroom, naked and helpless, with him hovering over me like a predatory bird, I understand why many of his students fear him.
It was not so very long ago that he was my sworn enemy after all.
I squirm beneath his gaze at the thought of what he might have done had he found me in this state back then. The old desire to live dangerously makes me regret never giving him the chance. His lips curl in what might easily be cruel amusement, as if he can see what I’m thinking.
Knowing his skill set, perhaps he can. The image of him pulling roughly on my hair and forcing his substantial prick into my mouth whilst holding his wand to my head comes to mind. A small part of me hopes that he sees it, while the larger part of me takes comfort in the fact that he most likely can’t.
He smirks and quirks an eyebrow and before I can spend too much time worrying about what it might mean, he moves to the foot of the bed. He stands between my legs, still looking down at me with that amused expression. The tip of his red tongue darts out, wetting his top lip. I raise my hips off the bed, hoping that it’s a sign that my stiff and straining cock is the object of today’s pastime.
But, I’ve guessed incorrectly. Instead of dipping his head to my groin, his right hand drops from view and after giving my balls a perfunctory pat, he begins circling the rim of my arsehole lightly with his forefinger.
I let out a huff of breath.
He pulls away and I hear the sound of a jar being unscrewed and shortly, his finger returns, this time slick and cold. I flinch at first touch as he begins once again tracing a circle around my hole. I whine low in my throat and he answers by slipping his knobby forefinger just inside of me. I reflexively clench around the breaching digit and he jabs it forward with a sharp jerk that wrests a shout from me.
He holds it there for what seems like a very long time, pinning me down with both his finger and his stern expression. With what feels like painful slowness I relax around him and he begins to slowly saw his finger in and out of me in reward for my acquiescence. I bend at the knees and let my thighs drop to either side in submission.
“Good.” He purrs and I feel a mote of pride at the measured approval in his voice.
I don’t know when I started caring what Severus Snape thinks of me and it’s not something I wish to dwell on. If I do, I’m afraid I may stop accepting his owls and inviting him to my bed.
A second finger joins the first and the work hardened tips search for the yielding knot of sensitive flesh inside of me. It doesn’t take long before he finds it and his caresses become firm strokes that make my eyelids flutter and my cock begin to leak onto my tightened belly. I tip my head back and groan too loudly for the silent room.
“Black.”
I dazedly open my eyes to find him leaning over me, staring down at me with that singularly intense expression he often has in his deeply set eyes when he looks at me these days. The one, that even after months of playing these clandestine games, never fails to set a wild fluttering sensation into motion under my rib cage.
I didn't think it was possible to spread my legs any wider, but I do. He makes a pleased sound and his movements speed up, his talented fingers playing me expertly as if my body has become as familiar to him as his cauldron or his wand.
He has always been a disgustingly quick study.
I can’t stop myself from moaning and writhing shamelessly as he keeps up his pace and suddenly it becomes maddeningly inadequate. I want him inside of me. His fingers aren’t enough. I want, no, that’s far too weak for what I’m feeling right now, I need his cock inside of me. I need to feel his long, sharp fingers digging into the backs of my thighs and his warm, furry bollocks pressed against me as he fills me to the hilt. A small, pleading sound escapes from my throat and I curl up as best I can, raising my arse to him in the hopes he will take the hint.
He does, but the response is merely an indulgent chuckle. He steps back a bit as my legs come up in an effort to encircle his narrow waist.
“No, I don’t think so. Not right now.” He withdraws his fingers and I let out an undignified mewl at the loss.
I scowl at him, unable to stop myself from showing annoyance at his denial even though I am the one who put myself in this position. Rationality is not always my strong suit.
“Fucking bastard.” I murmur angrily and turn my face away from him.
He squeezes my bollocks less than gently in rebuke and I yelp in pained surprise.
“Ever the impatient Gryffindor.” He says silkily, leaning down to look me squarely in the eye. “I should think you’d have learnt by now that childish pouting has no effect on me. But never fear, I’m well versed in dealing with recalcitrant students.” He darts forward and captures my mouth with his, nipping me sharply on my bottom lip as he pulls away. I shiver as a dull coppery taste hits my tongue.
He then straightens and strides over to the bedroom mirror to put his robes back in order and perform a quick cleaning spell as he does every time before he leaves.
Once he finishes tidying up he retrieves my wand from where it had fallen to the floor after I performed the spell that left me trussed up and at his mercy. He turns it in his hands, examining it. Then, without a word he slips it into my right hand and then makes his way to the door.
He turns back momentarily. “Stay.” He says with a wry smile, drawing the word out a bit as one does when speaking to the family pet. Then he takes his leave shutting the door softly behind him.
I’m left in silence, my body aching for release, and the means of freeing myself to seek it sitting comfortably in my right hand. I tighten my grip on the wand, feeling an unexpected sense of hurt that he probably expects me to use it.
With a flick of my wrist I send it clattering back to the floor.
I may not be a good man.
But I am a good dog.
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,359
Pairing: Sirius/Severus
Content: D/s, Bondage, non-con fantasy, fingering, orgasm delay
A/N: Unbeta'd since I ain't a writer
I’m lying on my back with my hands tied to the headboard. It is only by virtue of magic that I was able to follow the instructions sent via owl this morning, but here I am, stripped and secured with my wand out of reach, listening for the sound of the floo.
I never know when he will arrive. I began my preparations as to be ready at 12pm sharp as noted in the instructions but the small muggle clock on the night table reads quarter past noon.
He keeps his own time. It’s something I’ve come to accept about our arrangement.
It's half past before I hear the flare of the floo and then another five minutes before I hear him step onto the second floor landing. I will myself to remain silent and still at the sound of the bedroom door opening.
Without meaning to, I hold my breath, only releasing it when he comes to stand at the head of the bed.
He’s dressed in his teaching robes with their severe collar and over abundance of buttons meant to give the impression of man as impenetrable fortress. During the normal course of things this suit of armor doesn’t work on me, but here in the dim light of the shuttered bedroom, naked and helpless, with him hovering over me like a predatory bird, I understand why many of his students fear him.
It was not so very long ago that he was my sworn enemy after all.
I squirm beneath his gaze at the thought of what he might have done had he found me in this state back then. The old desire to live dangerously makes me regret never giving him the chance. His lips curl in what might easily be cruel amusement, as if he can see what I’m thinking.
Knowing his skill set, perhaps he can. The image of him pulling roughly on my hair and forcing his substantial prick into my mouth whilst holding his wand to my head comes to mind. A small part of me hopes that he sees it, while the larger part of me takes comfort in the fact that he most likely can’t.
He smirks and quirks an eyebrow and before I can spend too much time worrying about what it might mean, he moves to the foot of the bed. He stands between my legs, still looking down at me with that amused expression. The tip of his red tongue darts out, wetting his top lip. I raise my hips off the bed, hoping that it’s a sign that my stiff and straining cock is the object of today’s pastime.
But, I’ve guessed incorrectly. Instead of dipping his head to my groin, his right hand drops from view and after giving my balls a perfunctory pat, he begins circling the rim of my arsehole lightly with his forefinger.
I let out a huff of breath.
He pulls away and I hear the sound of a jar being unscrewed and shortly, his finger returns, this time slick and cold. I flinch at first touch as he begins once again tracing a circle around my hole. I whine low in my throat and he answers by slipping his knobby forefinger just inside of me. I reflexively clench around the breaching digit and he jabs it forward with a sharp jerk that wrests a shout from me.
He holds it there for what seems like a very long time, pinning me down with both his finger and his stern expression. With what feels like painful slowness I relax around him and he begins to slowly saw his finger in and out of me in reward for my acquiescence. I bend at the knees and let my thighs drop to either side in submission.
“Good.” He purrs and I feel a mote of pride at the measured approval in his voice.
I don’t know when I started caring what Severus Snape thinks of me and it’s not something I wish to dwell on. If I do, I’m afraid I may stop accepting his owls and inviting him to my bed.
A second finger joins the first and the work hardened tips search for the yielding knot of sensitive flesh inside of me. It doesn’t take long before he finds it and his caresses become firm strokes that make my eyelids flutter and my cock begin to leak onto my tightened belly. I tip my head back and groan too loudly for the silent room.
“Black.”
I dazedly open my eyes to find him leaning over me, staring down at me with that singularly intense expression he often has in his deeply set eyes when he looks at me these days. The one, that even after months of playing these clandestine games, never fails to set a wild fluttering sensation into motion under my rib cage.
I didn't think it was possible to spread my legs any wider, but I do. He makes a pleased sound and his movements speed up, his talented fingers playing me expertly as if my body has become as familiar to him as his cauldron or his wand.
He has always been a disgustingly quick study.
I can’t stop myself from moaning and writhing shamelessly as he keeps up his pace and suddenly it becomes maddeningly inadequate. I want him inside of me. His fingers aren’t enough. I want, no, that’s far too weak for what I’m feeling right now, I need his cock inside of me. I need to feel his long, sharp fingers digging into the backs of my thighs and his warm, furry bollocks pressed against me as he fills me to the hilt. A small, pleading sound escapes from my throat and I curl up as best I can, raising my arse to him in the hopes he will take the hint.
He does, but the response is merely an indulgent chuckle. He steps back a bit as my legs come up in an effort to encircle his narrow waist.
“No, I don’t think so. Not right now.” He withdraws his fingers and I let out an undignified mewl at the loss.
I scowl at him, unable to stop myself from showing annoyance at his denial even though I am the one who put myself in this position. Rationality is not always my strong suit.
“Fucking bastard.” I murmur angrily and turn my face away from him.
He squeezes my bollocks less than gently in rebuke and I yelp in pained surprise.
“Ever the impatient Gryffindor.” He says silkily, leaning down to look me squarely in the eye. “I should think you’d have learnt by now that childish pouting has no effect on me. But never fear, I’m well versed in dealing with recalcitrant students.” He darts forward and captures my mouth with his, nipping me sharply on my bottom lip as he pulls away. I shiver as a dull coppery taste hits my tongue.
He then straightens and strides over to the bedroom mirror to put his robes back in order and perform a quick cleaning spell as he does every time before he leaves.
Once he finishes tidying up he retrieves my wand from where it had fallen to the floor after I performed the spell that left me trussed up and at his mercy. He turns it in his hands, examining it. Then, without a word he slips it into my right hand and then makes his way to the door.
He turns back momentarily. “Stay.” He says with a wry smile, drawing the word out a bit as one does when speaking to the family pet. Then he takes his leave shutting the door softly behind him.
I’m left in silence, my body aching for release, and the means of freeing myself to seek it sitting comfortably in my right hand. I tighten my grip on the wand, feeling an unexpected sense of hurt that he probably expects me to use it.
With a flick of my wrist I send it clattering back to the floor.
I may not be a good man.
But I am a good dog.