The Strange Effects of Love and Italian Leather Upon the Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club....
This was written for snaco_exchange as a gift for dracoluvah. Apologies to those who see this more than once.
Title:The Strange Effects of Love And Italian Leather Upon The Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club, or How Miss Clarissa Portree-Genetton Lost a Prospective Husband But Gained a New Name
Author: Nehalenia
Pairing: Snape/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,102
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just playing with JKR's boys.
Warnings: established relationship, snarkiness, equestrian innuendo, chair!sex
Summary: It’s not easy being a Malfoy; especially when your lover is a snarky, bitter, old bastard named Severus Snape.
Author Notes: Many thanks to ships_harry for the excellent beta and all the chat windows it took for us to come up with the title. ;-)
“Merlin’s teeth, Draco! You reek of the stables.”
“That’s because I’ve been at the stables, Severus,” the heir of the Malfoys drawled, leaning casually in the doorway of his lover’s potions lab. He shook back a sheaf of white-gold hair from his grey eyes as he knocked bits of straw and stable sweepings from his boots with a thwack of his riding crop.
“What are you…? Stop that immediately!” Severus Snape growled, sweeping over from his cauldron and snatching the riding crop out of Draco’s hands. “You know very well this is a sterile area, you equestrian dilettante. I won’t have you contaminating my experiments.” Snape banished the detritus with a wandless Evanesco and wheeled away, robes flaring. He tossed Draco’s riding crop onto the work table and picked up his stirring rod.
Draco sucked on his lower lip as he watched the older man frown into his cauldron and then consult an open text. The young wizard crossed his arms and slouched attractively - really, how could anything he did not be attractive? - and glanced down to admire the way his Italian leather boots fit at the ankle. Severus scoffed and called it vanity - as if that was even a pejorative in Draco’s world - but a fine pair of custom-made riding boots was worth every Galleon. Draco knew that if Severus would ever break down and let himself be fitted for a pair - something Draco suggested at least two to three times a year - he would understand. Aside from that, the idea of his tall, dark and ill-tempered lover in riding gear had a certain allure; not to mention a warming effect on parts of his anatomy.
Severus finally looked over at him - Draco had known he would; how could he not? - and arched an eyebrow.
“Why on earth were you at the stables in the first place?” he asked. “And by ‘stables’ I assume you mean that palatial folly on the Malfoy Estate that Lucius refers to as ‘the barn’?”
“Yes, those stables,” Draco smirked, crossing his ankles. “Father’s the head of the Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club. Since he and mother are still on the Continent, he asked me to do the honors in his absence. He’s the Grand Master or some such,” Draco gestured airily. “I suppose I ought to get the name straight since it’s a hereditary position.”
“Do you mean to say,” Severus scowled, “that you will have to continue with this Old-Galleon pureblood claptrap for… forever?” Draco bit his lip, hard, to keep from smiling.
“It’s not that dreadful, Severus. Besides, Father is still hale and healthy so I expect it will be many years before we have to host the Club on our own.”
”We? Snape’s tone was glacial. He had drawn himself up to his full, affronted height and had fixed Draco with one narrowed eye. “I hope you do not imagine that I will ever play the smiling host at such a gathering.”
“Well, not a smiling host, certainly,” Draco said with as much gravity as he could muster.
Severus glowered at him and wordlessly summoned a jar of Carpathian slugs.
“Are you just going to stand there posing all afternoon, or did you have some actual purpose in disturbing me?”
“Other than wanting to lounge around and stare at your arse while you work, you mean?” Draco smirked. This earned him an even darker look, punctuated by a sharp chop as Severus beheaded a slug without even looking at it. “Actually,” Draco relented, “I came to see if you wanted to share a spot of tea. There’s a ceremonial dinner tonight and I have to go back to the manor, but that’s a few hours off.”
“As you can see,” Snape frowned at the slugs he was mechanically butchering, “I am far too busy to take tea with you just now.” He continued chopping for a few more moments, then cast an impatient look at the door. “For Merlin’s sake, Draco, either come in and shut the door or take your leave. You’re letting in a draft.” Draco couldn’t feel even a lick of a draft, but he straightened and waved the door shut as he stepped inside.
“I don’t know why wizards should even want to do such a thing,” Snape was muttering as Draco moved closer.
“Do what, Severus?” Draco asked, leaning against the work table. He really did love to watch Snape work -- the precise movements of those long, skilled fingers were especially hypnotic - but it bothered the Potions Master to have anyone staring at him, so Draco rarely got to indulge in this pleasure. Severus always banished him from the lab, or drafted him into helping and then banished him when he didn’t skin shrivelfigs in the exacting way Snape required.
“Hunt!” he snapped, shaking his straight, black hair over his shoulder in irritation. “I’ve never understood it,” he continued, peering into the cauldron. His hair immediately fell back into his face and he impatiently scraped it behind his ear. “Wizards - especially purebloods - acting like Muggles. Riding horses all over the countryside. It’s absurd.”
“Absurd?” Draco said, summoning his most offended expression. “Our ancient Wizarding Hunting tradition? The tradition passed down from the great Salazar Slytherin himself? The one the Muggles stole from us?” Draco grinned impishly when Snape cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, all right,” Draco admitted. “But it is a tradition, absurd though it may be.”
“Most traditions are,” Snape snorted.
“Yes, but they usually don’t remain popular unless they have something to recommend them,” Draco pointed out. “It can be quite fun, you know.”
“Fun?” Snape gave him a look.
“Yes, fun,” Draco repeated. “Amusing. Entertaining. Diverting. Enjoyable. Fun.”
“I’m aware of the definition of the word,” Snape sneered. “What on earth do you find ‘fun’ about the Rackthrottle…”
“Whackfoggle,” Draco corrected.
“Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club,” the older man snapped.
“Well, the clothes, for one thing,” Draco grinned, straightening and posing prettily when Snape, almost unwillingly, glanced at him. He was quite a sight, and he knew it, from the tips of his polished boots, up his thigh-hugging breeches to the old-fashioned linen shirt and the short, well-tailored scarlet robe that went overall. “Admit it, Severus. I look positively dashing.”
“Everyone looks better in riding gear,” Snape harrumphed, managing to tear his eyes away from his young lover only with obvious reluctance.
“Hmm, too true,” Draco agreed, raking his eyes up and down his partner’s body and once again imagining him in a similar outfit. He was certain he’d never get Severus into a scarlet riding robe, but a black one, perhaps? He inched closer to Severus. “Aside from that,” he added in a much softer tone, “it can be very…invigorating.”
Snape eyed him suspiciously. “Invigorating?”
“Riding. It’s quite exhilarating. You should try it.”
“I’ve been on a horse, thank you.”
“Have you?” Draco blinked.
“Try not to look so surprised,” Snape sneered. “You might recall that your father and I knew each other in that misty, unimportant time before you were born and the world finally realized its purpose.”
“Are you flirting with me, Severus?” the young Malfoy purred. “Because you know what hearing things like that does to me….”
“Stand over there!” Snape growled, pointing to the end of the work table. “I’ve already spent three hours on this blessed potion and I’ll have your hide if you muck it up for me.”
“Will you now?” Draco smiled, glancing significantly at the discarded riding crop. He tried to maneuver a bit closer, but Snape snarled at him, pointing irrevocably at the far end of the table. Draco surveyed him for a moment. “You look like something from that Muggle book you like so much,” he opined, eyeing Snape’s long, bony finger. “The Ghost of Christmas-Yet-To-Come, was it?”
“Get over there,” Snape hissed, “or it will be your gravestone at which I’m pointing.”
Draco took one look at the other man’s eyes and scuttled to the far end of the table. Perhaps that Dickens remark hadn’t been the wisest approach.
“I do know some of the finer points of pureblood culture,” Snape said, throwing Draco a dark look. “As much as that may surprise you.”
“Oh, I’m not surprised by that,” Draco said, leaning the entire upper half of his body onto the table and propping his chin on his fists. “What surprises me is that you didn’t like riding.” Draco decided to take Severus’ scowl as a request to forward his argument. “It’s not so much about riding, you know, as it is about ‘mastering’ another creature. Imposing your will upon it. Getting it to do what you want. I should think you of all people, Severus,” he smiled wickedly, “would enjoy that.”
“Perhaps if your description didn’t sound quite so reminiscent of our home life,” Snape replied in his most sarcastic tone, “I might. As it is, I have the devil of a time even reining you in,” he snorted, “much less ‘imposing my will’ upon you. I see no reason why I should be more successful with a dumb animal than with you, and the addition of an audience, all too ready to pass judgment upon one’s style and skill, in no way improves the situation.”
Draco paused, studying his lover’s tense, hunched shoulders and the veritable thundercloud that now adorned his brow.
“Did you fall off a horse in front of Father’s hunt club?” he guessed.
“No,” Snape growled dangerously, “I did not!”
Draco waited, his head cocked. Snape mumbled something.
“What was that, love?”
“It bit me,” the older man snarled, blushing furiously and turning to summon another jar to hide it. “Your father’s horse. The bloody nag went off and bit me.”
“What, in the arse?” Draco wanted to know, schooling his mouth not to smile.
“No, you imbecile. On the arm. And it wouldn’t let go.” His eyes darted briefly to Draco, then he frowned down at the jar in his hand and added, in a smaller voice. “Then it tossed me into a hedge.”
“In front of everyone?” Draco held his breath. He couldn’t believe Severus was telling him this and he wasn’t quite sure whether to be horrified or touched.
“In front of the Black girls,” Snape grumbled. “Your mother and her wretched sisters. That was quite bad enough.”
“Well,” Draco started, then paused, not knowing quite how to counter this admission. “That was a long time ago. I’m sure that horse is dead.”
“It was a big, white stallion and your father’s favorite,” Snape huffed. “I expect its progeny is still infesting the Malfoy stables.”
Draco mentally reviewed the number of white horses in his father’s stable. Perhaps he could transfigure them into some less objectionable color. He sighed heavily. His plan to tempt Severus away from his potions lab for tea - and by ‘tea’ he had meant a session of raw, pounding, animalistic sex, perhaps with sandwiches for afters - was not going well. Not well at all.
“I suppose you’ll be gone all night then?” asked Snape. His tone was bland, but Draco had lived with Severus long enough to hear the disapproval behind it. “For your ‘ceremonial dinner’?”
“Well, I shouldn’t think all night,” Draco allowed, lowering his eyes - demurely, he thought. “I’m sure there will be a few stirrup cups passed around, but it’s a bit of an older crowd,” he shrugged. “I doubt any of them are the ‘dusk to dawn’ sort of revelers.” He hazarded a brief glance at his lover, who had paused in stirring to consult his book once again. “You could come with me, you know.”
Draco laid the invitation out with casual delicacy, the way one picks up some curio in a host’s parlor, examines it, then sets it back down and moves on. He waited to see how Snape would react. Snape’s eyes flicked up briefly. Draco noted the flash of surprise that surfaced in those dark pools before it shot away like a shy fish and was replaced by a more familiar expression of scorn.
“I think not,” the older wizard snorted. “My evening is already planned, and I expect that sorting rotten flobberworms from fresh will prove more entertaining than rubbing elbows with the Rumpwhistles.”
“Whackfoggle,” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Whatever!” Snape growled, slamming his book closed and lowering at Draco. “Get out of here, Draco. It’s impossible to concentrate with you bleating at me about the cream of Wizarding society.”
“Bleating!” Draco looked offended. “I’m not a bloody sheep!”
“If you’re not out of my sight in less than 30 seconds, you might be,” Snape threatened. “Go on, out! Go drench yourself in eau de horse sweat or apply more manure to your very fine boots, or whatever it is you do to prepare for a ‘ceremonial dinner’ with the Hunt Club.”
Draco just stared at him. “You’re jealous!” he said.
“I am not jealous! Why on earth would I be jealous…”
“You are!” Draco cried. “You are, you are, you are!”
“I am not jealous, you ridiculous embryo!”
“And I’m not an embryo, you ridiculous old gaffer!" Draco’s face was flushed, and his eyes were just as angry as Snape’s now. “I’m a grown wizard who’s been making his own decisions for over five years now.”
“And if you want to live to make another one,” snarled Snape, “your next decision will be to leave. Now!”
“Fine!” Draco yelled, his patience entirely at an end. He snatched up his riding crop and marched to the door. “I am leaving. And you shouldn’t bother waiting up,” he added, yanking the door open. “The Portree-Genettons have a perfectly lovely young daughter who’s been begging for a moonlight tour of the gardens.”
“Out!” Snape bellowed, snatching up the jar of slugs, his features contorted in rage.
“I believe her name is Clarissa,” Draco sneered, ducking out the door and slamming it behind him just as the jar hit and shattered. “She’s blonde!” Draco screamed through the door. “Everyone says we’d have beautiful children!” He landed a solid kick against the door before turning and stomping off down the hall. Snape’s inarticulate roar of rage and the sound of shattering glass followed him all the way to the Floo.
~~
Draco Malfoy did not like feeling guilty. He was unaccustomed to it, for one thing. The first time he had experienced it, he thought it was indigestion brought on by an avocado souffle. He especially did not like it when combined with a rather heavy game dinner, a few glasses of unexceptional port and the mind-numbing conversation of the membership of the Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club. Honestly, he didn’t know how his father endured it; though perhaps having one’s partner present mitigated the crushing boredom. Draco’s thoughts had strayed to his own partner throughout the evening. He would lose track of conversations, wondering if Severus was going to lock himself in his lab for the next three days in a fit of pique. Or he would forget to pass the stirrup cup to the next member, because he was gazing into the dark red wine, thinking of angry black eyes.
He did take Clarissa Portree-Genetton for an abbreviated garden stroll, more to spite Severus than anything else. The young witch was indeed blond and quite pretty but her vapid blue eyes and her delicate hand on his arm only made him compare the girl to his ill-favored, foul-tempered, sneering lover; and predictably Miss Portree-Genetton came up short in that evaluation.
There was nothing for it, Draco sighed to himself after the last guests had said their goodbyes. Severus might be a mean, scrawny, snarky, homely old bugger with uncomfortably sharp hipbones and a nose that threatened to take Draco’s eye out whenever they kissed, but he was the only one Draco wanted - the only one he had ever wanted, truth be told; even if Draco was relatively certain that Snape was going to hex his face inside-out when he finally got home.
As guilty as Draco might feel, he was not foolish, which was why he stepped through the Floo and into their bedroom with his wand out and went immediately into a defensive crouch.
“Severus?” he called, straightening up only after taking thorough stock of the surroundings. He’d decided to Floo into their bedroom as it was just possible that Severus might actually be asleep, and there was a lot of heavy furniture to duck behind if he wasn’t. Their bedchamber was empty, however, their bed still pristinely made with no bolster out of place. Draco sighed, ran a hand over his hair and went to go hunt down Severus.
“Circe’s tits,” he muttered when he poked his head in the potions lab. The floor was littered with broken glass, and there was a slug the size of a kneazle sitting in a puddle of congealing potion that had spilled from the overturned cauldron. The slug had turned a pale shade of lavender and was pulsing in a disturbing manner. Draco peered around to make sure Severus wasn’t in there somewhere, perhaps unconscious or sulking under a table, then pulled the door to with a small slug-induced shudder. He checked a few other rooms before he discovered Snape in the drawing room, slumped so deeply in an old, sheltering, high-backed armchair that Draco almost missed him at first glance. All that could be seen of him was one bony hand dangling over the padded arm of the leather chair; and if there hadn’t been two bottles of brandy - one empty, the other a bit more than half-full - on the floor beneath that hand, Draco might have missed him entirely.
“Severus?” he called out, staying by the doorway in case the older man’s apparent lassitude was a trick. When Snape didn’t immediately draw his wand and hex him, Draco ventured closer, stepping around for a better view of his lover.
Snape, Draco immediately deduced, was pissed. His face was flushed, his eyes were bruised-looking and slitted as if even the dim lamplight bothered them, and he had sunk so far into the chair that he was practically lying across the seat. His robes and coat had been discarded, and he sagged there with his collar undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up - a condition in which he never appeared outside of his laboratory or their bedroom - and his long legs splayed out before him.
“Severus?” Draco asked again, a bit uncertainly. The other wizard blinked, seemed to recognize there was actually someone standing before him, and turned a dull glare on the young wizard.
“So.” Snape let the single syllable hang heavy in the air. “You’ve come back.”
“Yes,” Draco said carefully, still unsure of the situation. Snape looked like it would take immense force of will and an Enervate spell to even move his limbs, but appearances could be deceiving; especially with Slytherins. Most especially with Severus. “I said I would.”
“You said a lot of things,” Snape sneered. “When are the nuptials, by the way?”
“The nuptials?” Draco repeated. “What are you talking about, Severus?”
“You and Miss Portly-Gentleman or Potty-Genitals, or whatever the silly bint’s name is,” he snorted, his hand twitching as if he’d tried to make a derisive gesture and failed.
It took every ounce of Malfoy dignity flowing in Draco’s veins to keep from immediately falling to the floor and shrieking with laughter. Potty-Genitals. Dear God.
“Portree-Genetton,” Draco corrected, more to confirm it in his own mind than anything else. As it was, he was fairly certain he would one day slip and address them as the Potty-Genitals, and he could only hope to stave it off until his parents were safely dead.
“Whoever!” Snape growled. “I assume the name will be correctly engraved on the invitation? You can be assured I will spell it properly on the congratulatory card.”
“What in Merlin’s name are you on about?” Draco asked, nonplussed.
“Your impending marriage to a social equal with a ridiculous name and the ability to bear you a litter of obnoxious tow-headed brats,:” Snape snarled.
“You didn’t honestly believe I was serious about that, did you?” Draco snorted.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” Snape huffed, then turned away with a sullen look. “No one would blame you, certainly,” he added. Then, in a much smaller voice, “I wouldn’t blame you.”
Draco stared at his lover with an odd look on his face. “What do you mean by that?” Snape shifted up a little and scowled at Draco sidelong through his hair.
“Don’t be daft,” he growled. “Obviously it is has finally penetrated your skull that you are young, rich, aristocratic and have a family name and fortune to carry on, whereas I have…” Here Snape gave a sort of an abortive shrug. “I am… none of those things.”
“Really,” Draco said sarcastically. He eyed the wand that was still in his hand, tucked it into a robe pocket and crossed his arms. “First of all, Severus, I have known since shortly after my birth that I am young, rich and aristocratic. Malfoys are nursed on that knowledge instead of breast milk. As for what you think of yourself, what does your age, wealth, birth, or ability to help me get heirs have to do with anything? More specifically - since I care about none of those things - what does it have to do with us?”
“We don’t belong together,” Snape spat. “Look at me, for Merlin’s sake! Look at you!” Snape eyed him, looking both irritated and glum. “You should be with someone… someone like you. Someone… attractive. Someone who would actually enjoy hosting your idiotic Muckfuggle…”
“Whackfoggle,” Draco sighed automatically, wondering why he even tried.
“Your stupid hunt club!”.
“Merlin’s balls, Severus,” Draco groaned, “even I don’t enjoy the wretched hunt club!”
“Oh?” Snape curled his lip and tipped his head back so that even though he was sunk in his chair and Draco was standing in front of him, he still managed to look down his nose at the younger man. “Then why the devil did you come flouncing into my workroom today if not to rub your upper-class riding togs in my face and then ask me to go and embarrass myself in front of those repulsive people?”
“I came flouncing into your workroom this afternoon,” Draco snapped, “because I looked spectacular in my riding gear and I wanted you to leave off your stupid potion and fuck me, you utter git!” Draco was only partially gratified by the perplexed look on his lover’s face. “And I asked you to come with me to the ruddy Hunt Club because it is packed with the most ridiculous people and I wanted someone to mock them with!”
Snape regarded Draco suspiciously. Draco pursed his lips.
“After all this time, is it so hard for you to believe that I like being around you, Severus? That I enjoy your company? That I want you to be with me?”
“Yes,” Severus blinked.
“My God, you’re infuriating,” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. He pulled off his scarlet robe and dropped it on the floor, then started undoing his cravat.
“What are you doing?” Snape narrowed his eyes at the young wizard.
“Convincing you that I want you more than I could ever want anyone else,” Draco answered, dropping his cufflinks on top of his robe.
“Including Miss Po….”
“Especially Miss Portree-Genetton,” Draco cut him off. “More than any other witch or any other wizard in all of creation, Severus.” He stepped forward until he stood right between Snape’s sprawled legs and glared down at his lover. “If you must know, I’m sorry for the things I said. I meant none of them. You just made me angry.” For some reason, this admission made Snape blush furiously. He flicked his eyes at Draco, then away.
“A common occurrence,” he muttered, almost guiltily, then scowled harshly up at Draco. “Yet another reason for you to choose the ancient Wizarding hunt tradition over me.”
“I would much rather have you,” Draco said with a wry smile, “than ever attend another hunt in my life.”
“Why on earth would you?” Severus muttered with a sullen look.
“Because, you great prat,” Draco said, crawling on top of Snape in his chair and straddling his lap. “I’d rather ride you.” Snape widened his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but Draco seized his face and kissed him before he could say anything. For a moment Snape was unresponsive, but when Draco thrust his tongue into his brandy-flavored mouth, he felt strong hands claim his hips, and the stern lips opened beneath his. Draco gave a brief moan and kissed him deeper while Snape grunted and rearranged himself, groaning deeply when he felt the older man force his hips down to press their groins together.
“Mmh,” Draco hummed, pulling away from the kiss to more firmly straddle Snape’s thighs and grind his crotch into his lover’s lap. “Speaking of riding, a good seat is very important, you know.” He twisted his hips down again for emphasis.
“So I’ve been told,” Snape said, his breath hitching as his large hands kneaded Draco’s arse. “I seem to recall Lucius put a great deal of stock in a firm, tight.. seat.”
“I’ll bet stock wasn’t all he put into it,” Draco purred, sliding his fingers into his lover’s lank hair and dipping down into another kiss.
“No.” Snape’s lips quirked in a small smile just before Draco claimed his mouth again. “It wasn’t.” The chuckle Draco breathed into their kiss turned into a moan as he felt Snape’s cock stirring under him.
“Mmh, now that,” Draco said, rubbing his own hard length against his lover’s swelling erection, “feels like something worth riding.”
“Yes,” Snape moaned, thrusting his hips up. One hand tightened on Draco’s arse, but the other now made short work of his shirt, unbuttoning it and shoving it off his slim shoulders. Snape’s dark eyes dilated at the sight of the ivory chest and pink nipples, and Draco hissed in delight as Snape, with a groan of pure need, struck like a snake, fastening onto one of the rosy buds.
“Oh god!” Draco grunted, arching back at the feel of Snape sucking and teasing at his nipple. It stiffened almost painfully, and his only relief was when Snape left it to attack the other one. Draco stared down in a haze of pleasure at the dark, sleek head bent to his chest. Snape’s hands roved possessively over Draco’s body, gripping a muscular thigh and cupping his erection through his breeches.
“Yes, touch me!” Draco groaned, thrusting into Snape’s palm. “Wanted you all day, damn it!”
“You might have had what you wanted,” Snape said, angling his fingers down to squeeze Draco’s balls as the heel of his hand pressed the shaft, “if you’d merely told me.”
“And if you’d paid attention,” Draco hissed, pushing against him, “you’d have noticed my cock trying to burst out of my very tight breeches, and no translation would have been needed.”
“Do shut up,” Snape growled, taking Draco’s mouth again and sucking down his tongue as he flicked open the buttons of Draco’s breeches and tugged down his pants. Draco’s prick sprang out of his flies, the moist head as pink as his nipples, and Snape gathered it in his stained fingers and began to stroke.
“Fuck yes,” Draco whimpered, humping into Snape’s fist. He tangled one hand in Snape’s fine and slippery hair, and shoved his breeches further down his thighs to free his bollocks. Draco heard his lover groan, felt him fumbling in his lap, and then the hot length of Snape’s cock was pressing against his, free of its cloth prison, flesh to sweaty flesh. Unable to resist, Draco reached between them and took hold of Snape’s stiff penis, sighing at just the feel of it.
He’d always been attracted to the dour, dark-haired wizard with his sharp eyes and sharper wit, and sharing close quarters with Snape when they’d been on the run had brought it to a fever pitch. He’d seen enough of the substantial bulge in Snape’s black wool trousers to know he wanted to get better acquainted with it and plotted accordingly. They were both men, after all, so what did it matter if he left the door open when he showered, or was careless in the way he wrapped his towel? And if he wanted to sprawl about half-clothed afterward, flushed pink from the hot water with his damp hair curling about his shoulders, what of it?
He pretended not to notice that Snape’s temper grew shorter and his tongue even sharper, and paid no mind at all to the tension that coiled in the air of the dingy Paris flat they had been stuck in. And if he could feel Snape’s black eyes moving over him like hands when he pretended to nap on the sofa in the afternoons, his shirt open or his trousers sliding precariously low on his hips, he saved his knowing smile until Snape had stomped off and slammed out of the flat, returning later with bread or chocolate and reeking of French cigarettes.
The day Snape stalked into the bedroom instead of out the door was the day Draco knew he’d won. When he heard the door click softly shut and the whispered locking spell, he opened his eyes with a smug grin, stretched, took his wand and padded silently to the bedroom door. Snape hadn’t used a silencing spell, and even as quiet as he was, Draco hardened just listening to the creak of the bed frame, the rough breaths, the caress of flesh on flesh. When he whispered “Alohamora” and the door swept silently inward, Snape was too far gone to notice: stretched full-length on the bed, trousers around his thighs, hips arching up, face contorted and teeth bared in a grimace of need as one hand fisted the covers and the other flogged his thick, glistening cock. Until that moment, Draco had thought he was entirely in control of the situation, but when he laid eyes on that huge, blood-darkened prick, steel-hard and straining in Snape’s flying fist, he lost it entirely. His further plans, the clever, sneering bon-mots poised at the back of his throat were overwhelmed by lust, and before he knew it, he had hurled himself onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Snape’s skinny hips and his mouth around that magnificent cock.
Snape had howled like a banshee, spitting and cursing as he bucked into the unexpected heat of Draco’s mouth, but the young wizard had held on, swallowing down the largest cock he had ever had in his mouth and burying his face into the thick, musky curls at Snape’s groin. The stream of invective issuing from Snape’s mouth became a wail as Draco sucked for all he was worth. Strong fingers gripped his head like a vice, forcing him down even further until he could barely breathe, and he felt the heavy bollocks under his chin tighten and draw up as Snape came with a strangled cry, shooting a flood of semen down his throat. It was the most erotic thing Draco had ever experienced, and his own cock sputtered in his pants without a touch, coming at just the feel of Snape’s prick pulsing in his throat.
After that came the screaming, the shouting, the angry recriminations, followed by Snape completely losing his composure, hurling Draco back down on the bed in a rage and fucking him within an inch of his life. Draco had come two more times before Snape had exploded inside his arse and collapsed on top of him in a dead faint. Snape, it so happened, had burst a blood vessel in his left eye, and Draco was unable to walk without whimpering piteously, so they remained in bed the rest of the day, sniping, arguing and periodically sucking each other off, after which there was really no point in returning to their former celibate arrangement. It still gave Draco a warm, happy feeling when he thought about it.
Now his hand was slipping over Snape’s gorgeous cock, pulling the foreskin down, squeezing the swelling head, smearing the little pulses of pre-come down his shaft. Snape was breathing in deep gasps now, hips shifting between Draco’s thighs, his grip tighter on Draco’s cock, his strokes harder.
“Merlin, I’ve got to have this!” Draco hissed, then he was pulling out of Snape’s hand, sliding off his lap.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Snape growled, seizing Draco’s hips and dragging him back.
“I have to get these off, damn it!” Draco huffed, trying to toe off a boot so he could remove his breeches. “I want you in me, and I want you now!”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Snape snorted. He spun Draco around so he faced away, jerked his breeches down to his knees, then spread his own legs and yanked Draco back onto his lap. “You said you wanted to ride this,” he grunted, wrestling his cock and balls completely out of his pants, “and that’s exactly what you’re going to do. In proper style.”
Draco moaned as Snape wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him tight as he shifted under him. He felt the hot, hard length of his lover’s prick slide between his arse cheeks and wriggled his hips, whimpering in anticipation.
“Stop that!” Snape landed a swat on one cheek and held on to it, moving until his erection slid between Draco’s legs and underneath his balls.
“Fuck!” Draco muttered, staring down at their twinned shafts, eyes fluttering at the feel of that hot, slick flesh pressing against his bollocks, sliding against the sensitive vein on the underside of his penis. “Oh fuck!” he whimpered again as Snape’s long-fingered hand closed around both their cocks, holding them together as he slowly thrust back and forth. His head fell back against Snape’s shoulder and he rubbed his face against the rough, stubbled jaw.
“Like that?” Snape purred, sweeping his thumb over both their cock heads, smearing their juices together.
“No, you stubborn git!” Draco lied. “You’re driving me crazy. I want you to fuck me! Hard! Now!”
“Patience,” Snape chuckled wickedly, nipping at Draco’s neck, then muttering a spell against his skin. Draco nearly wept as he felt warm lubricating oil envelop both their shafts and writhed as Snape began stroking it in.
“God damn it, Severus,” Draco hissed, squirming in an attempt to get Snape’s thick cock just where he wanted it. “Fuck me, you evil bastard!”
“All in good time,” Snape smirked, releasing Draco’s shaft to take his own and slide it into Draco’s cleft. The slick head grazed his hole but then moved on, making Draco squeal in frustration.
“Oh fuck, just do it, Severus, please!” he begged, as Snape grabbed his hips and positioned him. “I need you in me now! For Merlin’s sake, fuck me! Fuck me-ahh!” He howled as the head of Snape’s cock breached his hole, and before he could even catch his breath, Snape growled and yanked him down, impaling him on the full length of his shaft in one sharp thrust. “Oh God!” Draco panted, his unprepared arse stretched to its limits, quivering at the pleasure-pain of the throbbing cock possessing him. “Oh God oh God oh God, Severus! Fucking hell!”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Snape hissed in his ear, fingers still bruising Draco’s hips, holding him down. “My big cock stuffed in your greedy little arse?”
“Yes,” Draco whined. “God, yes!” He grabbed Snape’s thighs and leaned forward, trying to fuck himself on his lover’s cock.
“Trying to post to the trot?” Snape smirked, yanking Draco’s rump back down. “I don’t think so. This one,” he snorted, his breath harsh and heavy against Draco’s shoulder, “you’re just going to have to sit.” With that he pushed Draco forward a little as he drew back, then jerked him down hard as his hips slammed up.
“Yes!” Draco grabbed the arms of the leather chair and held on as Snape pulled and pushed and thrust until he’d found a rhythm and his cock was pistoning smoothly in and out of Draco’s arse. “Faster,” he begged his lover. “God, please, faster!”
Snape didn’t answer, gritting his teeth and pressing his head against Draco’s shoulder as he increased his speed. Sweat ran down the side of his face as he snapped his hips in shorter, faster strokes.
“Yes, fuck me, you bastard!” Draco moaned as the big cock pumped in and out of him, as Snape groaned and gasped into his shoulder. “God, yes, you brilliant fucking bastard, just like that, yes-fuck!-like that! Just. Like. That!”
Snape was plunging into him like mad, faster and harder than Draco thought he had ever been fucked, filling him, stretching him, scraping his swollen, aching prostate at every stroke until Draco thought he would go mad. Snape’s arms were wrapped tight around him, hugging him, holding him down, fixing him against the driving assault of that glorious cock. His ragged breath was coming in sobs.
“Fuck!” Draco shuddered as he felt his balls starting to tighten, felt something swirling in the bottom of his stomach. He made a clumsy grab for his cock, which was bobbing and bouncing against his stomach with every thrust, but Snape growled “Mine!” and slapped his hand away.
“Yes!” Draco shrieked as his leaking cock was gripped and enfolded and pumped at the same blinding speed of his lover’s thrusts. “Oh fucking yes-Yes!-Yes, like that, oh fuck, oh God, don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop, oh God oh Severus! I’m gonna…”
“Come!” Snape roared in his ear, and he came - dear Merlin, how he came! Draco’s entire body convulsed as his prick jerked and gushed, so hard he splattered his stomach, his chest, his chin. The second pulse of his climax flooded over Snape’s fist as he milked him, and his cock sputtered again and again until there was nothing left and he went limp in the tight cage of Snape’s arms.
“Now you,” Draco panted, his head falling back against Snape’s shoulder, his tongue snaking out to lap at his lover’s jaw. “I want to feel you come, Severus. Come inside me-oh God yes!” Snape didn’t answer, wound too tight to even speak, wound too tight to do anything but pump his hips wildly and pant and gasp, until Draco felt him stiffen, felt his hard length spasm and jerk as it slammed into him one last time, felt a huge shudder go through the older man as he cried out and came. It seemed to go on forever, Severus gasping as his cock pulsed and flooded Draco’s arse. Draco could feel Snape’s come leaking out of him and he reached down, light fingers stroking the base of the slowly softening cock that pierced him, gathering up drops of the seeping ejaculate and then bringing his fingers to his lips.
“Merlin, you taste good,” he sighed, licking his lips then turning his head to kiss his lover.
“Pervert,” Snape snorted. Draco just giggled. They slumped together for long moments as their breathing slowed. Snape still held Draco’s softening cock, and he slowly spread his hand over the sensitive flesh, pressing it against the younger man’s flat stomach and circling his fingers meditatively in the cooling puddle of semen.
“Aren’t you going to try some of mine?” Draco teased.
Snape made a face. “I’ll wait for a fresh batch, thank you.”
“Pervert,” Draco snickered.
“Do shut up.” Snape rolled his eyes and pushed Draco off. He fished around for his wand, found it stuck in the chair and cast cleansing spells on both of them.
“Well, that’s it then,” Draco sighed, doing up his breeches. “I’ll have to tell Father no more Whackfoggle Hunt Club for me.”
“Why not?” Snape wanted to know, eyeing Draco thoughtfully as he adjusted himself in his breeches and picked up his scarlet robe.
“Because you’re the only thing I’m going to ride from now on,” he grinned, casting a significant glance at Snape’s still open trousers.
“Hmph.” Snape followed his young lover’s gaze and tucked himself away, but remained collapsed in his chair. “Perhaps,” he ventured, “I was a bit too hasty in my disapproval.”
“Oh?”
“The outfit,” Snape gestured toward Draco, who was pulling his hunting robe back on, “is rather… fetching.”
“Finally noticed, did you?” Draco cocked an eyebrow at him.
“And you did spend a ridiculous sum on those boots,” he continued, frowning uncomfortably.
“They are rather nice, aren’t they,” Draco agreed, admiring them again. He looked speculatively at Snape. “You’d look awfully good in a pair yourself, you know.”
For once, Severus Snape didn’t go off on a tirade about vanity and spendthrift. He studied the boots, flicked his eyes up to find Draco smiling suggestively and thinned his lips.
“And if I did succumb to your whining,” Snape said archly, “I suppose you’d expect me to… ‘go riding’, as it were?”
“Only over a very specific course,” he grinned, stroking a hand over his crotch. He laughed as Snape rolled his eyes, then strode over to his chair, leaned down and kissed Snape deeply.
“Come along then,” he said, tugging the older man to his feet. “After a good, hard ride like that, a horseman’s first duty is to see to his mount.”
“Really.” Snape tilted his head and crossed his arms. “And just what is involved in ‘seeing to one’s mount’?”
“Oh,” Draco waved his hand, “grooming, currying, a nice rub down. Maybe a sugar cube, if you’re especially good."
Snape gave Draco a look, then smirked. “Well. However could I say nay to that?” He gave a delicate snort, then ambled by Draco and headed up stairs to bed.
“Just for that,” Draco called after him, “no sugar!” Shaking his head, he followed Snape upstairs.
~Fin~
Title:The Strange Effects of Love And Italian Leather Upon The Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club, or How Miss Clarissa Portree-Genetton Lost a Prospective Husband But Gained a New Name
Author: Nehalenia
Pairing: Snape/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,102
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just playing with JKR's boys.
Warnings: established relationship, snarkiness, equestrian innuendo, chair!sex
Summary: It’s not easy being a Malfoy; especially when your lover is a snarky, bitter, old bastard named Severus Snape.
Author Notes: Many thanks to ships_harry for the excellent beta and all the chat windows it took for us to come up with the title. ;-)
“Merlin’s teeth, Draco! You reek of the stables.”
“That’s because I’ve been at the stables, Severus,” the heir of the Malfoys drawled, leaning casually in the doorway of his lover’s potions lab. He shook back a sheaf of white-gold hair from his grey eyes as he knocked bits of straw and stable sweepings from his boots with a thwack of his riding crop.
“What are you…? Stop that immediately!” Severus Snape growled, sweeping over from his cauldron and snatching the riding crop out of Draco’s hands. “You know very well this is a sterile area, you equestrian dilettante. I won’t have you contaminating my experiments.” Snape banished the detritus with a wandless Evanesco and wheeled away, robes flaring. He tossed Draco’s riding crop onto the work table and picked up his stirring rod.
Draco sucked on his lower lip as he watched the older man frown into his cauldron and then consult an open text. The young wizard crossed his arms and slouched attractively - really, how could anything he did not be attractive? - and glanced down to admire the way his Italian leather boots fit at the ankle. Severus scoffed and called it vanity - as if that was even a pejorative in Draco’s world - but a fine pair of custom-made riding boots was worth every Galleon. Draco knew that if Severus would ever break down and let himself be fitted for a pair - something Draco suggested at least two to three times a year - he would understand. Aside from that, the idea of his tall, dark and ill-tempered lover in riding gear had a certain allure; not to mention a warming effect on parts of his anatomy.
Severus finally looked over at him - Draco had known he would; how could he not? - and arched an eyebrow.
“Why on earth were you at the stables in the first place?” he asked. “And by ‘stables’ I assume you mean that palatial folly on the Malfoy Estate that Lucius refers to as ‘the barn’?”
“Yes, those stables,” Draco smirked, crossing his ankles. “Father’s the head of the Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club. Since he and mother are still on the Continent, he asked me to do the honors in his absence. He’s the Grand Master or some such,” Draco gestured airily. “I suppose I ought to get the name straight since it’s a hereditary position.”
“Do you mean to say,” Severus scowled, “that you will have to continue with this Old-Galleon pureblood claptrap for… forever?” Draco bit his lip, hard, to keep from smiling.
“It’s not that dreadful, Severus. Besides, Father is still hale and healthy so I expect it will be many years before we have to host the Club on our own.”
”We? Snape’s tone was glacial. He had drawn himself up to his full, affronted height and had fixed Draco with one narrowed eye. “I hope you do not imagine that I will ever play the smiling host at such a gathering.”
“Well, not a smiling host, certainly,” Draco said with as much gravity as he could muster.
Severus glowered at him and wordlessly summoned a jar of Carpathian slugs.
“Are you just going to stand there posing all afternoon, or did you have some actual purpose in disturbing me?”
“Other than wanting to lounge around and stare at your arse while you work, you mean?” Draco smirked. This earned him an even darker look, punctuated by a sharp chop as Severus beheaded a slug without even looking at it. “Actually,” Draco relented, “I came to see if you wanted to share a spot of tea. There’s a ceremonial dinner tonight and I have to go back to the manor, but that’s a few hours off.”
“As you can see,” Snape frowned at the slugs he was mechanically butchering, “I am far too busy to take tea with you just now.” He continued chopping for a few more moments, then cast an impatient look at the door. “For Merlin’s sake, Draco, either come in and shut the door or take your leave. You’re letting in a draft.” Draco couldn’t feel even a lick of a draft, but he straightened and waved the door shut as he stepped inside.
“I don’t know why wizards should even want to do such a thing,” Snape was muttering as Draco moved closer.
“Do what, Severus?” Draco asked, leaning against the work table. He really did love to watch Snape work -- the precise movements of those long, skilled fingers were especially hypnotic - but it bothered the Potions Master to have anyone staring at him, so Draco rarely got to indulge in this pleasure. Severus always banished him from the lab, or drafted him into helping and then banished him when he didn’t skin shrivelfigs in the exacting way Snape required.
“Hunt!” he snapped, shaking his straight, black hair over his shoulder in irritation. “I’ve never understood it,” he continued, peering into the cauldron. His hair immediately fell back into his face and he impatiently scraped it behind his ear. “Wizards - especially purebloods - acting like Muggles. Riding horses all over the countryside. It’s absurd.”
“Absurd?” Draco said, summoning his most offended expression. “Our ancient Wizarding Hunting tradition? The tradition passed down from the great Salazar Slytherin himself? The one the Muggles stole from us?” Draco grinned impishly when Snape cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, all right,” Draco admitted. “But it is a tradition, absurd though it may be.”
“Most traditions are,” Snape snorted.
“Yes, but they usually don’t remain popular unless they have something to recommend them,” Draco pointed out. “It can be quite fun, you know.”
“Fun?” Snape gave him a look.
“Yes, fun,” Draco repeated. “Amusing. Entertaining. Diverting. Enjoyable. Fun.”
“I’m aware of the definition of the word,” Snape sneered. “What on earth do you find ‘fun’ about the Rackthrottle…”
“Whackfoggle,” Draco corrected.
“Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club,” the older man snapped.
“Well, the clothes, for one thing,” Draco grinned, straightening and posing prettily when Snape, almost unwillingly, glanced at him. He was quite a sight, and he knew it, from the tips of his polished boots, up his thigh-hugging breeches to the old-fashioned linen shirt and the short, well-tailored scarlet robe that went overall. “Admit it, Severus. I look positively dashing.”
“Everyone looks better in riding gear,” Snape harrumphed, managing to tear his eyes away from his young lover only with obvious reluctance.
“Hmm, too true,” Draco agreed, raking his eyes up and down his partner’s body and once again imagining him in a similar outfit. He was certain he’d never get Severus into a scarlet riding robe, but a black one, perhaps? He inched closer to Severus. “Aside from that,” he added in a much softer tone, “it can be very…invigorating.”
Snape eyed him suspiciously. “Invigorating?”
“Riding. It’s quite exhilarating. You should try it.”
“I’ve been on a horse, thank you.”
“Have you?” Draco blinked.
“Try not to look so surprised,” Snape sneered. “You might recall that your father and I knew each other in that misty, unimportant time before you were born and the world finally realized its purpose.”
“Are you flirting with me, Severus?” the young Malfoy purred. “Because you know what hearing things like that does to me….”
“Stand over there!” Snape growled, pointing to the end of the work table. “I’ve already spent three hours on this blessed potion and I’ll have your hide if you muck it up for me.”
“Will you now?” Draco smiled, glancing significantly at the discarded riding crop. He tried to maneuver a bit closer, but Snape snarled at him, pointing irrevocably at the far end of the table. Draco surveyed him for a moment. “You look like something from that Muggle book you like so much,” he opined, eyeing Snape’s long, bony finger. “The Ghost of Christmas-Yet-To-Come, was it?”
“Get over there,” Snape hissed, “or it will be your gravestone at which I’m pointing.”
Draco took one look at the other man’s eyes and scuttled to the far end of the table. Perhaps that Dickens remark hadn’t been the wisest approach.
“I do know some of the finer points of pureblood culture,” Snape said, throwing Draco a dark look. “As much as that may surprise you.”
“Oh, I’m not surprised by that,” Draco said, leaning the entire upper half of his body onto the table and propping his chin on his fists. “What surprises me is that you didn’t like riding.” Draco decided to take Severus’ scowl as a request to forward his argument. “It’s not so much about riding, you know, as it is about ‘mastering’ another creature. Imposing your will upon it. Getting it to do what you want. I should think you of all people, Severus,” he smiled wickedly, “would enjoy that.”
“Perhaps if your description didn’t sound quite so reminiscent of our home life,” Snape replied in his most sarcastic tone, “I might. As it is, I have the devil of a time even reining you in,” he snorted, “much less ‘imposing my will’ upon you. I see no reason why I should be more successful with a dumb animal than with you, and the addition of an audience, all too ready to pass judgment upon one’s style and skill, in no way improves the situation.”
Draco paused, studying his lover’s tense, hunched shoulders and the veritable thundercloud that now adorned his brow.
“Did you fall off a horse in front of Father’s hunt club?” he guessed.
“No,” Snape growled dangerously, “I did not!”
Draco waited, his head cocked. Snape mumbled something.
“What was that, love?”
“It bit me,” the older man snarled, blushing furiously and turning to summon another jar to hide it. “Your father’s horse. The bloody nag went off and bit me.”
“What, in the arse?” Draco wanted to know, schooling his mouth not to smile.
“No, you imbecile. On the arm. And it wouldn’t let go.” His eyes darted briefly to Draco, then he frowned down at the jar in his hand and added, in a smaller voice. “Then it tossed me into a hedge.”
“In front of everyone?” Draco held his breath. He couldn’t believe Severus was telling him this and he wasn’t quite sure whether to be horrified or touched.
“In front of the Black girls,” Snape grumbled. “Your mother and her wretched sisters. That was quite bad enough.”
“Well,” Draco started, then paused, not knowing quite how to counter this admission. “That was a long time ago. I’m sure that horse is dead.”
“It was a big, white stallion and your father’s favorite,” Snape huffed. “I expect its progeny is still infesting the Malfoy stables.”
Draco mentally reviewed the number of white horses in his father’s stable. Perhaps he could transfigure them into some less objectionable color. He sighed heavily. His plan to tempt Severus away from his potions lab for tea - and by ‘tea’ he had meant a session of raw, pounding, animalistic sex, perhaps with sandwiches for afters - was not going well. Not well at all.
“I suppose you’ll be gone all night then?” asked Snape. His tone was bland, but Draco had lived with Severus long enough to hear the disapproval behind it. “For your ‘ceremonial dinner’?”
“Well, I shouldn’t think all night,” Draco allowed, lowering his eyes - demurely, he thought. “I’m sure there will be a few stirrup cups passed around, but it’s a bit of an older crowd,” he shrugged. “I doubt any of them are the ‘dusk to dawn’ sort of revelers.” He hazarded a brief glance at his lover, who had paused in stirring to consult his book once again. “You could come with me, you know.”
Draco laid the invitation out with casual delicacy, the way one picks up some curio in a host’s parlor, examines it, then sets it back down and moves on. He waited to see how Snape would react. Snape’s eyes flicked up briefly. Draco noted the flash of surprise that surfaced in those dark pools before it shot away like a shy fish and was replaced by a more familiar expression of scorn.
“I think not,” the older wizard snorted. “My evening is already planned, and I expect that sorting rotten flobberworms from fresh will prove more entertaining than rubbing elbows with the Rumpwhistles.”
“Whackfoggle,” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Whatever!” Snape growled, slamming his book closed and lowering at Draco. “Get out of here, Draco. It’s impossible to concentrate with you bleating at me about the cream of Wizarding society.”
“Bleating!” Draco looked offended. “I’m not a bloody sheep!”
“If you’re not out of my sight in less than 30 seconds, you might be,” Snape threatened. “Go on, out! Go drench yourself in eau de horse sweat or apply more manure to your very fine boots, or whatever it is you do to prepare for a ‘ceremonial dinner’ with the Hunt Club.”
Draco just stared at him. “You’re jealous!” he said.
“I am not jealous! Why on earth would I be jealous…”
“You are!” Draco cried. “You are, you are, you are!”
“I am not jealous, you ridiculous embryo!”
“And I’m not an embryo, you ridiculous old gaffer!" Draco’s face was flushed, and his eyes were just as angry as Snape’s now. “I’m a grown wizard who’s been making his own decisions for over five years now.”
“And if you want to live to make another one,” snarled Snape, “your next decision will be to leave. Now!”
“Fine!” Draco yelled, his patience entirely at an end. He snatched up his riding crop and marched to the door. “I am leaving. And you shouldn’t bother waiting up,” he added, yanking the door open. “The Portree-Genettons have a perfectly lovely young daughter who’s been begging for a moonlight tour of the gardens.”
“Out!” Snape bellowed, snatching up the jar of slugs, his features contorted in rage.
“I believe her name is Clarissa,” Draco sneered, ducking out the door and slamming it behind him just as the jar hit and shattered. “She’s blonde!” Draco screamed through the door. “Everyone says we’d have beautiful children!” He landed a solid kick against the door before turning and stomping off down the hall. Snape’s inarticulate roar of rage and the sound of shattering glass followed him all the way to the Floo.
~~
Draco Malfoy did not like feeling guilty. He was unaccustomed to it, for one thing. The first time he had experienced it, he thought it was indigestion brought on by an avocado souffle. He especially did not like it when combined with a rather heavy game dinner, a few glasses of unexceptional port and the mind-numbing conversation of the membership of the Whackfoggle Wizarding Hunt Club. Honestly, he didn’t know how his father endured it; though perhaps having one’s partner present mitigated the crushing boredom. Draco’s thoughts had strayed to his own partner throughout the evening. He would lose track of conversations, wondering if Severus was going to lock himself in his lab for the next three days in a fit of pique. Or he would forget to pass the stirrup cup to the next member, because he was gazing into the dark red wine, thinking of angry black eyes.
He did take Clarissa Portree-Genetton for an abbreviated garden stroll, more to spite Severus than anything else. The young witch was indeed blond and quite pretty but her vapid blue eyes and her delicate hand on his arm only made him compare the girl to his ill-favored, foul-tempered, sneering lover; and predictably Miss Portree-Genetton came up short in that evaluation.
There was nothing for it, Draco sighed to himself after the last guests had said their goodbyes. Severus might be a mean, scrawny, snarky, homely old bugger with uncomfortably sharp hipbones and a nose that threatened to take Draco’s eye out whenever they kissed, but he was the only one Draco wanted - the only one he had ever wanted, truth be told; even if Draco was relatively certain that Snape was going to hex his face inside-out when he finally got home.
As guilty as Draco might feel, he was not foolish, which was why he stepped through the Floo and into their bedroom with his wand out and went immediately into a defensive crouch.
“Severus?” he called, straightening up only after taking thorough stock of the surroundings. He’d decided to Floo into their bedroom as it was just possible that Severus might actually be asleep, and there was a lot of heavy furniture to duck behind if he wasn’t. Their bedchamber was empty, however, their bed still pristinely made with no bolster out of place. Draco sighed, ran a hand over his hair and went to go hunt down Severus.
“Circe’s tits,” he muttered when he poked his head in the potions lab. The floor was littered with broken glass, and there was a slug the size of a kneazle sitting in a puddle of congealing potion that had spilled from the overturned cauldron. The slug had turned a pale shade of lavender and was pulsing in a disturbing manner. Draco peered around to make sure Severus wasn’t in there somewhere, perhaps unconscious or sulking under a table, then pulled the door to with a small slug-induced shudder. He checked a few other rooms before he discovered Snape in the drawing room, slumped so deeply in an old, sheltering, high-backed armchair that Draco almost missed him at first glance. All that could be seen of him was one bony hand dangling over the padded arm of the leather chair; and if there hadn’t been two bottles of brandy - one empty, the other a bit more than half-full - on the floor beneath that hand, Draco might have missed him entirely.
“Severus?” he called out, staying by the doorway in case the older man’s apparent lassitude was a trick. When Snape didn’t immediately draw his wand and hex him, Draco ventured closer, stepping around for a better view of his lover.
Snape, Draco immediately deduced, was pissed. His face was flushed, his eyes were bruised-looking and slitted as if even the dim lamplight bothered them, and he had sunk so far into the chair that he was practically lying across the seat. His robes and coat had been discarded, and he sagged there with his collar undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up - a condition in which he never appeared outside of his laboratory or their bedroom - and his long legs splayed out before him.
“Severus?” Draco asked again, a bit uncertainly. The other wizard blinked, seemed to recognize there was actually someone standing before him, and turned a dull glare on the young wizard.
“So.” Snape let the single syllable hang heavy in the air. “You’ve come back.”
“Yes,” Draco said carefully, still unsure of the situation. Snape looked like it would take immense force of will and an Enervate spell to even move his limbs, but appearances could be deceiving; especially with Slytherins. Most especially with Severus. “I said I would.”
“You said a lot of things,” Snape sneered. “When are the nuptials, by the way?”
“The nuptials?” Draco repeated. “What are you talking about, Severus?”
“You and Miss Portly-Gentleman or Potty-Genitals, or whatever the silly bint’s name is,” he snorted, his hand twitching as if he’d tried to make a derisive gesture and failed.
It took every ounce of Malfoy dignity flowing in Draco’s veins to keep from immediately falling to the floor and shrieking with laughter. Potty-Genitals. Dear God.
“Portree-Genetton,” Draco corrected, more to confirm it in his own mind than anything else. As it was, he was fairly certain he would one day slip and address them as the Potty-Genitals, and he could only hope to stave it off until his parents were safely dead.
“Whoever!” Snape growled. “I assume the name will be correctly engraved on the invitation? You can be assured I will spell it properly on the congratulatory card.”
“What in Merlin’s name are you on about?” Draco asked, nonplussed.
“Your impending marriage to a social equal with a ridiculous name and the ability to bear you a litter of obnoxious tow-headed brats,:” Snape snarled.
“You didn’t honestly believe I was serious about that, did you?” Draco snorted.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” Snape huffed, then turned away with a sullen look. “No one would blame you, certainly,” he added. Then, in a much smaller voice, “I wouldn’t blame you.”
Draco stared at his lover with an odd look on his face. “What do you mean by that?” Snape shifted up a little and scowled at Draco sidelong through his hair.
“Don’t be daft,” he growled. “Obviously it is has finally penetrated your skull that you are young, rich, aristocratic and have a family name and fortune to carry on, whereas I have…” Here Snape gave a sort of an abortive shrug. “I am… none of those things.”
“Really,” Draco said sarcastically. He eyed the wand that was still in his hand, tucked it into a robe pocket and crossed his arms. “First of all, Severus, I have known since shortly after my birth that I am young, rich and aristocratic. Malfoys are nursed on that knowledge instead of breast milk. As for what you think of yourself, what does your age, wealth, birth, or ability to help me get heirs have to do with anything? More specifically - since I care about none of those things - what does it have to do with us?”
“We don’t belong together,” Snape spat. “Look at me, for Merlin’s sake! Look at you!” Snape eyed him, looking both irritated and glum. “You should be with someone… someone like you. Someone… attractive. Someone who would actually enjoy hosting your idiotic Muckfuggle…”
“Whackfoggle,” Draco sighed automatically, wondering why he even tried.
“Your stupid hunt club!”.
“Merlin’s balls, Severus,” Draco groaned, “even I don’t enjoy the wretched hunt club!”
“Oh?” Snape curled his lip and tipped his head back so that even though he was sunk in his chair and Draco was standing in front of him, he still managed to look down his nose at the younger man. “Then why the devil did you come flouncing into my workroom today if not to rub your upper-class riding togs in my face and then ask me to go and embarrass myself in front of those repulsive people?”
“I came flouncing into your workroom this afternoon,” Draco snapped, “because I looked spectacular in my riding gear and I wanted you to leave off your stupid potion and fuck me, you utter git!” Draco was only partially gratified by the perplexed look on his lover’s face. “And I asked you to come with me to the ruddy Hunt Club because it is packed with the most ridiculous people and I wanted someone to mock them with!”
Snape regarded Draco suspiciously. Draco pursed his lips.
“After all this time, is it so hard for you to believe that I like being around you, Severus? That I enjoy your company? That I want you to be with me?”
“Yes,” Severus blinked.
“My God, you’re infuriating,” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. He pulled off his scarlet robe and dropped it on the floor, then started undoing his cravat.
“What are you doing?” Snape narrowed his eyes at the young wizard.
“Convincing you that I want you more than I could ever want anyone else,” Draco answered, dropping his cufflinks on top of his robe.
“Including Miss Po….”
“Especially Miss Portree-Genetton,” Draco cut him off. “More than any other witch or any other wizard in all of creation, Severus.” He stepped forward until he stood right between Snape’s sprawled legs and glared down at his lover. “If you must know, I’m sorry for the things I said. I meant none of them. You just made me angry.” For some reason, this admission made Snape blush furiously. He flicked his eyes at Draco, then away.
“A common occurrence,” he muttered, almost guiltily, then scowled harshly up at Draco. “Yet another reason for you to choose the ancient Wizarding hunt tradition over me.”
“I would much rather have you,” Draco said with a wry smile, “than ever attend another hunt in my life.”
“Why on earth would you?” Severus muttered with a sullen look.
“Because, you great prat,” Draco said, crawling on top of Snape in his chair and straddling his lap. “I’d rather ride you.” Snape widened his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but Draco seized his face and kissed him before he could say anything. For a moment Snape was unresponsive, but when Draco thrust his tongue into his brandy-flavored mouth, he felt strong hands claim his hips, and the stern lips opened beneath his. Draco gave a brief moan and kissed him deeper while Snape grunted and rearranged himself, groaning deeply when he felt the older man force his hips down to press their groins together.
“Mmh,” Draco hummed, pulling away from the kiss to more firmly straddle Snape’s thighs and grind his crotch into his lover’s lap. “Speaking of riding, a good seat is very important, you know.” He twisted his hips down again for emphasis.
“So I’ve been told,” Snape said, his breath hitching as his large hands kneaded Draco’s arse. “I seem to recall Lucius put a great deal of stock in a firm, tight.. seat.”
“I’ll bet stock wasn’t all he put into it,” Draco purred, sliding his fingers into his lover’s lank hair and dipping down into another kiss.
“No.” Snape’s lips quirked in a small smile just before Draco claimed his mouth again. “It wasn’t.” The chuckle Draco breathed into their kiss turned into a moan as he felt Snape’s cock stirring under him.
“Mmh, now that,” Draco said, rubbing his own hard length against his lover’s swelling erection, “feels like something worth riding.”
“Yes,” Snape moaned, thrusting his hips up. One hand tightened on Draco’s arse, but the other now made short work of his shirt, unbuttoning it and shoving it off his slim shoulders. Snape’s dark eyes dilated at the sight of the ivory chest and pink nipples, and Draco hissed in delight as Snape, with a groan of pure need, struck like a snake, fastening onto one of the rosy buds.
“Oh god!” Draco grunted, arching back at the feel of Snape sucking and teasing at his nipple. It stiffened almost painfully, and his only relief was when Snape left it to attack the other one. Draco stared down in a haze of pleasure at the dark, sleek head bent to his chest. Snape’s hands roved possessively over Draco’s body, gripping a muscular thigh and cupping his erection through his breeches.
“Yes, touch me!” Draco groaned, thrusting into Snape’s palm. “Wanted you all day, damn it!”
“You might have had what you wanted,” Snape said, angling his fingers down to squeeze Draco’s balls as the heel of his hand pressed the shaft, “if you’d merely told me.”
“And if you’d paid attention,” Draco hissed, pushing against him, “you’d have noticed my cock trying to burst out of my very tight breeches, and no translation would have been needed.”
“Do shut up,” Snape growled, taking Draco’s mouth again and sucking down his tongue as he flicked open the buttons of Draco’s breeches and tugged down his pants. Draco’s prick sprang out of his flies, the moist head as pink as his nipples, and Snape gathered it in his stained fingers and began to stroke.
“Fuck yes,” Draco whimpered, humping into Snape’s fist. He tangled one hand in Snape’s fine and slippery hair, and shoved his breeches further down his thighs to free his bollocks. Draco heard his lover groan, felt him fumbling in his lap, and then the hot length of Snape’s cock was pressing against his, free of its cloth prison, flesh to sweaty flesh. Unable to resist, Draco reached between them and took hold of Snape’s stiff penis, sighing at just the feel of it.
He’d always been attracted to the dour, dark-haired wizard with his sharp eyes and sharper wit, and sharing close quarters with Snape when they’d been on the run had brought it to a fever pitch. He’d seen enough of the substantial bulge in Snape’s black wool trousers to know he wanted to get better acquainted with it and plotted accordingly. They were both men, after all, so what did it matter if he left the door open when he showered, or was careless in the way he wrapped his towel? And if he wanted to sprawl about half-clothed afterward, flushed pink from the hot water with his damp hair curling about his shoulders, what of it?
He pretended not to notice that Snape’s temper grew shorter and his tongue even sharper, and paid no mind at all to the tension that coiled in the air of the dingy Paris flat they had been stuck in. And if he could feel Snape’s black eyes moving over him like hands when he pretended to nap on the sofa in the afternoons, his shirt open or his trousers sliding precariously low on his hips, he saved his knowing smile until Snape had stomped off and slammed out of the flat, returning later with bread or chocolate and reeking of French cigarettes.
The day Snape stalked into the bedroom instead of out the door was the day Draco knew he’d won. When he heard the door click softly shut and the whispered locking spell, he opened his eyes with a smug grin, stretched, took his wand and padded silently to the bedroom door. Snape hadn’t used a silencing spell, and even as quiet as he was, Draco hardened just listening to the creak of the bed frame, the rough breaths, the caress of flesh on flesh. When he whispered “Alohamora” and the door swept silently inward, Snape was too far gone to notice: stretched full-length on the bed, trousers around his thighs, hips arching up, face contorted and teeth bared in a grimace of need as one hand fisted the covers and the other flogged his thick, glistening cock. Until that moment, Draco had thought he was entirely in control of the situation, but when he laid eyes on that huge, blood-darkened prick, steel-hard and straining in Snape’s flying fist, he lost it entirely. His further plans, the clever, sneering bon-mots poised at the back of his throat were overwhelmed by lust, and before he knew it, he had hurled himself onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Snape’s skinny hips and his mouth around that magnificent cock.
Snape had howled like a banshee, spitting and cursing as he bucked into the unexpected heat of Draco’s mouth, but the young wizard had held on, swallowing down the largest cock he had ever had in his mouth and burying his face into the thick, musky curls at Snape’s groin. The stream of invective issuing from Snape’s mouth became a wail as Draco sucked for all he was worth. Strong fingers gripped his head like a vice, forcing him down even further until he could barely breathe, and he felt the heavy bollocks under his chin tighten and draw up as Snape came with a strangled cry, shooting a flood of semen down his throat. It was the most erotic thing Draco had ever experienced, and his own cock sputtered in his pants without a touch, coming at just the feel of Snape’s prick pulsing in his throat.
After that came the screaming, the shouting, the angry recriminations, followed by Snape completely losing his composure, hurling Draco back down on the bed in a rage and fucking him within an inch of his life. Draco had come two more times before Snape had exploded inside his arse and collapsed on top of him in a dead faint. Snape, it so happened, had burst a blood vessel in his left eye, and Draco was unable to walk without whimpering piteously, so they remained in bed the rest of the day, sniping, arguing and periodically sucking each other off, after which there was really no point in returning to their former celibate arrangement. It still gave Draco a warm, happy feeling when he thought about it.
Now his hand was slipping over Snape’s gorgeous cock, pulling the foreskin down, squeezing the swelling head, smearing the little pulses of pre-come down his shaft. Snape was breathing in deep gasps now, hips shifting between Draco’s thighs, his grip tighter on Draco’s cock, his strokes harder.
“Merlin, I’ve got to have this!” Draco hissed, then he was pulling out of Snape’s hand, sliding off his lap.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Snape growled, seizing Draco’s hips and dragging him back.
“I have to get these off, damn it!” Draco huffed, trying to toe off a boot so he could remove his breeches. “I want you in me, and I want you now!”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Snape snorted. He spun Draco around so he faced away, jerked his breeches down to his knees, then spread his own legs and yanked Draco back onto his lap. “You said you wanted to ride this,” he grunted, wrestling his cock and balls completely out of his pants, “and that’s exactly what you’re going to do. In proper style.”
Draco moaned as Snape wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him tight as he shifted under him. He felt the hot, hard length of his lover’s prick slide between his arse cheeks and wriggled his hips, whimpering in anticipation.
“Stop that!” Snape landed a swat on one cheek and held on to it, moving until his erection slid between Draco’s legs and underneath his balls.
“Fuck!” Draco muttered, staring down at their twinned shafts, eyes fluttering at the feel of that hot, slick flesh pressing against his bollocks, sliding against the sensitive vein on the underside of his penis. “Oh fuck!” he whimpered again as Snape’s long-fingered hand closed around both their cocks, holding them together as he slowly thrust back and forth. His head fell back against Snape’s shoulder and he rubbed his face against the rough, stubbled jaw.
“Like that?” Snape purred, sweeping his thumb over both their cock heads, smearing their juices together.
“No, you stubborn git!” Draco lied. “You’re driving me crazy. I want you to fuck me! Hard! Now!”
“Patience,” Snape chuckled wickedly, nipping at Draco’s neck, then muttering a spell against his skin. Draco nearly wept as he felt warm lubricating oil envelop both their shafts and writhed as Snape began stroking it in.
“God damn it, Severus,” Draco hissed, squirming in an attempt to get Snape’s thick cock just where he wanted it. “Fuck me, you evil bastard!”
“All in good time,” Snape smirked, releasing Draco’s shaft to take his own and slide it into Draco’s cleft. The slick head grazed his hole but then moved on, making Draco squeal in frustration.
“Oh fuck, just do it, Severus, please!” he begged, as Snape grabbed his hips and positioned him. “I need you in me now! For Merlin’s sake, fuck me! Fuck me-ahh!” He howled as the head of Snape’s cock breached his hole, and before he could even catch his breath, Snape growled and yanked him down, impaling him on the full length of his shaft in one sharp thrust. “Oh God!” Draco panted, his unprepared arse stretched to its limits, quivering at the pleasure-pain of the throbbing cock possessing him. “Oh God oh God oh God, Severus! Fucking hell!”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Snape hissed in his ear, fingers still bruising Draco’s hips, holding him down. “My big cock stuffed in your greedy little arse?”
“Yes,” Draco whined. “God, yes!” He grabbed Snape’s thighs and leaned forward, trying to fuck himself on his lover’s cock.
“Trying to post to the trot?” Snape smirked, yanking Draco’s rump back down. “I don’t think so. This one,” he snorted, his breath harsh and heavy against Draco’s shoulder, “you’re just going to have to sit.” With that he pushed Draco forward a little as he drew back, then jerked him down hard as his hips slammed up.
“Yes!” Draco grabbed the arms of the leather chair and held on as Snape pulled and pushed and thrust until he’d found a rhythm and his cock was pistoning smoothly in and out of Draco’s arse. “Faster,” he begged his lover. “God, please, faster!”
Snape didn’t answer, gritting his teeth and pressing his head against Draco’s shoulder as he increased his speed. Sweat ran down the side of his face as he snapped his hips in shorter, faster strokes.
“Yes, fuck me, you bastard!” Draco moaned as the big cock pumped in and out of him, as Snape groaned and gasped into his shoulder. “God, yes, you brilliant fucking bastard, just like that, yes-fuck!-like that! Just. Like. That!”
Snape was plunging into him like mad, faster and harder than Draco thought he had ever been fucked, filling him, stretching him, scraping his swollen, aching prostate at every stroke until Draco thought he would go mad. Snape’s arms were wrapped tight around him, hugging him, holding him down, fixing him against the driving assault of that glorious cock. His ragged breath was coming in sobs.
“Fuck!” Draco shuddered as he felt his balls starting to tighten, felt something swirling in the bottom of his stomach. He made a clumsy grab for his cock, which was bobbing and bouncing against his stomach with every thrust, but Snape growled “Mine!” and slapped his hand away.
“Yes!” Draco shrieked as his leaking cock was gripped and enfolded and pumped at the same blinding speed of his lover’s thrusts. “Oh fucking yes-Yes!-Yes, like that, oh fuck, oh God, don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop, oh God oh Severus! I’m gonna…”
“Come!” Snape roared in his ear, and he came - dear Merlin, how he came! Draco’s entire body convulsed as his prick jerked and gushed, so hard he splattered his stomach, his chest, his chin. The second pulse of his climax flooded over Snape’s fist as he milked him, and his cock sputtered again and again until there was nothing left and he went limp in the tight cage of Snape’s arms.
“Now you,” Draco panted, his head falling back against Snape’s shoulder, his tongue snaking out to lap at his lover’s jaw. “I want to feel you come, Severus. Come inside me-oh God yes!” Snape didn’t answer, wound too tight to even speak, wound too tight to do anything but pump his hips wildly and pant and gasp, until Draco felt him stiffen, felt his hard length spasm and jerk as it slammed into him one last time, felt a huge shudder go through the older man as he cried out and came. It seemed to go on forever, Severus gasping as his cock pulsed and flooded Draco’s arse. Draco could feel Snape’s come leaking out of him and he reached down, light fingers stroking the base of the slowly softening cock that pierced him, gathering up drops of the seeping ejaculate and then bringing his fingers to his lips.
“Merlin, you taste good,” he sighed, licking his lips then turning his head to kiss his lover.
“Pervert,” Snape snorted. Draco just giggled. They slumped together for long moments as their breathing slowed. Snape still held Draco’s softening cock, and he slowly spread his hand over the sensitive flesh, pressing it against the younger man’s flat stomach and circling his fingers meditatively in the cooling puddle of semen.
“Aren’t you going to try some of mine?” Draco teased.
Snape made a face. “I’ll wait for a fresh batch, thank you.”
“Pervert,” Draco snickered.
“Do shut up.” Snape rolled his eyes and pushed Draco off. He fished around for his wand, found it stuck in the chair and cast cleansing spells on both of them.
“Well, that’s it then,” Draco sighed, doing up his breeches. “I’ll have to tell Father no more Whackfoggle Hunt Club for me.”
“Why not?” Snape wanted to know, eyeing Draco thoughtfully as he adjusted himself in his breeches and picked up his scarlet robe.
“Because you’re the only thing I’m going to ride from now on,” he grinned, casting a significant glance at Snape’s still open trousers.
“Hmph.” Snape followed his young lover’s gaze and tucked himself away, but remained collapsed in his chair. “Perhaps,” he ventured, “I was a bit too hasty in my disapproval.”
“Oh?”
“The outfit,” Snape gestured toward Draco, who was pulling his hunting robe back on, “is rather… fetching.”
“Finally noticed, did you?” Draco cocked an eyebrow at him.
“And you did spend a ridiculous sum on those boots,” he continued, frowning uncomfortably.
“They are rather nice, aren’t they,” Draco agreed, admiring them again. He looked speculatively at Snape. “You’d look awfully good in a pair yourself, you know.”
For once, Severus Snape didn’t go off on a tirade about vanity and spendthrift. He studied the boots, flicked his eyes up to find Draco smiling suggestively and thinned his lips.
“And if I did succumb to your whining,” Snape said archly, “I suppose you’d expect me to… ‘go riding’, as it were?”
“Only over a very specific course,” he grinned, stroking a hand over his crotch. He laughed as Snape rolled his eyes, then strode over to his chair, leaned down and kissed Snape deeply.
“Come along then,” he said, tugging the older man to his feet. “After a good, hard ride like that, a horseman’s first duty is to see to his mount.”
“Really.” Snape tilted his head and crossed his arms. “And just what is involved in ‘seeing to one’s mount’?”
“Oh,” Draco waved his hand, “grooming, currying, a nice rub down. Maybe a sugar cube, if you’re especially good."
Snape gave Draco a look, then smirked. “Well. However could I say nay to that?” He gave a delicate snort, then ambled by Draco and headed up stairs to bed.
“Just for that,” Draco called after him, “no sugar!” Shaking his head, he followed Snape upstairs.
~Fin~