Fic: 'Charity', Severus Snape/Albus Dumbledore, NC-17
Title: Charity
Author: purplefluffycat
Pairings: Severus Snape/Albus Dumbledore
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s dynamics
Word Count: ~1150
Summary/Description: The storm; the wind, it was, which made Severus remember that dreadful night...
Author's Notes: This story was written in response to daily_deviant's theme, 'Ceraunophilia' (arousal by thunder and lightning/storms). The small section quoted from 'Deathly Hallows' appears indented and in italics. It's pretty obvious ;-)
The wind was unsettled, that day. It coughed forth in unpredictable gusts, ruffling the branches by the lake in random twist, and spluttering along guttering like the efflux of some consumptive weather god. Rain in patchy squall soon joined the party; the clouds gathered their brows and saw fit to soak any creature with the poor luck to be outdoors, inconsistent splashes brought sideways and upward, defeating trees and umbrellas alike, with a humourless sneer.
It was weather like this that affected Severus, so - deep in his bones; his loins; his memory. He could stand outside - hell, even just gaze out of the window - and be transported back to that dreadful night... feeling his chest constrict and his tongue climb into the back of his throat with the desperation of it, and the sickening bile of guilt.
"If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"
"I have - I have asked him-"
"You disgust me. -You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"
"...Hide them all, then. Keep her - them - safe. Please."
"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"
"In - in return? ... ...Anything."
But, they had failed.
That was a decade ago, now, but the wound felt as fresh as any. His hands shook and his mouth was dessicated. The pulling, fractious wind seemed to unravel his wits and make strange things seem possible; perspective was as buried as Spring beneath the carpet of mulchy, fallen leaves, and his purpose flailed and whined in unwilling dance, like the weathervane of the Astronomy tower.
It was then that Severus sought the Headmaster.
Anything.
Anything, he had pledged, and at times like these he wanted nothing more than to give all he could - every thing and service and honour and sad little piece of his soul - on the prayer that maybe, one day, he could give away the guilt as well, and could hear the storm without being excruciated by it.
Not this night, though. It was late and the castle was silent of human noise; the buffet of wind and wet was all the more clear, in counterpoint to Severus' regimented footsteps. No invitation was needed, and he knew all the passwords. Severus glided in upward spiral, eyes unfocused, two-hundred miles and ten years away.
"Ah, Severus, I thought I might see you tonight." That was Albus' greeting as he opened the doors to his quarters - then he seized Severus by the shoulders to kiss him, hot and rough. It was almost like charity.
Severus moaned at the contact and felt a little shock of relief. Yes, this is why I have come. Then, he knelt down before Albus, desperate now to give and to serve.
"You're keen tonight, young man," Albus said, his tone light but the understanding heavy. Severus clutched at his robes, and Albus almost chuckled. "What can I do for you, eh?" Severus did not answer, but felt something like a whine escape his throat, and Headmaster's fingers caress his hair. Albus was clearly taking pains to be gentle, but Severus twitched and twisted, wanting to feel the pull. No, he wouldn't be that kind; not yet.
A few moments later, Albus spelled the door shut, and then closed his eyes, a familiar hum rising in his chest. From his prone position on the floor, Severus took that as his cue; he burrowed his hands beneath the fabric and stroked upwards along Albus' strong legs, to where the Headmaster was already half-hard. Albus hissed as Severus ran his hands over his erection, Potions fingers firm and deft and too-practiced at this not to be good.
"Oh, dear boy..." Albus exhaled softly, then Severus unbuttoned his trousers, taking Albus into his mouth.
When they were like that, it was almost hypnotic. Severus closed his eyes and sucked and worked his tongue perfectly - and, as the old man's cock hit his throat he felt better... better... sorry... so, so sorry... and something in his chest that was about to snap loosened, just a little.
Severus redoubled his efforts, moving his head, and swallowing deep. He seized Albus from behind, wanting him to move, and Albus - terribly polite at first - couldn't help but rock his hips into that sinful, slick heat, sighs and moans escaping him - and Severus collected them up in his memory like little pieces of absolution.
The hands that had stroked his hair now tangled deep, twisted and snagged - and Severus reveled in that, somehow fancying that they could pull away the guilt from his heart and the madness from his brain, if only they would tug hard enough. He swayed and bucked and sucked, wanting to feel it all... and now Albus was losing control, too, his rocking turning into thrusts, his balls going tight near Severus' chin, and those hands stilling tight, welcome pain shooting through Severus' scalp beneath the clumps.
Soon, with an almighty moan, Albus came. He grabbed the back of Severus' head and pushed right into his mouth, as if he owned it. Of course, he pretty much did.
-And Severus exalted in being taken, so - his all, his anything - swallowing every drop, like medicine.
It helped, at least a little. When they parted, the frenzy had gone, and he could hear the wind that whipped the windows without fearing that his very senses would be carried off with it. He swallowed again, relishing the dark saltiness on his tongue, and found that he could move again, breathe again, carry on again, if only for a while.
His own clothes now righted, Albus helped Severus to his feet, and put a hand upon his shoulder. "And may I repay the favour, dear boy?"
Severus realised that he was hard and his pants were wet, but he shook his head, eyes averted, gesture spiky. There could be no absolution gained from his own pleasure, after all; he would wear the untouched need in his blood like a cross. If he suffered, might he become noble?
Albus sighed. "Very well. Perhaps a cup of tea, then?"
"No," Severus responded, instinctively. Then, as an afterthought: "thank you."
Albus gave his sad smile and nodded, and then moved to one side, offering a clear path to the door. Severus remembered to nod respectfully before he bolted - down the spiral staircase, feet pounding the flagstones into the dungeons; the regular thud was comforting, like the dull thump of ignored arousal. Anything not to hear the storm.
Anything.
Author: purplefluffycat
Pairings: Severus Snape/Albus Dumbledore
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s dynamics
Word Count: ~1150
Summary/Description: The storm; the wind, it was, which made Severus remember that dreadful night...
Author's Notes: This story was written in response to daily_deviant's theme, 'Ceraunophilia' (arousal by thunder and lightning/storms). The small section quoted from 'Deathly Hallows' appears indented and in italics. It's pretty obvious ;-)
The wind was unsettled, that day. It coughed forth in unpredictable gusts, ruffling the branches by the lake in random twist, and spluttering along guttering like the efflux of some consumptive weather god. Rain in patchy squall soon joined the party; the clouds gathered their brows and saw fit to soak any creature with the poor luck to be outdoors, inconsistent splashes brought sideways and upward, defeating trees and umbrellas alike, with a humourless sneer.
It was weather like this that affected Severus, so - deep in his bones; his loins; his memory. He could stand outside - hell, even just gaze out of the window - and be transported back to that dreadful night... feeling his chest constrict and his tongue climb into the back of his throat with the desperation of it, and the sickening bile of guilt.
"If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"
"I have - I have asked him-"
"You disgust me. -You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"
"...Hide them all, then. Keep her - them - safe. Please."
"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"
"In - in return? ... ...Anything."
But, they had failed.
That was a decade ago, now, but the wound felt as fresh as any. His hands shook and his mouth was dessicated. The pulling, fractious wind seemed to unravel his wits and make strange things seem possible; perspective was as buried as Spring beneath the carpet of mulchy, fallen leaves, and his purpose flailed and whined in unwilling dance, like the weathervane of the Astronomy tower.
It was then that Severus sought the Headmaster.
Anything.
Anything, he had pledged, and at times like these he wanted nothing more than to give all he could - every thing and service and honour and sad little piece of his soul - on the prayer that maybe, one day, he could give away the guilt as well, and could hear the storm without being excruciated by it.
Not this night, though. It was late and the castle was silent of human noise; the buffet of wind and wet was all the more clear, in counterpoint to Severus' regimented footsteps. No invitation was needed, and he knew all the passwords. Severus glided in upward spiral, eyes unfocused, two-hundred miles and ten years away.
"Ah, Severus, I thought I might see you tonight." That was Albus' greeting as he opened the doors to his quarters - then he seized Severus by the shoulders to kiss him, hot and rough. It was almost like charity.
Severus moaned at the contact and felt a little shock of relief. Yes, this is why I have come. Then, he knelt down before Albus, desperate now to give and to serve.
"You're keen tonight, young man," Albus said, his tone light but the understanding heavy. Severus clutched at his robes, and Albus almost chuckled. "What can I do for you, eh?" Severus did not answer, but felt something like a whine escape his throat, and Headmaster's fingers caress his hair. Albus was clearly taking pains to be gentle, but Severus twitched and twisted, wanting to feel the pull. No, he wouldn't be that kind; not yet.
A few moments later, Albus spelled the door shut, and then closed his eyes, a familiar hum rising in his chest. From his prone position on the floor, Severus took that as his cue; he burrowed his hands beneath the fabric and stroked upwards along Albus' strong legs, to where the Headmaster was already half-hard. Albus hissed as Severus ran his hands over his erection, Potions fingers firm and deft and too-practiced at this not to be good.
"Oh, dear boy..." Albus exhaled softly, then Severus unbuttoned his trousers, taking Albus into his mouth.
When they were like that, it was almost hypnotic. Severus closed his eyes and sucked and worked his tongue perfectly - and, as the old man's cock hit his throat he felt better... better... sorry... so, so sorry... and something in his chest that was about to snap loosened, just a little.
Severus redoubled his efforts, moving his head, and swallowing deep. He seized Albus from behind, wanting him to move, and Albus - terribly polite at first - couldn't help but rock his hips into that sinful, slick heat, sighs and moans escaping him - and Severus collected them up in his memory like little pieces of absolution.
The hands that had stroked his hair now tangled deep, twisted and snagged - and Severus reveled in that, somehow fancying that they could pull away the guilt from his heart and the madness from his brain, if only they would tug hard enough. He swayed and bucked and sucked, wanting to feel it all... and now Albus was losing control, too, his rocking turning into thrusts, his balls going tight near Severus' chin, and those hands stilling tight, welcome pain shooting through Severus' scalp beneath the clumps.
Soon, with an almighty moan, Albus came. He grabbed the back of Severus' head and pushed right into his mouth, as if he owned it. Of course, he pretty much did.
-And Severus exalted in being taken, so - his all, his anything - swallowing every drop, like medicine.
It helped, at least a little. When they parted, the frenzy had gone, and he could hear the wind that whipped the windows without fearing that his very senses would be carried off with it. He swallowed again, relishing the dark saltiness on his tongue, and found that he could move again, breathe again, carry on again, if only for a while.
His own clothes now righted, Albus helped Severus to his feet, and put a hand upon his shoulder. "And may I repay the favour, dear boy?"
Severus realised that he was hard and his pants were wet, but he shook his head, eyes averted, gesture spiky. There could be no absolution gained from his own pleasure, after all; he would wear the untouched need in his blood like a cross. If he suffered, might he become noble?
Albus sighed. "Very well. Perhaps a cup of tea, then?"
"No," Severus responded, instinctively. Then, as an afterthought: "thank you."
Albus gave his sad smile and nodded, and then moved to one side, offering a clear path to the door. Severus remembered to nod respectfully before he bolted - down the spiral staircase, feet pounding the flagstones into the dungeons; the regular thud was comforting, like the dull thump of ignored arousal. Anything not to hear the storm.
Anything.