HAPPY BIRTHDAY, flimsy!
So today's flimsy's birthday and mpuppet and I have been working on a fic/art collaboration the past few days to celebrate one of our favourite people in fandom. (Ducky! Ducky! *glomps*) She's a brilliant artist and a fellow Snaco, ah, devotee. *grin* (Please to note that the artwork in the icon this is posted under is a sample of Ducky's fabulous art.) She's made our fandom experiences phenomenal.
Happy birthday, flimsy! *smooches* We adore you!
Water Shadows
artwork by Puppet, fic by Femme
Pairing: Snape/Draco (well, really, what else were we two going to give her? *grin*)
Rating: NC-17 (fic), soft Rish maybe (artwork)
Summary: Draco wants a bath. Badly.
WARNING: HBP SPOILERS
Notes: This fic was based on this discussion between flimsy and mpuppet months ago that femmequixotic stumbled upon concerning the necessity of Snape/Draco/cauldron OT3 smut. :D And mpuppet's art is just phenomenal. *adores* There are three pieces embedded in the text...make certain you don't miss any of them. They're exquisite.
Water Shadows
Ten days away from civilisation and Draco had had enough.
Really.
More than enough.
He stood at the grimy-damp window watching the rain drizzle down. Everything here was faded grey. The sky. The rain. The stark, bare tree branches. The grass, or what passed for patchy ground cover over this horrid mountainside. The rough-hewn stone walls of this ridiculously small cabin-prison.
He loathed the Highlands.
"Not even a proper bath," he muttered, pressing his forehead to the chilled windowpane. His hair swung limply against his face, matted and darkened with grease. He shuddered. Cleansing charms only went so far.
"I want to bathe," he said, straightening. "None of this sponging off with rainwater. A real bath in a marble tub with steaming water and soap and bubble foam. Lots and lots of foam." He looked back over his shoulder at Snape. "Surely his Lordship can arrange-"
"And why might you expect him to do so?" Snape didn't even bother to look up from his reading, a fact that annoyed Draco intensely.
He did hate being ignored. And he particularly despised being ignored by Snape. Unless it was more convenient to his plans to be ignored, of course. But at the moment, in his current state of bored despair, that was the last thing he wanted.
Draco flung himself in the chair across from Snape with a petulant glare. "He might have thought about it before he sent us to this godforsaken hellhole." He draped a leg over the arm of the chair and slouched down into the dusty cushions, scowling at the cover of Vaughan's Aula Lucis.
Snape shrugged, dark eyes scanning the pages in front of him, his thin fingers caressing the spine of the book. "Given that we were forced to make a quick exit from Hogwarts to save our miserable hides, I should think you've no cause to complain. You still draw breath, after all."
Draco sighed and kicked his heel against the side of the chair. "Just because you don't happen to see the value in clean hair doesn't mean that I should suffer." He scowled at Snape. "You reek, you realise."
"As do you." Snape turned a page calmly. "This is war, Draco. One makes sacrifices."
"Not in regard to personal hygiene!" Draco tugged at a lock of greasy hair. "Look at this! It's almost brown!"
Snape looked up, eyebrow raised. He blinked slowly; his gaze slid over Draco's hair to the tips of his fingers. His lips thinned. "Hardly." He turned his attention back to his book.
Draco dug his bare feet into the threadbare upholstery--his toe poked through a wide hole in the brocade--and he scowled. "I hate this place."
Snape grunted and turned another page.
Draco stared out the window, glumly watching the misting rain as he tugged at his filthy hair. His bottom lip bowed out in a sullen pout; he wrapped his arms around his thin chest, trying not to breathe in the stench of sweat and unwashed cotton.
He'd have a bath. No matter how Snape mocked him.
He would.
********************
The candles had just burst into flame when Draco wandered into the kitchen, with a yawn and a stretch, his bare feet padding lightly over the rough plank floors, his once-white shirt pulled loose from his grey school trousers. Rain still dripped against the window and the dusk outside was far too grey and damp and cold for a late June evening.
Snape set aside the cauldron he was scouring and glared at Draco. "Enjoy your lie-abed?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact." Draco stifled another yawn and stirred the cauldron bubbling over the hearth. Grey-brown lumps dripped off the ladle; he curled his lip in disgust. "Again?"
Snape slammed two earthenware bowls on the table. "If you do not wish to eat, then I have no intention of forcing you to do so."
Draco picked a bowl up and ladled the unappetising stew into it. "I didn't say I wouldn't eat it." He dropped into a chair at the battered table; the rickety seat wobbled dangerously beneath him and Draco caught himself just before it tipped him over with an annoyed squawk. He kicked the chair rung in irritation and poked at a chunk of mealy potato. "I don't see why we can't ask Mother for Muzzy." He licked the gravy from his fingertip.
With a snort, Snape turned away, a flush suffusing his pale cheeks. He poured two mugs of weak tea--Draco sighed and scowled; the tin in the larder, already low when they had arrived, must be nearly empty by now--and carried them to the table. "You are a damned overspoilt little fool."
"See, even you can't think of an appropriate reason for us not to have her." Draco picked up a spoon and took a bite of the stew, gingerly. He made a face and reached for his tea. "I hate rabbit. Although perhaps it might be more edible with a bottle of burgundy, rather than having to swallow this cack."
"So very sorry not to provide a rack of lamb," Snape snapped, sitting across the table, his own bowl cupped between his hands. "I do hate to disappoint you, Draco, but when fleeing from Aurors one usually does not consider luxuries such as house elves and fine wine."
"We could at least go into the village for food." Draco stared mournfully into his mug. "And tea. Just a decent cup of actual tea would be lovely. Tea and a bath."
"Do not be an idiot," Snape stared at his own bowl in distaste, slowly stirring the stew widdershins. "We are in hiding, Draco."
Draco pushed his bowl away and, etiquette be damned, drooped over the tabletop, head on his arms, finger tracing a long scratch in the scarred walnut. "I want to go home," he muttered.
"Perhaps you might have thought of that before you attempted to murder the Headmaster?"
Draco glared at him. "I'd have done it if you hadn't--
The fireplace burst into green flames, cutting him off. Nott's head appeared in the hearth. "Severus."
"A moment." Snape stood up and looked down at Draco. "Your room. Now."
Draco's jaw dropped. "What? The first communication we've had in days with the outside world and you're sending me to my room, as if I were still in leading strings? No."
Snape's mouth thinned; he reached for his wand. "That was not a suggestion, Mr Malfoy."
Draco heard Nott chuckle and had the overwhelming desire to kick ash in the bastard's eye. "You can't be serious. I won't--"
A flick of Snape's wand and Draco found himself upside down in midair, sputtering. "You will," Snape said, jaw tight, and with another precise wand twist sent Draco floating up the narrow staircase, making no attempt to keep him from banging against the walls.
Draco collapsed in a heap in the hallway, his head thudding against the worn wooden top step.
"Bedroom, now," Snape said calmly from the bottom of the staircase as Draco struggled to his feet.
"Bastard."
Snape raised an eyebrow and shrugged, turning back to the hearth while Draco stumbled down the hall. "What news of the Order?" he asked, squatting next to Nott's floating head.
"They're in an uproar," Nott said. "First Dumbledore--and many congratulations up on that feat, Severus--and now Potter's run off on them--"
Draco slammed his bedroom door behind him, kicking it hard with his bare foot and twisting his toe painfully in the process. He sank onto the floor, blinking hard as he pulled his knees up to his chest. He hated them all. And he wanted to go home. He wanted to see his mother. And to sleep in his own bed. His hair tumbled into his face, thick and greasy against his cheek; he pushed it back with a shudder. It stank. He rubbed his arm over his eyes. He stank.
And he wanted a bath, damn it.
********************************************
Draco was lying on his back on the dusty floor at the foot of the bed, scraping mud idly off a shoe and staring up at the ceiling when Snape opened the door half an hour later.
He turned his head, looking at Snape's bare feet, pale, toes long and knobbly, ankle sharp and angular. "What do you want?" he asked, studying the arch of Snape's instep. He resisted the sudden urge to trail his fingertip along it. Or his tongue--he blinked and rubbed his palm over his eyes, stopping that ridiculous thought before it fully developed.
"His Lordship requires my presence this evening."
Draco sat up, cracking his skull sharply on the edge of the footboard. "Shit." He grabbed his head, wincing. "You're allowed to leave?"
"Temporarily." Snape scowled down at him, arms crossed over his chest. "It appears I am needed to repair a potion your aunt bollocksed up."
Draco clambered to his feet, palm pressed to his forehead, shoe still clutched in his other hand. "Well, you can't stop me from coming along--"
"I can and I will."
Draco stared at him. "But--"
"It's not safe for you, Draco," Snape said with a tired sigh. "Your failure still rankles our Lord--"
Draco threw the shoe across the bedroom. It bounced off the wardrobe. "And you'll be taking advantage of that, I'm certain--"
Snape shoved Draco backwards onto the bed, roughly, his mouth twisted in quick fury. He leaned over him, his long hair brushing Draco's cheeks. He bared his teeth. "Do shut up, you damned little whelp, if you've not the sense to realise when someone gives a bloody damn whether or not you're placed under Cruciatus."
Draco blinked and his breath caught and his mouth opened slightly and he licked his bottom lip, watching Snape's eyes follow the wet curl of his tongue over his dry mouth--
And he knew.
He knew why Snape had done it. All of it.
Draco exhaled slowly; his eyes caught by that black gaze--the heat in its depths--the anger and the--
He touched Snape's cheek then, fingertips light against his pallid skin, tracing the angular jut of his jaw. Snape inhaled sharply and his breath was a warm gust over Draco's mouth and Draco felt him shiver, his own stomach contorting in an abrupt rush of--something as his feet dug into the edge of the mattress.
"Professor," he whispered, arching up, one hip pressing against Snape's, his trousers unexpectedly too tight and he was blushing, but he licked his lip again and smiled faintly as Snape's breath held and those dark eyes grew even darker and one long fingertip traced the curve of his mouth, caressed the tiny bow in his upper lip.
And just when he was certain that thin mouth was going to move closer, just when he raised up, oddly eager to feel those lips on his, Snape took a stumbling step backwards, his face flushed, his eyes averted. "The Dark Lord," he murmured. "I'm required--" He looked blankly at Draco. "Stay here."
The door closed softly behind him and Draco fell back against the bed, shaking and frustrated as he rubbed his palm over his hip, fingers twisting in the thin wool of his trousers.
"Professor," he whispered again.
Draco knocked his head backwards against his pillow with a groan and pressed his narrow hips upwards, cock hard against his hand and he was back in his dormitory, late at night, cock sliding through his fist as the fantasies sifted through his mind-Potter and Krum and Zabini and yes, even sometimes--
"Severus."
He pulled quickly at the buttons on his trousers, needing to touch himself, wanting the feel of skin on skin--he licked his palm, sliding it over the reddened head of his cock and he could almost pretend it was his hand, long, thin fingers curling around his shaft and stroking down him, slowly, teasingly, before pulling back up, fingertips twisting over his head and back down, harder this time, and Draco arched up into the touch, toes twisting in the thin blanket beneath him, hand splayed against the headboard, and that mouth was against his and that tongue and Draco had never been kissed or touched like this--and his hips were jerking and he screwed his eyes shut and he bit his palm to keep from shouting and his hand was sticky and his breath was coming in sharp pants, slowing until, shaking, he rolled on his side, wiping his hand and his cock on the blanket, and slept.
*************************************
The bedroom was pitch-dark when Draco woke.
He slid off the bed, buttoning his trousers, his cheeks warming as he remembered what he'd thought of while tossing off and he sincerely hoped that Snape had left before he'd--yes, well. Draco could feel all the way to his bones the blush that flooded his pale skin. He pushed his hair back behind his ears and opened his bedroom door.
"Professor?"
No answer.
He padded down the stairs, rubbing his hand on the side of his trousers. Stupid of him to forget the cleansing charm. He loathed the crust of sweat and come that settled between his fingers after wanking.
The kitchen was empty, although the candles still burned in the scones along the wall and the windows were still streaked with rain and the fire was a dull orange-red burn of embers and ash.
Draco cleared the bowls and mugs from the table where Snape had left them, scraping them clean and banishing the remnants of stew to Merlin only knew where--and he didn't care where the shite ended up as long as he didn't have to taste it again. He dumped the dishes into an empty cauldron hanging over the hearth, tapping his wand against it to fill it with warm water.
He stared down into the cauldron and blinked. If the dishes could be cleaned in it---
Draco turned his head, looking at the larger cauldron sitting on the end of the table. He ran his hand over the wide mouth, considering. Snape would kill him, of course. It'd be a desecration of a cauldron in his eyes. But if he could just make it larger--he frowned. An engorgement charm would weaken the walls, he was certain and transfiguration was not his strongest suit.
But still.
He hesitated for a moment, then pulled the cauldron from the table and set it on the floor near the hearth. He circled it slowly, scraped the tip of his wand over the curled iron lip. White-silver sparks drifted into the black interior.
And then he stopped and, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly, his wand still resting lightly on the cauldron, he imagined the iron stretching, widening, opening for him.
There was a groan and the shriek of metal on metal and a tiny trickle of sweat slid down Draco's temple and into his collar, but he kept his eyes closed and focused, focused, focused, damn it, until there was sharp crack and a clang and the backwash of magic slammed into Draco violently, shoving him backwards across the kitchen in a rush of sparks and smoke.
He sat up, coughing, each wrack of his thin chest sending pain shooting through his rib cage. He blinked and pushed his lank hair back off his forehead with a delighted laugh.
The cauldron squatted wide and black in front of the hearth. Draco grabbed the lip and pulled himself up, peering into its depths; the rim brushed his hipbones.
"Aguamenti!"
A swish of his wand and the cauldron filled with clear water. Draco grinned. He should have thought of this days ago. He set a heating charm on the water and pulled his clothes off quickly, leaving them on the floor in a rumpled pile of cotton and wool.
He slid into the warm water in delight, his muscles relaxing as the heat sank into his skin. He floated for a moment before his hips settled against a curve of warm, rough iron.
Brilliant.
A touch of his wand to the water and three weedy strings of foam shot across the surface. Draco made a face and tried again. A few more strands joined the first, even more pathetic. He sighed and shrugged. Better than nothing, he supposed. He dropped his wand next to the cauldron and dipped his head back into the water, rubbing the weak soap into his scalp.
Draco slid back up, water streaming over his eyes and cheeks and mouth. This was bliss. He shook his hair, sending droplets of bathwater sizzling over the embers in the fireplace.
And then there was a sudden swirl of wind through the kitchen and the sharp crack of a Portkey and Draco was on his feet in the cauldron, water dripping from his outstretched arm, summoning his wand.
Snape blinked at him and set a satchel on the kitchen table. "Mr Malfoy," he said calmly, "do put that damned thing down."
Draco lowered his wand. "I didn't expect you back yet."
"Obviously." Snape's gaze drifted down Draco's thin body. He looked away, hair falling into his face, obscuring his eyes. "What exactly do you think you're doing with my cauldron--or should I ask?"
Draco felt his cheeks burn. "I'm bathing. I thought--" He bit his lip and crossed his arms over his damp chest, shivering in the sudden chill. The water eddied around his hips. "I knew you'd object." He watched Snape open the satchel, pulling out tins and flasks and bottles. "What's that?"
"Objection would be an understatement, Mr Malfoy, and this would be food which I managed to convince His Lordship was necessary to take from Nott's personal larder in order to keep me from slaughtering you myself." Snape snorted and jerked from the satchel what appeared to be a side of beef wrapped in butcher's paper and twine. Two bottles of wine followed. "As for your current foolish use of my cauldron in what I can only call a extraordinarily inappropriate manner, I highly doubt the charms with which I imbued the bloody thing will withstand magical expansion and a naked arse."
He darted a sideways look at Draco, a silent, bottomless glance that slid from head to hip, warming Draco's skin, then turned his back. "Do extract your damned idiotic hide from my cauldron and get dressed."
Draco hesitated, chewing his lip. He could still feel Snape's breath against his skin and he wanted more. And he'd had more than enough breathless rendezvous on top of the Astronomy Tower to know when he was wanted in return. He leaned against the side of the cauldron and smiled. "I think not."
Snape whacked a tin of Earl Grey onto the table. Draco winced as the lid tumbled off, sending the fragrant loose tea leaves scattering across the tabletop. Snape swore and with a tight curve of his wand, sent the tea swirling back into the tin. He glared at Draco. "Get out. Now."
Draco shrugged and slid out of the cauldron, one long leg at a time. He was half-hard already, his breath unsteady at the thought of those dark eyes sweeping over his naked body. "I don't think I'll dress," he said, voice rough, as he stooped to gather his trouser and shirt and braies. He dumped them into the cauldron. "I've no intention of putting on filthy clothes."
He turned to find Snape staring at him, face impassive. A flash of lightning lit up the room, deepening the shadows around Snape's eyes.
Draco smiled--a measured, almost, just-possibly flirtatious twist of his lips. "Surely you've seen a naked man, Professor."
"Boy," Snape said, in an oddly tight voice; his eyes slid down to Draco's cock, pink-red and firm and pressing against his pale thigh, dark-gold wisps of hair curling around the base. He strode to the cauldron and jerked Draco's shirt from the water. He slapped it against Draco's chest. "Put it on."
Draco dropped it back into the cauldron. "No."
They stood there, facing one another, the only sound in the room the harsh intake of their breath.
Snape looked away first. "You're mad."
"Perhaps." Draco trailed fingertips over Snape's arm. "You killed him to protect me."
There was a long silence.
"Perhaps," Snape said at last.
A faint roll of thunder echoed in the distance; small drops of rain began to pelt the small window.
"It's raining again," Draco said quietly. He curled his fingers around the rim of the cauldron.
Snape stepped closer. "Yes." He ran a knuckle over Draco's bottom lip. "You should dress."
"I should." Draco bit Snape's finger, drawing it into his mouth. His tongue curled around Snape's fingertip; his teeth scraped over the potion-stained skin as he pulled away with a smile. "I don't think you want me to, though."
Snape exhaled, a quick, shaky breath. "No."
Draco ran his hands over Snape's chest. "I don't think I want you dressed either."
"You don't know what you're asking," Snape said, catching Draco's wrists. "You're a boy--"
"Seventeen." Draco pulled his hands away and began to unbutton Snape's shirt. "Not a boy." He traced the curve of Snape's throat, ran his thumb over the ridge of Snape's collarbone. "You're a bastard, you know. But I feel safe with you." He looked up at Snape and blinked, a slow, catlike dip of eyelashes against cheek as he slid his hands over Snape's shoulders. "I always have."
Snape flattened his hand on Draco's chest and slid it up slowly, his palm smoothing over soft silver-gold hair and pale skin. "Foolish of you."
"Perhaps." Draco breathed out as Snape's fingers slipped over his throat, as they curled around his cheek, and he rubbed his face into that calloused palm.
And then Snape's lips were on his and Draco opened his mouth and in a clash of teeth and quick grunts, Snape was there, with warm and heavy strokes against Draco's tongue and his teeth, and his hands were tangled in Draco's damp hair, pulling him closer until their breaths were harsh and twined together, each gasp and sigh swallowed and breathed in by other.
Draco had never been kissed like this.
Snape's hands moved to Draco's waist and he pushed him against the cauldron, pressing Draco's arse into the rolled iron lip as his mouth moved down Draco's throat, teeth pulling sharp against Draco's skin. Draco's hips jerked up; his cock caught in the pleats of Snape's trousers, and he moaned and dug his fingernails into Snape's shoulders.
"Tell me," Draco gasped and slid his fingers slid through Snape's greasy hair. He tugged Snape's head up and kissed him, hard. "Tell me why you did it." His mouth slid open and wet over the sharp angle of Snape's jaw; he jerked Snape's shirt free from his trousers, pulling at the buttons. "Tell me why you killed him."
Snape shrugged out of the shirt, moving back in to pull Draco against him, and his skin was warm and soft and his nipples slid hard over Draco's and the dark hair on his chest was soft and scratchy and Draco pressed into him, his cock aching.
"I promised," Snape said against Draco's throat. "I made a vow--an unbreakable one--to your mother--"
Draco stilled. A vow. To your mother. A cold ire settled in his belly, twisting bitterly. Of course. A child to be protected. Not--
He jerked away then, and slid under Snape's arm. "You murdered the Headmaster--" Snape flinched. "--because you promised my mother." Draco grabbed one of the bottles of wine and, stabbing his wand into the cork angrily, opened it. "You never thought I'd be able to do it, did you?" He lifted the bottle to his lips and glared at Snape. "Fucking bastard."
Snape pulled the wine away from Draco and set it down on the table with a sharp thump. "Use a damned glass," he snapped. "And perhaps you might wish to consider why I might have made such a vow, you ignorant little sod."
"Because you think I'm a bloody useless child--"
Snape dug his fingers into Draco's wrist. "Did I just kiss you as if you were a damned child?"
Draco stared at him silently, fury and something else indescribable shifting through him.
Snape reached for his shirt. "Fool."
"Why, then?" Draco caught Snape's arm.
Snape curled his lip and pulled away. "I have no intention of discussing this with you."
Draco pushed Snape against the cauldron. "Answer my question. Sir."
With a snarl, Snape grabbed Draco's hips and jerked him close. "Why do you think, Mr Malfoy?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. He trailed his fingers through Draco's crease.
Draco moaned. "Why?" He pressed into Snape's touch; his fingernails scraped over Snape's nipple. "Tell me," he said, breathless.
"Because, Draco," Snape's breath ghosted over Draco's ear; Draco's cock jerked in response. "I had no intention of allowing our Lord to touch you. In any manner." Snape rubbed his thumb over the soft puckers of Draco's hole. "I, on the other hand, have no such noble aspirations for myself."
"Don't," Draco protested as Snape slid away, his breath ragged. Snape smirked at him and pulled a small bottle of oil from the satchel on the table. Draco's eyes widened. "Prepared?" he asked with a quiet huff of amusement.
"You wanted me to kiss you," Snape murmured uncapping the bottle. A wave of his wand and the laces on his boots untied; he toed them off calmly. "I'm not a fool, Draco." With one hand, he unbuttoned his trousers; they slid off his narrow hips, and he kicked them aside as he poured the oil over his palms and rubbed them together.
Draco breathed in sharply. A narrow line of dark hair trailed down Snape's flat stomach, curling in a thatch around his curved, heavy cock. His balls were high, tight, and Draco reached for them, slipping his fingers around the full sac, his thumb circling over crisp, dark hair. Snape hissed and pressed Draco back into the side of the cauldron
"You're--" Draco hesitated, his eyes meeting Snape's. "Not beautiful, but something more." He rose up on the balls of his feet, rubbing his cock against Snape's. "I want you."
Snape's breath came in short, quick pants; he thrust his hips forward and grabbed their cocks with one slick hand, twisting his oiled fingers around both. Draco gasped.
"You'll have me," Snape murmured into Draco's damp hair. "Turn around."
Draco turned, the ache in his belly and cock intensifying. "Sir," he whispered.
"Severus," Snape said, and his finger was in Draco, and pulling out then pressing deeper again and Snape's mouth was on the nape of his neck and his teeth were nipping at the knobbly curve of Draco's spine.
"Severus," Draco said and he pressed back against Snape's hand. "More."
Another finger and Draco moaned and his cock rubbed against the coarse, still-warm curve of the cauldron and he swore and Snape was kissing him then, hard and rough and telling him how beautiful his filthy mouth was as he bit Draco's lip.
"Fuck me," Draco whispered against Snape's thin lips and was rewarded with a twist of slick fingers deep within him and a thrust of Snape's tongue, curling around his and sucking until Draco groaned and pressed back again. "Please."
Snape pushed into him slowly.
Draco breathed out and arched his back, his fingers white-knuckled around the lip of the cauldron. It had never felt this incredible, not even with Theodore and he'd been the best fuck Draco'd had last term, but this---Draco had never been touched like this.
"Hold still," Snape said, his voice tight. He dug his fingers into Draco's hips; his balls were pressed against the back of Draco's thighs. A rivulet of oil slid slowly down Draco's leg.
And then Snape was moving and Draco cried out at the perfect sharp burn that pressed his cock harder into the rough side of the cauldron and it hurt but it felt so right and he was so bloody hard and Snape's oily fingers curled around Draco's cock and slid up over the head.
"Harder," Draco said, gripping the cauldron and pushing back. "I need--oh God."
Snape thrust roughly into Draco, lifting him up on the balls of his feet. "You need what?"
"You," Draco gasped and his skin was hot and prickly. "Fuck--more."
Snape was fucking him in quick, even thrusts and his breath was hot and ragged on Draco's throat and Draco's cock was slipping through Snape's slick fist and Snape's fingers were twisting around his reddened skin, and his other hand was tight on Draco's shoulder, pulling him back into each roll of his hips and Draco felt his stomach clench as Snape cried out with a shudder and a rough jerk of his fist over the head of Draco's cock.
And Draco arched backwards, stretching over the cauldron with a shout, his thighs tightening and shaking, and his fingers clutched the cauldron and with a garbled moan he came in hot and sticky spurts over Snape's thin fingers. And he was safe, here, with Snape's hands gently stroking his shaking body and his cock damp and softening against Draco's flushed arse and his mouth pressed against Draco's temple, whispering that he was beautiful, that he was his.
I always have been, Draco thought, in sleepy surprise, sliding down the curve of the cauldron. Always.
**************************************
Draco sprawled across the floor, his head in Snape's lap. The bottle of wine sat next to his hip; he curled his hand around a half-empty wineglass. He smiled up at Snape, a languid curve of his narrow mouth.
"So she was a gobstones champion?"
Snape's fingers combed lightly through Draco's hair, fanning it over his thigh. "Captain of the Hogwarts team." He rested his own wineglass against his bent knee and leaned back against the cauldron, smiling faintly. His own hair, still wet from its recent washing, gleamed dully in the candlelight.
Draco laughed and slid a hand up Snape's stomach. "And did her son inherit that particular skill?"
Dark eyes gleamed down at him. "I am rather adept with the stone, I must say." Snape stroked his thumb over Draco's eyebrow, tracing the delicate arch. "Mother taught me at an early age."
"I can't imagine you playing anything like that," Draco said, twisting the stem of his wineglass between his fingertips. He gave Snape a rueful smile. "Or being a child at all."
Snape sipped his wine and raised an eyebrow. "I assure you that I once was. Perhaps I should request a gobstones set of Nott the next time he contacts us and proceed to humiliate you with my prowess."
"I'd like that." Draco rolled onto his side and pressed a kiss to Snape's hip. "All except the humiliation part. I'm rather accomplished at the game myself, you realise." He nuzzled the sharp jut of Snape's hipbone. "What about your father?"
"The less said of him, the better." Snape drained his wineglass and set it down.
Draco sat up and ran his knuckles over Snape's cheekbone. "You weren't close, I take it."
"Once again an understatement, Mr Malfoy." Snape said dryly. "I loathed my father for a number of very good reasons and for a few terribly ridiculous ones. But that is a subject for another day. Or night, perhaps." He tucked Draco's hair behind his ear, then cupped Draco's cheek in one hand and stroked his thumb over Draco's swollen mouth. "This is mad, you realise."
"I know." Draco kissed Snape's thumb, then turned his head to nip his palm. "Do you care?"
"I should. As should you."
Draco stood up and pulled Snape to his feet. "That's not what I asked."
Snape looked away.
For a long moment the only sound in the room was gentle tap of rain against the windowpanes. Draco slid his fingers through Snape's and kissed their knuckles. "Severus?" he asked at last, nervously.
"Forced intimacy," Snape said quietly. "It's not unknown to cause interactions such as this--"
"Bollocks," Draco snapped. He stepped closer, pressing up against Snape. "I've wanted you since I realised I preferred men. And possibly before then." He felt his cheeks warm and he leaned his forehead against Snape's shoulder. "I fantasised about you for years, you know."
Snape's hand smoothed over his hair. "For years?" He sounded sceptical.
"Since the beginning of fifth year," Draco admitted, turning his face into the curve of Snape's neck. "I once woke up Zabini and Goyle by tossing off while thinking about you."
Snape trailed his fingers down Draco's spine. "And what did you tell them?"
"That you had the most beautiful hands," Draco whispered, kissing Snape's throat.
Snape breathed out slowly. "Draco."
"Whatever this is, I want it," Draco said, sliding his arms around Snape's neck. "For however long you'll allow it." He rubbed his cheek against Snape's, shivering at the scrape of stubble across his jaw. "I know you want me."
"Yet another understatement. You'll hate me soon enough."
"Probably." Draco bit the soft flesh just under Snape's ear. "You are a bastard, after all. And then you can fuck me senseless and I'll forget how much I ought to despise you."
Snape snorted in amusement and lifted him up; Draco wrapped his legs around Snape's waist without hesitating.
"Will you?"
"Without doubt." Draco grinned at him. "You see, we'll argue constantly but then you'll take me to bed every night and I'll forget why I'm to be angry and you'll forget why you're annoyed with me. And one night you'll tell me about your father and why you hate him and I'll tell you that I miss mine and we'll debate the proper rules of gobstones play and I'll probably sulk because you'll be a complete prick about it all and then you'll kiss me again and it won't matter that we're trapped here and we'll secretly hope that perhaps they'll all forget about us as long as it's just you and me and the rain and a bottle of wine from Nott's larder."
Snape looked at him with those deep, dark eyes. "And when we leave?"
"I don't know," Draco said softly. "Does it really matter right now?"
A roll of thunder echoed faintly in the distance.
"No," Snape said at last.
"Then take me upstairs and fuck me again." Draco stretched down, nearly knocking Snape off balance, and grabbed the bottle of wine with his fingertips. "I rather think I'd like to drink this off your skin."
Snape growled and bit his neck. "Damned bossy brat."
With a smile, Draco smoothed Snape's hair back from his forehead. "Your brat."
"For now." Snape started for the stairs.
Draco pressed his face into Snape's damp hair. Now was a beginning.
He smiled and with a furrow of his brow, silently extinguished the lights. He thought now might last quite a bit longer than Snape anticipated.
The dim grey light of a damp dawn stole through the grimy windowpanes; rain drizzled off the eaves.
Perhaps the Highlands weren't so wretched after all.
Happy birthday, flimsy! *smooches* We adore you!
Water Shadows
artwork by Puppet, fic by Femme
Pairing: Snape/Draco (well, really, what else were we two going to give her? *grin*)
Rating: NC-17 (fic), soft Rish maybe (artwork)
Summary: Draco wants a bath. Badly.
WARNING: HBP SPOILERS
Notes: This fic was based on this discussion between flimsy and mpuppet months ago that femmequixotic stumbled upon concerning the necessity of Snape/Draco/cauldron OT3 smut. :D And mpuppet's art is just phenomenal. *adores* There are three pieces embedded in the text...make certain you don't miss any of them. They're exquisite.
Water Shadows
Ten days away from civilisation and Draco had had enough.
Really.
More than enough.
He stood at the grimy-damp window watching the rain drizzle down. Everything here was faded grey. The sky. The rain. The stark, bare tree branches. The grass, or what passed for patchy ground cover over this horrid mountainside. The rough-hewn stone walls of this ridiculously small cabin-prison.
He loathed the Highlands.
"Not even a proper bath," he muttered, pressing his forehead to the chilled windowpane. His hair swung limply against his face, matted and darkened with grease. He shuddered. Cleansing charms only went so far.
"I want to bathe," he said, straightening. "None of this sponging off with rainwater. A real bath in a marble tub with steaming water and soap and bubble foam. Lots and lots of foam." He looked back over his shoulder at Snape. "Surely his Lordship can arrange-"
"And why might you expect him to do so?" Snape didn't even bother to look up from his reading, a fact that annoyed Draco intensely.
He did hate being ignored. And he particularly despised being ignored by Snape. Unless it was more convenient to his plans to be ignored, of course. But at the moment, in his current state of bored despair, that was the last thing he wanted.
Draco flung himself in the chair across from Snape with a petulant glare. "He might have thought about it before he sent us to this godforsaken hellhole." He draped a leg over the arm of the chair and slouched down into the dusty cushions, scowling at the cover of Vaughan's Aula Lucis.
Snape shrugged, dark eyes scanning the pages in front of him, his thin fingers caressing the spine of the book. "Given that we were forced to make a quick exit from Hogwarts to save our miserable hides, I should think you've no cause to complain. You still draw breath, after all."
Draco sighed and kicked his heel against the side of the chair. "Just because you don't happen to see the value in clean hair doesn't mean that I should suffer." He scowled at Snape. "You reek, you realise."
"As do you." Snape turned a page calmly. "This is war, Draco. One makes sacrifices."
"Not in regard to personal hygiene!" Draco tugged at a lock of greasy hair. "Look at this! It's almost brown!"
Snape looked up, eyebrow raised. He blinked slowly; his gaze slid over Draco's hair to the tips of his fingers. His lips thinned. "Hardly." He turned his attention back to his book.
Draco dug his bare feet into the threadbare upholstery--his toe poked through a wide hole in the brocade--and he scowled. "I hate this place."
Snape grunted and turned another page.
Draco stared out the window, glumly watching the misting rain as he tugged at his filthy hair. His bottom lip bowed out in a sullen pout; he wrapped his arms around his thin chest, trying not to breathe in the stench of sweat and unwashed cotton.
He'd have a bath. No matter how Snape mocked him.
He would.
********************
The candles had just burst into flame when Draco wandered into the kitchen, with a yawn and a stretch, his bare feet padding lightly over the rough plank floors, his once-white shirt pulled loose from his grey school trousers. Rain still dripped against the window and the dusk outside was far too grey and damp and cold for a late June evening.
Snape set aside the cauldron he was scouring and glared at Draco. "Enjoy your lie-abed?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact." Draco stifled another yawn and stirred the cauldron bubbling over the hearth. Grey-brown lumps dripped off the ladle; he curled his lip in disgust. "Again?"
Snape slammed two earthenware bowls on the table. "If you do not wish to eat, then I have no intention of forcing you to do so."
Draco picked a bowl up and ladled the unappetising stew into it. "I didn't say I wouldn't eat it." He dropped into a chair at the battered table; the rickety seat wobbled dangerously beneath him and Draco caught himself just before it tipped him over with an annoyed squawk. He kicked the chair rung in irritation and poked at a chunk of mealy potato. "I don't see why we can't ask Mother for Muzzy." He licked the gravy from his fingertip.
With a snort, Snape turned away, a flush suffusing his pale cheeks. He poured two mugs of weak tea--Draco sighed and scowled; the tin in the larder, already low when they had arrived, must be nearly empty by now--and carried them to the table. "You are a damned overspoilt little fool."
"See, even you can't think of an appropriate reason for us not to have her." Draco picked up a spoon and took a bite of the stew, gingerly. He made a face and reached for his tea. "I hate rabbit. Although perhaps it might be more edible with a bottle of burgundy, rather than having to swallow this cack."
"So very sorry not to provide a rack of lamb," Snape snapped, sitting across the table, his own bowl cupped between his hands. "I do hate to disappoint you, Draco, but when fleeing from Aurors one usually does not consider luxuries such as house elves and fine wine."
"We could at least go into the village for food." Draco stared mournfully into his mug. "And tea. Just a decent cup of actual tea would be lovely. Tea and a bath."
"Do not be an idiot," Snape stared at his own bowl in distaste, slowly stirring the stew widdershins. "We are in hiding, Draco."
Draco pushed his bowl away and, etiquette be damned, drooped over the tabletop, head on his arms, finger tracing a long scratch in the scarred walnut. "I want to go home," he muttered.
"Perhaps you might have thought of that before you attempted to murder the Headmaster?"
Draco glared at him. "I'd have done it if you hadn't--
The fireplace burst into green flames, cutting him off. Nott's head appeared in the hearth. "Severus."
"A moment." Snape stood up and looked down at Draco. "Your room. Now."
Draco's jaw dropped. "What? The first communication we've had in days with the outside world and you're sending me to my room, as if I were still in leading strings? No."
Snape's mouth thinned; he reached for his wand. "That was not a suggestion, Mr Malfoy."
Draco heard Nott chuckle and had the overwhelming desire to kick ash in the bastard's eye. "You can't be serious. I won't--"
A flick of Snape's wand and Draco found himself upside down in midair, sputtering. "You will," Snape said, jaw tight, and with another precise wand twist sent Draco floating up the narrow staircase, making no attempt to keep him from banging against the walls.
Draco collapsed in a heap in the hallway, his head thudding against the worn wooden top step.
"Bedroom, now," Snape said calmly from the bottom of the staircase as Draco struggled to his feet.
"Bastard."
Snape raised an eyebrow and shrugged, turning back to the hearth while Draco stumbled down the hall. "What news of the Order?" he asked, squatting next to Nott's floating head.
"They're in an uproar," Nott said. "First Dumbledore--and many congratulations up on that feat, Severus--and now Potter's run off on them--"
Draco slammed his bedroom door behind him, kicking it hard with his bare foot and twisting his toe painfully in the process. He sank onto the floor, blinking hard as he pulled his knees up to his chest. He hated them all. And he wanted to go home. He wanted to see his mother. And to sleep in his own bed. His hair tumbled into his face, thick and greasy against his cheek; he pushed it back with a shudder. It stank. He rubbed his arm over his eyes. He stank.
And he wanted a bath, damn it.
********************************************
Draco was lying on his back on the dusty floor at the foot of the bed, scraping mud idly off a shoe and staring up at the ceiling when Snape opened the door half an hour later.
He turned his head, looking at Snape's bare feet, pale, toes long and knobbly, ankle sharp and angular. "What do you want?" he asked, studying the arch of Snape's instep. He resisted the sudden urge to trail his fingertip along it. Or his tongue--he blinked and rubbed his palm over his eyes, stopping that ridiculous thought before it fully developed.
"His Lordship requires my presence this evening."
Draco sat up, cracking his skull sharply on the edge of the footboard. "Shit." He grabbed his head, wincing. "You're allowed to leave?"
"Temporarily." Snape scowled down at him, arms crossed over his chest. "It appears I am needed to repair a potion your aunt bollocksed up."
Draco clambered to his feet, palm pressed to his forehead, shoe still clutched in his other hand. "Well, you can't stop me from coming along--"
"I can and I will."
Draco stared at him. "But--"
"It's not safe for you, Draco," Snape said with a tired sigh. "Your failure still rankles our Lord--"
Draco threw the shoe across the bedroom. It bounced off the wardrobe. "And you'll be taking advantage of that, I'm certain--"
Snape shoved Draco backwards onto the bed, roughly, his mouth twisted in quick fury. He leaned over him, his long hair brushing Draco's cheeks. He bared his teeth. "Do shut up, you damned little whelp, if you've not the sense to realise when someone gives a bloody damn whether or not you're placed under Cruciatus."
Draco blinked and his breath caught and his mouth opened slightly and he licked his bottom lip, watching Snape's eyes follow the wet curl of his tongue over his dry mouth--
And he knew.
He knew why Snape had done it. All of it.
Draco exhaled slowly; his eyes caught by that black gaze--the heat in its depths--the anger and the--
He touched Snape's cheek then, fingertips light against his pallid skin, tracing the angular jut of his jaw. Snape inhaled sharply and his breath was a warm gust over Draco's mouth and Draco felt him shiver, his own stomach contorting in an abrupt rush of--something as his feet dug into the edge of the mattress.
"Professor," he whispered, arching up, one hip pressing against Snape's, his trousers unexpectedly too tight and he was blushing, but he licked his lip again and smiled faintly as Snape's breath held and those dark eyes grew even darker and one long fingertip traced the curve of his mouth, caressed the tiny bow in his upper lip.
And just when he was certain that thin mouth was going to move closer, just when he raised up, oddly eager to feel those lips on his, Snape took a stumbling step backwards, his face flushed, his eyes averted. "The Dark Lord," he murmured. "I'm required--" He looked blankly at Draco. "Stay here."
The door closed softly behind him and Draco fell back against the bed, shaking and frustrated as he rubbed his palm over his hip, fingers twisting in the thin wool of his trousers.
"Professor," he whispered again.
Draco knocked his head backwards against his pillow with a groan and pressed his narrow hips upwards, cock hard against his hand and he was back in his dormitory, late at night, cock sliding through his fist as the fantasies sifted through his mind-Potter and Krum and Zabini and yes, even sometimes--
"Severus."
He pulled quickly at the buttons on his trousers, needing to touch himself, wanting the feel of skin on skin--he licked his palm, sliding it over the reddened head of his cock and he could almost pretend it was his hand, long, thin fingers curling around his shaft and stroking down him, slowly, teasingly, before pulling back up, fingertips twisting over his head and back down, harder this time, and Draco arched up into the touch, toes twisting in the thin blanket beneath him, hand splayed against the headboard, and that mouth was against his and that tongue and Draco had never been kissed or touched like this--and his hips were jerking and he screwed his eyes shut and he bit his palm to keep from shouting and his hand was sticky and his breath was coming in sharp pants, slowing until, shaking, he rolled on his side, wiping his hand and his cock on the blanket, and slept.
*************************************
The bedroom was pitch-dark when Draco woke.
He slid off the bed, buttoning his trousers, his cheeks warming as he remembered what he'd thought of while tossing off and he sincerely hoped that Snape had left before he'd--yes, well. Draco could feel all the way to his bones the blush that flooded his pale skin. He pushed his hair back behind his ears and opened his bedroom door.
"Professor?"
No answer.
He padded down the stairs, rubbing his hand on the side of his trousers. Stupid of him to forget the cleansing charm. He loathed the crust of sweat and come that settled between his fingers after wanking.
The kitchen was empty, although the candles still burned in the scones along the wall and the windows were still streaked with rain and the fire was a dull orange-red burn of embers and ash.
Draco cleared the bowls and mugs from the table where Snape had left them, scraping them clean and banishing the remnants of stew to Merlin only knew where--and he didn't care where the shite ended up as long as he didn't have to taste it again. He dumped the dishes into an empty cauldron hanging over the hearth, tapping his wand against it to fill it with warm water.
He stared down into the cauldron and blinked. If the dishes could be cleaned in it---
Draco turned his head, looking at the larger cauldron sitting on the end of the table. He ran his hand over the wide mouth, considering. Snape would kill him, of course. It'd be a desecration of a cauldron in his eyes. But if he could just make it larger--he frowned. An engorgement charm would weaken the walls, he was certain and transfiguration was not his strongest suit.
But still.
He hesitated for a moment, then pulled the cauldron from the table and set it on the floor near the hearth. He circled it slowly, scraped the tip of his wand over the curled iron lip. White-silver sparks drifted into the black interior.
And then he stopped and, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly, his wand still resting lightly on the cauldron, he imagined the iron stretching, widening, opening for him.
There was a groan and the shriek of metal on metal and a tiny trickle of sweat slid down Draco's temple and into his collar, but he kept his eyes closed and focused, focused, focused, damn it, until there was sharp crack and a clang and the backwash of magic slammed into Draco violently, shoving him backwards across the kitchen in a rush of sparks and smoke.
He sat up, coughing, each wrack of his thin chest sending pain shooting through his rib cage. He blinked and pushed his lank hair back off his forehead with a delighted laugh.
The cauldron squatted wide and black in front of the hearth. Draco grabbed the lip and pulled himself up, peering into its depths; the rim brushed his hipbones.
"Aguamenti!"
A swish of his wand and the cauldron filled with clear water. Draco grinned. He should have thought of this days ago. He set a heating charm on the water and pulled his clothes off quickly, leaving them on the floor in a rumpled pile of cotton and wool.
He slid into the warm water in delight, his muscles relaxing as the heat sank into his skin. He floated for a moment before his hips settled against a curve of warm, rough iron.
Brilliant.
A touch of his wand to the water and three weedy strings of foam shot across the surface. Draco made a face and tried again. A few more strands joined the first, even more pathetic. He sighed and shrugged. Better than nothing, he supposed. He dropped his wand next to the cauldron and dipped his head back into the water, rubbing the weak soap into his scalp.
Draco slid back up, water streaming over his eyes and cheeks and mouth. This was bliss. He shook his hair, sending droplets of bathwater sizzling over the embers in the fireplace.
And then there was a sudden swirl of wind through the kitchen and the sharp crack of a Portkey and Draco was on his feet in the cauldron, water dripping from his outstretched arm, summoning his wand.
Snape blinked at him and set a satchel on the kitchen table. "Mr Malfoy," he said calmly, "do put that damned thing down."
Draco lowered his wand. "I didn't expect you back yet."
"Obviously." Snape's gaze drifted down Draco's thin body. He looked away, hair falling into his face, obscuring his eyes. "What exactly do you think you're doing with my cauldron--or should I ask?"
Draco felt his cheeks burn. "I'm bathing. I thought--" He bit his lip and crossed his arms over his damp chest, shivering in the sudden chill. The water eddied around his hips. "I knew you'd object." He watched Snape open the satchel, pulling out tins and flasks and bottles. "What's that?"
"Objection would be an understatement, Mr Malfoy, and this would be food which I managed to convince His Lordship was necessary to take from Nott's personal larder in order to keep me from slaughtering you myself." Snape snorted and jerked from the satchel what appeared to be a side of beef wrapped in butcher's paper and twine. Two bottles of wine followed. "As for your current foolish use of my cauldron in what I can only call a extraordinarily inappropriate manner, I highly doubt the charms with which I imbued the bloody thing will withstand magical expansion and a naked arse."
He darted a sideways look at Draco, a silent, bottomless glance that slid from head to hip, warming Draco's skin, then turned his back. "Do extract your damned idiotic hide from my cauldron and get dressed."
Draco hesitated, chewing his lip. He could still feel Snape's breath against his skin and he wanted more. And he'd had more than enough breathless rendezvous on top of the Astronomy Tower to know when he was wanted in return. He leaned against the side of the cauldron and smiled. "I think not."
Snape whacked a tin of Earl Grey onto the table. Draco winced as the lid tumbled off, sending the fragrant loose tea leaves scattering across the tabletop. Snape swore and with a tight curve of his wand, sent the tea swirling back into the tin. He glared at Draco. "Get out. Now."
Draco shrugged and slid out of the cauldron, one long leg at a time. He was half-hard already, his breath unsteady at the thought of those dark eyes sweeping over his naked body. "I don't think I'll dress," he said, voice rough, as he stooped to gather his trouser and shirt and braies. He dumped them into the cauldron. "I've no intention of putting on filthy clothes."
He turned to find Snape staring at him, face impassive. A flash of lightning lit up the room, deepening the shadows around Snape's eyes.
Draco smiled--a measured, almost, just-possibly flirtatious twist of his lips. "Surely you've seen a naked man, Professor."
"Boy," Snape said, in an oddly tight voice; his eyes slid down to Draco's cock, pink-red and firm and pressing against his pale thigh, dark-gold wisps of hair curling around the base. He strode to the cauldron and jerked Draco's shirt from the water. He slapped it against Draco's chest. "Put it on."
Draco dropped it back into the cauldron. "No."
They stood there, facing one another, the only sound in the room the harsh intake of their breath.
Snape looked away first. "You're mad."
"Perhaps." Draco trailed fingertips over Snape's arm. "You killed him to protect me."
There was a long silence.
"Perhaps," Snape said at last.
A faint roll of thunder echoed in the distance; small drops of rain began to pelt the small window.
"It's raining again," Draco said quietly. He curled his fingers around the rim of the cauldron.
Snape stepped closer. "Yes." He ran a knuckle over Draco's bottom lip. "You should dress."
"I should." Draco bit Snape's finger, drawing it into his mouth. His tongue curled around Snape's fingertip; his teeth scraped over the potion-stained skin as he pulled away with a smile. "I don't think you want me to, though."
Snape exhaled, a quick, shaky breath. "No."
Draco ran his hands over Snape's chest. "I don't think I want you dressed either."
"You don't know what you're asking," Snape said, catching Draco's wrists. "You're a boy--"
"Seventeen." Draco pulled his hands away and began to unbutton Snape's shirt. "Not a boy." He traced the curve of Snape's throat, ran his thumb over the ridge of Snape's collarbone. "You're a bastard, you know. But I feel safe with you." He looked up at Snape and blinked, a slow, catlike dip of eyelashes against cheek as he slid his hands over Snape's shoulders. "I always have."
Snape flattened his hand on Draco's chest and slid it up slowly, his palm smoothing over soft silver-gold hair and pale skin. "Foolish of you."
"Perhaps." Draco breathed out as Snape's fingers slipped over his throat, as they curled around his cheek, and he rubbed his face into that calloused palm.
And then Snape's lips were on his and Draco opened his mouth and in a clash of teeth and quick grunts, Snape was there, with warm and heavy strokes against Draco's tongue and his teeth, and his hands were tangled in Draco's damp hair, pulling him closer until their breaths were harsh and twined together, each gasp and sigh swallowed and breathed in by other.
Draco had never been kissed like this.
Snape's hands moved to Draco's waist and he pushed him against the cauldron, pressing Draco's arse into the rolled iron lip as his mouth moved down Draco's throat, teeth pulling sharp against Draco's skin. Draco's hips jerked up; his cock caught in the pleats of Snape's trousers, and he moaned and dug his fingernails into Snape's shoulders.
"Tell me," Draco gasped and slid his fingers slid through Snape's greasy hair. He tugged Snape's head up and kissed him, hard. "Tell me why you did it." His mouth slid open and wet over the sharp angle of Snape's jaw; he jerked Snape's shirt free from his trousers, pulling at the buttons. "Tell me why you killed him."
Snape shrugged out of the shirt, moving back in to pull Draco against him, and his skin was warm and soft and his nipples slid hard over Draco's and the dark hair on his chest was soft and scratchy and Draco pressed into him, his cock aching.
"I promised," Snape said against Draco's throat. "I made a vow--an unbreakable one--to your mother--"
Draco stilled. A vow. To your mother. A cold ire settled in his belly, twisting bitterly. Of course. A child to be protected. Not--
He jerked away then, and slid under Snape's arm. "You murdered the Headmaster--" Snape flinched. "--because you promised my mother." Draco grabbed one of the bottles of wine and, stabbing his wand into the cork angrily, opened it. "You never thought I'd be able to do it, did you?" He lifted the bottle to his lips and glared at Snape. "Fucking bastard."
Snape pulled the wine away from Draco and set it down on the table with a sharp thump. "Use a damned glass," he snapped. "And perhaps you might wish to consider why I might have made such a vow, you ignorant little sod."
"Because you think I'm a bloody useless child--"
Snape dug his fingers into Draco's wrist. "Did I just kiss you as if you were a damned child?"
Draco stared at him silently, fury and something else indescribable shifting through him.
Snape reached for his shirt. "Fool."
"Why, then?" Draco caught Snape's arm.
Snape curled his lip and pulled away. "I have no intention of discussing this with you."
Draco pushed Snape against the cauldron. "Answer my question. Sir."
With a snarl, Snape grabbed Draco's hips and jerked him close. "Why do you think, Mr Malfoy?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. He trailed his fingers through Draco's crease.
Draco moaned. "Why?" He pressed into Snape's touch; his fingernails scraped over Snape's nipple. "Tell me," he said, breathless.
"Because, Draco," Snape's breath ghosted over Draco's ear; Draco's cock jerked in response. "I had no intention of allowing our Lord to touch you. In any manner." Snape rubbed his thumb over the soft puckers of Draco's hole. "I, on the other hand, have no such noble aspirations for myself."
"Don't," Draco protested as Snape slid away, his breath ragged. Snape smirked at him and pulled a small bottle of oil from the satchel on the table. Draco's eyes widened. "Prepared?" he asked with a quiet huff of amusement.
"You wanted me to kiss you," Snape murmured uncapping the bottle. A wave of his wand and the laces on his boots untied; he toed them off calmly. "I'm not a fool, Draco." With one hand, he unbuttoned his trousers; they slid off his narrow hips, and he kicked them aside as he poured the oil over his palms and rubbed them together.
Draco breathed in sharply. A narrow line of dark hair trailed down Snape's flat stomach, curling in a thatch around his curved, heavy cock. His balls were high, tight, and Draco reached for them, slipping his fingers around the full sac, his thumb circling over crisp, dark hair. Snape hissed and pressed Draco back into the side of the cauldron
"You're--" Draco hesitated, his eyes meeting Snape's. "Not beautiful, but something more." He rose up on the balls of his feet, rubbing his cock against Snape's. "I want you."
Snape's breath came in short, quick pants; he thrust his hips forward and grabbed their cocks with one slick hand, twisting his oiled fingers around both. Draco gasped.
"You'll have me," Snape murmured into Draco's damp hair. "Turn around."
Draco turned, the ache in his belly and cock intensifying. "Sir," he whispered.
"Severus," Snape said, and his finger was in Draco, and pulling out then pressing deeper again and Snape's mouth was on the nape of his neck and his teeth were nipping at the knobbly curve of Draco's spine.
"Severus," Draco said and he pressed back against Snape's hand. "More."
Another finger and Draco moaned and his cock rubbed against the coarse, still-warm curve of the cauldron and he swore and Snape was kissing him then, hard and rough and telling him how beautiful his filthy mouth was as he bit Draco's lip.
"Fuck me," Draco whispered against Snape's thin lips and was rewarded with a twist of slick fingers deep within him and a thrust of Snape's tongue, curling around his and sucking until Draco groaned and pressed back again. "Please."
Snape pushed into him slowly.
Draco breathed out and arched his back, his fingers white-knuckled around the lip of the cauldron. It had never felt this incredible, not even with Theodore and he'd been the best fuck Draco'd had last term, but this---Draco had never been touched like this.
"Hold still," Snape said, his voice tight. He dug his fingers into Draco's hips; his balls were pressed against the back of Draco's thighs. A rivulet of oil slid slowly down Draco's leg.
And then Snape was moving and Draco cried out at the perfect sharp burn that pressed his cock harder into the rough side of the cauldron and it hurt but it felt so right and he was so bloody hard and Snape's oily fingers curled around Draco's cock and slid up over the head.
"Harder," Draco said, gripping the cauldron and pushing back. "I need--oh God."
Snape thrust roughly into Draco, lifting him up on the balls of his feet. "You need what?"
"You," Draco gasped and his skin was hot and prickly. "Fuck--more."
Snape was fucking him in quick, even thrusts and his breath was hot and ragged on Draco's throat and Draco's cock was slipping through Snape's slick fist and Snape's fingers were twisting around his reddened skin, and his other hand was tight on Draco's shoulder, pulling him back into each roll of his hips and Draco felt his stomach clench as Snape cried out with a shudder and a rough jerk of his fist over the head of Draco's cock.
And Draco arched backwards, stretching over the cauldron with a shout, his thighs tightening and shaking, and his fingers clutched the cauldron and with a garbled moan he came in hot and sticky spurts over Snape's thin fingers. And he was safe, here, with Snape's hands gently stroking his shaking body and his cock damp and softening against Draco's flushed arse and his mouth pressed against Draco's temple, whispering that he was beautiful, that he was his.
I always have been, Draco thought, in sleepy surprise, sliding down the curve of the cauldron. Always.
**************************************
Draco sprawled across the floor, his head in Snape's lap. The bottle of wine sat next to his hip; he curled his hand around a half-empty wineglass. He smiled up at Snape, a languid curve of his narrow mouth.
"So she was a gobstones champion?"
Snape's fingers combed lightly through Draco's hair, fanning it over his thigh. "Captain of the Hogwarts team." He rested his own wineglass against his bent knee and leaned back against the cauldron, smiling faintly. His own hair, still wet from its recent washing, gleamed dully in the candlelight.
Draco laughed and slid a hand up Snape's stomach. "And did her son inherit that particular skill?"
Dark eyes gleamed down at him. "I am rather adept with the stone, I must say." Snape stroked his thumb over Draco's eyebrow, tracing the delicate arch. "Mother taught me at an early age."
"I can't imagine you playing anything like that," Draco said, twisting the stem of his wineglass between his fingertips. He gave Snape a rueful smile. "Or being a child at all."
Snape sipped his wine and raised an eyebrow. "I assure you that I once was. Perhaps I should request a gobstones set of Nott the next time he contacts us and proceed to humiliate you with my prowess."
"I'd like that." Draco rolled onto his side and pressed a kiss to Snape's hip. "All except the humiliation part. I'm rather accomplished at the game myself, you realise." He nuzzled the sharp jut of Snape's hipbone. "What about your father?"
"The less said of him, the better." Snape drained his wineglass and set it down.
Draco sat up and ran his knuckles over Snape's cheekbone. "You weren't close, I take it."
"Once again an understatement, Mr Malfoy." Snape said dryly. "I loathed my father for a number of very good reasons and for a few terribly ridiculous ones. But that is a subject for another day. Or night, perhaps." He tucked Draco's hair behind his ear, then cupped Draco's cheek in one hand and stroked his thumb over Draco's swollen mouth. "This is mad, you realise."
"I know." Draco kissed Snape's thumb, then turned his head to nip his palm. "Do you care?"
"I should. As should you."
Draco stood up and pulled Snape to his feet. "That's not what I asked."
Snape looked away.
For a long moment the only sound in the room was gentle tap of rain against the windowpanes. Draco slid his fingers through Snape's and kissed their knuckles. "Severus?" he asked at last, nervously.
"Forced intimacy," Snape said quietly. "It's not unknown to cause interactions such as this--"
"Bollocks," Draco snapped. He stepped closer, pressing up against Snape. "I've wanted you since I realised I preferred men. And possibly before then." He felt his cheeks warm and he leaned his forehead against Snape's shoulder. "I fantasised about you for years, you know."
Snape's hand smoothed over his hair. "For years?" He sounded sceptical.
"Since the beginning of fifth year," Draco admitted, turning his face into the curve of Snape's neck. "I once woke up Zabini and Goyle by tossing off while thinking about you."
Snape trailed his fingers down Draco's spine. "And what did you tell them?"
"That you had the most beautiful hands," Draco whispered, kissing Snape's throat.
Snape breathed out slowly. "Draco."
"Whatever this is, I want it," Draco said, sliding his arms around Snape's neck. "For however long you'll allow it." He rubbed his cheek against Snape's, shivering at the scrape of stubble across his jaw. "I know you want me."
"Yet another understatement. You'll hate me soon enough."
"Probably." Draco bit the soft flesh just under Snape's ear. "You are a bastard, after all. And then you can fuck me senseless and I'll forget how much I ought to despise you."
Snape snorted in amusement and lifted him up; Draco wrapped his legs around Snape's waist without hesitating.
"Will you?"
"Without doubt." Draco grinned at him. "You see, we'll argue constantly but then you'll take me to bed every night and I'll forget why I'm to be angry and you'll forget why you're annoyed with me. And one night you'll tell me about your father and why you hate him and I'll tell you that I miss mine and we'll debate the proper rules of gobstones play and I'll probably sulk because you'll be a complete prick about it all and then you'll kiss me again and it won't matter that we're trapped here and we'll secretly hope that perhaps they'll all forget about us as long as it's just you and me and the rain and a bottle of wine from Nott's larder."
Snape looked at him with those deep, dark eyes. "And when we leave?"
"I don't know," Draco said softly. "Does it really matter right now?"
A roll of thunder echoed faintly in the distance.
"No," Snape said at last.
"Then take me upstairs and fuck me again." Draco stretched down, nearly knocking Snape off balance, and grabbed the bottle of wine with his fingertips. "I rather think I'd like to drink this off your skin."
Snape growled and bit his neck. "Damned bossy brat."
With a smile, Draco smoothed Snape's hair back from his forehead. "Your brat."
"For now." Snape started for the stairs.
Draco pressed his face into Snape's damp hair. Now was a beginning.
He smiled and with a furrow of his brow, silently extinguished the lights. He thought now might last quite a bit longer than Snape anticipated.
The dim grey light of a damp dawn stole through the grimy windowpanes; rain drizzled off the eaves.
Perhaps the Highlands weren't so wretched after all.