New Year's Resolutions

[subtle_simmer]

Date: Sunday, 31 December
Time: Most of the day until he returns home near dinner-time
Place: From Spinner's End to Hogwarts and back again
Characters Involved: Severus Snape
Rating: NC-17 for unpleasant Death Eater reminiscing, memories of past abuse and gratuitous purposeful wanking.

Artwork linked in this post is by ledivinemarquis, linked with permission, please do not steal/use/otherwise distribute. It is also not 'work-safe'.



I have work to do at Hogwarts. I will be home by dinner.

~S.

Severus left the note on the kitchen table and left the house. He was in a mood to ponder many things and did not wish company of any sort. The icy weather suited his gloomy thoughts, so he chose to leave by the door, Apparate to and then and walk from Hogsmeade.

New Year's Eve. Was this not the time for evaluating one's life - or at least the past year - and contemplate what changes one wished to make? To set goals and aspirations or attempt to remedy noxious habits?

He had participated in Christmas with less annoyance than he had expected. Perhaps this tradition, too, might do him some good.

At almost forty-one years of age, he doubted he would be making any significant 'changes'. Firstly, because he bloody well didn't want to! Cruel sarcasm and a cloak of ambiguity had served him well his entire adult life. He was learning that, for a scant handful of individuals, it was not so necessary to be so distant at all times - but even those associations had as often brought pain, in the form of worry and distress over their well-being and such like, as pleasure.

Distance was safer.

Still, two wars and two powerful Masters had shaped almost the entirety of his life, even before he truly reached adulthood. In spite of the collar at his throat, he had spent the last ten months in more true freedom than he had EVER experienced.

Something that momentous seemed to require a bit of soul-searching and evaluation.

As his boots crunched through the snowy path from Hogsmeade to the school, his mind worked.

One may well suppose that the real nexus of his thoughts was Remus Lupin, though presently they orbited that vibrant sun in a somewhat far-off tangent.

What Severus Snape knew of love, of any sort, was both platonic and painful. Like any small child, he had 'loved' his parents - even his abusive father - for a time. Children, naturally, love their parents in consequence of their dependency. He supposed, in her own way, his mother had 'loved' him. It was because of him, she had said, that she remained with his father, trying to 'protect' him.

Severus had witnessed the beating which had ended her life, could still remember her screams. He could still hear his own cries and childish voice begging his father to stop. The sound, like a thunder crack just inside their sitting room, which followed the crushing blow to Eileen's head, had seemed like the audible manifestation of the rending of his heart. The strange man who had suddenly appeared there had grabbed Severus' arm in a strong, vice-like grip, without even a passing glance at his broken daughter lying in a bloody heap at her husband's feet. In an instant, Severus' entire life had changed so profoundly that it was as if the Severus Snape he had been prior to that moment had died at precisely the same instant as his mother.

He had not been permitted to grieve. A cold explanation of who the old man was, who Eileen had been, and what Severus was, and was expected to become, was given in miserly detail, without a trace of warmth. Severus was never permitted to mention his mother's name, nor her existence, nor ask questions about her.

Why he was permitted to retain his father's surname, he still did not know - though he suspected it was because his grandfather did not wish to have the Prince name 'tainted' by a half-blood. Better that the name should die, even if the soiled bloodline might continue.

Severus wrenched his thoughts away from this line. He could spend the whole day remembering every person he had allowed himself to love - particularly since the list was so short - and precisely how that love had hurt him, scarred him, broken him, and not be any further in the direction he wished his self-examination to take than he had been when he had started. Death, betrayal, servitude, heart-rending pain - it was all there in memories of Lily Evans, Albus Dumbledore, and even Draco Malfoy and the on-going pain the boy was remarkably well-situated to inflict. Trodding this path of recollection would accomplish nothing.

Why, now, had he allowed REMUS LUPIN, of all people, to already be closer to him, in many ways, than any of the others?

He would NOT call what he felt for Remus 'love', any more than he would grant the stubborn werewolf the appellation of 'friend'. Remus, who had once chosen, quite emphatically, friendship with James Fucking Potter and Sirius Sodding Black over any association with HIM.

How dare Severus allow himself to believe - to HOPE - that if such a situation were to arise, now, Remus would choose differently!

Still, this exercise was not intended to try to figure out Remus, either. Severus wished to know HIMSELF better. Again, he forced his thoughts in the intended direction.

If he knew little of 'love' and less still of 'romantic' entanglements, his knowledge of physical intimacy was even more limited.

What Severus Snape knew of sex was confined entirely to the sort of medicinal knowledge of anatomy and physiology necessary for potions work, and observation.

Oh, yes. Observation.

The Dark Lord had never ordered rape, but nor had he forbidden it. Rumoured Death Eater orgies were not stuff of fable, though they were likely greatly exaggerated. Some of the lesser Death Eaters - those with more brawn than brains - had often indulged in such sport. Torture of prisoners, whether Muggle or uncooperative witches and wizards, was almost always done with an audience. The Dark Lord did not permit violation of purebloods who might become tractable, but that was his only stipulation.

Severus had not participated in the sexual games, nor had it been expected of him. He was quite skilled enough in what he did as to make it of no consequence - it was his task to violate the minds for the information sought, whilst his fellows tormented the bodies to make the information more readily available.

It was impossible to be there and not observe. Even in torture and pain, there was information to be learnt. Spells used to increase torment could also, perhaps, be used to enhance pleasure, if they were properly applied.

Sustainus. A spell which prevented climax until the caster lifted it. Originally, perhaps, it was created to alleviate the common male problem of premature ejaculation. When twisted by malevolence, a person could be kept in agony of ecstasy for hours, begging in utter humiliation for the violation to continue, willing to stoop to any depravity, to do anything which might allow release.

Stimulatus. Probably initially created to assist in climax for those individuals (mostly women, from what he had read) who had difficulty in attaining that state from coitus alone. It magically provided stimulation to the relevant areas which would eventually bring orgasm without any other touch or activity necessary.

When combined with Sustainus, it might well be imagined that the victim suffered greatly.

There was even one whose origins Severus guessed to be from amongst the pureblood families, generations ago, during a time when arranged marriages were more common and 'ruined' daughters could truly ruin a family. It was with a simple combining of a mundane repair charm with a small amount of healing magic, that Virgus Reparo was born. True virginity could not be restored - 'virgin' ingredients could not be obtained from someone thus affected - but the physical barrier was repaired to its original state with the slightest effort.

Amongst the Death Eater crowd, this was frequently used, and apparently offered the same restoration to an anal sphincter violated by sodomy. Apparently, it was more amusing to rape a 'virgin'.

It would be an utter lie to say none of these observations titillated him even as they disgusted him. In his mind, he could imagine how those spells might be turnt to pleasure - even the restoration of physical intactness. There was enough sadism in his nature to find heightened lust in the imagined moan of pleasure-pain offered up to his ear from a fantasy lover, or offering his own heated utterance of delicious discomfort in return. The sense of wanting, no matter that it was a little too much, a little too tight, a little too big.

The relevant point was, Severus was a virgin in his own bodily experience, but he was far, far from innocent in any fashion.

Until a few months ago, like his perception of love, his experiences in the physical realm had all centred on pain of some sort - primarily of the emotional variety. Mockery and humiliation was far more painful to Severus than punishment of his flesh - something the Dark Lord, Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and a few others, had discovered early-on and often used to their advantage.

The embarrassing, fumbling kisses he had exchanged as a teenager with whatever girls Lucius or others had sent his way - he was certain they had all been paid or otherwise bribed to even allow him to touch them - had been far more humiliating than pleasurable. Not the least because their reluctance was later used as a weapon against him. Derogatory things they said about him were sure to come up later in a mocking jibe from whomever had put them up to kissing him in the first place.

Severus was again and again grateful that his own wary suspicion and sense of self-preservation had prevented him from attempting sex with any of these 'offerings', no matter that some had probably been willing. Every physical flaw, every fumbling mistake, every embarrassing moan or expression of pleasure or pain, every physical detail of his naked ugliness would have then been weapons against him, the humiliation of which might surely have killed him.

The awe tinged with lust which he had once held for Lucius and Bellatrix, desire for their power and recognition and equal desire for their bodies, had only served to help enslave him.

Suspicion and wariness, by absolute necessity, was such an integral part of his nature, that Severus had never known kisses could feel truly pleasant. Sweet. Warm. Invigourating. Nourishing to his soul even as they inflamed his body. He had never known an embrace could make him feel safe and protected, rather than confined and smothered.

These sorts of ruminations had brought him to the grounds of the school. Recently fallen snow was a vast expanse of unblemished, pristine whiteness. There weren't enough students remaining at the school - only four, Minerva had said - to have made tracks in the purity.

It mocked him as he walked, his presence the first stain upon the virgin snow, a stark black blot on the virtuous whiteness, reminding him of his own taint.

The school was so silent, the click of his boots echoed in the corridor. He saw no one as he descended the steps into his dungeons, his sanctuary.

Or, at least, it had always been a sanctuary to him, before. Lately, it felt somewhat oppressive, even in the comfort of familiarity.

He threw off his traveling cloak and hung it on the peg near the door, flicked his wand at the hearth to stimulate the roaring fire within, and sank into his favourite chair. The room was dim. Only the fire and two sconces which never went out provided any light. Severus needed no light for his present soul searching. Darkness suited his mood.

So. Pain and humiliation had been enormous forces in his life, either by his own actions or the actions of others, carving the cold clay of his soul with a heavy, clumsy hand until it was an unrecognisable, misshapen mass.

What could be done about it? Was he going to continue to allow shadows of his past to guide his future? Was he such a coward as Potter had called him so long ago, as to allow fear to continue to manipulate him as surely as Albus or the Dark Lord had ever done?

Why, whenever kisses with Remus deepened from comfort and contentment to the verge of passion and need, did he pull away?

Granted, it was not always he who pulled away - he recognised a similar reluctance in Remus. For whatever reason, there was a definite line in physical closeness which neither of them had dared to cross.

Were they both so broken as to be unable to surmount their own personal daemons to move closer?

Severus suspected he understood the nature of Remus' reluctance, a little. How could he offer reassurances to Remus when he could not forget his own 'monster' within? But again, today was not for trying to delve into the workings of the mind of Remus Lupin! He needed to know his own motivations and barriers.

Emotional baggage and reluctance did not diminish the physical frustration. Severus had wanked more often, since the car show in November, than he had in the entirety of the rest of his life, all toll. Lying in his bed at night, courting sleep, his body would recall the heated kisses and lingering caresses. His mind would recall the way Remus looked after those kisses - the passion-heated eyes, the brown depths inflamed to a golden amber fire. His body would harden, mightily, painfully, and no amount of iron-clad will would quell it until he had taken himself in hand and quickly eased the want.

This weakness of flesh occurred at least once a day - more often twice - once as he went to bed for the night, and again when he rose, to be dealt with as perfunctorily as possible in the shower, so as not to humiliate himself in lessons before the students!

And sometimes, without any aid from him at all, in his dreams.

This state of near adolescent-randiness was not to be tolerated.

In ten days' time, he would be forty-one years old. Far too old to be tossing off, alone in his bed, over frustrated passion. Not when it was only his own ruined psyche which was the primary barrier to true intimacy.

Did he not want to be with Remus?

Of course he did. Very much.

What, then, was holding him back?

Fear.

Fear of humiliation and mockery. There were times, when his vulnerability was particularly close to the surface as only Remus could bring it, when it was impossible to forget past associations. How could he contemplate being naked with REMUS LUPIN, when the laughter of Potter and Black still rang in his ears, Potter holding him upside down, nearly naked, and offering to remove his pants for the amusement of the onlookers?? Espeically when REMUS had been one of the audience?

Fear of the unknown - what if he did it 'wrong' or truly hurt Remus? Would it be painful, to have Remus inside him, no matter how much he thought he wanted it? In spite of his sadistic fantasies, he did not want to injure the other man, nor be truly injured, himself. His life had endured quite enough pain to be going on with, thank you very much.

Fear of his incompetence. He had absolutely no knowledge of technique or method which might offer pleasure rather than fumbling embarrassment. What if he came too quickly? What if he was unable to satisfy Remus?

Fear of Remus' disgust - Severus had been told of his ugliness his entire life. Even if he had not, he could certainly see it for himself, in the the scars which adorned his body, the harsh, angular features and enormous nose which composed his face, and the lank hair which had not somehow magically 'improved' by virtue of haircut and fancy shampoo. What if one look at his nakedness cooled Remus' desire?

Fear of vulnerability and rejection. Once done, it could not be undone. Severus doubted, very, very much, that he would ever 'give' his body (such as it was) to anyone else. When Remus tired of their association, as Severus was certain he would do, he would leave, and that rejection would surely destroy him.

Fear. Fear, fear, and again fear!

COWARD!

Potter's epithet rang in his ears, as it had often done in the years since Albus' death.

Snarling savagely, Severus rose from his chair and paced the room.

He would NOT be controlled by FEAR! He would NOT! Never again!

There was nothing to do but address his fears, as well as he could, and overcome them.

There was no WAY he would allow the past ghosts of two men long dead - and GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE! - to stand between himself and Remus. Potter and Black were DEAD - a fact for which Severus did not hold one drop of remorse. He would not allow their influence to continue to affect his life!

Incompetence would be addressed as he had remedied every other point of ignorance in his life. Research. There were books, he knew, which would at least give him a working knowledge of how to do the thing properly. He went to his desk and spent a few minutes rummaging for a catalog from a book supplier he used frequently. With surprising ease, he found a few titles which he thought would be sufficient, and sent his owl with an order, using the pseudonym under which he had run his potions business during the war.

There. Addressed.

Rising again, he impatiently stalked to the cabinet full of his private potion stores where he withdrew several jars and swept into his bedroom. With a flick of his wand, it was well and brightly-lighted by numerous torches and candles. The fire in the hearth near the bed sprang to life.

June had once asked him why he had not bothered to heal his own scars, and he had told her it was because there was no need and no point. They did not affect his functionality in any way and no one saw them, so to minimise them would be a waste of resources, an unnecessary vanity. Who would ever see them or care?

They were too old to ever be healed, completely, but they might be faded and diminished. He stripped off his clothes with impatient energy and forced himself to stand naked before the full length mirror on the back of his door, critically examining himself as he slowly treated each scar.

Too thin by half, but not so thin as he had been at war's end. His body was corded with wiry, well-defined muscles, but there was no bulk to the musculature. The black Ministry collar stood out starkly against his pale skin, the two pewter studs glinting from beneath his hair, all seeming to emphasise the sharp ridge of his collar bones.

There was nothing in the image to be shapely or pleasing. A dusting of ebony hair swept over his chest, avoided his nipples, then quickly tapered to a fine trail like an arrow to his cock, already becoming turgid in spite of the cool air, not yet warmed by the recently lighted fire.

Ah! Another fear! What if he was 'inadequate' in his endowment? He had seen other men 'in action', so to speak, during the aforementioned Death Eater games. He believed himself to be of 'average' size, or perhaps slightly more, being slightly taller than the 'average' height.

Average, at this moment, did not seem at all 'good enough'.

This, at least, could be easily remedied. In further thought, he considered that less might be more in what he hoped to attempt. If, later, he was found wanting, a simple engorgement charm would suffice.

He continued his assessment as he applied the various salves to his scars. Legs, long and thin with the same scattering of ebony hair as his chest, sparse but dark in contrast to his paleness. Feet narrow, almost bony, with long, thin toes, the natural counter-part to his fine-boned fingers and hands.

Using his wand to direct a cotton swab for application of the ointment to the scars of his back, he turned in the mirror to see as much of his back as possible. There was almost no curve to his bum, being as much too-thin as the rest of him. Hips were narrow, the ridges of his spine clearly visible through his skin.

His entire torso, front and back, was laced with fine-lines of old scars, some longer and more raised than others. The ones across his left pectoral muscle, continuing in a fainter diagonal across his torso, then repeating itself more deeply again across his right thigh, were large and deep - the wounds from the final battle which had not been treated properly or in a timely fashion while he had been in Azkaban - were the most prominent. There would be no 'erasing' those!

All in all, not a very pleasing picture. Yet, it was what he had to work with, and perhaps if his scars faded a bit, it would not be wholly repugnant.

Flesh had responded to the perusal, or rather, the subject matter which had inspired the event, in a predictable fashion. His cock now jutted forward from his body at a ninety-degree angle, the very tip of the head peeking through the foreskin. It bobbed slightly in time with his breathing and the throbbing pulse running through the veins within.

Always before, his attendance to this nuisance had been quick and to the purpose. A negligent toss to relieve the pressure and urgency, with little attention to actual 'pleasure'.

Now, this seemed rather imprudent. One advantage of being emotionally involved with another man is that the basic anatomy is the same. Nerve structure is constructed in a similar fashion - though, admittedly, each individual perceives sensory input differently. What might be pleasurable to one might be annoying to another.

Still, it was a starting place for this journey of self-discovery. Perhaps, by attending to what felt good, to him, he might be better able to know what would be pleasant for Remus, should the time come when they stepped into physical intimacy. He knew this had been true, thus far, in the act of kissing. Remus seemed to enjoy attention to his neck, throat and the shell of his ear every bit as much as Severus did.

With this in mind, he took himself to his bed, now nicely warmed by the roaring fire so near. Laying his wand on the bedside table, he opened a drawer and withdrew yet another potion vial, this one containing a clear, viscous liquid.

Stretching himself out with cat-like languor across the green cotton duvet, Severus began to touch himself. Not an immediate grasp of his cock, but a slow, almost shy, exploration and caress of his body, deliberately avoiding the turgid flesh. Even alone and utterly free of any chance of observation or discovery, he felt awkward and embarrassed. How silly to be petting oneself like a lover!!

Still, embarrassment soon faded as he closed his eyes and simply felt the sensations thus elicited. In his mind's eye, he imagined Remus, golden and naked, and all the places he wanted to touch, taste, suck, know of the other man's body. He experimented with light touches, a raking of nails, deeper massaging caresses. Long, thin fingers danced across his neck and torso like spiders.

The discovery of his nipples drew an audible gasp as he first caressed, then pinched and tweaked the small cinnamon coloured nubs, surprised at how they puckered and hardened from the attention. He licked his fingers and repeated the exploration with the slick moisture heightening the sensations. His cock throbbed hungrily with the actions, as though the nerve impulses were somehow directly connected, nipples to penis. His mouth watered at the sudden desire to lick and suck at Remus' nipples, worry at them with his teeth, to simply taste them!

A warm drop of liquid spattered softly at his navel just above his pubic hair as his cock wept its want.

His inner thighs, too, were surprisingly erogenous. His fingers delighted in the tactile contrast between satin-soft skin and raspy hairs of his leg. The closer he came to the thick tendon of his inner thigh, the more thrilling the sensation - even more so when his hand inadvertently brushed his heavy bollocks, pressed tight against his body in the desire to give up their offering.

Here, too, then, if ever given the opportunity, he imagined sucking and biting, burying his prodigious nose in the groove between thigh and bollocks, worrying at the tendon with his mouth while his hair and cheek teased and tormented Remus' majestic cock, so close to.

Severus was gasping freely now, his chest heaving with the force of his breathing, his head lolling on his pillow, heels digging into the duvet as his hips instinctively canted upward, seeking friction, relief.

Fingers brushed lightly over his cock, and he stifled a moan deep in his throat. Grasping the glans loosely between thumb and forefinger, keeping as minimal contact as possible, he teased the foreskin gently up and down the glans in the slightest of movements.

He stopped, suddenly, fumbled for his wand, and muttered, "Sustainus". He was much too close, already, and his exploration was by no means over.

Thus assured he would not finish until he was good and ready, he toyed with the wrinkled skin of his bollocks sending a true shiver of pleasure through his body. What would Remus taste like, here? He could imagine carding his tongue through the golden hair furring the wrinkled flesh.

Fingers slipped behind the sack, to the small patch of skin there, between cock-root and entrance. His cock throbbed again, so desperately that Severus was certain had the spell not prevented it, he might have come from that touch alone.

Long legs spread open wide. He imagined lying between Remus' open legs - or Remus lying here, between his, hot, sweaty, naked weight pressing urgently down on him.

Exploring fingers found the wrinkled pucker of flesh which comprised the opening to his body. Tight and small, he could cover it entirely with the first section of his index finger. He had not imagined this spot to be so filled with pleasure-sensors! Reaching for the bottle of oil, he slicked a finger and again danced it over the mysterious aperture. It tensed, involuntarily, when he applied slight pressure against it. With conscious will and burning, needy curiosity, he forced himself to relax, and slipped the digit inside.

He moaned, loudly, in spite of himself, not in pain, but in surprised pleasure. To be sure, it was only his finger, and only a short way inside, but the entire ring of tight muscle seemed to be a mass of erogenous nerve endings just made to be stroked and touched. How had he never thought to touch himself here, before?

It was far too much. His bollocks felt fit to burst, orgasm painfully burning inside from the artificial constraint of the magic. Leaving his finger within himself, he dripped a few drops of the lubricant over his weeping cock with his other hand and then set the bottle aside.

Closing his hand into a tight fist and setting it at the tip of his cock, he imagined himself entering Remus' tightness, the gripping muscles of the other man's body clutching at him in a welcoming, heated embrace. His finger stroked minutely in and out of his own arse as his hand slid down his cock, then up again in slow, steady strokes. Nothing like his perfunctory wanks, he was in pursuit of pleasure, not simply relief, and every cell in his body felt on fire with the throbbing want of it.

It was fabulous. Amazing. But completely not enough. He wanted warm skin rubbing and grinding against his own. He wanted to hear Remus' sounds of desperate need and impassioned wanting - not merely his own.

Fist stroked more quickly, finger pumped more deeply, Severus ground his teeth to hold back moans, tortuously holding himself on that peak of need, the artificial elongation of that point of no return provided by the use of the spell.

He could stand it no longer.

"Finite," he gasped, the word ending on a long, low shout of ecstasy as his cock sprayed over his hand, splattering torso and bed with burning hot seed. Pulse after pulse, the denial caused by the spell made the release more intense.

Spent and weakened from the exertion, Severus collapsed into the bed, his mind reeling even as his body was utterly liquid.

How much better would it be to share that pleasure with another - with Remus? How could he not want that sharing, when he knew it would be far better than his imagination could provide?

He could feel sleep overtaking him, unwillingly. There was no delusion that much had 'changed', or that overcoming his fear would be an easy thing.

Now, at least, he knew better what he was denying both himself and Remus, by allowing his fear to be an obstacle between them.

This New Year's Resolution, then, came from the exercise, his last thought before the brief nap of complete satiety enveloped him:

If it was up to him, alone, he would not see his forty-second birthday as a wanking virgin!