Fic: Untitled, James/Severus, R
Rather preliminary version. I'm late for the pub, so here goes...
Pairing: James/Severus
Rating: R, bit dark so be careful
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Some random fight-sex.
For _emeraldgreen
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ James shoved Snape, taking wicked satisfaction from watching him stumble and struggle to stay on his feet.
‘Oh, I am sorry. Did I upset your widdle girlfwend?’ James was rather impressed that Snape was managing to sneer at the same time as affecting a babyish-type voice, though he would rather die than admit it. ‘Oh,’ Snape cocked his head mockingly to the side, ‘I forgot; she isn’t your girlfriend, is she? Because she hates you. Because you’re a brainless, big-headed wanker.’ A hand reached towards James’ hair for a derisive tweak. ‘Because that swollen head of yours is all filled with air.’
It was that last bit that made James explode, not even the jibes about Evans, just the sing-song voice and the creepy, almost provocative tilt of Snape’s head.
The satisfaction he always felt at having Snape crushed up against the wall blossomed pleasurably through him, hot and sweeping, and he touched the tip of his nose against the nose of his enemy. Those cruel, guarded eyes of Snape’s were fixed on him; cowardly, but still bold enough to meet his gaze when challenged, despite being at a clear disadvantage; his back against cold stone and strong, long-fingered hands holding him there.
‘Do,’ James began, mouth barely an inch from Snape’s. ‘Do you really think I give a fuck what you think of me?’
Snape seemed to have no answer, but the next move was predictable and James prepared himself, letting his grip relax, giving his opponent the impression he might have a chance. Snape shoved away from the wall, twisting and trying to go for his wand. ‘Don’t think so,’ James said with a smile and a sharp shove back, pressing his whole body against Snape’s to hold him in place.
‘Don’t you think you might like rubbing yourself against me a bit too much, Potter?’ Snape asked, all false innocence and thinly-veiled malice.
‘Well, then you must enjoy it too, otherwise you wouldn’t be constantly-‘ James jerked, slamming Snape so he was flattened even harder against the wall. ‘-provoking me, would you?’
Snape seemed to pause, eyes locked to James’ and the moment hung there tensely, dragged out to the point where James almost thought it could be true.
‘Is that it, Snivellus? You want to shag me, do y-‘ Snape spun quickly, elbow finding James’ ribs as they both went for their wands. James turned to grab at Snape, a number of debilitating and embarrassing hexes on the tip of his tongue, but as he did so his wand hand connected with his opponent’s and their wrists knocked, bones jarring together, loosening their grips and causing both weapons to clatter to the floor.
Both watched their wands spin across the flagstones and skid to a halt at least ten metres down the corridor, before turning to eye each other nervously. In a split-second decision, James chose physical violence over a dubious scuffle to try and reach his wand, the outcome of which would be more certain -Snape was tall enough, but pretty weak, and James would have definite control while using his fists. A moment and a brief scrap later he had the boy against the wall again, this time with no need to hold his hands away from his pockets, instead he held his chest back, his other hand securely fastened under Snape’s neck.
‘So…’ James began, unclear as to where this was leading, apart from his usual sureness that someone was going to get a punch in the face.
‘So…’ agreed Snape, displaying that grin of his that was almost not a sneer, the one that was very difficult to inspire. ‘Do you want to go up to my dormitory, or would you prefer it up against the wall?’
‘You little shit!’ James yelled, temper snapping, swinging one fist sideways while Snape clenched a hand into the front of his robes. In the scramble they quickly both lost their balance, crumpling to the ground, and, using his remarkable skill at escaping, Snape somehow managed to clamber on top of James, who was stuck face-down on the tiles.
‘Like it rough, do you?’ he hissed, bent over James.
James let his body go deceptively limp as he felt a knee lodge into his back, and tried to force his voice to sound calm. ‘I like to rough you up, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Should have known that was why you’re always trying to take my pants off, yeargh-‘
James was particularly satisfied with that move; a sudden kick then a jerk of his hips and Snape fell off him, sprawled messily across the stone floor so James could easily take control. ‘Oh, how quickly the tables do turn,’ he said, accompanying the comment with his nastiest smile as he settled onto Snape’s hips, holding his enemy’s chin up with one hand lodged under his jaw.
It was possibly rather worrying just how much he enjoyed almost-strangling Snape, but he wasn’t going to worry now, not while he was having so much fun. ‘Just can’t get enough of me, eh Potter?’ Snape choked out awkwardly.
James snickered; Snape’s jokes were far less mocking when he could barely speak for being throttled. ‘Yes, Snivelly; I want every last bit of you.’ He paused to enjoy the suspicious flash of the whites of Snape’s eyes. He leaned over, very close. ‘Every last bit of you nailed to the wall in the Gryffindor common room.’
‘Oh har har-glark!’
‘Indeed, well aren’t you witty,’ James said with amusement, unclenching his fist so Snape could breath again, before being taken by surprise by a hard smack in the face.
And then they were wrestling, all elbows and knees, scraping fingernails and scruffy black hair in each others faces. James quite wanted to bite, because there was nothing more satisfying than sinking your teeth hard into someone, but he’d only ever bitten Sirius before, and he didn’t know what Slytherins might taste like; probably bitter and sour and poisonous.
Snape was usually the sneaky, underhanded sort, all toxic potions in your dinner and vicious hexes while you were looking the other way, but James preferred it like this; this was the fair way to do it, the Gryffindor way, on the floor, down and dirty and equal, with only your fists and your wits to defend yourself with.
Their legs tangled and their fingers twined, Snape’s deviousness still apparent in each gouge of fingernail, and every knee-jerking attempt to crush James’ knackers. James was more used to fighting, had practiced this so many times, but got the shock of his life when he finally managed to un-twist their legs and fingers and roll his full weight up, straddled neatly atop his least-favourite Slytherin.
He paused.
Now, he knew, was the time to leave, to stand up, to laugh and scorn and run off to share this latest, greatest humiliation with Sirius, but it was tempting to drag this out, far too tempting.
‘Oh, and here you are, just enjoying this far too much,’ James muttered, faux-seductively, against the boy’s ear, near enough to brush a lobe. Snape yelped, then whimpered, struggling with a new level of desperation in his limbs, and James actually felt the slightest pang of guilt, because this was a very different, more deeply scarring form of degradation than just flashing someone’s underwear at a large audience of their peers, but he couldn’t stop now, somehow he just couldn’t.
‘Just get the fuck off me!’ Snape bucked up against him, attempting to dislodge James’ weight, and to James it was the strangest experience, that Snape was hard while close to him. Not only hard, but that James could feel it, jabbing his inner-thigh, the surreal, alien sensation of the thickness of him. ‘Just- off!’
‘Why?’ James thrust his hips briefly then leant down, bracing his forearms on the floor either side of Snape’s head. ‘I thought you liked this.’
‘No,’ Snape said, his voice tight and strange, and James didn’t know who he hated more; Snape or himself, that he could stoop to such obvious cruelty, that he could enjoy it, want it, fucking love it. He watched Snape’s tense expression; taut, confused features, the flicker and squint of his dark eyes as they tried to avoid meeting his.
‘You fucking love it,’ he whispered, nearly nose-to-nose again, then drawing back at the realisation of having just echoed his own thoughts, his own feelings.
The forearm smashed into his face with only the brief warning of Snape’s almost-simultaneous cry of ‘fuck off’, and James knew immediately, from experience, that his nose would be bleeding, as Snape staggered hurriedly to his feet and James attempted to do likewise.
Snape was halfway to the doorway before James was steady enough to follow, but some instinct made him hurl himself across the room and slam them both against the door. They rolled along the wall, James unable to curb his laughter, Snape restless, twitchy and so angry, but fighting in the way he could always be counted upon to do; losing his head in the fuming heat of his frustrated temper, becoming clumsy and ineffectual, and James pinned him so easily.
Now James knew he should leave him alone, but he was immediately conscious that he should have left earlier, and now he was still here and maybe, maybe, it was too late. Maybe if he left now he’d lose the fight.
There was a long, horrible, extended moment, in which James realised that not only was he holding one of Snape’s hands, albeit pressed into the wall above his head, but that his other hand was actually cupping his enemy’s cheek as they considered each other carefully.
And he was hard.
Oh god, somehow he was hard, whether from the power rush or the physical contact, and Snape was just staring back with a look that could have been pain or lust, intense embarrassment or the natural, ingrained need for relief. But here they both were and James was so high on it now, careless of how it might feel to him afterwards, because he needed to come - they both did - and, eyes focused on the wall, biting his lip, he gently rolled his hips; teasing-slow and barely-there, and just the once, as if it could possibly go unnoticed.
‘You disgusting, perverted little shit,’ Snape hissed at him, but his words flowed unevenly, thick with arousal and bitterness. James clawed his nails in and thrust with sudden violence, hard, fast, and Snape closed his lips quickly, face angled slightly away, but when he made his escape attempt it was pathetic and weak, just a loose flail of half-hearted limbs, and James almost laughed, because he was still winning and Snape’s hands settled barely-there over his hips.
‘And what,’ James murmured, lip-to-lip, ‘does - that - make - you?’ He punctuated each word with a rough thrust, using his measured words to control himself, finding it a difficult thing to do while cock-to-cock, hard as hell and his head spinning.
Previously silent, Snape made a tiny, needy gasp when James thrust again, as if he’d been holding his breath, holding back, hiding it, but able to no longer. Those long, bony fingers pushed deeper into the skin of James’ hips as they worked against each other, used each other. Snape trembled, face contorted as he strained towards his orgasm; almost wearing that sneer, but now it was different, different and beautiful, and James couldn’t be thinking that, but he was, and he couldn’t stop watching, watching, and waiting for it to break.
‘Fucking hell - Potter…’ Snape said, whispered, James' name spoken so softly.
James whimpered, hating himself, but that was the first time, from those lips, that his name wasn’t an insult. This time it was an appeal, a plea, an endearment, and it was the first time, the first time ever, that anyone had said his name in that way, with that meaning; asking, begging, needing.
And he was going to come; shuddering, straining, ashamed and scared, but so desperate - clawing and scratching, Snape similarly out of control and rubbing against him, and then he was; teeth grazing Snape’s cheek, feeling the ecstatic grind and fingers so tight on his hips. Snape was coming too and loudly, all gasps and little cries.
‘Shit,’ James said, eventually, once his chest was shuddering less quickly and his hands had relaxed. ‘Shit.’
‘Yeah,’ Snape murmured, a slight question in his voice, palms lingering almost gently over James’ hips.
James looked at him, confused. This was nothing; a fight, a game, just a wank for fuck’s sake, but there was a weirdness in the air, and still one of his hands was cupping his enemy’s cheek as their breaths returned to normal. ‘Yeah.’
Snape looked confused; suspicious and scared, and James, in a fleeting fit of shame and guilt, that strange mix of need and disgust and lust burning through him, leaned to press their lips together. Snape twitched a little, but allowed it; just a few seconds, the two of them, kissing.
‘That never happened,’ James told him, pulling away.
‘The kiss or the fuck?’ Snape asked, sneer back in full force.
James sighed. ‘Just- both. Shut up. Shit.’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes, suddenly dizzy. ‘I-‘ He took a deep breath, hardening his face and tone. ‘I owe you a punch in the face, Snivellus, and if you’re still here when I look up, you’ll fucking get it, okay?’
Silence.
James counted to ten, concentrating on the numbers and nothing else; not his damp underwear, his bruised hips, his accelerated heart-rate.
When he reached eight, there was a whirl of footsteps and the door slammed.
Pairing: James/Severus
Rating: R, bit dark so be careful
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Some random fight-sex.
For _emeraldgreen
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ James shoved Snape, taking wicked satisfaction from watching him stumble and struggle to stay on his feet.
‘Oh, I am sorry. Did I upset your widdle girlfwend?’ James was rather impressed that Snape was managing to sneer at the same time as affecting a babyish-type voice, though he would rather die than admit it. ‘Oh,’ Snape cocked his head mockingly to the side, ‘I forgot; she isn’t your girlfriend, is she? Because she hates you. Because you’re a brainless, big-headed wanker.’ A hand reached towards James’ hair for a derisive tweak. ‘Because that swollen head of yours is all filled with air.’
It was that last bit that made James explode, not even the jibes about Evans, just the sing-song voice and the creepy, almost provocative tilt of Snape’s head.
The satisfaction he always felt at having Snape crushed up against the wall blossomed pleasurably through him, hot and sweeping, and he touched the tip of his nose against the nose of his enemy. Those cruel, guarded eyes of Snape’s were fixed on him; cowardly, but still bold enough to meet his gaze when challenged, despite being at a clear disadvantage; his back against cold stone and strong, long-fingered hands holding him there.
‘Do,’ James began, mouth barely an inch from Snape’s. ‘Do you really think I give a fuck what you think of me?’
Snape seemed to have no answer, but the next move was predictable and James prepared himself, letting his grip relax, giving his opponent the impression he might have a chance. Snape shoved away from the wall, twisting and trying to go for his wand. ‘Don’t think so,’ James said with a smile and a sharp shove back, pressing his whole body against Snape’s to hold him in place.
‘Don’t you think you might like rubbing yourself against me a bit too much, Potter?’ Snape asked, all false innocence and thinly-veiled malice.
‘Well, then you must enjoy it too, otherwise you wouldn’t be constantly-‘ James jerked, slamming Snape so he was flattened even harder against the wall. ‘-provoking me, would you?’
Snape seemed to pause, eyes locked to James’ and the moment hung there tensely, dragged out to the point where James almost thought it could be true.
‘Is that it, Snivellus? You want to shag me, do y-‘ Snape spun quickly, elbow finding James’ ribs as they both went for their wands. James turned to grab at Snape, a number of debilitating and embarrassing hexes on the tip of his tongue, but as he did so his wand hand connected with his opponent’s and their wrists knocked, bones jarring together, loosening their grips and causing both weapons to clatter to the floor.
Both watched their wands spin across the flagstones and skid to a halt at least ten metres down the corridor, before turning to eye each other nervously. In a split-second decision, James chose physical violence over a dubious scuffle to try and reach his wand, the outcome of which would be more certain -Snape was tall enough, but pretty weak, and James would have definite control while using his fists. A moment and a brief scrap later he had the boy against the wall again, this time with no need to hold his hands away from his pockets, instead he held his chest back, his other hand securely fastened under Snape’s neck.
‘So…’ James began, unclear as to where this was leading, apart from his usual sureness that someone was going to get a punch in the face.
‘So…’ agreed Snape, displaying that grin of his that was almost not a sneer, the one that was very difficult to inspire. ‘Do you want to go up to my dormitory, or would you prefer it up against the wall?’
‘You little shit!’ James yelled, temper snapping, swinging one fist sideways while Snape clenched a hand into the front of his robes. In the scramble they quickly both lost their balance, crumpling to the ground, and, using his remarkable skill at escaping, Snape somehow managed to clamber on top of James, who was stuck face-down on the tiles.
‘Like it rough, do you?’ he hissed, bent over James.
James let his body go deceptively limp as he felt a knee lodge into his back, and tried to force his voice to sound calm. ‘I like to rough you up, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Should have known that was why you’re always trying to take my pants off, yeargh-‘
James was particularly satisfied with that move; a sudden kick then a jerk of his hips and Snape fell off him, sprawled messily across the stone floor so James could easily take control. ‘Oh, how quickly the tables do turn,’ he said, accompanying the comment with his nastiest smile as he settled onto Snape’s hips, holding his enemy’s chin up with one hand lodged under his jaw.
It was possibly rather worrying just how much he enjoyed almost-strangling Snape, but he wasn’t going to worry now, not while he was having so much fun. ‘Just can’t get enough of me, eh Potter?’ Snape choked out awkwardly.
James snickered; Snape’s jokes were far less mocking when he could barely speak for being throttled. ‘Yes, Snivelly; I want every last bit of you.’ He paused to enjoy the suspicious flash of the whites of Snape’s eyes. He leaned over, very close. ‘Every last bit of you nailed to the wall in the Gryffindor common room.’
‘Oh har har-glark!’
‘Indeed, well aren’t you witty,’ James said with amusement, unclenching his fist so Snape could breath again, before being taken by surprise by a hard smack in the face.
And then they were wrestling, all elbows and knees, scraping fingernails and scruffy black hair in each others faces. James quite wanted to bite, because there was nothing more satisfying than sinking your teeth hard into someone, but he’d only ever bitten Sirius before, and he didn’t know what Slytherins might taste like; probably bitter and sour and poisonous.
Snape was usually the sneaky, underhanded sort, all toxic potions in your dinner and vicious hexes while you were looking the other way, but James preferred it like this; this was the fair way to do it, the Gryffindor way, on the floor, down and dirty and equal, with only your fists and your wits to defend yourself with.
Their legs tangled and their fingers twined, Snape’s deviousness still apparent in each gouge of fingernail, and every knee-jerking attempt to crush James’ knackers. James was more used to fighting, had practiced this so many times, but got the shock of his life when he finally managed to un-twist their legs and fingers and roll his full weight up, straddled neatly atop his least-favourite Slytherin.
He paused.
Now, he knew, was the time to leave, to stand up, to laugh and scorn and run off to share this latest, greatest humiliation with Sirius, but it was tempting to drag this out, far too tempting.
‘Oh, and here you are, just enjoying this far too much,’ James muttered, faux-seductively, against the boy’s ear, near enough to brush a lobe. Snape yelped, then whimpered, struggling with a new level of desperation in his limbs, and James actually felt the slightest pang of guilt, because this was a very different, more deeply scarring form of degradation than just flashing someone’s underwear at a large audience of their peers, but he couldn’t stop now, somehow he just couldn’t.
‘Just get the fuck off me!’ Snape bucked up against him, attempting to dislodge James’ weight, and to James it was the strangest experience, that Snape was hard while close to him. Not only hard, but that James could feel it, jabbing his inner-thigh, the surreal, alien sensation of the thickness of him. ‘Just- off!’
‘Why?’ James thrust his hips briefly then leant down, bracing his forearms on the floor either side of Snape’s head. ‘I thought you liked this.’
‘No,’ Snape said, his voice tight and strange, and James didn’t know who he hated more; Snape or himself, that he could stoop to such obvious cruelty, that he could enjoy it, want it, fucking love it. He watched Snape’s tense expression; taut, confused features, the flicker and squint of his dark eyes as they tried to avoid meeting his.
‘You fucking love it,’ he whispered, nearly nose-to-nose again, then drawing back at the realisation of having just echoed his own thoughts, his own feelings.
The forearm smashed into his face with only the brief warning of Snape’s almost-simultaneous cry of ‘fuck off’, and James knew immediately, from experience, that his nose would be bleeding, as Snape staggered hurriedly to his feet and James attempted to do likewise.
Snape was halfway to the doorway before James was steady enough to follow, but some instinct made him hurl himself across the room and slam them both against the door. They rolled along the wall, James unable to curb his laughter, Snape restless, twitchy and so angry, but fighting in the way he could always be counted upon to do; losing his head in the fuming heat of his frustrated temper, becoming clumsy and ineffectual, and James pinned him so easily.
Now James knew he should leave him alone, but he was immediately conscious that he should have left earlier, and now he was still here and maybe, maybe, it was too late. Maybe if he left now he’d lose the fight.
There was a long, horrible, extended moment, in which James realised that not only was he holding one of Snape’s hands, albeit pressed into the wall above his head, but that his other hand was actually cupping his enemy’s cheek as they considered each other carefully.
And he was hard.
Oh god, somehow he was hard, whether from the power rush or the physical contact, and Snape was just staring back with a look that could have been pain or lust, intense embarrassment or the natural, ingrained need for relief. But here they both were and James was so high on it now, careless of how it might feel to him afterwards, because he needed to come - they both did - and, eyes focused on the wall, biting his lip, he gently rolled his hips; teasing-slow and barely-there, and just the once, as if it could possibly go unnoticed.
‘You disgusting, perverted little shit,’ Snape hissed at him, but his words flowed unevenly, thick with arousal and bitterness. James clawed his nails in and thrust with sudden violence, hard, fast, and Snape closed his lips quickly, face angled slightly away, but when he made his escape attempt it was pathetic and weak, just a loose flail of half-hearted limbs, and James almost laughed, because he was still winning and Snape’s hands settled barely-there over his hips.
‘And what,’ James murmured, lip-to-lip, ‘does - that - make - you?’ He punctuated each word with a rough thrust, using his measured words to control himself, finding it a difficult thing to do while cock-to-cock, hard as hell and his head spinning.
Previously silent, Snape made a tiny, needy gasp when James thrust again, as if he’d been holding his breath, holding back, hiding it, but able to no longer. Those long, bony fingers pushed deeper into the skin of James’ hips as they worked against each other, used each other. Snape trembled, face contorted as he strained towards his orgasm; almost wearing that sneer, but now it was different, different and beautiful, and James couldn’t be thinking that, but he was, and he couldn’t stop watching, watching, and waiting for it to break.
‘Fucking hell - Potter…’ Snape said, whispered, James' name spoken so softly.
James whimpered, hating himself, but that was the first time, from those lips, that his name wasn’t an insult. This time it was an appeal, a plea, an endearment, and it was the first time, the first time ever, that anyone had said his name in that way, with that meaning; asking, begging, needing.
And he was going to come; shuddering, straining, ashamed and scared, but so desperate - clawing and scratching, Snape similarly out of control and rubbing against him, and then he was; teeth grazing Snape’s cheek, feeling the ecstatic grind and fingers so tight on his hips. Snape was coming too and loudly, all gasps and little cries.
‘Shit,’ James said, eventually, once his chest was shuddering less quickly and his hands had relaxed. ‘Shit.’
‘Yeah,’ Snape murmured, a slight question in his voice, palms lingering almost gently over James’ hips.
James looked at him, confused. This was nothing; a fight, a game, just a wank for fuck’s sake, but there was a weirdness in the air, and still one of his hands was cupping his enemy’s cheek as their breaths returned to normal. ‘Yeah.’
Snape looked confused; suspicious and scared, and James, in a fleeting fit of shame and guilt, that strange mix of need and disgust and lust burning through him, leaned to press their lips together. Snape twitched a little, but allowed it; just a few seconds, the two of them, kissing.
‘That never happened,’ James told him, pulling away.
‘The kiss or the fuck?’ Snape asked, sneer back in full force.
James sighed. ‘Just- both. Shut up. Shit.’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes, suddenly dizzy. ‘I-‘ He took a deep breath, hardening his face and tone. ‘I owe you a punch in the face, Snivellus, and if you’re still here when I look up, you’ll fucking get it, okay?’
Silence.
James counted to ten, concentrating on the numbers and nothing else; not his damp underwear, his bruised hips, his accelerated heart-rate.
When he reached eight, there was a whirl of footsteps and the door slammed.