Winter Shorts 2008 Round One: Fic - His Dark Legacy - NC-17
Mod Note: Here's the last one for today! Enjoy!
Title: His Dark Legacy
Name: snarkyscorp
Prompt: #140 - Poison, green, Snape, legacy.
Prompt Given by: Anonymous
Word Count: 908
Rating: NC-17
Betas: goddessriss
Author's Notes: If you are squicked by ageplay or Snapeplay (lol), this warning's for you.
Summary: His dark voice was a poison, from which Scorpius had no antidote.
His dark voice was a poison, for which Scorpius had no antidote. The very thought of his smooth drawl sent shivers down Scorpius' spine and urged his legs into a frantic pace, his expensive shoes clicking loudly down the empty hallways.
There were several places they liked to do it - the first time had been brief, in the Headmaster's Office, while Scorpius awaited punishment with his usual partner-in-crime for tormenting a first year. It had happened so quickly Scorpius wasn't sure what to make of it. The only thing he knew was that it wasn't Albus' first time, and that it wouldn't be Scorpius' last.
The Portraits at Hogwarts spoke about it in hushed whispers as Scorpius rushed passed. The bastard had told them, had bragged about it like some sick pervert, and though Scorpius was infuriated that it was now possible for the entire school to know very easily, he couldn't help but remain aroused, the poison of that low growl thrumming through every frenzied heartbeat.
When he arrived in the deserted dungeon, he saw Albus immediately, and the other boy grinned at him.
"Glad you could come."
Scorpius gritted his teeth but felt the familiar effects of his poisonous drawl crawling through his body. It began in his brain, strangely enough, where the poison shut down all functionality, leaving Scorpius cold and pathetically weak in his presence. From there, the poison drew its way down into Scorpius' throat and chest, where his breathing grew labored and his pulse quickened. Once it had consumed his bloodstream, there was only one place left to tangle, and the arousal that hardened was vivid to him.
"No reason to be shy this evening, Scorpius," he said, "Not when you were so willing last time to be my servant."
Scorpius had always prided himself on thinking for himself, on his strength, on the things that made him different from his father. But this situation had caused him to rethink even the most basic actions, and as he lifted his feet like a puppet, Scorpius' legs were heavy as lead.
As Scorpius approached the portrait that hung in the cold dungeon, he felt Albus' hand brushing through his hair in a practiced fashion Scorpius wouldn't have thought Albus capable of before that first time.
Scorpius said nothing as his eyes swept the portrait's surface. The man in the painting was tall, gaunt, greasy, with sallow skin and eyes so dark Scorpius couldn't see an end in them. His dark green robes were just shy of elegant, somewhat wrinkled and dirty, but that only made Scorpius fancy him more, even if he wasn't the object of that dark gaze.
"Turn to him, Scorpius," he said, and Scorpius obeyed without hesitation, reaching for Albus' throat. When his fingers tightened around it and jerked Albus close, he could hear the fraught moan from the portrait grow deeper. "Beautiful," it said, "Beautiful."
As Scorpius leaned in to bite Al's lip, Albus moved in for the kiss, and it elicited a growl from the portrait, which again made Scorpius wonder the same two things he'd thought endlessly about since their first time - what made Severus Snape want Albus Potter so badly, and what made Albus come back again and again? Because Albus wasn't a slave to it like Scorpius was. No, even Snape could see Albus wasn't interested in taking direction and made his own rules. Snape could argue it all he wanted but in the end, he was just a portrait, a lost memory, and Albus was flesh and blood, capable of making real decisions and causing real pleasure and pain.
As Albus kissed him, Scorpius hummed. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted to Albus - he was handsome, roguish, strong - but it was just that the only thing Albus could give him was being dictated by Snape's portrait.
"Take Albus into your mouth, gently," Snape hissed, serpent like in the darkness.
Scorpius dropped to his knees and fumbled at Al's trousers, but stole a glance at the portrait before he completed the task. Snape was bent as close as he could wrangle himself to the edge of the canvas, his sallow cheeks taut and flushed. Scorpius chuckled warmly, turned his eyes up to Albus, and licked at the head of his flushed cock.
It didn't take long. It never did. And when it was all said and done, Snape always said the same thing: "Look at me."
The plea wasn't meant for Scorpius, though he longed for it to be, and as he watched Albus approach the portrait as the boy zipped up his trousers, he knew Albus wasn't really looking at Snape but something beyond him in the portrait, so that he wouldn't have to fully comply.
Snape seemed satisfied, though, and disappeared before Scorpius could ask when their next meeting would be.
"Need help with that?" Albus asked through the darkness, pressing his palm to the aching bulge in Scorpius' trousers.
Scorpius flinched and smacked his head against the wall in an attempt to get away. Albus persisted, massaging, stroking, and when Albus dropped to his knees, Scorpius didn't say no or try to stop him. He grunted and grabbed a fistful of Al's hair, jerking as he thrust his cock deeper down Albus' throat.
And the whole time, even when he came, the poison rippled through his veins and seared his skin. He hated Albus, for being the only thing Severus Snape needed.
Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.