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4th February 2009 08:08 - Custard Tarts For The Tart (Severus/Draco) - fic
Title: Custard Tarts For The Tart
Author: [info]iamisaac
Characters Severus/Draco
Rating: NC17
Warning: not DH-compatible (Severus still alive kind of does for that), masturbation,
Theme/Kinkscatamites: young men used as personal lovers for older men
Word Count: 2500ish
Summary: After the war, there are precious few jobs going for ex-Death-Eaters. War-hero Severus, however, finds one for Draco...
Author's notes: Sorry, not beta-ed. I was well late in finishing this, because I kept getting distracted. Forgive me? My punctuation and grammar is generally okay, and because this fails at canon anyway, I can just pretend it's entirely AU if it has any massive mistakes...




It wasn't quite the career Draco had imagined for himself.

Well, if he were honest, he'd have to admit that he hadn't envisaged ever needing a career. The Malfoy fortune was to be his; why should he take anything so demeaning as a job? Of course, everything changed with the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco was no longer the scion of an ancient and well-respected family, but the young man who'd teamed up with the wrong (the very wrong) side in a war between good and evil. The fact that none of the family ended up imprisoned was something to be grateful for, but at the same time... It had been tough, starting out with no money, no future planned out – and, as an ex-Voldemort supporter, precious few people prepared to employ him in conventional work. (Precious few, as Draco could have mentioned, meaning 'none'.)

This wasn't, according to Severus Snape, a 'career'. It was merely a relationship choice (and let the fact that it was the only option bar begging on the streets be forgotten), in which Draco slept with Severus (or, indeed, gave out sexual favours of many kinds) in return for having somewhere to live and enough to eat. Nearly enough to eat, anyway: Severus had made it clear that he liked the angular body shape that Draco had when they originally met, and in order to keep it Draco had to keep a strict line with his diet. But he had a home, and with Severus now accepted as one of the heroes of the war, a decent place in society as Severus's 'partner'. People might look at Draco askance, but with Severus at his side they did no more than look. At first, they had taken him for a common whore – no, escort, Draco reminded himself ironically – but any attempt by other men to persuade him to be of 'service' to them had been firmly rejected by Severus, who made it quite clear that Draco was his own, particular whore partner and must be treated with respect. A year later, people even believed in their romance and Draco was accepted everywhere.

Romance. Love. Partnership. How little people knew.

How romantic was it to be a kept man, in return for favours? How much of a partnership when one person made all the rules and the other one followed them? Love... Draco turned his mind away from that one, from his guilty knowledge that he could have – perhaps did – love Severus, despite everything. Severus desired him, and he did not make outrageous or unreasonable requests of Draco; accepted his presence in the house and usually remembered to buy custard tarts as a treat for his young lover (who made sure in return, of course, not to eat too many and lose his waif-like body). But Severus did not believe in 'love'. The small amount he had let slip about his past meant that Draco was not altogether surprised about this - he seemed to have had a pretty dreadful time throughout his life up until now – but it did mean that Draco was under no illusions as to his place in Severus's life. Some people had pets; Severus had Draco. And if Draco wanted to keep being Severus's pet (which considering the alternative options, he did), then he needed to do everything that Severus asked of him. Love was emphatically not one of those things. Ergo, Draco did not love Severus (whether he actually did or not).

“Draco!”

And that was Severus home. And Draco knew his place.

“Severus.” Down on one knee at his lover's side, kissing his hand before rising to take his cloak from him, to hang it in the cupboard. “How was your day? Are you – may I do anything for you?”

Draco saw Severus's face relax slightly from its tight, grim lines. He rarely smiled, but Draco had learned to gauge the depth of his frown, to know from the subtle changes around his eyes, his mouth, what sort of mood his protector was in. Today Severus was certainly angry, but not incandescent with rage – a relief. Severus furious was a terrifying prospect, particularly as Draco knew from his companionship with the man that he was probably one of the most skilled wizards alive. He had never turned his wand on Draco; Draco hoped he knew that Severus wouldn't, but there was always that edge of doubt. Even at his most angered, Severus had never yet lost all semblance of self-control – if it ever happened, Draco had no idea what might occur. He bore the scars from sexual encounters when Severus had clearly used sexual energy to clear his ire: although Draco had been given a safeword from the start, he didn't use it. At first, Draco's internal reasoning had been his fear of reprisals: if he were to beg for mercy, he knew that Severus would stop – but would he later be ejected from his position as Severus's lover? Draco had known from early on quite how limited his alternative options were. Now... Yes, the same fear applied, but was increased by the realisation that he didn't – desperately didn't – want to leave Severus for his own sake. Similarly, Draco was aware that he fulfilled a purpose in Severus's life: he helped him recover from the stress of his working life. If it meant allowing Severus to take his frustrations out on Draco's body, so it must be. But with the last bruises still shining purple on his skin, he was grateful that it wouldn't be tonight.

“A drink.” Severus sighed and moved his hands over his face, as if clearing the day's frustrations from his mind. “Just a drink, Draco.”

Draco nodded and moved through into the kitchen. Severus refused to have a House-Elf, either as servant or paid employee: his house was his sanctuary and he did not wish to share it. Draco, brought up on Malfoy privilege and the idea of servants as standard issue, had found this hard to understand, but he had learned that Severus had a different past, and saw privacy as being of prime importance. It made Draco realise his favoured position, that Severus allowed him in the house to the exclusion of all others - and made him even more eager to please. 'A drink' at this time of day meant a glass of red wine: Severus would take a couple of sips and then leave it to one side, at least in this mood. In darker moments, the whole thing might be tossed down and followed by a second, but by the expression on his face tonight he merely needed the comforts of his own home, not the forgetfulness of excess alcohol. Draco uncorked the wine and poured it into a chalice, listening to the comforting, familiar, 'glug'.

“Here,” he said quietly, giving the glass to Severus and settling at his feet.

“Thank you.” Severus's hand reached down and stroked through Draco's hair, a gentle, repetitive gesture. Draco leaned his head against his lover's knee, an acceptable move at times like these. “Tell me things, Draco.”

Severus wanted light entertainment, yet nothing that he would consider 'beneath his notice'. Draco's days were spent scanning the Daily Prophet for articles of interest, then trying desperately to find more information about important details. He had even (and no one would ever, perhaps, know how much pride Draco had ditched in order to do so) learned the details of Muggle libraries, and that strange Muggle concept - the 'internet'. It might be a Muggle thing, but from what Draco picked up (apart from porn, which seemed to appear without request, to Draco's immense embarrassment), wizards and witches were making the most of this interesting method of communication. Although one could not trust a goodly percentage of the so-called 'information', Draco had begun to discover the sites that he could trust to give him the truth. He began to speak of the new rumours of a challenge to Kingsley Shacklebolt's Ministry, citing a few names allegedly involved in the would-be coup. Severus gave a short laugh.

“I'd heard. Though not about Crinshaw – and frankly, I doubt it. It is doomed to failure.” Severus's frown appeared again, and Draco slid a hand up his leg, underneath his robes. The tension that this particular subject had caused was all too evident; Draco regretted his choice of subject, and knew only one way to distract Severus. His hand was followed, slowly and hesitantly, by his mouth, trailing kisses up from Severus's calf up to his thigh. “You're right,” said Severus, his fingers clenching in Draco's hair. “It is not important.”

“Not now,” Draco murmured, his kisses moving steadily upwards until they licked at the crease between Severus's thigh and his groin.

Severus grunted, and changed position so that his cock was nudging against Draco's mouth. He rarely wore underwear: it had taken Draco many private moments of telling himself that it was none of his business what Severus did when they weren't together before he was comfortable with (or at least able to accept) this. Jealousy was not an emotion a catamite was expected to display. Draco opened his mouth, his tongue licking suggestively at the tip of Severus's cock. Severus's fingers clenched harder in his hair, his nails digging into Draco's scalp. Obedient to his lover's unspoken demand, Draco bobbed forward, taking the long, hard, erection further into his mouth until it nudged against the back of his throat. In their early days, Draco had feared he would retch when this happened; had been simultaneously terrified of refusing what was a clear expectation and of vomiting as an involuntary reaction. He had learned to control the feeling; now, to some extent he loved Severus's need, the desperation that drove him to thrust further – deeper – more. Still, though, he was uncertain of his skill at fellatio. Despite discovering in the internet a useful range of hints, Draco had never brought Severus to orgasm by mouth alone. His lack of experience before shacking up with Severus was a humiliating fact that he tried not to think about, since he had never made it with a girl (Pansy had commonly been suspected to be frigid until Draco had found her screaming in orgasmic bliss with a spotty Ravenclaw a year younger than he), let alone a man. And Severus wasn't just any man, he was...

... thrusting into Draco's mouth until Draco could think of nothing but the taste, the smell, the feel of Severus. Severus was making huffing noises that were almost (not quite) silent, and his hands unclenched then clenched again as Draco speeded up his motion. Draco could feel his lover's cock twitching in his mouth, and thought that maybe, maybe this time they would reach completion (his own cock swelling at the very thought).

Then Severus pushed him away, black eyes managing simultaneously to look glazed and fierce.

“Undress.” Draco's eyes were fixed on Severus's erection, and Severus reached a long-fingered hand down to wrap his fingers around himself. “Undress, I said;” and Severus's voice was harsh.

Fumbling in his anxiety to please, Draco shrugged the robes from his shoulders and down to the floor, pushed his pants down and stepped out of them. He made a move towards Severus, but the older man stopped him with an imperious gesture.

“Severus?”

“Stand there. Where I can see you.”

Draco stood still, aware of a slight draught from the door and a raging erection standing proud in front of him. Severus nodded.

“I want to watch you.”

“What?”

“I've felt your fingers around my cock, Draco. I've felt you come in my hand, across my stomach, over my bed. Now I want something different. I want to see you, watch what you do, see what you do to yourself when I'm not here.”

“You want me to...” Draco's words were barely more than a whisper.

“Masturbate for me. Yes.” Severus paused a second, leaning forward. “Yes,” he said again.

Draco should have been embarrassed; should have been mortified by the request. The blush suffusing his cheeks suggested that he was. And there was, indeed, a part of him that winced away in horror at the idea of standing there, in front of Severus, wanking for another man's pleasure. But then his eyes saw Severus's hand closed around his own cock, saw how wanting, how desperate his lover was to see him. And he couldn't help it, not under the gaze of those compelling eyes. His hand slid down to his own prick, his tongue reaching out to lick around his lips. He could feel the blood coursing through him, most of it aiming cock-wards as he touched and teased himself for Severus's pleasure. His eyes remained fixed on Severus, however; he was doing this for him, and he was doing this with him, even though Severus wasn't touching him.

And God he was hot. He was hot and desperate, and Severus's eyes burned – they burned – and Draco's right hand moved faster on his cock, as he slid two fingers of his other hand into his mouth, sucking them in and out in time with his right hand. He could see Severus's hand, too, moving in tandem with his own, and could almost feel his lover's practised fingers around his own cock, pulling him closer... closer...

Draco fell. It was like drowning and ecstasy in one single moment. He still could not take his eyes from Severus: the other man swam in and out of focus as Draco groaned his release. Draco rode wave after wave, saw colours that never existed in any rainbow outside his mind, felt – ah, felt.

And it was over, and Draco sank to his knees, his head resting once more on Severus's lower thigh. The older man had come, too; Draco extended just the tip of his tongue to taste the salty excretion of his lover. Severus stroked his fingertip down Draco's cheek, a small gesture of recognition. And Draco loved Severus, he loved him, and yet was just a plaything for his lover. And he sighed, and leaned more firmly on Severus's leg, and told himself to be grateful for what he had. He was desired. He was wanted. It was foolish to dream of more.
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