Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: celandineb
From: softly_sweetly

Title: Strength to Carry On
Characters/Pairings: Severus/Sirius
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Included: D/s
Other Warnings/Content: Dub-Con, depending how you look at it.
Word Count: ~1700
Summary/Description: Playing the Dark against the Light isn't easy, and Severus finds his strength wherever he can.
Author's Notes: To the prompter, I hope you enjoy this, and it hits the spot. It deviated slightly from the prompt (the D/s was rather more blink-and-you'll-miss-it than centre-stage) but hopefully stayed true to the fluff-free fic you had in mind. Thank you to E for the beta, and the Mods for being so delicious and incredible!




He hated feeling scared, hated feeling out of control of his own destiny even for a second. He wasn't cut out for spying, for leading a double life; there were too many variables, too many things outside of his own control. But as the war raged on, Severus found himself seeing beyond the allure of belonging, of pure magical blood above all else, and saw the dangerous undercurrent of the Dark Lord's plans, the manic, terrifying side that had long ago given up on ideology in a desperate grab for power. He'd gone to Dumbledore expecting help, expecting a way out. He didn't expect to be thrown back into that which he was fleeing. But the only way to guarantee his safety was to agree to Dumbledore's request. And Severus knew that his standing in the kitchen of Grimmauld place, stating that he would spy for the light, was the only thing that had kept him alive.

But that had been a week ago, and standing here on Christmas Eve, the night before his first meeting with the Dark Lord since deciding to betray him, Severus was scared. And that would not do; he could not show fear, could not show weakness, because no matter how well he hid it, the Dark Lord would sense it, would sniff out the tiny strand of emotion and use it to garrotte Severus.

The club Severus was approaching was infamous in magical circles, and Severus knew from overheard conversations that Black frequented it. Much as Severus loathed the idea of being there, and of being there specifically to seek out Black, it was the only way he could see to keep himself alive in the coming days. Severus needed hatred, needed disgust and repulsion and disdain to flow through his veins. He needed to hate everyone and everything, needed to want chaos and destruction to reign, if he was to fool the Dark Lord as to his intentions. And there was one person, one man whose tirade against Severus in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place had made his fists clench. There was one person who could elicit such anger in Severus as he needed to save his own skin.

Showing his wand to the man on the door, Severus stepped over the threshold and felt the familiar shimmer of wards. Stepping carefully down the narrow flight of stairs he handed in his wand and cloak to the witch waiting there, reflexively checking that his sleeve hid his Mark. The main room was dark and warm, welcoming while still promising something faint and alluring. Severus moved smoothly over to the bar to order whisky, downing doubles as he built up his nerve, his strength.

It was nothing so cheap as a sex club, but every corner seemed to ooze erotica. It was a place to come, to drink, to find people with similar desires and take them home, or into a back room. It made its name on being discreet, on being safe, and was possibly one of the few places left where Light and Dark could meet, either unknowing, or unwilling to bring the war into the walls. At least half of the people in here wore masks, some to show a preference for submission or dominance, some purely to hide their identity away. But Black was too proud, too vain to cover his face, and Severus needed his own to be seen. If Black didn't take the bait, didn't storm over and demand to know why Severus was here, didn't give Severus the opening he needed to goad Black into a backroom, into treating Severus in a way that would allow him to hate the world just long enough to keep himself alive, then Severus didn't have a back-up plan.

"What are you doing here, Snivellus?"

As predictable as ever, then. Severus finished his drink and turned slowly in his chair, mustering up every bit of disdain he could to look Black up and down. "I'd say the same thing as you, Black, but you're hardly known for your ingenuity, so I doubt it."

There was a few seconds of silence as the cogs turned in Black's head, trying to work out if he'd been insulted or not. He had, of course, but any word over three syllables required extra mental effort on his part.

"Get out of here, Snivellus. Your kind isn't wanted here."

"And yours is, I presume?"

"Fuck off. Now."

Sliding down from the stool, Severus shook his head. "I came here for release, and I'll find it. You may be rejected here tonight, but I won't be." With that, Severus moved away from the confrontation, knowing that the only thing that would enrage Black more than Severus' mere existence would be Severus turning his back and walking away. But Black was clearly learning self-control; Severus was almost at the back rooms when he felt a hand slam into his back, pushing him into the wall.

"You believe that? You think anyone in here would touch your greasy skin? I can have my pick of the room, Snape, while you sit alone in the corner, untouched and a fucking rat."

Bristling with anger, Severus leant forwards so his hissed words would be clear to Black. And if flecks of spittle hit Black's face then so be it – the quicker he antagonised Black to breaking point, the better. "Then why are you here with me, Black, if you can have your pick of the room? Unless I'm your pick, and you're too much of a weakling to admit it."

Black scoffed, but he stepped closer to Severus, bringing one hand up to push threateningly against Severus' throat. "Oh, you'd like that. Always following me around at school, picking fights to get closer to me. I bet you've had a hard-on for me all along, wanted me because I'm everything you're not. Hell, you're even betraying your precious master to get closer to me."

"I'm not the one pinning you against the wall."

The simple statement almost backfired, as Black loosened his grip on Severus' throat, stepped back with a quizzical look in his eyes. Severus was almost about to speak, about to push more buttons to get Black to move closer, when Black's eyes lit up with malice.

"I'm not the one on my knees." His grip tightened again, and Severus' knees buckled under the pressure, crashing him to the floor. He'd wanted a back room, wanted privacy, but at least if this started now then it would finish sooner.

"Get off me, Black."

The snick of Black's zipper was inordinately loud when Severus was at eye level with it, so Severus closed his eyes. Doing this didn't have to mean watching it.

Either Black had been half-hard already, or he was quick to get up, because the shaft that forced Severus' mouth open was stiff and unyielding. Both of Black's hands were clenched in Severus' hair, holding Severus still while Black snapped his hips backwards and forwards. Severus was so busy dissociating himself from the act that he barely noticed Black was talking. But the vitriol spewing from his mouth in between gasps for air was hardly worth listening to, so Severus tuned it back out. He was aware of people watching, and felt his anger boiling. But this was nearly over, and Severus just had to hold out a little longer. From the broken rhythm and the gasps, it wouldn't be too long.

The fingers in his hair clenched hard, and Severus' mouth was suddenly empty. He was so surprised he didn't think to raise his hands, didn't think to connect the dots and shield his face from the ribbons of pearly white come that splashed across his face. Severus had briefly thought about how this would play out, but he hadn't imagined this. Nor did he imagine Black dropping to his knees in front of Severus, one hand cupping his cheek tenderly. The gesture surprised Severus into looking up, meeting Black's eyes, but there was no tenderness there.

Black spoke in a whisper, but the malice and threat was all too clear. "You're going to get up and leave, Snivellus, and if I see you in here again it won't just be your mouth I split open. Get the fuck out of here and go crawling back to your vile master; I'm far too good for you anyway."

Severus stood up in a daze, shaking his hand free of Black's and stepping back unsteadily. But Black wasn't finished yet, and Severus wasn't quick enough to step back from Black, or to avoid having one of the unstained parts of his cheek licked by Black.

"And if anyone asks, your safe word was 'loser' and you enjoyed every minute of that. I'm not being thrown out of this club for you."

Jerking away, Severus ignored the laughter, ignored the shadowy people with hands moving inside their robes, and fled for the door. It was only when the girl smirked at him that he realised his face still bore evidence of what had happened, and Severus snatched his wand and cloak from her with a snarl. He made it into the street and down the nearest alley before throwing up, spilling his stomach onto the pavement in heave after acidic heave. But more than sick he felt angry, humiliated, desperate to go back in and destroy Black, to wipe the smirk from Black's face and punish him for what he'd done.

It was exactly how he'd wanted to feel.

And though it was hard, Severus managed to stopper his anger, managed to bite it down and swing on his cloak, cleaning up his face before he Apparated away. He could get through Christmas Day, get through the meetings and the killings and the fear that the Dark Lord inspired. He was humiliated, but he could take strength from it, feed from it to keep himself alive. He could carry on.