Originally posted at DD-LJ, 4 November 2006

Title: Summoned
Author: snegurochka_lee
Characters: Snape/Lupin
Rating: Probably only a hard R, alas
Warnings: Some fantasy D/s
Theme chosen: Boot fetish
Word Count: ~1,750
Summary: Lupin seeks control the only way he knows how: he waits to be summoned. (PoA-era)


SUMMONED

by Snegurochka

*

He waits to be summoned.

It doesn't happen nearly often enough, but it happens. Every few weeks, Snape will decide that Lupin is overdue for a scolding of some sort, a regular dose of vitriol about his intellect, his income, his smell.

It's been too long since the last one now, and Lupin's blood heats at the thought of what the next will bring. He longs for a whip at his back or chains at his wrists. He dreams of clamps and bonds and punishments, for he has been a bad, bad man, hasn't he? Letting Sirius Black into the castle, putting Harry and the other students in danger from his lycanthropy – in Snape's mind, Lupin knows, he deserves nothing better than to be summoned to the dungeons, hauled down on his knees and ordered to lick Snape's hard, leather boots.

Oh, please.

"Lupin!" The call comes through the Floo and Lupin nearly drops the book in his hands. He bites back a moan at the voice and with great determination keeps his mind from seeking out all the scenarios, brimming just beneath the surface of his consciousness, that could give him an instant erection. Best to ascertain the reason for the summons first.

He tosses a handful of powder into the grate and arrives in a quick flash at Snape's office, calmly stepping into the room and brushing the soot from his robes.

"Yes, Severus?" he says quietly, careful to keep his voice both submissive and firm. It wouldn't do to let Snape think he is weak. He isn't. That's not what this is about.

Snape says nothing, clasping his hands behind his back and walking a stiff circle around Lupin, appraising him as though he is a piece of meat awaiting purchase. The thick soles of the boots sound as heavy as a heartbeat on the cold stone floor as Snape paces. Lupin's heart struggles to slow down enough to match them.

It's a combination of things that always does Lupin in during these meetings. It's not just the sight of the boots but the sound as well. The look of gleaming black leather mixes with the deep, sinister drum of each heavy step hitting the stone of the dungeon floor, echoing over Lupin's skin like a sweet throb.

There's something about the leather that gleams in an imperfect way in the dim light, a flaw that suits Snape perfectly because Snape himself is perfectly flawed. The boots aren't often polished, but the dull shine that endures gives them a look of age and experience, an elegant resilience combined with a shot of pure street toughness that makes Lupin think of knuckles cracking, and wands at the ready, and fights to defend his honour.

"Feeling better?" Snape sneers at last, pausing just behind Lupin's right shoulder and breathing the snide words hotly over the back of his neck. His voice is low and loathing, and Lupin has to wonder what the man has told the students about his absence last week. The truth, probably. He turns.

"Yes," he murmurs. "Thank you, Severus. It is kind of you to inquire."

"Kind?" Snape spits, pausing a moment in stunned silence before resuming his pacing. "I shall be informing Albus of your students' appalling lack of knowledge on the subject of Dark creatures. I do it not out of kindness," he adds, coating the word with bile, "but out of duty."

The scent of the leather hits Lupin's nose now and he inhales deeply, his back rigid and his eyes dangerously close to falling closed in blissful surrender. The boots were polished not too long ago, an attempt to mask their chips and wounds. It cannot be done. Lupin sees through it; he always has. He breathes deeply again and senses mulch from near the Lake, a stray nettle from the greenhouses, and a hint of soot from the Floo.

"I have always admired your sense of duty, Severus," Lupin admits, each of his comments carefully calculated to irritate Snape the most. He needs Snape to lose his temper. He needs Snape to put his compulsion to dominate towards pleasure rather than towards this anger he radiates now.

I could help you put it towards pleasure.

Snape stops pacing again and turns to Lupin, his face a mask. "I do not require your admiration," he says softly, his eyes fixed on Lupin. The weight of that gaze always makes Lupin's skin heat. He will do almost anything to earn it. He steps forward, more boldly than usual. Snape is close to him now, only a pace away, breathing steadily and watching Lupin's every move.

"Then what do you require from me?" Lupin holds the gaze for two, three seconds more before dropping his eyes to the floor. This is the way their conversations always go, seeping closer and closer to Lupin's secret goals without ever reaching them.

Snape is silent, and Lupin can feel the man's eyes on him even as he studies the floor in an offer of his submission. The boots are still as statues now, anchored to the stone floor as though waiting, along with Lupin, for further instructions.

At last, Snape steps back and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a heavy gold coin and fingering it slowly. Lupin watches as best he can without raising his head, and in another second, Snape tosses the coin into the air in a gesture of stony challenge. It flips as though in slow motion before landing on the floor with a tinny rattle that echoes around the dungeon.

Lupin watches the coin shudder in smaller and smaller circles before settling onto the stone and falling silent, and then he raises his eyes again to Snape. His heart beating faster, he slowly bends, placing one knee on the floor and then the other, pausing only to tuck his robes underneath him to keep the dust from his trousers. The coin has settled a hair's breath from the tip of Snape's right boot.

After the barest pause and a quick decision, Lupin clasps his hands behind his back, pleased to hear Snape's almost inaudible intake of breath at the sight. He sinks his knees down further into his position before bending forward.

The boot smells like rough hide and dried mud, a sweet and masculine scent that makes Lupin's thighs shiver and his cock swell. He moves his head slowly over each boot, breathing deeply and cherishing the closest look he is ever likely to get of them. The soles are just as thick as they sound, and he can still hear their deep resonance in his head even as they stand still before him.

They make him want.

He wants Snape to remove them, to push them into Lupin's hands and let him claw at the rough leather and smell the damp earth on them while Snape holds him down and fucks him from behind.

He wants to bend over the desk with his wrists bound over his head and nothing but those heavy boots visible to him, kicking his own legs apart as Snape shoves himself inside and penetrates Lupin deeply.

He wants to be on the floor with his cock in his hand and Snape's low voice above him, ordering him to come hard, to wank himself dry in thick white strands all over those polished boots.

He wants to be chained to the wall, naked and aching and hard as nails, a ring fit snugly over his thick length to keep him from coming too quickly as he watches Snape pace before him, fully-clothed and brandishing a thin whip, each sound of a heavy, shuddering boot on the stone flying straight to Lupin's straining cock.

God, he wants.

His fingers clench behind his back as he leans forward, still aware of Snape's judging gaze on his every move. His nose brushes against the leather and he nearly shivers with pleasure, his senses filled with musk and the acid of the polish. With a tiny grin he closes his eyes, bends forward a hair further, wets his lips, and licks.

Above him, he hears Snape tremble.

The taste is salty and sharp, just as he imagines Snape himself to taste. He moves his head to the other boot and repeats the gesture, gliding his tongue softly along the top of the boot before lifting it away and running it over his teeth to savour the taste.

Snape still says nothing, but his breathing is ragged and Lupin can smell his arousal. Good. It's about time the man learned that his famous control will only go so far, especially against one even more controlled that he.

Leaning forward further, Lupin lets his cheek brush against the side of the right boot as he picks the coin up by his teeth. He raises himself to a kneeling position again and gives himself a moment for the blood to drain from his head before he tries to stand. When he does, it is with slow, deliberate movements. He keeps his hands clasped behind him, bringing one foot forward first and beginning to rise before lifting the second as well. In a few seconds he is standing before Snape once again, the coin still clenched between his teeth.

Snape's eyes are hooded, his cheeks flushed, and his lips an uncharacteristic shade of red. Lupin watches him for as long as he can before his jaw begins to ache and he steps forward, angling his face up. Snape hesitates only a fraction of a second before bending in to meet him. He bites down on the other side of the coin and their eyes lock.

A moment later Lupin opens his mouth and steps back, licking his lips and swallowing lightly. Snape continues to hold the coin in his teeth, staring at Lupin with an unreadable look in his eyes. He finally spits the coin into his hand with venomous force, his breath ragged. He shoves it back into his pocket and Lupin turns to the Floo.

"I do not require anything from you," Snape says roughly to Lupin's back.

Lupin takes a handful of Floo powder and pauses, relishing the last sounds of Snape's angry boots as they storm away from him and into the adjacent store room. Oh, but you do, Severus, he thinks with a small smile.

He lands back in his room and brushes the soot from his robes, picks up his book, and waits again to be summoned.


-fin-



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