|snarrymod (snarrymod) wrote in snarry_games,|
@ 2007-05-05 08:27:00
|Entry tags:||jin fenghuang, submissions, team postwar|
TEAM POSTWAR ENTRY: Jin Fenghuang "52 Hours"
Original poster: snarrymod
Title: 52 Hours
Genre(s): Humour, Romance
Prompt: 'search and rescue'
Warnings: Drag mouse over space if you wish to know: * voyeurism, mention of off-screen het i.e. Ron/Lavender *
Word Count: 6800 +/-
A/N : Big thanks to bewarethesmirk for a great beta job and for her patience with the .doc format issues. sua_lay, cnary_crem_dght and skunkmage, I could not have done it without your support. Last but not least: Kisses to the lovely eruwen310780.
Disclaimer: They are not mine, I only supervise their playground.
Summary: Ron to the rescue. When Ron sees more than he ever wanted he decides that there can only be one explanation: Snape has to have done something to Harry. But what?
Ron wondered for the umpteenth time - as he glanced over his shoulder to see if she was following him again - what on earth, or better, how on earth Lavender had convinced him to bring her as his date. To an official Ministry function of all places. Stupid functions. When he first signed up to be an Auror, he had never envisioned that having a career would include dress robes.
God, he hated those, they itched. And no matter what Lavender said, they made him look like a tit. At least now he could afford to buy some that fit.
Patting the pockets of his dress robes for smokes he sighed. Besides, how many weeks - if ever - before his colleagues would let him live down 'Won Won'?
Leaning against the wall he lit up, inhaled deeply and smiled to himself. Given, those tits of hers are first class.
He had wandered off rather far from the festively lit halls. The earful he would get if she caught him smoking elicited a cringe. The corridor was dark; the occasional spelled window giving off faint silver moonshine. The walls creaked and sighed with age.
If one was afraid of the dark it would be eerie.
Ron squared his shoulders. I am a grown man, for crying out loud, he thought.
He took another deep drag of his cigarette. The end glowed red in the dark.
A movement in the shadows, a little further down the corridor, made him jump. Grown man, remember :Auror. Yes, I am an Auror.
Oh for crying out loud; it's Snape. Ron snorted. The age when Snape could scare him was past. Long past.
The familiar tall figure stood, nearly hidden in the dark, facing the wall. Probably sneaking a smoke himself, the great old bat. Ron chuckled.
The slight moan he heard urged him closer. Sheesh, Snape better not be hurling. Use the bathroom, mate. Some of the canapés had tasted a little off, though. Probably been binging on the shrimp.
Ron patted his stomach. After Hermione's cooking, nothing could mess with his digestion.
Ron stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed a hand threading through Snape's lank, greasy hair. Ew, someone was snogging Snape - Snape! How drunk did you have to get to … Ron's line off thought was cut off as he watched in morbid fascination as that hand crept down to squeeze the Professor's arse.
Snape was getting some. That anyone would want to do that with Snape was disgusting. He shuddered.
No one is going to bloody believe me. He took a drag from his cigarette and sighed. Maybe if I get my hands on a Pensieve...
Shadows and moonlight were not kind to Snape's features as he threw his head back, barely suppressing a throaty moan. The hand had abandoned Snape's arse, but not before squeezing it roughly, to twine tightly with Snape's own hand, while the hooker - it had to be a hooker - planted nipping kisses on Snape's throat, behind his ear.
The hooker definitely had dark hair, but to Ron's disappointment, her face was still obscured by darkness. It had to be a hooker, no one else would…
As he entertained the thought of how much someone like Snape would have to pay - Ron estimated a rough 30 Galleons or more - button upon button of Snape's dress robes were undone, revealing pasty-pale skin. The hand sneaked down the front of Snape's gaping robe, tenderly ghosting over prominent ribs. Snape's skeletal fingers once more cradled the other person's head, fiercely, and desperately locking their lips together.
Ron barely made out a whispered, 'Now, here,' before Snape was spun around and pressed against the wall by the other man. Ron's brain barely had time to register that Snape was getting it on with a bloke, before he noticed something eerily familiar about the hooker kneeling before Snape. Too horrified to look away, Ron watched as the greasy bastard's trousers were unfastened in a hurry.
When Ron had thought that the last thing he ever wanted to see was a hooker deep-throating Snape, he was wrong.
Snape's knees gave ever so slightly, his hips rocking forward as he moaned in pleasure. There was lust in Harry's eyes when looked up to lock eyes with Snape. A guttural moan escaped Snape's bloodless lips. A pale hand cradled Harry's chin, the thumb brushing gently over moist, swollen lips, holding him steady to the task.
Ron fled. All he could do was not to scream.. The image of his best friend servicing the ugly bastard was nearly too much to bear. He hadn't even known Harry was gay.
He felt like hitting someone, preferably Snape.
Lavender found him later that night as he drowned the sordid and disgusting images in the punch bowl.
Considering her low cut dress gown and the heat of her kisses as she dragged him off to the ladies room, he thought to himself that she certainly had her merits.
At sunrise when she and Ron lay awake in his bed, their dress robes as entangled on the floor as their bodies, he vowed to find and reverse whatever sick love spell Snape had to have cast on his best friend.
For Harry to miss out on this was not fair. Not fair at all.