Entry tags:

closing games, fic, snitch

CLOSING GAMES ENTRY #8 - Outtakes from Team Snitch!
CLOSING GAMES ENTRY #8 - Outtakes from Team Snitch!

Team Snitch has come together with some wonderful outtakes and deleted scenes from their fics. We are pleased to present:

Team Snitch Outtakes Part I

Games Entry: Outtake from Snow Harrie by eriador117.
Rating: G



"Did you hear?" Remus asked. "Prince Charming of Lockhart has split up with Cinderella!"

"No! Really?" Severus asked eagerly, before catching sight Harrie's angry green eyes.

"I knew there was something going on between the two of you!" Harrie ranted. "I knew you didn't just go to the Forbidden Forest to look at centaurs! He can't have you, you're mine!"

"Harrie, there is nothing going on between me and Charming, I swear!"

"Apparently Cinderella caught him in flagrante."

Harrie glowered at him. "If you've gone anywhere near that - that man - I'll - I'll -"

Remus sighed. "It wasn't with a man or a woman, Harrie. It was a frog."



Games Entry: Outtake from Rook Castling Kingside by whitecotton.
Rating: NC-17


Summary: Summary: Over the many years of a long life, many moments afford one the indulgence of recollection.
Author Notes Many thanks to joanwilder for the beta and to atypicalsnowman for her help and for laughing in the right places.


"Fuck!" Corvus brushed the brambles aside with one elegantly booted foot. "What the hell are we—"

"You'll see," was the infuriatingly repetitive response.

Corvus started kicking the frost-crimped leaves covering the path, one kick for every time Robert had said that, until the arthritis in his knee complained at the rough treatment.

"You have no thoughtfulness," he complained testily. "I doubt you even considered what this jaunt would do—"

"Yes I did. Didn't I tell you to bring your anti-inflammatory potion with you?"

"Yes!" Corvus grumbled, scowling at Robert's back as they continued to scramble through the woods. "Thirty-square miles of forest, full of old trees, bluebells and bracken, and probably one bramble patch ... and I have to walk into the fucking thing." He aimed a more vicious scowl at the space between the shoulder blades of the twit in front, then in a louder voice added, "And I am too old to be traipsing around in forests, getting stuck in brambles!"

"Pah! You're barely over a hundred, so stop your whinging."

"I am one hundred and eighteen, decrepit and—"

"Proud of it," Robert called over his shoulder with a toss of his head.

They walked on, twisting round trees and heading ever deeper into the forest, Corvus providing a running commentary on being dragged into the freezing cold for a whim, the lack of light to guide his steps, and the dirt on the hem of his favourite burgundy cashmere robes.

"If you had any compassion," he added on the tail of an observation on the blandness of the scenery, "you would have let me—"

"They're in your inside pocket!"

Huffing and grumbling, Corvus patted his robes and, sure enough, discovered his pack of cigarettes, alongside his contrariness. "Well, I don't want one," he lied, then at the chuckle from the front, cursed his big mouth.

They passed through a section of beech and seemed to be slowing down, which made him take stock in interest. Eventually they stopped in a small glade, where Robert turned to face him, his hands on his hips and wearing a smug expression everywhere, from his ridiculous hair to his skinny ankles.

Corvus looked around, noting where a rotting tree had fallen and been made home to moss and ivy. Weak December sun, a glowing pale orange in the soon-to-be twilight, filtered through the scant canopy, highlighting the barrenness of the trees and sending them into a wonderful shadow-scape of angles. Nothing else appeared to distinguish this point from the many others they had passed through over the last hour, and he wondered why they had stopped in this particular one.

However, when he glanced at Robert, his husband merely raised an eyebrow as though in question. Not understanding what was expected of him and loath to articulate such an embarrassment, Corvus intensified his glare to searing. That dispatched one of Robert's more unattractive looks, the one that informed him that Robert knew something that Corvus didn't.

Corvus fucking hated that look.

But as he still loved Robert dearly – despite forests, looks and secrets – he bit on the urge to kill him and settled for a murderous scowl that hopefully told the twit the option was being kept open.

"I am too old to—"

"I'm not playing any games; this is important."

"Be that as it may," Corvus growled, "I would appreciate—"

"Think about it, Corvus!"

"I have too much—"

"No, forget everything else for a moment ... Severus."

At the softly intoned name, one he hadn't heard in almost fifty years, Corvus stopped, stunned, and stared.

Which was when he noticed Robert was naked.

Unsure which fact to grasp – the use of his old name or the incongruous sight of Robert naked, in the middle of a forest – Corvus floundered between the two. He waved a finger towards Robert's prick, which was bobbing as though on a spring as he executed some of his more unusual – but no less fascinating – limbering exercises.

"Ah! Finally noticed, have we?" Robert said, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses, a pink tongue peeking out to lick rosy lips in that tantalising way he had, which Corvus adored as much as he hated the ‘I know something you don't know' look.

However, such little details were meagre fare when compared to the glorious whole.

For someone nudging on a century, Robert still sported a prick-raising body, regardless of the ungainly little paunch and skin that no longer seemed to fit as well as it had. Proof being in the pudding, Corvus felt a twitch somewhere south of his belly button. Struck speechless, yet quite content to have his mouth take the evening off and his eyes take up the slack, Corvus gratified the moment with a needy moan.

"Ring any bells yet?"

Tearing his eyes away from the nipples-prick-balls-neck, Corvus stared stupidly at Robert's smiling face. Shaking his head, he blinked his eyes furiously and cleared his suddenly dry throat.

"I ... I beg your pardon?"

As answers went, it probably rated rather too low on the Snape Scale for comfort, but Corvus felt excused in lieu of the circumstances. It wasn't that they didn't engage in sex anymore, conversely they engaged quite often; it was just that an eighty-year acquaintance in the bedroom meant things had become a bit ... pedestrian, for want of a better word. No, it was justifiably impeding to see his usually inhibited husband stripping down to his buff in the middle of a nature ramble, freezing his balls off in December.

Except, Robert didn't appear to be cold. In fact it reminded him of...

With palpable inner relief, Corvus finally put two and two together and, with the usual adjustment for the Twit Factor, came up with the correct answer of five.

"I presume we are to indulge in a little recollection? A trip down memory lane?" Corvus smirked, but as Robert chose that moment to stroke his prick to full hardness, the smirk dropped into a slack-jawed gape. What was it about one's husband doing something impulsive and adventurous that made them sexy? Aside from that he was doing it naked, that is.

On consideration, Corvus decided that naked answered all points.

And should be capitalised.

"See anything you like?"

Realising his hand still pointed towards Robert's prick, Corvus waggled a finger to indicate his favourite page in the catalogue. It worked, because the prick came closer, close enough for Corvus to see the pre-come glistening on the taut head.

Robert whispered an incantation and the silver buttons on Corvus' outer and inner robes slid through their loops. His breath hitching, speeding, he watched as Robert glided his hands beneath the cashmere and drew it back off his shoulders and down, their eyes locked together, transfixed.

"Happy anniversary, darling," Robert whispered, placing a gentle, possessive kiss on Corvus' lips.

"And wha—" Corvus cleared his throat again, thinking he was too fucking old to be affected in this way. "What are—"

"As you said, we are going to walk down memory lane."

Well, that sounded good.

"Just like you did eighty years ago, over there," Robert's hand left his trouser buttons to point to something, but Corvus felt following it was irrelevant when a hard cock needed his eyes more. "You are going to fuck me, Severus, against that tree – Steady on, old man!"

Abruptly, all Corvus' spare blood had sped south into his cock, and he had to lean heavily on Robert's shoulder for support. He remembered that day so well, remembered how it had felt to take Robert – Harry – against the tree, while bluebell flames danced around them in the glade.

"Fuck yes!" he moaned.

Robert chuckled, a soft sound that expressed every warm feeling they shared, even after all this time in one another's arms. He took Corvus by the hand and, after a momentary pause for Corvus' legs to recall the mechanics, strolled slowly across the small expanse of winter-pale grass.

"What about the—"

"Oh, definitely," Robert replied, and then cast a circle of balls to hover around them, flickering blue flames inside each one.

Immediately the air took on that oft-recalled night, the warmth amid snow and ice; the harmonious glow of blue on pale, soft skin over firm thighs; the pressing need to sacrifice not a moment, to fill. Memory speared into the present, dousing age and serenity under a blanket of youth-hued ardour.

They both revelled in it, splendid in their recapture.

Until Robert fell, landing on the forest floor in a half-kneeling, half-lying slump.

"You really need that cataract seen to," Corvus said offhandedly, struggling to pull Robert to his feet. Then he huffed in disappointment.

Once up again, Robert, too, stared disconsolately at his wilted prick, sighed, then palmed it and gave it a few, rapid strokes.

"Wow!" he said a minute later, surprised. "Isn't that wonderful?" With a wide grin, he jerked his hips forward proudly, showing off his again-hard prick. "There, that's the dandy!"

Corvus' disappointment fled at the obvious return to the programme and he smiled back. "That is certainly a—"

"I know; isn't it just?"

Corvus couldn't have agreed more, but thought they probably shouldn't tempt fate with prolonged applause for this rare renewal, and so nudged events along. "Shall we—"

"Yes, it's that one there. Don't you remember?"

No, Corvus did not; but there was a reason for that. However, he happily followed Robert over to a large beech and waited patiently when he wriggled and shifted, trying to find a soft spot on the bark for his back to lean against.

Restraining the impulse to raise his greyed eyebrows, Corvus instead turned his attention to his own body. Not as quick to lose interest as Robert's prick tended to be, his own was still standing as rigidly as any young man's. He could wish his balls didn't hang so low, but thought that, everything in consideration, it was a small matter.

By the time he had confirmed his body's continued interest, Robert had settled and was holding his arms wide in invitation.

Needing no other prompt, Corvus strode into them and relaxed as the arms wrapped him into a tight embrace. They kissed with all the fervour of an eighty-year love still strong, and melted into that familiar curl of lust and passion. Not wanting to waste a moment, or for Robert's prick to have third thoughts, Corvus rolled his hips against Robert's, delighting in the ensuing moan.

"I suggest you—"

"Yes," Robert said breathily. "I remember the position."

With that, he turned to face the tree, took a step backwards and bent over with his arms around the trunk.

"Ready," he said, and wriggled his arse in the air for emphasis.

However, Corvus' memory was crystal clear in its exactitude of this moment. "Actually, you had your prick trapped between your thighs, pointing back at me."

"Oh yes." Robert fumbled between his legs, having to steady himself by resting his weight on his head against the tree.

After a minute, and several mumbled words, Robert whined, "It won't stay!"

Bracing his hands on his thighs, Corvus bent his poor knees and peered between Roberts' legs to assess the problem. Through the gap, he could see Robert's fingers trying to tuck his prick between his balls and underneath him, but it kept bouncing back up again.

Straightening up, Corvus announced, "You're bow-legged."

"I am nothing of the sort!"

"You are," he insisted. "I could fit a hand between your thighs without touching the sides, even if you stood with your heels together."

Fingers appeared in the gap and waved at Corvus, followed by a long sigh.

"Right-o. We'll have to do without that little detail."

Swallowing his disappointment, because that was his most treasured memory of that night – well, aside from seeing Robert survive after being half-drowned in an ice-covered pond, of course – Corvus stepped up and behind Robert with a whispered "Lubricus"

"Oh yes!" was the heart-felt, mumbled response.

The spell the only nod towards preparation, he grabbed a hip with one hand and his prick with the other and exhaled slowly, steadily. With the ease of long practise, he tilted his head to the side and guided himself into Robert's arse.

Robert's looseness didn't make the soft glide into heat anything less than perfect, nor the silky vice that gripped him any the less sweet as he sheathed himself inside his husband. This was the anti-thesis to nirvana, whereby the embracing of pleasure such as this gained ultimate peace and happiness; that they shared in it, always, made it the zenith of fulfilment.

With short, slow thrusts of his hips, Corvus slid in and out of Robert, closing his eyes to trap the concentration of sensation into no-background intensity. Wonderful, wonderful spirals of pleasure rolled over him in smooth, covetous waves, sending spear-like arousal into his balls.

"I agree," Robert said, hoarsely. "Absolutely perfect."

They rocked and thrust for many minutes, both forgetting their aches, those niggling discomforts inherent in old bones; they swam with the feeling of joining these two moments, eighty years apart, together in one smooth motion. And amid the accompanying strokes, soft touches and words by which one could taste the seasoned, ripened love they shared, Corvus and Robert became Severus and Harry once more.

"Love you!" Harry ground out when he came, spurting come onto Severus' hand.

Flicking the thick strands onto the ground, Severus grabbed Harry by the hips and rammed into him, mindless of arthritic knees and lumbago, intent only on filling Harry, pulsing into him...

"Harry!"

Multi-coloured coils mounted up from his groin, into his balls, and he came with jagged jerks of his hips, his legs trembling and his breathing ragged.

They sank down to the ground, gently, careful of tender joints and stiff muscles, and Harry curled around him tiredly, his arms around Severus' waist.

"That was wonderful; better than I expected," he whispered, kissing a line along Severus' jaw.

"Yes, it was certainly worth the—"

"Even being parted from your lab for an evening?"

"Yes, undoubtedly," Corvus whispered, tracing the smile on Robert's lips.

"And was it just as you remembered – everything, like the glade, the tree?" Robert tilted his head back to study Corvus better.

Corvus hesitated, wondering whether lying would be preferable to the cold truth. But, then, they never lied to each other, not when it counted, so he softened his expression and said, "I enjoyed making love—"

"Yes, much better now we know each other so well."

Corvus tried again. "No, that's not what I was going to say. I meant that the making love—"

"Yes, sadly more intrinsic when a Dark Lord might make it your last time."

Frustrated, Corvus grabbed Robert by the chin and held him still. "That's not it at all," he said in exasperation. It didn't usually bother him one iota that Robert habitually – and usually, correctly – finished his sentences; rather he thought it an economic use of resources built on their long years together. On the other hand, at times like this, it was fucking annoying, though not Robert's fault, so he softened his tone. "The making love was a wonderful reprise, but the glade—"

"Oh, I know. It's not the same without the snow."

"Robert! It's not the same because it's the wrong fucking glade!"

That effectively silenced the twit. With his watery-green eyes, he peered around, fixing first on one tree and then another, before returning his gaze back to Corvus, a question there.

"Oaks, Robert. We were in a circle of oak trees, not beech."

At the crestfallen expression on Robert's face, Corvus regretted he had chosen the truth. He cupped the beautiful, dearest face in his hand and kissed a wrinkled brow. "It doesn't matter, darling; we now have two memories to recall instead of the one."

And over the many years that followed, that was exactly what they did, making a blessing of the Twit Factor.



Games Entry: Outtake from Sex, Lies, and Audiobooks. by RaeWhit (joanwilder)
Rating: PG



"I know it's Christmas Eve, and I regret having to leave you by yourself. But it's only for one night. I'll be back tomorrow evening, and we can have a proper celebration then, I promise." Severus paused, then added as he offered the gift, "Perhaps this will offset your disappointment."

Two blue eyes tracked the movement of the hand as it dangled the feather mouse. After a moment of feline disdain, a white paw reached up to snag it.

Smiling slightly, Severus straightened and watched as Mercutio tossed the toy into the air and leapt after it. "Ah, have you no shame? You'll play with that, but won't go after the mice in the kitchen."

Harry laughed from across the room. "Why should he, when he has Juliet to do his work for him?" Severus turned and watched as Harry tickled the sleek white female on her belly…a very pregnant belly. Juliet watched from Harry's lap as Mercutio rolled on the floor, kicking at the feather mouse with his hind legs, then she yawned and seemed to catch Severus' eye. He wasn't sure, but he could've sworn she rolled her eyes.

***

The house at Lochdubh was full to overflowing; Kenzie was home for Christmas, of course, and Roger's sister-in-law was there with her family, as well as Harry and Severus.

At half past eight, Roger clapped his hands for silence, and as if on cue, the adults took their seats and the four small children sat on the floor in front of the settee.

"Normally, this is my pleasure," Roger explained as he nodded at Harry and Severus, "but this year we have a real storyteller in our midst." He and Harry shared a conspiring smile. "Severus, we'd be pleased if you'd do the honors." Reaching out, he handed the stunned Severus a large storybook, then motioned for him to take the seat of honor.

Severus found himself suddenly propelled toward the settee by Harry's hand at his back. Stepping over the children, he took the book as he sat. As he was about to open it, a small childish voice cried out, "Wait!" Severus looked up, then set the book aside as the little girl climbed into his lap.

"You have to wear these," she told him as she solemnly held the objects out.

The room was quiet as Severus deliberated for a moment, then casting a look full of warning in Harry's direction, he self-consciously donned the reindeer antlers. As the children twittered, he rolled his eyes and affixed the bulbous red Rudolph nose in place.

As he opened the book, the children became quiet. Glancing up once more at Harry, who gave him a brilliant smile of encouragement, he cleared his throat once, then looked down at the page.

Softly he began, "'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…'"

Harry and Roger were leaning against the archway leading into the dining room, listening as Severus read, with four sets of rapt eyes fixed on him.

"My god, you were right, Harry. What a voice," Roger murmured softly.

His arms crossed in front of him, Harry smiled and snickered back, "What a nose."

***

The children were nestled all snug in their beds later that night, and Severus and Harry were as well, sleeping in the room that had been Albus'. About to turn out the light, Harry reached out to stop Severus' hand. "Do you mind? Would you read me a sonnet? Somehow I sort of missed it tonight, distracted by your…antlers and your…" he croaked out.

"Don't finish that thought." Severus turned to face him in the bed. "I'd be happy to, but unfortunately, I don't have my—" He stopped as Harry thrust his by now ragtag copy in his face. Sighing heavily, he took it and quickly found one of Harry's favorites. "Only one," he warned. "They're going to be up at the crack of dawn," he opined.

"Only one," Harry agreed, moving closer and throwing a leg across Severus' knees.

Holding the book with one hand, Severus wrapped the other around Harry's shoulders.

"'Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come…'"

He stopped suddenly, then growled, "I can't read if you do that."

"Sorry," said a clearly unrepentant Harry, working his hand up under the hem of Severus' nightshirt. "I'll be good; go on."

"Hmmmph. 'Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to—'" He stopped again and let the book fall onto his face. "Harry."

"Ooops, I'm sorry, really. It's just you're so…I can't help it when you sound so sexy."

"Say you're sorry again, and I'll give you something to be sorry about," Severus muttered as he lifted the book up and prepared to begin again.

A hand reached up and took it from him. "Really?" Harry's voice asked breathily at his ear. "I sort of like the sound of that…and if you give me something, maybe I can make that photo of you as Rudolph disappear."

"Oh, I'll give you something all right," Severus growled as he Noxed the light and rolled in the bed, aroused and ready to teach Harry a lesson, and perhaps make him just a little bit sorrier.




Games Entry: Outtake from Play the Game by hpstrangelove
Rating: G
Warning: Contains spoilers for the fic.



Severus stood in the room – room six. He couldn't stop the shiver that went through his body at the thought of what had happened to Harry here. The place was eerily quiet. The Muggles had all been rescued, and even Sebastian had been caught.

No one knew he was here. Draco was at work and Harry was visiting with Granger and Weasley at the Burrow.

What he needed to do wouldn't take long.

He pulled the vial of Particle Pensieve Potion from his pocket and immediately began to apply it to the walls of the room. The entire sex club had been remodeled when Goyle had taken it over, so there would be only a few years of memories to extract, but they would be perfect for what Severus had planned.

~*~

Muggle DNA was fascinating. If Severus had only known about it sooner… As it was, it was probably for the best that no one was aware he'd been able to work out how to mix it with certain potions to tailor them to work on a specific individual – like Goyle – and no one else.

Goyle was in the Wizengamot, attending one of his many extradition hearings. The United States wanted to be sure they had their chance to prosecute, and the Wizengamot was more than happy to allow them the first shot at him; after all, the States had the death penalty. It would make having to prosecute Goyle in Wizarding Britain a moot point, were he to be sentenced to death over there.

With Harry's invisibility cloak, it wasn't difficult for a Dark Wizard such as Severus to get into Goyle's holding cell on the tenth floor of the Ministry. Draco had provided the exact cell number, and although he'd given Severus a questioning look, he'd never asked why Severus had wanted to know.

It was quick work to apply the modified Particle Pensieve Potion. Instead of extracting the memories from Goyle's cell, it held the memories from room number six.

When Goyle returned, his presence in the cell would activate the DNA that Severus had added to the potion. The memories would begin to leave the walls of the cell and merge with Goyle's own memories, making them his own.

Not only would he see the images that Harry had seen when he'd been in that room, but everything that Harry had felt, Goyle would feel too.

Every pain-filled moment Harry had experienced, Goyle would experience it too.

Severus sighed a contented sigh as he left Goyle's cell, and smiled.

He'd promised Harry he wouldn't seek revenge.

He'd never promised that he wouldn't seek justice.



Games Entry: Outtake from The Weight We Carry by atypicalsnowman
Rating: R
Warning: BDSM 'talk'



"And you were sitting here," Harry said, walking over to the chair and fingering the manacles... Manacles that were far more beautiful than Severus remembered them.

And oh, how he remembered them...

"But the manacles weren't on your wrists and you thought..." Harry's words were caught in his throat, but Severus hardly noticed. "You thought at least they didn't put you in chains the way they did the other Death Eaters."

"Yes," Severus said, his eyes on the restraints. "I remember this... This room and... oh, those wonderful chains."

"Um...What?" Harry said, his tone turning from pitiful to shocked in an instant.

"These chains...the way they fit over my wrists with their fur lining... Always so soft, yet firm."

"Fur lining?"

"And I loved the struggle! I would always struggle...at first. But then he'd come out with his whip and his crop and... Oh..." Severus said with a moan as he tried to drape the chains over himself.

"And then he'd rip my clothes off, the only feeling on my body the fur lining of the manacles and he'd come at me from behind..."

"What...what the hell, Snape!"

"And as he fucked me..."

"Fucked you? Here? Who?"

"I'd beg him to hit me harder..."

"Hit you... You sick fuck!"

"But it was never enough, never ever enough."

"Right, I'm out. Have fun with your sexy dungeons or whatever... What are you doing?"

Severus barely noticed Harry was staring at him as he removed his clothing and strapped himself into the chair, his cock already red and dripping.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Potter?" he snapped, then watched as Harry's eyes traveled down.

"Um...riding crop, you said?" Harry asked, then cast a conjuring charm.



Games Entry: Outtake from The Fourth Deathly Hallow by gingertart50
Rating: PG



'Watson, my dear fellow...'

'Yes, Holmes?'

'You recall those strange Wizarding chaps whom we met a year back?'

'Mm, that was a most interesting case, Holmes, one of your finest. Why, what about them?'

'Come here and take a look at this. It appears that they have been getting up to some very strange antics indeed. According to the reports from these ladies, Snape and Potter have been ... well, I shall spare your blushes.'

'Let it not be said that John H Watson balked at reading anything written by the fair sex. Let me see, Holmes.... good grief.'

'Good grief indeed. What in heaven's name is a "stonking pink dildo" and why should Snape possess one?'

'Where did he insert it?'

'This requires further investigation! Pass me my magnifying glass, if you would be so kind.'

'Very well, Holmes, allow me to collect my old service revolver, a black silk mask, that pair of handcuffs left behind by Lestrade and a pot of Mrs Hudson's Finest Home-Made Luxurious Lubricant and I shall be right behind you! If Snape requires our assistance, we will be there!'

'That's the ticket, old fellow! Never let it be said that Holmes and Watson went off half-cocked. Come, Watson, the game is afoot!'



Games Entry: Outtake from If Only by jadzialove
Rating: R



Resistance, it seemed, was futile.

Once again, the Pensieve and its contents proved an exasperating distraction, drawing Severus into the library: if not against his will, then at least against his better judgment. This was the third time in as many days, despite his firm resolve each morning to avoid the library altogether.

The memories shimmered in the stone basin, misleading the eye into believing it was filled with a liquid, and Severus wondered fleetingly what exactly the substance might be. A vapor, perhaps? Then he dismissed the thought in favor of sinking his face into the swirling pool.

Severus fell into a memory, landing gently but a tad too close to the participants for his comfort. He backed up, watching himself and Potter—in a bed this time—then wondered how on earth they'd managed to get together in the first place.

Clearly the two were not as practiced as they'd been in the other scenes he'd witnessed: noses were bumped, hair was pulled, elbows and knees landed in unfortunate places, and the noises from the bed were increasingly those of frustration rather than passion.

That was until Potter began laughing.

Severus saw the storm brewing on his own face before it matured into a scowl. "I can assure you, Potter, that laughter at my expense is not a winning seduction technique and will be responded to accordingly." The 'and painfully' was left unsaid, but Severus heard it in his own voice just the same.

Potter rolled on top of the man, pinning him to the bed, a wicked grin remaining on his face. "I'm not laughing at you, Severus—I'm laughing at us, or laughing with us, maybe..." He dipped his head down for a kiss, then added, "I know I don't have loads of experience, but I'm fairly certain this is supposed to be fun."

"Fun?" both Severuses questioned—the memory Severus harrumphing skeptically, while the watching one scoffed. Because it didn't look particularly fun—it looked… awkward and mortifying.

Apparently his counterpart felt the same, as he tried to push the boy off of him. Potter refused to budge of course, lowering his head again, this time to use his lips on Severus's neck.

Severus watched himself surrender to Potter's ministrations, his resolve crumbling under the onslaught. Clearly resistance, or lack thereof, was a problem area which needed to be addressed, and soon. Two decades of self-discipline, of self-denial and self-sacrifice and he became undone by nothing more than the weight of a healthy young man and a pair of puckered pink lips.

And a tongue.

Merlin, Potter was using his tongue and teeth and lips, and Severus wondered if he might've been too hasty in his assessment as he watched Potter feast on his neck, watched himself respond and watched in utter disbelief as his face became open with need, vulnerable.

Severus had never seen anything like it, and knew in that moment that he'd, that neither Severus, had felt anything like it.

He gasped as Potter was suddenly flat on his back, fascinated as he watched himself take control of the situation.

"Please, Severus," Potter implored. "I've been patient—I want to feel you inside me so badly."

Severus's counterpart nodded hesitantly, and Severus watching knew why: what if he were pants at this? What if he made an utter fool of himself, fumbling through something that should have been second nature at this point in his life?

Potter must have sensed his thoughts: he raised a hand and laid it gently on the side of Severus's face. "It doesn't have to be perfect. It already is. Don't you see?" Potter smiled. "I never, ever would have imagined seeing you like this, never, ever would have expected you to trust me with this. It's already perfect because we're here together."

An odd, unexpected sort of something took root in the center of Severus's chest as he watched himself lower his head and kiss Potter with such feeling it was breathtaking to witness.

"Mmmmm. God I love you. And I'm ready—I used a spell." He smiled up at Severus.

"Presumptuous as well as insolent, hmm?" Severus heard a note of huskiness, maybe a touch of wonder in his own baritone.

Potter chuckled at the accusation. "Maybe—I figured it couldn't hurt. I'd rather... you know... manually, but that can wait. I want this, Severus. I want you."

What followed was not nearly as practiced as the other scenes Severus had witnessed, but it was all the more extraordinary for it.

Sharp knees and elbows were still a danger, timing was perhaps not what it could have been, but there was satisfaction to be found for both Severuses when Potter shouted, "Yes!" then moaned his completion.

And finally, Severus watched as he himself found his release, thrusting hard twice more into what Severus knew was Potter's welcoming heat, grunting and then sighing softly, "Harry."

Severus pulled out of the memory as the two lay entangled on what must have been Potter's bed. He backed away from the Pensieve and sat heavily on the sofa.

Yes, perhaps resistance had a place in the world, in the grand scheme of things, but sometimes, it seemed, it was highly overrated.

And, he realized as he prepared to plunge into the memories once more, in this case, entirely futile.



Games Entry: Outtake from Rapture by mia_ugly
Rating: PG



"Once I had love and it was a gas..."

Severus finds his lip curling violently; he won't be surprised if he pulls a muscle in his face.

"Soon found out, had a heart of glass..."

He buries his utter mortification beneath several swallows of Scotch.

"You should have left when I asked you to," he grounds out through his teeth, but Evans barely seems to hear him. The young man's eyes are wide and shocked and hot upon Lucius Malfoy, preening like bloody Jagger on the small pub stage.

After a moment, Evans swallows. "Are you kidding? This is - amazing." He winces as Lucius has a small and awkward incident with the microphone cord. Against all odds, he manages a graceful recovery. Or as graceful a recovery as possible. Under the circumstances. And given the six Babychams. "Good lord. I had no idea he was so flexible."

"Just the ladies!" Lucius shouts from the stage, "Once I had love and it was divine... you all know the words!"

The heavily synthesized beat of the karaoke machine is beginning to throb at Severus' temples.

"Lucius was right about this pub, I'm amazed to say," he manages, once he has recovered from his friend's attempt at head-banging.

"Ugh. He'll feel that in the morning." Harry Evans looks entirely too amused by the situation. Though he has also had a bit to drink. Severus stopped counting when the younger man bought the round of tequila. Now he thinks he has forgotten how to count entirely.

"Ooh ooh, ah ah..." Lucius' voice cracks on one of the high notes, but the crowd does not seem to care. A few denim-clad gentleman in particular are taking quite an interest in the performance. As Severus glances at their table, one nudges his friend and begins to fan himself, raising his eyebrows in Lucius' direction.

"He's quite the performer," Evans says, smirk playing idly across his lips.

"Yes, well, that's nothing new. He was always the lead in the Hogwarts theatricals, from what I've heard of it. Though I thought that might have been down to the hair..." Severus trails off, and is momentarily aware of Evans' wide eyes upon him.

"The Hogwarts - the - the what?"

"Theatricals. You know. Musicals, and plays, and that sort."

"At - Hogwarts -"

"Lucius brought the house down in Guys and Dolls in my first year." Severus can still remember the odd combination of pin-stripped fedora and cascading white-blond hair. Evans is staring at him as if he has grown another head, so Severus cuts in, "It's a Muggle musical. Unusual for Hogwarts, but there are only so many times a school can perform A Marvellous Muggle Mix-Up! before it becomes a bit tired. It was always a bit tired, if you ask-"

"Lucius - Guys and - "

"Are you quite all right?"

"Just the gents! Once I had love, and it was a gas..." Lucius struts like a pigeon lit on fire.

Several tables of men sing enthusiastically along. Evans recovers sufficiently to shout the last few words, tunelessly and at the top of his lungs.

"Do you do this often?" the young man asks suddenly, train of thought shifting. "Y'know - karaoke?"

"Certainly not," Severus snaps, feeling inexplicably prim. "I have never -"

"You should." Evans is smiling quite a lot, his face gone red from what must be the alcohol. "Your voice is - absolutely -" He stops, staring at Severus until the older man is forced to look away. He feels heat rise to his cheekbones; it is getting very warm in the pub.

Severus does not want to ask, he does not want to, feels the dread like bile in his throat, but still he asks. "My voice is what?"

"Devastating," Evans replies, so quiet Severus almost cannot hear him. He is alarmed at the brilliance of Evans' blush in contrast to the pale skin (like winter) of his hands, his throat.

"Your voice -" Evans begins again, leaning in slightly, breath damp and warm in Severus' direction.

"Thank you!" Lucius cries from onstage, doing a final high kick, and stumbling back to their table. He lands heavily in the chair across from them before Severus even has time to regret it - before he can fully understand why his mouth has gone so dry, or his hands have flattened against the table top.

Evans moves back quickly, looking up at Lucius with a sloppy, intoxicated smile.

"That was bloody brilliant." Evans is so enthusiastic that Severus feels a momentary twitch of discomfort. Surely not - the young man - and Lucius -

No, surely not. If that were the case, Severus might have to choke Lucius to death right there on the sticky pub floor. And he is far too drunk. For the present.

"Well done," he mutters archly, and Lucius grins before finishing the last of the pint he left behind.

"You think so?" he purrs, eyes bleary and unfocused. "To be honest, chaps, I think my marriage is in terrible trouble."

Evans looks from Lucius to Severus and back again. Severus wishes he had a watch of some sort, so he could make vague excuses about the time.

"Narcissa says she has no interest in it, but I think if she'd just try it, just once - well," Lucius trails off, "She says how silly she'd feel with some big rubbery thing between her legs, and I tell her lots of husbands like that sort of - it's perfectly - it's perfec - I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, Evans."

"I - no, definitely not," Evans manages, well-worn confusion plain on his face.

"Would you like me to show you?" Lucius leans closer, attempting a leer. "Severus, you can watch, I don't mind, really, in fact I rather fancy oh I think Imaybeill."

Elegant as always, Lucius tumbles off his chair and disappears beneath the table. The sounds that follow are highly unpleasant. Severus sighs.

"Perhaps you should leave now," he says, avoiding Evans' stare.

"I can't," the man replies, eyes wide and earnest.

Severus meets his gaze for one hot moment, and Evans twists his lovely mouth into a nervous smile. Severus is about to speak, to say something - something - but the younger man beats him to it.

"I think I'm up next."

The first strains of Adam and the Ants pulse loudly through the bar. Severus won't be surprised if he pulls a muscle in his face.

Go to PART II HERE