Title: Requiem for a Bathrobe
Author: nehalenia
Characters: Severus Snape, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and lurid mention of Kingsley Shacklebolt
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Dub-con (leading to consensual sex); dirty talk; utterly improbable but nonetheless established Lupin/Snape/Black relationship; AU (obviously); Some fighting/wrestling. Also snark, banter, attempts at humor. Despite the est. rel. and my best intentions, there is NO Snupin or 3some sex in this fic. Just Snape/Black and a bit of Remus/Sirius. (Sorry!)
Themes/kinks chosen: Relics, Pheromones
Word Count: 7500
Summary: To Sirius, the threadbare garment smelled of breakfasts with Remus, late nights alone, post-fuck lie-abouts and something warm and soft in a cold, hard place. It smelled like his life. The good parts of it, at least.
Author's notes: Thanks, worship, gladsome tidings and a surfeit of eels to ships_harry and blpaintchart for beta and brit-picking. And I totally stole the Moody/Black mention from this by ships_harry, so another tip of the hat to her. Things you should probably know before you start reading:Snape, Black and Lupin are all happily living in sin together (not at 12 Grimmauld Place) and and have been for awhile. No, I cannot explain this, and I'm not even going to try.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR and whoever owns her and are, regrettably, not mine. This is solely for entertainment purposes and no profit is being earned or sought.





Sirius Black sat, a quill in one hand, a half-eaten dog biscuit in the other, and stared at the Daily Prophet lying open on the coffee table in front of him. The half-solved crossword puzzle stared back, its blank, unanswered spaces taunting him.

“Give up yet?” asked the cartoon bloodhound slumped against the heading ‘Inspector Talbot’s Crossword Mystery.’

“No,” Sirius snorted, crunching into his Bonio so that crumbs fell onto the newsprint.

“Ought to consider it,” the hound advised, sniffing languidly at one of the crumbs. “You’re pants at this stuff, mate.”

“Who asked you?” Sirius growled.

“Where’s the chap who usually does me?” the dog continued as if Sirius hadn’t spoken. “Beaky fellow. He’s quite fast.”

“Oh, shut your gob,” Sirius grumbled, slapping the paper face down and flopping back into the sofa cushions. “Can’t believe I’m talking to a cartoon dog,” he muttered, tossing his quill onto the table. “Can’t believe I’m doing a bloody crossword puzzle. If I’d known it would come to this, I’d have tried harder to drink myself to death before I was 20.”

“Talking to yourself, Black?” Snape’s voice sounded behind him. “How surprising. They say that’s the first sign of madness, and here I thought you far advanced beyond such elementary symptoms.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius groaned. “Just what I needed. Wait a tic...” He twisted around to look over the back of the sofa. “It’s mid-afternoon. Aren’t you supposed to be at your laboratory?”

Severus Snape was coming down the staircase when Sirius turned around to peer at him. He gave Sirius a slightly annoyed look as he stepped to the floor.

“I told you at breakfast this morning that I took the day off to do some long over-due cleaning. As you can see.” Snape gestured over his shoulder with his wand, and Sirius noticed what looked like a pile of dingy rags floating down the stairs behind him. “It took me the better part of the day, but I finally managed to locate the source of that smell.”

“What smell?” Sirius blinked.

“The one in the large wardrobe I’ve been complaining about since...”

“Since you moved in,” Sirius finished, rolling his eyes briefly. “How could I forget? What the hell was it, anyway?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care to find out,” Snape said, making a face as he crossed the living room, heading for the door to the back garden with the bundle drifting along behind him like a balloon. “And as long as an Incendio makes short work of it, I shan’t have to.”

Sirius watched Snape’s retreating back and shook his head. Even though the ex-Potions Master was wearing plain black trousers and a dark jumper, he still moved as if he had his old teaching robes billowing behind him or swirling at his feet.

“Only you could make taking out the rubbish so bloody dramatic,” Sirius muttered to himself. He was reaching for his quill and thinking about giving the puzzle another go when the odour Severus had complained of wafted to his nose and stopped him cold. It was a powerful aroma, all right, but what Snape had found so highly objectionable seemed strangely familiar to Sirius. Very familiar, in fact. He sat straight up, flaring his nostrils as he tried to sort out the tangled scents: stale smoke and whiskey, the tang of sweat, a musky, sexual undertone, and overall, the rank, heavy smell of a wet dog.

A very particular wet dog.

“Wait just a fucking minute!” Sirius yelled, leaping to his feet and charging forward, upsetting the coffee table in his haste to reach the seedy clump hanging in mid-air. Snape, who had just reached the back door, turned and gave him a bewildered look as Sirius leaned toward the offending pile, closed his eyes and took a long, deep whiff.

“What on earth are you doing, Black?” Snape demanded, looking completely repulsed. Sirius stood for a moment with his eyes closed as if savouring the unfortunate stench, but when he opened his eyes, it was with a glare and a long, low growl.

“Snape,” Sirius rasped, dragging that one syllable out. “You bloody, buggering, miserable bastard! This is my ROBE!”

“What the devil are you on about?” Snape asked peevishly, one hand still on the doorknob.

“This is my bathrobe, you prat!” Sirius snapped, stabbing a finger at the fetid clump floating at eye level. “The one you were planning to Incendio without even asking me first!”

Snape’s expression shifted from revulsion to suspicion. He eyed Sirius’s indignant pose, then aimed a dubious glance at the levitating rags.

“That... is a robe?”

Even Sirius had to admit that it didn’t much look like one. The fabric, which might once have been either blue or brown, had subsided into a dingy sort of non-colour reminiscent of a Knockturn Alley puddle in January. What had been luxuriant Turkish towelling was now as snagged and lumpy as burlap in some places, and thin as gauze in others. Both moths and rats had made a meal of the thing, and only the loose threads of a visibly torn seam suggested that the ugly heap had begun life as a constructed garment.

“Yes,” Sirius insisted, drawing himself up. “My bathrobe! And I’ll thank you to hand it over.”

Snape made no move to do so. Instead he looked from Sirius to the robe, then back to Sirius with frank disbelief. “You don’t mean to say that you believe this piece of rubbish is still wearable?”

“It isn’t rubbish, and that’s not the point!” Sirius argued, grabbing for it and missing as Snape pulled it out of reach with a flick of his wand. Snape narrowed his eyes at the tattered cloth, his thin mouth curving into the barest hint of a smirk.

“So you’re saying this has some sort of... value to you?” Snape drawled. “Tsk. If you were the scientific sort – which, of course, you are not – I might suspect you of carrying on some secret experiment. Perhaps some research project to see exactly how many different species of moulds, spores and parasites you can colonize in one place?”

“Snape...” Sirius said in a low, warning growl.

“A forgotten entry in the Quibbler’s in-home composting contest, perchance?” Snape suggested helpfully. “No? Wait, I have it. Jealous of the dubious honours heaped upon Rubeus Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron’s Annual Beer, Banger and Pickled Egg Eating Contest, you have attempted to create your own version of The World’s Most Horrible Stench. Did I get it right?”

“Damn it, Snape!” Sirius snarled, trying to pounce on the robe just as Snape levitated it out of reach. “Give me my sodding robe!”

“Not until you explain why on earth you could still want the wretched thing,” Snape said, eyeing it with disdain.

“Because it’s my robe!” Sirius glowered at him, making another unsuccessful grab. “It doesn’t require any more explanation than that!”

“Black, its effluvium alone requires some sort of explanation.”

“Oh, look who’s talking!” Sirius sneered. “The wizard who comes home reeking of everything from Happy Hippogryph Hoof and Claw Liniment to Lucky Krup Flea and Tick Bath every damn day! The whole house smells like a bloody veterinary clinic. How the hell you can even smell anything else is beyond me!”

“I have a very sensitive nose,” Snape averred, twitching said nose significantly. “Besides,” he added smugly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door, “the potion fumes are a by-product of my gainful employment. If you have as good a reason for making the back of the wardrobe smell like—like—that,” he frowned, indicating the robe with a grimace, “well then, I should like to hear it.”

Sirius gritted his teeth, barely fighting down the urge to grab Snape and smack him into the opposite wall. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that Remus would want to ‘process’ the incident, and the discomfort of sitting through the ensuing ‘Household Meeting’ simply wasn’t worth the satisfaction of pounding that look off of Snape’s face. “It has...” Sirius ground the words out as if each one was painful, “...sentimental value.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose and hovered near his hairline. “Sentimental?” he repeated delicately. “Well, well. I never took you for the mawkish sort, Black. In fact, I seem to recall you being quite determined to strip your ancestral manse of any sort of heartfelt reminder or warm family memento.”

“That’s because there weren’t any ‘warm family mementos’,” Sirius scowled. “You met my ‘sainted’ mother’s portrait, didn’t you? For me, there was nothing in that house but Dark magic and bad memories. This,” he snapped, lunging for the robe again, “is different.”

“Indeed,” Snape sniffed, rolling his eyes as Sirius snatched the frayed garment out of the air. “It’s in far worse shape than anything you threw out of Grimmauld Place.”

Sirius clutched the robe to his chest possessively and glowered at Snape. “You’re hardly known for sentiment yourself, Snape, so I doubt you’d understand.”

“Oh? Try me,” Snape dared him, canting one hip out as if settling in for a nice long explanation.

Sirius glared at him, then slowly looked down at his robe. Now that it was safely within his grasp, he couldn’t deny that Snape was right about one thing: it stank. Still, it wasn’t exactly a bad smell. Not to him, at least. Maybe to Snape it reeked of nothing but sweat and smoke and mildewed dog, but to Sirius’ nose, there were layers to the scents and memories inside those layers. To him, the threadbare garment smelled of breakfasts with Remus, late nights alone, post-fuck lie-abouts and something warm and soft in a cold, hard place.

It smelled like his life. The good parts of it, at least.

“Look, Snape,” he sighed. “I know this doesn’t look like much, and yeah, it’s pretty whiffy, but I can’t just let you drag it off and burn it, all right? It’s too important for that. I need it.”

“Need it?” Snape’s eyebrow arched even higher.

“Yes, need it!” Sirius snapped. “This isn’t just any old robe! This was the first thing I bought for myself after I left home. I had it my last year at Hogwarts. It hung on the inside of the wardrobe door in Remus’ flat for three years. This robe’s been through so much, I barely remember it all myself. In fact, I don’t remember it all, because I can’t! But it’s all right here.” Sirius’ shook out the robe and held it up, smiling at it like a long lost friend.

“Here!” he said, grabbing a lapel and thrusting it toward Snape, whose head thumped against the door as he tried to recoil. “See that stain on the front? Egg yolk from the breakfast Remus cooked the first night I slept over at his flat. And there! See that coffee stain?”

“No,” said Snape, who was now flattened against the door, “because it’s so close my eyes are burning.”

“Oh, shut it, Snape,” Sirius said, but he didn’t really sound annoyed. He took a step back, allowing Snape to peel himself off the door while he grinned at the coffee stain.

“That’s from the morning we got the owl from James saying Lily was at St. Mungo’s having Harry. The blighter landed right on my arm. Spilled a whole mug of coffee over myself. And this one.” Sirius examined a sticky looking discoloration, then closed his eyes and sniffed. “Oh yeah. Chocolate sauce!”

“You had chocolate sauce for breakfast?” Snape asked, sounding surprised in spite of himself.

“No, you twit,” Sirius snorted. “We were in bed. We’d been to a Muggle grocery. Did you know they have whipped cream in a spray can? Wonderful stuff. We came back with a bag of Muggle sweets and such, and... things got a bit out of hand.”

“Yes, I can tell from the stupid grin on your face what must have occurred,” Snape frowned, pursing his lips. “I suppose that has some arcane significance as well?” He nodded at what passed for a belt dangling from the sole intact belt loop.

“Aw, yeah!” Sirius chuckled, fetching up one end. “I lost the belt pretty early on – word of warning, by the way: tying up Remus with a cloth belt the night before the full? Doesn’t work. Any rate, I had to have something to keep it closed, so I knotted our old school ties together. James donated his, or it wouldn’t have been long enough.”

Snape’s expression soured. “And just whose ‘tie’ is that, on the end there?” he asked tartly, indicating a trailing bit of lacy pink cloth.

“This?” Sirius reached for it and held it out, revealing it to be a pair of knickers. “Huh. Now whose are those, I wonder?”

“Black, it really isn’t necessary—oh dear Merlin!” Snape covered his eyes as Sirius put the lacy fabric to his nose and inhaled.

“Hah! McKinnon, definitely!” Sirius chortled triumphantly. “Must have been that picnic in the spring of ’80. Or maybe it was the orgy at the Prewetts....”

“Let me get this right,” Snape interrupted, sounding more waspish than usual as he pulled his hands away from his face. “You’re saying that those vile rags you’re cuddling to your bosom are really nothing more than a fetid catalogue of your sexual exploits?”

“Not entirely,” Sirius frowned, sounding a bit defensive. “I’ll admit it saw a bit of fun in its early days, but later on, well....” He looked down at the robe again, then away. “You see, when I was sent to Azkaban... Remus saved it.”

“His own little memento, I suppose?” Snape snorted.

If he heard Snape’s comment, Sirius ignored it. “They took everything, you know,” he went on. “Not that I had all that much, but anything at my flat, the Ministry confiscated. Remus tossed all the gear I’d left at his place – he thought I’d done it, of course. Everyone did. But he forgot about the robe on the back of the door. He didn’t even realize it was there until a few months later, and by then... well, it’s not like he thought any better of me, but he saved it anyway. For old time’s sake. After I escaped from Azkaban,” Sirius continued, sounding a bit wistful. “After Peter got away—I was still on the run. Living in caves, eating rats – you know the drill....”

“No,” Snape huffed, sounding affronted, but Sirius paid him no mind.

“Bad as it was though, at least Remus finally knew the truth about what happened,” Sirius continued. “When he found out where I was, he brought me my robe. All the time I was on the run as Padfoot, this is what I slept on.”

“Well, that certainly explains the aroma,” Severus muttered. He refolded his arms, looking strangely uncomfortable. “Black, did it never occur to you to launder the garment?”

“Launder?” Sirius looked at Severus as if he’d suggested pouring acid upon it. “Of course not! Look at all the memories I’d lose if I washed it. Here, look at this!” Sirius said, shoving the robe at Severus.

“I’d rather not,” Severus said, stepping back so quickly that he thumped into the door again.

“Right there,” Sirius said, stepping closer and pointing to a stiff area on the lower part of the robe. “That may just look like a suspicious, crusty spot to you, but to me it’s watching Kingsley Shacklebolt step naked out of a steamy shower. And this one here? That started out as a threesome with me, Dorcas and Alice, but the girls, well, they got rather more interested in each other, so I ended up mostly being a spectator. And believe me,” Sirius said, flashing Snape a conspiratorial leer, “I didn’t mind.”

“Please stop,” Snape said, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking pained.

“Now this,” Sirius said, warming to his subject as he inspected a cigarette burn on the remains of a sleeve, “was Alastor Moody’s fault. Usually I’m more careful with my fags, but when that perverted old geezer showed me what he could do with that eye...”

“I’m going—to be sick,” Snape pronounced, but Sirius took no notice. He was already gloating over three long, closely set rips in the back of the robe.

“Cock in a sock, I’d forgotten about these! But fuck me if I don’t remember who made them,” Sirius grinned. “Ever had sex with a Metamorph, Snape? Bloody amazing. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like a bit of slap and tickle with a sex-kitten with real claws.”

“Of course I haven’t,” Snape huffed, then stopped and stared at Sirius. “Wait, you—and a Metamorph? Surely you can’t mean...”

“Nymphadora the Nympho herself,” Sirius said proudly, rubbing his face against the torn cloth like a cat. “In all her juicy, pink-furred glory.”

Snape looked aghast. “But she’s your cousin! You—dallied with your own cousin?”

“Oi, she’s the one what offered!” Sirius snapped back. “And no, we didn’t dally, you prissy twat, we shagged ourselves blind!”

“You—that’s—reprehensible!” Snape stammered, his pallid face flushing with indignation. “Not only is she your flesh and blood, but she’s—she’s nearly half your age!”

“Jealous?” purred Sirius.

“No, I’m not jealous, you egotistical cur!” Snape railed, eyes flashing. “I’m appalled! And how dare you imply that I might have had designs upon a former student!”

“Didn’t say you were jealous over Tonks now, did I?” Sirius said slyly, stroking the robe as he folded it carefully over his arm. “I think you’re jealous of this.”

“Jealous?” Snape gaped at him in disbelief. “Of the sad remains of a rancid dressing gown held together solely by egg yolk and sexual residue? I think not!”

“Oh, I think so,” Sirius said pleasantly, moving closer and effectively trapping Snape against the door. “Do you know why, Snape? It’s something that just occurred to me.”

“I can’t fathom your mind at the best of times, Black,” Snape snorted. He sounded as imperious as ever, but his eyes were darting over Sirius’ shoulders, like a cornered fugitive seeking an escape.

“What occurred to me,” Sirius said in a conversational tone, “is that there’s none of your sexual residue holding this together. Now that’s what’s really appalling, isn’t it?”

“Black, everything about that robe is appalling,” Snape said through gritted teeth.

“Even the bloke who’s holding it?” Sirius smirked, putting his free arm against the door frame and leaning in so that their faces were barely inches apart.

“Especially him!” Snape snarled. He tried to shove him away, but Sirius merely backed off a half step and gave Snape a friendly leer. “I know what this is about,” Snape scowled. “You’ve gone and excited yourself with your sluttish jaunt down memory lane, haven’t you? And now you’re looking for a little something to take the edge off?”

“Maybe not so little,” Sirius smiled, letting his eyes drift speculatively down Snape’s body. “Besides,” he added, placing both hands on the doorframe to either side of Snape’s head, “maybe I’m not the only one who’s got a bit of an ‘edge’ right now, yeah?”

Snape flushed bright red. “That’s preposterous!”

“Hmm, so does ‘preposterous’ mean ‘I’m just as randy as you are, only I won’t admit it’?” Sirius asked, leaning closer.

“It means,” Snape hissed, “that if you and your prurient little keepsake don’t remove yourselves from my presence, I’ll hex you both where you stand!”

“You sure you want to do that, Snape?” Sirius said, his voice at its lowest, huskiest register.

“Absolutely!” Snape insisted, and the next thing Sirius knew, he felt like he’d been hit by a flying invisible mattress and was sailing backwards across the living room. He hit the sofa with enough force to rock it onto two feet, his head snapping back and his arms and legs flying out.

The ruddy bastard hexed me! Sirius thought as he lay there, too stunned to even blink, much less move. Snape had hit him full on with a wordless Impedimenta, and while he was suitably impressed, he also found himself somewhat surprised; although why it should surprise him that Snape would hex him across the room, he couldn’t say. When he could blink again, he experienced a moment’s panic when he realized his robe was no longer on his arm, but the potent smell told him it wasn’t far away. In fact, it seemed to be right at his feet.

He wasn’t sure how many seconds had passed when he sensed Snape coming toward him. Despite the fact that Sirius hadn’t even moved, Snape approached with caution, holding his wand and stepping carefully around the upended coffee table.

“Black?” he asked warily, peering at him. Sirius didn’t respond. Snape took another step, then his eyes went wide as he lost his balance and stumbled, going to one knee on the sofa, right between Sirius’ sprawled legs. He looked down to see what had tripped him and started to curse, but it turned into a yelp of surprise when Sirius’ hand shot out and grabbed his right wrist, twisting him around and yanking him firmly down into his lap.

“Tripped on my robe, didn’t you?” Sirius gloated, trapping his arms and pulling him tight against his chest. “I hope you appreciate the irony. I know I do.”

“Black! You bastard!” Snape grunted, trying to twist out of Sirius’ grasp.

“Slytherins aren’t the only sly ones, you know,” Sirius chuckled in Snape’s ear, prying his wand out of his hand and tossing it to the floor.

“You were never sly—in your life!” Snape protested, struggling as Sirius wound his long, denim-clad legs over Snape’s skinnier limbs and pried them apart like a starfish opening a clam.

“Must have picked that up from you, then,” Sirius hummed, sliding a hand down between Snape’s legs.

“Don’t you dare, Black!” Snape snarled, trying in vain to twist out of Sirius’ grip and arching his hips to avoid the exploring hand. “Damn it, Black! Stop it! Sto—hah!”

“Bingo!” Sirius grinned, palming the hard swelling straining against Snape’s trousers. “Looks like I’m not the only one who enjoyed my ‘sluttish jaunt down memory lane’, eh, Snape?”

“Unhand me immediately!” Snape demanded. “Or so help me, Black, I’ll—ahh!”

“What’ll you do, then?” Sirius asked, running his tongue along the edge of Snape’s ear as he slowly pressed the heel of his hand down the trapped length of Snape’s erection. “Stop squirming your tight little arse against my cock? Bloody hell, Severus, you’re nearly as hard as I am.”

“Black!” Snape tried to growl, but just then Sirius gave his balls a firm squeeze, and it came out as more of a gasp.

“What's got you so hot, I wonder?” Sirius whispered in Snape’s ear, tightening his hold and shifting his hips to press his own erection more firmly into Snape's rear. “Was it Nymphadora?” he breathed, undoing Snape’s trousers one-handed and slipping his fingers inside. His own cock throbbed at the feel of Snape’s hot length bulging against the thin cotton of his briefs.

“Bastard!” Snape grated out. “Told you—no—‘course not!”

“Nah, not really your type, is she?” Sirius allowed, stroking his thumb down the underside of Snape’s shaft, teasing the ridge with his nail. He smiled to himself, feeling the slight tremble in the other man’s muscles, knowing that Snape was fighting a response. “Pity that. Not Moody, either, I’m guessing. Oh—I’ll bet I know!” Sirius chuckled, leaning in to nip at Snape’s earlobe. “It was Kingsley, wasn’t it?”

Snape stiffened and made a sound of protest. “Don’t be—absurd!”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Sirius breathed against his neck, his fingers teasing at the sensitive spot just under the head of Snape’s cock. “Kingsley Shacklebolt, naked and wet with steam all around him. You could just picture it, couldn’t you? Him staring at you with those gold cat-eyes while he runs a towel over those muscles. You know there’s not a speck of hair on his body? And he’s got piercings, too, did I mention that? A gold ring in each nipple, all shiny against that dark, damp skin, and another one, a big one, right through the head of his knob.”

“Stop it,” Snape gasped, turning his face away, but Sirius could feel how fast his heart was beating, and he had no intention of stopping.

“And that prick,” he whispered, rolling his hips against Snape and feeling sweat starting to run down his face as he remembered. “Big enough just hanging there to make a virgin have second thoughts, but when he got the horn—bugger if I could even get my hand all the way around it.” Sirius licked his lips and pitched his voice even lower. “You know what it feels like to have a cock like that pushing into you? Our Remus is a handful, right? Especially before the full. But fuck if Kingsley wasn’t even bigger.”

“Fuck you,” Snape panted, letting his head drop back on Sirius shoulder and starting to push into his hand. “Fuck—just stop.”

“Want me to stop, do you?” Sirius grinned. He grazed his thumb over the tip of Snape’s cock and felt a jolt of arousal go right into his balls at the dampness he found there. “Bloody hell, Snape!” Sirius said with a breathless laugh. “And you call me a slut? You’re so hot for Shacklebolt, you’re dripping wet just thinking about him! Ho, wait till I tell Remus about this!”

“Shut—the fuck—up!” Snape grunted, thrashing in Sirius’ arms.

“Tell you what, Snape,” Sirius panted into his ear, one hand working Snape’s pants down so he could get a grip on his naked cock. Snape groaned and shuddered when Sirius took him in hand and started pumping him with long, firm strokes. “I’m willing to make you a deal. Want to hear it?”

Snape made an unintelligible sound that was probably meant to be an imprecation, but Sirius decided to take it as agreement. Still holding him tight, Sirius slowed his strokes and shoved him forward a bit until he was nearly off the edge of the sofa cushion.

“Look down,” Sirius directed, hanging his head over Snape’s shoulder. Sirius’ robe lay tangled at their feet, right where Snape had stumbled into it. “Here’s the deal,” Sirius told him. “There’s a right lot of memories in that robe, but you know, I reckon it might almost be filled up. I’m not going to let you burn it,” he hastened to add, “but I was thinking—maybe an honourable retirement wouldn’t be so bad.”

Snape turned his head just enough to fix one dark eye on Sirius. His hair was sweaty and he was breathing hard, but he arched one eyebrow and said “Retirement?”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded.

“Does ‘retirement’ include a hermetically sealed and magically locked container?” Snape asked, ignoring the sweat running down the side of his flushed face. “Preferably in some location where I will never, ever encounter it again?”

“If you like,” Sirius agreed.

“Of course ‘I like’, you imbecile,” Snape huffed, trying to shake his damp hair out of his eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“Not much, really,” Sirius grinned, enjoying the way Snape closed his eyes and turned his head away when he started thumbing the head of his cock. Snape’s shiver when he pressed his nail under the foreskin and circled the ridge was even better. “That robe’s seen a lot in its day, but you know, I reckon there’s room for one more memory before I put it away for good.” He could feel both Snape’s jaw and his arse clenching.

“Are you suggesting—that I...”

“Oh yeah,” Sirius hummed, running a fingertip through Snape’s moist slit and teasing his foreskin. “All over the bloody thing. That’ll be a proper send off.”

“Mmph—I am not,” Snape gasped, squirming and rolling his hips as Sirius’s fist started working just the head of his cock, “going to be—one of your bloody—trophies!”

“Oh no?”

“No!”

“Merlin’s balls, Snape,” Sirius sighed, shaking his head and letting it fall briefly against the back of Snape’s neck. “You’re the most stubborn three people I know. Fine then.” Sirius kept a firm hold on Snape, but released his prick, letting it flop onto his thigh.

“Fuck!” Snape hissed, thrusting his hips up as if trying to follow Sirius’ hand. “What are you—damn it, Black!”

“You said you didn’t want to,” Sirius shrugged. “I offered to make you a deal and you refused. Now, I wonder where I could find a nice padded hanger for my robe...”

“You are utterly despicable!” Snape howled, struggling to break free.

“Tch. Flattery doesn’t work on me; you should know that by now.”

“Damn you, Black!” Snape snarled, looking rather desperate. “You started this! If you’re not going to—ngg!—finish it, then let me go!”

“No, I think I’d rather just sit here and hold you until your prick goes soft,” Sirius said casually, “though by the looks of it, that could be a while. Mind you, the squirming is quite nice, so don’t stop that on my account. No reason one of us shouldn’t enjoy himself.”

Snape went completely still at that, only his harsh breathing moving his body. He glared over his shoulder at Sirius, then down at the robe on the floor.

“I hate you,” Snape pronounced, his voice thick with loathing.

“I hate you, too,” Sirius purred back, nipping at Snape’s neck. “Want me to make you come?”

“Yes, God damn it!” Snape arched up with a ragged gasp and threw back his head as Sirius took hold of his prick again, rubbing his palm over the dripping head to smear pre-come down his shaft. “Oh! Oh fuck, yes!”

“Like this?” Sirius asked, stroking his tongue along Snape’s jaw as he pumped him hard and fast.

“Yes!” Snape panted. “Just like—oh! Faster!”

“Hell yeah,” Sirius groaned against Snape’s neck, his fist flying on his swollen length. “You’re gonna come for me, you know that?” he whispered roughly. “I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard.”

“God!” Snape gasped, the tension arching him back, muscles trembling with the strain. “Si—Sirius!”

“Oh, you're close, aren’t you?” Sirius husked into his hair. “When you say my name like that—I know you’re about to lose it. Know you’re right—on the edge.”

Snape’s breath was coming in sharp, swift gasps, his fingernails digging into the arm that held him. “Don’t stop!” he begged. “Oh fuck—don’t—!”

“Say it!” Sirius growled against Snape’s throat, flogging his straining cock for all he was worth. “Say my name! Say who’s making you come!”

Snape made a strangled sound, then lifted his head, panting and staring at the blur of Sirius’ hand on his shaft. When he opened his mouth, what came out was nearly a sob.

“Sirius—I’m—Ahh!”

“Yes!” Sirius hissed, pushing Snape forward, aiming his cock down just as the first pulse shot out, striping the tattered robe with glistening white. Snape’s entire body clenched as he shot twice more, then slowly started to unwind. “That’s it—that’s it. Fuck, yeah!” Sirius groaned, holding Snape while he shuddered through his release, milking his cock until not a drop was left and the bedraggled robe was covered with pearly droplets. “Nice!” Sirius chuckled as Snape’s body loosened in his arms. He relaxed his hold on Snape as the slim body sagged against his chest, resting his free hand over Snape’s heart, feeling its hard rhythm slow. Snape was still too overcome by his climax to either move away or speak, and Sirius allowed himself to close his eyes and enjoy the moment.

It didn't last long.

“Fuck you, Black,” Snape panted when he got his breath back. “And let me up.”

“Right,” Sirius snorted, opening his eyes. “You couldn’t stand up if you tried right now. Besides, we aren’t finished.”

With some effort, Snape pulled himself up and turned to study Sirius. “We aren’t?”

“No we are not. Need a reminder?” Sirius shifted his hips, rubbing the significant bulge in his jeans against Snape’s bony rump. “There’s a certain small matter that still needs— tending to.”

“Yes,” Snape remarked drily. “Very small.”

“Prat,” Sirius snorted. “C’mon, it’s my turn.”

“Your turn?” Snape repeated, schooling his features into an expression of bland innocence. “I don’t recall anything about ‘turns’ being part of our deal.”

“What?” Sirius said.

“Your memory is truly appalling, Black. The ‘deal’ whereby you agreed to retire and seal away that monstrosity,” Snape said, gesturing at the crumpled robe, “in exchange for its final ... anointing, shall we say. You do recall that arrangement, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Sirius frowned.

“And you do intend to keep your word on that, of course,” Snape said with a threatening look.

“Of course, but ...”

“And that was the entirety of our agreement, was it not?”

Sirius opened his mouth, closed it, then just stared at Snape. “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?”

Snape shrugged, gave one enticing wiggle of his rump against Sirius’ throbbing crotch, then stood up gracefully, tucked his slackening cock back into his trousers and zipped up. Except for his flushed face and his damp hair, he looked as if nothing untoward had happened. Sirius glared at him, wishing he’d had the foresight to direct a spurt of come onto his clothes when he heard the Floo in the foyer come to life, followed by the sound of an umbrella not quite making it into the stand. Both of them turned and looked in that direction.

“Lucy!” a voice sang out in a strange accent. “I’m ho-ome!”

“Why does he do that?” Snape said under his breath, sounding just as mystified as he always did when this happened.

“I have no idea,” Sirius answered in the same voice, equally mystified.

“Hullo there, lads!” Remus said cheerfully, tossing his tweed jacket over the back of the sofa. “Anyone up for dinner yet? I’m....” Remus trailed off, looking about the room with growing bemusement. “Famished,” he finally said, blinking at the upended coffee table. After a moment in which no one said anything at all, he turned and gave Snape a long, thoughtful look, after which he did the same to Sirius. “Right,” he sighed. “What have I missed?”

“Nothing of import,” Snape shrugged, sounding completely untroubled. He was scanning the floor. Remus followed his gaze down.

“Looking for something, Severus?”

“Dropped my wand—Ah, there it is.” He bent and swept it up, looked it over, then stuck it in his pocket. “Well,” he announced, combing a hand through his hair, “if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just see about dinner.”

“Oh,” Remus blinked. “Right. Good then. Uhm, what are you making?”

“Reservations,” Snape announced crisply, and swept out of the room. Remus watched him go with a puzzled expression, then turned and peered at Sirius. Sirius gazed back at Remus, then looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“It’s a long story.”

“I thought you might say that,” Remus said with a wry smile. He walked over to right the coffee table, unfastening his cuffs as he went. “What on earth...” he muttered as he bent to tip up the table. “Is that—Merlin’s bones, Sirius, is that your old robe?”

“It is indeed,” Sirius said in a weary voice.

“Yes, I rather thought I smelled it,” Remus said with a slight grimace. “That certainly brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

“More than you know.”

“How odd. It appears to have been rather liberally—‘be-dewed’,” Remus observed, tipping his head to the side. “And quite recently, I take it.”

“Yes, very recently,” Sirius agreed drily.

“I see,” said Remus, straightening up. He finished rolling up his sleeves, then set his hands on his hips. He gazed down at the robe, then up at Sirius, and then off in the direction of the kitchen, whence Snape fled.

“Severus?” he guessed.

Sirius merely closed his eyes and nodded once, very slowly.

“Right,” said Remus. “I think I’m getting the picture. So that’s why the robe...”

“Yes.”

“And Severus would be why you’re... in the state you’re in?” Remus posed, giving the bulge at Sirius’ crotch a significant glance. Sirius could tell he was doing his best not to look amused.

“Noticed that, did you?”

“Bit difficult not to, really,” Remus said in an apologetic tone. “Don’t you think you might want that seen to?”

A spark of hope lit Sirius’ eyes. “Are you offering?”

“I am indeed,” Remus grinned.

“Bloody hell, get over here then!” Sirius was scrabbling at his zipper before all the words had even left his mouth.

“Budge over, eh?” Remus said. He dropped onto the sofa beside Sirius, who was already lifting his hips off the cushion to shove his jeans down. His boxers went with them, and his impatient cock sprang free, so red and swollen it looked enflamed. Remus gave a low whistle at the sight of it. “That is in quite a state, isn’t it? Here, move closer.”

Sirius scooted over and wrapped one arm around Remus, turning to him and burying his face in his neck. “You’re from heaven, Remus,” he moaned as he felt that rough, familiar hand enfold him and start stroking. “You’re a fucking angel, you know that?”

“Well, maybe in comparison,” Remus allowed with a small smile, his hand moving faster as Sirius arched up to meet him.

“Fuck, yes!” Sirius hissed, digging his fingers into Remus’ shoulder. “Do it, Remus—make me come! Quick—before Maleficent comes back!”

Remus snorted as if he was trying to keep from laughing. “How close are you?”

“I’ve been right on the bloody edge—for a sodding hour!” he gasped, starting to thrust into Remus’ hand. “Maybe two! Just need—oh fuck! There! Yes—just like that! Just—like—oh God!” Sirius bit down on Remus’ shoulder and froze as his release hit him, white-hot and almost blinding from the build up. He felt himself pulsing into Remus’ hand, over and over, and when it had passed, he sagged there, whimpering a little.

“Better now?” Remus asked, sounding a bit breathless. He shifted just enough to fish out his wand and cast a couple of cleaning spells.

“Oh hell yes,” Sirius sighed, closing his eyes as the cleansing charm danced over his skin and clothes. “You’re a god, Remus. I told you that, right?”

“You said ‘angel’ actually,” Remus informed him, tucking his wand back in his pocket. “But I’ll accept the promotion. Might want to do yourself up there, by the way,” he added, nodding a Sirius’ diminishing but sated cock.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks. What about you, then?” Sirius asked, nudging him with his knee and making eyes at his crotch while he zipped up. “You all right down there?”

“Oh, I think I’ll collect later,” Remus smiled, stretching his arms out. “Perhaps even tonight,” he winked, glancing in the direction of the kitchen.

“Uh huh. Right. Want me to hold him down for you?” Sirius grinned. “Trip him? Drug him? Hit him with a skillet?”

“I’d like to think that won’t be necessary,” Remus said affably, although his eyes might have looked a bit worried.

“He’s wily, Remus,” Sirius shook his head ruefully. “Like a snake. Or a cat. Or some kind of hybrid snake-cat thing.”

“And that, Sirius,” Remus chuckled, “is why there are two of us in this household, and only one of him. A fact, I might add, that you seem to have forgotten today.”

“Yeah, well, there were extenuating circumstances,” Sirius said, rubbing at his temples.

“Ah. The robe?”

“Yes, the robe,” Sirius sighed, leaning forward. “I agreed to retire it, you see.”

Remus studied the robe again, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Perhaps it’s for the best. It’s given many years of good service, and it certainly has the battle scars to prove it.”

“Doesn’t it just,” Sirius nodded with a wistful smile. “But you know, Remus, it was the strangest thing. I could have just put it away and had done with it, and continued on with my rather dull afternoon, but I realized—well, there was nothing of Severus there. And oddly enough, the idea of Severus not being there—bothered me.”

“Well,” Remus chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the current state of the robe, “I daresay you haven’t any reason be bothered about it any longer.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Sirius said with a bit of a laugh. He reached out a finger to poke at one of the newest white stains, and gave a lopsided grin. “I suppose it’s time, then,” he sighed, standing and feeling around in his pocket for his wand.

“Care for some help with that, Sirius?” Remus offered, pulling out his own wand.

“Remus, old chap,” Sirius smiled brightly, “I’d be honoured. On three then?” Both men held their wands out over the stained and sticky remains of the robe. “One,” Sirius pronounced, very gravely. “Two... Three...Hermetica!”

They both pronounced the spell together, and at once there was a whoosh of wind and a flurry of sparks like coloured snowflakes as the robe was lifted into the air and enveloped in a bluish haze. Before their eyes, it was stretched out, flattened and folded in on itself again and again, until with a loud pop, the magic vanished and a small, sealed package about the size of a matchbox dropped from midair onto the coffee table. Both men blinked at it for a moment, then Sirius leaned down and picked it up. It fit right in the palm of his hand.

“That really wasn’t so bad, was it?” Remus said, stowing his wand in his pocket.

“No,” said Sirius, still staring with an odd smile at his now sealed and minimized robe. “No, not all. Well,” he sighed, looking up and around, “I suppose I should keep the rest of my promise and go hide this where Severus will never find it again.”

“Lot of memories in that little thing,” Remus said softly, more to himself than anything, but Sirius, who was just starting up the stairs, heard him and stopped. He frowned once more at the tiny package, but when he looked back at Remus, there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and an odd light in his eyes.

“You know, Remus, I just had a thought. What would you say to the idea of inviting Kingsley Shacklebolt around to dinner some night soon?”

“Kingsley?” Remus considered. “I don’t see why not. I’d certainly enjoy seeing more of him.”

“Yes, I imagine we all would,” Sirius agreed, fighting down a smirk.

“And I think Severus actually likes him, you know?” Remus added. “Rather than just tolerating him, like he does most people.”

“Oh, I think you’re right about that,” Sirius said blandly.

“Excellent idea, Sirius,” Remus grinned. “I think the four of us would have quite an enjoyable evening.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Sirius said. The smile that had been tugging at his mouth was turning into a wicked grin.

As he continued up the stairs, he thought perhaps he might just purchase a new bathrobe for the occasion.

~~

AFTERWORD & ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The idea for this story sprang from this passage in Bill Richardson's book Bachelor Brothers Bed And Breakfast (an utterly delightful read, and one of my most favorite books in the world,) reproduced here:

I think many men have bathrobes like mine. They are the adult male equivalent of a security blanket: worn to a frazzle and held in place by several knotted neckties. Common sense or decency says “Throw it out.” But emotion intervenes. These dressing gowns are like bread pans. They can be spot cleaned when necessary but should never be subjected to wholesale laundering. All but the worst and stickiest of spills--tablespoons of jam, for instance--should be absorbed by the terrycloth, become part of an aromatic whole. Robes like this are statements of personal history. They are archives where the discerning eye or nose can distinguish the ghosts of breakfasts and bedtime snacks past.

This is the kind of garment you have to keep hidden from those who are keen of nose and quick with bleach. . . .

I re-read this book often, but for some reason -- possibly my having perused the daily_deviant prompts and wondering WTF I was going to write -- this passage sprang out and my brain went “Sirius would SO have a bathrobe like that! Only way worse. And Snape... would try to throw it out.” Thus this story was born. My thanks to Mr. Richardson and his gentle, inestimable characters for the idea and inspiration.