They are hideous, coloured bright yellow and blue and pink.
And yet, in the shadows of his armoire (because he can’t bear to take them out, even if he is in his own private rooms that not even his master – Voldemort or Albus – could penetrate), the brightness of the colours and the scent, his scent, so rich and spicy and floral, and Snape can’t help but run his tongue over them.
After he is done, he doesn’t linger, just stuffs Lockhart’s panties back into a box of cloaking. He departs from the armoire with slumped shoulders, ashamed, knowing he’ll return.
And yet, in the shadows of his armoire (because he can’t bear to take them out, even if he is in his own private rooms that not even his master – Voldemort or Albus – could penetrate), the brightness of the colours and the scent, his scent, so rich and spicy and floral, and Snape can’t help but run his tongue over them.
After he is done, he doesn’t linger, just stuffs Lockhart’s panties back into a box of cloaking. He departs from the armoire with slumped shoulders, ashamed, knowing he’ll return.