Title: Relaxing Into the Spell
Author: smallbrownfrog
Characters/Pairings: Severus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: sensory compensation: hypersensitivity of one sense to compensate for the loss of another; one sense is deprived in order to enhance another
Other Warnings: teen (The story takes place in the second half of their 5th year, when Severus is definitely 16, and Sirius is either 15 or 16 depending on when you place his birthday.)
Word Count: 1075
Summary/Description: Not thinking is much harder than thinking. Especially when you are Severus.
Author's Notes: This story takes place in some alternate timeline where Severus and Sirius sorted into the same house.


Relaxing Into the Spell


Severus perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair. All around him he could hear the the old shack creaking and sighing to itself, unable to quite fall apart, yet valiantly trying. He listened intently for Sirius, but couldn’t hear him anywhere. This was ridiculous. Wasn’t the blindfold supposed to heighten his other senses, bring out his animal nature, or some such rubbish?

All the blindfold heightened was his irritation. And his desire to put some damn clothes on. He wasn’t sure how Sirius had managed to convince him that this was a good idea. It had sounded so much better when Sirius was growling low promises in his ear.

But now ---

Severus almost levitated off the chair at the sudden touch to his arm. Then firm hands were guiding him down and back to the chair.

“Shhh, not now,” said the voice, a warm hum in his ear. “Shhhh.”

And Severus relaxed into the promise of that voice, as it curled sinuously around him. He could still hear the creaks and rustles of the shack, but now they had a different meaning. They were not the sounds of a building in distress. They were simply a counterpart to the soft breath that ghosted over his neck and down his chest, and to the louder sound of his own sigh.

The little puffs of warm breath became an exploratory tongue that painted a wet line around his navel. First the line was warmth and then it was a chilly ring of evaporation that made him shiver in spite of himself. The shivers were a short, brief spasm before the tongue returned to paint a new stripe of warmth.

The tongue wandered back up his chest, taking a slow, zig-zag path that had no pattern he could find. There seemed to be no hurry and no direction. It was a slow seduction, full of the lazy, cocky confidence of Sirius Black.

After a good five minutes of slow tasting and licking, there was a pause. Then came a sudden burning heat, which Severus only gradually recognized as an ice cube applied to his belly. For a brief moment he was in the land of pure sensations; but as soon as he knew it was ice, Severus began considering what the next move might be. He couldn’t help it. He was a wizard. An intelligent wizard. Of course he analyzed what was happening. Of course he resisted mere animality. How could this be a bad thing?

“You, my friend, are a challenge. I can hear you thinking from here. What shall we do to turn off that brain of yours?”

Sirius hummed to himself, and Severus prepared himself to hear the admission that this was not going to work. Instead there was the heavy thunk of something hitting the floor at his feet, the touch of a hand on his knee, and a nuzzle to his cock and bollocks. A tongue, that had to be a tongue, joined in. Sweet Merlin. Sweet, bloody Merlin. It was a tongue, Sirius’ tongue, gliding over his bollocks in a slow exploration. Then a hand lifted his shaft and Sirius’ tongue was slip-sliding from the root of his cock to the tip and then right back again. All too soon the wet caresses stopped and Severus sat bereft.

But, no! There was Sirius’ mouth again, lipping the head of his cock, and then a warm tongue swirling along the underside. Severus groaned and clutched the chair as warmth pooled in his groin. He fought to keep himself from pushing deep into Sirius’ wonderful mouth. Yet even as he fought, his hips twitched with a mind of their own, and his breath came out as a series of harsh pants. He wanted to plunge into that wet heat. Merlin! Please. Oh please.

“Sirius, please!” Had he said that aloud? Before he could worry (or pretend he hadn’t meant it), Sirius swallowed him whole. Every last bit. Or at least Severus was convinced that nothing of himself could possibly remain outside of that all-consuming pleasure.

Severus tensed involuntarily, all his muscles straining towards release. His whole body was a spark of electricity waiting to explode. When he came, it was in a series of desperate little jerks that shook him like a dog shakes a rabbit.

And for a moment Severus understood everything: why the stars wheeled in slow great whorls, why the seeds broke through their shells to reach for the sky. It was all so dazzlingly clear. And then it was less clear, but just as good. The world was warm and glowing and a wonderful place to take a nap in.

“Now! Now say the spell! The animagus spell!” And Severus pulled himself out of his boneless slump just enough to remember that somewhere there was a spell, that somewhere there were words. He spoke the words without conscious thought. He had been practicing them for so long that they flowed out of his lips like a song.

The blindfold was too big and too loose. Then it fell off and the room was too bright and too sharp and too big. It was like putting on new glasses that snapped the world into intense focus. Severus could see each individual hair on Sirius’ head. The floorboards had patterns of unbelievable detail and complexity.

Severus tilted his head, the better to observe it all, and a beetle caught his eye. It was doing a steady march across the wall, like a metal windup toy. Severus stared, entranced. He had the strangest desire to pluck it off the wallpaper and —

Suddenly, he launched himself into the air, arms outstretched, and aimed straight at the beetle. He tried to grab it with his mouth, but somehow he had misjudged. His arms and legs weren’t where they had been just a moment ago and he went cartwheeling through the air.

Then he was back in his own, human, body. Awkward, too-big arms and legs sprawled out across the floor. He could feel bruising in too many places to mention. Something was making an incredible amount of noise. For one second he missed the compact little body he had just left, and for another second he wished that god-awful noise would stop. Then the noise became words interspersed with laughter.

“You’re a raven. You’re a bloody raven.”

Then they were kissing for no reason but the warm sensation of flesh on flesh.