"Weasley! Oi, you lanky ginger, c'mere and check Snape!"
Ron rolled his eyes at Moody's bellow and stood up slowly. Since there were only three rooms in the cottage, Ron got the one closest to the door while the largest one was shared by the comatose Snape and Mad-eye, and Black got the last one. All of which meant Ron was kept running back and forth from noon until night until Moody and Black fell asleep.
"Coming, master," Ron groused under his breath as he tapped his wand against magical mirror Poppy had charmed to show Snape's current condition at any time. He saw that the greasy bat had twisted himself into his covers again, barely on the bed this time, and he hurried down the hall to get him back in the middle of the mattress before he bashed in his own head with a fall onto the floor.
"Moody, you know you could haul yer arse out of that bed yourself and push Snape back onto his bed." Ron tucked his wand away and manually shifted Snape onto his mattress, pulling out the sheets and blankets that he'd tangled himself in during some unknown violent dream. He didn't pay close attention to what he was doing, revealing Snape's hairy legs and the rucked-up nightshirt Poppy insisted he wear. He didn't notice Mad-eye's magical eye quiver to a stop as Snape's penis was uncovered, nor the faint flush on his weathered face as he saw how it curled in the nest of kinky sable curls. He also didn't notice Sirius Black peering into the room, unaccountably quiet at the sight of Snape's cock being picked up gently so Ron could tug down the man's nightshirt.
If Ron had noticed, he most likely wouldn't have believed the lust in their eyes or maybe he would have, but then, he'd have had to Obliviate himself .
^V^V^
That night, after Ron fell into his own lonely bed, Moody manoeuvred himself out from under his duvet and carefully travelled the ten feet to Snape's bed. He dragged the chair nearby over to the bedside and sat down with a pained huff as he watched Snape's measured breaths.
The enchanted healing sleep was set to expire in another two weeks, which was when Moody's leg was supposed to be ready for weight-bearing. Moody leaned forward and gently tugged the sheet and blankets down from under Snape's chin inch by inch until he'd dragged them down to the middle of the other man's chest. He cocked his head to the side and listened, he'd thought he heard the scrape of a boot or shoe in the hallway, but after several minutes there were just the typical sounds of a cottage in the Highlands during late summer, and he kept pulling away the obscuring covers until they were bunched over Snape's knees. Then, with greater care, he plucked up the hem of the nightshirt and lifted it away to fold it on Snape's chest.
He licked his lips at the sight of Snape's cock. He'd overheard that child Pansy Parkinson whispering about how it was so monstrous that she'd only been able to suck the very head of it in gratitude for Snape saving her mother from Voldemort. Hestia Jones had once drunkenly told him that being fucked by Severus Snape was like taking a velvet-covered log into one's body. Even James Potter, Merlin keep him, had confided in Moody that he'd caught sight of Snape's meat cleaver and wished—for a scant half hour—that he was inclined that way as it had been long and silky-looking.
"Weasley! Oi, you lanky ginger, c'mere and check Snape!"
Ron rolled his eyes at Moody's bellow and stood up slowly. Since there were only three rooms in the cottage, Ron got the one closest to the door while the largest one was shared by the comatose Snape and Mad-eye, and Black got the last one. All of which meant Ron was kept running back and forth from noon until night until Moody and Black fell asleep.
"Coming, master," Ron groused under his breath as he tapped his wand against magical mirror Poppy had charmed to show Snape's current condition at any time. He saw that the greasy bat had twisted himself into his covers again, barely on the bed this time, and he hurried down the hall to get him back in the middle of the mattress before he bashed in his own head with a fall onto the floor.
"Moody, you know you could haul yer arse out of that bed yourself and push Snape back onto his bed." Ron tucked his wand away and manually shifted Snape onto his mattress, pulling out the sheets and blankets that he'd tangled himself in during some unknown violent dream. He didn't pay close attention to what he was doing, revealing Snape's hairy legs and the rucked-up nightshirt Poppy insisted he wear. He didn't notice Mad-eye's magical eye quiver to a stop as Snape's penis was uncovered, nor the faint flush on his weathered face as he saw how it curled in the nest of kinky sable curls. He also didn't notice Sirius Black peering into the room, unaccountably quiet at the sight of Snape's cock being picked up gently so Ron could tug down the man's nightshirt.
If Ron had noticed, he most likely wouldn't have believed the lust in their eyes or maybe he would have, but then, he'd have had to Obliviate himself .
That night, after Ron fell into his own lonely bed, Moody manoeuvred himself out from under his duvet and carefully travelled the ten feet to Snape's bed. He dragged the chair nearby over to the bedside and sat down with a pained huff as he watched Snape's measured breaths.
The enchanted healing sleep was set to expire in another two weeks, which was when Moody's leg was supposed to be ready for weight-bearing. Moody leaned forward and gently tugged the sheet and blankets down from under Snape's chin inch by inch until he'd dragged them down to the middle of the other man's chest. He cocked his head to the side and listened, he'd thought he heard the scrape of a boot or shoe in the hallway, but after several minutes there were just the typical sounds of a cottage in the Highlands during late summer, and he kept pulling away the obscuring covers until they were bunched over Snape's knees. Then, with greater care, he plucked up the hem of the nightshirt and lifted it away to fold it on Snape's chest.
He licked his lips at the sight of Snape's cock. He'd overheard that child Pansy Parkinson whispering about how it was so monstrous that she'd only been able to suck the very head of it in gratitude for Snape saving her mother from Voldemort. Hestia Jones had once drunkenly told him that being fucked by Severus Snape was like taking a velvet-covered log into one's body. Even James Potter, Merlin keep him, had confided in Moody that he'd caught sight of Snape's meat cleaver and wished—for a scant half hour—that he was inclined that way as it had been long and silky-looking.