Title: The Small Things
Author: nishizono
Characters: Severus/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Underage-ish (Draco is 17)
Themes/kinks chosen: Abandoned prompts month: Post HBP, Snape & Draco are forced into hiding from both sides. To protect Draco even more, Snape shrinks him, & alters one of his robe pockets to carry him safely. He does a lot to make sure Draco stays well, and Draco finds himself falling in love with Snape.
Word Count: 5,208

Summary: Life in Severus Snape's pocket was not nearly as exciting as it sounded.

Author's notes: I apologize for this. Between studying for midterms and the fact that half of California was on fire for awhile there, I just couldn't give this story the attention it deserved. I'll make it up to everyone next month, I promise. Thanks to tiger_lantern for the last minute beta.


Life in Severus Snape's pocket was not nearly as exciting as it sounded.

When Snape had first proposed the idea, Draco had balked. Then, after careful consideration, he'd come to the conclusion that it was better than spending every waking moment fearing an ambush by the Dark Lord’s minions. As far as their malevolent master was concerned, Draco had run away the moment he and Snape stepped off the grounds of Hogwarts. There was at least one search party looking for him, and the other Death Eaters regularly visited the little cabin Snape had chosen as a safe house. Though the lie about his disappearance had spared the older man’s life, Draco suspected he wouldn’t be nearly as fortunate if he was caught.

The spell was complicated, but Snape had executed it as masterfully as he did most things. After four hours of chanting in Latin, three recitations of complicated verses in Aramaic, and several irritated huffs from both parties, Draco Malfoy stood fifteen centimeters tall.

Being fifteen centimeters tall was, quite understandably, a rather perilous situation to find oneself in. Aside from the obvious shock of suddenly being smaller than a pepper mill, certain objects that had once seemed commonplace became infinitely more dangerous. For example, the deep kitchen sink had transformed itself into an oubliette, and the toilet didn't even bear thinking of. The cat that occasionally skulked around the back door of the cabin was no longer a sweet kitten begging for treats, but a ferocious and bloodthirsty beast that chased its wee victim beneath the ratty armchair in the sitting room. Draco had been in hysterics by the time Snape found him.

There were also some advantages, however few. Whenever Snape ventured out to restock their supplies, Draco went along, concealed in his disguised guardian's wand pocket. This allowed him to overhear a great deal more than he would have, had he been a proper size and distracted by other stimuli. That was how he learned, for example, that Snape was fluent in both Italian and French, and that the gruff potions master was actually polite to those who didn't go out of their way to annoy him. Draco also learned that if he leaned up against the seam closest to his protector's chest, he could fall asleep to the sound of Snape's heartbeat.

One afternoon, after a particularly restful nap, Draco awoke in a panic. Something was lifting him by the back of his shirt, hoisting him into midair and holding him there while he squeaked and helplessly kicked his feet. A moment later, he was tossed onto something soft, and he bounced a few times before righting himself again. Yards of dusty green upholstery surrounded him on all sides, and Draco blinked at it before lifting his head. They were back in the cabin, and Snape was scowling down at him.

“Honestly, Mister Malfoy, there's no need for histrionics,” the older man snapped.

“Sorry, I was asleep and you startled me,” Draco replied, rubbing the back of his head and willing himself not to blush.

Snape offered a derisive snort, as if to say he didn't think very highly of seventeen year old boys who fell asleep in wand pockets. “It’s gratifying to see that mortal peril has not had an adverse effect on your laziness.”

“What else do you expect me to do when I’m being carted around in a dark pocket?” Draco shot back defensively.

“You could reflect, perhaps, on the decisions you’ve made that put you in such a position to begin with,” Snape suggested dryly. With that, he turned on his heel and made his way toward the kitchen.

“Hey! Don’t just leave me here!” Draco cried. “I can’t get down by myself! Professor Snape? Snape!”

~*~*~

Draco sighed contentedly and leaned back against the napkin he’d bunched up to use as a cushion. Rubbing one hand across his pleasantly full stomach, he smiled up at his guardian from his place in the center of the table. “That was really good,” he offered around a yawn.

Snape huffed and stabbed at a bit of asparagus.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” Draco pressed, inexplicably eager to engage the older man in conversation.

“I am a potions master, Mister Malfoy,” Snape replied, arching an eyebrow. “Surely you, even with your lack of domestic expertise, can’t think that preparing a meal is any more complicated than brewing.”

“No, I guess not,” Draco shrugged. “I just didn’t think you’d spent a lot of time in the kitchen, since you lived at the school and the house elves did all the cooking.”

Snape made an unpleasant face and took a sip of wine. “I’m surprised that you, of all people, would consider house elf cuisine adequate.”

“I never really thought about it,” Draco hummed, stretching and letting his head fall back against the napkin.

“Ah, the discerning palate of a teenager,” Snape replied dryly. “At least you’re inexpensive to feed at your current size.”

Draco tried to smirk, but it was interrupted by another yawn. The braised beef and sautéed vegetables were the first substantial meal he’d been able to eat in weeks, anxious as he’d been, and his body felt heavy. Sitting up, he tucked his legs up underneath his robes and eyed his guardian’s wineglass thoughtfully.

“No,” Snape drawled.

“But why?” Draco whined. “I don’t want much, just a sip.”

“And how, precisely, do you propose we accomplish that?” Snape asked. “It’s difficult enough to fill that thimble of yours with water, and I’m most certainly not going to waste a single drop of perfectly adequate cabernet sauvignon so that you can satisfy your adolescent curiosity about alcohol.”

“Maybe you could put the rim of your glass even with the table, and I could hang over the side?” Draco suggested with a mischievous grin.

Snape looked at him as if he’d just suggested they go streaking in the Dark Lord’s safe house.

“Pour some into a saucer?” Draco offered brightly, giggling at the idea of lapping wine up from a saucer like a kitten.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Snape snapped.

“Alright, alright,” Draco conceded, and then pushed his lower lip into a pout. “It looks really good, though.”

“It is, very good,” Snape agreed as he took another sip.

Draco’s pout devolved into a sulk.

Finally, Snape relented with a put-upon sigh. Carefully setting his glass down beside his plate, he scowled and said, “Come here, then.”

Brooding forgotten now that he was getting his way, Draco crawled across the table to the base of his guardian’s wineglass. Tossing his hair out of his eyes, he watched with confusion as the older man dipped a finger in the dark red liquid. When the finger was extended in his direction, he recoiled.

“It’s this way or not at all,” Snape told him impatiently.

Draco glanced from the older man’s finger, to his face, and back again. On one hand, he did want to try the wine; on the other, he was still a Malfoy, despite his family’s misfortune, and he was pretty sure his father would have a thing or two to say about licking wine from other people’s fingertips like a mongrel. When he looked back up at his former professor, Snape arched an eyebrow at him, and Draco’s decision was made. A challenge was a whole other story, after all.

Leaning in, he hesitantly flicked his tongue across the older man’s fingertip. The taste was sharp and slightly bitter, but not unpleasant. Curious, he did it again, lingering a bit longer to explore the ridges of his guardian’s fingerprint. There was a quiet gasp, and he immediately jerked away, afraid he’d done something to irritate the notoriously quick-tempered potions master.

“Satisfied, Mister Malfoy?” Snape asked him in an oddly quiet tone.

Draco wasn’t sure if that was really preferable to being yelled at. Erring on the side of caution, he hung his head with carefully practiced contriteness and said, “You’re right, it’s very good.”

A heartbeat of silence passed before Snape murmured, “Indeed.”

~*~*~

One thing they had failed to take into account when developing their plans was that spring was fading into summer, and wand pockets were not, as a general rule, equipped with cooling charms.

Sweaty and uncomfortable, Draco kicked at the suffocating fabric, hoping to create a gap at the top of the pocket to let fresh air in. Not only did the plan fail, he also received an irritated flick of Snape’s fingers through the heavy cotton. Muttering an expletive under his breath, he crossed his arms over his chest and slumped against the seam. It was tempting to defy the bastard’s orders and cast a cooling charm, but the risk of disrupting the glamour Snape was using to disguise himself was too great.

Sitting bundled in the corner of the pocket was only making him hotter, so Draco pulled himself to his feet and leaned back against Snape’s chest. As an afterthought, he unbuttoned his robes and let them fall off his shoulders. That helped a bit, but his shirt was damp with sweat, and it clung to his skin unpleasantly. Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, Draco deliberated for a moment. It wasn’t as if he and Snape hadn’t seen one another shirtless—some things were inevitable when you lived with another person—but it seemed strange to be considering such a thing when they were in public, even if no one could see him.

After only another moment of hesitation, Draco undid the buttons of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. As he did so, the back of his arm brushed Snape’s chest through the fabric that separated them, and the older man made a quiet gasping noise. Pausing with his arms still lifted in midair, Draco turned his face to the side and listened.

Snape’s pulse was racing.

Draco pulled away and blinked at the darkness in front of his eyes. Outside the protective cocoon of the wand pocket, Snape was conversing with someone about the price of burn ointment. When Draco pressed a hand to the other man's chest, however, he could feel the furious pounding of the heart that lay beneath. Curious, he slowly ran his hand across the fabric that separated them.

Even through the robes, Draco could feel the change in texture against his fingertips when they slid across the older man's nipple. There was another barely audible gasp, and he froze, eyes widening as the nub slowly began to harden beneath his touch. Mortified though he was, he couldn't resist doing it again, and this time it earned him an almost imperceptible growl.

Draco snatched his hand away just as Snape began walking again, and he lost his balance. Catching himself on a loose piece of thread from the seam, he slumped in the corner and drew his knees up to his chest. The pocket felt even warmer than before, and certain parts of his anatomy seemed to have taken an interest in the temperature change. Cringing, he closed his eyes and tried to will away his very inappropriate erection.

Unfortunate, Draco Malfoy was a healthy seventeen year old boy.

Whether it was arousal or curiosity that propelled Draco to his feet, he wasn't sure. Whatever it was gave him the courage to press his back against his guardian's chest and rub against the older man's nipple. Snape made a soft choking sound, and Draco smirked into the darkness.

Emboldened by the privacy of the wand pocket, Draco slipped a hand beneath the waistband of his trousers and wrapped it around his cock. The rigid flesh throbbed against his palm, out of sync with the pulse that thrummed against his back. Tilting his head back, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth and stroked himself once, from base to tip.

At the risk of incurring Snape's wrath, Draco turned and nuzzled the tight nub of his guardian's nipple with his cheek. There was absolutely no way he could pretend the touch was accidental, but that didn't matter nearly as much as the quiet noises the older man was making. Wanting to tease more than what his cheek could reach, Draco used his free hand to explore.

Without warning, the world twisted, and his stomach tightened as if he were being pulled through a funnel. The sidelong apparation surprised him so much that he gave a violent start and tumbled backwards with his trousers around his thighs. A moment later, he was being lifted, and he squeaked in protest as he was unceremoniously tossed onto the chair in the main room of the cabin.

"Pull your trousers up, you foolish boy," Snape hissed, cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming.

Draco immediately did as he was told, cursing his trembling fingers as he did up the buttons. Despite having been the older man's favorite student, he was just as terrified of the notorious potions professor as his classmates had been. Obviously, he'd allowed hormones to overpower common sense, and he was sure he was in for a verbal thrashing. Hoping to preemptively lessen the impending explosion, he blurted, "I'm sorry!"

The supplication didn't seem to make a difference.

"My offer to protect you was not an invitation for you to use me to satisfy your adolescent urges," Snape spat.

"I already said I was sorry!" Draco cried, hating the blush he could feel creeping across his face.

"While you have my sincere condolences on the loss of your harem," Snape went on through gritted teeth, "Perhaps the crisis might have been avoided, had you spent more time weighing service to a madman against the dubious joys of teenage promiscuity."

To Draco, that sounded a bit as if Snape was calling him a whore, and he curled his hands into fists at his sides. "Fuck you!” he snapped, fully aware that he was risking bodily injury. “I’m bloody sick of you acting like I’m nothing more than a lazy, spoiled, over-sexed teenager!”

Snape arched an eyebrow and sneered, “Please, do feel free to prove that assumption wrong.”

“Alright, I can be the first two sometimes,” Draco conceded. “But I’m more than that, damn you, and I’m also a- a-“ The word caught in his throat, burned in his lungs.

“A what, Mister Malfoy?” Snape purred.

“A virgin,” Draco whispered, bowing his head to hide his flushed cheeks.

There was a beat of silence, but he didn’t dare look up. Angry as he was, there was still a small part of him that would always be seeking his guardian’s approval, and Draco couldn’t bear the mocking laughter he was sure he’d see in Snape’s eyes. Cursing under his breath, he crossed his arms over his chest defensively, and waited.

“I see,” Snape said quietly, and there was a strain in his familiar, silky baritone.

Draco frowned. By the time he finally gathered the courage to glance up at the other man, Snape had turned away. Licking his lips nervously, Draco prompted, “Sir?”

“I’ll prepare dinner,” Snape replied, just a bit too quickly. “In the meantime, I suggest you think on the poor decisions you’ve made.”

Nodding distractedly, Draco watched the older man disappear into the kitchen. Once his guardian was gone, he threw himself backwards into the far corner of the chair. Now that the rush of adrenaline was wearing off, the full horror of what he’d done rushed to the forefront. Even so, he couldn’t seem to stop replaying the memory of the older man’s gasps in his mind.

Despite the fact that the cabin was almost unbearably warm, Draco shivered.

~*~*~

Dinner that night was a very quiet affair.

Draco’s appetite seemed to have gone the way of his common sense, and he picked at the roasted chicken halfheartedly. The meal smelled wonderful, but his stomach had tied itself up in unforgiving knots. Finally, he gave up and pushed aside the bottle cap that served as his plate.

It seemed the Snape was having similar difficulties, judging by the amount of food that was left on the older man’s plate. The bottle of chardonnay, on the other hand, was already more than halfway empty.

“So-“ Draco began, uncomfortable with the silence and desperate to move past their earlier quarrel.

“Don’t,” Snape interrupted sharply.

“I was just going to ask if you’d be brewing tomorrow,” Draco replied, narrowing his eyes at the color that had risen to his guardian’s cheeks.

Snape cleared his throat and took another sip of wine before answering, “Yes.”

“Oh,” Draco replied slowly.

To say that something had changed in the dynamics between them would have been a vast understatement, but the results were not was Draco had been expecting. Ridicule, contempt, taunting: all of these would have been acceptable reactions to what had happened. None of those were forthcoming, however, and it almost seemed as if Snape was just as uncomfortable as Draco.

“Is the wine good?” Draco asked, then immediately regretted it upon remembering what had happened the last time they’d ventured into that discussion. Though it had been innocent, at the time, the encounter took on a whole new meaning in light of what he’d done that afternoon.

Snape paused, the hand that held the wineglass hovering in midair for a moment before completing the journey to his lips. After taking a sip, which looked rather more like a gulp from Draco’s vantage point, he murmured, “Yes, quite.”

They happened to glance at one another at the same time, and Draco felt every nerve in his body burst into flames. Snape’s eyes glittered in the muted yellow light of the kitchen, and even for an inexperienced seventeen year old, there was no mistaking the smoldering want that burned there. A fraction of a heartbeat later, the older man looked away, but not quickly enough.

Draco leaned back against his napkin, stunned. Chilly apprehension collided with warm arousal somewhere behind his navel, and the shockwave swept down between his thighs. Inhaling sharply, he pulled his knees up to his chest to hide his sudden, insistent erection.

Snape’s eyes were back on him in an instant. “Are you experiencing some sort of difficulty, Mister Malfoy?” the older man purred.

Clenching his fists in the fabric of his trousers to suppress a shudder, Draco squeaked, “I’m fine!”

“I see,” Snape replied dubiously. Then, in a softer tone, he asked, “Would you like some wine?”

All the oxygen in the room seemed to flee at once.

“I- I don’t-“ Draco stammered once he’d found breath enough to speak.

“Suit yourself,” Snape replied with a careless shrug, eyes gleaming over the rim of his wineglass.

When the older man made to drain the remnants of the chardonnay, Draco sat straight up and cried, “No, wait!”

Snape paused, glass tilted back until the wine was almost to his lips, and arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, I’d like some wine,” Draco said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

The seconds crept by as the older man set the glass on the table and dipped a forefinger in the chardonnay. A bead of wine formed at the tip of his finger, shining like liquid gold in the soft light. Slowly, so as to not waste the precious droplet, the hand was extended in offering.

Draco was nearly in a state of panic, nervousness warring with impatience. Licking his lips, he leaned in and trailed his tongue across the older man’s fingertip. The universe smelled and tasted of sharp, dark apples and warm skin. Eyes fluttering closed, Draco hooked an arm around his guardian’s knuckle, and traced the swirling ridges of Snape’s fingerprint with the tip of his tongue. There was a quiet sigh from above him, and he smiled.

“You’ve no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Snape whispered, but there was no condescension in his voice.

“Not a clue,” Draco agreed quietly. “You don’t either, do you?”

Snape laughed then, a low, breathy sound that sent electric sparks skittering down Draco’s spine. The ensuing silence was answer enough.

Lifting his head, Draco gazed up at his guardian through lowered lashes. Severus Snape was by no means beautiful, but the dark, sharply intelligent eyes and smooth baritone had somehow been transformed from vaguely terrifying to intensely seductive. Were he a normal size, Draco would have kissed those thin, sneering lips that softened into a lazy smile as they stared at one another.

“Undress,” Snape told him, black velvet voice ripped to shreds by desire.

Twenty-four hours prior, Draco would have been horrified by the very idea. As it was, he saw absolutely no reason at all why he should do anything but obey. Releasing his guardian’s finger, he stepped back and raised a hand to the top button of his shirt. Once there, he hesitated and glanced up through his fringe.

A fingertip stroked the length of his arm, and Snape murmured, “All you’ve to do is say no, Draco.”

Whether it was the quiet reassurance, or the use of his given name, Draco couldn’t say. Nor did he particularly care. Childish faith in his guardian’s omnipotence restored, he leaned in to press a tiny kiss to the soothing fingertip before turning his attention back to the buttons. Once they had been undone, he let his shirt slip off his shoulders, caught it in the crooks of his elbows for a heartbeat before straightening his arms and letting it slide to the floor.

“Spare me your adolescent attempts at seduction,” Snape told him with a smirk, “You already have my attention.”

Draco laughed and made short work of his trousers, sliding them down past his hips and kicking them aside. Putting one hand on his hip, he struck an overly dramatic pose and arched an eyebrow.

“You are an absolute brat,” Snape purred.

“At least I look good doing it,” Draco replied with a smug self-assurance he didn’t quite feel. The truth was, he had always been privately self-conscious about his appearance, despite praise from his female classmates. However, the appreciative gaze that raked over his body made him feel comfortable rather than embarrassed.

“Lie down,” Snape instructed him in a murmur, pointing to the napkin that had been serving as a wee cushion.

Once again, Draco did as he was told, stretching against the white linen like a cat. A fingertip caressed his stomach, pressing just hard enough to make him gasp. Playful arousal shifted to burning need in less than a heartbeat, and he arched his back in a silent plea for more. Draco had never been touched so completely before.

“Spread your thighs,” Snape whispered hoarsely.

Draco parted his knees, and gasped when the warm fingertip covered the entire length of his cock. When it began to move, he gave a strangled cry and wrapped both legs around it, grinding his hips upward. A soul deep shudder raced down his spine and ricocheted through his prick.

“I should have known you would be so wanton,” Snape drawled with a lazy smile. “It’s such a pity I’ll not be able to take you to my bed.”

“Oh fuck please,” Draco babbled before he could stop himself. “Fuck me, god I’ll- ah- I’ll do anything- give you whatever you want- just-“

Snape laughed again, a bit breathlessly, and murmured, “I daresay such a thing may be difficult given our current size difference—rather akin to breeding a Chihuahua and a Great Dane, I should think—but there may be a compromise.”

Draco whined in the back of his throat when the finger moved away, but then he was being scooped up in a warm palm and pulled closer to Snape's body. Frantic to maintain some amount of pressure on his aching erection, he wrapped both hands around himself, only to have them pulled away.

"Patience," Snape purred. "Though I know you have precious little of that, this is one occasion in which it would be beneficial for both of us."

"I don't want to have patience," Draco pouted. "I want to come, and I would've if you'd just let me-"

The thought was interrupted by the sound of a zipper being drawn down, and he crawled to the edge of his guardian's hand to watch. Even if he hadn't been fifteen centimeters tall, the other man's prick would have been enormous. Groaning quietly, he rolled his hips, desperate for friction.

"I'm afraid you'll be doing most of the work," Snape announced, not sounding sorry in the least.

Before Draco could ask what, precisely, he'd be doing, he was being lifted again and dropped onto Snape's lower stomach. Curling his hands into fists to keep them from creeping downward to his cock, he glanced up through his fringe.

"Since you seem to enjoy frotting yourself against whatever part of my body happens to be convenient at the time, I should like to get something in return," Snape explained with another wicked smirk.

There was a moment of stunned silence before a gentle push shoved Draco toward Snape's cock. Whimpering almost helplessly, he wrapped himself around it-- arms and legs and hard, aching prick against the satin smooth skin-- and rubbed. All fifteen centimeters of his body ignited at once, wrenching a sob from his throat that was echoed by a low growl that reverberated up through his feet. Needing to feel as many points of connection as possible, he opened his mouth and laved the nearest patch of rigid flesh with his tongue.

"Fuck," Snape cursed under his breath.

Draco replied with a soft groan; he'd never heard his former professor use that sort of language before, and the conviction in that single syllable was nearly enough to send him over the edge. Redoubling his efforts, he pressed harder against the older man's cock and rocked his hips. There was so much heat, almost too much, and he couldn't imagine that anything would ever feel as good as the tight, swollen flesh beneath his lips.

"You'll want to move away," Snape told him in a groan.

"No," Draco gasped, "Can't- so close-"

"Mister- ah- Draco-" Snape growled.

Refusing to heed the warning, Draco tightened his legs around his guardian's prick and thrust against it. There were white sparks dancing behind his eyelids every time he closed them, and he swore he would die if he stopped. Then there was a hand pressed to his back, pushing him closer, crushing him against hard flesh until he couldn't breathe. Before he could issue a gasped protest, the entire length of the older man's cock pulsed against his body.

Draco choked on a sob as Snape's body went rigid, and cried out as he was covered in slick heat. Almost losing his grip on the older man's prick, he drove his hips upward once, twice- and he was coming, hard, screaming until his throat was raw and chanting a silent litany of yes please fuck please yes. When he finally lost his grip, he tumbled backwards and spread himself out across his guardian's lower abdomen. Shuddering and trembling, he wrapped both hands around his cock and forced the last of his orgasm out of his body.

For a few long moments, the only sound in the small kitchen was harsh, ragged breathing. Draco licked his lips, tasted the bitterness of the older man's come on his tongue, and opened his eyes to glare. Snape stared down at him impassively. They both snorted with amusement at the same time.

"I suppose you'll be wanting a bath," Snape said with a smirk.

~*~*~

Severus Snape's hair was much more comfortable than it looked.

Draco curled up in the little nest he'd made from the black locks and closed his eyes with a satisfied hum. They hadn't discussed what transpired in the kitchen, and he doubted they ever would. Instead, Draco had been carried to the bathroom sink to soak while Snape showered, and they'd retired to the older man's bedroom together. The moon had risen, and it cast silvery rays over the scarred wooden floor, in complete defiance of the hazy golden glow of the oil lamp that burned on the nightstand.

"You've been reading for hours," Draco whined quietly, reaching out to press the palm of his hand against his guardian's cheek.

"A task that would proceed much more quickly if you did not see fit to offer constant updates on how long I've been doing it," Snape replied distractedly.

Draco smirked and shifted until he could burrow against the side of the older man's neck. "But I want attention."

"Oh for heaven's sake," Snape sighed, closing his book with a snap. "You are the most spoiled creature I have ever known."

"That's not my fault," Draco protested with a private smile. "I'm just so adorable that people can't help but to spoil me."

Snape offered a derisive snort, but no counterargument.

Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, Draco deliberated for a moment before asking, "Do you care about me?"

"Of all the- I think, Mister Malfoy, you've been spending far too much time with the girls in your dormitory," Snape replied rather tersely. "That is the most ridiculous thing you've ever asked me."

"Ridiculous because you do, or ridiculous because you don't?" Draco pressed anxiously.

"What do you think?"

Draco stretched out along Snape's shoulder and stared at the ceiling, thinking of things like unbreakable vows and bottle caps, killing curses and wand pockets. "I think you're an emotionally repressed old git," he said with a grin.

"Is that so?" Snape huffed. "I shall remind you of that when you're at a proper size for me to spank you until you're begging for my cock."

Draco shivered. "Fuck, if you don't stop saying things like that, I'm never going to let you get any rest."

Snape replied with a martyred sigh that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh, and reached out to turn the flame of the oil lamp down. Draco nuzzled closer, pulling a few locks of dark hair over his legs to use them as a makeshift blanket. Neither spoke, but when Snape turned his head to the side, Draco sat up to press a tiny kiss to the center of the older man's lower lip.

Whenever Draco had bothered to think of things like relationships, he'd always thought of them in terms of his parent's epic romance, or stolen kisses atop the astronomy tower. The truth of it, as he was learning, was far more complex. Severus Snape was not an expressive man in situations that didn't warrant a display of righteous fury, but he did offer small pieces of himself in his own understated way; he fashioned drinking glasses from thimbles and kept his most treasured possession in the pocket closest to his heart.

Falling in love with Severus Snape wouldn't be exciting, but that was alright.

It was the little things that mattered.