Summersmut Mod (summersmutmod) wrote in hp_summersmut, @ 2008-08-21 12:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2008, charlie weasley, charlie/snape, severus snape |
[FIC] A Little Bit of Luck: Snape/Charlie :: gift for psyfic
Title: A Little Bit of Luck
Author:
Recipient: psyfic
Pairing: Severus Snape/Charlie Weasley
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3742
Warnings: Virgin!Snape.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Order member Charlie is given something more dangerous than a dragon to tend and keep safe -- a badly poisoned, nearly bloodless, barely alive Potions Master... and then the Potions Master wakes up.
Author's Notes: A big thank you to everyone who helped me with this story! To psyfic, thank you for the wonderful plot bunny. There's not as much plot as I may have liked, but I hope it pleases :).
Light was the first thing that began to register; light, and a sense of lightness. How long he'd been in the darkness, he wasn't sure, but some part of him knew that he'd spent most of his life weighed down by fulfilling the impossibly conflicted demands of two obsessed wizards, and some of that lightness was the absence of demands on him. He could just lie there, growing gradually more aware of the softness underneath him and the light that gathered on the other side of his eyelids.
Slowly, conscious thought returned. How long had he been out? Where was he? It hardly seemed to make much difference. It was comfortable enough--a bed, rather than a stone floor, it seemed--and he was waking up.
Alive. Surprising, that, although he would hardly have expected to be waking up dead.
Finally, not quite willing to open his eyes yet, he moved a hand from underneath a light counterpane and felt at his face. His chin was covered in two days' worth of rough, stubbly growth, which seemed to make sense. That blasted snake.
His hand dropped to his neck, finding the indentations where Nagini had--nearly--sucked him dry. They were scabbing over, which was just as well. He found he could remember everything: the last hiss of the Dark Lord, the sensation of his lifeblood draining out of him, the wide-eyed stare of Potter as he siphoned out those carefully chosen memories. He was just glad the brat had left before he'd taken his Blood-Replenishing Potion--with any luck, Potter didn't know he was still alive. Maybe no one did. But then, someone must know: whose bed was this?
He concentrated for a moment on listening. There was some steady, heavy rushing sound in the background, but it sounded far-off, like a river or waterfall might sound from a few miles away. Otherwise he could hear nothing.
There was no river like that near Hogwarts, though. With a bit of a huff, he managed to push the blanket down off of his chest, freeing up access to his wand--
No wand. No robes. No nothing; under the blanket he was completely bare.
His eyes sprang open. He was indeed a bit dazzled by the light at first, but he cast his gaze around until he saw it there, eleven inches of rowan, on a bedside table. A moment later, it was in his hand, and he felt measurably better.
His body, however, was beginning to wake up. That meant becoming more aware not only of uncountable pains and aches, but also of two more primitive urges. He would soon have to do something about the emptiness of his stomach on the one hand, and the fullness of his bladder on the other. With wand in hand, he threw off the covers, noting as he did that he was still feeling rather weak, and looked around at his surroundings.
There was a large window on what must be the east wall, letting in an obscene amount of light even through the thick, homey curtains. A lot of the décor was homey, he decided as he gazed around, bemused.
It was clear he was in someone's personal living space, which surprised him more than if he'd woken in a prison cell. The room looked comfortable, but haphazard, with shoes piled in one corner and stacks of books on either side of the dresser. Not a woman's room, if he had to guess.
He swung his feet off the bed and gathered his strength. With some effort, he managed to get upright. He was still a bit wobbly, but in no danger of falling over.
At the far end of the room was a sort of abbreviated kitchen, with larder and counter space, but not much in the way of cooking apparatus. A wizard's home, then. He poked into a cupboard and was rewarded with a bit of luck--a can of something resembling broth, which he was almost certain he could manage to keep down. A few quick wordless spells later, he was drinking it right from the container. The broth was bland, but nourishing. The warmth hit his stomach with a shock, then spread outward along his limbs, until he could feel the tips of his toes and the pads of his fingertips.
It was enough. He had other things to think of, like finding clothes and getting out of here, not to mention taking a piss.
Clothes--hadn't there been a dresser? He retraced his steps, intending to open a drawer and liberate anything that looked close to the right size, when he noticed the door on the other side of the dresser. He hadn't seen it from the bed because it was designed to blend into the wall. Cautiously, he cracked the door open.
Another bit of luck: a washroom. Piss first, clothes later.
He stumbled in, found the requisite plumbing and relieved himself. It was remarkable he had anything in him after two days of unconsciousness, but then part of that must be the magic of his potions at work.
It was only after he had some relief from his biological needs that he realized the rushing sound he'd heard earlier was louder in here.
The shower was running.
Through the beveled glass of the shower walls, he could just make out a figure under the stream of the water.
There was a moment of stillness.
"Professor Snape?"
He couldn't place the voice at first, though it was maddeningly familiar. It was a male voice; its owner sounded younger than he but still mature, with a strength and resonance that a teenage boy couldn't have possessed.
"Is that you?"
Some response was required. He looked around for cover, but there was only a towel hanging on the wall, so he took that. And just in time, as the next moment the shower door slid open enough to admit an incredibly-freckled hand, arm, shoulder, and then the face of Charlie Weasley.
Older than Snape had ever seen him, and looking just as taken aback as Snape felt. He followed the direction of Charlie's gaze and clutched the towel more tightly. He knew what Charlie was seeing: a middle-aged wizard, with thin arms, altogether pale, scrawny, ugly.
"Where are my clothes?" His throat felt scraped and sore, but Charlie remained as he was, just gaping at him, as steam poured out from the shower. He tried again. "How did I get here, and where is here, exactly?" His voice was feeling better already. Just needed practice.
"You were," Charlie started, then shook his head. "How much do you remember?"
"Everything, until I fell unconscious in the Shrieking Shack. Then I woke up here."
"Well, a lot's happened, but the critical points are that Voldemort's dead, and most people think you are, too. The rest will wait until I'm done." He ducked back into the shower, and Snape was left to consider what Charlie had said.
He was alive. Not just alive, but presumed dead by many, and it seemed that Charlie would be able to give him more details on that score. It was the other piece of news that was causing Snape the most mental indigestion.
The Dark Lord was defeated? Dead, even? He couldn't quite believe it, even after all of his preparations. Still, he allowed himself a small measure of hope. If it were true... if it were, he would have no more madmen dictating his choices in life. No more dangerous games to play, no more razor's edge to navigate. He would have the chance to chart his own course in life.
Standing naked in Charlie Weasley's bathroom, Severus Snape breathed in, breathed out, and felt a kind of near-peace sweep over him. Even if Charlie was somehow mistaken, Snape had done the best he could do. His part in things was finished. He could follow whatever whim he wanted, and it was no one's lookout but his own.
Almost as if to prove the point, he let the towel drop to the floor. It was just now occurring to him how much he'd never got around to trying, how much he would soon be able to experience. Like Iceland. He had never been to Iceland, and now he could go whenever he wanted to. He'd never seen the Coliseum of Rome; never witnessed a sunset from the top of the Eiffel Tower; never woken in the middle of the night to the touch of a lover... Never had a lover, for that matter.
"Still there?" Charlie's voice called out, rousing him from his thoughts. "Is, er, is my towel still there?"
Snape shrugged inwardly. "Here," he said, holding out the only towel in the room. He was still too full of possibilities to care what Charlie Weasley might think of him at this moment.
The water stopped, and Charlie's arm reached out from the shower again. Snape put the towel into his question fingers and waited. A moment later, the door slid open all the way, and the fog began to dissipate as Charlie stepped out of the shower.
He was in exceptional shape, Snape noted as he stepped back to give Charlie room. The younger man was built solidly, with wide shoulders and thick cords of muscle across his chest, back, and arms. Snape found himself captivated by the expanse of freckles that seemed to cover Charlie's entire body, right down across his taut stomach to where they disappeared under the towel Charlie had wrapped around his hips.
He looked up to find Charlie's face nearly as red as his hair.
"I didn't mean--" Charlie said, nearly stammering. "There's another towel, or you could get your--"
He was embarrassed, Snape realized. Well, he might have been too if their positions had been reversed, but right now he couldn't care less about propriety or what was expected of him. In fact, he'd already had a lifetime of doing what was expected of him, and it was high time things started changing.
He looked down at himself, a little surprised to see that his cock was somewhat lengthened from its normally quiescent state. He supposed it was rather exciting to imagine what his future held in store for him, but he'd never guessed he was the type to become aroused by architecture, and certainly not by the Eiffel Tower.
Charlie was still looking at him, or rather, pointedly looking at anything but him. Still, Snape wasn't ready to leave the newfound security he'd found in this washroom, so he said the first thing that came into his head. "How old are you?"
"Er--twenty-five. Sir. Look, I'm sorry about your robes, they were unbelievably--I mean, we did get you something to wear, if you just--"
"We?"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt and I. He was the one that found you."
"And he brought me to you?" Snape was genuinely curious.
"He knew I could bring you here, to the Reserve. It's an ideal spot--no other people to worry about, just the dragons I'm tending. Besides, there weren't many Order members available for consultation." Something passed over Charlie's face, and Snape nodded in understanding. He wasn't reading to hear a list of who'd made it and who hadn't. Maybe he never would be.
"Professor? I hate to be indelicate, but I'd appreciate it if we could go into the other room and get dressed."
Oh. "Of course," he muttered, and turned to go. Trying to be civil to someone who'd helped save his life, he added, "Sorry to offend you."
"It's not that," Charlie said quickly, and Snape paused with a hand on the door. "It's just that I've spent the last two days and nights hoping you would wake up, and now that you have, I'm not reacting like I should be--I mean, I never figured you would walk in on me while--" There was a pause, then a throat was cleared and Charlie continued. "You're welcome to stay until you're fully recovered, and I don't want anything to happen that would make you uncomfortable. That's all."
Snape glanced over his shoulder, and saw Charlie running a hand over his face. He took the opportunity to run his eyes again over Charlie's body, taking in the short shock of damp red hair, the well-toned arms, the towel--and the unmistakable bulge in the front of the towel, which really couldn't hide much. Snape supposed he should have been put off by this, but he found himself more intrigued than anything. He'd never been able to let down his guard long enough to get close to anyone, yet here was a fit young man who seemed interested--at least physically--and wasn't he supposed to be charting his own course now?
He turned back to face Charlie. "And what if it doesn't make me uncomfortable?" he said.
Charlie's mouth hung open slightly, but before he could say anything, a large, silvery shape came bursting through the door.
It was a Patronus, in the shape of a lynx. "Not again," Snape heard Charlie groan, and then the lynx spoke with Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice.
"Death Eaters," it said. "Numbers unknown; arriving in approximately two hours. You must leave within the hour."
It faded away, and Snape met Charlie's eyes. They stood like that for a long moment, and then Charlie said, "I'll stay to delay them so that you can get away."
It was just the sort of thing a foolhardy Gryffindor would do, but Snape nodded. His mind was racing. "Then I have one more question for you." He took a deliberate step forward, nearly halving the distance between them. "If you ever found yourself with only an hour or two left to live, and not a lot of choice about whom to spend it with, would you consent to...?" He trailed off, unable to put more into words.
Charlie seemed to catch his meaning, and though his eyes widened incredulously, he was nodding, too. Snape supposed it must be a strange sort of offer for the young man, but he couldn't stop to think about it now. This was the first step of the rest of his life. He reached his hand out towards Charlie.
It was deafeningly silent in the bathroom as Snape slid his fingers under the folded edge of the towel. Charlie's skin was hot and still damp from the shower, and as Snape moved closer he could smell the mix of soap and Charlie's own heady scent. He let his hand move across Charlie's stomach, across the rough ginger hair there, and loosened the towel until it was just about to fall--then looked into Charlie's face.
Charlie made some sort of noise, then, in frustration or lingering disbelief he wasn't sure. In answer, he tilted Charlie's head upward just so and leaned to kiss him, and the towel dropped away.
The moment their lips touched, it was as if Charlie was released from a Body-Bind Curse. His hands came up to clutch at Snape's back; his legs moved against Snape's own, pressing their cocks together; his mouth--his mouth came alive, kissing Snape enthusiastically, almost frantically, as if he were aware of the clock ticking and wanted to make up for his momentary hesitation.
Then there was a hand around Snape's cock, and he gasped against Charlie's mouth. The pressure was good, but he wanted more, and before he realized it his hips were pushing forward and back against Charlie's hand, which had the nice effect of bringing his thigh against Charlie's own erection, heightening his desire even further.
He half-pushed and half-pulled until they were stumbling through the doorway. His hands couldn't get enough of Charlie's shoulders, stomach, back, arse, and once he'd had the arse it wasn't so much of a stretch to reach down in front and rub his palm against the hard length of Charlie's cock. A beat later they were on the bed, tumbling and rolling and Snape ended up on top.
Snape had kissed before, but never like this; Charlie wielded his tongue as a professional duelist might wield a wand, with skillful strokes and just the right amount of pressure. It all had a very definite effect on Snape: he wanted more.
He didn't even know what "more" was, until Charlie moaned and nuzzled the spot under his ear and whispered something that sounded like "...want you inside me..." Snape almost stopped moving at that, but the thrusting, Charlie's hand and thigh, felt so good, that he barely missed a beat. There was a tightness building in him, like a rubber band stretched too far, a feeling that he knew instinctively could not last.
"Show me how," he rasped after only a moment of hesitation. Charlie looked at him, surprised, but thankfully he asked no questions, only nodded and put his hands on Snape's shoulders.
He let Charlie guide him around onto his back, reassured somewhat when the younger man straddled Snape's waist. He had a momentary vision of those same thighs gripping broomsticks during years of Quidditch, but the image was chased away when Charlie lifted a hand and took his thumb entirely into his own mouth. His cheeks hollowed out, then his tongue came out to swirl around the widest part of the thumb. Snape trembled involuntarily at the sight, but it was nothing compared to what happened next.
Charlie reached the hand around behind him, tilting his hips back slowly, and Snape couldn't actually see the thumb entering Charlie's body, but he could read the expression of intense concentration, could feel the shifting of his body as he rocked back and forth. Another tremor ran through Snape's body, but his eyes were transfixed on Charlie's cock, bobbing with every movement. Finally he reached for it again, wrapping his hand tightly around the shaft, letting Charlie's own movements provide the friction. Charlie looked down at him and smiled, tossing his head a bit as if he were used to more hair than he had.
After another moment, Charlie brought the hand back to lick another finger, and Snape couldn't tell what he was doing until that hand took hold of his cock. Charlie was moving his body, lowering himself, and Snape almost came when the head of his cock brushed up against the resistance of Charlie's body. His hands closed around Charlie's hips, but he let Charlie take control of their positions. Sure enough, after a few moments of delicious torture, he was rewarded by the feel of being pushed against Charlie's tightness more purposefully.
Snape gave up thinking and just let the sensations wash over him. Charlie wasn't wasting any time, alternating between pressing down and circling his body around, working Snape in farther into the most incredible tightness. It was beyond anything Snape could have imagined, scorching hot and surprisingly wet, but most of all he felt the constriction of Charlie's arse around him. If he'd been on top he would have been afraid to go any deeper, but Charlie, perched on knees and toes and biting his lip, knew what he was doing.
The heat enveloped him, until finally Charlie let out a soft sigh and began to rock in earnest.
And Snape exploded.
There was no room for chagrin as his orgasm rocketed through him, locking up every muscle down to his toes. He was vaguely aware of Charlie's hand moving faster, jacking himself off, followed by a gasp and a corresponding shudder, and then Charlie collapsed, letting his weight fall onto his hands on either side of Snape's head. His head was bowed, but Snape, still breathless, brought a hand to his chin and lifted it so he could brush one last kiss across Charlie's lips. Charlie looked up, and for a split second Snape could almost imagine that this was more than taking advantage of the situation, that there was a possibility, given different circumstances...
With a sigh, Charlie moved away to sit on the edge of the bed. Snape could feel the loss of him, the physical space opening up between them. But he also knew their time was running out. He cast about for something to say, his gaze drawn by the smooth lines of Charlie's back.
"Do you have anything you want taken out of here?"
Charlie shrugged as he stood up and started pulling clothes out of the dresser. "It's all rubbish," he said. "The only thing that I really want to be safe is you." He paused, perhaps to reconsider his words, Snape thought, but all he said when he resumed pulling on his shirt was, "It's probably better if I don't know where you're going." He tossed a pair of trousers at Snape.
Snape got to his feet and pulled them on. His mind was moving slowly, far too slowly. He would need to take some food with him, and if that pile of shoes didn't have something to fit him he would have to transfigure a pair to fit...
And where would he go?
Charlie was tying his own shoes and pocketing his wand.
He could go anywhere he wanted, Snape reminded himself. Rome, or Paris, or a tiny hamlet in the mountains of Switzerland; anywhere he could lose himself, and no one would know who he was.
"I'm going to get the dragons moving," Charlie was saying. "There's a chance I can force the Death Eaters to react to them first and give away their position."
He could go anywhere he wanted. No one would no who...
Charlie was standing by the door, looking at him. "Take care of yourself, Professor." With one last inscrutable look, he was gone, leaving Snape to finish dressing and find a bag to pack provisions in.
Three minutes later, he was standing at the door, glancing around the single room where he'd woken, to the door to the washroom where his new life had begun. He didn't know which of the Death Eaters had tracked him or how many Charlie would have to face, any more than he knew where he would run next... if he chose to run.
He closed the door behind him, and stepped into the rest of his life.