Godric Gryffindor (fairecheyne) wrote in lockewood, @ 2010-01-25 01:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | godric gryffindor, salazar slytherin |
Godric/Salazar 001
Who: Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin
What: Remember that time that Godric and Salazar got drunk and shagged and swore never to speak of it again? Well, this is that time.
When: 12th century.
Where: A tavern in Hogsmeade.
Rating: NC-17
Status: Complete
It wasn't a dark or a stormy night. The summer sun was sinking behind the edge of the tall forest trees, leaving in its wake a sky painted soft shades of orange, red, and purple. It was a magnificent sight to behold, truly awe-inspiring.
Salazar, however, was not outside to see it.
Situated at a table in the cozy confines of The Red Mule's tavern, he nursed a tankard of Damson cider while he waited for his drinking companion and turned over his thoughts. Thoughts which were not few in number, nor unrelated to the man he was expecting.
Godric burst in, a whirlwind of energy, late as usual, cheeks flushed and hair tangled and dirt smeared on one cheek. He seemed to hone in on Salazar almost immediately. He did that, with all of them. It was as if he had a secret sense for his colleagues' presences, and could locate them in seconds, no matter how crowded the room.
Pulling back the hood of his cloak, Godric slid into the seat across from Salazar, adjusting his sword and beckoning for the tappestere.
"Whatever he is drinking is fine for me as well," he told her, pressing a few Sickles into her hand.
When she left he turned back to Salazar, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "As always, you have my apologies for being tardy," he said.
Salazar's gaze flicked over Godric, taking in the disheveled and unkempt sight that was all too commonly fixed to his companion.
"As Rowena has instructed you to the point of nausea, elbows off the table," he carped, swatting the man's arms.
"Now what, pray tell, kept you from me and put you in your unclean condition?" Salazar inquired. "Surely you could have spared a minute more to wipe the dirt from your face. You look as though you came fresh from the stables, but thanks be given that you came without the stench to accompany your looks."
Godric rolled his eyes but obeyed, dropping his hands into his lap, though the temptation to put them back proved surprisingly forceful. He grasped his knees, just to give his hands something to do.
"I rode here from Caemryn," he explained. "I went off the path--the road gets so terribly boring at times!--to go through the woods. There were some low-hanging branches, and I got swiped in the face more than a few times." He could have spelled a shield around himself to avoid the pain of laceration, but that would have cheapened the experience. "As for the smell...." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sprig of mint, holding it up between finger and thumb. "Personally, I should prefer the smell of blood and perspiration and an adventure well-traveled. Unfortunately not everyone shares my tastes."
"And let me guess, a shield to protect your face would have marred your crude methods of merrymaking?" drawled Salazar, knowing full well the answer.
"I thought I detected the hint of mint. A small favor that you care for those who share not your fondness for odors rank and foul. Though, a reason to douse you in drink would be most welcome." Salazar's dark eyes glittered with something akin to amusement. "Your face is still in need of a wash."
He lifted his tankard, and while it looked like he considered it, he choose to have a swig instead of pitching its contents at Godric.
The bar maid finally returned with a mug of cider for Godric. He smiled a dismissal and took a long, grateful gulp before turning his attentions back to Salazar.
"You would not dare," he said. "Because you know how that would end. It always ends the same--with the both of us locked in battle, relocating each other's chambers halfway across the castle, Transfiguring noses into doorknobs, etcetera. And I would probably win." Another sip of his drink. "I always do."
"Do you?" Salazar fixed Godric with a dark unreadable look. It could have been amusement or vexation. With Salazar, it was no easy task to tell the two apart. "Strange, as I cannot recall a time you have bested me in combat."
Though he did not have Godric's strong build or tall stature, Salazar was no less skilled at dueling. He was quite a formidably clever bastard.
"I think you must have blocked it out," Godric said in an airy tone, smirking at him over the rim of his tankard as he took another swig of cider. "Yes, that must be it. Strange. I had never considered you one to be so easily traumatised, Salazar."
"You may live in delusions of your own making, but do not try to drag me into your fictitious realms," Salazar rejoined, leveling Godric with a look that definitely didn't have a trace of humour in it.
Godric would ordinarily have jumped at the chance for an argument, but after riding eight hours (half of it in the rain) he was not in the mood for a fight. He just shrugged instead, tapping his thumb on the rim of his mug. "Bit touchy," he said. "Anything happen?"
Salazar's gaze narrowed. He did not appreciate Godric's uncanny ability to tell whether he was being his usual cross self or there was more at play behind his surly temper. "Mayhaps," he answered vaguely, not caring to elaborate.
How could he tell the Godric he had little desire to bed his wife despite her pesterings that she wished to be with child?
Godric took a sip of cider and sat down his tankard slowly, watching Salazar with unreadable eyes. "Ah." The elbow was back on the table and he propped his chin up on his hand. "Well," he said after several moments of silence, "if you decide you want to...talk about it, or yell about it, or...anything...let me know."
"As fond as I am of baring my heart to thee, I shall have to pass for the moment," Salazar replied in a wry tone, smirk turning up slowly. "But rest assured your tender concerns for me are marked, Godric." He mockfully placed a hand over his heart.
"And do not forget it, either," Godric said, grinning back at him as he leaned back in his chair. They had been so busy with the school as of late; it was rare for him and Salazar to have time to go to the taverns like they used to. To talk about irrelevant subjects, not academia or architecture or magical theory. He had missed it.
"Mark my surprise in turn that you do not deny these tender concerns," Salazar observed, continuing to smirk over the rim of his tankard. "Methought the word tender would wound your honour. Are you growing soft? Or is it merely my influence that inspires this tenderness in you?"
Salazar wasn't fully certain of what possessed his tongue, but something in him would not retract the words if the opportunity were given. Godric would take his words for teasing, or mayhaps for more than just that. In what manner, he knew not.
For the briefest of moments Godric was taken aback, before he sternly reminded himself that this was Salazar and he was clearly delusional if he thought the man would ever suggest something like that.
"It throws you off, does it not?" Godric laughed. "I have to maintain variability. Keep my enemies wondering what is going to happen next. So do not let my uncharacteristic tenderness deceive you."
"An elaborate ruse, is it? I cannot say I am terribly convinced of your newfound weapon of deception. If I am not persuaded, how will thy enemies be?" There may have been a challenge riding the undercurrent of Salazar's words. Oft there was, but seldom was it picked up.
Godric lifted a single eyebrow. "So you doubt the sincerity of my sweet, tender heart? Or do you merely doubt I possess the mental capacity to devise such a dastardly plan?" This swallow of drink was bigger than the previous ones had been. "You tread on thin ice, my friend." He bit back a grin, and it merely appeared that the corner of his lips were quirking sporadically.
"When has treading there ever stayed me?" Salazar's gaze remained on Godric like a snake, still and with a hint of danger dancing in his eyes. "I do believe my doubts lie in both your proposals, but do not let that keep you from trying to prove me wrong."
Godric honestly had no idea where Salazar was trying to head with the conversation at this point. He had preliminary theories, but they were...far-fetched, to say the least, and self-serving. He tried to avoid that as much as possible. "Prove you wrong? Easily. What is your challenge, my Lord?"
Salazar slid a fisted hand across the table. When he withdrew it, a small brass key remained before Godric. It was a challenge, an invitation, and a promise all wrapped up in one. It was also a very bold and very dangerous risk, on Salazar's part. He was staking everything – yes, everything – on a niggling supposition. A mere feeling.
One he could have easily verified by prying into Godric's mind, but did not.
"My challenge is this. Whilst I retire to my room, I will let you prove there is more than air trapped in that swollen head of yours." Without a word more, the legs of Salazar's chair loudly scraped against the floorboards as he rose to his feet. His robes whirled behind him as he rounded a corner, disappearing up a narrow flight of stairs to wait in the room he staked out to avoid sharing a bed with Maerwynn.
Godric could not speak. Damn him, he could not bring his mouth to open, his voice to work. He could not even alter his expression to show surprise, or interest, or even arousal. His features had been locked in neutral.
After Salazar left he sat there for several minutes, the key untouched on the table. He was tempted to think that this was another of Salazar's schemes. That, if he surrendered, he would live to regret it very much. But there was another part of him, a part that had been suppressed for almost ten years now, that wanted this. That had craved it in secret for so long. That said this would be no surrender. This would be invasion, and pillage, and victory.
His body made up its mind before the rest of him, his hand already sliding forward across the table and closing around the key. The brass was still warm from Salazar's skin.
There was a knot in his throat, a quivering anticipation--but there was also heat and a welling sense of brazen determination that Godric recognised as unique to the moment just before entering a battle. Or perhaps not so unique, after all.
He glanced around the room, as if expecting someone to stop him--or at the very least, warn him that he was about to make a very grave error. No one so much as looked at him twice.
So Godric rose, following the path Salazar had tread just moments before across the tavern and up the stairs. It was clear which room his colleague had rented; it would be the only one of the four that was intended for nobility or well-to-do travelers. Salazar was unlikely to settle for less. Godric's hand was surprisingly steady as he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door.
Salazar would have liked to boast he knew Godric would follow him to his room. Moreover, to boast the minutes to follow his departure from the table below had not stretched into an infinity of niggling doubts, conflicted aggravations, and despondency. He would have especially liked a claim to the latter.
He had his back to the room's entrance as if to defiantly state he cared not whether Godric walked through it. As if to say he was not straining his ears for footsteps. As if to say his gut did not clench when the floorboards groaned under the weight of someone. It could have been anyone.
When the key turned the lock with a click, Salazar paused only to wait for the door to creak open before he resumed the slow ministrations of pulling the threads loose from his tunic to free his wrists. His robes were already folded against the back of the chair. While the room was intended for well-to-do traveling merchant wizards, and was supplied with candles enough to keep the accommodations well lit, Salazar had only two alight. The smattering of flame light kept the room dim.
It took Salazar a beat to face Godric, another to find his voice. "There is one doubt removed from my mind. Now remains the other."
There was no going back. It was terrifically clear to Godric that he had made his decision, and even more clear that he would not return on it. What shame or insecurity he might otherwise have felt in this moment disappeared. If the decision was final--and it was--then chagrin was of little value.
Godric lifted his chin to meet Salazar's gaze straight-on, the glint of the candlelight in his eyes combining with the dirt and the tousled clothes to make him look wild. Feral.
"I have made my move, Salazar," he said. "It is now time for your rebuttal."
"Always the champion of fairness," drawled Salazar, taking in the way the candelight played off Godric. He exuded power, danger, an animal to be conquered or conquered by.
His steps to close the distance between himself and Godric were deliberately slow and controlled. This would not be something he hastily rushed into with the eagerness of an inexperienced colt. The years of fumbling were past, and while an ache to have a deep-seated hunger satisfied urged him to hasten, Salazar would not.
When but a hair's breadth separated their two bodies, he stopped and brought his hand up to Godric's face. The pad of his thumb brushed over stubble and dirt, a display of tenderness that contrasted starkly to the way Salazar sealed the last gap by capturing Godric's mouth in a kiss that sought to dominate, invade, and claim.
Godric kept his breathing steady and controlled, kept his gaze trained on Salazar's without so much as a faltering blink. This was, as Salazar had made it so clear in the tavern downstairs, a duel of sorts. And no matter how compelling his urges, Godric would treat it as such.
Salazar's lips met his and Godric responded instantly, striking back without hesitation, one hand leaping to knot itself in Salazar's hair and gain immediate leverage. For every bit that Salazar pushed him, Godric pushed back harder. He parted his lips with his tongue even as he took a step forward, pressing their bodies together in a fashion that made his demands unmistakable.
Finding Godric unyielding, aggressive, and brutal, Salazar found all his expectations met. This was what he hungered for, had yearned for. A worthy adversary. Whilst their tongues sparred for dominance, Salazar's hands did not remain unmoving. They roamed over strong arms, slid down sides, finding each contour acutely different from the soft curves he was more accustomed to finding on women.
Godric grasped Salazar's arms, not worrying himself over whether his grip was too tight the way he might were Salazar a woman--just letting his emotions sweep over him, pull him along in their tide. He took a step forward, forcing Salazar to move back, pushing until he had the other man pinned against the wall.
He broke the kiss to laugh softly, his lips moving along Salazar's jawline and to his neck, nipping above his carotid artery, trailing his tongue along his jugular.
Damn the stars, thought Salazar as a groan tore from his throat. Godric was getting the upper-hand, overpowering him, and he couldn't fend off the temptation to surrender himself to the other man.
It was the laughter that broke through the hazy arousal and made Salazar surge forward to flip their positions, pressing Godric against the wall. He scraped his teeth down a long column of neck and pushed the man's cloak off his shoulders.
Godric took in a sharp breath when Salazar switched their positions, his head falling back, arching his neck into Salazar's touch. His body longed to dissolve into the sensation, simply let the waves of desire wash over him, but his mind demanded control. He found the hem of Salazar's tunic and slipped his hands underneath, spreading his fingers flat against the small of his back for a moment and then clenching them, digging his nails into his skin.
Hissing something in Parseltongue, Salazar pushed back into the blunt nails scrabbling against his back. He did not expect to find himself the more vocal, and busied his mouth with marking the junction where Godric's neck met shoulder. The night would not pass without his mark left on the other man's skin, of that he would make certain.
Salazar's hands moved between their bodies, ripping free the buckle to Godric's leather sword belt. He took a satisfaction in hearing the useless Muggle weapon fall to the floor with a clatter.
Godric shuddered as the Parseltongue words unfurled in the air, the softest of moans escaping his lips. His hands leaped into action, pushing Salazar's shirt up and off over his head, letting it fall in a puddle on the floor. Salazar's bared skin was a canvas, and one that Godric was anxious to cover in its entirety. He tangled a hand in Salazar's hair and yanked his head back roughly, exposing his throat, pressing his mouth into the dip between his collarbones and biting down.
"Off," Salazar ordered, voice hoarse around the edges. Though it meant pushing the man off and disconnecting that talented mouth from his skin, his hands were starved for the other's skin. Too long had he been denied this, too long had he wanted this. Godric's tunic swiftly joined his on the floor and without missing a beat the connection was reestablished with chest to chest, skin on skin, pressed flush together.
Godric pushed him forward, launching himself off the wall to direct them toward the bed. One hand slipped between them to fumble with Salazar's belt. It took a few moments but then he was yanking the leather free and tossing it aside. He heard it hit something that sounded potentially breakable but he did not break the kiss to look.
Feeling the bed's edge against the back of his legs, Salazar tore Godric's trousers free and shoved them down to his ankles. Helga could mend those later. He cared not for what broke, nor what tore. A fire could be burning the walls around them and still he would duel Godric's mouth. Godric made Salazar insatiable.
When he fell back across the bed, he brought Godric down with him, refusing to break contact.
Godric forced his trousers the rest of the way off, along with his shoes, and pulled back only long enough to do the same to Salazar's before falling against him once more. He grasped Salazar's hair once more and pulled, knowing how pain could sometimes be pleasure.
He had not realised before this moment just how much he had been craving this. It was as if some long-suppressed desire was only now being obtained, a decade of want and need finally being addressed. He bit down on Salazar's lip, pressing his arousal hard into his leg.
"Say something in Parseltongue," he demanded before he could stop himself.
Salazar was a glutton for punishment, and not just in the figurative sense. Down to the basest sense, the stings spiked every other sensation. Godric's roughness elicited a groan laced with more pleasure than pain from him. He was not some blushing maiden for the man above him to tenderly deflower.
Lifting his hips, Salazar dug blunt finger nails into the man's sinewy back and ground against Godric, showing his arousal was no less urgent.
What Salazar hissed against the shell of Godric's ear was the equivalent to Have me, take me, dominate me. I am yours.
The sound was altogether unintelligible to Godric, but that its meaning was sexual was far too clear. A growl tore through Godric's throat and he drew away, roughly forcing Salazar to turn onto his stomach and then leaning into him once more, marking each vertebra on his spine with a kiss, alternately gentle or biting.
Though Godric was at least a stone heavier, Salazar pushed himself up on all fours whilst the man was leaning against him. Lying on his stomach flaccidly, he would not. The alternation of rough and soft made his spine arch like a feline's, seeking only more.
Salazar's pleasure only spurred Godric on--he craved to see the other man writhing beneath him, Parseltongue whispers echoed by moans, to make Salazar come all over these hand-woven sheets.
Godric murmured a quick, convenient spell and pushed Salazar forward slightly, still kissing the small of his back as he slid one, then two fingers inside him.
Feeling first the lubrication slick him and then Godric's fingers push past his ring of muscle, Salazar hissed a number of heathen names in tongues serpents knew and did not. He pushed back until he could feel knuckles, relishing the burn, urging the man to fill him completely.
For once, Godric was inclined to obey. He massaged Salazar with his fingers for a few minutes before he withdrew them and positioned himself at Salazar's hole, gripping his hips as he slowly pushed himself in. He groaned softly and pressed his lips to the back of Salazar's neck, slightly breathless when he spoke. "All right?"
In answer, Salazar pressed back to force Godric in faster, groaning hoarsely as the man filled him to the hilt. He felt like he was going to be ripped apart, but the pain only filled him like a heady wine. His muscles twitched around Godric's cock.
"Are you going to lick my maiden wounds or fuck me, Godric?" rasped Salazar.
Very well, then. Godric drew out slightly and then plunged in once more, his grip tensing on Salazar's hips and using them as leverage.
"As you wish," he muttered into his ear before thrusting again, more forceful this time, pressing the entirety of his chest to Salazar's back.
A choked cry tore from Salazar's throat as Godric pounded into him, flesh slapping flesh so hard it was audible. "More," he groaned, demanding it, begging for it. His body ached for Godric to sheath himself inside him over and over again until he couldn't tell where he began and the other man ended.
And Godric was more than willing to comply. He wanted to lose himself in this moment and to drag Salazar down with him, bury the rest of the world in oblivion. He silenced that part of himself that worried that he might be hurting Salazar and let his instincts take over, quickening the pace until he could not help the raw gasps that ripped from his throat or Salazar's name as it formed itself on his lips.
Salazar was already pitching over the edge of oblivion. He could not separate his throaty cries from the other man's. The incoherent words and guttural noises escaped with wild abandon, a loss of control Salazar seldom, if ever, gave himself over to.
His world narrowed down to Godric. Godric burying himself inside of him. Godric's body shelling his. Godric's heady scent. Godric's warm pants tickling the back of his neck. Godric overwhelming him completely.
Godric could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears, and everywhere else besides, the palpable throb of blood through his body fueling him onward. He reached past Salazar's hips, his fingers closing around the thick flesh of his cock and beginning to move around it--slowly at first, and then faster. The smell of sweat made the air bitter and reminded Godric of being outdoors, of summer and sunlight refracting off Salazar's hair. He dragged his nails along the other man's spine, leaving angry red scratches in his wake.
The crescendo of sensations – Godric's cock pounding the right spot over and over again, the nails clawing his back, rough calloused fingers around his weeping cock – were swelling toward the climax, and Salazar knew there was no way to stave it off. There was a tug right behind his stomach, and then he moaned Godric's name with feeling, a feeling deep and vulnerable. With flashes of white creeping around his vision, Salazar came hard and shuddering.
Salazar's climax was nearly enough in and of itself to push Godric over the edge. He quickened the pace of his thrusts, driving himself into Salazar over and over until at last his hips were jerking forward violently. He spilled himself into him with a groan, gripping Salazar's waist hard enough to bruise, brow pressed against the spot between his shoulder blades. When he was finished he was still, struggling for a moment to catch his breath before at last sliding out.
Completely spent, Salazar collapsed onto the bed, stomach-first, once he was through and Godric finished. He barely had the wits about him to murmur an incantation to clear the wasted seeds away. Godric had, quite literally, fucked him senseless. Feeling utterly boneless, Salazar lightly panted until his heart rate evened out and his breath was caught.
The one thing Salazar could not manage to find was his wit for words.
Godric, shaking slightly, fell onto his back on the bed next to Salazar. His heart still throbbed through his entire body and he felt feverish, exhausted. He stared at the ceiling, unable to focus his gaze on anything in particular, waiting for Salazar to speak first.
Stalling on the words he still lacked his full wits to string together, there was but a grunt as Salazar rolled over onto his back. Already he could feel the soreness awaiting him for the moment he tried standing. There was no doubt in his mind that it would accompany him for days after. Just like Godric's marks scrawled across his skin, the pain would be a constant reminder. But even after the aching faded, Salazar would remember.
"This cannot happen again," Salazar murmured at last, some compulsion making him end the loud silence.
Godric felt something twist in the pit of his stomach, an emotion that he did not want to recognise. Could not recognise. He turned his head to the side for a moment, away from Salazar, not trusting whatever expression must be writing itself across his face at this moment. It was a while before he could speak and be sure that his voice would be steady.
"No," he said, jerking his head around to face Salazar once more. "You are right. It cannot." He surprised even himself with the firm strength of his words. "We were drunk."
Dark eyes settled on Godric's face, expression indiscernible in the scarce smattering of candlelight. It was in the quiet contemplation of the other man's face that a thought wormed its way in. With just one string of latin words, he could rob the man of the memory. Stolen out the knowledge that their bodies joined in making pleasure. Woven and stitched a seamlessly false memory over the barren hole. He alone could reside with the keen awareness.
What kept Salazar, he knew not.
He knew with certainty it was not Godric's feeble excuse. Salazar could believe he was drunk on Godric's scent, the man's taste, and the raw sensation of being filled completely...but not that they were drunk on cider.
"Now that our minds are no longer clouded, it would be wise for you to leave," Salazar opined, though it was no mere suggestion. He wanted Godric to leave so that he might haste his way to bathe in the wooden tub waiting in the corner of the room. The smell of their sex on his skin still pervaded his senses.
"Yes, it would," Godric said. He sat up almost immediately, knowing that if he allowed himself to hesitate for even the slightest moment he might change his mind--might try to convince the other man that this had not been a mistake. (But it had been. Hadn't it? Godric did not trust his own body any longer, never mind his thoughts.)
He pushed himself to standing and summoned his clothes to his grasp, pulling them on swiftly and without ceremony. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Salazar," he said, already halfway to the door. "I will see you at the castle tomorrow."
It was foolish. The want to chase after Godric, stop him in his tracks, and drag him back to the bed. Salazar stomped the fanciful thought out before it could take root. He had a wife waiting for him. A beautiful young maiden any man would consider himself favored by the gods to claim.
Yes, it was a fool's errand to entertain even the slightest thought of repeating this night. It was lust, an earthly need that needed to be driven out.
"Rest well," Salazar said to Godric's back, knowing well he himself would get no rest the moment the man was out the door.