Firewhiskey Dulls Your Claws by wonderluck Title: Firewhiskey Dulls Your Claws Author:wonderluck Pairing: Severus/Neville Rating: Hard R Word Count: 1900 Warnings: None Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and their worlds belong to their original writers and no copyright infringement or offense is intended. No money was made from this story. Summary: A calculating Severus attends a Valentine's Day event for the unattached. Neville appears and nearly foils Severus' plans. A/N: Based loosely on prompts 2 (Severus is embarrassed to bare it all because of a certain "condition") and 3 (A personal ad in the Daily Prophet -- Wishful hope for finding a partner only to wind up on a date with...).
Firewhiskey Dulls Your Claws
Severus sat at a corner table inside The Three Broomsticks scrutinizing the tablecloth adorned with sparkling hearts and winking Cupids. He felt a bit nauseous at the sight, but resisted the urge to incinerate it.
Each year The Daily Prophet organized "singles" events on Valentine's Day; One year's subscription, naturally, gained you entry. The Three Broomsticks was closed to anyone not participating, offering Severus the smallest comfort that his chances of humiliation at the hands of former students would be lessened.
The first time Severus took part in the event, Minerva had submitted his name without his knowledge. He had known Albus not to be the culprit, as Albus never once inquired about his personal life. After delivering scathing remarks to her about privacy--to which she had only smiled, causing Severus' blood pressure to skyrocket--he had sucked up his pride and begrudgingly attended anyway.
Severus had no interest in gaining a relationship from the event and had no illusions about his physical appeal. He had quickly learned the formula that awarded him mild success: arrive early and choose the table farthest from the door. This approach weeded out the very attractive men, as they found interested parties at the first few tables that may as well have had fluffy hearts in their eyes. It made Severus gag. The few men that passed through to the back of the pub were usually stragglers looking for a one-off: Severus' target audience.
Severus tried to appear bored as he waited for the other men to trickle through the door and disperse to tables; it wasn’t difficult. Only two former students had found their way to the event, and luck smiled upon him for once, as they did not spot him.
Severus’ stomach dropped to the floor as he spied Neville Longbottom near the back of the group. He vowed a very bloody revenge on luck.
Severus’ interactions with Neville had improved over the seven years since they’d both left Hogwarts, but not without bumps along the way.
Neville had purchased the only plant shop in the area after a short stint as an Auror. Severus had bitterly refused to procure his ingredients from Neville, instead opting to buy from a foreign source. After a year of overpaying, he relented.
Once Neville had demonstrated that he was a reliable expert in his field, and Severus had come to tolerate him, Severus had offered his only apology since the war. Severus was sure he had looked like he'd rather have bitten off his own tongue as he spoke the apology--fingers twitching and skin crawling--but Neville seemed pleased.
However much the wrinkles of their relationship had been smoothed out, though, Neville had no business interrupting Severus’ carefully planned evening. Severus tried to sink back into the shadows to no avail. As Neville spotted him and made his way over, Severus’ face was etched with a scowl.
"Two failed relationships and suddenly you're queer?" Severus sneered as Neville arrived at the table.
"Aren't you the charmer?” Neville asked, backbone intact.
“Run along, Longbottom. We can discuss my orders next week.”
Neville eyed the empty chair in front of him. “You’re not going to let me sit?”
Severus slid his foot under the table to hook the leg of the empty chair and pulled it flush to the table.
Severus saw the last man filter through the door and take a seat. Neville was the only one left standing, hands in his pockets and not a trace of malice on his honest face. He looked as if he had all the time in the world.
Severus gritted his teeth. "Sit."
"Thanks," Neville said with his brightest smile.
After Neville relayed a story about a customer and a Devil’s Snare seedling--“Can’t believe he was shocked when I realised what he was up to. You know he’s the second one I’ve had warn against using Devil’s Snare in bondage?”--Severus was feeling uncomfortably warm.
Neville frowned at Severus’ lack of response. “You’re not still angry, are you?”
Severus gave a mirthless laugh. “Let me make myself clear, Longbottom. I'm not one for romance, so I’m quite sure that brain of yours can deduce my purpose here and why you have managed to ruin my evening."
“Am I that unappealing, Severus?” Neville asked, shaking his head.
“Am I to believe that you are?” Severus said, nearly rolling his eyes.
Neville nodded once and chewed at his lower lip. Severus felt a roaring heat flare beneath his robes.
“This is an exceptionally bad idea,” Severus said, more to himself than Neville.
Neville bravely slipped his fingers over Severus' bony wrist. “Your flat then?”
~*~
Upon arrival, Severus headed directly for his cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey. He poured himself a generous glass.
Neville furrowed his brow. "Is that necessary?"
"Yes."
Neville still looked puzzled.
Severus would never admit to exactly why he needed a healthy dose of Firewhiskey on the occasions he brought someone home. Severus knew what he looked like. Unable to hide his face from the world, he had at least the luxury of concealing his knobby knees and protruding hipbones. He knew that his form could welcome ridicule, had done so in the past, and he was not one to forget. But even a hardened spy had his limits, and so he embraced the inevitable as much as he could once a sufficient amount of alcohol had burned the back of his throat.
Severus fixed Neville with a look. "This is my usual process. I assure you that it is not specific to you. Do you find it agreeable?"
Neville shrugged one shoulder, and something brushed his leg before he could respond. Winding its way around him and looking up at him expectantly was a charcoal coloured cat.
“You have a cat?”
Severus cocked an eyebrow. “Were you expecting something more sinister?”
“I didn’t think you’d have a pet at all,” Neville said, unable to mask his surprise. “I don’t know. A snake maybe?”
“I believe I’ve had quite enough interaction with snakes for one lifetime.”
Neville frowned. “Oh. Right.”
Ice tinkled against glass as Severus’ swirled the amber liquid in his hand.
Neville leaned down and petted the cat gently. “What’s its name?”
“Azrael.”
Neville chuckled and the cat pressed its head against the palm of his hand. “Isn’t that the angel of death?”
“Indeed,” Severus said, smirking, and he swallowed half his glass in one go.
Neville looked up from his crouched position, indulging the cat with scratches on the top of its head.
"Are there other scenarios you need to be full of Firewhiskey for, or just this?"
"Potter scenarios. Weasley scenarios.” Severus took a large swallow. “All parties retain their limbs if I’ve had at least one glass.”
Neville laughed. "Firewhiskey dulls your claws then?"
Severus pointedly ignored him.
Clearing his throat, Neville gestured to the bottle. "Might as well pour me a glass."
Severus shouldn't have been surprised; if anyone would make an attempt at something akin to chivalry, it would be Neville.
~*~
Severus was satisfactorily hazy as Neville pushed inside him with one slow, steady thrust and trembling hands. Severus could almost hear the smile in Neville’s exhale. He shifted his knees and canted his hips up, waiting impatiently for Neville to move.
Anxiety and need warred within Severus as hands swept along his body. Rough-skinned fingertips ghosted over features he could no longer conceal under complicated robes: the slight corrugation of his ribcage, the sharpness of his elbows, the rocky vertebra of his spine.
Severus growled, “I’m not a skittish colt you need to coax, Longbottom.”
Neville breathed an exasperated sigh and held still. “Would you just stop giving instructions for once?“
Neville insistently continued to trace his features, cataloging him in the near-blackness of the room. Nothing was going at all as Severus had planned.
A surprisingly enthusiastic thrust pushed the air from Severus’ lungs. Neville set a pace that had Severus’ head hanging down from his shoulders, and pleasure twisted inside him.
Neville pressed a kiss to the soft nape of his neck and Severus groaned low in his throat. In spite of himself, he began to yield to the gentle touches. A rough tongue licked a path between his shoulder blades and anxiety teetered on the edge of being soundly defeated.
Severus uttered something that sounded embarrassingly like OhMerlinYes before he snapped his teeth shut.
“Sorry, Severus, did you say something?” Neville asked with a surprisingly smug lilt in his voice.
Severus pushed back forcefully only to have Neville slow his rhythm. “You utterly infuriating--“
“Ah yes, flattery gets you everywhere, Severus.”
Blood pounded in Severus’ ears, and desire enveloped him. Neville was choosing one hell of a time to resist instruction. His patience for slow and gentle was non-existent. He considered tossing Neville out on his arse, but the man had adequate talent and Severus was loath to let him go.
“Faster,” Severus hissed.
“Would’ve thought you’d be a bit more patient after insisting we get drunk,” Neville muttered.
Neville’s lips trailed along the center of his back, one hand in a too-loose grip on Severus’ cock that nonetheless sent his eyes rolling back in his head.
Clouded with alcohol and a stubborn refusal to be bested, Severus went in for the kill. He reached back and fisted a hand in Neville’s hair.
“Pound me like a dented cauldron, Longbottom,” Severus growled.
Neville choked on a sound between a whimper and a moan, hips stuttering in rapid succession.
Severus smiled to himself in victory.
~*~
Severus woke first. He shifted and made no attempt to keep his actions slow so as not to disturb his bed partner. Neville’s face was mashed against his upper arm, the cloth no doubt leaving creases there, and Severus wanted to reclaim his shoulder.
Neville awoke with a snuffle, one hand scrubbing over his face. He groaned miserably as light sliced between his eyelids. Rolling to one side of the bed, Neville flopped an arm over the side and searched through his clothes. Finally wresting a vial from his pocket, he popped the cork off with his thumb and downed half the contents.
Severus smirked as Neville swung the arm back behind him, offering the rest of the potion to him.
“Finish it,” Severus said and pushed the hand away with no small amount of self-satisfaction. “How is it that you managed a hangover?”
“Just did.” Neville kept his eyes squeezed shut and swallowed the last of the potion.
A contented sigh filled the room as the potion took effect. Neville turned on his side and faced Severus.
“So…” he started, eyeing Severus nervously.
Satisfied that Neville was alert, Severus issued a glare that would have stopped a weaker man's heart. "If you ever utter one word of what you think you heard last night, your body will never be found."
“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, Severus.” Neville chuckled. “So when can we do this again?"
Severus opened his mouth to protest, but found that he could not say no.