snarryathonmod (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} snarryathonmod) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} snape_potter,@ 2010-05-05 19:43:00 |
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| Entry tags: | fic, rating: nc-17, snarry-a-thon10 |
SNARRY-A-THON10: FIC: Scratch a Cynic....
Title: Scratch a Cynic....
Author: bk7brokemybrain
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,400
Warnings:
Prompt: #448 - Someone sees a part of Snape's naked back and decides that he tortures himself/is tortured by someone (Harry?). The piece of gossip spreads and other teachers/Order members try to help and/or coddle the man, which of course drives him mad. When the info gets to Harry, will he admit that the 'whip marks' were in fact from his fingernails and out their secret relationship?
Summary: *See prompt*
A/N: Thank you accioslash, for running this fest and for your kind manner and patience. Thank you to “a”, my beta.
“I certainly never expected to see that,” Flitwick whispered to Vector. “I simply Flooed into the Teachers' Bath, like you do. I expected it to be empty. I had reserved it for eight o'clock.” His tone was affronted, but his manner all too eager to share. “When what did I see but Severus breaking the surface of the water, his back to me. He didn't hear me enter, I'm sure, because I got a good gander at the man's back before I cleared my throat.” Vector nodded in accord. “Well, 'Severus,' I said, 'I beg your pardon, but this is my hour.' He snatched up a towel and threw it around himself, but I got another good look.” Flitwick put his teacup down on the low table, casting his eyes around the staff room.
“Go on, Filius. What was it? Another mark? A tattoo?” Vector irritably shifted in her armchair. “I have class in a few minutes. Don't draw it out, man.”
Flitwick basked in the attention. “Well, I know the man was in two wars, and Merlin only knows what those Death Eaters got up to in their meetings, but his back was simply covered in lash scars!” When Vector scoffed and made to get up and walk away in impatience, Flitwick added conspiratorially, “New ones.” He nodded his little head.
Vector gasped a little at that. “New ones! My word.” She reached for her cup and sipped her cold tea. “What were they like? Could they have been self-inflicted?”
“My thoughts precisely, Septima. They were long and pink, even bloody here and there, at an angle on both sides, following the ribs, in bunches all down his back.”
“Ahh.” Vector pursed her lips. “Self-castigation, no doubt. Flaying himself clear of the Dark taint. I don't blame him, no I don't. He's a man who's got plenty to answer for.”
“Oh, surely not, Septima. Have pity. He needn't treat himself that way. He's been forgiven by nearly everyone who matters.”
“Except himself, apparently.” Vector stood and tugged her robes into order. “I must go. See you at dinner. And, Filius?” she turned and caught the tiny professor's eye, “I wouldn't concern myself too much with Severus Snape's welfare. He seems to be taking himself in hand. Don't lose any sleep over him.” She stalked away, ready to unload feet of homework on her poor Arithmancy students.
But Filius Flitwick did care. He cared so much, that soon almost every other master in the school knew about Snape's 'little ritual', except Harry Potter. Flitwick felt a bit uneasy sharing such personal information with a young man who had so recently been not only his student, but Severus's, so he kept the Muggle Studies professor in the dark.
The tidbit of gossip was met with a variety of responses, but most recipients seemed concerned for their colleague, and several were moved to actually approach the sallow man.
A shrill, “Morning, Severus. Are you quite well?” from Pomfrey.
An “Afternoon, Perfesser! Everthin all righ'?” accompanied by an ill-thought-out, hearty slap on the back from Hagrid.
Innumerable terse invitations to tea from McGonagall.
Even an unprecedented visitation from The Bloody Baron, who mysteriously offered, “Slytherins leave judgment and punishment to the afterlife, my son. Enjoy what you can while you walk the earth. There's a good fellow.” Then he drifted through a wall, leaving a bewildered and annoyed Snape in his wake.
When Harry Potter dropped down next to him at breakfast one morning, Severus growled, “If you wish me well, or ask after my health, or start spewing some unsolicited psychobabble designed to make my life a nicer path to travel, I shall hex you.” He turned back to pulling his kippers apart.
“Um. All right. Go to hell?” With a satisfied grin, Harry reached for the toast rack as it floated past.
“Thank you.”
“Tea?” Minerva gestured at the tray.
Severus shook his head. “Why have you called me here again? You see me at every meal, our staff agenda is clear until the next meeting, and we have tea once a week. What couldn't possibly wait?”
“Oh, nothing specific, Severus.” She fiddled with her cup handle. “How have you been getting on since Voldemort's defeat? Approaching normal again?”
“I've never known normal. You are not as good at this as Albus was. At least he tried to be subtle.” He stood.
“And I don't twinkle.”
“No. But you don't beat about the bush. I... appreciate that.”
“Severus... are you all right? I do care, you know. I am so grateful I got to make my apologies to you after all --”
“Please.” He held up a hand. “All I can say is that I am finding a way to live with myself. Now, I have tests to grade, and later I'll have a nice bath. Nowadays, I take one weekly, whether I need it or not. Headmistress.” With a tilt of his head, he left in a graceful swirl of robes.
Minerva sat back in her chair, concern washing over her face.
Severus leaned back against the marble side of the enormous bath, letting his legs float up, toes and shins surfacing as he waited. He didn't wait long before he heard the Floo.
He closed his eyes and listened to slippers being kicked off, a dressing gown sliding down skin and crumpling on the floor, bare feet padding to the steps, water sloshing softly against the sides, as his lover strode through chest-deep water to meet him.
Harry dipped himself, shaking out his hair as he slid onto Severus's lap, spreading his knees to seat himself snugly, letting his feet hang over the smooth bullnose of the submerged ledge. He slipped his arms about Severus's shoulders, crossed hands caressing the back of his neck and the base of his skull. Severus melted into the soft ogee curve of the carved marble seat, and smiled, eyes still closed.
Harry's lips pressed to his own tasted of the sweet bath water.
“I didn't realize,” Harry murmured against Severus's throat, “that I'd scratched you so badly last time. You should have let me heal you.”
“Never. I want to keep them.” He took Harry's mouth, and pulled him tight to himself, exploring their press of skin with a circle of his hips.
“Well then, don't make the water so oily. I can't get a proper grip on you.” Harry fluttered his fingers over Severus's nipple, squeezing it between the edges of his fingers. He was rewarded with a buck of the man's hips, bouncing him like a buoy.
“I like it oily, so I can fuck you more easily.” He pressed his firming cock under Harry's slick cheeks.
“Don't fuck me easy, fuck me hard.” He sank his hands into Severus's hair.
When the soft whoosh of the Floo died down, Flitwick was assaulted by the sounds of moans and wet, slapping flesh as he stepped off the hearth and into the Teachers' Bath.
His eyes bugged open as he fumbled for his wand in the folds of his robes, casting a quick Notice Me Not charm, heading for the heavy door and the way out, post-haste.
As he sidled along the perimeter of the room, he couldn't tear his eyes from the pair of professors, churning up waves that smacked against the side of the bath, Harry with his legs wrapped about Severus's waist, hands scrabbling for purchase like a falling cat, up and down the narrow back, as he arched against the taller man trying to keep their heads above water.
Harry yelled his lover's name as Flitwick covered his ears and shuffled faster to the exit. He sneaked out the door, closing it quietly, cutting off the frankly pornographic sounds within. He slumped with relief against the wall.
“Oh my!” he squeaked, a hand to his heart. “Well, that explains a thing or two!” He collected himself, checking his robe as the shock wore off. He headed toward his quarters, now fuming. “It was my time! I reserved the bath! He did it again!”
His step quickened as he imagined Vector's reaction when he'd tell her tomorrow. He ought to inform Minerva, also. And Poppy. And Hagrid.