FIC: Kindred Souls (Chapter 6) - Snape/Filch - NC-17 Title: Kindred Souls Author: D. J. Orlovský Translation (from Czech original): pimpinellae Pairing: Snape/Filch Rating: NC-17 Warnings: use of drugs Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J. K. Rowling. Notes: Many thanks to rastaban43 for making my translation much better. Summary: How do you think a former Death Eater and a Squib spend their free evenings at Hogwarts? (A story in seven chapters for the seven books + prologue.)
Filch stopped in front of Snape's quarters with the expression of someone who had the fate of the whole Universe in his hands. He brushed imaginary specs from his shirtsleeves and hesitantly knocked.
When he had come to beg Snape's forgiveness at the end of the last school year, and they had fucked right there in Snape's bedroom, he didn't expect they would ever return to their old classroom. However, that was exactly the case. Filch wasn't quite sure why Snape decided to change their practice but he wasn't about to complain.
True, there was one thing he complained about to Mrs Norris from time to time. The Potions master was becoming reserved. Or rather, more reserved than usual.
That troubled Filch.
Snape, despite finally teaching Defence against Dark Arts, didn't seem to be terribly excited by the position. He was more often than not away, he smoked more than seemed reasonable to Filch, and, what was worst, he began losing interest in sex. That was truly alarming!
Filch noticed that the attack on that girl in Hogsmead, the poisoning of the Weasley brat, and the constant absence of the headmaster affected every member of the staff, but that couldn't be the only reason. He knew Snape too well and for too long not to suspect there was more to his peculiar behaviour.
Before, it was easy not to ask, but now something changed and Filch had a hard time keeping his mouth shut.
At last, Snape opened the door. His sallow face had even sicklier colour than usual and his piercing eyes were dulled.
Filch swallowed a question about the professor's health.
Snape looked at Filch tiredly, then stepped aside to let him pass.
When Snape gestured for him to sit down Filch felt foolish, like so many times before. The ashtray on the small table between the two armchairs was full of butt ends. The air reeked of the familiar scent of weed.
Snape leaned against a mantle and lit a fresh joint.
"Ingratitude prevails everywhere I turn," mused Snape, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
Filch had no idea what he should say. He was sure that if he tried to commiserate Snape would throw him out.
"Would you like a drink?" asked Snape and without waiting for his answer, the cigarette held seductively between his thin lips. He went over to the bookcase.
Filch felt torn between regret, compassion and awakening arousal. Snape was clad only in trousers and a shirt negligently unbuttoned halfway down his chest. It was a shame, thought Filch, that Snape didn't give in to negligence and decadence more often because it was becoming of him.
Snape took out a thick, heavy-looking tome with a gilded inscription, cracked and worn from years of use, reading Moste Potente Potions. When Snape opened the book, instead of pages, a hollow with a half-empty bottle of cognac was revealed. Snape poured two pot-bellied glasses and returned with them to the armchairs.
Filch took one glass from him, bewildered.
Snape sprawled on the opposite armchair, stretched his legs over the armrest, threw his head back, and blew out smoke.
Filch wondered how he did that without choking. He sniffed the content of his glass and took a sip. This was nothing like elf-made wine and something told Filch that he couldn't really appreciate its delicate taste. He could, however, appreciate the view Snape presented to his eyes.
Filch wondered if Snape even realised that his profile was downright fascinating, And his lips – maybe they weren't full and luscious but Filch remembered very well how they could kiss, how they tasted. He longed to taste them again. And the hand, the long fingers, clasping around his pulsing ... Filch squirmed in his seat.
Snape took a sip of his cognac without spilling a drop and Filch dearly wished to be that glass. To slide into Snape's mouth, get caressed by his tongue, his lips, gently brush against his teeth ... Filch had to put his glass down on the table because his hand shook with excitement.
Snape paid him no mind. He was deep in his own thoughts and likely had no idea what effect his silent presence had on Filch.
"What do you think about murder, Filch?" Snape's voice broke the silence.
Both the voice and the surprise that Snape was still aware of him jolted Filch and went straight to his groin. Filch almost moaned but managed to stop himself in time, biting into his tongue. He said nothing and it seemed Snape didn't mind. In his mind, however, Filch shouted that he would gladly kill if it meant Snape would get up from that blasted armchair, come to him, open his trousers and ... do something, anything.
Unfortunately, Snape didn't look like he intended to do anything of that sort. It seemed to Filch that he couldn't stand it one minute longer, that his balls would explode. He surreptitiously rearranged his trousers, lightly pressing his palm against his throbbing cock. The whole time, he didn't tear his gaze from Snape. And as the Potions master wasn't looking at him he dared to rub himself through his trousers in a desperate need for relief. Yes, that was exactly what he needed. Filch closed his eyes in pleasure – just for a moment. When he opened them again he promptly blushed.
Snape was watching him.
Filch froze in the middle of movement, licked his lips wanting to explain himself, to apologise. But then he realised Snape's eyes glittered with arousal and his face reflected a hungry, needy look.
Filch gulped and began unbuttoning his fly. He continued looking Snape in the eyes, feeling hypnotized, as if his movements were no longer ruled by his will. He took his cock out and slid his palm down his erection, relishing the perverse feeling of Snape's eyes on him.
Yes, mouthed Snape wordlessly. He reclined in his armchair and seemingly thoughtlessly brushed his hand over the place where the cloth of his trousers tented over his erection.
Filch held his breath. Lying alone in the bed at the night he often fantasized about Snape masturbating just for him, just to please him. Filch was almost afraid to hope.
Snape followed every move of Filch's palm and it was it seemed he mirrored every motion with his hand.
When Snape began rubbing himself through his trousers, Filch moaned quietly and silently encouraged his Potions master to take the trousers off, grab his cock and jerk off right there, only for his eyes, like it happened so many times in the confines of Filch's imagination.
Snape pulled his hand away, as though his actions suddenly scared him.
"Please," breathed Filch.
Snape cocked his head to one side. Then he slowly, as if not quite decided, unbuttoned his trousers.
Filch gripped the base of his cock to put off his orgasm, which welled in him like a hot spring. He didn't want to come just yet, not before he saw Snape wanking.
Snape stood up, pulling his trousers down to his knees.
Filch promptly followed him, shamelessly spreading his legs as far as he could.
Snape parted his legs much less readily. His face was flushed pink and Filch found the possibility that his professor was embarrassed incredibly sexy. To serve as an example, he rubbed himself again. With his other hand he played with his balls, watching Snape lick his lips and pull down his underwear. The sight alone of Snape's cock glistening with arousal and the prospect that Snape was going to touch it almost made Filch come.
Snape avoided his eyes – something Filch had never seen him do. And then he lightly, almost hesitantly brushed the tips of his fingers over his cock.
"Yes," Filch couldn't contain himself.
Snape looked up, his eyes alight with unusual delight.
"Beautiful," murmured Filch.
The corners of Snape's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Snape slid his long fingers over his cock, watching Filch. He caressed its smooth head and with each stroke his breathing was becoming heavier with arousal. He sighed softly.
Filch had never seen anything more beautiful. He noticed Snape didn't pull the foreskin down completely and the way he rubbed fingers over his head, and with the other hand gently squeezed his ball sack. The muscles of Snape's thin thighs were straining.
With a groan, Filch came.
Snape closed his eyes, his head fell back an the hand on his cock sped up.
Filch slid down from his armchair and crawled on his knees to watch Snape closely. Snape's long thin fingers clutched his cock yet more tightly and harshly. His moaning gained in intensity, too.
Filch watched white sperm spill over Snape's hand. Of his own volition he bent down and tasted it on the tip of his tongue. It tasted warm but lacked any distinct flavour. He leaned on the armrests and carefully licked both Snape's softening cock and his fingers clean.
Snape didn’t move. His breathing was shallow and uneven and he allowed Filch to do whatever he wanted, as if he were a mere rag doll.
Filch straightened up, kissed Snape on the lips and let him taste his own semen.
When their lips parted Snape averted his head.
Filch pulled away, thinking he should probably go.
"Stay here tonight, Filch," whispered Snape in a strange voice.