|snarrymod (snarrymod) wrote in snarry_games,|
@ 2008-06-12 08:05:00
|Entry tags:||closing, team phoenix|
TEAM PHOENIX ALTERNATE STORY: Leela Cat "Riding the Beast's Back"
Nearing the very end of the Games, the mods were needing an emergency pinch for Team Phoenix. Three team members stepped up to bat, and we are pleased to present the first of two Alternate stories that did not make it into the Games for the team. Enjoy!
Title: Riding the Beast's Back
Author: Leela leela_cat
Rating/Warnings/Kinks: NC-17, drug use
Word Count: ~ 3,100
Summary: Severus is really happy with Harry. He is. He's just got this other need that being a Legilimens helps him fill.
A/N: For the snarry_games mods who went above and beyond the call of duty this time around. And for batdina, who tossed a brief scene back at me, fixed a couple of things and said, "Interesting idea. Now write the story."
Many thanks to my betas from Team Phoenix: perverse_idyll, alisanne, iulia_linnea, ziasudra, and mistressmaraj.
Hellholes always deceive, but they are rarely as apparently idyllic as Malfoy Manor. Even in the midst of a ludicrous, refusals not accepted, Ministry-sponsored charity fundraiser. Save the Bloody Snidgets? They should have just announced that Lucius Malfoy had resumed the care and feeding of public coffers and private pockets, and been done with it.
Exasperated, I bit back a sigh and returned to tracking the faint trace of dark magic that permeated one corner of the Malfoy library. Some days I wished I'd told Kingsley where he could stuff his Unspeakable job. Some days I would rather be back to teaching imbeciles like that hapless Longbottom boy.
On second thought, that image was simply too nauseating to be contemplated. Perhaps dying on the Shrieking Shack would have been an improvement.
A slight noise from the hallway, the scuff of leather sole on Persian rug, caught my attention and I moved to stand in front of the French doors. Outside, Harry sat on the grass, beneath the twisted branches of an ancient oak tree, surrounded by a veritable sea of red and black heads - all Weasley and Potter children except for a single white-blond head almost lost in their midst. Relief slithered through me with the chill of a disillusionment charm. Unlike their fathers at the same age, Albus and Scorpius occasionally listened to me and protected each other from those who would use and abuse them.
"Do you miss it, Severus?" Lucius murmured into my ear. His whiskey-soaked breath was unpleasantly warm against my neck.
"Miss what?" I asked, distracted by the play of sunlight on Harry's greying hair; the flex of shoulder muscles under the thin, almost sheer, summer robe; the occasional bright flash when he turned his head and the sun hit his glasses just so.
"The meetings, the violence, the release, the absolute fucking high of being in control, of being out of control, of being a Death Eater."
"It's been more than twenty years, Lucius. Some of us have outgrown the bad habits of our childhood."
"Ah. Perhaps, then, your apparent ennui is merely a calm demeanour," Lucius sneered. "Although I feel compelled to note that you did not actually dismiss the possibility."
That dangerous, annoying, too bloody observant for his own good, old snake. My lips twisted into a parody of a smile as I took steps to correct his not-quite-misapprehension. "Does your limited understanding require me to speak more clearly, use words of fewer syllables? Let me be as plain as possible then, Lucius. I prefer my current life, my life with Harry, to the vagaries of a life lived according to the utterly unpredictable, completely mad whims of our former Dark Lord."
"As you say, Severus," Lucius replied. He waved his crystal tumbler at the scene outside the window, spattering a few drops on the no-doubt-priceless oriental rug. "Shall we rejoin the fray? I believe the Minister is preparing to speak."
"For a short while. And then Harry and I really must take our leave. We have plans for this evening."
"Good plans?" Lucius leered.
"Our plans." Before he could continue his interrogation, I pushed down on the handle and went outside. The black and red waves parted before me as I took up my place at Harry's side.
"We have plans for tonight?" Harry turned himself in my arms after we stepped out of the Floo and into our sitting room. "Not that I'm complaining, but I thought the idea was for us to spend tonight alone, in bed."
"Does that not count as a plan?" I slid my hand into Harry's hair, cupping his nape. The kiss that I intended to be chaste, gentle, deepened into passion when Harry licked my lips. Need rose up and swamped me. I tightened my grip, drew him closer, until barely a molecule separated us.
Harry's mouth tasted of coffee and cream cakes. Sugar and cream and something else that I've never been able to identify, that I've only ever tasted on Harry. I sucked his lower lip into my mouth, swiping the slightly rough texture with my tongue, pressing my teeth into the dents left when he last chewed his lip. He moaned and I slid a hand down and clamped it onto his bum, pulling his groin against mine, his lovely, hard cock against my own needy length. I pressed a finger against his hole, pushing through the layers of cloth until he shuddered and undulated between my cock and my finger.
A harder bite to Harry's lip pulled away a loose shred of skin. The taste of his blood sent a jolt straight to my groin. I wanted to slam Harry against the wall right then and there. Even the seconds or minutes needed to extract my wand and prepare him with a spell would have taken too long, been too fucking gentle.
Damn. I forced myself to lick instead of bite, to ease my grip to merely bruising. Lucius, may his twisted soul never find the peace he denies others, had been as right as he'd been wrong. But I refused to allow that need to control me. Not in that moment. Never with Harry.
"Bed," I muttered and Harry whimpered his agreement.
We stumbled our way through the house and up the stairs. Our shoes clattered against the polished wooden floors, caught on the rug in the upper hall. As soon as we crossed the threshold of our bedroom, Harry banished our clothes to the armchair in the corner. For once, I wasn't bothered by the crumpled heap of cloth. His skin, his chest, his cock, his mouth. Hot and damp and… fuck I had to have him. Right then.
I grabbed his bum again, lifted him up against me. He balanced on one leg. The other came up around my waist, foot anchored against my arm, shoving my finger deeper into his cleft, against his puckered hole.
The tip of my finger was just barely inside him. I pressed and released, again and again, avoiding a discernable rhythm, refusing to push in completely. Releasing his lips, I mouthed his jaw. Spelled against stubble, the skin was maddeningly smooth.
His cock frotted against mine. His hips jerked back and forth as he attempted to impale himself on my finger. I crushed him against me, preventing him from moving without my permission.
"Please, oh, please," Harry's head fell back and he began to babble. "Let me. Oh, Merlin, I..."
Not wanting to hear about his desires, I captured his mouth again, attacked it with my tongue, and prevented him from speaking. And still noises came from him. Greedy, needy sounds that compelled me to claim him.
I pivoted on one foot, adjusted my balance slightly, and landed us on the bed. The surface flexed under our weight. Taking advantage of every single one of the three inches that I had on Harry, I pinned him into place beneath me with hands and elbows, thighs, knees, and feet. A grind of my hips and he was babbling again, writhing, begging, pleading, calling me names that I do not countenance under any other circumstances.
"Be still," I snarled, emphasising my instructions with a twist of his left nipple. A flick of my wrist brought the lube skimming into my free hand.
"God, yes," Harry moaned and extended his arms outward, gripping the thick quilt to hold himself in place.
To reward him, I rubbed my cheek against the other nipple, using my stubbled chin to bring it to the perfect shade of red. I traced the whorls of dark hair on his chest with my tongue, then I shifted position and licked my way down the narrowing trail, stabbing into his belly button on the way past.
His cock was gorgeous. Red-tipped, uncut, erect. Weeping pre-come from the slit, bouncing with every touch of my tongue across his pelvis. His taste, his smell, they were like the earthy promise of Felix Felicis, like home, like sanctuary. It wasn't possible to get enough of him. And with that pleasant thought, I suckled the tip briefly and moved on to nuzzle and nip at his bollocks and his inner thighs, ignoring the wanton ache in my throat.
Harry whined. But he did not move. When I looked up, he met my eyes. Green gazing into black -- the same colours that my fingers and elbows, knees and feet had bruised into his skin. Proof, however fleeting, that he belonged to me.
"My Harry," I growled and flipped my long plait of hair over my shoulder. Slicking up my hand and my cock, I indulged him with a minimum of preparation. Then one swift stroke buried me bollocks-deep inside him. His prostate grazed the head of my cock, sending shockwaves through me.
"Merlin, Severus." Arching upward, Harry lost the battle to remain still.
Whatever control I'd regained was gone. I bent over him, forcing his knees to his chest as I rested my weight on one hand and clutched his hair with the other. Snapping my hips forward, I slammed in and out of him. Again and again. I could hear my breath rasping in my throat, feel him struggle to meet my strokes, to move beneath me. I pumped in and out. Faster, harder. Not wanting to think, to feel. Just wanting to be inside him, to own him.
I clamped my mouth onto the hollow of his collarbone, sucking, tasting, shoved that one impossible bit deeper inside him. And I came and came. Fireworks flaring behind closed eyelids. Heart pounding. Muscles trembling. Cock pulsing and pulsing. Giving him everything I had, everything I was.
Afterwards, holding his abused body as gently as I was able, I silently acknowledged that I was his as much as he was mine.
"I can never decide if Lucius is a good influence on you or not." Harry stretched and then curled into my side, nestling his head on my shoulder, flinging an arm across my chest, wrapping a leg around mine.
"Does it matter?"
"Not really. The sex is always brilliant." Harry hesitated briefly. "Although I'm going to need one of your massages tomorrow. With bruise salve more than likely."
"Always," I vowed, because I could not promise that it wouldn't happen again. I honestly wished that it was enough. That the other craving, the one I never allowed Harry to fulfil, had not surged through me already.
I distracted myself by carding my fingers through the wild tumble of his hair while he told me about the party and the antics of the Potter/Malfoy/Weasley children. I was relieved to learn that his three and Scorpius were going home with Draco and Ginny, keeping them all safe from Lucius until the next time their grandfather required their presence.
Eventually, his words were interrupted more and more frequently by yawns. Taking advantage of the distraction, I disentangled myself and headed for the kitchen. Tea for both of us was just the thing. The hot drink wouldn't distract me from the itching under my skin, but it would take me one step closer to gratification.
Back in the bedroom, I leant back against the headboard and watched Harry drink his tea. The tasteless sleeping potion I'd developed for Voldemort acted fast. Within minutes, he was settling down to sleep. I spooned against his back, my arm on top of the covers. When Harry's breathing became deep and regular and I was absolutely sure he was sleeping, I slipped out of bed.
My office was cold and dark. A wave of my wand took care of the latter. I was not there long enough for the chill to become a concern. I required but a few minutes to change into the ratty Muggle clothing I kept locked in my office. Then, I sealed the Floo and set my usual wards. Silencing charms ensured that no sound, not even the crack of apparition, could be heard beyond the door. An alarm connected to my commitment band ensured that I would know immediately if Harry - or anyone else - came looking for me.
Fighting my desire to hurry up, my yearning to be gone, I sat down in the worn, soft leather chair behind my desk and pulled out my current set of notes, my potions journal, a quill and ink. I traced the quill down to the last entry and then added another notation. Setting the quill down, I stood up and moved to the centre of the room. This last had always proved unnecessary, but if Harry tripped my alarm, this notation would be proof that I had been working on my book.
Now I could leave.
The furniture was old and worn, but the room itself was clean and came with its own bathroom. No cracks in the walls, no exposed pipes, and no insects crawling around. Gingerly, I used two fingers to pull back the dingy counterpane and examined the sheets. Not exactly whiter than white, although the faint smell of bleach was reassuring. Vaguely dissatisfied, I secured my plaited hair under my clothing and, trembling hands deep in my pockets, I gripped my wand. Careful movements and a few muttered words ensured that the bed was as uninfested as possible.
That didn't make the prospect any more enticing. For the ten thousandth time, I tried to convince myself that I didn't need this. That I should go home to Harry and our warm, clean bed. That I did not need this to close the yawning chasm in my soul.
The chasm merely laughed back.
Grimacing, I settled on top of the bed, leaned back against the headboard, and crossed my legs at the ankle. I always tried to touch as little as possible but, as with the other times I'd been in this or similar rooms, I would have to disinfect these clothes afterwards to erase the never-forgotten stench of poverty and despair.
"All right then?" Patrick something or other, sat at the bottom of the bed, scratching at the rash of red pimples on the right side of his jaw under his brown, stubbly beard. The Muggle addict was almost skeletal. Sweat sheened his pasty skin. Frequent washing had faded his long-sleeved t-shirt, pants, and socks into an indeterminate greyish-blue. His knobbly legs were bare, trousers dropped on the floor by the bed. I had chosen him because he was nothing like my Harry, and because he wanted the money too badly to ask what I was doing there.
I nodded. Then, realising that Patrick was waiting for a verbal response, I pursed my lips and said, "Adequate."
"Good. Good." Patrick rubbed his hands together and gestured at the paraphernalia laid out next to him on a thin towel. "Your money was well spent today. Lefkol had the good shit."
"Then proceed," I snapped.
"Yeah. I'll just do that then."
I nodded again, then triple-checked the wards I'd set on this room. Locking, silencing, privacy. They would give me sufficient warning to obliviate this idiot and disapparate if anyone attempted to enter.
"Even got a new sharp this time 'cos the exchange van stopped right by my corner last night." Patrick always talked while he got everything ready, but I considered it a small price to pay. "Still an' all, it doesn't hurt to make sure, does it?"
A flick of the wand in my pocket sent a cleansing charm that sterilised the needle and spoon far better than the fumbling attempts of this careless Muggle.
Licking his chapped lips, Patrick transferred some of the brown powder from the balloon to the bent spoon. "It's just tap water, but better than alley puddles."
I bit down on my instinctive response. Telling the imbecile to hurry up would accomplish nothing, would not produce what I needed any faster. His babbling was tedious, but part of the ritual nonetheless.
Patrick held the spoon up and positioned the lighter beneath. Shaking hands betrayed his addiction. A swift click and the drug started to cook. "Doing better this time, I am. No chance of blistering my finger on the flame."
My nostrils flared to catch the harsh, sweet scent of promises fulfilled as the powder dissolved into the water.
"It's good, that. Check out that colour." Licking his chapped lips yet again, Patrick drew the milky liquid into the needle through a wad of cotton. He laid the sharp back down on the towel, needing both hands free to tie the worn yellow tubing around his left thigh. Heedless of the discoloured bruises, he tapped the skin hard, again and again.
The rhythm was hypnotic. My lips parted, my eyes glazed slightly, as I watched. I clenched my hands into fists, schooling myself to patience, forcing myself not to kneel forward, not to make this happen faster.
When the vein finally bumped up, Patrick picked up the needle and tested for bubbles. A quick inspection and he finally jabbed the fucking thing into his flesh. Once, twice, four times before he found vein instead of muscle, until blood mixed with the drug when he brought the plunger back. He looked up, smiling. "I'm about ready. You all set?"
"Yes," I hissed with relief.
"Let's go then." Patrick depressed the plunger, dropping the needle and tubing on the floor as soon as it was done.
I stared deeply into his brown eyes. His pupils were blown wide-open, welcoming my invasion. I didn't need my hidden wand for this spell, my own special variant. "Legilimens Sensus."
A kaleidoscope of images flashed past, tumbling, spinning. Words abandoned me as the liquid fire racing through Patrick's body, the numbing rush hit. My mind, my body flew with his.
Harry was sprawled on his stomach when I returned to our bedroom. His face was turned sideways and buried in a pillow. His hand reached across my side of the bed, palm upward, fingers slightly bent.
I clasped his hand, raised it to my lips, and kissed it. Harry mumbled something nonsensical, and his fingers curled around mine. I slid under the covers and drew him into my arms, trying not to wake him fully.
"Missed you," he whispered into my ribs. "Sleep now."
"But of course," I said, wrapping my arms around him, dipping my nose into his unruly hair and breathing in his scent.
Do you see, I told the memory of Lucius, that mocking voice in my head. The rest is merely transitory, a passing diversion.
This is what matters.