|Aug. 16th, 2007 @ 11:46 pm Fest Entry: "On The Taming Of Wild Creatures" -- Part 1/4|
Title: On The Taming Of Wild Creatures -- Part 1/4
Prompt: 65. Marauder Era - Severus/Sirius' first time, supergraphic please! No hatesex. - submitted by </a></a>hill_
Warning: slash (duh!), rampant fantasizing, masturbation
Beta: The most worshipful imkalena Any remaining mistakes are mine own.
Author's Notes: Sorry this is in pieces, but it's too large to post all together. This was supposed to be short, right? But I can't seem to do a short Snack-fic. Just doesn't happen. Hopefully this meets the "super-graphic" specification.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Excerpts from “On The Taming of Wild Creatures, by Hypolitus Martingale, Being the Pre-eminent Guide to the Domestication of Hippogryphs, Thestrals, Pegasi and Diverse Other Magical Creatures of the Saddle.”
For the life of him, Sirius Black could not remember the name of his favorite childhood book, but he remembered the story itself very well. In it, a young wizard named Valentine tamed a wild hippogryph, and they flew off together and had many thrilling adventures, each one more dramatic and dangerous than the last. Exciting as the adventures were, Sirius’s favorite part of the book had always been the beginning; when Valentine tamed the hippogryph.
Valentine came of a good family, and could have had his choice of proud and beautiful hippogryphs, but he was a stubborn young wizard, and wanted this particular one. No one understood why. The hippogryph, which was called Feralis, was wilder than a centaur. He had clawed the eyes of every wizard who had tried to capture him, and he had never bowed to anyone. He was not even a particularly well-favored hippogryph, having ragged wings and a rolling eye, but Valentine wanted Feralis just the same, and set about to tame him.
Valentine followed Feralis, always at a respectful distance. Feralis would shriek and threaten and then fly away, but he always came back to his territory, and there Valentine would be waiting. The hippogryph eventually grew used to Valentine, whereupon the young wizard began to move closer, a little bit each day. Finally he was close enough to bow to Feralis. Feralis ignored him. Valentine continued just as before, and on the third day, Feralis returned the bow. It was just a duck of his proud head, but Valentine was elated. Within a week, Feralis returned Valentine’s full courtesy, and allowed the boy to come closer.
Feralis still trembled at Valentine’s approach, still rolled his eyes and stamped his hooves and claws, but the boy was patient and persistent. The day came when the hippogryph, quivering and ruffling his feathers all the while, allowed the boy to touch him, and finally the day that Feralis knelt and let Valentine mount him. No matter what exotic adventures they had after that, nothing could ever compare to the feeling of Valentine being swept into the sky for the first time astride Feralis, the still-wild hippogryph that no one else could tame, and that only he could ride.
Young Sirius Black had read those passages so many times that the pages were worn and ragged; smudged and crumpled from the nights he fell asleep with his nose in the binding. Even when he should have been too old for such things, Sirius entertained, now and again, the sweet, unspoken fantasy of one day finding and taming some fierce creature -- some skittish, trembling, dangerous thing; all nerves and pride, all twitching flanks and tangled, silken mane – that no one else could have.
Now standing in the seventh-floor corridor, wrapped in a borrowed Invisibility Cloak, and waiting just as patiently as Valentine ever had, Sirius Black reflected that he’d never expected this fantasy to come true. And never, in his wildest, strangest dreams, did he imagine the creature would be Severus Snape.
But so it was. And tonight, he was going to fly.
Identify your Quarry. Make sure the Creature you desire to tame is sound of limb and wing, and suitable to your purpose.
While Sirius wasn’t quite clear on how he’d come to this pass, he was convinced that it was solely the fault of James Potter, and the fact that sometimes – rather often, actually – his best friend could be a complete and utter twit. That day by the lake, for instance.
Bored after one of their OWL exams, he and James had been taking the mickey out of Snivellus until Evans had to stick her nose in the middle of it, and Sniv had to make an even bigger arse of himself than usual. Being the competitive sort, James just couldn’t let Snape crawl off with the trophy for Right Prat of the Day, which was how they all ended up standing around watching James try to strip Snivellus for the viewing pleasure – or displeasure – of the general populace. He remembered people protesting – some because they thought James was going too far, others because, well, they just didn’t want to see what the slimy little git had in his drawers, thank you – but being a Right Prat himself, Sirius just shrugged and egged James on.
“Can’t possibly be as bad as his face now, can it?”
So James flicked his wand with an evil gleam in his eye, and an invisible hand jerked Snape’s pants right off him.
Well, half-way off. The back of his pants went right down – or up, rather, since he was hanging upside down at the time – revealing a much nicer arse than Sirius ever expected Snape to own. An alarmingly nice arse. The kind of arse that made Sirius swallow whatever cutting remark had been on the tip of his tongue, and start searching his pockets for a Knut, just to see how far it would bounce off that drum-tight posterior. Also surprising was the fact that the front of Snape’s drawers weren’t going anywhere. The band was off his prominent hip bones, but the pants were hung up on what looked like a sizeable impediment. Sirius couldn’t see much detail through the thin, worn cloth of Snape’s graying pants, but unless he was carrying the Slytherin mascot around in his drawers, there wasn’t much question of what, ironically, was preventing a full display of Snape’s hitherto unrecognized assets.
By now, the assembled crowd had been shocked into anticipatory silence, and James was about to finish the job with another flick of his wand when Remus appeared at his side, covering James’ wand hand with his own and pushing it down.
“That’s enough, James,” Remus said, low enough for only them to hear. “You’ve had your fun, now let him go.”
James blinked at Remus, as if surprised by his interference. His mouth twisted as if he might refuse, then he snorted, said “Fine,” and cut the spell. Snape tumbled to the ground with a squawk, his robes still tangled over his head, his firm white rump still in open view. Not for long, though, as Snape jerked his pants back up even before he sat up and shook his robes back down. Sirius remembered feeling strangely conflicted at that moment: disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to see just what had been anchoring Snivellus’s shorts, but strangely glad that no one else had gotten to see, either.
That night, behind his bed curtains in the Gryffindor dorm, Sirius was disturbed to find the image of Snape’s remarkably perfect arse firmly ensconced in his brain. He saw it every time he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He listed to himself every one of Snivellus’s revolting features, from his lank, greasy hair to his petty, vindictive temperament, in an effort to banish that image from his brain, but to his great discomfort, it kept returning. Worse yet, it was accompanied by wild speculation about the parts of Snape’s anatomy that hadn’t been revealed.
Sirius told himself it was stress from the OWL exams and the upcoming end of term. He told himself he’d forget all about Snape’s perfect arse over the summer. In fact, he successfully put it out of his mind until the night he woke gasping into his pillow, hips still thrusting into the dampness blooming on his sheets, the vision of black hair spilling over a lean, white, arching back, the feel of slick flesh beneath his hands, against his thighs, still very clear.
“My, my,” said the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, drumming his gloved fingers against the edge of the canvas as Sirius kicked the covers away, flipped over and lay there heaving, unsure whether he was more desperate to retain or banish the remnants of his dream. “That must have been quite vivid. Whoever this Severus fellow is,” Phineas continued smoothly, “he’s certainly made an impression.”
“Severus?” the young man choked, starting up from his sodden bed. “I never said… I wouldn’t have….”
“Ah, but you did,” the portrait of Sirius’s great-great grandfather averred. “Several times, in fact.”
“Snivellus,” Sirius exhaled, flopping back down and flinging an arm over his face. “It’s Snivellus.”
“You never used that name,” said Phineas Nigellus with a small yawn. “Just ‘Severus’. You were practically chanting it at one very vigorous point in your dream.”
“Oh Merlin,” Sirius groaned through his pyjama sleeve.
“May I assume you’re quite through for the night,” the portrait sniffed, “or are you going to continue to keep me awake with your groaning?” For answer, Sirius flung the glass of water on his nightstand so that it crashed right beside his great-great grandfather’s gilded frame.
“Well!” the portrait huffed, pulling back from the frame and stomping off, muttering something about ungrateful descendents and how low had fallen the once noble House of Black. Sirius hauled himself up long enough to turn the now empty frame to face the wall before stumbling back to bed, muttering a Cleaning Spell on his sheets, and trying to forget the whole thing had happened.
Forgetting proved difficult, however, since the dreams not only continued, but intensified. It didn’t happen every night, but often enough – too often for Sirius Black’s comfort – he would wake in a feverish sweat, biting his pillow and thrusting savagely into his fist, feeling instead the clench of a smooth, tight passage, and a taut, sinewy, burning body bucking wildly beneath him.
Sirius never knew when the dreams would come, and started putting Silence spells on his door before going to sleep. Later, he stole a dusty bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion from his mother’s bedside table, and was no longer troubled by dreams of Severus Snape; or of anything else, for that matter.
From a well-hidden spot, observe your chosen Quarry carefully to find out all you can of its ways and habits. Learn what it fears, what it despises, and especially what it enjoys.
By the start of his Sixth Year, Sirius had managed to put all thoughts of Snape – the disturbing thoughts, at least – from his mind. This reprieve proved all too brief, and once again, it was James Potter’s fault.
“Here!” The Invisibility Cloak fluttered haphazardly over Sirius’s head, vanishing only the top half of his body.
“Here what?” Sirius asked, tugging off the filmy fabric.
“You’ll need that,” James grinned at him. “Slytherin’s Quidditch try-outs are this afternoon, and you’re going.” The privacy of the Slytherin try-outs was jealously guarded, but for the past three years, James and Sirius had managed to breach their security and get advance knowledge on what the Gryffindor team would be up against.
“Aren’t you coming then?”
“Tutoring session with Evans,” James reminded him with a wink. “She’s helping me in Charms, remember? Besides, the Slytherins nearly caught us out last time.”
“I wouldn’t have laughed if you hadn’t,” Sirius grumbled. “Besides, everyone was laughing when Dunham flew straight into the goal post.”
“Still too close for comfort,” James frowned. “So remember. No laughing. Not even if they put Snape on the team.”
“Right,” Sirius snorted, feeling a slight but uneasy frisson as he wadded up the cloak and stuffed it into his pocket. “Like he’d even be there.”
Except he was.
Sirius had stationed himself under the stands at the Quidditch Pitch, leaning against one of the supports and trying his best not to fall asleep. It was a warm day, and the candidates so far had been uninspiring. Sirius had just convinced himself that a brief nap wouldn’t hurt anything when he heard Plantagenet yell for the next flyer.
“Snape, you’re up.”
Snape? Sirius shook off his torpor and leaned out for a closer look, wondering how he’d missed Snivellus in the line-up. He watched as a tall, rangy boy with long, black hair and broad shoulders slung a long leg over his broom and kicked off.
That was Snape? The flyer wheeled and dipped to catch a thrown Quaffle. Yes, Snape. He’d shot up several inches over the summer, and filled out some as well, but that nose and that scowl could belong to no one else. Sirius gave a derisive snort at the very idea of Snivellus on a Quidditch team, and waited for the inevitable fumble or crash.
It didn’t happen. If it had been anyone but Snape, Sirius would have said he was pretty good. Sirius stepped out from the stands to get a better view. He actually caught his breath when the skinny Slytherin pulled a brilliant – yes, all right, brilliant – Dodge and Grab, and Sirius immediately flushed red at doing so.
What the hell? This couldn’t be Snivellus. This bloke was good. And Snivellus wasn’t good at Quidditch. Snivellus wasn’t good at anything but Potions, and hexing, and snarling, and pushing James and Sirius past their admittedly low levels of tolerance. And making Sirius Black very, very uncomfortable.
He watched the Slytherin pull a few more maneuvers, then land when the team captain waved him down. Snape dismounted, leaned his broom over his shoulder, and strode back to the stands. Sirius saw Plantagenet’s eyes follow Snape as he went by.
“Right then,” Plantagenet called out. “That’s the lot of you. Throckmorton’s our new Keeper. Wilkes and Barnes, you’re our new Chasers. Snape, you’re our Alternate.”
Huh. Imagine that. Sirius figured Snape ought to be ecstatic at making the team; Snape, however, looked anything but. Sirius watched as Plantagenet sauntered over toward where Sirius stood, near the bench where the Slytherin captain had left his gloves. From the sly look on the older youth’s face, Sirius thought he knew very well that Snape was stalking across the field after him.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Plantagenet?” Snape hissed, coming to stand right behind the stockier boy. “Are you blind? I flew better than Wilkes, and you know it.” Even from several feet away, Sirius could feel the waves of anger rolling off Snape like heat from a furnace.
“You flew well,” Plantagenet admitted, idly slapping his gauntlets against his free hand and giving Snape a measuring look. “But there’s more to being a Chaser than flying. The proper… attitude is essential.”
“And you think Wilkes has a better attitude than I do?” Snape scoffed. “Wilkes is a lummox. He’s only after the attention.”
“And just what are you after, Snape?” Plantagenet’s tone was almost teasing.
“I want to win.” Snape sounded deadly serious. The two young men eyed each other.
“So you do,” the older boy admitted, “but you always want to do it your way. You need to learn to be part of a team. You need to learn to… obey.” Plantagenet’s voice went low on that last word, his eyes boring into Snape. Sirius watched Snape stiffen, and two spots of color rose on his pale cheeks. Sirius wasn’t sure how it was possible, but Snape’s expression became even more hateful. “I’ll admit you’re a better flyer,” the Slytherin captain continued, unperturbed by the look Snape was giving him, “but Wilkes is more tractable. He knows how to take direction. How to follow orders.”
“How to suck your cock, you mean,” sneered Snape.
Plantagenet gave him a sly grin, not the least embarrassed. “Like I said, Snape. There’s more to being a Chaser than flying.”
“Then you can sod off, Plantagenet,” Snape snarled. “I won’t be your whore.”
Sirius almost gasped at how fast Plantagenet moved, stepping in and catching Snape by the front of his robe, pulling him down to so they were eye to eye.
“Awfully proud of that prim little virgin arse of yours, aren’t you, Snape?” Plantagenet’s voice was a low hiss. “Everybody whores for something or somebody. The sooner you learn that, the farther you’ll get in life.”
“Get your hands off me,” Snape snarled through gritted teeth, and just like that, the Slytherin captain released him, stepping smoothly away and leaving Snape to falter.
“First official practice is Friday afternoon, Snape,” the older boy said. “Four o’clock sharp.” He gave Snape an appraising look as he straightened his green Quidditch robe, then his mouth quirked in a sly smile. “First unofficial practice is eight o’clock sharp tonight. My rooms.”
“Oh?” Snape was barely restraining a sneer, his tone icy and brittle. “What could we possibly practice in your rooms? Remedial broomstick handling?”
Plantagenet actually laughed out loud at that. “You’re a clever one, Snape. I think I could almost like you.” He turned as if to go, then looked back, eyes sharp, and said “Eight o’clock. Bring that pretty cock of yours that you won’t let anyone near, and we’ll see just how much I might like you.”
“Go to hell, Plantagenet!” Snape snarled at him, but the Slytherin captain was already striding away, head high, pretending he hadn’t heard.
Sirius stood there watching Snape glare and chew his lip, hardly daring to breathe, and when Snape whirled and stalked off toward the locker rooms, he followed him without even thinking.
Sirius cock had started twitching the moment the words “prim little virgin arse” had fallen from Plantagenet’s mouth, and the mere mention of Snape’s cock had only made matters worse. There wasn’t enough Dreamless Sleep potion in the whole wizarding world to pry those words, those images, that knowledge out of his brain, and he wouldn’t have taken it even if there had been.
The dragging hem of the Invisibility Cloak made it impossible for Sirius to keep up with the long-legged Slytherin without stumbling, and by the time he made it into the Slytherin locker room, a shower was already running, and Snape was pulling off his clothes. Sirius grabbed the doorframe just as Snape kicked off his boots and wriggled out of his tight Quidditch breeches, giving Sirius a good, long look at the arse he’d been dreaming about all summer. It was every bit as perfect as he remembered, and all the better for being closer. Sirius knew if he reached out, the curve of those cheeks would fit right in the palms of his hands. He imagined his fingers squeezing into the crease between Snape’s rump and thigh, and clenched both hands until his nails cut into his palms, just to keep from making a grab for him.
“Fucking Plantagenet!” Snape was snarling as he hurled first one, then his other boot against the lockers, then turned and stalked into the showers. Snape walked straight into the steam, facing the spray of water and letting it drench him. He took a breath and ducked his head into the stream of water, pressing his palms against the tiled wall and leaning there, allowing the water to beat down on him. For long moments he didn’t move, and Sirius watched raptly as sheets of water slid over Snape’s angular form; down his sleek back, over the wiry muscles in his arms and shoulders, the narrow waist, the lean-muscled thighs and the firm curve of his arse.
“Stupid Wilkes,” Snape was still muttering to himself, his long fingers flexing as if they wanted to gouge marks into the tile. “Stupid idiot Plantagenet. Thinks I’ll suck his ugly prick, does he?” Snape’s narrow hands closed into fists and he beat them against the wet tiles in renewed fury.
Sirius had followed Snape into the shower room, and he was almost gasping from the steam, but he couldn’t make himself leave. He leaned against the wall, watching the play of muscles, the shift of sharp shoulder blades in Snape’s back as he took out his anger and frustration on the tiles. Sirius pressed the heel of his hand against his crotch, willing his cock to stop throbbing. It was a lost cause when, after a final slap against the shower wall, Snape turned abruptly to let the sharp stream of water beat into his back and shoulders. Sirius caught his breath at the sight of water coursing down the front of Snape’s lean, lithe body; over the whipcord muscles of his shoulders and arms, between small, rose-brown nipples where a light dusting of dark hair had started, over the taut stomach, the hipbones that stuck out a bit too much, and the thickening trail of curling hair that led from his shallow navel to the root of his beautiful cock.
Yes, beautiful was the right word, Sirius decided. It wasn’t a word anyone would have normally associated with Snape, but if anything about the skinny youth was beautiful, his cock certainly was. Even flaccid it looked thick enough to fill the circle made by Sirius’s thumb and forefinger, and hung just past the cushion of his scrotum, the tip of it peeking out from the crumpled foreskin. Snape’s skin was nearly as pale as the porcelain tiles, but his cock was darker -- almost the fawn color of his nipples, but with a slight violet cast – and Sirius nearly groaned out loud at the sight of it, wet and dripping and thick without even being hard.
Oh please! Sirius begged silently. Please, for God’s sake, touch yourself! Go on. Do it. No one’s here. No one’s going to see you. Please, you want to, I know you do!
Sirius didn’t know whether it was his prayer, his sheer desperation, or just the warm water sliding over Snape’s body, but as Sirius stared at him hungrily, Snape’s cock twitched and started to swell. Snape flinched as if this was both an unexpected and unwelcome development, and put a hand to the tile to steady himself. To Sirius’s amazement, the Slytherin stared down at his lengthening penis with a look of disgust.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled at his cock, which wasn’t a bit put off by his tone. Instead, it became defiantly erect, the filling blood darkening it to a dusky violet, and the head swelling so much it pushed past the tender foreskin. Snape sucked in a breath and leaned heavily against the wall, looking for a moment like he might faint. Given the size of his growing erection, Sirius was afraid he just might, but Snape didn’t fall. He just kept looking at his gorgeous cock as if it angered him.
“You’ll get hard for anything, won’t you?” Snape growled at the rigid shaft that was by now straining against his belly, trying to tuck its head into his navel.
Sirius wanted to whimper out loud, and only barely stopped himself. He’d dreamed about what Snape’s cock might look like, but the reality was better than he’d even imagined. Sirius’s own tackle was not unsubstantial, but Snape’s cock put his to shame, and he didn’t care a whit. Any jealousy he might have felt was overwhelmed by his desire. His fingers flexed involuntarily, wanting to wrap themselves around that thick shaft, wanting to feel the heat and strength of that erection, wanting to tease and touch and stroke and squeeze, and even wrap his lips around it, sucking the head like candy until Snape was screaming for release.
Please! Sirius urged again. Please touch it! God, look at it. What are you waiting for? It’s begging for it!
“Stupid thing,” Snape snorted in disgust, but after staring at it a moment longer, he sighed and reached for the soap. He continued to glare at the offending member while he worked up a lather, but couldn’t suppress a grunt of relief as he wrapped his soapy hand around his shaft and leaned back against the wall.
Yes! Oh Merlin, yes! Sirius’s knew that his blood was seething, and probably boiling his brain, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but squeeze his himself hard, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to keep from going off at the delicious sight in front of him. Yes, show me how you do it! Show me how you touch yourself, how you bring yourself off. Show me what you like.
Apparently Snape liked long, slow strokes with a twist over the sensitive head. He liked cupping his balls with his other hand and squeezing; and when his breathing became faster, heavier and his hips were making those small, unconscious thrusts, he liked running his thumbnail under his foreskin to stimulate the ridge; liked it so much that he shuddered and flinched when he did it, spreading his legs even wider and leaning heavily against the wall.
Sirius watched raptly as Snape’s eyes slid shut, his back arching from the wall as his hand flew faster on his straining cock, and one hand slid up his wet stomach to pinch and twist a nipple. Snape’s mouth wrenched open in a groan as he fisted himself harder and faster, and Sirius bit the back of his hand to stifle his own whine of frustration, clutching painfully at his own erection.
This was what Plantagenet had been sneering about: the “pretty cock” Snape wouldn’t let anyone touch; the “prim little virgin arse” he was so proud of. This was what the Slytherins wanted – the wet, black hair, the slim, white body bent like a bow, the long-fingered hand flying up and down on the thick, purple shaft – and this was what Snape wouldn’t give them.
But you’re going to give it to me, Sirius vowed, his blood turning to steam at the sight before him; the sight of his nemesis in an agony of pleasure. I’m going to steal you right out from under their Slytherin noses, and you’re going to spread your legs and give me everything: your tight little virgin arse, and your gorgeous cock, and the mouth that you moan and hex me with.
Of a sudden, Snape was gasping, writhing against the shower wall, bucking hard into his own fist and crying out as his balls drew up tight, spurting his release over his hand and into the hard stream of water. His cock pulsed again and again as he kept pumping it, until finally, his knees buckled, and with a thin moan he slowly slid down the slick tile wall. Drenched and drained and with his softening cock still in his grip, Snape seemed insensible to anything at the moment, which Sirius counted to his luck, as he wrenched himself away from the wall and the steam and made a mad scramble out the door and around the corner.
The Gryffindor locker room was thankfully empty, but the presence of the whole team, and McGonagall too, wouldn’t have stopped Sirius from yanking off the Invisibility Cloak, ripping open his trousers and freeing his painfully distended cock. He seized his shaft, and before he could pump it more than twice, he shot with a guttural cry, slapping the wall with his other hand as he came in strong, almost painful pulses. Sirius whimpered as the contractions faded and he crumpled to the floor, his fingers milking the last of his semen from his shaft in slow dribbles.
“Did you hear me, Snape?” Sirius whispered as his rump hit the floor, his still-quivering cock in his hand, the sounds and images of Snape still all too clear in his mind. “Did you hear what I said? You’re going to give me everything. Everything. Because you’re going to be mine. Godric help me, I’m going to make you mine.”
Go to Part 2/4