Dark as Pitch

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There was silence, and Draco had the impression that he and Snape were alone. He started to try and say something, but felt a cool, long fingered hand land drop to his shoulder. "Wait," a low voice warned.

It sounded like Snape was watching something, perhaps out the window. Was he waiting for the truck to leave?

Draco waited.

"Alright. Here, now." A sharp blade slid under the cord at his wrists, and Draco grunted in surprise, then pleasure when they came free. He reached immediately for the shirt around his face, pulling it lose as his feet were unbound.

The light blinded him, and he blinked rapidly, trying to focus on Snape's concerned face in front of him. "Alright?"

Draco nodded, although he doubted it was true, and scrabbled at the metal bit in his mouth, trying to get it loose. It was fastened behind his head and he couldn’t see to work the buckle. He turned to Snape for help, making a soft noise of distress.

"Leave that," said Snape, tugging his hands away. "I'd prefer it if you would just listen for now. Can you sit down?"

Wide-eyed, Draco dropped into the chair behind him, not knowing what else to do.

"I'm sure you have many questions, but at the moment I need you to trust me. They may be watching, do you understand?"

Slowly, Draco nodded his head yes.

"Good. I'm going to prepare a room for you. I want you to sit here and wait for me to return, okay?"

Another nod.

Snape held his eyes for a moment, checking for something, then turned away and Draco sank back into the chair with a groan. He was beyond exhausted. He had nothing left; he couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't react. Snape told him to sit, so he was sitting. Beyond that there was nothing.

A year ago, he'd been the cosseted heir of a powerful family. Ten minutes ago he'd been lying naked in the grass, believing he was about to be raped.

At several points in the war he'd been sure that he and his entire family would be murdered by Voldemort. Somehow they'd all survived, and the Dark Lord was overthrown, and it looked like it might all turn out pretty well. And then a month ago he'd been stripped of everything - even his magic - and taken into virtual slavery. Reparations, they called it.

And now he was almost free and waiting for his room to be made up. So excuse him if he couldn't exactly string together a coherent sentence.

Snape eventually returned, and the expression on his face was carefully neutral, revealing nothing. "Come, Draco," he said.

He was guided up some stairs and down a hall, tucked in close to Snape's side as though his legs didn't work, which come to think of it they might not. Not properly. They passed through a clean, tidy bedroom and the bed called out to him like a siren, but he was hustled past, into a bathroom attached to the master suite.

He blinked around at the white little room, dully incurious.

Snape undressed him, pulling away the dirty sheet and tossing it into the bin with an expression of disgust. Then he was wiped down with a damp washcloth. Draco let it happen, indifferent to anything except the promise of a soft bed.

Snape's hands brushed across his forehead, settled on the back of his neck. “Do you need to relieve yourself?” Draco shook his head no.

"You can go to bed directly," said Snape, but he held Draco back by the shoulders. "Just a moment. Listen to me."

Draco lifted his eyes with effort.

"Have you ever worn a plug inside of you?" Snape asked, calmly.

Draco blinked, uncomprehending.

"I know you're very tired," said Snape, "but at the moment I need you to trust me, Draco. I'm trying to do what's best for you. Now I'm talking about an object, inserted into the rectum. Have you worn one before?"

Draco's scattered thoughts flashed to the muggle thermo-meter. Uncertainly, he shrugged.

Snape sighed. "Very well. Can you face the mirror and lean forward, please?"

The mirror was behind him. Draco turned slowly, and then bent reluctantly at the waist, very slowly, an inch at a time.

"Good," said Snape. "I need you to reach back and hold yourself open for me. Alright? I promise, I'm not going to hurt you."

There was nothing Draco wanted to do less. He whined, wordlessly resisting.

"Now, Draco, and then you can rest. Don't make this harder than it is."

Wanting it to be over, Draco reached to take one of his asscheeks in each hand and gingerly pulled them apart. He watched in the mirror as Snape bent forwards, extracting something from his sleeve at the same time.

"I'm going to put it in now," he warned.

He felt something rounded and smooth pressed gently against his clenching asshole. Snape applied a little pressure and the thing eased in slowly - it was slick and cool. It gave him an urgency, like he had to relieve himself, but the object didn’t move when he strained against it.

It kept sliding smoothly up into him, and Draco groaned at the first resistance. “Almost there, now,” said Snape soothingly. He worked it carefully in and out, then pushed forward again and this time Draco felt it slip past some barrier and further into his body.

Something dribbled out of him and squirmed at the sensation. It felt strange, the hardness inside him, as it settled into place; he could felt it stretching him, pressing against his insides –

“All done,” said Snape. “You can let go now.”

Draco did and was pulled back upright, a strong hand on his upper arm. Then he was redressed in soft pajamas, and finally steered into the bedroom.

Snape cupped his head, guiding it up, to examine the bit in his mouth. “I think we can take this off now,” he said. He turned Draco away and freed the strap, gently prizing open Draco's jaw. “Open. Wider. Good.” He guided the metal piece out from between Draco’s teeth, letting it drop on the rug. “There, now. Don’t try to talk yet. Get in the bed, and I’ll fetch you a glass of water.”

Draco slipped between the covers that were held patiently up for him. It jostled the plug that was still buried in his ass, and he felt himself clenching around it, but it wasn't enough to disturb him now. It almost felt good, nudging against him as he settled back.

“Here, now.” A glass was pressed to his lips and he drank without protesting, tasting mint. “Good. Lie down, all the way.” The lights dimmed and Draco barely felt himself being tucked in.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, Draco,” said Snape, and it sounded like a promise and a threat.