One Night at Grimmauld Place

One Night At Grimmauld Place
8inchCaliper
A/N – takes place during book 5 (OotP) the night Harry and the others return to Hogwarts.
Disclaimer - I do not own these characters. No infringement intended. No profit made. No harm done. Yes? Characters owned by Joanne – not me.

Snape enters into number 12 Grimmauld Place and stands in the center of the hall, letting darkness wash over him even as the warmth from the fireplace reaches him from another room. Absent are the sounds of Weasley children scurrying about and playing pranks as the matron of the family screams at the top of her lungs to bring the little gits into line. Snape abhors anything Weasley but must deal with this, as he is a member of the Order as well as an instructor at Hogwarts and is forced to be near at least one of them on at least a semi-constant basis.
It is strange, though, the absence of noise here. At least he might hear the paintings griping or the hushed sounds of conspiratorial discussion from other members. Then again, it is the middle of the night. Those who are present are most likely sleeping, and most of the Weasley children will be at school now. He hadn’t actually looked forward to a confrontation, but the nonexistence of one is oddly unsettling.

Passing the Troll’s leg umbrella stand and the stairwell, Snape pauses just at the kitchen entrance and lets his eyes lower to the sliver of golden light beneath the door. That’ll be from the fireplace. But who is here?

Pushing open the door, he takes another pause in the threshold, watching as Sirius Black leans back his chair on two legs and downs the last of a glass of fire whisky. Typical, Snape thinks. When the Animagus isn’t sulking or brooding or being a gigantic bore, he’s drinking. His favorite pastime. Clearing his throat to get the man’s attention, Snape rests against the door frame, more casual then normal and still…not completely sure of his own reason for coming here.
Dark orbs slide unfocused to where Snape stands, and Sirius snorts as his eyes dance over the Potion Master’s face.
“Oh good.” He murmurs, sarcasm laced in his voice. “Just when I thought my night couldn’t get worse.”
Snape doesn’t readily reply, instead making his way slowly towards the wooden kitchen table and examining the near-empty bottle of wizard alcohol.
“Well, Black…” He says silkily. “...I see you’re keeping busy. As usual.”
Sirius lets the chair fall forward onto all four of its legs and glares daggers at Snape.
“You really don’t want to provoke me tonight, Snivelly.” The haggard looking man regards the other with a scowl. “Besides, shouldn’t you be at Hogwarts – gearing up to torture another round of frightened first years? Poor blokes…” He adds, more to himself than anyone else.
Snape merely pivots and glances around the kitchen, at a loss for words. Why did he come here again? Certainly not to have a meaningless, waste of a conversation with Black. Then again, there’s something homey about it. Something comforting in the exchange that he would never admit to.
“I hope you’ve forewarned your dear godson to keep himself in line this term.” Snape finally says, strolling around the dirt floor of the kitchen as if through a park.
Sirius frowns, eyes narrowing. “Don’t concern yourself with Harry. He’s well equipped to deal with anything you might dish out – within your boundaries.”
Snape barely nods. “Of course, I was referring to possible interference from the Ministry…” He pauses to curl his lip devilishly. “…However, if you are giving me permission to…”
“Don’t even think about it.” Sirius has clenched his hands into fists. “And wipe that evil grin off your face. If I even imagine you harming him in any way…”
“Certainly, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Snape grins and comes closer, his gaze dropping again to the bottle of fire whisky. “Then again, I can’t imagine what kind of defense you could provide against it – short of pouncing on top of me and lapping my face.”
Now Sirius is standing, wand out, glaring at Snape with immeasurable fury. Snape, for his part, merely seats himself at the table and pours a small amount of the liquor into the Animagus’ glass. He’d only wanted a drink. What better way to fix one than under these circumstances, with Sirius overreacting again, letting mere words drive him to id aid acts of retaliation?
Lowering his wand, Sirius regards the Potion Master as the man in question lets the burn of the drink slide down his throat and into his belly, forming a small, almost uncomfortable ball of fire.
“Oh. I’m sorry Snape,” Sirius is speaking with a certain mock-sweetness in his voice. “I missed the part where I invited you to a drink.”
Snape doesn’t seem to hear him, instead mumbling. “So much wasted time…”
The other man comes closer, looking down on the black-haired man wearing black robes and holding the glass with almost snow-white hands.
“What are you on about?” He says in a suspicious voice softer than was intended. “What about time?”
Snape exhales and studies his hand not holding the glass. “Tell me about Azkaban.” He says in a casual voice as though Sirius had gone on holiday to a pleasant little beachfront resort instead of the most frightening prison known in existence.
Curiously amused and a bit taken off his guard, Sirius knits together his eyebrows. “Sorry Snape. Not really in the mood for a bed time story.”
Snape glances up at the other man. “Were you…beaten? Tortured?”
Sirius swallows. Hard. “Get out.”
For a long moment, two pairs of eyes link. Black on gray. “Did they penetrate your…defenses?”
“I said OUT!” Sirius chokes out, feeling an irrational lump clog his throat. Bastard! Hateful, evil…
“I was only making conversation.” Snape shrugs, considers pouring himself another glass, and then thinks better of it. Must be ready in case the pathetic buffoon should try and hex him. Then again, Snape is almost positive Sirius wouldn’t do anything stupid and risk having to answer to Dumbledore. Standing, he marvels in the fact that he has at least two inches over Sirius, his voluntary arch nemesis. Personally, Snape doesn’t feel that strongly about it. As usual, he is indiscriminate in his general dislike of the human (or in this case, half-human) race. Of course, there is always the boy who lived…
“Tell me, Sirius, is it true what I’ve been hearing?”
Black bites down on the inside of his cheek, desperate not to lose his temper with Snape, desperate to hold it together. Exhaling slowly, he nods, feigns casual interest. “What’s that?”
Grinning, the Potion’s Master replies. “Oh, just that your bark is worse than your bite…”
This time, Sirius is forcing Snape against the dirty counter of the kitchen in Grammauld Place, and Snape would like to say he’d been ready for this type of reaction. He’d like to say that he had expected Black to lash out, but he hadn’t honestly. Hence forth, the reason his wand is on the floor several feet away, knocked out of his hand when Sirius had retaliated with such lightening speed, it almost seems premeditated.
Their faces are inches apart, one of Black’s hands clutching the front of Snape’s robes, the other holding his wand, pressed aga Sna Snape’s temple. The Potion Master ignores the electricity flowing through his body like a low hum. He hasn’t been this close to anyone in a very long while, and there is a certain thrill that comes with the uncertainty of wondering what Black might do. He has always welcomed death, of course, but this is different. Black isn’t the gruff criminal he is portrayed to be. In fact, and especially after seeing how he is with Potter, Snape would even venture to say he’s…sensitive?
“What now?” Snape inquires in his low voice. “If you’re going to hex me, then do it. Otherwise, release me as I have pressing business to attend to.”
Sirius grins. “Even in a predicament such as this, you imagine you have the upper hand.” His laugh sounds hoarse even to his own ears, and Snape can smell the liquor on his breath. “You’re truly delusional, mate.”
“Right.” Snape says, as his gaze dips down to linger on the other man’s mouth, then up again to stare into the eyes. “Unlike you, I always hold the upper hand over my enemy.”
“Is that what I am, Snivelly? Your enemy?”
Snape, fed up with the waiting, mutters under his breath. “Accio wand.”
It flies towards him as he catches it in his outstretched hand.
“Good one.” Sirius mutters. “Still, you’re in my house.”
“Then I’ll leave.”
“Why did you come?”
At a sudden loss for words, Snape averts his eyes, remembering. “I had news.”
“News?” Sirius doesn’t releases him. “About the Ministry?”
“Yes.” Snape settles his weight against the counter behind him. “Fudge will attempt to overthrow the administration at Hogwarts.”
Sirius lets his gaze drop to the floor, still clutching Snape. “You mean, Dumbledore…but how do you…how did you -?”
“I overheard a conversation.”
Now, Sirius has his eyes trained on Snape. “I don’t believe you.”
Snape looks indifferent as he shrugs. “ Believe what you choose.” Exhaling, exasperated, he attempts to move out of Sirius’s grasp. “Are you going to release me?”
Black seems to consider it. “I don’t know. Why should I?”
Snape’s grin is back. “Because you won’t want to suffer the consequences of keeping me here.”
Sirius feels a strange tingle climb up his spine before it dies down quietly. He couldn’t possibly have read that wrong. The dark suggestion in Snape’s words. Merlin, has it been so long that he finds meaning even in the most mundane?
Suddenly, wrenching out of Sirius’ grasp, Snape has the other man on the floor, and the Animagus can’t even recall hearing the spell uttered. However, he can vaguely remember seeing the lightening fast wave of a wand. His head is spinning, and in the next instant, Snape has him up off the floor and in a chokehold. His wand is someplace out of his sight.
“Perhaps we should settle this, indefinitely.” Snape’s words are warm against Black’s ear, and he suppresses a shudder. The lightheadedness is doing a number on him, making him feel weak. Snape is so much stronger than he’d ever have imagined; of course, he himself is always a bit on the malnourished side – even after having escaped from Azkaban two years ago.
“I cannot imagine how.” He murmurs as he feels the tip of Snape’s wand trace the shell of his ear. This time, he does tremble and doesn’t bother to stop himself. How did this escalate?
“Oh. I don’t know…” Snape says in a velvet voice, deep and soft. “…perhaps a few well chosen words. I could mix a potion right now that would kill you instantly but merely resemble the effects of too much fire whisky. Then again, I could bewitch the Weasleys into believing they’d killed you themselves, even up until their hearings at the Ministry of magic. And they’d have the highest praises for capturing you – complwithwith ticker tape parade. The world would finally be rid of Sirius Black.”
Sirius isn’t bothering to struggle against Snape. Instead, he is considering his words, wondering if maybe it would be best for it to happen this way. After all, his life isn’t so great even free from Azkaban because he is still a prisoner in his own house, unable to leave unless in his Padfoot form. Perhaps his death would be best for Harry; then the boy wouldn’t have to spend time worrying about him,kingking everything just to correspond with him. Hell, Remus would make a hell of a better godfather anyhow…
“Alright. Do it, then.” He whispers, slumping back against the former Death Eater. “Kill me then, Snape. You know you want to.”
Unprepared for this response, Snape tightens his hold on Sirius but lowers his wand. “I don’t want an easy kill.” He says, involuntarily pressing himself against Sirius. “It bores me.”
Sighing softly, Sirius closes his eyes. “Merlin, you sound so much like Lucius Malfoy, I wonder if I should be catching a whiff of Polyjuice Potion.”
Snape chuckles. “And let him have all the fun? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Sirius mutters, “Accio…”
“Finite Incantatem!” Snape counters, clutching Sirius tighter. “Your wand is useless against me, Black.”
Pressing closer to Snape, Sirius shudders at the feel of the man behind him, the tautness of muscle beneath robes. He can’t imagine why it should matter to him that Snape is in good physical shape.
“You’ve been with him.”
Snape feels an irrational heat creep up his neck and into his face. Glad that Sirius is turned in the opposite direction, he tries to sound unconcerned.
“What does it matter?”
Black snorts a self-satisfied laugh. “Is this the reason for you coming to call? You’ve had your way with the Malfoys, now you have come to conquer me as well?”
Snape breathes in the scent of Black’s hair, feeling predatory and says simply, “Perhaps.”
The other man closes his eyes and sinks back against the Potions Master. Oddly, the thought doesn’t repel him. If anything, he fears for the emotions of his werewolf companion. What might Remus think if he should walk in and see them like this? Even if he were to explain it as an attack on the part of Snape, Lupin would sense the heat between them, smell the arousal radiating from them both. At first Sirius had not suspected Snape of anything like this; now, he suspects nothing but.
After a moment, Sirius makes his decision. In a hoarse voice, he speaks, “Seal the door.”
Snape, after taking a moment to consider the words, does as told. “Colloportus.”
When this is done, Sirius turns to face the Potions Master and stands very near to him, their faces inches apart. With his left hand, he tugs the wand from Snape’s right and lets it drop to the floor.
“No wands.” He murmurs in his gruff voice. “No magic.”
Without acknowledging the request, Snape forces Sirius against the wall, pressing their bodies tight together as the Animagus gasps. Snape has his mouth on Black’s shoulder, biting into it not gently but without breaking the skin. The other man bites his own lip, desperate not to make a sound even though the closeness and friction between them is causing him some swelling and discomfort south of his vital organs.
Snape is relentless, holding Sirius’s wrists, stabilizing him, gnawing on the fleshy area where his neck meets his shoulder while Black tries in vain to grind his pelvis against the Potions Master. Giving up, he rests his head back against the stone wall and lets Snape have his way. Earlier he’d asked him about Azkaban, asked if they’d managed to break through his…defenses. The answer should have been ‘yes’. Yes, they’d broken through his defenses, and as a result, he was completely at home with this type of scenario. The only difference is, Sirius can’t remember feeling warmth or desire or need. He’d only remembered being raped, being hurt, and being tortured. Recalling it, he lets his eyes shut and tries to drown it out. But if being with demon wizards is a hellish, torturous nightmare, and being with Remus is like tentative experimentation on a soft bed of roses, then where does this encounter fit?
Currently, Snape has one large hand beneath Sirius’ shirt and splayed out against his chest. Black makes a sound in the back of his throat as one finger brushes a sensitive nipple. Snape is both detached and somehow tender as his tongue travels the length of the other man’s jaw line, and Black wonders idly if there will be any kissing. With Remus, lovemaking is mostly kissing.
When Sirius finds his hands free, he immediately starts on the long row of buttons before him, wondering about the porcelain white skin beneath the several layers of robes and garments. His fingers are fumble -some, and he steals a glance at Snape as the Potions Master unceremoniously rips the dingy shirt from Black’s shoulders.
His onyx eyes are focused on his task, and his matching hair seems to veil his expression as Sirius abandons his own chore to push the hair away and behind one delicate ear. Snape pauses and meets his gaze.
“Yes.” He says quietly. “Yes, they tortured me in Azkaban - not that it matters.”
Snape doesn’t reply. Instead he raises a hand up to Black’s jaw and pulls him close, bringing their lips together. In spite of himself, Sirius moans softly, the feeling almost like electricity, lighting his nerve endings. Why does he feel that strange obstruction in his throat again? Snape isn’t capable of bringing anything to the surface except contempt and darkness. Now, however, Sirius is holding onto him, almost empty when their lips part.
“Merlin…” He whispers with wet lips, shutting his eyes. “…Severus…”
Snape doesn’t reply, only kneels in front of Sirius and tugs his dingy pants down, exposing firm hairy legs. Snape’s palms are running up and down the length of them, massaging the calves, then up the thighs and Sirius feels as if he might collapse. He is against the wall, desperate to have Snape touch him in the place where he needs it most. He is almost engorged to the point of pain, and he attributes it all to the erotic elegance practically oozing from Snape. No, he’d never have admitted it before now – and may not after this night, but still…it is undeniably addictive.
In moments, Snape has his hands inside Sirius’ shorts and is massaging him, slowly. Black’s eyes are rolling back inside his head, and he thinks he might faint. It feels incredible, and when Snape’s mouth closes around his hard length, he nearly crumples to the floor. Apparently Potion making isn’t Snape’s only useful skill. His tongue feels impossibly long and impossibly wet as it travels several rotations around the spongy soft head before cradling the underside and sliding along the thick veins. Sirius is too shocked and too close to even move his hips, but before long, Snape is releasing him.
When Sirius opens his eyes again, they are face to face, and this time, Sirius pushes forward to meet Snape’s mouth in a deep kiss, sucking his tongue, tasting the flavor of his own arousal, his pre-cum like bitter honey on their lips. Then Snape is pushing him back against the wall, their eyes still linked.
Sirius wants to speak but is unsure what to say. Before long, though, he has missed his chance because Snape forces him around and pushes him so hard against the wall, his ribs ache.
“Don’t move…” Snape instructs coldly from behind him as he forces Sirius’ legs apart and Sirius feels himself tighten up, apprehensive. In another instant, though, he feels the warm wetness of a tongue enter him, and his erection springs up, bumping the wall in front of him as he cries out with abandon. He must chew his lip to keep himself quiet as Snape’s tongue swirls in and out of him, sliding in as far as humanly possible and out, rimming him gently. Black’s lip is bleeding from so much force it takes to keep quiet, and then Snape is standing again, pressing himself against Sirius.
“Am I to assume you’re enjoying yourself?” Snape’s voice is like velvet against his ear, rich and soft and so hot.
Sirius doesn’t reply, not trusting his voice. In the meantime, Snape has his hands around Sirius’s waist, kneading the pale skin there, placing his hands on his thighs and caressing him as Sirius presses back into Snape, desperate to feel the man and not his accursed robes! It only just occurs to him that he is probably eighty percent less clothed than Snape, but it doesn’t matter, he soon realizes. In another instant, he reaches behind him to let his hand drift to where Snape’s arousal sits like a large weight inside his black slacks. It fills him with both excitement and dread as he gets a feel for it, attempting to measure its girth through the heavy fabric.
Turning inside the ‘O’ of Snape’s arms, he reaches down and unceremoniously unsnaps his trousers, then does a great deal more unbuttoning until the thick mass is out in the open. Taking a long shuddering breath, he begins to stroke it, getting a feel for it in his palm, eager to feel him inside his mouth, eager to taste him. His eyes meet Snape’s, and they stay linked as Sirius watches the Potion Master’s breath come in quiet uneven gasps, struggling to remain on an even keel. Soon enough, though, neither man can withstand the test of time that foreplay requires, and Sirius finds himself bent over on the kitchen table with Snape, still mostly clothed but shoving his entire length inside him with one swift stroke.
Sirius clenches shut his eyes and holds onto the edges of the table while Snape takes plunge after plunge, retreating, then returning, deeper and deeper each time.
“Severus…” Sirius whispers between clenched teeth, “…yes…like that…deep…deeper…”
Snape has one commanding hand on Sirius’ shoulder, tight and stabilizing as he drives harder and with complete recklessness.
For his part, he is mostly quiet, but occasionally takes a soft breath that lets Sirius know he’d been holding it, waiting for the next plunge. And his other hand eventually closes on Black’s erection, sliding up and down the shaft as Sirius trembles and loses himself, moaning into a balled up fist.
Moments later, Snape is spilling himself inside Sirius, leaning forward to bite the Animagus as he does and this time, drawing blood. It feels like jubilation for Sirius who, in turn, feels a strange mixture of guilt and loathing at what has transpired.

Moments later, Black is still quivering from the after-affects as Snape is already situating himself and throwing on his waistcoat. The only sign that anything has happened out of the ordinary is the slight trembling of Snape’s fingers as he buttons his robe.
Sirius doesn’t bother to put on the shredded shirt, but tugs his pants back up his legs and watches as Snape paces the kitchen, eager to leave but conflicted. They both have their wands again, and Snape has used a spell to clean whatever evidence they may have left. Feeling obligated, the Potion’s Master turns to Black.
“I trust you’ll relay the message to the others?”
For a moment, Sirius has forgotten, then nods, slowly. “Oh. Yes. Certainly.” He still feels phantom traces of Snape’s touch on his skin.
Snape nods, tersely. “Right. Then I must be going.”
Sirius sighs and sees him to the exit of Grimmauld Place, and they stand and linger near the troll’s leg as Sirius mumbles. “This changes nothing, then?”
Snape turns and links eyes with him. “Nothing at all.”
Black nods, slowly and grins as Snape exits into the dark night of muggle London. He touches a finger to his lips and remembers the softness of Snape’s kiss, the tenderness. Nothing at all.

FIN