Anointing Him

Anointing Him

Pairing – Snape/Kingsley

Summary- Snape needs anointing. Kingsley is happy to oblige.

Rating-Um. Adult. For sexual themes, BDSM, and quite a bit of abuse. Also, some mind games.

Disclaimer- I don’t own anyone, and I’m not getting paid. This is a work of fiction.

A/N-I do a lot of theorizing here – especially with Snape’s characterization. *coughmentionofvampireSnapecough* And Kingsley for that matter – but especially Snape. You’ll see what I mean when you read.



Black hands claw and burn, melding and marring, and Snape turns his face away, surrendering.
In an empty room, in the Three Broomsticks, silent affirmations are passionate as dusk and Snape’s white skin is glowing under the moon as Kingsley Shacklebot disrobes him.
Severus doesn’t make a sound as full lips graze his neck and the delicate sound of gold hoop earrings clink softly in his ear. Long fingers drag through his ebony hair, through greasy scalp to cradle his head. Kingsley looms above the other man, a good three inches taller or more and regards him.

“Loyalty, Severus.” He says simply.

Snape doesn’t reply, simply brings black eyes around to regard the other man.

“What do you know of it?” Kingsley presses. “Tell me.”

“I know nothing.” Severus says silkily.

“Lies.” The black wizard says in a dangerous low voice. “You’re a liar.”

With that, he shackles Snape’s wrists with lightening speed and magically hoists him an inch or so off the ground. Snape averts his gaze again, fear ghosting his features for just an instant, but very quickly replaced with resignation. He signed up for this.

Shirtless but wearing trousers and boots, Snape feels naked, exposed, and vulnerable. Kingsley is behind him, a hand resting on the small of Snape’s back as he traces a pattern on Snape’s skin with the tip of his wand, a slow, winding circular motion, and Severus clenches his teeth, waiting for it. In another instant, the pattern shows itself in the form of raised red welts, burning and bleeding. Snape is used to this kind of pain, but that doesn’t do anything to diminish it. It hurts like hell, but the worst is yet to come. Yes, this is only a handshake compared to later.

“You remain a death eater.”

Snape swallows but does not answer, so Kingsley drags the wand across Snape’s back, making a deep gash along his white skin, drawing more dark red blood. Still, Snape doesn’t reply. It won’t be that easy. He can take a great deal of pain and keep his mouth shut. His Death Eater affiliations have made him stronger than that.

“Answer me, Snape.”

Snape is silent as Kingsley traces another severe pattern across his skin, this one deeper, somehow, burning even more, but Snape shuts his eyes and takes it, wanting more, needing the pain.

The taller wizard comes around to face Snape, his bald head glinting in the candlelight.

“Open your eyes and look at me, you piece of shite!” He shouts and Snape slides his eyes open to look on the other wizard. The tip of Kingsley’s wand touches the place on Snape’s arm where the Dark Mark is, a black tattoo, the shape of a snake coming out of a skull, entwined.

“Is this what you’re about, Snape?”

Snape simply waits, and Kingsley traces his wand against the tattoo, making it sear the skin there, and Snape gasps, involuntarily. The shackles on his wrists seem to have gotten tighter as he pulls against them, his hair spilling over his shoulder, shielding his face as he lets his head drop forward a bit.

“I think I like that reaction, Snape. I like seeing you hurt.” He presses the wand again to the tattoo and it’s as if fire is burning through it, burning through Snape’s arm like hot lava.

Snape’s chest is rising and falling quicker now, eyes clenched shut, breath coming a little shorter as the pain sears through him.

“Dumbledore trusts you.” Kingsley says in a soft voice.

“Dumbledore is a fool!” Snape spits the phrase like venom, and Kingsley is smiling.

He nods his head slowly, removing his wand. “Many would agree. But no one insults the Headmaster in my presence. The few who have done are no longer with us.”

Snape is sneering, challenging the man before him, and daring him to pursue this matter. And Kingsley obliges, removing from his hip the long coiled leather whip. Snape watches it, eyes impassive, skin tingling already. As Kingsley uncoils it, he drags it around behind him, regarding Snape with a glint in his eyes.

“Do you like betrayal Snape?” Kingsley is walking around Snape, circling him, as if circling his prey. “Does it make you feel all superior? Enigmatic? Powerful?” He pauses directly behind Snape, to whisper against the delicate shell of his ear. “Does it make you feel closer…to him?”

Snape shuts his eyes again and the long, dragon hide whip comes down hard across his back, a force so strong, it knocks the wind out of the Potion’s Master. He gasps for breath, tuning out the pain of it. He can’t see the point of contact, but he is aware of the damage dragon’s hide can afflict, has seen the jagged strips of flesh lined on wizard bodies, the kind that doesn’t easily heal. The pain of that one whelp has made him momentarily dizzy. Still, he desires more.

His head hangs low now, hair limp, blocking out the light, shadowing his face. He is breathing harder, through his nose, lips closed over clenched teeth. Another blow befalls him and then another, and another… Kingsley’s deep voice is heavy and accusing, and Snape can sense his anger even while he applies no more pressure than the first blow. Snape is close to losing himself as the heat of pain on his skin has begun to grown numb. In contrast, the blood is making him cool, his own black blood, flowing slowly out and down, trickling as if almost in reverse.

Shacklebot comes around to face Snape, lifting his chin so that he may see Snape’s eyes. Snape allows his prying mind, allows his fellow Occlumens to see his thoughts. No point hiding it, now. He focuses on Kingsley’s chiseled black face, warmed from the glow of candlelight, brown eyes focused and intent, hand harsh as it firmly cups his jaw.

“You’ve killed recently.” Kingsley murmurs in a quietly livid voice. “Muggles.”

Snape doesn’t deny that which is true. Instead, he continues to glare into the other man.

“You took them, took their blood…” Again, Snape doesn’t protest. The muggles had been given to him as a gift, from Lucius Malfoy. They’d been plump little muggles, pink and smiling and unsuspecting. Snape had advanced upon them like a serpent, quiet and quick, cursing the others whilst they watched in horror, Snape sucking the blood of their Patriarch, replenishing himself as Lucius had looked on in ecstasy, pushing back his long white hair and touching his crotch through layers of green satin.

Currently, though, Snape resents it, resents his place on the food chain, resents his guilt, resents himself. And Kingsley is feeling empathetic as he rears back and slashes Snape across the chest, hard, drawing a labored gasp from Snape. It had been across his sternum, a dark gash across him, across his nipples, slicing the skin like butter. Snape hangs his head, weary, done. It’s not over, and he’s glad for this…still… it hurts like hell…his eyes have gone unfocused….

“Look at me, you vampiric abomination…greasy, slimy, piece of shite!” Kingsley’s voice is quivering as he shouts his anger at Snape. “I said look at me!”

It takes a great deal of determination, but Snape raises his head, jet-black hair limply swaying across his shoulders.

“Did you like it, Snape? Did you like taking the muggles?”

His shallow breathing prevents an immediate reply, but he finally chokes out the word. “Yes.”

Kingsley rears back and brings his large hand hard across Snape’s face, his knuckles making contact with Snape’s mouth, drawing more blood. Then again, another hit across his face, dislodging his jaw, slightly, or so Snape suspects.

“Will you kill again, Snape? Will you harm muggles?”

Snapes first instinct is to lie, but Kingsley can see through lies. Most lies.

“Yes.”

This time, Kingsley mutters a few magical words, and the whip is covered in tiny blunt spikes, like those on a dragon, and he brings the whip severely across Snape’s skin, several times until Snape’s body is covered in bloody gashes, chest heaving, eyes burning, body battered beyond recognition. The white torso is practically painted red now, a dark black red. The color of half-vampire blood.

Snape is desperate for it to end now, but he won’t dare ask, won’t dare plead as Kingsley turns and exits the room. He deserves what he gets, deserves this punishment. Kingsley may leave him hanging here for a day or so, may only leave him here for an hour. Only time will tell, and Snape’s arms are starting to burn and ache from being strung up so long, his own weight becoming unbearable, but magic isn’t allowed, not for Snape. He simply must deal with it.


When Kingsley returns several hours have passed, and Snape is hanging there awake, empty, still glaring. His bloody mouth is curled in a sneer, but it isn’t forceful enough. And his black eyes aren’t focused, simply glaring into space, hostile.

Kingsley seems to have had a drink or two in the downstairs pub. When he comes near, he smells faintly of fire whiskey, but Snape knows it takes more than a bottle of wizard liquor to incapacitate an auror like Kingsley. The thought makes him quiver with fear and arousal. The angry glint in those brown eyes seems to have remained. Snape’s blood has dried now, his injuries untreated and painful, caked and hanging open, war wounds.

“Will you betray Dumbledore?” Kingsley’s voice is almost conversational, but Snape trembles at the words.

“Release me.” He says with as much authority as he can muster. “Unchain me, now…”

“Crucio…” Kingsley drawls as Snape writhes in his chains, face screwed up in a wince as he struggles painfully, blinded by the light behind his eyes and by the pain assaulting his entire body before slumping, hanging limp in the chains.

“Just as I thought.” Kingsley says, sadly.

He goes to sit in a chair by the window, gazing out of it, a worried crease between his eyes as he lights a cigarette and smokes the entire thing while looking out into the dark night, up at the crescent moon. He inhales deeply, thoughts unhinged, impulses needing to be reigned in, hence the nicotine stick. This business with Snape is getting too close to home, these disciplining sessions, this mind game, this entire business. He hates it, to be honest, hates dealing with the Potion’s Master on this level, hates being the one to bring him back, all the time, guiding Snape back from the brink because Voldemort has far more power over the other wizard than he could ever know. Snape is always one step away from darkness, one foot in a Death Eater’s meeting, one foot in Hogwarts, balancing precariously over The Order, looming over it menacingly, never quite within reach, stretching himself too thin. How long will he hold up, Kingsley wonders as he snubs out the lit end with his thumb and goes to stand before the Potion’s Master.

“Reparo.” He utters the words softly, and Snape’s wounds are healed, only blood remaining, staining his sallow skin and around his parted mouth. Kingsley reaches up to push black hair away, looking into that sad face. Snape’s eyes are shut, long lashes covering black eyes. Kingsley knows it isn’t Snape’s fault, knows he could never have prevented the vampire attack so many years ago, when Snape was still in utero, thus making him a daywalker. He also knows Snape was needy and lonely and frightened and so very willing to accept Lucius Malfoy so long ago, a beautiful evil blonde angelic faced boy with a heart of stone and a fortune as ancient as time.

Kingsley waves his wand to cleanse Snape’s body, resting a hand against his slow beating heart, fully aware that you cannot kill that which was never really alive to begin with. Snape will always remain in limbo, half alive, half dead, until that final spell sparks down on him, ultimately killing and saving him in the same breath. It will either be a death delivered to him by Lord Voldemort or Albus Dumbledore.

“Release.” Kingsley says softly and the shackles unbind themselves from about his wrists as Snape sinks heavily into Kingsley’s waiting arms. He is still not quite aware of his surroundings and rather out of it, and Kingsley leads him to the bed. The scars have been erased, but the pain remains. It is the curse of the dragon whip.

Kingsley lays Snape’s body down and removes his boots, checking his face for signs of wakefulness. Snape’s eyes move beneath lids, and he stirs a bit, chest heaving slowly.

“Severus…” Kingsley inquires in his low voice, and Snape makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. His hair is spilled across the pillow, black silk fanned out around his head, face turned away. He is trembling slightly as he comes to, and Kingsley’s heart breaks for the Potions Master who is also his lover.

“What time…” Snape says in a parched voice.

“Shh…” Kingsley tells him, laying gentle hand on his chest. “…rest, now. You’ll need it later.”

Snape’s eyes open to regard Kingsley, black eyes sweeping over handsome features, tense and solemn. He brings a hand up to caress the bald head, lets potion stained fingers graze the smooth dark chocolate skin. Kingsley shudders and resists.

“Severus, don’t. Not now, we…”

Snape places a finger over the full lips, effectively silencing the auror, for now anyway…

Kingsley worries for Snape as he watches him unfasten his pants, wincing with every movement, his physical pain more and more evident with every passing moment. Kingsley can only gape as inch after inch of porcelain skin is revealed to him. Snape’s eyes are watering from the pan, but his face is indifferent, hands trembling but determined. When he is completely naked, he reaches forward, teeth clenched, to bring Kingsley to him, up over him. Kingsley doesn’t resist, can’t resist. He is careful not to rest his full weight on Snape as he lowers his head to kiss his mouth, tentative and fearful.

Snape’s mouth is cold but responsive, his eyes are open and watchful as Kingsley claims him time and time again, tongue snaking out to taste him as if testing poison. Snape’s tongue meets his, reassuring him.

Snape mutters a spell as they part and Kingsley is soon as naked as he, his long, muscled body hovering over Snape’s, giving off a certain welcome warmth, a passionate heat. Kingsley loves being with Snape in this way but he is skeptical. Is Snape ready for such exertion? After the physical and emotional strain of their session…?
Snape kisses Kingsley deeply, resting his hands on the firm globes of the other man’s ass, bringing him down to rest his pelvis against Snape’s. His erection is hard against his thigh, and Snape sucks that tongue, careful not to pierce him with teeth. Kingsley sighs and presses Snape into the bed, resting more weight on him, ignoring Snape’s gasp of pain.

Snape’s thighs fall open to let Kingsley rest between them, wincing a bit as coarse hair brushes his own erect member. Kingsley’s hard chest and abdomen are flat against Snape’s as they mesh and cling tight, Snape shifting a bit beneath Kingsley so that his hard length is sandwiched between them, and he inhales sharply.

“Do it.” Snape says in his silky voice. “Do the thing you know I need.”

Kingsley is biting his lip, gazing down at Snape, mouth barely an inch from the crooked bridge of his nose. He kisses the pale cheek, the wet eyes, the forehead as Snape cradles that bald head, and in an instant Kingsley is breaching Snape’s body, hard, dry, rough. Snape’s raspy cry reverberates around the room, an echo against stone walls.

Kingsley slides in deep, gripped by Snape’s tight walls, gripped by Snape’s beautiful endless black eyes, he moves slowly at first. His cock is sheathed deep in the Potion’s Master, so deep where the cold can’t reach, and it sends a spark of electric through him when Snape trembles beneath him.

“Repent, Severus…” Kingsley murmurs, driving in hard only to retreat hard and repeat. “…repent.”

Severus shuts his eyes, wincing and holding tight to strong broad Mahogany shoulders.

Kingsley starts to fuck frantically, slamming Severus into the bed, bruising him from the inside, and making Severus groan low in his throat. Then he stops and looks down at the Potion’s Master.

“I love…this.” He whispers, pushing black hair away from Snape’s face and kissing the tiny beads of perspiration. “I love ensuring your safety…” His cock throbs inside the other man. “…love keeping you in check…” Snape moans. “…love it, Snape. Roll over, I want to hold you.”

Snape hesitates for just an instant, but soon he and Kingsley are rearranging themselves on the bed, Snape on his side, Kingsley behind him, inside him. His hot breath is against Snape’s ear.

“You’re so good, Snape…fuck…” He is moving slowly, measured thrusts, belly to Snape’s back, one hand in Snape’s hair, the other resting on Snape’s hairless belly. “…dammit, you’re so warm…deep inside you, where the evil can’t get to. I know you’re not evil, Snape…Uhhgnnn…so fucking good…”

Kingsley’s full lips brush Snape’s shoulder as he fucks slowly, tenderly. Snape’s head is resting back, eyes stinging from tears he dare not let fall. Instead, he twists his face up in anger, daring himself to enjoy this, even as Kingsley’s hand clamps over Snape’s erection and starts to tug it brutally, Snape gasps, keeping tight reign on himself.

“Let go, Snape…” Kinglsey commands in a soft weary voice. “…let yourself go…let it all go…”

His thumb is circling the throbbing head of Snape’s prick, and Snape is dizzy with angst, dizzy with arousal, fearful, embarrassed, melancholy...

“Merlin…shite…” He hisses between clenched teeth as Kingsley thrusts hard and hits that sensitive gland deep inside his ass, time and time again…

Snape feels utterly connected in that instant, trapped not by invisible bonds or spells or dark wizards, but by something ultimately more powerful than that. A love so strong that it shatters his walls, at least for the moment…Kingsley’s arm holds Snape tight against him as he jerks him quickly to completion and Snape can feel his heart beating through him, all around him, background noise filling the negative space. His cock is so deep inside, it might pierce through, and then Snape is coming in Kingsley’s hand, shuddering and letting his head fall back onto the other man’s shoulder, black hair spilling over as hot tears of redemption spill down his cold face. Tears from within, where the evil can’t reach.

Soon after, Kingsley is filling Snape, holding him close and kissing his white skin as they tremble together, moaning together. Kingsley is whispering sweet affirmations against Snape’s skin while Snape’s body is wracked with silent sobs, and Kingsley is rocking him, giving him a deep intimacy like that of which he has never known. They stay that way for several hours, spooned together until Snape falls still again and Kingsley continues to hold onto him, both men gazing out at the rising sun.

Finally, Snape gently disentangles himself and starts to dress. His hair is a mess, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he buttons himself into his severe black robes with unsteady fingers. Kingsley watches him from the bed, eyes open and warm…and understanding. He has seen Snape’s many masks, and he has seen the wizard behind them all. He understands that Snape needs his façade.

Fully dressed in Potion’s Master attire, Snape turns his back to Kingsley, gaining strength before speaking. When he turns again, he fixes his glare on the other man.

“My sincerest apologies, Shacklebot.”

Kingsley smiles a little. “Oh? For what?”

“For…infringing on your time. Surely you, as an auror, have very little to spare, and I…”

“Forget about it, Snape.”

Snape’s face flushes a bit as he nods, slowly. “Fine. Very well, then I shall take my leave…”

“Severus?” Kinglsey speaks in a quiet voice as Snape pauses, regarding him. “Loyalty…what do you know of it?”

Snape fixes a sneer in place, black hair curtaining his face. “I know plenty. Suffice it to say…” His features soften just a fraction as Kingsley looks on. “…Suffice it to say, I learned most of it from you.”

And with that, he turns, black robes billowing behind as he exits, and Kinglsey continues to stare at the door, astounded at how very little he still knows about the man he calls his lover.

END