Catharsis

If Snivellus cries, then I don't have to.

From the first day at Hogwarts, Snape was the weak one, the sobbing one, the child with greasy hair matted to his shining face. He was also the most vicious little cunt that Sirius had ever met. He pronounced the virtues of being a pureblood as if he were one, as if they didn't all know why his father never came to Diagon, as if Eileen Prince hadn't demeaned herself to shag a Muggle.

Oh, they knew, they all knew. All four of them.

Sirius yanked him up by his hair, glaring into Snape's dry eyes. He wasn't crying yet. It wasn't good enough. Snape spat into his face, "You're weak, Black. You'll always be weak in a fair fight."

Spinning him around, the black, grimy tendrils twisted around Sirius's hand. Just the two of them in the Prefect's bathroom, Sirius couldn't have come in uninvited. He wiped the spit from his face and sunk his hand into the water to clear it. He shoved Snape's head down, bending him over the side of the tub. "I'm not the one eating tile, mate."

He slapped Snape's arse to add insult and roughly jammed his fingers into him. Come on, cry. I know this has to hurt.

Snape laughed at him. "Is this the best you can do, Black? What next, your tiny prick?"

Sirius pushed his face harder into the tile, watching his fingers probing between the wet cheeks. The searing warmth of Snape's insides sucked dryly at him. The muscles worked against him, but Sirius didn't care. Snivellus had to cry, he had to. After a summer of living with his best mate, after being abandoned by his parents for the crime of being himself, of not believing every lie he was told, for being brave-- he was tossed away, burned off, thrown out.

He would not cry.

If Snivellus cries, then I don't have to.

And he was fucking him, slamming him against the side of the giant tub, bruising the fronts of his thighs. He rubbed Snape's cheek raw against the stone. He shuddered and gasped, watching Snape's hands scrabbling at his abdomen, trying to push him back, push him away, stop him from his driving frenzy. "Cry, you useless worm. That's all you're good for, all you'll ever be worth."

Snape's shoulders started to sag and then they hitched. Jolting in short spasms, Sirius felt the wracking sobs through Snape's scabby frail body. He shuddered, pulling back to come in a swirl in the water, cursing Snape's name as he let go of his head and let him squirm away.

When Snape turned around, his pale face was livid with smeared blood from his nose and lips and a mess of hot pink scratches on his cheeks. In spite of this, his lips were parted and his teeth were bared, not in fear, not even in anger, but in the sick mirth of mocking laughter.

Sirius lunged at him, but Snape deftly slipped away. Years of practice running from a homicidal father had made him quick. He splashed water in Sirius's face. "You're so pathetic, Black. Did you know? Pathetic."

"Then stop inviting me here." He splashed water back at Snape, but by now he was tired and frustrated and spent. Disgusted with himself for coming here yet again, and disgusted with Snape for asking him to, he walked up the steps and pulled a towel around his body bronzed by the sun of a summer spent in a faux idyllic boy-dream. It wasn't James's fault, Sirius just wasn't a boy. He wasn't sure he remembered when he'd been allowed to be.

"You could stop coming." Snape looked so small, so shriveled in the bath alone, beady black eyes wide with the fear that Sirius really wouldn't come back, that he'd be left alone without even the abuse he'd become accustomed to needing.

"Maybe I will. I have James now. And Remus." Remus, the sticking point for Snape on so many levels. Snape didn't understand where the scratches and bruises came from. Sirius was just Slytherin enough to use it to his advantage.

If Snivellus cries, then I don't have to.

And there... there it was. Snivellus covered his face with his long, awkward hands. His shoulders shook and it was plainly not laughter this time. Sirius felt vindicated and pitiful at the same time. The odd conglomeration of emotions twisted his stomach. He hated Snivellus, but he hated himself more for doing this again and again.

He kicked Snape's clothing into the water, glaring down at him as he pulled his own clothes on. Not saying a word, he left the bath, shivering at the echoes of Snape's weeping.