Bored

Author’s notes: The first 200 words were part of the Snape Answers the Door challenge. Feel free to skip over there and read about his other visitors and the wonderfully snarky and even poignant responses other authors wrote for the beleaguered Potions master. The remainder of this story can be classified as plot bunny run amok.

Bored


In the dim light of late evening, Severus Snape sat slumped and scowling into nothingness from his threadbare chair in his sitting room. His long legs were sprawled inelegantly in front of him. The glass of Firewhisky in his hand had not moved in quite a long while. A sharp, metallic rapping on his door startled him, deepening his scowl. Carefully setting the tumbler on his table, Snape rose and grudgingly went to the door. Again, the sharp metallic rapping echoed through his small house, somehow sounding more demanding this second time. He stopped, crossed his arms and scowled at the door, refusing to answer the summons. A third time, more harshly, the metallic rapping disturbed his hard-sought peace. The sound seemed vaguely familiar. His quick mind grasped on the fleeting thought of what exactly would cause the sound of metal on his door – a snake’s head cane, perhaps.

Slowly, he moved to the door, resting one long-fingered hand on the knob while peering through the side window. At the confirmation of his hypothesis, Snape’s scowl metamorphosed into a leering sneer.

Opening the door, he growled, “Hello, Lucius. Bored at home already?”

“Bored?” Lucius repeated with only a hint of a sneer.

“Or need to be bored?” Snape rumbled, crossing his arms and leaning against the jamb, blocking Lucius’ entrance to his abode.

“It has been far too …” Lucius paused, drawing a deep breath, and allowed his eyes to lower to Snape’s crotch, “ … long.”

“No one in Azkaban to help you, then?” Snape again grumbled, daring Lucius to answer in the affirmative.

“No one else, anywhere, ever,” the blond answered vehemently, his eyes still focused on his prize.

“No one?” asked Snape in utter disbelief.

“No one,” affirmed the pure-blood, his head still bowed respectfully.

“Enter at your own risk,” Snape offered, spinning in place and leaving his front door wide open for the aristocrat to follow or leave.

Allowing himself a small grin in triumph, Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater, pure-blood, father, husband, recent escapee of Azkaban, crossed another threshold, pulling the door closed on the vestiges of his public life.

Inside, Snape was nowhere to be seen. With the ease of never-forgotten habit, Lucius laid his cane and wand on the small table in the entryway. He glanced at his reflection in the smoky surface of the old, once-gilt edged mirror and smiled ruefully. His face was still on the thin side, his hair not quite as vibrant, but he was still Lucius Malfoy, and handsome enough to gain this invitation inside Snape’s house. Malfoy slowly removed his gloves, laying them over top of his cane. His heavy, unnecessary cloak went next, with him reaching to hang it on the convenient, if dusty, hook on the wall near the mirror. No sounds emanated from anywhere within the house. He smiled and left the entryway to ascend the stairs to Snape’s bedchamber with practiced silent steps.

Inside the sparsely furnished chamber, he suppressed an involuntary shiver of anticipation before he began to disrobe, carefully, folding each item of his clothing as he had been taught so long ago, arranging them artfully on the one straight-backed wooden chair next to Snape’s wardrobe: shoes on the floor underneath, toes pointing out; socks tucked inside; then expensive slacks folded exactly along the crease, and spread over the seat; boxers folded and laying on top of trousers; silk shirt draped over the back of the chair to avoid wrinkles. He knew not to use the wardrobe. He smiled, oddly grateful that the chair was still there. Snape didn’t have to leave it there. Surely no one else used it. Hopefully, no one else used it. Quickly, he banished his fears and insecurities from his mind. He moved to the braided rug at the foot of the bed, faced the door, then sank to his knees, clasping his hands behind his back and bowing his head. Groaning softly at the ache in his knees, he took a deep breath and focused only on the movement of his ribs with the flow of oxygen in, and carbon dioxide out, of his lungs. Although it had been years, his body and mind responded to the stimuli, and peaceful acceptance washed over him. The pains of his aging, abused bones skittered to the edge of his consciousness and he closed his eyes, content to wait as long as the Potions master desired.

Below, in the kitchen, Snape rinsed his tumbler before setting it on the side of the sink. He smiled as he listened to the old floorboards protest under the shifting weight of his guest. Idly, he leaned against the countertop, pondering just how long he could leave Lucius there, kneeling on the uncomfortable rug, before he became bored. A greasy smile overcame his drawn features. A hot bath should be nice, he thought evilly as he strode from the kitchen to climb the stairs in order to relieve his own boredom, and perhaps some stress as well. He peered through the open door to his bedchamber and suppressed his pleased smile. Lucius displayed himself, perfectly framed by the door, naked, with his soft-looking hair falling over his shoulders; hands behind his back, knees widespread, head bowed, and cock throbbing.

Snape’s own cock twitched appreciatively at the blond’s artistry. He glided into the room, his footfalls vibrating the wooden floor, making Lucius’ cock bob ever so slightly in a matching rhythm. He opened the wardrobe door, which creaked on protesting hinges, and retrieved his bathrobe from its customary hook.

As he walked past Lucius once more, Snape paused behind him to appreciate the expansive skin of his muscled back, the strain of his taut biceps and triceps, and the barrenness of his neck, left unprotected by his silvery-blond tresses. Snape, with a soft sigh of appreciation that encouraged Lucius to hold firm, lifted those blond strands and let them spill over his calloused fingers and stream down Lucius’ back.

Like a horse shivering off a fly, Lucius’ back muscles quivered at the contact. He drew an exceptionally deep breath to calm himself, reining in his raging reactions.

Snape walked away with a smirk, exiting the room, and proceeding down the hall and began to draw himself a hot bath.

Lucius refocused his energies on his breathing, stifling his rising needs. Ever so slowly, a tiny drop of pre-come emerged from the slit of his cock. Fascinated, he watched as it oozed into a larger drop, and gravity took control as it rolled off his head and dripped to fall and disappear into the cloth of the rug. He closed his eyes and let his hearing wander to the soft sounds of water running in the room not so far down the hall.

In his mind’s eye, he imagined the thin, whippet-like body of the Potions master as he stripped his daily wear and let it fall to the cold tiles of the floor. He could feel the steam rising from the bath; smell the musk of Snape’s soap. He saw the corded muscles of Snape’s calves as he stepped over the porcelain edge and then sank with a blissful sigh into the soothing relief the heat of the water afforded him. Lost in his own imaginings, the passage of time escaped Lucius. He was suspended in his own fantasy, lost to the reality of his situation.

Finally, he heard the door down the hall open with a squeak on barely-used hinges. He felt, more than heard, Snape’s footsteps. He struggled to re-focus his thoughts inward, away from what he hoped Snape would bring with him.

Again, Snape ignored the kneeling pure-blood to walk directly to his wardrobe. Lucius quashed his desired to tilt his head and peek at the Potions master as he disrobed. His knees rejoiced as he heard the whisper of silk against skin, knowing that Snape had slipped into his loungers.

Lucius refused to move, to even allow his muscles to quiver, when Snape stood behind him and placed both hands on Lucius’ upper arms. With a slight upward pressure of his still bath-warmed hands, Snape demanded that Lucius rise. His strength steadied the vacillating blond, whose muscles rebelled at the sudden movement.

“Steady on, old man,” the brunet whispered into Lucius’ hair.

Unseen by Snape, Lucius grimaced as full blood flow returned to his lower extremities, sending excruciating pins and needles all along his legs.

“Face down on the bed,” commanded Snape, kindly not removing the support of his own hands as Malfoy instantly moved to obey.

Ungracefully, Lucius climbed over the footboard, and arranged himself face down, hands still clasped behind his back, legs spread wide.

“Well done, old man,” Snape praised him softly. Azkaban has not erased much of the old Malfoy, I see. “You are prepared?” asked Snape idly as his long fingers skimmed the surface of Lucius' leg then slipped between his buttocks for an exploratory probe. “Well done, again.”

Having yet to speak or move, Lucius glowed in satisfaction from the praise that fell from Snape’s lips. Of course, I prepared. I would never forget, he thought to himself, patiently accepting the Potions master’s pacing and control.

Ever so slowly, allowing Lucius’ tension to build, Snape slipped one long, thin finger past his resistance, pressing downward in search of his prostate, and finding the mass with a too long-unused skill.

“Speak,” Snape commanded.

“Yes!” Malfoy whispered throatily.

“Yes, what?” Snape chided with a quick, ringing slap against Lucius’ ass.

“Yes, sir!” he chirped, clenching in delight around the too thin, not long enough digit in his hole.

“How long has it been now?” Snape queried studiously, amazed at the responsiveness of the prone man under and on his hand.

“Since before the Ministry of Magic debacle, sir,” Lucius replied with regret.

“A long time, then.”

“Too long, sir,” Lucius agreed.

“Too long?” Snape demanded to know as he tilted Lucius’ chin to the side, making sure he waggled the fingers of his free hand in front of the blond’s nose.

“No, sir, never. Not long enough,” the pure-blood answered in a longing whisper.

“And, once more, no one has been here?” Snape emphasized his question with a twist of his wrist and pressure against Lucius’ backside.

“No, no one.” Lucius moaned openly under Snape’s ministrations.

“Not even your lovely wife,” snapped Snape, his thrusting fingers evidencing his displeasure.

“No,” Lucius pleaded with his answer, his fingers tensing against the counterbalance of his very own skin.

“She didn’t even offer relief with one of your toys?”

“No.”

“Did you relieve yourself with one of your toys?”

“No.”

“You have denied yourself even that?” Snape’s disbelief rained down on Lucius.

“I only wanted you.”

Snape turned his head so that Lucius would not even see the ghost of a smile that graced his face. He slipped his fingers free, using the copious lubricant Lucius had prepared himself with to coat his own erection. He climbed onto the bed, guiding Lucius to raise his backside, ordering him to hold himself open. Lucius obeyed speedily, balancing on his knees, shoulders and turned-to-the -side face.

“Then have me,” spoke Snape as his only warning before plunging into the forced-open depths of the man offering himself up as an instrument of pleasure while harmonious decadent groans of satisfaction filled the air.

"So long ..." Snape whispered, not loud enough for Lucius to hear.