Late Night Snack

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling’s boys, not mine; but they are wicked fun to play with. Damn Alan Rickman and his sinister sexiness, it’s just not fair to do that to a man with a Smut-O-Scape imagination.

Feedback: Please! Bmortifyd@yahoo.com Please be kind, or at least constructive, it’s my first foray into the Potterverse.

Late Night Snack

By Mortifyd

He lay in the dark, his preferred element, irritated and unable to sleep as the minutes and hours slipped by unmarked. Normally Snape slept not unlike the dead; dreamless and immobile, as though his own mind wouldn’t dare distract him from what he wanted, but not tonight.

It’s all that stupid, puffed up bastards’ fault he thought with an explosive huff as he rolled over on his side. That dandified waste of skin and bone he couldn’t get out of his head. Gilderoy. Fucking. Lockhart. How he loathed the man. How he longed for him.

He pulled the duvet over head ead and cursed the weakness in himself as his prick stirred at the very thought of that miserable name. He would not give in, could not give in like a lovesick schoolboy with his first crush. I WILL NOT! he roared in his mind, even as his hands strayed across his nightshirt, long fingers caressing goose pimpled flesh under worn cotton flannel. It wasn’t the first time either, not even the first time today. He kept being caught unaware by his desires and it frightened him.

Severus Snape was not a man to be frightened by much of anything. “I was a Death Eater for Merlin’s sake!” he hissed at himself in the now stifling darkness of the covers. It wasn’t the darkness that discomforted him; it was the steady throb between his legs and the knowledge that that… that vapid, pathetic joke of a wizard was the source of the ache he felt. He was disgusted that his body would betray him so, when he prided himself on his control.

He threw the duvet off with one arm and murmured “Accio” into the inky blackness, comforted his will was at least focused enough to bring the smooth wood into his waiting hand. “Lumos!” he hissed, glad of the cold stone that met his feet; anything to distract him from the unbearable heat in his groin. He padded across his chamber, catching sight of himself in the dingy mirror and stopped.

His hair hung over one eye against the bridge of his considerable nose, tatty nightshirt hanging loosely about his slender frame except where it still tented in the front; sallow skin fairly glowed in the greenish light from the wand held gracefully in one hand. The lines in his face seemed even deeper than usual, his eyes narrowed in self-disgust.

He ran his free hand through the curtain of tangles that shrouded his face and hunted for his dressing gown and slippers. Perhaps he could distract himself by prowling the corridors to the kitchens, maybe even catch that odious little Potter boy in his invisibility cloak. That thought brought a twisted smile to cruel lips as he covered himself and headed into the hall, his erection mercifully fading into a dull, unsatisfied ache that relocated itself in his chest.

“Nox,” he hissed to his wand, it’s feeble light unneeded in the torchlight of the castle hallways. Another hissed charm and his chambers were sealed from all but perhaps Albus, whom he suddenly hoped to avoid in his wanderings. The old dingbat had great skill and an irritating way of appearing when his presence and wont to chat was least desired. It would be just like him to have a sudden sweet attack when Snape wanted to gorge in peace.

Severus pocketed his wand and made his way around the dungeomeanmeandering along the corridors that had long been a part of his life. As a boy he had wandered the same path when he couldn’t sleep; out of the Slytherin dormitories, slipping past Filch and that loathsome mangy Mrs. Norris to the comfort and servile company of the house elves in the kitchens. While they weren’t much for conversation, they knew their place and never judged; a small but welcome comfort to a boy who lived in misery.

His mind wandered as his body moved forward, lost in memories. Coldly remote Lucius and his moronic shadows, Crabbe and Goyle; they might be Slytherin, but they had ignored him unless they needed his knowledge and skills. Part of him noted that nothing had really changed, Draco was remarkably like his father in that respect, though he sadly lacked the daring of his progenitor. The golden Gryffendor marauders, bane of his younger years were now embodied in Potter and his little friends: Weasley, Granger and sniveling little Longbottom. He turned the corner and was about to tickle the pear in the not-so-still life that disguised the kitchens entrance when he heard his name ring out.

“Severus! Fancy running into you here.” He looked sharply toward the source of the disgustingly cheerful voice and found himself gawking at Gilderoy Lockhart, grinning vapidly at him and closing fast. “I was feeling a bit peckish, to be expected I’m sure after our lovely demonstration with the dueling club; I see you felt the same.” He swept to a stop and smiled all too heartily, flashing those dismally perfect teeth, oblivious to the sneer that he received in reply.

“Gilderoy,” he spat in greeting, heart hammering in his chest, non-existent colour draining from his face. He took in the quilted lilac dressing gown, the deep purple slippers, the perfectly coifed hair and the silky looking indigo pajama bottoms. Snape felt a sudden stab of sympathy for the Weasley children; he felt shabby. He quashed it and made a mental note to deduct some points from Ronald out of spite in their next lesson. That and to purchase some new nightclothes the next time he went into Hogsmeade.

“Now where is the little beggar?” Gilderoy mumbled, fumbling for the entrance to the kitchens; perfectly manicured nails teasing the whole tittering bowl of fruit except the pear. Blithering idiot Snape thought savagely. It didn’t make him feel any better to note that painted fruit fawned for the bastard; they somehow managed to look slightly plumper and riper at his incompetent touch.

“Get out of the way, I’ll open it,” he snapped, poking at the pear rather savagely. It eeped sulkily, but allowed them entrance all the same; rank hath its privileges.

“Well done, then!” Gilderoy gushed and swept past him through the door. A number of house elves trotted over as he followed him in; even they straightened their tea towels in an attempt to look fetching. Severus rolled his eyes and sighed. So much for a quiet late night snack. This was beginning to feel more like the last meal of a condemned man.

“What shall it be then, Severus? A bit of tea and some biscuits perhaps?” Gilderoy asked companionably as he settled at the nearest table in a swirl of silky rustles. Snape grimly stalked to a seat beside Lockhart, the better to avoid having to look at him. “Something more substantial then?” Gilderoy burbled into the sulky silence between them. “Sandwiches and a nice mug of pumpkin juice?” he asked, oblivious to Severus’ silence, winking and nodding at the eager elves that scurried to serve them.

“Sandwiches would be fine,” he hissed, glaring at a female elf who hovered between them and gazed up at the fop admiringly until she scuttled away, eyes wide with terror. He smiled thinly, but it was a hollow victory. The ache in his chest was threatening to return to where it had started, what seemed like eons ago.

The house elves trotted forth an array of goodies for them to pick at: sandwiches and pasties, pickles and olives, stubby sausages and scrambled eggs, bacon, cheeses, fruit, tea, pumpkin juice and hot chocolate, a riot of scents to the potion masters sensitive nose.

He snatched at the closest sandwich and a healthy sized jack of pumpkin juice, trying in vain to blot out the hint of lavender that seemed to ooze from Lockhart, oohing and ahhing at the array before them.

They ate in relative silence; Gilderoy occasionally bursting forth with commentary on the food, urging Severus to try this or that, trailing off as the glare that would cause others to incinerate finally registered with him.

“You don’t like me much, do you?” he asked suddenly over the remains of their grudgingly shared meal, causing Snape to choke rather violently on a mouthful of juice. He sputtered and coughed, then choked harder as he felt Gilderoy’s hand pounding his back in an effort to assist him. Snape’s hands fluttered like broken bird wings and the mug sloshed on the table, blood rushing to his face and other bits at that touch. He struggled to clear his windpipe and breathe again.

“No,” he gasped, shrugging off the touch he wanted, ashamed of his need; his dark eyes flashed. “I see you for what you are, Lockhart,” he hissed, gathering his tatty robe around him in an effort to collect his dignity. Dull crimson patches stained his cheeks, making him look even paler in the bright light of the kitchens. He sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to let forth a vitriolic barrage of insults when Lockhart spoke again, cutting him off.

“Do you now?” he purred, leaning in far too close for Snape’s comfort. Blue eyes suddenly seemed to drill into him, more focused than he had ever seen them, the perfect mouth sharper; almost a mirror of his own usual sneer. “Do you see how hungry I am? How lonely? How much I am like you?” he whispered silkily, one perfect hand reaching out to tuck a lock of black hair behind Snape’s ear.

The insults died unspoken on his lips. He didn’t know how to respond to that, or the fingers that trailed along his jaw and cupped his chin. Snape was unaware that he was again gaping like a fish out of water until Gilderoy’s lips pressed against his own.

The kiss burned him. Warm, mobile lips brushed against his, softly at first; then suckling at his lower lip, drawing a shuddering breath from him. When his lips parted Lockhart pressed forward, tongue demanding entrance, hand sliding around Snape’s neck; fingers slid into dark tangled hair, preventing the escape that hadn’t occurred to his frazzled brain.

Snape’s entire body stiffened against the assault, then became all but boneless as the kiss deepened. Cold sweat trickled down the small of his back, his normally sharp tongue dancing against Lockhart’s; his traitor hands clutched at the silky robes of his tormentor. He was weak, pathetic and in absolute heaven.

Lockhart took his time, thoroughly tasting and exploring the cavern that normally spewed forth sharp unkindness; now it produced delicious, throaty whimpers of need. Severus’ dark eyes burned beneath half closed lids, his heart pounded in his sallow breast, liquid fire pulsed in time through his veins.

Lockhart pulled away as suddenly as he’d begun, shiny lips twitching in a smirk as he examined the result of his efforts. Snape was a mess. Tangles of inky hair hung over his face, doing nothing to hide the burning eyes and the bloom of blood beneath sharpekboekbones. His nose almost quivered, whether in lust or indignant anger Lockhart really didn’t care; he watched Snape suck in air, lips full and wet despite his attempt to press them into nonexistence, a shaking hand wiping against them ineffectively.

Long white fingers clenched his dressing gown around him as Snape staggered to his feet, unable to disguise the rampant erection beneath his thin nightshirt. He suddenly didn’t trust his tongue, vile betrayer that it had shown itself to be; he simply stalked out of the room, punting an elf that didn’t move fast enough to suit him.

Gilderoy smiled to himself as rose from the table, not a hair out of place. He straightened his dressing gown, bid the house elves a fond goodnight and drifted from the room on silent feet, intent on catching up with his reluctant admirer.

“How dare he?” Snape muttered under his breath. He was humiliated, raging inside, his face contorted into a mask of bitter lust. “How DARE he do that to me?” He turned a corner on the way back to his rooms and stalked past Mrs. Norris; she cringed at the conflicted scents he left in his wake and skittered into a convenient niche behind a suit of armor with a hiss.

Snape reached his chamber door and drew his wand, moaning as his hand brushed lightly against annoyingly rock hard flesh. Sparks danced behind his eyelids as he steadied himself, he prepared to cancel the charm that sealed his sanctuary when he felt a hand close on his shoulder.

“That was a most impressive departure,” the voice purred in his ear, another hand slipping around his waist, “but we haven’t finished our little conversation, have we now, Severus?” The wand dropped from his hand, its clatter echoed off the stone walls, mocking him.

“Accio!” he whispered tightly, but the delicate shaft of wood simply twitched ineffectively near his foot; his will was far too unfocused on the incantation. A rustle of fabric and a warm hand trailing over his backside told him Lockhart had retrieved it, golden hair glinted in the corner of his vision as it was pressed into his hand.

Some part of his mind thought only to get through the door, back to his private darkness, it didn’t consider the warm body pressed against him, the hardness pressed against the cleft of his arse; he hissed the words and the lock snicked open. He found himself shoved sharply into his rooms, the close of the door somehow sinister, as was the voice that silkily whispered “Lumos!” behind him.

Snape staggered to the foot of his bed, clutching the post as he regained his balance and his wits. He turned to find Lockhart busily lighting the stingy ends of candles with the tip of his wand, humming a smug little tune.

“What…do you want?” Severus whispered raggedly, elated and horrified at being pursued by the object of his revolting desire. He would NOT panic, he was Severus Snape, head of Slytherin; he had betrayed Lord Voldemort and lived. No peacocked prowler would have the satisfaction of seeing him panic in his own rooms. He clutched the drapes of his bed to conceal the trembling of his hands.

“Why, you of course, Severus,” was the melodious reply. Lockhart had dropped his dressing gown and arranged himself fetchingly on the bed, patting the empty place beside him. His blue eyes raked over Snape’s figure shrewdly, not a trace of the blithering foppishness he usually projected. “You’ve done an admirable job at concealing your… interest,” he continued, gazing pointedly at Snape’s raging hard-on, “But you didn’t honestly think I wouldn’t notice that, did you?” Snape was preparing a scathing retort when Lockhart continued.

“So brooding, so… mysterious,” Gilderoy sighed, “just lovely. Come on now, on the bed,” he coaxed silkily. “I always get what I want, you know.” His eyes narrowed, somehow a fraction darker in the flickering light. “Always.”

Snape found himself gliding forward, his own robe dropping off his shoulders. He didn’t want to stop, pushing the voice that screamed in his head aside as he joined Lockhart on his bed. He buried his face in golden hair, nuzzling against the other man’s neck, breathing in lavender and something darker; a musky, masculine scent belied by the fey colors and silky rustlings of his clothing.

He grimaced, attempting to hold in thgh ogh of pleasure that slipped from his lips; Gilderoy’s hands were doing a passable imitation of an octopus, somehow caressing him everywhere at once. He found himself maneuvered onto his back, practically hyperventilating as the hem of his nightshirt flapped rather dramatically against his face. Silk light touches slithered up his legs, stroking the sparse black hair that dusted his thighs.

“Lovely, just lovely” Gilderoy murmured appreciatively, finding the prize he sought. He grasped Snape firmly, trailed slick, polished nails over his scrotum, chuckling throatily at the shivers that convulsed the panting body beside him.

A strangled gurgle was the only sound Snape could manage as Lockhart’s mouth closed around him. He propped himself weakly against his pillow, watching raptly as that golden head bobbed obscenely between his thighs. Slurps and moans echoed in the small chamber as his brains were turned to mush and extracted from him with remarkable skill. He had stumbled onto Lockhart’s true talent; cocksucker extraordinaire.

Lockhart felt Snape near the edge; bobbed once, then once more to be a tease and sat back up, a wicked light in his eyes. He stroked the length of Snape’s prick with firm fingers, sliding the foreskin back quickly, clever thumb tracing the underside of the head, palm over and Severus’ body jerked. A long groan was wrenched from his throat as he came in Lockhart’s hand.

“Delightful,” Gilderoy sighed happily, “Simply delightful,” favouring his newfound toy with a radiant smile. “On to the next order of business then, Severus,” he purred at the exhausted form beside him. Snape looked at him bleary and dazed through a curtain of hair, still trembling through the aftershocks.

“That means turn over, Severus, I’m not done with you yet.” Snape nodded blankly, clearly he wasn’t following their conversation. Lockhart ignored the hands that pushed weakly at him; he set about slicking his fingers with essence of Severus and applying them to Snape’s arse.

“No!” Snape gasped; enough synapses had fired for the words and sensations to sink in. He didn’t get fucked, not voluntarily at any rate. There were images that flitted in the darker corners of his mind that he would rather forget: Lucius’ brutal, cold hands; the laughter as he fought, the pain that blossomed within. The mark burned mockingly on his forearm as he struggled.

Gilderoy frowned, a perfect crease between arched brows as he realized Snape was working up a good panic. That simply wouldn’t do, he might end up transfigured into something loathsome or unattractive if the man managed to get a hand on his wand. He stopped and slipped up the bed, holding the potions master in his arms gently. He prided himself on being a good cuddler.

“What did they do to you, Snape?” he asked quietly. He didn’t really pay that much attention to what was said about others, he had his own public to worry about. There was something… distasteful in Snape’s past, obviously something that kept him from enjoying a good shag.

Snape had come back to himself once Lockhart’s hands stopped probing him; he debated simply throwing the man out and trying to sleep again, possibly hexing him with twenty four hour leprosy out of spite; but some small part of him resisted either temptation. It had been so long…

He sighed heavily, then hissed an abbreviated version, a very abbreviated version, of his initiation into the Death Eaters into the silence around them. Instead of recoiling in horror, Lockhart simply smoothed the hair back from his face again and cuddled closer.

“I had no idea. Dreadful, simply dreadful what they did to you.” He got that calculating look in his eye again and Snape suppressed a small shiver. “I can help you with that, you know,” he said quietly, “a little memory charm and it will all go away.”

“And I become a blithering idiot like you?” Snape snapped. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I’ve seen what your pathetic magical skills can do. Mr. Potter and his boneless arm springs sickeningly to mind,” he sneered, feeling more like himself than he had in several hours. Lockhart didn’t have the grace to flush, but Severus could see he had hit a nerve.

“For your information,” he said with a certain amount of huffiness, “I happen to be excellent at memory charms.” He sighed rather sadly. “It’s one of the few things I’m actually competent at other than sex.”

“Well,” Snape said grudgingly, colour seeping back into his face, “you do seem to display remarkable talent in that arena. Nevertheless, I will take my chances with remembering the things I have brought upon myself, including this particular stupidity.” He crossed his arms over his thin chest and looked down his long nose at Lockhart.

ouldould just…” he trailed off, horrified that he was offering anything else to this man after telling him something he hadn’t even shared with Albus. It had been a really long time, that or idiocy was contagious. Thankfully Lockhart seemed to feel he was being threatened rather than offered anything.

Now now, Severus, no need for that!” He actually looked slightly alarmed, which pleased Snape enormously. Maybe he has a few more brain cells than I thought… He smiled thinly, which seemed to make Lockhart even more agitated.

“As I was saying,” he hissed in his best silky voice, “I could just do the same for you as you did for me.” His face felt odd; he realized he was grinning. His grin got bigger as Gilderoy flushed and gaped at him, a dark stain leaking across the tented front of his pajama bottoms. This was more like Snape’s fantasies, conqueror rather than breathless conqueree.

“That would be lovely,” Lockhart burbled. “Oh yes, just lovely.” He practically wriggled against Severus in anticipation. “Wonder I didn’t I think of that, isn’t it?” he asked brightly.

“Oh yes, that’s a wonder all right,” Snape replied dryly and leaned over to kiss him; neither knowing or caring whether it was because he liked the mans kisses or to shut him up, or both. He supposed it really didn’t matter either way. Their lips met and Snape took his time, teasing and tasting his way into Lockhart’s mouth until he was breathless.

He pushed Gilderoy somewhat gently onto his back and undid the buttons of his shirt, delicate fingers teasing the flesh slowly revealed, followed by little nips and licks. When Lockhart began to babble he scowled him into semi-silence; moans and breathy little gasps he could tolerate, but not that.

He continued to feast; there was a surprisingly nice body under all the flashy clothes. Lockhart clutched and heaved as over dramatically as he did anything else, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction to be derived from holding this power over him, beautiful simpering idiot that he was.

By the time Snape got to his nipples Gilderoy was whimpering; when he ran his tongue down his torso he moaned. He stopped glaring and allowed Lockhart to gasp his name while thoroughly tonguing his navel. There was a certain breathy ring to it he secretly enjoyed, not that he would admit to it, even under Veritaserum.

Lockhart forgot how to breathe when Snape tugged loose the drawstring of his pajama pants; he nearly levitated to allow Snape to tug them from under his arse. Snape paused as Lockhart’s erection sprang free of its confinement, he wanted to memorize every detail of what he had done; Gilderoy Lockhart was laying mostly naked, panting and in total disarray in his bed. He was still debating whether or not to remove the pants completely when Lockhart began to beg.

“Severus, please, please hurry,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Please.” Blue eyes begged him from hunger sharpened features. Snape left off with the pants and smiled.

“Shut up, Lockhart,” he said succinctly, “or I’ll stop.” Gilderoy’s mouth opened and closed several times, but he didn’t make a sound. Satisfied and more than a little smug, Snape slowly leaned forward, hovering over Lockhart’s prick. He licked his lips slowly, then snaked his tongue out to swipe at the clear liquid that glistened there.

Lockhart’s entire body quaked, but the only sound in the room was laboured breathing. Snape continued his ministrations; long swipes of his tongue across the weeping slit, around the slick hood of flesh that hid the fullness of the head, down the thick shaft to the heavy, tight sac. He elbowed Lockhart’s quivering thighs apart and sucked one of his balls into his mouth, rolling it gently between tongue and palate, bringing a startled gasp from Gilderoy.

“Oh…” Lockhart moaned, “Oh Severus!” as Snape took the other in his mouth as well, tugged gently and cocked one eloquent eyebrow at him. Gilderoy closed his mouth with an audible snap and began to breathe rather heavily through his nose.

Snape released him gently and licked his way back to where he had started. He closed his fingers delicately around the base of Lockhart’s prick and took him into his mouth, savouring the strong taste of him.

Lockhart groaned, but dare make no other sound. He watched as Severus sucked him slowly, working his way down the shaft until that long nose was buried in wiry light brown hair. The mouth that sneered at him daily was now the most perfect place to be in the universe. That cutting tongue caressed him, stroked him and amazed him. He reached out tentatively and swept the wall of inky hair from Severus’ face, letting it dance between his fingers as he was consumed.

Snape’s clever fingers stroked golden haired thighs leaving gooseflesh in their wake; then cupped his balls and massaged in time to that insatiable mouth until he knew he couldn’t last. Gilderoy whimpered and opened his mouth to warn Snape he was about to explode but it was too late; he cried out sharply as he came. Severus swallowed. And swallowed. Lockhart apparently wasn’t getting any more than he was.

He sat up and licked his lips with just a hint of a smile, then laughed. It was a rich, throaty sound that rang off the stone walls, a sound of pure pleasure. Lockhart had enough sense to realize that he was probably one of a very small number of people who had ever heard that sound; he cherished it.

Snape lay back on the bed, consenting to a little cuddle in the afterglow; quiet kisses and glances, arms entwined. Finally Lockhart rose from the bed and redressed; it wouldn’t do for the students to see him slip out of Snape’s bedchamber. He stopped at the door and looked back at Severus stretched out on the bed.

“Goodnight, Severus,” he said quietly, fiddling with one sleeve of his robes.

“Goodnight, Gilderoy,” Snape replied. “Perhaps we’ll have another late night snack sometime,” he drawled with a grin.