Dolo Delectare

by Fabula Rasa

"Next."

His companion plunked the tiny linen bag on the worktable. He reached his fingers in and measured out the barest pinch; he scattered it over the top of the potion that had only just begun to send lazy, wet bubbles to the surface.

"Next."

The first man carefully pushed the pile of shredded lizard skins towards him. Without looking, he took another pinch and scattered it as before. Neither removed their eyes from the potion, not daring to breathe.

"If you've fucked this up, Snape, I'll eat your liver on a plate."

"Shut up, Black," Snape murmured absently, his eyes on the cauldron. For another minute nothing happened; then the surface of the potion began to spark gently. Or more accurately, it began to spark just below the surface, turning the shimmering meniscus of the potion into an Aurora Borealis of opalescent fire.

"Beautiful," Sirius said softly. Snape said nothing, but exhaled and closed his eyes briefly.

"Is it my part now?"

"No. Give it another two minutes. The volatility must subside first, or the reaction will be uncontrollable. I don't care to have a week's labour pissed on by your incompetence, Black."

Sirius snorted. "It's not my piss you need."

Snape compressed his lips. "I am not the one who has need of anything, so you can stop acting like you are doing me a favour here."

"Don't worry, Snape. I'm not in danger of forgetting why I'm here. You don't think anything short of life or death would lure me down to your disgusting lair?"

Snape frowned, not at the largely perfunctory insult, but at the surface of the pearly liquid. "Get ready," he said.

Sirius reached into his trouser pocket and extracted a small silver stylus. He flicked it, and a wicked little blade snicked into view. He handed it to Snape and began unbuttoning his sleeve, rolling it up.

"Hurry," Snape hissed.

Sirius stuck his hand out for the knife; Snape hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want me to do it?"

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure. Hand it over."

With a deft, sure stroke he sliced his forearm. Bright red drops spattered the worktable.

"Ah," he winced. "Smarts."

"Stop bleeding on my counter. Here." He shoved a glass dish at him. "Bleed into this. Quickly."

"I'm not in control of the rate at which I bleed, you git."

"I would be happy to help accelerate the process."

The blood splatted in the dish. When he was satisfied, Snape yanked it away and tossed a cloth at him.

"A healing charm would be helpful here, you know," Sirius said through gritted teeth.

"Stop whinging. It's your own fault if you don't know any."

With a careful hand he shook five large drops of the blood into the mixture. A low hiss, and an acrid smoke began to roll over the sides of the cauldron.

"That's it, then," Sirius said quietly.

Snape nodded. "Now to test it."

"Test it? You're kidding, right?"

"What you know about potions, Black, could be sketched on an index card. Do you honestly think I would hand even Potter a potion without testing it first? The Defensor Potion can go horribly wrong in any number of places, or did it escape you what a delicate procedure this has been from first to last?"

"I meant, you condescending prick, how can you test a potion that is designed to work only for a specific individual?"

"Oh." Snape sighed. "As to that, I only meant that it needs to be tested for adverse effects. If, as I do not doubt, I have brewed it correctly, it will have absolutely no effect on me. It will neither shield me from attack nor strengthen my magical powers; on the other hand, neither will it cause my skin to suppurate and peel off in rotting sheets."

"Proof that even failure has its up side."

Snape snorted and ladled a bit of the viscous stuff into a glass, swirling it around to let it breathe, squinting at it. "I might have forgot to mention," he murmured, "that if this is successful you will likely experience a temporary weakening of your magical powers. Using the blood of the protector as a substrate naturally has that effect."

"Yeah, I'm sure you forgot."

With a slight smile Snape downed the potion. Sirius cocked his head and watched hopefully for signs of imminent suppuration.

"Well," he said at last. "Looks like we did it, Sna-"

Snape clutched the counter, his face intent.

"Snape?"

Snape did not answer. His face paled.

"What is it?"

"You cretin," he growled. "You bloody fucking imbecile. What. Did. You. Do?"

"I-I don't know. What do you mean, what did I do?"

But Snape was not listening. His knuckles on the counter whitened; he swayed and began to tremble.

"Snape? Come on, sit down. I'm sure it's-I'm sure you're fine. Shall I-do you want me to get Albus, or-"

"Shut up," Snape gasped. "Just shut up and let me think. I can't-ah God, I can't think-" He clutched his head. "No, no, it shouldn't have that effect, the salamander skin was fresh, I don't see-"

It was Sirius's turn to pale. "Salamander? I could have sworn you said- you mean Nile Monitor, right?"

One of Snape's knees buckled and he made another grab for the worktable. "You-you-" Words seemed to have failed him, and he sputtered helplessly. "You unbelievable-how even you could have been so stupid-"

"Er. Is the frothing at the mouth part of the side effects, do you think? Or is that normal for you in this state?"

"Kill you. I'm going to-kill you-" Snape staggered in Sirius's direction, but stopped and sank to his knees.

"Snape. What is it? Should I get Pomfrey? Try to get you to the infirmary?"

Snape shook his head and took a deep breath. He stood, obviously trying to control his breathing, which was beginning to quicken. A trickle of sweat threaded its way down the side of his nose, looking, Sirius thought, like snowmelt on the Matterhorn.

"Is it possible," Snape whispered, teeth tightly clenched, "that even you are ignorant of the combined effect of monitor skin, bloodwort, and niphredil?"

Sirius frowned slightly. "I don't-" And then his face stilled. "Oh. Oh, fuck."

Snape gave a grim laugh at that.

Sirius swallowed. "All right, Snape, tell me what to do."

Snape wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "This is just the-preliminary reaction. I should have-another two or three minutes-" He glanced feverishly around, at the wall, the shelves, his stores.

"There," he said, pointing at a cauldron on the bottom shelf. "Cast iron. Should be strong enough. Transfigure it."

"Transfigure it into what?"

"What do you think?" He gestured weakly at the wall. "This is- was- a dungeon. What did you think those bloody rings on the wall were for?"

Sirius felt a sly remark about Snape's twisted proclivities rise to his lips, and squelched it. Considering the circumstances, it might be as much as his life was worth. With a tap of his wand, the cauldron flawlessly transfigured itself into heavy shackles.

"Snape. Are you sure this is absolutely necessary? I mean-"

"Black." Snape raised his head, and one look at the pale wild face convinced him. "In five minutes," he croaked, "there's not a ward in this castle that will hold me if I can get my fingers on a wand. For the love of Merlin, Black-there are children in this castle. . ." he dropped his head and began to shake.

Sirius nodded, his chest tightening. Quickly he snapped the shackles on Snape's wrists. "Where. . ."

"By the fireplace. There's an old ring. Should hold." He managed to stand, and lurched toward the fireplace. He collapsed against the wall, his limbs shaking, his face now sheened with sweat, and slid to the floor. "Now. Hurry, Black."

Sirius snapped the other end of the shackles to the low ring on the wall and tugged on it. Snape was right, it would hold. He tried not to think about what was going to happen-what was likely already happening. He glanced down at Snape, whose eyes were closed, his panic stilled now that the shackles were in place, apparently.

"Take my wand, you idiot," he whispered.

"Oh. Right."

He tucked the wand into a bookshelf against the opposite wall and ran his finger across the spines, considering. Here. Any fairly advanced text would have something on Snape's particular problem, no doubt. He pulled a heavy tome off the shelf and thunked it on the table, scanning quickly. For long minutes he read in silence, flipping pages, frowning. From behind him all was quiet, but his sharp hearing picked up Snape's accelerated breathing and occasional gasp.

"Black." Snape's voice was hoarse and low. "Get out of here."

He shut the book with a thud and latched it. "That's not a very good idea, and you know it."

"I said get out!" Snape's customary shout was a cracked rasp. "Get out, you-"

"Oh, shut up, Snape. I'm not doing this for you. Leaving you unguarded right now would be a monumentally stupid idea. Unless you'd rather I fetch Pomfrey."

Snape quieted, hanging his head. Sirius pulled another book out and began to study it. He looked up only when he heard the rattle of the chains.

"Let me out."

"Yeah, right."

"Let me out, goddamnit!"

Sirius shut his book and turned to Snape. "You have to know that is never going to happen."

Snape seized his chains and began to rattle them in earnest. "Unshackle me. Please. I won't-Please. Just-ah." He shut his eyes and arched his back, grimacing as if in pain, straining at his chains. So this is what it looks like, Sirius thought. Snape in sexual agony. He found that, to his surprise, he had not the slightest desire to laugh.

"Look," he said, his throat gone dry. "Look. Wouldn't it be. . . easier if I just warded the doors and. . . left you to take care of things?"

Snape's gaze was unfocused, his lips parted, his breath short.

"Snape? Can you hear me, Snape?"

Snape's eyes snapped back. "Yes, I can hear you. Now let me out!"

Right, Sirius thought. Not exactly thinking objectively. For a wild moment he wondered what Snape would do if he actually unchained him. From what he had just read, Snape would be completely out of control. He would probably gut him first, then head down the corridor in search of someone, anyone, to. . . God. It didn't bear thinking about. Middle of term, seven o'clock in the evening - students would be milling about everywhere. Snape would. . . Merlin. What did his tastes run to? He had suspected he knew, once upon a time. Would it even matter at this point, or would the nearest available body to use, abuse, and discard do the job?

Snape was moaning softly now, his head swinging back and forth, his hair hanging over his face. His hands tugged at the chains, his feet scuffed the floor. No, Sirius had no desire to laugh. Hide, avert his eyes, stuff cotton in his ears, yes. It was horrible to see, to listen to. And Snape had hours of this to endure before it was likely to wear off. Perhaps all night. Would he have a heart attack? Pass out?

If the doors were carefully warded, he ought to be able to unshackle him. With his hands free, at least Snape could. . . well, it wouldn't be this kind of agony, at least, though it wouldn't do anything to shorten the experience. But would any wards hold Snape, who was probably in full possession of his mental faculties and possessed of enormous strength under the influence of adrenaline? He could take Snape's wand, but he would need to hang onto his own, and he couldn't guarantee that anything short of a full body-bind would stop Snape from getting at it. And then he'd be right back where he was, unable to. . . take care of things.

All right, Sirius mused. Lengthen the chains, then, so he can. . . so he can reach. He shut his eyes. Unbelievable, he thought. I am standing here thinking about how to help Snivellus masturbate. No, he corrected himself. I am standing here thinking about how to get out of here and pretend this isn't my responsibility. "Shit," he muttered. Any part of a monitor's body was a dangerous, unstable ingredient to begin with, but its skin especially. . . and in combination with bloodwort and niphredil, two substances that together already made a fairly powerful aphrodisiac. . . well. Snape must be in agony.

He found he was crouching down in front of Snape, searching for his eyes.

"Snape, can you hear me?"

A low groan. "Why do you persist in thinking my hearing has been somehow affected?"

"Snape, let me help you."

The white hands tightened on the chains again. "Go away, Black."

"No. Snape, from what I was reading. . . you could be in real danger here. There's no safe way I can think of to release you. You have to let me help you."

"Go. Away."

Sirius examined him. Not much more than half an hour into it, and Snape was a wreck. He gave up his struggle not to let his eyes drop to Snape's crotch, and swallowed. Yes, that was it. That was the thing to do.

"Listen, Snape," he spoke around the dryness of his throat. "At least I can make you more comfortable. Let me unbutton you-" God let the floor open and swallow me let me die now let the earth crash into the sun-"and at least you won't be in quite as much. . . pain."

"No-no you can't, I won't-no, stay away, get away from me-"

He was like a wild animal, crazed by pain and fear. Sirius made little soothing noises, the same sort he had made to Buckbeak, and gently undid the top button of Snape's trouser placket. It wasn't that difficult to get to- Snape's robes were gaping open, and his clothes were already disheveled from thrashing about on the flags.

One button, two buttons, three. Oh God. Underneath his hand was what felt like a length of iron pipe, and the heat radiating off him, it, whatever, was incredible. How could Snape stand it? He reached hesitantly for the fourth button, trying to ignore Snape's moans, trying not to know that Snape was pushing involuntarily into his hand, that the heel of his hand was going to have to-where, God where was the fifth button, how could he-

"Please. . ." Snape arched up, trembling all over, unable to stop himself from pushing into Sirius's hand. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. "Please, please. . ."

"Hang on," he whispered. "Hang on." And then he knew that the looking-glass had opened up and swallowed him, because despite himself he was pushing back, giving Snape the friction he craved, letting his hand curve to the molten iron that burned him even through the layers of cloth.

"Ah, ah, ahh. . . please. . ." Snape's swollen lips could only mouth the words.

"Shh, it's all right. Let me just. . . let me." And without warning his own cock began to twitch in sympathy, and he felt the blood pool, and knew he was getting hard from touching Snape, from watching him, from knowing Snape was about to come in his hand and all over him and probably yell himself hoarse doing it, and he parted his lips to get a little more air.

He pushed the layers of linen and cloth aside and freed Snape's cock, and watched Snape throw his head back and moan his pleasure at the freedom, the end of constriction, and wondered if Snape might come from that alone. And before he could think or re-enter his body he knew what he wanted, and bent his mouth ungracefully to Snape's groin, and sucked.

"Aaahhh!" Snape's whole body lifted off the floor as he thrust into Sirius's mouth. No time for rhythm, no time for lick and lave and swirl, just the hot pent flood of Snape's come washing into his mouth as the man himself arched off the floor and jerked hard, once, twice, three times, four, into the waiting mouth, so much he could not hope to swallow it all, swallow any of it, really, and it dribbled inelegantly down his chin, his chest and onto the flags, and he thought his own cock might die of it, and the sudden need to coat Snape's body in his own come.

He was freeing himself before he even knew he was doing it.

"Snape? Snape, are you all right?"

Snape scrabbled as far away as the chains and his own unsteady limbs would allow him, not lifting his head from the curtain of hair that shadowed his face, and he was shaking, shaking uncontrollably, with a wrenching, rocking motion, and Sirius thought, no. No, please, please let him not be crying from the shame of it. Anything but that.

"Severus. Severus, come on, it's all right. . ."

And then Snape raised his head, and Sirius saw the laugh twisting his lips, the maniacal grin on his face.

"You bastard! You had me worried, you-"

He had paid no attention to how close he was getting, or to the lightning strength in Snape's hands. Before he knew it Snape had seized him by the forearms and was pressing into him, dragging his ohGodstillhard prick against his thigh, his groin, his own naked cock, pulling Sirius up to gust warm breath in his ear. "Think you can keep that thing hard long enough to fuck me, Black?"

Sirius groaned, Snape's laugh mocking him as he frantically pushed his own clothes off, then started on Snape's. The great purple-headed cock was pulsing, erection diminished not a whit, sticky with spit and come and pre-come, and Sirius had a sudden urge to lower himself onto it and ride Snape until morning, until his bones came unstrung and he bled come.

"No. Like this." And he straddled Snape, letting that gorgeous cock scrape his cleft, chafing it, relishing the sudden lack of iris in Snape's eyes. Hastily he smeared his fingers with some of the come on his chest and inched his fingers towards his own entrance. He closed his eyes and hissed as he breached himself, and he heard Snape's intake of breath.

"Hurry, please, please God hurry," Snape was moaning.

"Fuck," breathed Sirius, as he went from two fingers to three. He swayed forward and steadied himself with a hand on Snape's chest. Patience at an end, he hurriedly raised himself up and positioned Snape's cock at his entrance. Snape bucked up.

"Don't you fucking dare. My pace, Snape." And he lowered himself inch by careful inch onto the sticky-slick shaft, feeling his insides shift and accommodate, his oh oh right there God.

Snape was wrapping his hands around the chains to give himself traction, hauling himself slightly up, then down, thrusting up and forward, and Sirius held him off as long as he could, but Snape was too strong, his own hunger too great, and he relaxed and slid all the way down until his balls rested on Snape's belly, until oh oh oh.

"Fuck," was all he could think to say, again, and Snape was beyond a rejoinder, beyond anything but thrusting up, his jaw clenched, every breath a grunt.

"Let-me-go," he managed. "Please," he added, and of a sudden it seemed to Sirius a totally unanswerable argument, and a wonderful idea, and he leaned back and fumbled for his wand in the offal of clothing as Snape's cock spitted and wrung him.

"Libero," he gasped, and the chains fell away, and before he heard the clank of metal on flag the wind was knocked out of him, because Snape had slammed him onto his back and was driving into him, never having left his body, and if he had thought the look in Snape's eyes wild before, there was a part of him that had the good sense to be well and truly frightened now. Shit, the doors, he thought. I should have warded the doors. No point now-his wand was rolling about somewhere, and if Snape wanted it, he had only to grab it. And if-oh fucking God.

Snape lifted himself up and shifted his angle on the upthrust, and it was there there there please please, and he had a feeling he was saying all this out loud, but he didn't care, it didn't matter, all that mattered was this glorious fucking, the first fucking he had felt in God knew how many years but the body doesn't forget, it never forgets. Snape was hitching his legs up now, driving in deeper, if possible.

"Oh-ah God, Snape-"

Snape's thrusts were becoming manic, jerky, and there was nothing but the slap of balls on flesh and Snape's fingers bruising him, Snape's cock tearing him, of that he had no doubt, none at all.

"No. What you said before-you called me-before- my name-"

And Sirius felt the first wave begin to tug him under, sparking through his body, and he cried, "Severus Severus Severus," and he heard Snape's hoarse cry and felt oh God he did feel it he did, a flood of hot wet, so hot so wet too much too much fuck fuck fuck Severus not enough not enough more more ah ah God he was coming coming, spilling and spurting and spending himself until there was nothing of him but what clung to Snape's chest and pooled in a cooling puddle on his own.

Nothing but the slow swim to consciousness and the awareness of cold stone on his back, and pain in assorted places. And awareness of something else, too. Snape's cock had not left his body, though his sweaty head was pressed against Sirius's breastbone, and he panted for breath, as boneless as the man beneath him. That was another thing - breath. Snape was remarkably heavy.

"Umph," he tried.

Snape lifted his head. "Bed," he rasped.

Holy fucking hell, Sirius thought. He's going to kill me. He swallowed and nodded. He had the wild thought that at least they wouldn't need more lubricant, not with Snape coming buckets. They'd be lucky not to slip and break their necks in it.

Somehow Snape was hoisting him to the bed, and though he opened his mouth to protest it never really made it past his lips, and there was still this cock in him, this presence that would not leave him, this delicious thing that filled and shored him against the crumble of his own bones.

"Oh." Snape's breath was hot in his ear, Snape's chest slick against his back. "Like this. . . good."

"Ungh," Sirius remarked.

"Not good?"

"Good."

"Yes?"

"Oh. . . oh yes. Severus, you fucking- bastard, yes."

"Lift. . . up."

"Can't. . . can't can't oh God."

"Sirius-I have to-have to-can you-come again-"

"No-no, can't-no way I can-come again-too much-ah ah ah ahhhh!"

"Turn over."

Snape complied.

"Spread your legs wider. Come on, trust me, you'll be glad you did."

Snape's voice was muffled in the pillow. "I'm going to-need more than this."

"Just shut up for a minute, will you? Besides, I need you to fuck something besides me for about five minutes, or my thighs are going to come unhinged. Now just shut up and trust me." He lowered his mouth.

"Oh. Oh, sweet-oh. What are you doing?"

No answer. When Black's tongue slipped all the way inside him, his muscles froze and he came in a slick rush on the pillow wedged beneath him, but said nothing for a full minute lest the glorious sensation of Sirius Black's tongue in his arse stop.

"Slow. Slower."

"Can't. Can't God can't."

"Okay, just-ah. Okay."

"Have to-have to-oh, fuck-"

"Ow, you're-"

"Aaahh. . ."

"Let go of my hair!"

Against the wall this time, Sirius facing it and scrabbling for purchase on the bookshelf.

"Here." Snape's arm reached around him and swept the books off the shelf and onto the floor.

Sirius looked at the books on the floor and started to laugh, and felt Snape laughing into his neck. The laughter became little licking kisses up and down his neck and shoulder.

"Mmm."

He tilted his head all the way back, let it roll and loll against Snape, and Snape's mouth moved around and fastened on the front of his throat and there, oh right there. He arched and gasped.

Snape broke off and reached his arm around again, sweeping off another, lower shelf of books.

"What the-?"

"Don't want- come on my books."

They shook with laughter, and then Snape shifted slightly and Sirius wasn't laughing anymore but crying wordlessly.

"Sirius-Sirius, come with me-need you to-"

"All right, yes yes-"

"Oh- please-fuck, too good, can't wait-can't-can't stop-oh ohh!!"

He was never sure, all that night, if Snape's cock ever actually left him, because even when his mouth was wrapped around Snape's cock and it should have been impossible, he felt so warmed and slicked and filled and fucked that when Snape did finally slide back home and drape him across the foot of the bed the next time, it was not possible to tell when this had begun and the other had ended. And they were all claws and hunger, until towards morning Snape's hands were twisting in his hair, gently this time, twined and tangled at the scalp, pulling his head back as he fucked him slow this time, so slow, and forehead rested on forehead, nose on nose, until lips on lips seemed natural, unstoppable, and Snape's tongue was in his mouth, and he was opening and thrusting back, and he felt the wonder that at the first thrust of his tongue into Snape's mouth, Snape stiffened and splashed hot come into him, and gripped Sirius's cock that spilled and wetted them, wetter than Snape's tongue that lapped at his mouth and cheek and eyelids, licking what only he could taste.

Sunlight was knives in his skull. He licked his lips and groaned. Tentatively he sat up, wondering how it was that muscles he had not seemed to possess day before yesterday were screaming in protest. Sprawled beside him in his bed was. . . Merlin's balls. Sirius goddamn Black. Oh, fucking hell.

With the co-ordination of a newborn giraffe he tumbled from the bed and into the bathroom, emptying his bladder and then his stomach into the ancient chip-rimmed toilet.

He curled up and leaned back against the chill of the wall, feeling the foulness in every orifice of his body. He closed his eyes and wished for a warm flannel. Which began gently to wipe his face and mouth, and he opened his eyes to the impassive face of Sirius Black, bending over him. Consciousness filled his veins in a cool cruel rush, and the memory of last night and everything, everything he had done and relished doing, every wild awful unmentionable thing, and with this man.

He wet his lips, and found a glass pressed to them, and fresh clear water. He took a sip and then looked up, forcing himself to meet Black's eyes.

"Are you hurt?"

Black considered. "Well. This isn't normally the reaction I hope for, so, yeah, I guess a little."

Snape scowled. "You cretin. I meant-"

"Yeah, I know what you meant, prat. And no, of course not. I'm fine. Didn't hear me protesting last night, did you?"

Snape blinked and frowned at the tiles. "I'm not sure I would have done, even had you tried."

"But I didn't."

Snape passed a hand over his face. "I'm not. . . that is, I am unsure. . . I. . ."

"Hang on." Black set the glass down on the lip of the sink and took a seat on the toilet. "I want to be sure I get a good seat for this. Severus Snape at a loss for words."

He shot him a vicious look, which lost its sting at the sight of the slightly swollen lips, the dark passion marks garlanding his neck and chest, and. . . dear God. The imprints of fingers on his waist and hips, ugly yellowish purple bruises. Snape narrowed his eyes.

"I did hurt you," he whispered.

Black blinked and crossed his legs. He shrugged. "I got a little of what I had coming for what happened to you, I suppose."

"That. . . it was an accident." He glanced sharply up. "Wasn't it?"

"Don't be an idiot. I wanted that potion to work as much as you did. More, probably. Anyway. A little mutual absolution is probably in order." He yawned. "I'm starved. Keep any food down here? Or should I not mention food just yet?"

Snape hauled himself up. Naked, he thought, I am naked in front of Sirius Black, and that was an appreciative glance he just ran over my body, and I fucked him into Tuesday last night and he screamed my name when he came, sucked me with that mouth, wrapped those legs around my neck while I. . .

"Severus? You all right?"

He shook his head to clear it. "I think. . . perhaps I should go back to bed. And don't call me that." He stopped at the door to the bedroom. Dear God. Not only were the bedclothes scattered all round the room, but the room was scattered all round the room. Books were ripped off shelves - the bookcase? Why? Ah yes. Furniture was out of place, rugs were flung about. . . what the hell had happened here? He gripped the doorframe tightly.

Black spoke in his ear. "Quite the scene, isn't it?" His voice held only wry amusement, and Snape felt a renewed rush of loathing for the man, which comforted him.

"Get out, Black," he said wearily. He stumbled to the bed and slid himself into it, or what was left of it. He rolled and tried to find a dry patch. Everything was sticky and there was-fuck no. He sat up. Blood. There was blood on his sheets. Fuck no.

"Black," he said hoarsely. No answer from the man gathering his things in the other room. "Black," he said again, struggling to get up. The stray thought wandered across his mind that he really ought to be making notes of some of these reactions. Like the botanist who ate the poisonous mushrooms and carefully recorded every detail of his agonising death, which was probably easier than this.

"Black, wait."

Black's face was shuttered and unreadable. He had his clothes in a wad in his hand and was looking about. "Can't find my wand, blast it," he muttered.

"Black."

"What?"

"I. . . apologise for hurting you."

He blinked, once, twice, three times in succession. Like he had in the bathroom. What does it mean when he does that, Snape wondered, and why should I care.

"I don't require an apology."

"There is-I saw blood on the sheets."

Sirius shrugged. "You fucked me for about eight hours straight last night. What did you think? Ah," he said with satisfaction, bending and extracting his wand from where it had rolled beneath a bookcase. "Might've stepped on it. Listen, I'm assuming we'll need to start with an entirely new batch tonight, yes? So I should come about six, like before?" He was slipping on his trousers as he spoke.

Snape blinked. Ah, he thought, so that's what it means.

"No," he said. "No. I think. . . perhaps we ought to get started at once. I think perhaps. . . you ought to stay."

Black's gaze held him. The grey eyes were a scale, and they sifted and weighed him. He felt the balance hold and wobble. Not enough. He stepped forward and tried to lift his arm, which felt suddenly leaden. Black's eyes watched it advance towards his face in a vainly attempted caress before it dropped back.

"Stay."

Slowly, he nodded, his eyes on the arm, then looked sharply back at Snape. "You never said if you had any food?"

"Mmm."

"Yeah," Sirius moaned into his neck.

"Can't-really move anymore."

"'S all right. You don't have to."

"Oh. . . oh. . . slow down, will you?"

Sirius grunted into Snape's ear, "You've got to be- kidding me. After what you put me through. . . been waiting for this-all night."

"No- it's fine -I just-haven't exactly- ah, done that-this-"

Sirius froze in mid-thrust. "What did you say?"

Snape replayed the words in his head. Oh.

Sirius lowered his head and rested his sweating forehead on Snape's. "Shit," he breathed. "Severus, why didn't you say anything. I wouldn't have-fuck." He swallowed. "All right. Here. Just. . . hold still a moment." He closed his eyes and fought for control. "Okay. Lift-lift up a bit."

"That's awkward."

"You'll be glad." He lifted Snape's legs and rested them on his shoulders. "There we go." He moved a bit, trying a different angle, watching Snape's face. Slowly he quickened his pace, more gradually this time, carefully. Of a sudden Snape gasped and his eyes flew open.

"There?"

"Oh. Oh. God. You- there-" Snape's hands convulsed in the sheets.

"See?" Sirius whispered. "That's what makes it so fucking good. That's what makes- fucking so-good."

Snape's neck strained upward, his eyes wide and startled.

"Keep your eyes open, Snape. Let me watch you-let me see you come- yeah, that's it-oh yes-" His control slipped. "Severus. Can't-" He closed a clumsy hand around Snape's cock and squeezed.

"Ah-ah-" The orgasm wrenched Snape's spine, and curled him up to meet the arms that caught him, the mouth that whispered in his ear, prolonging his orgasm.

"So hot like this, you are so fucking hot, fuck yes, come for me, come on me, that's it, that's it, yes-"

They lay sprawled and wrung on the wreck of a bed. Sirius lifted a bleary head and regarded him, then a hesitant hand to brush away a strand of hair that clung to the sweat on Snape's face.

"All right there?"

Snape nodded, eyes still closed.

"Severus?" He waited for the retort that didn't come. He licked his lips. "What else haven't you done?"

Snape rolled his head and met Sirius's eyes. "Not much."

"With anyone? Or with a man?"

"I have. . . perfunctory knowledge of the other. None whatsoever of-" he waved a lazy hand between them and flopped it back. "This."

Sirius raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really."

"That's so surprising?"

"Well. . . considering last night, yeah." Sirius propped himself on his elbow. "So this is more of an. . . aberration, than anything."

"Black. Everything about this is an aberration."

"Right."

Snape groaned and leaned over the side of the bed, fumbling around for something below. He re-appeared with a small bag of plums, tossing one at Sirius. "Here. Your stomach is annoying me."

"Thanks." Sirius bit into a particularly plump one. The juice dribbled down his chin and onto the sheets. He ignored it. Snape watched the juice.

"So."

"So."

Sirius slurped at the plum. "I have to go in a bit. Have to meet Remus."

"I see."

He tossed the pit overboard and lay back. "Yeah."

"Ah."

"Ah, indeed. Sorry, stepping on your toes there. You're the master of 'let me repeat what you just said and add indeed.'"

Snape didn't reply. "You'll need a bath."

Sirius snorted. "I'll need more than that."

Snape reached for his wand on the bedside table and remembered it was gone. "I can spell the worst of those marks away."

"No. Leave them."

Snape's eyes flicked to his. "Black. Anyone seeing you would be in no doubt. . ."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I know." He inched forward and pressed his body against Snape's. Snape groaned.

"Oh, Black, for heaven's sake, you can't possibly. . ."

"Shh." Sirius leaned in and stopped, his mouth inches from Snape's. He licked his lips. "What about this? Done this before?"

"Not before last night, no."

"Ought to train up, then."

Snape turned his head abruptly away and studied the doorframe.

"Come on, Snape, don't be an ass."

"Black. I can't do this."

Sirius didn't move. "What's 'this?'"

"Now who's being an ass?"

"Severus." He leaned in to nuzzle at the ear turned to him. "I think you'd be surprised at what you can do."

"Black. One night of fucking does not a 'this' make."

Sirius leaned back and studied him. "You asked me to stay. Or was that. . ." He blinked. "So. Feeling guilty, were you? Well, fuck you, Snape. I can certainly do without a pity fuck." He pushed himself off the bed and had his clothes back in his hand in seconds. Snape sat up.

"Pity fuck? Of all the ridiculous-whatever are you on about? Just because I said-"

"Shut up, Snape." Sirius had his back to him, bending hastily to pull on his trousers. "Just shut up. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, thinking you could- whatever. Just forget it." He slipped his shirt on. "Should have known you could never be anything more than the slimy bastard you've always been."

"And I should have known you'd never have the decency to stay dead." He had the hollow satisfaction of seeing Sirius's back freeze.

"Well at least," he hissed back, "I managed to get the job done right when I did it. Sorry git-couldn't even kill yourself properly, more's the pity." And with a pointed glance at Snape's right forearm and the long white scar bisecting it, he grabbed his shoes and swept out.

Snape dug his fingers into the mattress and struggled for breath. Part of the reaction to the potion. This must be part of the reaction, he thought. Why else would he have this sudden crushing pain in his chest, why else would breath be so hard to come by?

"See you tonight, you fucker," he heard Black's voice call from the office, heard him kick the chains on the floor out of his way.

Numbly, Snape stumbled into the bathroom and clutched the sink, wondering if he might be ill again, or if he ought to try eating something. He couldn't stand the thought of the plums. He squinted and frowned at his reflection. "You fucker," he whispered, trying it out. He caught sight of the flannel folded neatly on the sink edge, and succumbing to impulse he balled it up and hurled it across the room, where it splatted against the wall and slid down into the tub with a wet thunk.

The office door banged, then the door to the bedroom, and in a panic he reached for a towel to cover himself.

"That was an unbelievable thing to say." Black's face was white and taut. Snape opened his mouth to protest, to retort, to defend, when he was caught short by the next words. "I'm sorry."

Snape frowned.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It was. . . I'm sorry."

Snape found a way to nod. Could it possibly be that simple? He examined the tiles. Back where they had started then. "I suggest we try this again," he said faintly.

"A little less teeth," he managed. "Oh. Oh, yeah. Like that. Just like that. Yeah," he breathed, letting his head fall back and his fingers flex in Snape's hair. "That's-oh, yeah." Snape was a natural, so hot kneeling here on the floor in front of him. He relaxed into the extravagant wetness of Snape's mouth, the clumsy pressure of his tongue. He felt his exhausted body sputter fitfully, hopelessly.

"That's- so good, Severus. But stop- I don't think-I may be all washed up for today-"

Snape lifted his head. His eyes were puddles. "I don't want to stop."

Something shot down his spine into his balls at that. "All right, then," he said. "Don't stop. Suck me then."

He let himself fall back against the bed and arched up as Snape tightened his mouth around him. Fuck yes. He gasped as Snape shifted a little and began deftly fingering his balls. Is that the way he did it on himself? Oh God. The thought of Snape touching himself-coming- silently, here in his bedroom, frantically jerking himself, eyes shut, teeth clenched- oh fuck-

"Fuck yes," he said aloud, and he arched again and spilled over Snape's tongue that pushed against him, spasmodically, nerves firing disjointedly, limbs stiffening as Snape's fingers dug into his thighs, sucking, sucking him down, swallowing. And he could feel Snape's naked prick against his leg, Snape humping his leg in earnest now, groaning around his softening cock, and he fought the swimming in his head to haul himself up. He reached an awkward hand down.

"No. . . no, let me. That's right, come on me, all over me. . ."

Snape's eyes slid shut as his mouth fell open, and a thin trail of come snaked its way out the corner of his mouth and down his jawline, and Sirius bent quickly to lick it, tasting sweat and come and the hard rasp of stubble on his tongue.

"Unnggh," Snape cried, and the rest of his words were swallowed as he found Sirius's hungry mouth and his release at once.

In the bathtub, Sirius shifted and sighed in contentment. "Here. Budge over."

"I can't, your leg is in the way."

"Oh, shut up and lean back."

They drifted in the warmth for a while, and Sirius ran a flannel absently around Snape's chest. Snape reached for a plum and bit it, the juice slicking the water.

"Did you just eat the last of those?"

"Mm."

"Prick."

"Shouldn't be a problem for you, Black. Aren't you the one who's supposed to be so adept at transfiguration?"

"Too right. I could make your wand fructify, if I had a mind."

"Ah, the things you could do, Black, if only you had a mind."

"Shut up. That was pathetic."

"Besides, you've already fructified my wand twice within the last hour."

Sirius groaned. "That was even worse."

"Get my back while you're at it."

"Presumptuous, aren't we?" But he started in on the shoulders nestled against him, the flannel dribbling warm soapy water down the languid arms.

"Black."

"Hmm."

"You didn't ask me to apologise. For what I said."

The flannel paused, then started up again. "I suppose I owe you a few more of those than you do me."

Snape's eyes flew open and he contemplated the ceiling, letting that hang between them for a bit.

Sirius ran the flannel down his arm, then followed it with his thumb. "Tell me," he whispered.

Snape closed his eyes again. "After Evan and Charles. And-Regulus. I tried to get out. It seemed the only way."

"Who found you?"

Snape shifted, frowning.

"You don't have to say anymore."

"Albus."

Sirius was quiet, running the flannel down the other arm. He tightened the grip of his legs for a minute, and rested his forehead on the back of the dark damp head.

"Not a day went by in Azkaban I didn't think about killing myself, wish for it. There were people. . . I had no way of knowing who, but I could hear them. As Padfoot, anyway. They tried to kill themselves by banging their heads against the wall. You could feel it echo in the stone. I thought about that."

"Why didn't you?"

"Peter. The thought of killing him."

"Mmm." Snape turned the tap with his foot and let in more hot, until the water sloshed precariously over the lip of the tub.

"And another thing," Sirius continued. "I had a window. A tiny one. I could see a corner of the Azkaban graveyard. They didn't last in there, most people. And their families didn't want the shame of their bodies. So every so often they would dig a pit. . ." He trailed off. "I didn't want that. I wanted a place. . . somebody could visit. After people knew the truth."

They slipped down deeper into the hot water, letting it buoy them. Snape closed his eyes, relaxing into the arms crossed on his chest. For long minutes there was only the desultory drip of the faucet. At last Snape cracked a lazy eyelid. His eyes widened at the sight of the little clock on the shelf. "Bloody hell."

"What is it?"

"Look at the time. Quarter till four. I'm supposed to meet Albus in fifteen minutes to update him on our progress. Or complete lack thereof. Fucking hell. Hand me that towel." He rose and sloshed clumsily out, cursing. Sirius watched him, amused.

"Now you've left me no water. Mind if I run some more?"

"Mind if you- for heaven's sake, Black, it's not as though I pay the water bill. Do whatever you like." He slung the towel around his waist and went into the bedroom. Sirius listened to the sound of clothes being pulled out, of hasty dressing and more muttered curses.

"What're you going to tell him?" he called into the other room.

"The truth, of course. Naturally I'll be sure to dwell on the part that includes your stupidity as much as possible."

"Still on about that, are you?"

Snape stuck his head into the bathroom, a wry smile playing about his lips. "I expect Albus will want us to start again as soon as possible."

"So I should wait here."

Snape ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it, grimacing into the mirror when the smile threatened to deepen. "Yes," he said quietly. "I suppose you might do."

"Fine. I'll do that, then." He leaned back in the tub and listened as Snape strode out and gathered the rest of his robes, clicking the doors shut behind him. He heard the little tap of a wand on the outer lock, and knew Snape was warding the door. I'll just bet he is, he thought, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement at the thought of being found lounging naked in Snape's tub.

He lay back and closed his eyes, calculating how long Snape would be closeted with Albus. Half an hour at least. That should leave plenty of time to prepare for tonight. He snorted. His knowledge of potions could be sketched on an index card, eh? Underestimation, Sniv, he thought with an affectionate smile; that was always your problem. Of course, he couldn't have predicted the virulence of the effect-he wouldn't have wished that on anyone, certainly, though one could not argue its effectiveness. He sank deeper in the tub and brushed away the lingering fingers of guilt that niggled at him as he contemplated his little sabotage. It was all for a good cause. Besides, Harry wouldn't need his potion until term's end, when he headed back to the Dursleys. They had plenty of time-weeks and weeks.

He yawned and drifted in a half doze, wondering if he ought to make some effort to deal with the disaster of Snape's quarters. He decided against it and instead, turned the hot water tap with a lazy foot.

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