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hp fic: The Ways and Means of Retribution
Title: The Ways and Means of Retribution
Pairing: James/Snape/Sirius, implied James/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con
Summary: Caught in the act, James and Sirius persuade Snape to keep his mouth shut.
A/N: Written for![[personal profile]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=88)
reversathon, and originally posted here.
The Ways and Means of Retribution
::
It's close to midnight, and Hogwarts is as empty and dark as the sky outside. The moon shines pale and white through the window, casting long, strange shadows that chase Severus through the halls.
Severus takes the stairs to the dungeons quickly, quietly, not wanting to be seen. There is no sign of Filch, but Severus knows that doesn't mean he is not around. Filch won't care that Severus only fell asleep studying, and Severus' story would be suspect. Madam Pince had not seen him slip into the Restricted Section, and he hadn't been studying anything related to school.
The entrance to the dungeons appears when Severus turns the corner, and Severus hurries, frowning at a suit of armour that tries to engage him in conversation. The creak of its helmet is louder than his footsteps, grating and harsh, and Severus winces, concerned for himself and for the foot and a half of notes he shouldn't have rolled inside his bag.
Severus passes through the stone arch and takes the last, small flight of stairs with a sense of relief. Filch rarely patrols the dungeons, because Slytherins are rarely out of bounds after curfew. The Bloody Baron and the Head of House are enough to keep the Slytherins in their beds.
One turn away from the common room he stops, frozen by the sound of hushed voices ghosting through the corridor. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the Baron or Filch, but when he risks a glance around the corner, his lip curls in distaste instead of fear.
It's Potter and Black, huddled together just a few feet away. Dark hair tangles together as they lean close over the piece of parchment Black is holding, and a length of silvery material is pooled like moonlight at Potter's feet.
'Twenty-five paces,' Potter whispers. He produces a quill and makes a note on the parchment.
'Twenty-two,' Black replies, poking the feather on Potter's quill like a child.
'Your feet are bigger.'
'Of course they are,' Black says with a grin. 'So's my--'
'Lies.' Potter waves dismissively, and turns back to the parchment.
'Oh?' Black asks. His skin is pale in the light from Potter's wand, and in the glint Severus can see the perfect arch of his equally perfect eyebrow.
'Hearsay and conjecture,' Potter goes on, more to the parchment than to Black. 'As false as the rest of your reputation.'
Black snorts, and somehow, he moves closer to Potter, even though there had been scarcely room to slide a Sickle between them to begin with.
'I'll just have to remind you, then.'
'Not now, Sirius. We've--'
Black tips his chin up and kisses him. The quill falls to the floor with a delicate clatter, and Severus smiles.
Severus stopped believing in luck during his third year, when every quill in his bag was charmed to write rude things on his face, showing him that Potter and Black would always be quicker and more clever than he. But now, as he watches them snog after hours in a corridor in Slytherin, he thinks perhaps the tide has finally turned in his favour.
Severus watches, and sees detention in the way Black flicks his tongue over Potter's lips, demanding entrance, sees expulsion in the way Potter relents, opening his mouth for the intrusion. He watches Potter's hand come up, fisting in Black's hair, watches one of Black's hands disappear, making Potter moan softly, and Severus sees retribution.
He watches, tasting the words indecent and deviant and perverse on his tongue, words he'll say to Dumbledore in the morning. And he knows if Dumbledore once again fails to punish his favourite sons, those same words to Regulus will have a letter sent to Black's home within the hour.
Severus thinks of what Black's family will say, when they discover their oldest son and heir prefers to cavort with boys. He thinks of what Evans will say, when she learns all those sickening, insipid declarations of love come from lips that touch Sirius Black's body after the lights go out.
And touching they are, trailing over the smooth column of Black's wretched, pureblood neck, cheeks hollowing as Potter pauses to suck, tongue glistening as it darts out to taste. For a moment, Severus wonders if it is worth the trouble of informing Dumbledore or Evans or Black's brother, when a slipped note or a whispered word would keep them under his thumb for the rest of the year.
That is a tempting idea indeed, to have Gryffindor's golden boys on a leash held in his own hand -- and perhaps he could stretch that leash, extending their forced goodwill to include their friends, giving Severus a final year free of Potter and Black as well as their pet prefect and their tagalong.
The possibilities are endless, intoxicating, swirling around in his mind until he grows dizzy and forgets himself. He realises too late that he stepped out into the hall as he watched, that he's now under the gaze of hard, grey eyes. His elation twists into fear, heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach, and when Potter turns to face him, his lips swollen and red, Severus feels the pendulum swing the other way.
Potter considers him blankly, without concern, his show of innocence destroyed only by the flush to his cheeks and the bulge in his trousers, and Severus envies his poise almost as much as he envies Black's looks.
'Snivellus,' Black says. It's nearly a drawl, and a sneer hangs on the curve of his lips.
Severus' stomach churns, the fear knotting, consuming, because there are two of them and one of him, and his wand is in his robes instead of his hand. With everything to lose and his luck trickling away to join the gleam in Potter's eyes, Severus draws a breath and plays the only card he has.
'I saw you,' he says, forcing accusation over the waver in his voice.
'Did you,' Black murmurs. His face betrays nothing, no fear, no concern. If anything, his sneer shifts to an almost-smile.
'I did.'
'And did you enjoy the show?' Potter asks.
'Vile,' Severus spits. 'Disgusting. And more than enough to have you expelled for.'
Potter and Black exchange an unreadable look, a short silence filled with nothing more than arched eyebrows and quirked lips. Potter breaks first, turning back to Severus with amusement dancing across his face, then Black, who looks vaguely predatory.
'Planning to tell on us, then?' Potter asks.
Severus opens his mouth, but snaps it shut again, his train of thought derailed by the fact that Black is suddenly behind him. Severus tries to move away, which only brings him closer to Potter, and Potter leans in, smiling.
'Of course he is,' Black murmurs. 'He means to tell Dumbledore, and my family. Evans too, I wager, if he can bring himself to speak to a Muggle-born.'
'I don't think she'd listen to him, considering how he's treated her,' Potter says quietly. There is a flash of anger in his eyes, dark and quick, but he buries it immediately.
'My brother might,' Black replies, a hint of bitterness tarnishing his tone. 'Slytherin solidarity, and that.'
'Best keep him quiet, then,' Potter says.
Severus feels Black behind him, but there is no time to react. He realises he's trapped a full second before Potter's hands are on his robes, and by then Black already has him by the arms and is shuffling him toward the wall.
The stone is as hard as Black's eyes and as cold as Potter's smile, but the feel of it against his back wakes him, shatters the shock that had rendered him frozen.
'Don't touch me!' Severus shouts. His voice is high and shrill, but it echoes through the corridor.
'Sirius.'
'Silencio!' Black counters, casting the spell with Severus' wand as he's still pulling it from Severus' robes.
Then Potter's mouth is on his neck, wet and horrifying, and his hands, claw-like, are stealing into Severus' robes like a thief. Black aides him immediately, mocking Severus with a hand smoothed through his hair, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth before he mirrors Potter and sinks them into Severus' skin.
Severus howls futilely, the noise building in the back of his throat only to bubble silently on his lips. He tries to struggle, but finds he is unable, not with Black's hands on his arms and Potter's knee wedged between his legs. Black yanks Severus' robes down off his shoulders, tugging until the collar hangs to his back and the sleeves twist constrictingly around his elbows.
Potter releases Severus' neck and leans away, pulling Black to him for a kiss. They meet less than an inch from Severus' face, lips melting together, tongues twining and tangling, and Severus can feel the heat of their mouths, feel their mingled breaths wisping across his lips.
Their hands return to Severus, even as they kiss, fingers dealing with belt, button and zip without a hint of fumbling, without the slightest hesitation. Severus doesn't know whose hand delves into his pants and pulls out his cock, but it doesn't matter, because with a twist of the wrist and a thumb over the head Severus is hard, and it is utterly mortifying wherever he lays the blame.
'Look James,' Black says, the words spoken against Potter's lips and into Potter's mouth. 'Snivellus has decided to join us.'
Another silent scream dies in Severus' throat, a litany rife with vitriol and denial, and he thrashes against the wall, but they've pressed close to him again, giving him nowhere to go. They move back to his neck, with lips and tongues and teeth, their cocks hard against either of his hips, their hands joining across his body before dropping down to touch him.
It's a double assault, maddening and cruel, destroying his resolve with tangled fingers that tease and stroke. Severus hates this, hates them, hates that he cannot get away, but his body wants and his body needs, and he cannot stop himself from arching off the wall and thrusting into their hands.
They start shifting against him, Black first, then Potter, grinding their cocks into his hips, and they move together, rocking in counterpoint with their stroking hands. Black growls low with each thrust, and Potter moans, fractured and broken, the noises dancing over Severus' skin and spiraling straight to his cock.
Severus can feel his body rushing toward release, as much as he doesn't want it, doesn't want them to cause it. His skin is on fire, heated blood racing underneath it, pleasure coiling low inside him, and he bites on his lip until he tastes blood, copper spreading on his tongue as he tries to fight the inevitable.
The hands on his cock move faster, and Black's teeth find his neck, worrying the skin hard enough to leave a mark. The pain is sharp and bright over the building thrum of release, and it's almost enough to bring him back down, but their hands separate, one sliding up his cock while the other brushes over the head, and Severus comes, hating himself and hating them with every pulse of heat that spills through their fingers.
Black slides away, pulling Potter to him, and kissing him, their tongues meeting roughly as they rut shamelessly against each other. Severus closes him eyes, because he's seen and felt and endured enough, but he can still hear it, hear them coming just seconds apart, one with a sharp gasp and one with a rumbling growl.
Severus opens his eyes at Potter's Scourgify to find they've already forgotten him; Black is collecting the parchment he dropped and Potter is shaking the dust from the length of silvery cloth he'd left on the floor. Severus hastens to sort his clothing out, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from them as possible.
He's stopped by Black, who points a wand at him -- his wand -- and mutters the countercurse to the Silencing Charm before tossing it haphazardly in Severus' direction.
'What do you say, James?' Black asks conversationally. 'Do you think he will keep his mouth shut?'
'I would imagine so,' Potter replies. 'He'd only incriminate himself, otherwise.'
Rage rises inside Severus, ugly and fierce, everything he'd been unable to say clawing its way to the surface at once. He works his mouth soundlessly, unable to string the words together because they are battling each other in the back of his throat, but once he finds them, once he can taste them on his tongue, he is cut off by footsteps echoing through the hall.
Potter and Black huddle close together, whispering, and Severus wonders what fanciful tale they are cooking up just before Filch turns the corner.
'Mister Snape,' Filch growls, eyeing Severus with disdain. 'It's late for you to be out.'
'We were--'
'We?' Filch asks, his tone sour and incredulous.
Severus turns, knowing full well Potter and Black have somehow managed to disappear into the night.
The corridor is empty, save for Severus and Filch, and Potter's quill, lying on the floor.
FIN
Pairing: James/Snape/Sirius, implied James/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con
Summary: Caught in the act, James and Sirius persuade Snape to keep his mouth shut.
A/N: Written for
reversathon, and originally posted here.::
It's close to midnight, and Hogwarts is as empty and dark as the sky outside. The moon shines pale and white through the window, casting long, strange shadows that chase Severus through the halls.
Severus takes the stairs to the dungeons quickly, quietly, not wanting to be seen. There is no sign of Filch, but Severus knows that doesn't mean he is not around. Filch won't care that Severus only fell asleep studying, and Severus' story would be suspect. Madam Pince had not seen him slip into the Restricted Section, and he hadn't been studying anything related to school.
The entrance to the dungeons appears when Severus turns the corner, and Severus hurries, frowning at a suit of armour that tries to engage him in conversation. The creak of its helmet is louder than his footsteps, grating and harsh, and Severus winces, concerned for himself and for the foot and a half of notes he shouldn't have rolled inside his bag.
Severus passes through the stone arch and takes the last, small flight of stairs with a sense of relief. Filch rarely patrols the dungeons, because Slytherins are rarely out of bounds after curfew. The Bloody Baron and the Head of House are enough to keep the Slytherins in their beds.
One turn away from the common room he stops, frozen by the sound of hushed voices ghosting through the corridor. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the Baron or Filch, but when he risks a glance around the corner, his lip curls in distaste instead of fear.
It's Potter and Black, huddled together just a few feet away. Dark hair tangles together as they lean close over the piece of parchment Black is holding, and a length of silvery material is pooled like moonlight at Potter's feet.
'Twenty-five paces,' Potter whispers. He produces a quill and makes a note on the parchment.
'Twenty-two,' Black replies, poking the feather on Potter's quill like a child.
'Your feet are bigger.'
'Of course they are,' Black says with a grin. 'So's my--'
'Lies.' Potter waves dismissively, and turns back to the parchment.
'Oh?' Black asks. His skin is pale in the light from Potter's wand, and in the glint Severus can see the perfect arch of his equally perfect eyebrow.
'Hearsay and conjecture,' Potter goes on, more to the parchment than to Black. 'As false as the rest of your reputation.'
Black snorts, and somehow, he moves closer to Potter, even though there had been scarcely room to slide a Sickle between them to begin with.
'I'll just have to remind you, then.'
'Not now, Sirius. We've--'
Black tips his chin up and kisses him. The quill falls to the floor with a delicate clatter, and Severus smiles.
Severus stopped believing in luck during his third year, when every quill in his bag was charmed to write rude things on his face, showing him that Potter and Black would always be quicker and more clever than he. But now, as he watches them snog after hours in a corridor in Slytherin, he thinks perhaps the tide has finally turned in his favour.
Severus watches, and sees detention in the way Black flicks his tongue over Potter's lips, demanding entrance, sees expulsion in the way Potter relents, opening his mouth for the intrusion. He watches Potter's hand come up, fisting in Black's hair, watches one of Black's hands disappear, making Potter moan softly, and Severus sees retribution.
He watches, tasting the words indecent and deviant and perverse on his tongue, words he'll say to Dumbledore in the morning. And he knows if Dumbledore once again fails to punish his favourite sons, those same words to Regulus will have a letter sent to Black's home within the hour.
Severus thinks of what Black's family will say, when they discover their oldest son and heir prefers to cavort with boys. He thinks of what Evans will say, when she learns all those sickening, insipid declarations of love come from lips that touch Sirius Black's body after the lights go out.
And touching they are, trailing over the smooth column of Black's wretched, pureblood neck, cheeks hollowing as Potter pauses to suck, tongue glistening as it darts out to taste. For a moment, Severus wonders if it is worth the trouble of informing Dumbledore or Evans or Black's brother, when a slipped note or a whispered word would keep them under his thumb for the rest of the year.
That is a tempting idea indeed, to have Gryffindor's golden boys on a leash held in his own hand -- and perhaps he could stretch that leash, extending their forced goodwill to include their friends, giving Severus a final year free of Potter and Black as well as their pet prefect and their tagalong.
The possibilities are endless, intoxicating, swirling around in his mind until he grows dizzy and forgets himself. He realises too late that he stepped out into the hall as he watched, that he's now under the gaze of hard, grey eyes. His elation twists into fear, heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach, and when Potter turns to face him, his lips swollen and red, Severus feels the pendulum swing the other way.
Potter considers him blankly, without concern, his show of innocence destroyed only by the flush to his cheeks and the bulge in his trousers, and Severus envies his poise almost as much as he envies Black's looks.
'Snivellus,' Black says. It's nearly a drawl, and a sneer hangs on the curve of his lips.
Severus' stomach churns, the fear knotting, consuming, because there are two of them and one of him, and his wand is in his robes instead of his hand. With everything to lose and his luck trickling away to join the gleam in Potter's eyes, Severus draws a breath and plays the only card he has.
'I saw you,' he says, forcing accusation over the waver in his voice.
'Did you,' Black murmurs. His face betrays nothing, no fear, no concern. If anything, his sneer shifts to an almost-smile.
'I did.'
'And did you enjoy the show?' Potter asks.
'Vile,' Severus spits. 'Disgusting. And more than enough to have you expelled for.'
Potter and Black exchange an unreadable look, a short silence filled with nothing more than arched eyebrows and quirked lips. Potter breaks first, turning back to Severus with amusement dancing across his face, then Black, who looks vaguely predatory.
'Planning to tell on us, then?' Potter asks.
Severus opens his mouth, but snaps it shut again, his train of thought derailed by the fact that Black is suddenly behind him. Severus tries to move away, which only brings him closer to Potter, and Potter leans in, smiling.
'Of course he is,' Black murmurs. 'He means to tell Dumbledore, and my family. Evans too, I wager, if he can bring himself to speak to a Muggle-born.'
'I don't think she'd listen to him, considering how he's treated her,' Potter says quietly. There is a flash of anger in his eyes, dark and quick, but he buries it immediately.
'My brother might,' Black replies, a hint of bitterness tarnishing his tone. 'Slytherin solidarity, and that.'
'Best keep him quiet, then,' Potter says.
Severus feels Black behind him, but there is no time to react. He realises he's trapped a full second before Potter's hands are on his robes, and by then Black already has him by the arms and is shuffling him toward the wall.
The stone is as hard as Black's eyes and as cold as Potter's smile, but the feel of it against his back wakes him, shatters the shock that had rendered him frozen.
'Don't touch me!' Severus shouts. His voice is high and shrill, but it echoes through the corridor.
'Sirius.'
'Silencio!' Black counters, casting the spell with Severus' wand as he's still pulling it from Severus' robes.
Then Potter's mouth is on his neck, wet and horrifying, and his hands, claw-like, are stealing into Severus' robes like a thief. Black aides him immediately, mocking Severus with a hand smoothed through his hair, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth before he mirrors Potter and sinks them into Severus' skin.
Severus howls futilely, the noise building in the back of his throat only to bubble silently on his lips. He tries to struggle, but finds he is unable, not with Black's hands on his arms and Potter's knee wedged between his legs. Black yanks Severus' robes down off his shoulders, tugging until the collar hangs to his back and the sleeves twist constrictingly around his elbows.
Potter releases Severus' neck and leans away, pulling Black to him for a kiss. They meet less than an inch from Severus' face, lips melting together, tongues twining and tangling, and Severus can feel the heat of their mouths, feel their mingled breaths wisping across his lips.
Their hands return to Severus, even as they kiss, fingers dealing with belt, button and zip without a hint of fumbling, without the slightest hesitation. Severus doesn't know whose hand delves into his pants and pulls out his cock, but it doesn't matter, because with a twist of the wrist and a thumb over the head Severus is hard, and it is utterly mortifying wherever he lays the blame.
'Look James,' Black says, the words spoken against Potter's lips and into Potter's mouth. 'Snivellus has decided to join us.'
Another silent scream dies in Severus' throat, a litany rife with vitriol and denial, and he thrashes against the wall, but they've pressed close to him again, giving him nowhere to go. They move back to his neck, with lips and tongues and teeth, their cocks hard against either of his hips, their hands joining across his body before dropping down to touch him.
It's a double assault, maddening and cruel, destroying his resolve with tangled fingers that tease and stroke. Severus hates this, hates them, hates that he cannot get away, but his body wants and his body needs, and he cannot stop himself from arching off the wall and thrusting into their hands.
They start shifting against him, Black first, then Potter, grinding their cocks into his hips, and they move together, rocking in counterpoint with their stroking hands. Black growls low with each thrust, and Potter moans, fractured and broken, the noises dancing over Severus' skin and spiraling straight to his cock.
Severus can feel his body rushing toward release, as much as he doesn't want it, doesn't want them to cause it. His skin is on fire, heated blood racing underneath it, pleasure coiling low inside him, and he bites on his lip until he tastes blood, copper spreading on his tongue as he tries to fight the inevitable.
The hands on his cock move faster, and Black's teeth find his neck, worrying the skin hard enough to leave a mark. The pain is sharp and bright over the building thrum of release, and it's almost enough to bring him back down, but their hands separate, one sliding up his cock while the other brushes over the head, and Severus comes, hating himself and hating them with every pulse of heat that spills through their fingers.
Black slides away, pulling Potter to him, and kissing him, their tongues meeting roughly as they rut shamelessly against each other. Severus closes him eyes, because he's seen and felt and endured enough, but he can still hear it, hear them coming just seconds apart, one with a sharp gasp and one with a rumbling growl.
Severus opens his eyes at Potter's Scourgify to find they've already forgotten him; Black is collecting the parchment he dropped and Potter is shaking the dust from the length of silvery cloth he'd left on the floor. Severus hastens to sort his clothing out, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from them as possible.
He's stopped by Black, who points a wand at him -- his wand -- and mutters the countercurse to the Silencing Charm before tossing it haphazardly in Severus' direction.
'What do you say, James?' Black asks conversationally. 'Do you think he will keep his mouth shut?'
'I would imagine so,' Potter replies. 'He'd only incriminate himself, otherwise.'
Rage rises inside Severus, ugly and fierce, everything he'd been unable to say clawing its way to the surface at once. He works his mouth soundlessly, unable to string the words together because they are battling each other in the back of his throat, but once he finds them, once he can taste them on his tongue, he is cut off by footsteps echoing through the hall.
Potter and Black huddle close together, whispering, and Severus wonders what fanciful tale they are cooking up just before Filch turns the corner.
'Mister Snape,' Filch growls, eyeing Severus with disdain. 'It's late for you to be out.'
'We were--'
'We?' Filch asks, his tone sour and incredulous.
Severus turns, knowing full well Potter and Black have somehow managed to disappear into the night.
The corridor is empty, save for Severus and Filch, and Potter's quill, lying on the floor.