Build Me Up Just to Fall Again

[slytherinsnark]

It felt strange, walking the halls of Hogwarts again. The War behind them, the Castle stood as pristine as it once had. He'd been accepted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts over Snape, for while he also had that scar on his arm, he hadn't been the one to kill Dumbledore. He found teaching surprisingly engaging, except the first years, of course. Bumbling idiots that hardly knew which end of their wand they were supposed to be holding onto.

Draco was older, different. For those that had known him before, his eyes shine darker, ringed in shadows, and he's no longer just arrogant and superior, but fairly distant from most of the other wizards at the school. Snape is the only once he seems able to stand being near; he almost follows him, but even that interaction is tumultuous, conflicted; peppered with snarky comments on the good days, and sneers and insults on both hands.

He's not as well-adjusted from the war as he claims, not even three years later. He still has nightmares, dreams where the scar of the dark mark on his arm turns black, where the snake twists and turns and curls around him, and as his body wracks with pain, he can feel cool scales and hear the hiss and tremble of a forked tongue. It happens during the day, sometimes, not as intense, but the scar bleeding into black, the first hum of pain. He medicates with a Elixir of Dementor's Bane. Before, he'd been buying the ingredients from a woman, and they would arrive by owl, but it's been a week since he's heard from her.

Stealing from Snape's potion cupboard was probably not the best idea, but it was the only one readily available. It was a surprisingly difficult potion, with a few ingredients that were far more exotic than what could be bought from Diagon Alley. Hopefully, he'd blame some upstart, trouble-making Gryffindor. He had to have at least one student that took after Potter and his obnoxious friends.

By the next evening, rested for the first time in the past week, he almost thinks he's gotten away with it. Snape likely docked some hapless student points from their house, and never would have thought about Draco. The ingredients were for Elixir of Dementor's Bane (which wouldn't actually affect a Dementor), but it did have several ingredients in common with the Draught of Living Death. He'd gotten lucky.

At least, so he thought until the Potions Master slid into the classroom where Draco was harshly grading the papers of his First Years, Snape's black robe billowing around him. Draco arched an eyebrow and set down his quill, leaning back in his chair with an arch of a delicate eyebrow.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Comments

[empty_yourself]

Draco is obvious, and it would be easy to say as much, tell him he knows that he's not that experienced, but he's not stealing that from him, not entirely, not right now. Later, they'll talk, but now he just wants him to relax, wants him to stop thinking and just feel. He relaxes, but it's an uneasy thing, tentative and trembling, and his finger only presses in a little deeper. He feels Draco's hands, one at his shoulder, the other in his hair, gripping tight, and he shifts down as his thighs spread, lips catching the head of his erection. He felt good against his lips, warm and silky slick, and he flicked his tongue slowly over the head.

He waited to feel Draco relax, to feel him stop over thinking this, stop fighting with his body and just give in and let it happen. That's when he tried again, applied pressure, slipped his finger in and curled it slowly, looking up at Draco along the length of his body, watching his reaction, every shift of his hips, arch of his back. He began to withdraw his finger slowly only to press it in again, very slowly beginning to ease him into the sensation of being fucked, waiting until it seemed like he might be ready for more.

[slytherinsnark]

It draws a long, gasping moan from Draco as Snape's lips catch on his erection, his tongue sliding against the tip and there's a shuddering exhale that shakes through his body. He's done this part before, at least; he's even well-behaved enough to not jerk his hips into the hot, damp press of the pleasure of Snape's tongue. It feels so good, and there's a brief, idle thought about returning the favor, later, on his knees, hands on Snape's hips and feeling the slide of his cock against his tongue... But, the thought is gone almost before it has a chance to settle, the press of Snape's finger, the way it curled inside him.

His back arche's, his fingers on Snape's shoulder pressing tighter. His body isn't fighting it quite as intently, the pleasure a suitable distraction, Draco's eyelashes fluttering, his gaze cast down his body, watching Snape with rapt focus. He pulls his finger back, only to press it back in, and Draco's eyes briefly close as his body tenses for a breath; by the next he has his composure back, and he's relaxing into it. His breath coming in rough gasps scattered with moans, his blue eyes dilated, pupils blown.

[empty_yourself]

Snape wonders if Draco has any idea how gorgeous he looks like this, laid out for him and with legs spread, shaking and gasping for air, blue eyes wide. He flicks his tongue over the head again slowly, drawing it along the slit, distracting him as one finger slowly becomes two.

He's pressing in again, two fingers sliding in and curling forwards, and he moves down, taking more of Draco's cock into his mouth, feeling the soft skin of the head brushing over the roof of his mouth, the ends of his hair brushing over Draco's skin. He hums softly, the sound dark and low; he's enjoying himself. Enjoying Draco's body, the taste, how he feels in his mouth, and how he looks as he comes undone. He's moving slowly, not moving his fingers hard or fast, but enough to ease him into this. Now and again, he spread them slowly, making it easier, so that as two became three it wasn't such a stretch.

[slytherinsnark]

Draco finds it hard to focus, think of anything except for the pleasure, the way that Snape's tongue against his cock just accents the slide of his fingers, distracts as he presses in with two fingers this time. The way the long, slender digits curl inside him makes his body shudder, the way that it softly stretches his body, bit by bit.

There's no discomfort, not that he's aware of, not with Snape's mouth wrapping around his cock. Draco twists, squirms a little against the satin sheets from the pleasure of it, from that almost-ticklish sensation as Snape's hair brushes against his thighs. His breath catches, and Draco momentarily forgets to breathe as two fingers stretch to three, and the pleasure keeps him from focusing on the ache of it, but the feeling of being slowly filled still takes his breath away.

"Want.. want you to fuck me," he manages to breathe through pressed lips, slightly flushed with a hint of awkward embarassment. His eyes wide, fingers tense on Snape's shoulder.

[empty_yourself]

He doesn't need to hear more than that. Draco's relaxed into his preparation, stopped tensing with every movement and started squirming, trying to get more. When he asks for it, Snape looks up, sees his flushed he is, more than arousal, a touch of embarrassment, and thinks briefly how he wants to hear him say so much more than that, wants to hear him beg for what he wants… not this time. As soon as the thought appears, it's gone again, and he's withdrawing his fingers, pulling off of his cock with a soft, wet sound, and moving back up his body.

He reaches down between them, spreading the leftover lubricant over himself and moving close, guiding himself against Draco's entrance before reaching for one thigh and urging it up against his hip again, how it had been before.

He catches his lips briefly, kissing him hard as he starts to press down against him, into him. He's starting slow, steady pressure, hips rocking to ease inside.

[slytherinsnark]

Draco isn't used to asking, forget about begging for these sort of things. It's the sort of thing he'd have to be brought into, pushed, perhaps roughly into. Chances are, of course, that he would quietly, perhaps I admittedly love every moment of it. There's a sharp gasp, the way his body briefly tenses as he sucks in a harsh breath at the loss of those fingers as well as the warmth of Snape's mouth over his cock. Of course, in a way it's a good thing, gives him a moment to breathe, when he likely wouldn't have lasted too much longer like that.

He gasps, an involuntary shudder of his hips as the head of Snape's cock, slick and hot presses against his entrance. Fingers grab at his thigh, pulling it up to catch against Snape's hip, and he moans, only to be silenced as the man catches his mouth in a hard kiss. It's slow as Snape starts to sink into Draco, his body slowly giving, accepting, stretching to his girth that's thicker than the press of his fingers. His body trembles, clings tight to Snape even as he tries to stay relaxed, to not tense; he can't quite help the one brief moment when he forgets.

Draco arches, lifts his hips and slowly tries to help, to fit Snape into his body more deeply as his fingers cling to him. His body trembles, pauses, he's so full of want, but it's just more than what he can take and it draws a whine from his lips that he tries to muffle in Snape's shoulder.

[empty_yourself]

Draco is shaking beneath him, and it's tearing at his resolve. It's so tempting to just sink into him fast, knowing how his body would tense and tremble, but he knows this is a struggle for him, certain almost beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is a first, and he's determined not to steal this from him. He's lived long enough, endured enough to know that some things need to be given, need to go slowly.

Draco turns from the kiss and pulls him close, fingers gripping tight at his shoulders, and he exhales heavily against his pale neck when he hears that whine he tries to muffle against his skin. He presses a kiss to his neck and rolls his hips. He's pressing in, starting to sink into Draco's body now that the moment of tension has passed.

His hand moves from the mattress to Draco's left shoulder, down his arm, pushing the at the elbow to urge his arm up above his head slowly, and his hand skimmed along it, slow and careful, fingertips ghosting over the scar of his dark mark on their way to his wrist. He'll go for the other if this is alright, and he's biting at Draco's neck gently as his hand tightens around the slender wrist, waiting to find out if it's too much.

[slytherinsnark]

Draco needs it slow. At least here, now, this time. It's not too much, but fast would be. Despite his interest, his want, his desire, there's still only so much he can take. He shivers, a soft flushed gasp as Snape presses a kiss to soft skin and rolls his hips, working his length into Draco's slender body. He's sinking in, Malfoy's body far more accepting that initially, his blue eyes wide, lips parted, but his body is more or less relaxed.

His eyes flick to Snape's dark hues as that hand pushes at his elbow, guiding his arm above his head. There's a soft, timid jerk that isn't about discomfort, about this. Instead it's about how fingertips drag over that scar of his dark mark, and there's a flush to his face that says no one had touched it. Not since then. Not since it was black and livid and a symbol of Voldemort's power on his flesh. He tilts his head, baring his neck a bit more, trying to silently communicate that this is okay.

More than okay, honestly. There's a thrill, a breathlessness from the feeling of fingers wound around his wrist, holding him down, holding him in place as his other hand still clings to Snape's shoulders. He moans softly, and slowly, haltingly, rolls his hips a little, soft and experimental as his still getting used to the intensity of the feeling. So much heat, so much friction, so much of everything.

[empty_yourself]

Everything about Draco is receptive, open, permissive. He knew that it helped, that sometimes - maybe more than sometimes - a point of pressure, of restraint was welcome. It gave him something else to hold on to. Two days prior, that had come in the form of punishment, of Snape’s voice holding him in place over the desk, of wandless magic stealing his breath. Tonight it’s hardly that dangerous, just the slow caress of his hand over Draco’s arm, silently asking how much he would be permitted, how much Draco wanted.

There’s no question; no one has touched this mark since it meant power. Still, nothing in his reaction is rejection. Far from it, Draco tilts his head, neck exposed as he silently asks for more, and his body yields for him, relaxing, permitting him entrance. Slowly, so slowly, he sinks in completely until their bodies are pressed together. Draco is impossibly tight around him, and he can tell in spite of the little movements, the shifting of his hips, that he’s still struggling to get used to this.

Snape lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, warm over Draco’s skin. In truth, he needs a moment as well, afraid that if he moves now, starts fucking him as he’s craving, that he’ll come too soon, and he doesn’t want this over that quickly. Belatedly, he goes for Draco’s other arm and pushes it to the bed like the first, fingertips skimming over the soft skin. He shifts, catches the second wrist beneath his hand as well, holding them both pinned together. It would be easy to restrain him with magic, but that wasn’t the point. He wanted it like this, Draco needed restraint and contact, needed to be able to lose himself in being held and the reassurance of his presence. Later, if Draco wanted more, if he wanted to explore the darker side of this, they could negotiate different restraints.

He waits until he can feel Draco start to move beneath him again, slow and fitful like he can’t handle being still any longer. Then Snape begins to move, a slow, purposeful grind of his hips at first and then a shallow thrust, and another, dark eyes sliding shut as he feels the way Draco’s body moves beneath and against his.