Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1391212.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Character:
      Sirius_Black, Remus_Lupin, Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      Non-Consensual, Bondage, Underage_Sex, Violence, Angst, Rape, Anal_Sex,
      MWPP_Era, Dark
  Series:
      Part 2 of Wentworth_Miller
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-30 Words: 2088
****** Good for You! ******
by Agent_Zap
Summary
     Sirius yelled. Sirius paced. Sirius hit his fists alternately against
     the wall and his own head. When nobody saw it, of course. Why had
     James gone after that waste of magic? Why was Remus so bloody upset
     about it? Wouldn't they all have been better off if that - that -
     yeuch - hadn't come out of the shrieking shack alive?
Notes
     Disclaimer: Don't own, making no money.
     Beta: Gobi_Rex - Thank you!
     Why the fuck can’t I add a description of a series?!? Well, here
     goes.
     I often thought about putting my oldest fics up here, too, just to
     keep it all in one archive. Then I’d read them through and think that
     nobody really needed to see that. (Honestly: it's not great
     literature.)
     But then, last year, Wentworth Miller came out as gay. And his
     description of how harrowing it had been to be in the closet reminded
     me very much of a process of self-discovery, acceptance and
     disclosure that I’d gone through. I got curious and looked him up –
     found that he’d written one film manuscript; Stoker. I watched the
     film… And yeah, I knew I had to put these stories up here. That film
     reminded me so much of my early fics – so full of self-loathing; full
     of belief that what you want from the depth of your heart makes you a
     monster. Let’s not forget that we still live in a world where people
     are made to feel this way by all kinds of normativity. Let’s call
     this the Wentworth Miller series (even though all the fics are Harry
     Potter). Not all of these stories are openly dark – but they’re all
     from the same period. Please read tags carefully.
Sirius yelled. Sirius paced. Sirius hit his fists alternately against the wall
and his own head. When nobody saw it, of course. Why had James gone after that
waste of magic? Why was Remus so bloody upset about it? Wouldn't they all have
been better off if that - that - yeuch - hadn't come out of the shrieking shack
alive? James still hung with him and laughed with him, and they had fun as
ever, even though there was always just this hint of a second glance whenever
Sirius suggested something.
But Remus. Remus who'd always just hung back and smiled and blushed and
provided them with alibis and pointed out flaws in their plans, when he wasn't
turned inside out and heading those amazing, thrilling chases through the
forest. Just smiled. And blushed. Being Remus.
And now he was pretending Sirius wasn't there. Which didn't make much
difference, right? Because he never did anything really that Sirius and James
couldn't do on their own. Or bringing in Peter, if they needed a third party.
He wasn't that important. And he really was a wimp, wasn't he, if he couldn't
get his carnivorous guts together and see what an amazing chance to get rid of
Snape it had been?
So Sirius wasn't exactly sure why he was in the broom shed yet again, alone and
screaming at the innocent walls.
As if on cue, one of the old brooms behind him toppled over with a loud
clatter. Sirius whirled about, getting his wand out, but never got further than
"EX-!"
before he felt his whole body turn rigid and he toppled over, rolling onto his
side so all he could see was the shower room door. And his wand, falling to the
ground in front of him, bouncing a couple of times before skidding to a halt on
the sandy floor.
For a moment all he heard was the rushing of blood in his own head and he
thought he'd gone deaf, so quiet was the room. Then the sound of deliberately
slow footsteps reached him. Closing in. Swishing of robes. Unable to lower his
eyelids, he realized that at least his ability to sweat hadn't been petrified;
a drop rolled down his temple and stung his eye.
Entering his field of vision came a pair of scruffy old boots, almost covered
by the black robes hanging around them. A pale hand reaching out of a black
sleeve reached down and picked up his wand. The fury inside turned his view
blurry and red, but he couldn't so much as tremble.
He heard a tutting.
"Too bad. If you hadn't been about to curse me, I could have just tied you up.
Now I had to petrify you."
The drawling voice left no doubt about who his stalker was. For a second, some
kind of admiration sneaked its way into his mind - some nerve after that last
trick! - then his fury reached a whole other level and the rushing, the
sweating, the blur, seemed to evaporate and his thinking processes and
perception came together like crystal glasses clinking.
"Of course... That leaves me with the choice between applying the ropes myself,
or simply cast another spell. Hm..."
Okay, whatever trick Snape thought he was going to play on Sirius, he was going
to regret it. Oh, yes.
"I'm not really here to enjoy myself, though, so I guess I'll just cast the
spell. I'm really here to teach you a lesson."
Sirius was lifted off the floor and whirled around while ropes tied his arms
tight to his body at the same time as the Petrificus was lifted. Nausea hit him
as he also felt a gag pull the corners of his mouth back, and the feeling of
cold cotton fabric rubbed against his tongue.
A nasal bellow escaped him as he was finally thrown face down over the bench in
the middle of the room and had his breath punched out of him. He scrambled to
get his feet back under him, but was quickly squashed back down against the
bench by a hand flat between his shoulder blades. His legs were kicked apart
and Snape's unoccupied hand caught his bound wrists and pulled them up, right
to the edge of pain.
"Do you know what it is I need to teach you?" the git droned behind him. Let me
guess! A comes before B? Hagrid's mother was a midget? You're a greasy, insane
bastard? Because, I don't really care!
He heard a deep sigh. "No, I don't think telling you would assist the process.
Let me show you, then."
Snape let go of his hands, but he immediately felt the ropes lengthen down
across his sides and tie him to the bench. Then he forgot to breathe as Snape's
cool hand gently lay across his forehead, stroked down his cheek and finally
lifted up his chin while the boy stepped over the bench and crouched down in
front of him, catching Sirius' gaze with those freaky black eyes of his and
looking intently at him without his usual scowl.
Sirius narrowed his eyes, growled and took a couple of deep breaths. Snape
tilted his head slightly to one side.
"Yes, I'll just show you then."
He let go of Sirius' chin, got up and stepped back over the bench. Sirius
realized that if he hung his head, he could actually see under the bench, he
couldn't see what Snape was doing above knee level, but at least he could tell
where in the room he was. It made his head pound, though, to keep that
position. It felt like his cheeks were trying to crawl into his eyes.
Snape was kneeling down behind him, now. Then he put his hands on Sirius' ass.
Sirius felt his seat muscles clench, even as he wanted to relax. He didn't care
what Snape was doing, it had nothing to do with him. The boy wanted revenge -
of course. Sirius hated to admit it to himself, but he could almost respect
that. So, take it stoically and you'll really come out the winner.
Snape's hands were wandering, up to his waist, and Sirius was wondering what
Snape would use for a cane as he felt and watched hands move around his waist
to the drawstring of his pants, loosening them and pulling them down along with
his shorts. It was a weird feeling having his bits out in the open like that,
and an even weirder sight, so he finally lifted his head, closed his eyes and
decided to just take whatever might come.
Then Snape's hands came back to his ass. Just stroking him, gentle like. That
sick prick! Count on Snape to get off on spanking. But the hands just kept
stroking him, then squeezing gently at his tense flesh. He was loosing
patience, enough of this already! Finally the hands lifted from his ass and
with some kind of relief he anticipated the first blow. Instead, Snape pushed
his legs even more apart and leaned against him, and he felt one arm wrapping
around his waist, and the hand of another suddenly cupping his balls carefully.
The clash of sensation and emotion, colliding within him at this simple touch,
had him reeling. The fingers gently lifting his sac and tips playing with its
contents sent shocks of lust to some part of his brain he really, really didn't
want to be associated with right now. Get off me, get off me, get off me!! The
nausea was returning. But then Snape moved the hand on his waist down towards
his prick, and he thought he heard himself whimper as he realized he was
already half hard, and when that hand ran a single finger from the base, up the
underside, to flick the slick head, he felt himself bobbing away from that
finger, that is, growing harder.
Then Snape caught his erection firmly at the base, just holding tight and
pressing the heel of his hand against his pubis to keep him in place while
Snape removed his other hand and slowly pressed up against him. Through the
material of his robe, his own erection felt firm and warm and rough. He moved
his hips so the bulge got caught low in Sirius' crack, under his cheeks,
rubbing at the skin behind his balls.
Then he let go completely and left Sirius gasping against the gag on the bench,
breath driving in and out of his treacherous body. He heard the swishing sounds
of disrobing. Pressed his eyes even more tightly shut and abandoned himself to
this madness, shivering and sliding even further down against the bench, knees
grinding against the floor.
He hadn't been aware he'd been waiting for Snape's skin on his until he felt
the lean stomach and hipbones leaning against him. Snape reached up and grabbed
a hold of his shoulder, the other hand winding down to reach his prick again,
catching the head between thumb and forefinger and pinching mercilessly. Sirius
had the impression that all of his being was contained in that tiny piece of
flesh, and he was letting go, and opening up, and loosing control, when Snape
let go of him, grabbed his own prick and with expert aim rammed it into Sirius'
ass while tearing loose the gag. Sirius' howling filled the shed.
Stars were dancing on the insides of his eyelids from both pain and pleasure,
and as Snape held onto his hips and began moving in and out of him, filling him
and stretching him wide, he dropped his head and gasped in the night air. He
could hear the slamming of flesh against flesh, feel Snape's sac almost
colliding with his own on each thrust, and cracking his eyes open, he could see
it. Spellbound - hah! - he stared at Snapes naked and straining thighs, his
veined and rose coloured prick moving in him, and the black curly haired, heavy
sac behind it. His own, darker coloured and looking right at him, dripping. He
felt the tell tale tension gathering in the bottom of his abdomen and stared,
hypnotized, at himself.
Then he heard a well known voice.
"Tell me how it feels."
His head shot up and his glazed eyes weaved in and out of focus until settling
on the lone figure standing in the door.
"Remus!"
He didn't recognize his own voice. That was not him. No no. But over there was
Remus, looking at him as if expecting something.
"Remus...!"
And behind him was Snape, now still, deep inside him, and his hand firmly at
the base of his prick again, while running the other hand smoothly up and down
his back. Snape.
"Remus, Remus..."
Remus narrowed his eyes, cocked his head and slowly walked towards him. Them.
Him.
"Tell me. How does it feel to find pleasure in something you absolutely loathe,
something you'll detest yourself for for the rest of your life?"
Sirius gasped, dizzy, trying to maintain focus on Remus as Snape started moving
again.
"Go on, I really want to know. Maybe I missed something."
"Reme..."
Remus stopped right in front of him and crouched down, catching Sirius' chin in
his hand and lifting it up so they were eye to eye. Sirius had a flash of dja
vu. Then he was drowning in those warm brown eyes, and he felt his whole body
tightening as he spent in long, strained bursts, gritting his teeth.
Weary and drained, he regained focus and looked at Remus' scarred face, his
curious expression. He winced as he felt Snape withdraw and release the ropes
on his wrists, and not just from the raw, empty feeling between his legs. Snape
had never reached climax. He could hear the other boy get up and put on his
robes. Remus was still staring at him.
"No comments, huh? Well I guess I was lucky after all. But thanks for the well
meant thought. It's wouldn't be fair between friends not to reciprocate,
right?"
He smiled and pinched Sirius' cheek.
"See you later, Black."
Sirius slid down off the bench and curled up while listening to the sounds of
the two others leaving. Then he tried to grind his knuckles and his cheek bone
against the rough floor hard enough to abrade the skin, but there wasn't enough
weight behind his effort.
"Remus."
Finally he drew together enough numbness to work his pants up and tie the
string with shaking hands. Then he walked back to the castle.
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