Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/390510.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Argus_Filch/Severus_Snape, Severus_Snape/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Argus_Filch, Severus_Snape, Original_Male_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, Loss_of_Virginity, Prostitution, Authority_Figures
  Series:
      Part 3 of Black_and_White_and_Red_All_Over
  Collections:
      Crossgenerational_Slash, Kink_Bingo_2011_(Round_Four)
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-04-24 Words: 5262
****** Red Cars ******
by Delphi
Summary
     In which Severus discovers the power of sixteen and sex.
Notes
     Written for the Consent Play card as part of the April 2012 Kink
     Bingo mini-challenge. Kink: Authority Figures.
The summer that Severus was sixteen years old, he got into a car with Jim
Lumley and, as best as he could reckon it, mostly lost his virginity.
Mr. Lumley was a foreman at the mill—his father's supervisor—and Severus had
never really liked him. It was a family feud, in a way. Severus's father
despised Mr. Lumley because he made more money, had a nicer house, and because
he had played a season for some football club a long time ago and apparently
wouldn't shut up about it. Severus, particularly as he grew older, was inclined
to show partiality to whatever made his father angry, but while Mr. Lumley
didn't appear to return his father's animosity, he always seemed to have
something to say about Severus on the rare occasions they met.
"Someone get this poor boy a football!" This, when he was nine years old and
trying to read a book at the company Christmas party.
Or when he was twelve, back from Hogwarts for the summer. "You tell your da to
get you a haircut. You don't want to look like a nancy-boy, do you?"
A sideways glance when he was fourteen, his hair past his collar now. "Didn't
tell me you had a daughter, Toby."
His main impression of Mr. Lumley prior to that summer night was one of volume,
mass, and obnoxious masculinity. He was a big man, broad in the shoulders and
running to fat in the stomach. A little handsome, in a coarse and decidedly
Muggle way. He spoke loudly, usually about football and women, and he walked
down the neighbourhood streets with the swagger of someone who knew that the
Tobias Snapes of the world couldn't say a word against him to his face.
Not that the rest of the men at the mill were much better. The night it
happened, Severus had been pressed into attending some stupid manager's dull
retirement party at the village hall, and the noise and inane conversation had
been loathsome enough that he'd sneaked out as soon as his parents' attention
shifted from him to the open bar.
It was cool outside, and he leaned against the wall with a sigh, loosening the
necktie he'd borrowed from his father and retrieving an herbal cigarette from
his sock. It was a hand-rolled one, bought off Evan Rosier before the end of
term, and though he'd been trying to ration out his stash over the summer, he'd
had the feeling he'd appreciate one tonight.
"Need a light?"
Severus nearly jumped when Mr. Lumley sidled up beside him. He fumbled his
cigarette but managed to catch it before it fell. He gave the man a sideways
look, still startled by his sudden appearance, and then shrugged. He had been
about to retrieve his wand from his other sock in order to light up, but he
couldn't now. "I suppose."
Mr. Lumley pulled out a lighter and held his hand cupped around the flame as
Severus warily leaned in with the cigarette between his lips. It caught, and
Severus drew back, inhaling a warm puff. A moment later, the lighter flared
again, and in the dull glow of the street lamp, a curl of harsher, chemical-
smelling smoke drifted towards him.
"Nice night," Mr. Lumley said.
Severus shrugged again, looking out at the empty streets and wondering if it
was worth the trouble he'd be in if he simply left and walked home. Probably
not, and it was miles besides.
"Do you like records?" Mr. Lumley asked suddenly, his voice a little too loud.
To his embarrassment, Severus looked around reflexively, certain that someone
else was being addressed. When it became apparent that they were the only two
outside, he frowned. "Yes?"
He supposed that was a normal answer for a sixteen-year-old boy, and when it
came to socialising with the Muggle neighbours, normal was the path of least
resistance. Besides, he had listened to records before, and while he could take
or leave Muggle music, he didn't object to their invention.
"Our Susan just got one of those portable stereo players. Expensive, those."
Severus didn't say anything, aware that if he opened his mouth, the words
'Bully for her' were going to come out.
Mr. Lumley looked him over oddly. It was a long, slow look that took him in
from head to toe and back again, lingering on his hair. Severus braced himself
for a stupid comment about the length of it.
But instead, Mr. Lumley said, quietly: "I'll give you twenty quid if you let me
suck your cock."
The smoke in Severus's mouth sputtered out. He stared at Mr. Lumley, who looked
back at him with a strange, shuttered expression. Severus's face went hot and
his mouth ran dry. He had never had his cock sucked, nor had he ever had twenty
pounds in his possession, and while he had a general idea of the various ways
one could go about getting the latter, he had yet to figure out how one
arranged the former.
A variety of answers flitted through his head, ranging from "I don't think so,"
to "Really?" to "Yes, please."
"Let me see the money first," he eventually said.
Mr. Lumley let out a hard breath and pulled a crisp twenty pound note out of
his wallet.
Severus hesitated. Then, with another wary look about, he plucked it from Mr.
Lumley's hand and crammed it into his pocket.
"I'm parked over there," Mr. Lumley said, stubbing his cigarette out against
the wall.
Severus followed suit and carefully left the fag-end tucked in the gap between
two bricks, hoping to retrieve it later. Their footsteps scuffed quietly across
the dark car park. Even Severus, who didn't pay much attention to automobiles,
could pick out Mr. Lumley's car. It was a gleaming MGB-GT, which Severus knew
because his father had expounded at length about it taking brass ones to buy a
new car when the mill had just had a round of layoffs. It was long-nosed and
sleek, cherry red by day, and Severus privately thought it looked rather smart.
Mr. Lumley unlocked the doors, and Severus slid uncertainly into the passenger
seat. Sitting, his wand was close at hand, and he was ready to draw it if
anything should take a strange turn. Mr. Lumley didn't try to start the car,
however. He just sat there a moment, breathing heavily in the dark. Then he
reached over and put his hand in Severus's lap.
Severus couldn't stifle his quick intake of breath. He'd never had anyone
else's hand there, and the touch was startling, even through two layers of
clothes. He clutched the edges of the seat uncertainly, but nothing more seemed
to be expected of him than to sit there and get hard under Mr. Lumley's
kneading caress.
The sound of two pairs of trousers being unzipped was loud in the cramped space
of the car. Mr. Lumley's fingers slipped into the slit in the front of
Severus's pants and drew his prick out. Severus swallowed back an uncertain
moan at the contact of bare skin.
"Nice," Mr. Lumley said, breathing even heavier now. "Nice."
Then Mr. Lumley was leaning over, and Severus nearly flinched at the
overwhelming sensation of lips around his prick. His fingernails dug into the
leather of the seat, making it creak as he tried to keep his hips from
fidgeting. With a vague sense of embarrassment, he realised that his mental
image of the act hadn't been correct. It wasn't just sucking, but up and down
too. Better than wanking. Hot and wet, making him tremble.
He looked out the window at the row of cars. His breath fogged up the glass.
Mr. Lumley was stroking himself, his hand moving urgently as he slurped at
Severus's prick. Severus's hands clenched, and then his eyes squeezed shut. He
came hard and suddenly, and he could feel the slicker-than-spit slide of it
between his prick and Mr. Lumley's tongue.
The air was cold when Mr. Lumley let him slip from his mouth, sitting up to
pull out a handkerchief and wank even harder. Severus watched him, shivering
and slightly dazed, until he was done.
Mr. Lumley sat back, his breathing incrementally slowing. "You've got your
money," he said flatly.
Severus nodded. "Yes," he said. "Thank you."
He had never performed a memory charm before, but he had watched his mother
cast them on three rather memorable occasions. If someone from the Improper Use
of Magic Office came asking, then Mr. Lumley had seen him lighting a cigarette
with his wand. They wouldn't, though, not with the only two underage wizards in
town both over sixteen, and a grown witch in residence. He slipped his wand out
of his sock before Mr. Lumley had finished zipping up.
"Obliviate."
The inside of the car lit up for an instant in bright blue light, and Severus
discovered it really was that easy.
Two minutes later, he had straightened up and returned to the party, having
tucked the rest of his cigarette into his shirt pocket for later. Nearly
twenty-four hours after that, he was picking at a dinner of beans and toast as
his father sniggeringly related how Jim Lumsley had got so pissed at the
retirement party that he'd ended up passing out in his car and his wife had to
drive him home. And approximately two months after that, he was sitting on a
stool in Mr. Filch's work room, wondering if he could make it happen again.
It was late September and the first point in the term that called for a quiet
study space. One would think there would be a thousand out of the way places at
Hogwarts, but in Severus's experience, the staff didn't have to employ wards or
guards to keep students from wandering too far afield. All they had to do was
refrain from lighting and heating two-thirds of the rooms in the castle, making
exploration miserable in the shortening days.
Mr. Filch's work room was warm and well-lit and far removed from the
dormitories and classrooms, sitting as it did on top of the boiler room and old
service passageways. Severus considered it prime real estate. It was quiet, not
technically out of bounds, and had the advantage of company that kept its mouth
shut and was on occasion inclined to fix him a snack.
That company was what distracted him tonight. This was the most he'd seen of
Mr. Filch since starting sixth year, and the man kept stealing little looks at
him every once in a while, almost like he was pleased to see him. Severus
chewed on the end of his quill, restless and a little aroused. He'd been
wanking like a fiend ever since that night in the car park, spoilt by the
knowledge of what sex felt like, and now he cautiously wondered whether it was
true what people said about Mr. Filch being a pervert and a whoremonger.
Mr. Filch glanced over at him again, and when Severus met his eyes, he looked
away hurriedly.
His face warming, Severus let his gaze drift to the far corner of the work
room, where the sofa sat. It was a long, ornate fainting couch that looked out
of place among the sturdy tables and wooden stools, but had obviously been
given up for scrap owing to the ugly patch on the upholstery and the nicks and
scratches on its wooden legs. Severus had occasionally caught Mr. Filch napping
on it during the day.
It had never occurred to him to sit on it, any more than he would have taken
the liberty of perching on Mr. Filch's desk in his office. He hadn't had to be
warned; it was simply understood that while he might be on familiar terms with
the caretaker, Mr. Filch was still staff and he was still a student.
An experiment, then.
Severus got off the stool and, for the purposes of plausible denial, stretched
as though his back were hurting. Then he picked up his textbook and walked
casually to the sofa. He sat down on it and then stretched out with a sigh,
crossing his legs at the ankles and propping the book up on his chest. Then he
waited to see if Mr. Filch shouted at him.
Mr. Filch paused in his re-framing of a painting. He looked over his shoulder
at Severus, and what started as a glance lingered. "No shoes on the furniture,"
he said.
Severus raised his eyebrows in innocent interest even though his heart was
starting to pound, and he toed off first one shoe and then the other, letting
them drop to the floor. Mr. Filch's eyes momentarily widened, and then he
turned back to his work.
What if he were wrong? Severus reached one hand into the pocket of his robes,
where it curled loosely around his wand. He could get off a shot faster than
Mr. Filch, he assured himself. One little memory charm and he could take it all
back. Mr. Filch had a wand, but he treated it as if it were no more essential
than a hammer or a screwdriver, leaving it stuck in his toolbelt, out of reach.
Licking his suddenly dry lips, Severus turned a page in his book. "What I could
really use," he said, "is a copy of The Winterbottom Letters."
"Hmph. I'll be passing by the library when this goes back on the wall," Mr.
Filch said. He could usually be counted on to fetch Severus things from the
library after hours. He had a key and approved of studying.
"Thank you," Severus said. Then he added casually: "It's in the Restricted
Section."
The suspicion was plain on Mr. Filch's face. "What do you need a book like that
for?"
Severus shrugged. "Curiosity. It's referenced in the chapter I'm reading."
Mr. Filch snorted. "Your curiosity ain't worth my job."
Whether that was true...now that was the question. Severus stared
uncomprehendingly at the lines of print in his book and drew a deep, steadying
breath. He could feel the warmth in his face growing hotter. He closed his eyes
briefly and got it over with:
"If you get it for me, I'll let you suck my cock."
His tongue tripped slightly on the last word. It wasn't as though he were a
stranger to coarse language, but if he had ever said the word aloud before, it
certainly wasn't in relation to his own.
Silence.
He tightened his grip on his wand and forced himself to open his eyes. Mr.
Filch hadn't turned around, but he was clutching the edge of the table with
both hands.
"That ain't funny."
Severus knew that tone of voice. You've got your money. Mr. Filch's knuckles
were bone-white.
"I'm open to negotiation," Severus said coolly, his palms sweating as he
considered the possibilities. He would have to modify Mr. Filch's memory
afterwards, and if he only had one opportunity, he really ought to make the
most of it. "How about I let you bugger me?"
Silence again, and then Mr. Filch slowly peered over his shoulder, one pale eye
narrowed. "For one book?"
Severus reassessed the price of his favours and adjusted to decrease suspicion.
"All the books I want for the rest of the year."
There was another pause before the sound of slowly tearing parchment startled
Severus into sitting up.
Mr. Filch reached for a pencil. "Winterbottom," he said, his voice
uncharacteristically uncertain. "That shelved under W?"
"T," Severus said. "The editor is Octavia Tripps. It'll be on the
Transfiguration shelf."
It was only then that Mr. Filch turned, his face red and his mouth tight. He
stared hard at Severus for an instant, and then his gaze dropped, and he
grabbed his coat and keys. The door shut softly in his wake, and Severus could
hear his footsteps clipping quickly down the corridor.
Left alone, Severus sat with his hands curled around the edge of the sofa,
willing his erection to ease. It wouldn't do to look as eager as he was, not if
this was supposed to be a reluctant bargain, but the act of buggery had always
held a perverse appeal. Dirty and secret. Postcards passed around the boys'
dormitory. The language of it. Getting done. Getting bent. Severus squirmed,
reaching to loosen a necktie that wasn't there.
The footsteps returned after what seemed like an eternity. Mr. Filch slipped
back into the work room with the book tucked under his arm. He paused just
inside and locked the door. Then he turned the doorknob. Turned it again.
Turned it again.
"I think it's locked," Severus said dryly.
Mr. Filch held out the book as evidence before setting it on one of the tables.
He looked Severus up and down and up again, just like Mr. Lumley had. "Did you
mean it?"
Severus shrugged. "Fair's fair."
A slow breath out. "Take your robes off?" Mr. Filch said, his voice creaking
oddly.
Severus paused before reaching for the top button. It was no different than
being in the shower, he told himself. Except, of course, that it was, because
Mr. Filch was staring intently at him. He undid each button, then worked the
robes off, letting them slip to the floor, leaving him sitting awkwardly in his
pants and socks and vest.
Mr. Filch approached and sat down close beside him. Severus could feel the
warmth of his body against his bare arm and leg. There was the heavy, sharp
scent of cologne, which Severus was fairly certain hadn't been there before.
"Cold?"
Severus blinked. "No," he said, feeling rather hot as a matter of fact.
"Good," Mr. Filch said absently. Then he did a queer thing: he gathered up the
lock of hair hanging in Severus's face and swept it back, tucking it behind
Severus's ear.
What came next was more familiar. A hand in his lap. Heavy breathing. He was
already unbearably hard, the head of his prick poking out the top of his pants.
The first touches were teasing, large fingers tracing the outline of his prick.
Then the whole broad palm began to rub deliciously against him.
Severus closed his eyes, his mouth agape. He felt the warmth of Mr. Filch's
face approaching his, and then...
He had been kissed before. By Lily, the summer they were thirteen. (Dear God,
what would she say if she could see him now?) She had laughed afterwards, and
he'd stormed off, angry, even though she had sworn it had only tickled. He had
played those stupid common room parlour games too. Seven minutes in the
cupboard with Eunice Hoddle, both of them standing there in awkward silence for
at least three before uncomfortably mashing their lips together.
Those had been dry, mostly chaste things. This wasn't. Stubble rasped against
his cheek and chin as his lower lip was softly bitten. A tongue slithered
against his own, hot and slippery. Mr. Filch cupped his jaw, pushing Severus
against the back of the sofa and stroking him harder, leaving him gasping into
the kiss.
His lips were buzzing when Mr. Filch drew back. He licked them and heard what
sounded like a very soft growl.
"Lift up?" Mr. Filch's fingers slipped under the waistband of Severus's pants.
Severus lifted his hips as his pants were carefully pulled down. They bunched
around his knees, and he kicked them to the floor. Mr. Filch's rough hand
wrapped around his length, making his hips come up again, and Severus clutched
his broad, sturdy shoulders.
He had always been nervous touching girls. Not that he thought they were
fragile—Eunice Hoddle played Quidditch and had at least a stone on him—but he
was aware that boys were supposed to push and girls were supposed to say no,
and he was as discomfited by the first as by the second. This wasn't pushing,
though. This was holding on tight, his hands bunching up the fabric of Mr.
Filch's shirt.
"Christ, you've got a pretty cock," Mr. Filch muttered against his lips, then
kissed him again.
If Severus had thought he'd be able to hold out longer now that he was
experienced, he had slightly overestimated himself. His lower lip was caught
once more, pressed between teeth and then sucked, and Mr. Filch was pulling at
his prick in long, twisting strokes, over and over, steady and inarguable until
Severus was squeezing his eyes shut and moaning low.
"Shh." A puff of breath on his cheek.
The hand on his prick didn't ease up, still stroking, growing wet with the mess
of his spunk. Severus moaned again, higher now, as the sensation grew to be too
much, almost painful and making him shiver.
"Come here," Mr. Filch said.
Momentarily dazed from his spending, Severus unquestioningly went where he was
guided, and by the time he thought to protest, he was already straddling Mr.
Filch's lap and didn't trust his legs enough to move. Besides, he found himself
with an interesting view as Mr. Filch started unbuttoning his trousers. Dark,
coarse curls. A half-hard prick that might have given Severus a complex if he
hadn't shared enough communal showers to take a representative survey.
Mr. Filch started to stroke himself, and Severus licked his lips reflexively,
watching as his prick stiffened up, red and thick. He wondered what it tasted
like. Wondered if having it in his mouth—sucking cock, he thought, privately
relishing the words—felt as good as Mr. Lumley had made it look.
With his other hand, Mr. Filch pulled a small flat tin out of his pocket and
flipped the lid off. Inside was a clear jelly. Mr. Filch dipped his fingers
into the tin, gathering the stuff up. Then his hand disappeared from sight, and
Severus sucked in a startled breath at the first cold touch
If having someone else's hand on his prick had been dizzying, then having
anyone's fingers touching his arsehole nearly made him stop breathing.
"Sorry," Mr. Filch muttered, and the stuff warmed quickly as he rubbed it
around.
Severus felt his face flush to the tips of his ears, and he looked down,
avoiding Mr. Filch's gaze and staring at his prick instead. He wondered for the
first time if this was going to hurt. People did it all the time, so it
couldn't, or at least that had been his starting hypothesis. All the boys who
were better looking than him but too old-fashioned to try anything with their
girlfriends got up to it. So did the boys who could afford to pay off
underclassmen to fag for them. If they muddled by with butter stolen from the
kitchens, then certainly it couldn't hurt too much with something slippery that
smelled reassuringly medicinal.
He'd tensed up nonetheless, and Mr. Filch paused, his fingers slowing.
"Done this a lot, have you?"
Severus swallowed hard. "On occasion," he said, grateful when his voice held
steady. He certainly wasn't going to admit it was his first time, as if it
somehow mattered.
The slick, patient back-and-forth resumed, and when the strangeness of it faded
somewhat, it started to feel nice. Odd and embarrassing, but nice. His eyes
grew heavy lidded as the petting continued, and he indulged his curiosity,
reaching down and wrapping a measuring hand around Mr. Filch's prick.
Mr. Filch's breathing trembled at the touch. "Oh...there's a clever lad."
A broad hand wrapped around his own, guiding him in a slow, squeezing rhythm.
Severus's cheeks burned as the fingers at his hole grew more insistent, pushing
a little now as they rubbed. Then a finger pressed into him, sliding in almost
effortlessly. It felt strange. Big. It didn't hurt, but he could feel every
little movement of it, and there was a funny zing of pleasure inside him as it
thrust shallowly in and out. The second made his breath catch. He could feel
himself stretch for it, the pressure just shy of painful. He made a small sound
in the back of his throat and counted the cracks in the wall behind the sofa.
He couldn't tell if another finger opened him up, but the pressure eased, then
increased again, then left him entirely as Mr. Filch gathered up more slick
stuff, rubbing it all around and inside him for ages until he felt
embarrassingly wet. Another dollop went on Mr. Filch's prick, slathered on with
Severus's help.
Severus was taken by the hips and moved almost effortlessly, budged up as Mr.
Filch slouched down. He braced himself on the back of the sofa and gasped when
he felt Mr. Filch's prick slide against his bottom. The nudge that came was
smoother than fingers. His arse spread for it with humiliating eagerness, and
the stretch that followed made his eyes widen.
"Nearly there..." Mr. Filch muttered breathlessly.
For a moment, the strain of it was almost unbearable. Severus heard himself
make a wretched sound that trailed off as the head pushed fully inside him.
Suddenly, the worst of the tension uncoiled and he sank down slowly with a
shaky sigh.
"Bloody hell," he whispered, his eyes wide and his throat tight as he took it
in all the way. He felt pulled open and naked on the inside, burning and wet at
the same time, and throbbing where he was stretched wide.
He buried his face against the back of the sofa and squirmed experimentally,
feeling Mr. Filch's prick shifting inside him. Mr. Filch moaned, a hot, base
sound that made Severus try it again. Severus's prick started to swell again,
hanging heavy as the heat pooled low in his belly with every shallow dip of his
hips.
Mr. Filch cursed softly under his breath and then started rubbing warm circles
at the small of Severus's back. It felt wonderful, and Severus followed the
rhythm of it, rolling his hips slowly, rocking back and forth on Mr. Filch's
prick. The hand on his back drifted down, squeezing his bottom, then carefully
traced where they were joined.
"Mm..." Severus bit his lip, his back arching.
His singlet was pushed up. A rough cheek rubbed against his chest, and he felt
the flicker of a tongue against his nipple before Mr. Filch's mouth fastened on
and sucked.
He cried out loudly, taken aback by the jolt of heat that shot through him.
"Shhh," Mr. Filch hushed desperately, squeezing his bottom again. "Shh, nice
and quiet, all right?"
Severus nodded, but it was a hard promise to keep when Mr. Filch went straight
back to mouthing at him. Mental note: that was what nipples were for. The hard
sucking and soft bites made his whole body strain and rock, his prick bumping
up needfully against Mr. Filch's stomach.
"Like that, do we?" Mr. Filch asked, sounding breathless. "Gorgeous thing..."
Mr. Filch took him in hand again, and Severus thrust helplessly into the
callused grip of his fist. His vision swam, and he nearly sobbed, caught in the
middle of being speared open and wanked off and sucked. It was too much. His
mouth opened, but he couldn't speak, and it was hardly a minute before he was
coming again, spilling over onto Mr. Filch's hand and shirt, his eyes prickling
and his arse tightening up as the sensation overwhelmed him.
"All right, all right," Mr. Filch whispered, rubbing his back again in gentle
strokes. Then he pushed his hips up, pressing in even deeper.
Wrung out and rendered senseless, Severus let himself be moved. He was gripped
firmly by the hips and guided up and down. It seemed to go on forever, nearly
soothing, like being rocked, even though every motion made his unsteady limbs
tremble. Finally, Mr. Filch's eyes went glassy and his fingers started to dig
in hard. A low, urgent grunt accompanied his final upward thrusts—four of them,
five, six, and then a hard shiver and a faint pulse inside that Severus could
feel inside. Panting breath. Pale eyes shutting, squeezing tight.
Stillness.
Severus sagged, breathing out slowly in satisfaction as he was tightly
embraced. Being hugged hadn't been part of the bargain, but he consoled himself
that it would soon be forgotten, and besides, Mr. Filch's arms were too
immovable to argue with. He lay like that, sprawled and spent, for several
minutes, until Mr. Filch's prick eventually slipped out of him with an
alarmingly wet sensation that spurred him to shakily pull back and grope for
his clothing.
Mr. Filch sat where he was, watching him, rubbing his mouth uncertainly. "You
all right?" he asked.
"Fine," Severus said, pulling on his pants and then his robes. Then, after a
moment's consideration, he added: "I'm incredibly thirsty."
"Thirsty," Mr. Filch echoed. He swallowed audibly, then seemed to shake himself
back to his senses. "I'll get you something to drink, all right?"
Severus watched, pink-cheeked, as Mr. Filch wiped himself off with his
handkerchief and then fastened his trousers.
"Stay put," Mr. Filch said and then paused, looking Severus over with a
strange, wide-eyed expression. "And try..." He waved his hand vaguely. "...try
not to look like you just got..."
He trailed off as Severus blinked at him in blank incomprehension, and then he
sighed and pulled his coat back on, buttoning it up over the stain on his shirt
before leaving.
Severus stayed put. He sat back down on the sofa and winced at the twinge it
brought. He surreptitiously inspected his arse, which was, as expected, sore
and sticky. He then crossed to the basin and washed his face and hands. He sat
down again and turned his wand over in his hands.
"Obliviate," he murmured, his hand moving in a rehearsed jab-and-flick.
It was ten or fifteen minutes before Mr. Filch returned. There was a fumbling
at the knob, clumsy enough to make Severus straighten up in alarm, but when the
door swung open, it was revealed that Mr. Filch was merely balancing a large
tray in his arms.
Severus's eyebrow slowly climbed. Upon the tray sat a pot of tea, a cup of hot
chocolate, a bottle of milk, a glass of pumpkin juice, a sandwich, and a large
slice of leftover cake from Sunday dinner.
"Didn't know what you'd want," Mr. Filch said, looking wretched, and shuffled
his feet awkwardly when Severus continued to stare. "I could get you something
else."
"No," Severus said, slowly setting down his wand. "That's all right."
It distantly occurred to him that perhaps it wasn't wise to make decisions when
the sweat had yet to dry on alarmingly good sex. At that moment, however, he
had three rather clearer thoughts. The first was that a year-long pass to the
Restricted Section, whether requested in earnestness or not, truly was an
amazing deal. Second, that perhaps there were more subtle and therefore
Slytherin ways than memory modification to ensure someone's discretion. And
third, that he really wanted a piece of cake.
He reached out and took the plate and the bottle of milk, and Mr. Filch all but
slumped in visible relief before joining him on the sofa. They sat with several
inches between them, eating and drinking in silence. Then Mr. Filch nudged
closer, and when he put a hesitant arm around Severus's shoulders, Severus let
him, deciding it wasn't worth complaining about. There would be time to
establish some rules and set down limits later, when he wasn't so tired, and he
wasn't so sore, and when Mr. Filch's embrace wasn't quite so comfortable.
Later, he thought, and closed his eyes.
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