Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

what do you know about my body that i don’t already / how can you reteach me / my own skin / how could i go one day without shiver / without raincloud / when is it going to be okay /

—jamie mortara, “Q&A”

Snape approached Dumbledore after Potter’s first Occlumency lesson, not bothering to hide his distaste or his disdain. Dumbledore grimaced, but gestured for him to sit.

“I understand that you’re busy,” Snape said. “And I understand that absolutely everyone is busy, and that nominally my job is ‘educator.’”

“Nominally?”

“I’m your lapdog,” Snape said. Dumbledore let out a very long sigh. “In any case, I—Potter. The boy—I know I hate him for personal reasons, and that you think it’s silly of me not to—but you need to teach him Occlumency yourself, or get someone else to do it. He hates me as much as I hate him. It isn’t—he isn’t going to be able to learn it from me, and I’m not going to be able to teach him. There’s just no way. He won’t even call me ‘sir’ without ten minutes of—someone else needs to do it.”

Dumbledore looked exhausted, but looked up and searched his eyes. “You’re absolutely positive?”

“It’s impossible,” Snape said flatly. “You’re right that he needs to learn it, but I—yes. I’m sure.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Alright. But I need you to—Umbridge has it out for me. If she ousts me, he’ll need to use your floo.”

“Fine,” Snape said, and left. Potter looked nearly grateful the next time he saw Snape, though thankfully it only lasted about two minutes into the class.

Snape considered, for a moment, simply ignoring Black when he followed him out of the Order meeting. His imagination took him to a distant, beautiful future in which the man was entirely outside his realm of perception, in which the name “Sirius Black” meant less than nothing to him. Perhaps he would sit by the lake, and watch the sunset collapse into the mirror of its red-streaked rays.

“Snivellus! Hey, Snivellus! Wait up!”

It was no use. Every time he was anywhere near Black, he suddenly became fifteen years old again. Snape whirled around, a little pleased despite himself at Lupin’s absence, and raised his wand. Black grinned back, or at least bared his teeth. “You know,” Snape drawled, stretching each word out into as many syllables as he could, “if you really are that desperate for my attention, there are things we could be doing with our time besides violence. You ever heard of the Reverse Bronco?”

He’d been hoping to make Black balk, and blinked when the man looked delighted. “Merlin, Snape, that’s bloody brilliant. Then we wouldn’t even have to look at each other.”

Snape tilted his head. “I suppose we wouldn’t.” Then he scowled. “If you think for even a minute that I’d be the cowboy in this scenario—”

Black began to lower his wand, shooting Snape’s a significant look, and looked even more pleased when Snape sighed and mirrored him. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“I’d rather die,” Snape said flatly. “Your room or mine?”

Black blinked, then grinned so widely it was a little startling. “Mine,” he said, “mine, my room, come on.” And he grabbed Snape by the upper arm and started dragging him upstairs. Snape tilted his head, but went ahead and followed; Black might be one of his least favorite people on the planet, but he did have functioning eyes. Why he would want to shag Snape was utterly beyond him, but hell. When was the last time he’d bothered to touch another person at all? It had to have been at least 1993. 1992? When you got to the point where you were measuring it in years, the distinction became a bit facile.

By the time he’d finished justifying thinking with his prick to himself, they were already in Black’s room. “Strip,” Black commanded. Snape didn’t want to watch him undress, but couldn’t help but notice how unbearably thin he was. He had tattoos up and down his torso and arms and legs, but not many on his back; most of the bigger and more skilled ones were magical, but Snape would be willing to bet he’d done others himself in prison, though where he’d found ink Snape had no idea. He had strong, corded muscle up and down his frame, and more body hair than Snape had been expecting; his long, silken hair, cascading down the side of his face, was unfairly captivating. Snape profoundly wished he weren’t fighting the urge to go to Black and lick up and down his neck, but wasn’t naïve enough to mistake the desire for anything other than what it was.

Black bounced up from pulling off his socks and shook his head. “Alright,” he said. “Oh, lovely cock there.” Snape blinked, but Black seemed nonplussed. “Oh, that’s going to feel fucking great. This is going to—yeah, I was just excited to fuck, but I bet you know how to use that bad boy.”

Snape suppressed a smile. “Yes, well. Come on, then.” He laid down on his face and adjusted himself, then cast a few spells. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“What, you think I’m bad at sex?”

“It’s a difficult position,” Snape said through gritted teeth. “This isn’t going to be fun for either of us if I have to heal a strained muscle halfway through.”

“Oh.”

“Take as long as you want to come,” Snape said. “I’m not in a hurry. That’s it.”

“Erm—” There was silence, then, “Thanks.”

“Oh, get on with it, will you?”

“Thought you weren’t in a hurry.”

“I am if you’re going to talk.”

Black huffed out a laugh. Snape closed his eyes as he felt the man approach, and didn’t comment when he ran his hands up and down along Snape’s thighs and adjusted him this way and that. Black let out what sounded like a relieved sigh and braced himself on Snape’s calves. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

“Alright.”

There was quiet again, thank Merlin, and then Black lowered himself onto Snape’s cock. He panted as he drove himself up and down onto Snape, experimenting in an attempt to take as much of him inside as he could, though it was shallow no matter how skillfully he writhed atop him. When he finally settled on a rhythm, Snape closed his eyes and gripped the sheets, letting himself focus on the simple pleasure of closeness with another person, the satiation of that eternal, aching desire that was so rarely fulfilled.

Then a gasp, and a moan, and the weight of Black’s body hitting the sheets. Snape sat up with his back to him, resisting the urge to sigh. “Alright. I’m gonna go.”

“Okay,” Black said. “Merlin, that was—dammit, you’re still hard. Sorry, I should have—”

“Black—”

But Black reached around him and took a firm grasp of his cock, stroking him briskly. “Come,” he said. “Lord knows you’ve earned it.”

Snape came, then shook himself after a minute and stood. “Okay, well, bye.”

“Howdy, cowboy,” Black said, still a little out of breath. He closed his eyes, collapsed back onto the bed, and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thanks for the ride.”

Well. That had been more fun than Snape usually had on Fridays.

He went back the next week, though he usually only made it once a month or so; given that Black more or less started salivating the second he set foot in the room, he had a feeling it had been the right call. When he was leaving, Black followed him out again. “So there’s something called the Reverse Bulldog,” Black said, raising his eyebrows and licking his lips.

“Merlin, I hate you,” Snape said, and reached for him.

The bloody smile was back. Snape scowled as he grabbed Black’s arm, shoving him in front of himself and pushing his back to get him moving. Black laughed. “Eager much, Snivellus?”

“Who approached who, exactly? Twice?”

Black scoffed and led him upstairs. “You propositioned me.”

“After you obsessed over me for thirty years.”

“Oh, come on, thirty? It’s been twenty-five, max.” Black turned around, grinned again, and started stripping Snape’s clothes off. “Anyway, tell me you haven’t been thinking about this for the past week.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Black grinned and pulled Snape over to the bed and threw him down on his front. “Alright, hold tight.”

“You’d better not have bloody bedbugs.”

Black laughed delightedly. “Oh, he’s a poet!”

Snape found himself very glad he wasn’t looking at him, though he was still a bit appalled that the laugh was what had gotten him hard.

Do not like Sirius Black, Snape told himself sternly. Under any circumstances. You are not allowed to like Sirius Black.

The week after that, Lupin followed them. Snape glared at him, then at Black; it took him widening his eyes significantly at Black before the man remembered to draw his wand. “Snivellus,” Black snarled, in Snape’s opinion a little weakly. The man really would make a dreadful spy.

“Mongrel,” Snape drawled. “And your pet wolf. How delightful that you have nothing better to do with your time than continue a thirty-year-old vendetta. I suppose you’ll insult my nose and hair next?”

“Actually, I was going to say something cutting about your character,” Black said. “But I think it might be more fun to just curse you. Expelliarmus!”

Snape sidestepped him easily. Phineas Nigellus cursed. “Tsk, tsk, Black. No wonder you ended up in Azkaban, with reflexes that slow.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Lupin asked. Snape had a feeling he’d been trying for earnest, but it just came out a whine.

Black bit his lip. Snape sneered. We’d be shagging right now if not for you, he thought, a little appalled at himself for how much he’d have preferred that option. “It’s always nice to have a reminder of my superiority.”

Lupin sighed very deeply. “Superior sliminess, maybe,” Black said. “Did your mum pick out that complete and total lack of personal integrity for you, or was there a BOGO at the consignment shop?”

“I should have known you’d be so obscenely wealthy as to consider consignment shopping lowbrow,” Snape sneered. Black blinked, then sneered back.

“Alright, well, if you’re going to stick to schoolyard insults, I’m gonna go,” Lupin said. “Have fun, I guess.” And he turned around and walked off. 

They both watched him go, though Black didn’t break the silence until they heard the floo crackling. “Merlin, I thought he’d never leave. You ever heard of the Bumper Car?”

Snape blinked, then fought a smile; Black’s eyes grew huge. “What?”

“What?”

“Do I have something on my face?”

Black’s eyes darted down to his lips, his mouth parting. Snape groaned internally. “Erm, I, uh—no. Nothing. Sorry. I, er—let’s fuck, eh?”

“Do you feel like topping this time?”

Black stumbled over his feet. “What?”

“Well, Merlin, Black, it’s only fair that you top once in a while,” Snape said irritably. “If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to, but I like to be filled up by a nice hard cock as much as anyone else. And clearly you know how to use it. It certainly has been fun to pleasure you, but I can’t get anything out of it? Well, obviously I get an orgasm either way, but I really would love to get fucked.”

Black was still frozen in place. “It was just an idea,” Snape muttered, and held his hands above his head. “Sorry. I’ll never ask you to top me ever again.”

“No!” Black blurted, his voice strangled. “I—Merlin, yeah, let’s—Jesus, let me—that’s a great idea.”

“I’m full of them.”

“You’re about to be full of me.”

Snape groaned. Black grabbed the front of his shirt and began dragging him up to his bedroom. Black hadn’t started liking him, had he? Clearly not; the problem was he was so bloody soft-hearted. He was still almost entirely isolated, and obviously desperate for any kind of attention, no matter how repugnant its source. The man had spent a decade in Azkaban, and his childhood in this evil house; besides that, he’d gotten his best friends killed when he was barely twenty. Obviously Snape was ultimately responsible for the whole thing, but Black clearly felt guilty for it; why the hell else would he spend twelve years in Azkaban instead of escaping as a dog after a week and moving to the Virgin Islands?

“You okay?”

“What?”

“Fuck.”

Snape blinked and looked up, then scowled when he realized they were already in Black’s bedroom. “What do you care?”

“I don’t,” Black said, and bit his lip and looked away. He really was pathetically easy to read. 

Snape wished for a minute that he’d never even heard of Sirius Black, then said, “Okay, good.”

“Right,” Black said. “Erm, I—strip.”

“Right,” Snape said. “Merlin, I haven’t been fucked in—you’d better make me come, Black.”

Black looked back up and laughed. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.” Snape blinked, and Black said, “I—that speech was fucking—I know you hate me, but I don’t suppose you feel like talking while I fuck you, do you?”

“What, you want to have an argument mid-shag?”

“You could read a grocery list for all I care,” Black said. “But your voice is—I mean, Merlin. I bet I could come just from that.”

Snape blinked again, then sighed. “I’ll rattle off Potions recipes.” Black looked delighted, and Snape scowled and held up a finger. “If you take me from behind. If I have to think while we shag, I want to lie on my stomach. And you’d better fuck me so hard I can’t remember what Potions is by the end of it.”

Black blinked back, then grinned so widely Snape looked away. “You really are absolutely brilliant, you know that?”

Snape felt his face turn pink and his scowl deepen, and went to lie down on the bed. “Oh, just fuck me already, would you?” He sighed and thought, shuddering as Black got settled on the backs of his thighs and pried open his arse cheeks. “Alright. Amortentia. Before you begin brewing, you must make sure to have all your ingredients portioned and p-prepared. Oh, that’s—ingredients include three t-tablespoons finely crushed pearl dust—”

The week after that, Black got very close to him in the hall. “So I know we’ve been trying to avoid looking at each other,” he said. “But what would you think of me bending you over the kitchen table and fucking you until you can’t see straight? I have this vision.”

“Far be it from me to interfere with your vision,” Snape drawled. Black grinned at him. “You’re doing all the work.”

“Naturally,” Black said. “Come on, let’s—I need to position you like—and there has to be—”

Snape rolled his eyes and followed. “You really do have a vision, eh?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all week,” Black confided. “How do you feel about hair pulling?”

“Favorably.”

Black pushed him into the kitchen and moved around the table, angling dishes and chairs this way and that. “Strip,” he commanded. Snape complied. “Come on, we’ve got to—and I need to dim the lights. Do you know a charm to—”

Snape raised an eyebrow and started lowering the lights incrementally. “Tell me when. I suppose that’s another way we could—”

“When. Yeah, we could fuck face to face with the lights off, eh? Then I could pretend it wasn’t you.”

“Don’t you mean I could pretend it wasn’t you?”

Black huffed out a laugh and came to him, stripping his own clothes off as he moved. “Well, you are a bastard, but you’re astonishingly good at sex, I’ll give you that.”

“Never compliment me again.”

Black laughed again, and turned his body around, splaying his chest out on the table. Snape grabbed the far end of it. “Okay, move your hands another, like, three centimeters apart. And spread out your fingers. Perfect. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to compliment you again, sorry—”

“Don’t apologize either.”

“Alright. But I think you have about the most luscious arse I’ve ever seen. Will you kill me if I bite it?”

“Was that part of your vision?”

“Well, I hadn’t got a close look at it until now.”

Snape sighed. “If you must.” He gripped the edge of the table tighter as he bucked back against Black. “Merlin, do that again.”

Black laughed and bit his other arse cheek. “Alright.” He cast a few different spells, then ran his palms down Snape’s back before grabbing his hair and yanking his head up. “Hang on.”

He’d got three fingers into opening Snape up when there was a clattering noise. “Good lord, Black, what the hell—”

“Snape?”

Snape didn’t turn around, but he did bury his face in the table. “Was this part of your vision too?”

“Moony!” Black yelped. His fingers drove deep into Snape, who let out a strangled moan as they raked his prostate. “I—erm—”

“Make him leave,” Snape growled. “If you don’t finish fucking me I think I’ll have to kill you.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Lupin cried, and there was the sound of a slamming door.

“Right,” Black said. “Where were we?”

“Your cock in my arse,” Snape said.

“No, no, I was going to fist you first,” Black said, curling his fingers into Snape’s prostate again. Snape gripped the edge of the table and swore.

“Well,” Snape breathed, and clenched around him. This time Black was the one who moaned. “Get to it.”

He wasn’t sure how long it took them to enact Black’s vision, but he’d entirely forgotten about Lupin by the time they both collapsed onto the floor. He only remembered when Black jolted against him and swore. “Fuck! Do you think Moony’s still here?”

“I don’t care,” Snape said. “Go deal with him, would you? I think I need to lie here on the floor for another week.”

Black laughed and gave him a very odd look. “I thought you’d be more—I dunno, embarrassed.”

“My entire life has been one endless series of humiliations,” Snape said. Black tilted his head and gave him another odd look. “At least I got to come at the end of this one.”

Black shook his head and started off; Snape got dressed after a few minutes and started for the floo, pausing when he heard voices. He tilted his head, then shrugged and went to listen at the door. “—me get this straight. You and Snape have been shagging for an entire month now?”

“Look, I’m not happy about it either. But I—to be fair, this was the first time we even really looked at each other.”

“How the hell do you—I don’t want to know. You know what a monumentally stupid thing this is to do, right? You’re going to get your heart broken.”

“What? I don’t even like him!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t! He was the one who hit on me!”

“I’m sure he was.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on. I know what you look like when you’re—you’ve been panting after that man since school.”

“What? That’s disgusting!”

“You literally—why the hell would you follow him around so much if you weren’t desperate for his attention?”

A pause. Then Black muttered, “That’s what he said.”

“See? He already knows exactly how much you—and he still hates you. He’s going to rip your heart out and tear it into teeny tiny shreds. And then set those shreds on fire.”

“I would never care enough about—about fucking Snivellus to—he doesn’t even want to acknowledge that it’s me! And I don’t either!”

“And how long do you think it’ll stay that way, exactly?”

“Indefinitely!”

“So you want to be with Snape indefinitely?”

“I—you—you’re twisting your—my—I hate him! It’s not my fault he’s the only person around for me to shag! Am I supposed to turn down—I think I must have gone twelve solid years there without touching another person at all, much less getting any touch that even resembled—I hate him, no matter how amazing he is at sex! So what if he has—has a luscious arse and gorgeous lips and deep, penetrating, mysterious eyes and—and beautiful hands! So did—did—you’ve never wanted to shag anyone dreadful?”

Merlin, Snape thought. Am I going to have to be responsible for making sure he doesn’t develop feelings for me? Certainly he hated Black, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to destroy his heart. As revenge went, it struck him as, to put it mildly, a little extreme. Well, at least he had a head start on the whole thing; he doubted he’d have to be terribly vigilant about continuing to be awful to Black, or continuing to be an unlovable monster, but he could at least make sure there wasn’t any real intimacy.

“Whatever you say, Padfoot.”

Black huffed. Lupin sighed. Snape slipped away.

The next week, Lupin followed Snape and Black out into the hall again. Snape scowled and jerked a thumb at him. “Does he want to participate, or…”

Lupin blinked. “What?”

Snape felt his scowl deepen. “We’re going to shag.” He narrowed his eyes at Black and crossed his arms over his chest. “Right?”

“Right,” Black said, a little breathlessly. “This time my vision involved rimming you, though. And tying you to—”

“Alright, alright, you don’t need supervision around Snape,” Lupin said in a rush, and fled. 

When the door slammed, Black looked back at Snape; Snape tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. Black’s mouth twitched, and Snape felt his own do the same, and then Black burst out laughing. He laughed for so long he ended up crouching against the wall, gasping for breath and wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes. Snape tried not to find the whole thing disgustingly enamoring, but knew himself better than to think he was having any real success. “Oh, man, I—what?”

“What?”

Black straightened, looking at him with an expression Snape had absolutely no idea how to interpret. “You were looking at me like—like—”

“I wasn’t looking at you like anything,” Snape snapped. “Are you going to rim me or not?”

“Yeah,” Black said. “Yeah, right, let’s—mostly the vision was about the rimming part. The bondage is negotiable. I mean, obviously the entire thing is—the most important part is me getting a taste of your arse, but I have this vision of you, like, begging me for my cock.”

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that a challenge?”

Black grinned. “It is now.” He reached for Snape and tugged his arms away from his chest, grabbing his wrist as they walked. 

Merlin, he’s going to be holding my hand within a month if I let this go on.

But he followed, and didn’t comment; this encounter would, if nothing else, help him determine exactly how bad things had gotten. If he couldn’t even stop himself from begging Black to take him, then obviously he needed to break it off as soon as humanly possible. 

Black stripped him and shoved him down on the bed. “Alright, turn around. Can I tie you to the headboard? Part of it is—I don’t want you to be able to touch yourself until I—”

“Go ahead.” Snape made himself as comfortable as he could before grabbing either post, shuddering a little as Black cast incarcerous twice. 

Black laughed. “This is going to—Merlin, if you know your own name by the end of this—I’m gonna make you feel so good, Snivellus.” Snape felt himself scowling, and Black laughed again, this time very close to his ear. Then he jerked and moaned as Black cast a lubrication charm at the exact same moment he crooked two fingers into Snape. “Yeah, you thought I was gonna start with my tongue, didn’t you? That’s in, like—we have a minute before we get to that part.”

“Now I see why you needed to tie me up.”

“Needed to, eh?”

“Oh, would you get to it?”

This time Black’s laugh was delighted. “My God, it’s barely even been two minutes. I’m going to—you are such a sucker, Snape. I’m gonna take you apart.” Black bit down hard on his neck when he attempted to retort. Snape swore and bucked against the restraints. “Oh, man, you really are—never mind.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“What?”

“Lovely,” Black said, and reached around and twisted Snape’s nipples. Snape swore again. Black plastered himself to Snape’s back and dragged his cock down to tease Snape’s arse, fingering him until anything even resembling tension had gone. Then he pulled out, licked a trail all the way down from the nape of Snape’s neck to his arse, and said, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Snape blurted.

Black laughed. “That’s what I thought. I’ll give it to you just as soon as you say please.”

“As if!”

Black breached Snape with his tongue, and Snape swore. Surely I can come like this, he thought. If I just—just come first—

He swore again when Black’s hand came to encircle the base of his cock, squeezing away any prayer of an early release. Black pulled out of him. “Think again, Snivellus. Beg for it.”

“No,” Snape said, though he was pretty sure it came out a moan. “Oh, fuck.”

Black squeezed him again. “Mm, you’re just delicious. I could rim you all night. Maybe I will.”

I should have made a bigger deal about the “lovely” thing, Snape realized in sinking horror, then stopped thinking when Black’s tongue entered him again. “Oh, damn you, damn you, take me, let me come, dammit, Black—”

“What’s the magic word?”

Black’s tongue was already in him again. “Now.”

A pointed squeeze to his cock. “Take me, damn you, damn you, you bloody—you magnificent fucking—take me, just do it, put me out of my misery, fuck me, fuck me—”

Black didn’t even bother to pull away again; he kept going until Snape became aware, suddenly, that he had a choice between begging and tears.

“Please,” he gasped.

Black pulled out and pried him apart, pistoned into Snape, dragged his hand up his cock, and held Snape’s chest with both arms. It far too closely resembled a hug for comfort, but Snape didn’t have the energy to care. “Oh, thank God.”

“Told you you’d beg for me,” Black murmured into his ear. “Lovely.”

Snape came. Black moaned and bit his neck, driving into him until he came too, then pulled out and let Snape loose. Snape collapsed onto the bed, and Black gave him far too tender a look before reaching for his wand and cleaning up. “Merlin, Snape, you really are the best I’ve ever had.”

Yeah. Snape definitely needed to break it off.

On Tuesday night of the following week, Snape bolted upright out of a grading haze after being gifted with, presumably, divine inspiration. After about three seconds of deliberation, he flooed over to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t hear anyone, so he spoke without self-consciousness as he followed point me to Black’s sitting room. 

“I’ve had a vision of my own,” Snape announced, spreading open the doors. “It involves you, me, enchanted cock rings, whipped cream, a leash, and—oh, good lord, you again?”

Black stood. Lupin looked a little green. “Moony,” Black said, and made very intense eye contact with Snape. “Leave. Now.”

Lupin stood too, raising his hands above his head as he shook it. “You know, I really don’t—if you barge into someone’s house and start making sexually explicit declarations—”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Didn’t he tell you to leave?”

Lupin moved towards the door. “Erm, I—Padfoot, are you sure—”

“Okay, so, how do the cock rings relate to the whipped cream?” Black asked, and Lupin fled. Snape felt his mouth twitch, and Black burst out laughing again. He hunched over, fought his laughter down, then came to Snape, started stripping him, and said, “Merlin, that poor man.”

Snape’s mouth twitched again, and Black looked up at him with that stupid doe-eyed expression he’d been subjecting him to ever since the first time Snape had nearly smiled in front of him. He took a step back when Black swayed towards him, ignoring the obvious internal conflict Black underwent when he realized he’d nearly kissed Snape. Was the internal conflict about that? He did seem to have rather extraordinarily low self-awareness. He was probably just disgusted by the thought that he might like Snape at all. At least he would never pick up on Snape liking him.

Snape looked away when he realized they were still staring at each other. “So, erm,” he managed, then scowled and shook himself and started stripping Black. “Okay. The idea is that—so we start with me on a leash, and the cock rings. I blow you with—the whipped cream is mostly just a garnish for that. Though I finger you while I blow you too. I was thinking you could probably—like, we use flavored lube instead of a spell after you suck whipped cream off my fingers and I get you opened up. Then I rim you while I edge myself, so it’s—the whipped cream comes into play there too. And the cock rings, obviously. Then I fist you, and then fuck you until you—this vision definitely does involve you coming at least three times. Optimally five. It’ll probably take a few hours. We need to make sure to stay hydrated during—oh, the last thing was nipple clamps. Those are for me, though obviously if that sounds—I—can you handle that much overstimulation? I guess we could break it up into a few sessions. That way we could take turns with the—what do you think?”

Black looked up, though now he was just staring at Snape’s lips. “You’re the one on a leash?”

“Yeah? The idea is—well, you wanted me to beg for your cock, right? You wanted to dominate me. This time you’re demanding I devote myself to your pleasure. You boss me around. You know, you can, like, pull on the leash to make me fuck you harder. ‘Now, Snivellus.’ Or whatever you—I’m, like, your pleasure slave. Does that—if that’s not—obviously it’s just a sex game. But lord knows the begging thing was—Merlin, I can’t remember the last time I came that hard. I think we might have channeled some divine inspiration. Maybe this time I can solve world hunger or something.”

Black’s entire body shuddered, and Snape cursed internally. “Merlin, Snape,” he said. “That’s got to be the single hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire—can I have a picture of you on the leash? I—five times?”

“Well, it’s always good to aim for—and only if you don’t include my face. Or my forearms.”

“What?”

“You wanted a picture?”

Black moaned, and Snape fought a sigh. “Oh, Merlin. This is—maybe you should gag me.”

“Then how will you boss me around?”

Black blinked. “Okay, well, you’re not allowed to—to hold it against me if I get so overstimulated that I start making all kinds of insane declarations. And if I go too far you have to—safe word?”

Snape tilted his head. “Fine, whatever. And… hyacinth. Do you actually have any of these supplies, or do I need to double back to—”

“Hyacinth,” Black repeated. “I’ve got absolutely everything. I—one sec.” He walked up to Snape, pulled them flush together, gyrated against his cock, and vanished for about ten minutes. 

When he returned, he had a saucer of whipped cream and a large black trunk. He turned it on one end like a wardrobe and beckoned Snape over to look, grinning when he blinked at the truly astonishing array of sex toys artfully arranged therein. “Merlin, Black, we’re going to have to—it’s going to take months to try all this stuff out. I might have to buy a new manual.”

Snape winced as soon as he said it, but Black just grinned. “I know, right? Anyway, pick out a set of nipple clamps. I’ll grab the leash and the lube.” He tilted his head. “What if you had a plug in the whole time?”

“Yes, please,” Snape blurted, and Black grinned and stepped into the trunk.

I really do need to break it off, Snape thought gloomily. But hell if this wasn’t one fantastic last hurrah.

Black returned triumphant, and said, “You know, I knew you were good at school, but I didn’t know you were a bloody genius.”

“What?”

Black took the leash, inspected Snape, and said, “Are we starting now?”

“I, erm—yes.”

Black grinned, fastened an extraordinarily soft fluffy collar around his neck, hooked the leash to it, and then put on the nipple clamps, flicking each nipple and grinning as Snape moaned. “I knew you were competent academically, but I really didn’t understand—my vision was that it would be fun to rim you. But yours was—you want us both to see the face of God. You’re like the Mozart of fucking.”

Snape felt his entire face turn bright red, and snapped, “Stop complimenting me!”

“I thought this was about my pleasure.”

“You get pleasure from being nice to me?”

“Isn’t that the entire point of sex?” Black frowned. “Well, I guess there’s control and punition, but—”

“That isn’t sex, that’s rape.”

Black looked up and blinked. “I, erm—well, I—sex should be about pleasure. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, cool, same page,” Black said. “Point being, you’re the Mozart of fucking.”

“Black!”

Black laughed and pushed Snape down onto the couch face-forwards. “I don’t think you can hold it against me for clapping at the symphony. And it’s fun to see you squirm. I think I’ll rim you before I get this plug in. Then the cock rings. Anyway, I told you to gag me. You didn’t listen. This one’s on you.”

He just compared me to a symphony, Snape thought stupidly. He—bloody hell, he was right, I am a sucker, what am I even doing here—

“My God, I think I’d like to write a sonnet about your arse,” Black said. “What rhymes with ‘supple beauty’? Is that iambic?”

“How would I know?”

“Oh, don’t lie to me, Snivellus. Haven’t we just established your brilliance?”

“Yes,” Snape moaned. “It’s iambic. I concede about the gag. Can you just rim me already?”

Black laughed. “Well, gee. Now where did I put that whipped cream?”

On Friday, Lupin left them alone, thank Merlin. Snape spent the entire Order meeting trying to figure out how to end things with Black without triggering his obvious self-worth issues. He could pretend he’d found another lover? No, he would never buy that. He could claim he suddenly hated having mind-blowing sex now? He supposed he could just tell the truth and attribute it to the rapidly intensifying intimacy, but what if Black tried to make him talk about his feelings?

Black approached Snape in the hallway after the meeting. Snape opened his mouth to say something cutting, then closed it again when Black gave him an inscrutable look and said in a very quiet voice, “I’ve had an exhausting few days. Do you want to fuck missionary-style in my room with the lights off?”

Snape grimaced internally, but schooled it into a sigh. “Oh, alright.” Black’s grin wasn’t entirely enthused, but he led Snape up to his bedroom and closed the door behind him, stripping with the lights still on. It was oddly intimate in a way that made Snape feel profoundly uncomfortable, though he tried not to make his discomfort obvious. Snape stripped too, and laid out on the bed, trying to watch Black with derision rather than concern. This lasted until he noticed raw red lines on the inside of Black’s forearm, and felt himself sit up. “Who did that to you?”

Black winced. “Erm, I—well—”

His eyes grew very wide as Snape approached and took his arm. “I asked,” Snape growled, “who did this to you.”

“Me,” Black said, and looked away.

Snape felt his grip on Black’s arm tighten. “I see.” He forced himself to release the arm, and said, “Well, I—that’s—have you disinfected it? Do you have dittany?”

“Yes,” Black said. “And no.”

“I’ll bring you some tomorrow.” Snape looked away when Black’s eyes somehow widened even further. “For now, I—I—let me—” He tugged Black over to the bed and sat him down, then knelt. “Here. We can still—let me—lie back.”

Black complied, his knees still dangling off the edge of the bed. “Snape, what—”

“Shut up,” Snape snarled, and took Black in his mouth. Black shut up.

He brought Black to orgasm, then heaved his boneless legs onto the bed and climbed atop him. “Alright,” he said. “Do you feel any more relaxed? Do you want to sleep, or do you want me to fuck you?”

Black looked up at him from under his lashes. “What if I want to sleep? What’ll happen to you?”

“I’m not a child,” Snape said. “I can handle missing out on one shag. I’ll just masturbate at home.”

“No,” Black breathed. “Take me.”

Snape searched his eyes. “Okay.” He ran his hands along Black’s skull, fanned the man’s hair out on the pillow behind him, and resisted the entirely unsettling urge to kiss him. He let himself go for Black’s neck, casting a wandless lubrication charm and crooking one finger inside of him as he attacked Black’s neck with his teeth. Black let out breathy moans and clung to his shoulders.

I haven’t done my job until he can’t even grip the sheets, Snape thought grumpily, and lowered his mouth to Black’s nipples, slipping another finger inside him as he arched and gasped. He kept going until each nipple was red and puffy, and Black whimpered, “Please, Snape. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Take me.”

“I am.” Snape raked into Black with a third finger and twisted, feeling himself smile as Black arched off the bed again. “Please what?”

“Snape, Snape, Snape—”

There we go, Snape thought, and pulled his fingers out of Black. The man whined, then sighed and shuddered when he replaced them with his cock. “Oh, oh, Snape—Snape, fuck, Snape, Snape—”

Snape took the man’s face in his hands and braced himself on the pillow, searching Black’s eyes as he plunged into him over and over. “Good?”

“Snape, please, Snape—”

Snape felt his own orgasm approaching, and rested his forehead against Black’s, reaching down to take Black’s cock—hard again, Snape noted with no small satisfaction—in hand. A few tugs timed to coordinate with thrusts against his prostate, and the man was a gibbering mess. Snape let himself come at the same time, and collapsed onto Black, his cock softening inside him. When he tried to pull out, Black clenched around him and reached up to hold Snape to him. “Wanna see if you can get hard inside me again?”

Snape shuddered, and Black hooked his leg around Snape’s back and flipped them over. He ran feather-light fingers along Snape’s ribs and began to move up and down on his cock, squeezing as he did. Snape watched his Adam's apple bob, his sweat-slicked chest and neck, and gripped Black’s thighs. “Merlin, Black, you’re exquisite.”

Snape wanted to take it back, but Black looked nearly coquettish from beneath his lashes. “I know.” He squeezed Snape again, and began to move faster; it was entirely overstimulating to get hard again so quickly, and the next orgasm left him incoherent for so long that when he surfaced, Black’s head was on his chest, one hand clutching his forearm and the other playing with his nipples. “That was—Merlin.”

“Yeah,” Snape said. “I—blast, the lights.”

Black shrugged. “Next time.”

Snape sighed and sat up. “Alright, well, I—bye.”

“Goodbye,” Black said. Snape tried not to feel Black’s eyes on him as he dressed, or as he left, but they haunted him the whole way home.

The next morning, he went by with dittany; Lupin was there again, and gave him a very odd look. “Snape? What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? I’ve come for sex. Where’s Black?”

Lupin frowned. “He’s still asleep. What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Snape said. “Well, I don’t give a damn about—and what the hell is better than waking up to—”

“Alright, alright, he’s all yours,” Lupin said hastily. “You know, I really thought you hated each other.”

“We do,” Snape said. “Go away.”

He went up to Black’s bedroom, arrested for a moment by the sight of him asleep, then scowled and sat next to him and shook his shoulder. “Wakey, wakey.”

Black jolted, then sat up and rubbed his eyes, giving Snape a look he recognized but didn’t even remotely understand. “Hey, there,” Black said softly. Snape blinked. “I missed you.” Black took Snape’s face very gently in his hands. Snape felt himself go completely still. Black gazed into his eyes for a long moment, then leaned forwards and kissed him.

Snape sat there, letting himself be kissed, for about a minute, and then wrenched away. “What in Merlin’s name?”

Black blinked, then rubbed his eyes again. “What?”

“What the fuck was that?”

“What?”

“You just kissed me! That’s repulsive!”

Black blinked again, and then his eyes grew huge. “Jesus, am I awake?”

Snape shook his head in disgust. “Here’s your bloody dittany,” he spat, throwing the package on the bed. “Do not approach me again if you’re going to—to—to do anything in the realm of—of liking me!”

“Snape, wait, I didn’t mean to—”

Snape ignored Black’s entreaties as he stalked off.

The next Friday, Black approached him again. Snape scowled at him and crossed his arms over his chest; Black avoided his eyes. “Look at me.”

Black looked up; his eyes were, primarily, vacant. Snape searched them, but there didn’t seem to be much life at all behind his gaze. “I don’t feel like shagging a corpse,” Snape sniffed.

“I’ll just blow you, then,” Black said.

Snape searched his eyes again, and frowned. “That comes a bit too close to liking me for comfort,” he decided. “Goodbye.”

He turned to leave, then turned back around when he felt a stinging hex hit him in the back. “What was that?”

“Greasy git,” Black said. Snape scowled. “Fucking—hideous traitorous snake. You’re scum, Snape. You—”

“Shut up,” Snape snarled, and crowded Black into the wall. At least there was a bit more energy behind the man’s eyes now, even if it was just malice. “Shut up, shut up, shut—”

He stopped tugging Black’s shirt off to wince and deflate. “Merlin, what the hell did you do to yourself?”

Black shrugged and hunched inwards. “I deserve it.”

Snape felt incoherent rage escape his throat, and rested his forehead, just for an instant, against Black’s chest. “Bloody hell. Alright, come on, bathroom, we’ve got to—bloody hell, Black—”

Black let Snape tend to him, the vacant gaze returning the second he wasn’t intentionally provoking him. “Why are you doing this? You hate me.”

“Quite.” Snape shook his head. “You hate me too.”

Black laughed. The sound was entirely hollow. “Uh-huh.”

Snape didn’t meet his eyes. “Is this because of me?”

Black laughed again. “Self-centered much? I hate myself regardless of how disgusting you find me.”

Snape sighed. “Well, I can’t say I don’t understand.” He repressed the startling and deeply upsetting urge to kiss Black’s scars, and pulled away. “It’s—I—oh, Merlin. If you—you—why don’t you just go to Lupin?”

Black shrugged. Snape sighed again. “Well, I—if you absolutely have to, you can come to me. Nobody ever comes to my rooms. It’s—it’s ‘Severus Snape’s Rooms, Hogwarts.’ I certainly do loathe you”—he tried to ignore the way Black slumped a little at this—“but I—I don’t want a sexual partner as entirely lifeless as you are right now.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Black said, and Snape resisted the urge to kiss him. Now that Black had broken the seal on that, his stupid lips were about all Snape could think about. They had been, unfortunately, for the entirety of the past week. 

“Well, obviously we aren’t going to shag,” Snape said. Black sighed. “Are you going to keep hurting yourself if you’re alone?”

Black shrugged, and Snape sighed. “Don’t—give me ten minutes.” And he turned around and left.

Lupin blinked at Snape when he stepped out of his floo, but didn’t draw his wand. “Severus?”

“You need to keep Black company,” Snape announced. Lupin blinked again. “He’s been hurting himself.”

Lupin sucked in a breath and looked down. “Why don’t you do it?”

“We hate each other,” Snape said. Lupin sighed, but stood and started gathering his things. He waved a vague hand as Snape flooed back to Hogwarts.

He skipped the Order the next week; the week after that, Black left him alone. He skipped it again the week after that; the following week, Black followed him into the hall again. “Snivellus,” he said. Snape sighed. “Wanna fuck?”

Snape searched his eyes. “Kitchen table again?”

“What, you think my bed’s gonna give you cooties?”

Snape turned around. “Wait, no! I—kitchen table! That’s fine!”

Snape turned back around and sighed. “You’ve got to get over this whole… whatever this is,” he said, gesturing at Black vaguely. “I understand that you’re alone, but it isn’t—you mustn’t like me.”

“I don’t.”

Snape sighed again. 

“Look, I’ll prove it,” Black said. “I’ll—I’ll make you cry.”

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t cried since 1981. Nobody is that cruel. There’s nothing left in this world I feel strongly enough about to cry over.”

Black looked down. “Oh. Well, I—I do hate you. I think you’re—it’s obvious that you lack loyalty beyond your own immediate interests, and your mistakes can never be—you got Lily and James killed. You almost got Harry killed. Even if you weren’t one of the cruelest people in the entire world, you’d still be completely and utterly worthle—”

Black stopped talking when Snape’s lips connected with his, opening his mouth to him almost immediately. His hands came up to tangle in Snape’s hair, and Snape nipped at his bottom lip, pleased when the man groaned and shoved him back against the wall. The portraits rattled and cursed. “I hate you,” Black said when he pulled away. “I hate you, I hate you, I—oh, God, kiss me again.”

Snape licked into Black’s mouth, then bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Black moaned and fitted their legs together, thrusting his hard cock against Snape’s own. “I wish you’d never kissed me,” Snape growled. “There’s a bloody war on, and I still—I think your lips are the only thing I’ve thought about for the entirety of the past month.”

“Let me blow you now,” Black breathed. “Come on, Snivellus, let me suck your cock. Put my lips to good use.”

Snape narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, and Black surged forwards and kissed him. His hands came down from Snape’s hair to cradle his jaw, his fingers entirely too gentle as he curled their tongues together. Black pulled away, his breath hot against Snape’s lips. “Are you really such a chicken that you’ll let your fear of intimacy make you turn down a blowjob? Why does it have to be about liking you? Maybe I just fucking love sucking cock. I mean, Merlin, Snape, you’ve gotten to suck my cock twice now. It’s not fair. Isn’t it ever going to be my turn?”

“I suppose a practical demonstration is in order,” Snape allowed, and let Black drag him up to his bedroom. Black’s hand was still on his wrist, thank Merlin, though he was stroking his thumb along the inside of Snape’s palm.

He understands that I’m worthless, Snape told himself, though it wasn’t nearly as reassuring as it ought to be. He thinks I’m a Death Eater.

This was such an incredibly depressing realization that it was all he could think about for a good two minutes; he didn’t even really realize how dark his thoughts had gotten until Black tilted his chin up to search his gaze. Snape managed not to shiver all over at how close Black was, but didn’t manage to stop his eyes from darting to Black’s lips.

Black gave him a smile that was far too gentle, kissed him, and pulled away. “You with me, Snivellus?”

“I—yeah. Sorry.”

Black frowned, then sighed. “I—we don’t have to shag if you don’t—if you’re—you can say no if you want. Or just leave.”

“I know that. It’s—I know.”

“Is it—” Black rubbed his forehead. “Sorry, I know you hate to—do you actually want to fuck?”

“Obviously,” Snape snapped, and Black kissed him again. Snape let himself get lost in it, and reached down to seize Black’s arse, realizing with considerable displeasure that they were both still entirely clothed. He pulled away, sighed, started stripping Black, and said, “Okay, well, if you really are that desperate to suck my cock, you can, but if you want to just fuck missionary-style so we can keep snogging—”

Black’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Yeah,” Black said. He sounded a little dizzy. “Yeah, let’s—let’s do that. Yeah.”

“Right,” Snape said, and started on his own clothes. “We don’t even have to—do you want to just toss each other off? Just—if we’re going to be—I really have been thinking about that stupid kiss all month. We can just snog until—I’m not in a hurry. Obviously your cock is the other half of what I think about, but am I wrong in thinking that kissing is the most important part of this particular—”

Black cut him off with his lips. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, no, you’re not wrong.”

“Okay, well, good,” Snape said. “Do you think you can contain yourself long enough for us to at least get naked?”

“Barely,” Black said, and then turned bright red.

“Alright, well, go do something else while I strip, then. And take your pants and socks off too. I, erm—candles?”

Black moaned, and Snape blinked at him. “You’re into candles?”

“I’m into you,” Black blurted. “Oh, Merlin—”

Snape sighed. “Just go lie down.”

“O-okay.”

He finished stripping, then went to Black, slotting their bodies together and cupping his face and looking into his eyes, which were soft and warm and entirely terrified. Black stared back for a long moment, then surged up and kissed him.

On Monday of the following week, Dumbledore got ousted. Snape deliberated with himself for a while, but swore and wrenched out of bed after he’d laid there trying to sleep for over half an hour without so much as being able to keep his eyes closed. He cast point me, which led him to the kitchen, and then hominem revealio, which indicated the presence of two people. He meant to barge in on Black and, presumably, Lupin, then stopped as Lupin’s voice grew audible from the corridor.

“—why you keep doing this to yourself. You had the chance to break it off during—and instead you goaded him into kissing you. What’s the point of—of trying to create hope for something he’ll never be able to—”

“I don’t have hope,” Black said loudly. “I don’t know what the hell you think I would even be hoping—I loathe him. You know that. But he’s bloody incredible in bed. Are you saying you don’t prefer sex when there’s kissing involved?”

Lupin snorted. “Oh, come off it. I know you well enough to—you haven’t talked about anything other than Snape for weeks now. You are head-over-heels in love with that man. You—”

“I am not! That’s repulsive!”

“Padfoot—”

Am I even going to have a choice in being responsible for him?

Snape took several steps back, then slammed the door at the far end of the corridor. Both voices cut off. “Bla-ack!” Snape called, and barged into the kitchen. “You never did oblige me about fucking in here aga—oh, wonderful, you.” He scowled. Lupin looked away. “Come back in—two hours? Black, how would you feel about chaining me to the wall?”

“Better make it three,” Black said. 

Lupin shook his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Padfoot.” He patted Black on the shoulder and fled.

They waited for the floo to roar, and then Black said, “Sex dungeon?”

“You have a sex dungeon?”

Black rolled his eyes. “My family’s over a thousand years old. Half of them married their own cousins. The other half married closer relatives than that. You really think they’d have any problem with sexual torture? Or using it to teach lessons? My dad must have locked me and Regulus in there once a week starting from about age—”

Snape sat down in the nearest chair, and Black blinked. “Snape?”

“No,” Snape said, through gritted teeth. “No to the sex dungeon. We are—you are never setting foot in there ever again. I—you—your bed.”

“Snape?”

Snape stood and glared at Black, who gulped and looked away. “It really isn’t a big deal,” Black said. “How did you think I knew so much about—why do you think all the girls at Hogwarts wanted to shag me so badly? I—”

“Stop talking,” Snape hissed, and Black shut up. “I—come on. Your room.”

Black looked at him very oddly, then shrugged and followed him up to his room. He blinked when Snape strode forwards and grabbed his hands as he started to undress himself. “What—”

“Let me do it,” Snape said. Black’s eyes went wide, but he was silent as Snape undid each of his buttons, kissing the exposed flesh before moving on to the next one. When he had the shirt off, he moved on to Black’s socks and kissed his ankles, willing himself not to care about the way Black trembled. He moved up again, and undid his belt, kissing his stomach and then undoing his trousers. He touched all the skin that was exposed to the open air, then pulled off his own robes. 

Black let out a small huff of laughter. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in your nighties.”

Snape closed his eyes, and Black went silent again. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and managed, “Lie down.”

Black was lying on the bed again when opened his eyes again, watching him with a pout. “What about my pants?”

Snape shook his head, and Black’s pout deepened. It receded a little when Snape stripped off his shirt and socks and joined Black on the bed, running a hand along his ribcage. Black shivered, leaning into his touch, and Snape murmured, “Turn over.”

Black did. Snape conjured a bottle of oil and a few candles, then dimmed the lights; Black hummed in pleasure as Snape warmed the oil, then spread it over his hands and climbed onto the small of his back. He groaned as Snape started working his hands into the taut, knotted muscles of his neck.

By the time he made it down to Black’s feet, the man was entirely boneless, and only mumbled vague affirmations as Snape flipped him back over. “Hey, there,” he murmured when their eyes met. “Are we shagging? I kind of want to sleep.”

“Then sleep,” Snape said. “I’m sorry I disrupted your time with Lupin.”

“I’m not,” Black said, and Snape looked away. “Will you kiss me?”

“I guess so,” Snape muttered, avoiding Black’s eyes as he leaned down and pressed their lips together. The kiss was slow and soft and entirely too gentle for comfort, but Snape didn’t know how to destroy the intimacy without conjuring up far more unpleasant mental images. Starting from about age—

“Sleep,” Snape murmured, and kissed the corner of Black’s mouth, then his forehead. Black gave him the same look he’d given him before he’d kissed him that first time, and Snape fled.

On Wednesday, Potter came to his rooms after dinner. Snape gaped, then blocked the entrance and scowled. “What do you want?”

“Professor Dumbledore said I should go to you about my Occlumency lessons if he got ousted?” Potter said uncertainly. Snape groaned and sighed, then moved aside. “You’re not going to teach me again, are you?” Snape glared, and he amended, “Sir.”

“No,” Snape said. “You’re using my floo to go to Grimmauld Place. Come on, I’d better come with you and make sure he’s there.”

Potter tilted his head and followed, and they emerged into the reception room to eerie silence. “How do we know if he’s here or not?”

“We’ll just ask Black.” Snape cast point me, somewhat unsurprised to come upon both Lupin and Black. “Special delivery. One brat.”

Potter and Black both scowled; Lupin rolled his eyes. “Is Albus here?”

They shook their heads. “Summon him, would you?” Snape said, and then turned around and left.

On Friday, as usual, Black followed him out to the corridor. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Snape crossed his arms and looked down. “Do you feel like sex?”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then we won’t shag.”

“Will you leave?”

“If I say yes, will you pretend to want it?”

Black sighed. Snape didn’t look up. “If I say no, will you believe me that I do?”

Snape didn’t say anything. Black sighed again and came over to him and pried his arms away from his chest, then tilted his chin up, looked him in the eyes for a very long, very intense moment, and kissed him. Snape knew he was trembling, but couldn’t figure out how not to. “You still hate me, right?”

“I abhor you,” Black said, stroking the back of Snape’s neck. He crowded him against the wall and spoke into his chest, massaging his neck as he embraced him. “I think you’re completely pathetic. I’d pity you if you weren’t so bloody despicable. I think you’re—you’re weak. You gave in to Voldemort.” Snape closed his eyes, feeling himself tense, and Black sighed against him and moved the hands down to the small of his back. “You gave in to fascism. When y-you were—were a child. I-if I knew—knew better than—than—if I could—could m-manage to—to—”

“It’s alright,” Snape said. “I get it. I hate you, too.”

Black slumped into him. “Good. You’ll stay?”

“For a little while.” Black sighed, but moved away and laced their fingers together, pulling Snape up to his bedroom and looking over his shoulder at him from under his lashes as they arrived. Snape sighed and went to him and undressed him again, this time including his pants. Black had six new red lines on the inside of his thigh.

Snape pulled away and glared. “What the hell is this?”

Black shrugged. Snape resisted, barely, the urge to snarl. “I told you to come to me.”

Black shrugged again, and Snape went to retrieve the dittany from his bathroom. “You really do need a bloody keeper,” Snape muttered, sitting him down and applying the salve as gently as he could, though he doubted it qualified as gentleness at all. “I suppose you just want to be held.”

Black looked down, and Snape sighed, laid down, and pulled Black to him, trying not to shiver as the man buried his head in the crook of Snape’s neck and inhaled. “Will you go to Lupin next time? Or come to me? Please?”

“You hate me.”

“Which means I don’t want you to get hurt when I’m not around to watch.”

Black trembled against him, nuzzling deeper into Snape’s neck. Snape thought he might be trying to bury himself beneath Snape’s skin. “Merlin, you’re so warm.”

“Promise me you won’t keep doing this to yourself. Promise me you’ll go to someone. If you think Lupin won’t—or can’t—promise me you’ll choose me over that. Please. Do you hate me more than you hate being alone? Do you want a different keeper? I just don’t think I can stomach—I can find one for you if that’s what you need. Or I can enlist—I understand that I’m not exactly—I mean, I’d certainly be repulsed by the idea of coming to me for help too. But I—you don’t deserve this. I just can’t bear the thought of—if I know that you’re suffering this badly, and I could do something, and I’m just—just letting that go on—let me help you? Please?”

Black was still trembling. “I—I don’t need a keeper. It’s not about—I—it doesn’t matter whether or not I—I—you aren’t repulsive.” Snape rolled his eyes, but resisted, barely, the urge to argue. “But you really don’t have to—”

“Obviously I do. Now promise me. Please?”

“Oh, alright,” Black mumbled. “But you’re going to regret—you’ll be sick of me within a fortnight.”

Snape enveloped Black in his arms as completely as he could, bracketing the outsides of his legs with his own, hooking his feet around Black’s ankles, wrapping his arms around his sides to hold his back, and cradling the back of Black’s skull in his hands. He tried not to notice the way Black clung to him, but wasn’t sure how not to care. “I’m already sick of you.”

On Sunday evening, Snape was curled up on his couch with a book when his floo crackled. He looked up, and there Black was, hunched into an unsettlingly defensive posture and staring at the floor. “You made me promise,” Black mumbled. “So here I am.” He somehow hunched in on himself even more, and said, “Alright, well, I told you you’d hate it if I showed up here, so I’ll just—”

“Black,” Snape said sternly, and Black stopped talking. “Come here.”

Black came to him, and Snape patted the couch next to him. Black sat, and Snape turned him lengthwise, lugged his legs onto the couch, and repositioned himself so they were sitting facing each other with their legs tangled together. “I’ve been reading—I’m rereading Eichmann in Jerusalem. I try to go back to it at least every few years.”

“Eichmann?”

“Do you know about the shoah?” Black looked confused. “The Holocaust?”

Black still looked confused. Snape sighed. “Back during the war with Grindelwald, there was—the muggle side was worse. A lot worse. They made these—there were these camps. Death camps. For Jews, Rromani, the disabled, homosexuals. Deviants. They—there were showers where they—they killed—they killed hundreds of us at once. Women, infants, elders. For three years, they—anyway, Adolf Eichmann helped organize the whole thing. Six million Jews were slaughtered. Like animals. It’s—‘shoah’ means ‘catastrophe.’ Because we lost—generations. Generations upon—Hannah Arendt wrote this book about his trial.” Snape looked away. “It helps me remember—you were right that the Dark Lord is a fascist. She calls evil—it’s a banal thing, in the end. It isn’t—there’s no nobility in hatred. Malice isn’t interesting. The patterns of its character are completely and utterly predictable. Fascism never creates anything meaningful. It just destroys. It was banal when the Nazis killed six million Jews, and it was banal when the Israelis turned around and started doing the same thing in Palestine. It’s—that’s why it’s—why we have to be so vigilant about—or why I have to be. I suppose you were right that you’re a—a better person than I am. You don’t have to spend so much time remembering—figuring out right from wrong.” Snape sighed again. “In any case, it’s—I do have to do that. And it’s—this book helps.”

Black didn’t say anything. Snape twisted his fingers in his robes, then summoned a blanket and spread it over their still-entwined legs. “Anyway, I—you’re welcome to sit here with me until you don’t want to hurt yourself anymore. I won’t—I may hate you, but I refuse to hurt you if you don’t want—or if you aren’t getting anything out of—well, we have fun fighting, and we have fun fucking, but neither of us has fun when you’re suicidal. I refuse to—to take advantage of you at your weakest just for a momentary bit of personal satisfaction, especially one I’d feel dreadful about later anyway. You may be right that I—but I’m not actually one of them. Or at least I wish I weren’t. And I know full well that you—you may be petty and cruel and childish and vain, but you aren’t a bad person. And even if you were, it would be—well, you aren’t. But twelve years in Azkaban is more than enough torture for anyone’s lifetime. The idea of—of adding to that is—I’m—I just can’t make myself do it. If I really am the only person you’re willing to come to—if this really is the only way I can help you—if the alternative is that, then I—it isn’t about me anymore, which means I don’t have a choice. I’m sorry.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Snape blinked and looked up. Black was looking at him with that same look that kept cropping up on him, the one that made Snape’s whole body ache. “What is that expression?”

Black flinched. “What?”

“You keep looking at me like—like—what is that?”

“Awe,” Black said. Snape drew in a breath and looked away. “Can I please kiss you?”

“Fine,” Snape muttered. Black disentangled their legs and moved forwards on his knees until they were chest to chest, then tangled his hands in Snape’s hair and kissed him. Snape let himself get lost in Black; he only realized how long they’d been kissing when Black’s stomach growled. “I’m going to call the elves to bring us some food. Unless you feel ready to go home.”

Black looked away, and Snape sighed and went to get dinner. They ate on the couch in silence, legs tangled together again; Black didn’t speak except to take their dishes to Snape’s kitchenette. He walked over to Snape’s bookshelf and tilted his head to view the titles. “What should I read?”

Snape frowned and thought about it. “The Lathe of Heaven. Le Guin.”

Black trailed his finger along the spines until he reached L, then pulled the book out and approached. Snape frowned, sighed, and said, “Come on, let’s—come on.” He stood and led Black to his bathroom, where they brushed their teeth, and then to his bedroom, gesturing at the side of the bed farthest from the door. Black sat down with obvious trepidation, relaxing a little as Snape went to him and stripped him before reclining against the headboard and pulling out his book again.

“Do you want to shag?”

“What happened to reading?”

“I just want you inside me,” Black said. “I need—I want you inside me. Please. Please, I—possess me.”

Snape sighed and put the book back down, turning on his side to face Black and stripping him of his pants too. He frowned and sighed again and then turned Black over onto his stomach, cast a few spells, and lowered his mouth to his shoulder, biting a line down from his too-prominent vertebrae to his arse. Black shuddered against him as Snape took him apart, his legs spreading wide as he humped Snape’s tongue. “Please, Snape, fill me, take me, please, Snape, please—”

Snape kept at it until Black was incoherent, then flipped him back over and kissed him as he slid into him. Black’s hands grappled at the sheets, but didn’t manage to grasp them; Snape interlaced their fingers instead. Black held on, gasping as Snape pulled away for air. He kept up a steady rhythm, hitting Black’s prostate on every thrust, until Black gasped and came, latching his mouth to Snape’s as he did so. Snape let himself come too, and pulled out. He cleaned up with a murmured spell; when he turned back around from stowing his wand on the nightstand, he saw that Black was crying silently. “Oh, Merlin,” Snape whispered. “I wanted to—I’ve made you feel even worse. I—”

Black kissed him again before he could continue, and Snape sighed into his mouth. “I’m sorry. I really was trying to—to help.”

“You did,” Black said. “You—”

And the awe was back. Snape brought Black’s head to the crook of his neck so he wouldn’t have to see his face, and let himself drift off to sleep. The next morning, thank Merlin, Black was gone. 

Black didn’t come to Snape on Monday, or on Tuesday; on Wednesday, he figured that the man had probably been exaggerating about making Snape sick of him. About ten minutes after this thought occurred to him, his floo crackled again.

Snape looked up; Black was standing before him, staring at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “Erm—”

“Come here, then.” Snape moved to accommodate Black, sighing a little as he shifted. “You didn’t hurt yourself yesterday? Or Monday?” Black shook his head. “Well, that’s something.”

Black moved to sit across from him, then paused and looked up. Snape tilted his head, and Black shifted into Padfoot and leapt up onto the couch, then curled up in his lap. Snape sighed, summoned a blanket, covered them both with it, and scratched Black’s ears. He went back to grading, then blinked as his door slid open.

“Occlumency again, sir,” Potter announced. Snape blinked at him, and Potter took him in and blinked back. “Padfoot?”

Black whined and covered his eyes with his paws, and Snape sighed and grimaced and scratched his ears again. “Go to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore will be there, I assume. You know where the fireplace is.” He frowned. “Get him to teach you to cast a talking Patronus, too.”

Potter blinked again. “Sir?”

“Am I speaking in tongues? Have you lost the ability to hear?”

“You’re cuddling with my godfather, sir.”

Snape scowled. “Stunning observational skills, as always.”

Potter held up his hands. “Alright, alright, whatever.” Snape went back to grading, petting Black absentmindedly; Potter came tumbling in through the floo about an hour after that. “Sir. Sirius.”

Black bounded off the couch and shifted, hugging Potter as he did so. Snape attempted to ignore both of them, though he couldn’t entirely prevent himself from overhearing. “Hey there, kiddo. Good lesson?”

“Erm, yeah. Professor Dumbledore says I’m getting pretty good at Occlumency.” Potter lowered his voice. “What are you doing here?”

Black didn’t answer for a very long moment. “It’s—erm—well, it’s complicated.”

“You’re shagging Professor Snape,” Potter said flatly. “You and Snivellus are lovers.”

Another silence. “Well, I—well, yeah.”

“That’s disgusting,” Potter said. “But whatever. Have fun, I guess.” There was another silence, and then the sound of Snape’s door opening and closing.

Snape looked up. “Well, at least he isn’t homophobic.”

Black let out a startled laugh and looked at him with very bright eyes. “Dinner?”

As they relocated, Black seemed to have brightened a little; he kicked his feet against Snape’s legs, and actually took some food for his plate without prodding. “So I—do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“How am I supposed to know until you’ve asked it?”

Black laughed a little. “Your tattoo. I’ve never gotten a good look at it.”

“Why the hell would you want a good look at the Dark Mark?”

“The other one, genius.”

Snape felt himself turn red. “Oh. I—it’s not a big—it’s pretty stupid. Or, well—I was pretty full of myself back when I—I thought I was more powerful than—” He sighed and rolled up his sleeve. “There you go. ‘Evil doers are also victims.’ It’s one of Dr. King’s six principles.”

“Dr. King?”

Snape looked down. “He was a muggle civil rights leader. For—African-Americans were—are—treated like—and he was a preacher. He got assassinated back in ‘68 when he started advocating for cross-racial labor coalitions. He—he was a tactical genius. He radicalized an entire generation without—without once dehumanizing even his most hateful enemy. The six principles are—are guiding principles for how to live your life in a nonviolent way, or at least as nonviolently as possible, while still—still refusing to abdicate your duty to the greater good.” Snape closed his eyes and ticked off on his fingers. “They’re—I memorized them back in school. Let’s see, it’s… ‘Principle One. Nonviolence is active nonviolent resistance to evil. It is a way of life for courageous people. It is aggressive spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. It is always persuading its opponent to the righteousness of its cause.’

“‘Principle Two. Nonviolence seeks to win friendship and understanding. The end result of nonviolence is redemption, reconciliation, and the creation of the Beloved Community.’

“‘Principle Three. Nonviolence recognizes that the evildoer is also a victim. It seeks a win/win solution. It seeks the defeat of injustice, not people.’

“‘Principle Four. Nonviolence accepts violence if necessary in the course of achieving a goal, but will never inflict it. It willingly accepts the consequences of its acts. Unearned suffering is redemptive.’

“‘Principle Five. Nonviolence resists violence of the spirit as well as the body. Nonviolence chooses—chooses love instead of hate. This—this love is spontaneous, unselfish and creative. It gives willingly knowing that the return could be hostility. It is unending in its capacity to forgive. It does not sink to the level of the hater.’

“‘Principle Six. Nonviolence believes that the universe is on the side of justice. It has deep faith that justice will eventually win.’”

Black was still silent, so Snape sighed and opened his eyes and picked at his food, sipped some water, sighed again. “I got this back when I graduated school,” he said. “I thought—I thought I was smarter, better, more dangerous than all of the other Death Eaters combined. I thought that I could—could make a difference, working within an evil system. That I could somehow change their minds. That I could avoid participating in atrocity beyond—well, the fact that I felt the need to rationalize some supposedly acceptable level of bloodshed makes it obvious that I didn’t really—really value what King said other than as a tactic. I didn’t respect—some means are in themselves ends. But I—I didn’t understand what had happened to me until it was too late. I didn’t realize that I’d—obviously it isn’t an excuse, and I can’t be forgiven, but I—I really did think that I was doing the right thing. Isn’t that silly?”

Silence. Snape finally looked up into Black’s awed eyes, grimacing a little when he noticed they were wet. “Sorry. I didn’t—I made you cry again.”

Black’s voice was thick when he spoke. “You were trying to change their minds?”

Snape looked away. “I know it sounds ridiculous.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Black said, and Snape looked up. “It’s the single bravest thing I’ve ever heard.” Snape blinked and looked back down. Black shook his head. “You—you said you can’t be forgiven.”

“I got Lily and James killed. I’m the reason the Dark Lord nearly killed Potter. And the reason he’s still completely obsessed with him. I killed—I’m a bad person.”

“You said—you—Principle Five. Unending in its capacity to forgive. It’s—that doesn’t include you?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I haven’t exactly earned it. It’s—I’ve caused far more suffering than can ever be redeemed, even if I spent a thousand lifetimes on it. Anyway, I—are you feeling any better yet? Do you need to sleep here? I think I’m too tired for sex.”

“What if—you can say no, but I want to blow you. You don’t have to—I just want—can I blow you? I want to—you’ve made me feel so much—I want to make you feel good too. You can just sleep afterwards.”

Snape tilted his head. “I—oh, fine.”

“Are you sure? If you really are too tired, I don’t want to—”

“Blow me.”

Black grinned. “I intend to.”

Snape fought a smile; Black looked, for a second, like he’d been hit over the head with a bludger. Then he stood, climbed onto Snape’s lap, tangled his hands in his hair, and kissed him. 

When Black pulled away, Snape was trembling, but had absolutely no idea how to stop. “Come on,” Black said, and stood and took Snape’s hand. “Come on, come on, I—Merlin, Snape, I—you—I really have been desperate to suck your cock for months now.”

Snape felt his eyes widen, and Black came to him and started stripping him. He batted Snape’s hands away when he attempted to reciprocate. “Nope,” he said. “Nope, this is about you. I—spontaneous, unselfish, and creative.” Snape’s cock twitched, and Black grinned. “I’m gonna send you to the rings of Saturn.”

Whatever look was on his face made Black’s grin turn rakish. “Oh, man, Snivellus, your mind is—Merlin.” He climbed onto the bed, bracketed his knees around Snape’s thighs, and kissed him so thoroughly that Snape was gasping by the time he pulled away. Black appraised him, then kissed him again; this time when he pulled away, Snape was completely incoherent.

“Now I blow you,” Black said smugly. He kissed a trail down from the hollow of Snape’s neck down to his pelvis and breathed, “Finally.”

His voice was entirely too reverent, but he took Snape in his mouth before he had the chance to think about it. Snape closed his eyes and let himself get lost in sensation; every time he tried not to remember who it was, it reminded him a thousandfold. He wanted to feel hateful or resentful or even just annoyed, but mostly just felt awed.

When he came, Black patted his thighs and said, in a very thick voice, “Lovely.” 

Some wild feeling eclipsed Snape’s better judgment, and he sat bolt upright. “Oh, Merlin,” Black said. “Snape—”

“My turn,” Snape growled. Black’s eyes widened, but Snape grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him before he could protest. 

“Snape, you don’t have to—”

“It’s my turn.” Snape kissed Black again, then swore. “Off, off, these clothes need to come off—”

Black gasped as Snape latched onto his neck as he stripped him. “It really isn’t—”

“I thought this was about me,” Snape snapped. Black’s eyes grew huge. “And I want these clothes gone.”

“As you wish,” Black said, and Snape swore again and stripped him. Black didn’t protest anymore, but his hands, skittering on the small of Snape’s back, made him want to do something insane. He suddenly understood why Black was always disclaiming his romantic declarations; they really were incredibly difficult to suppress.

“I can’t decide if I want to rim you or ride you,” Snape said. Black moaned. “I wish I could do both. I really do hate the laws of physics.”

Now Black’s moan was strangled. “I think I’ll finger you while I blow you,” Snape decided. “Dammit. We should have brought the nipple clamps.”

“Merlin,” Black gasped, and Snape got to work. Black was completely incoherent with pleasure by the time he finally came; by this time Snape was hard again, and it only took a few tugs for him to come again too. 

He collapsed onto the bed next to Black, and fought a wild laugh. “Thanks. That was—thanks.”

Black sighed and laid his head on Snape’s chest. “This was supposed to be about you,” he huffed. “I wanted to—I wanted to service you. To—to care for you the way you’ve been—you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Snape said, and Black gazed at him so gently he looked away. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”

On Friday, as always, Black followed Snape into the corridor. “Can we go back to yours? I really do hate this house.”

“Fine,” Snape said, and led the way back to his rooms. Black followed, taking Snape’s hand as they walked; Snape wanted to be mad about it, but didn’t really have the energy. “Do you feel like shagging?”

“Why the hell else would I be here?” Snape raised an eyebrow, and Black turned bright red. “Right,” he mumbled. “Erm, I—yeah, let’s fuck.”

“Alright,” Snape said. “Anything in particular in mind?”

Black took a step back, appraised him, and said, “I think you should fuck me against the wall from behind. And you should gag me.”

Snape resisted the urge to grin. “I live to serve.”

Black’s eyes went wide. “You’d better get that gag right now.”

“What?”

“You’re so fucking hot,” Black growled. Snape felt his eyes grow huge, and Black seized him by the lapels and kissed him. “Christ, Snape, you’re so unbelievably fucking attractive—if I weren’t already insane, it would drive me right over the edge. Every time you say more than one sentence I want to get down on one knee and beg you to fucking marry—”

“Right!” Snape yelped. “Gag, gag—oh, where’s the bloody gag—”

“I think you’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Black said, and moaned. “Oh, Snape, hurry up. Your eyes—”

On Sunday night, Black came in through his floo again. Snape took him in, his trembling skin, his skittering gaze, and sighed and waved a hand. Black came to him, looking extraordinarily hesitant before sitting in between Snape’s legs and wrapping himself up in his arms. “What are you reading?”

“Fear and Trembling.” Black made an inquisitive noise, and Snape sighed. “Kierkegaard is… controversial, to be sure. And I’m certainly not—I mean, I’m Jewish, so I couldn’t be a Christian even if I wanted to, which I don’t, but I don’t even believe in God anyway. I don’t—when you’re dead, you’re dead. That’s why life matters. But I do think Kierkegaard has value in terms of—maybe I don’t have faith in a thinking, reasoning, benevolent higher power, but I do believe that there are things… things greater than myself, my life, my judgement and understanding. Love, loyalty, beauty. Sacrifice.” Black’s hands tightened around his forearms. “Do you know the tale of Abraham?”

Black shook his head, and Snape sighed again. “This story is one of the foundational myths of three of the largest muggle religions. Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. Abraham was loyal to God. He had been blessed with lands and a wife and children. One day, God asked him to take his very favorite son, Isaac, to the top of a mountain and sacrifice him.” Black recoiled a little, but stilled in Snape’s arms after a moment. “So Abraham takes him to the top of the mountain. He tells Isaac they’re sacrificing a ram. They build a pyre, and Abraham has his knife ready to deal the final blow before an angel stops him. ‘Now I know that you fear God,’ the angel says. And so they are allowed to sacrifice the ram instead, and Abraham is rewarded.”

“That’s horrible,” Black whispered.

Snape shrugged. “It’s a test. The ultimate test of faith. Abraham believed that God knew better than he did, and he was willing to sacrifice Isaac in service of that belief. It’s—” He opened the book, flipped a few pages. “Kierkegaard asks, ‘If an unfathomable, insatiable emptiness lay hid beneath everything, what would life be but despair?’ He treats it as evidence that Abraham will—will be rewarded. That there’s something after life beyond death. But I’m not sure—that word, insatiable. I think he ascribes a certain—character, to emptiness. A will that I’m not sure it necessarily possesses. Why does nonexistence have to be synonymous with cruelty? In Buddhism, there’s—the ultimate reality is that of anatman, no-self. It’s not so much that there is never at any point any such thing as the self, but that—dependent origination. Everything is interconnected with everything else. It can’t exist without—we’re all what the universe makes us. Alone, temporary, but not—I don’t know that I agree that it’s unfathomable. I guess maybe Kierkegaard never really understood—or at least he hadn’t, when he wrote this, what it feels like to want to be done.”

Black twisted around in his arms, watching Snape with that look he knew now to be awe. “What?”

Snape felt his eyes drift closed as Black kissed him, letting himself wrap his arms around the man’s waist as they kissed and kissed and kissed. When Black pulled away, his eyes were wet. He closed them again as Snape drew a handkerchief and wiped them clean. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I don’t think it’s that horrible of a story.”

“It isn’t that,” Black whispered. “It’s just… I… I can’t remember the last time I felt this much, this often, without pain.”

Snape sighed and looked away. “I guess that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

He blinked and looked back at Black, who mostly just seemed curious. “I don’t know any of this,” Black said. “I don’t know about—about muggle history and religion and—I didn’t even know books could make me feel this way.” Snape resisted the urge to bite his lip. “So what do you mean by—the point of what?”

Snape sighed again, and turned Black around so his head was tucked under Snape’s chin. “I guess I was trying to say that—that an absence of pain and a sublime pleasure aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. Feeling is what ties us to life. If nonexistence is the absence of pain, then that’s enough, isn’t it? That’s its own reward.”

“You—are you saying you feel this much all the time?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Black went very still in his arms. “What?”

“No,” Black said. “They don’t.”

Snape felt himself still too, but didn’t want to make Black feel guilty; it took him a few seconds, but he managed to relax again. “I think you’re lying.”

“What?”

“We’re all alive,” Snape said. “We all experience—being alive, simultaneously. The—the world exists the same way for everyone, at least in terms of—we mediate it via sensation. Maybe I have a more—more complex vocabulary with which to dissect my existential angst, but we aren’t limited to the experiences we have language for. That’s why Emerson ascribes alienated majesty to genius. It’s—that’s the point of the biblical—I guess you don’t know about the tree of knowledge either, but the basic idea is that learning carries with it a—a fundamental corruption of innocence. A distance from it. So we—once we have language, and the more precise it becomes, the more alienated we are from the—the primal world of pure sensation. But that doesn’t mean—I don’t think Van Gogh makes people weep because they understand in technical terms how he’s applied impasto. Who’s to say the sublime is any less legitimate when we don’t have a name for it?”

“My God, the inside of your brain—”

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to—”

“I’d like to live there.”

Snape blinked, and Black turned around in his arms and kissed him again. He knew he must be trembling, but had no idea how to stop. “Black—”

“Take me,” Black breathed. “God, please take me.”

Snape sighed and avoided his eyes. “As you wish.”

Black moaned, and Snape cursed internally. “Oh, Snape. Oh, Merlin, I—you—oh, Merlin, I want to belong to you.”

“Well, I do seem to have become your keeper,” Snape sniffed. “Even despite my best efforts.”

Black kissed him. Snape sighed into his mouth, then scooped him up and carried him back to bed. Black clung to him as they walked, his arms wrapped around Snape’s neck and his head buried in his chest. “You’ll keep me?”

Snape sighed again and lowered him onto the bed. “I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?”

Black recoiled, and Snape blinked down at him. “Of course you do,” Black said in a very small voice. “I—oh, God, have I been—been—do you even want me at all?”

“Black—”

Black scrambled away. “Oh, Merlin, I’m a monster. I—”

“Stop that,” Snape said, and went to him and held him again. “Do you really think I’d care for—for—Lucius Malfoy this way?”

Black laughed, though it was a hiccup. “You know, I think you’re noble enough to do it.”

Snape felt himself still, and Black sighed. “Well, I wouldn’t,” Snape said finally. “It isn’t—you’re worth my time. Please don’t think you aren’t.”

“But I—I—if you don’t want—”

“It’s not like anybody ever touches me either,” Snape said. Black drew in a shuddering breath. “It’s—why exactly do you think I’m reading Fear and Trembling?”

“You’re afraid of me?”

Snape pulled away and held Black’s face in his hands, trying to communicate with his eyes everything he couldn’t say. “Terrified.”

Black stared back for a long moment, then surged forwards and kissed him. Snape felt himself melt into it, then tense. Black pulled away and said, “Oh, God, sorry, I did it again, I—”

“I wanted it,” Snape said, and Black’s eyes went wide. “I always want you.”

Black moaned and closed his eyes. “Oh,” he moaned again. “Can we—I changed my mind. Will you just hold me?”

“Of course.” Snape took Black in his arms. “I’m sorry. This has all been too much. I—I just didn’t want you to think—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Black whispered. “You—” He whimpered into Snape’s chest. “Thank you.”

“Get some rest,” Snape said, and Black let out a very long sigh against him. Snape sighed back and closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of a beating heart against him lull him into sleep.

Monday evening, Black came back again. Snape beckoned to him, and Black came to him with a bit less trepidation and laid his head in his lap. “Are you still reading Kierkegaard?” Snape nodded. “Will you tell me about it?”

“Alright.” Snape sighed, summoned a blanket, and laid it over them, combing through Black’s hair with one hand and Fear and Trembling with the other. “I’m sorry again about yesterday. I didn’t mean to… well, I don’t really—this is all a lot for me too.” Black tensed, and Snape sighed. “Please don’t—I’m the one who begged you to come to me. I’m just saying that it’s—well, I hope you won’t resent me asking for some patience.”

“Okay,” Black whispered, and relaxed again. 

Snape sighed and moved his hand down to stroke Black’s jaw, then his collarbone, sighing again when Black took his hand. Black flinched and started to untangle their fingers, then looked up at Snape with wide eyes when he tightened his grip before he could. “Patience?”

“Right. Sorry. I—sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He looked away when Black’s face was overcome with intolerable gentleness. “Anyway, I—Kierkegaard. He writes, ‘anguish is a dangerous affair for the squeamish.’ I think it’s—for all that I know how to handle despair, I think it might be just as true for any intense feeling. It’s—emotion is dangerous. That’s why I’ve spent so much time—well, I—anyway. We have to know how to process and name and—and mitigate the damage of those feelings. But it can be—well, it’s been easier for me to just—just try not to let things get that intense to begin with. I suppose I—I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean,” Black said. Snape met his eyes, then looked away again. “It was—obviously I’m no good at knowing how to—to deal with those feelings, but I—I mean, Merlin, I spent ten years as a dog. It was—obviously I’ve done irreparable damage to my brain, but—Snape?”

Snape blinked, then sighed and relaxed what had evidently become a death grip on Black’s fingers. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Black sighed. “Anyway, I definitely did destroy a pretty significant chunk of my brain, but I—well, what worked so well in keeping me—if not sane, then not—caustic, I hope, was the simplicity of that state. The dog was… it just existed. It didn’t think about why. It was… what you said, about pure sensation. That was what got me through.”

“I guess we’re at two opposite extremes, eh?”

Black let out a soft, startled laugh. “I guess so.” He squeezed Snape’s hand. “Thanks for trying to meet me halfway.”

Snape shrugged. Black sighed. “It’s pretty brave of you. You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t—I’m not brave. That’s not—come on. That’s the second time you’ve—I’m a coward. A—I’m wretched. You don’t have to say—just because I’m doing you a favor doesn’t mean I—you don’t have to act like you think I’m—well, I’m despicable. I know that. Please stop—it’s like you said. I’m worthless. I just—what does it accomplish to pretend like I’m not?”

Black sat up and turned around in his arms, waiting until Snape met his eyes to speak. “Please don’t say that.”

“You’re the one who—”

“Merlin, I just wanted you to stay.”

Snape felt his eyes widen, and looked away. Black sighed. “I—I don’t like you. But I don’t—you aren’t worthless. If I’d known you were going to take it to heart this much I wouldn’t have—I don’t know how to express any of this without—without terrifying you even more. But I—I—”

He broke off and started weeping, and Snape sighed and brought his face to the crook of his neck. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have—you being suicidal was not the appropriate time for this discussion.” Black laughed a little against him. “You’re not going to convince me—well, I know what I am, but—”

Black started weeping even harder, and Snape sighed. “I keep making it worse. I’m sorry. Maybe we should—would you like a bath? Or I could read to you. Maybe a massage?”

There was silence except for Black’s low, hiccuping sobs. Snape sighed again, picked him up, and carried him to bed, casting a few grooming charms on them both as he changed, though he tended to prefer to do it by hand. Black kept weeping, though it subsided a little when Snape propped himself against the headboard and brought Black’s head to his lap. “How about… have you ever read Things Fall Apart?”

Black shook his head, and Snape sighed and summoned it. “This is about the colonization of Nigeria by European missionaries. It’s… Merlin, do I have any books that aren’t depressing?”

A laugh, and a hiccup. “I do like The Lathe of Heaven. But it’s back at my house.”

Snape sighed. “Alright. I—will you be okay alone here for a minute if I go look for something less bleak?”

Black nodded; when Snape met his eyes, they were so tender that he looked away again. He perused his shelves for a minute; when he returned, Black seemed to have calmed. “Sorry again about—I told you to come to me, and then I made you—I keep making you cry.”

Black shrugged. “I haven’t hurt myself, have I?”

“I guess not.” Snape sighed and laid down again next to him. “But I’m still sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Black gave him another one of those awful tender looks. “Will you kiss me?”

“Oh, alright.” The kiss was entirely sexless, and therefore entirely terrifying; he wanted to get lost in Black’s body, but was preoccupied by trying to make sure his touch at least resembled gentleness. “Reading? If there’s something else I can do for you—”

“Reading is perfect. What did you pick?”

“Babbitt. Sinclair Lewis. It’s about… ennui, more or less. And consumerism. It’s fun. Or at least not horrifically depressing. Let me know if anything confuses you?”

“Alright.”

“Okay.” Snape sighed again, dimmed the lights, and opened the book, wrapping his arm around Black’s shoulder as the man curled up into a ball against his side. “‘The towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of steel and cement and limestone, sturdy as cliffs and delicate as silver rods. They were neither citadels nor churches…’”

On Tuesday, Snape found himself missing Black from about ten minutes after he got back home. He picked up Fear and Trembling, then threw it to the floor in disgust; then he paced for about half an hour, then swore and flooed to Grimmauld Place. 

Point me led him to a sitting room; hominem revealio indicated the presence of two people. Snape reached for the door, trying to figure out something sexually explicit enough to drive Lupin off, then paused when the voices grew loud enough to hear. “—think he’ll notice I’m not suicidal if I go by?” Black asked. “I miss him. But I don’t—is that ridiculous?”

“It’s ridiculous that you guys have this weird convoluted system of justifications to have to see each other,” Lupin said. “But it isn’t ridiculous that you miss him.” He laughed. “You are so in over your head, Padfoot.”

Black moaned. “I know. He’s just so beautiful. And his mind is—my God, I thought he was boring. But I—Moony, he’s got this—the man isn’t just a genius, he’s an artist. He has this—this fiery, tormented passion inside him. This well of—of reverence for the world. It’s—oh, Merlin, when’s the last time I talked about anything else?”

“It’s been a solid month and a half now,” Lupin said. He laughed when Black moaned again. “It’s pretty pathetic. You should just go by.”

“He told me he was terrified of me,” Black said. “I don’t want to scare him away. What if he gets so sick of me he tells me never to come back? I don’t think he even likes me.”

That’s quite enough of that, Snape thought, and pushed open the door. “Black,” he said. “There you are. Oh, hello, Lupin.” Snape grimaced at him, then turned to Black, trying to convey at least a little kindness. “You alright? You haven’t bothered me even once today. I was afraid you might have died.”

Black gave him an entirely reverent look. Lupin looked startled. “Hey,” Black breathed. “I—hey.”

“Well?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow and scowling. “Do you think Sinclair Lewis is going to read himself? Are you coming home with me or not?”

“Yeah,” Black breathed, and stood. Lupin blinked copiously when Snape let Black take his hand, then tilted his head. Snape tried and failed not to feel his eyes on him the whole time they left the room. 

When they got back to his rooms, Black gave him an unbearably tender look. “You really want to read? You don’t want to shag?”

“I’m tired,” Snape said. “Come on, let’s lay in bed. Or—have you had dinner?”

Black nodded. Snape sighed. “I guess we could take a bath if you want. Or we could lay in bed and read. I just—” He looked away. “I was worried. I’m sorry. It’s silly.”

“It really isn't,” Black said, and kissed him. “I—”

Snape pretended not to notice when he teared up a little. “Anyway. I guess I didn’t have to bring you back to—do you want to lie in bed? We can—you still haven’t finished the Le Guin, right? I guess we’d need to go back to yours to get it. If you even—you don’t have to stay. Or I could—we can keep working on Babbitt if you want to—to—I just couldn’t—couldn’t focus on—oh, Merlin, this is why I didn’t want to be your keeper.”

Black looked away, and Snape sighed and looked away too. “Sorry.”

He looked up when he felt a hand in his, and blinked at Black’s horribly kind eyes. “Let’s brush our teeth,” he said. “And get changed, and—and lie together and read.”

“Okay,” Snape mumbled, and Black kissed him again.

On Wednesday, Black was sleeping on Snape’s couch when he got home. Snape sighed and considered rousing him, then decided against it; but when he moved to cover him with a blanket, Black woke up. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Snape said. “You can keep sleeping, you know. It’s fine.”

“Kiss me,” Black said. Snape tilted his head, then shrugged and sat and held Black’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together. Black’s eyes fluttered closed, and Snape let his own do the same. This is bad, he thought dimly, as he realized he wasn’t even hoping the kiss would end in sex. This is very, very bad, what exactly are you doing, this is going to end so fucking badly—

There was a loud gagging noise, and they broke apart to see Potter shaking his head in disgust. “Merlin, Padfoot, I never wanted to know this much about your personal life,” Potter said. “Or at least not—I think I just saw Sna—Professor Snape’s tongue.”

Snape scowled and stuck his tongue out at Potter, and Potter groaned. “God, there it is again. Goodbye!” And he stormed through the floo.

“Teenagers,” Black said. 

Snape fought a smile. “Yes, well. I suppose we have to wait for him to return to whatever Gryffindor hole he crawled out of before we can shag. Have you had dinner?”

When Potter got back, he narrowed his eyes at them, then came over to Snape’s table and flopped down into a chair, stealing a roll from Black’s plate. “Hey, Professor. Hey, Padfoot.”

Snape scowled. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“Eating,” Potter said through a full mouth. “I guess you guys love each other or whatever, so I’m going to have to get used to you.” He shook his head at Black. “You couldn’t have gotten together with anyone else?”

Black froze. Snape looked down. “Harry,” Black said carefully. “I—it isn’t like that. It’s very sweet of you to try and make an effort for me, but I don’t—we don’t even like each other.”

Potter snorted. “Yeah, Ron and Hermione don’t think they like each other either.” He shook his head again, then jerked his thumb at Snape. “I’ve never even seen him smile at another human being, and he let you sit in his lap. He’s obviously in love with you.”

Snape didn’t look up, but he did feel his eyes widen and his mouth part. “I was a dog,” Black said. “Who the hell doesn’t like dogs? He isn’t that evil.”

“You’re literally a Grim,” Potter said. “That’s like letting a thestral sit in your lap.” He tilted his head. “I guess I can see Snape doing that too. It’s—you know, I certainly do hate him, but you are sort of weirdly perfect for each other, aren’t you?”

“Fuck,” Snape managed. Oh, fuck.

“We are not. It’s not like he’s got the heart of a roe or something. I really didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic, Harry.” Black kicked Snape’s leg. “You okay?”

“Fuck,” Snape said again, with feeling. “I—well, fuck.”

“Professor?”

Snape wanted to run away, but thought he might be too dizzy to stand. “Potter,” he managed. “Leave. Now.”

Potter sighed. “Whatever.” He took another roll from Black’s plate and stalked off.

“Snape?”

Snape couldn’t make himself look up. He still felt faint. “I don’t love you,” he said. “I—I don’t—I hate you. I think you’re—you’re—cruel. A-and I think you’re—you’re childish. Immature. I—you’re a bully. You abuse poor Kreacher. You’re—you’re impulsive. Reckless. I—you make foolish decisions that hurt other people. You’re smug and vain and crude and  careless and—my heart—I—you’re—I don’t love you.”

“Obviously,” Black said, and Snape looked up. Black was staring at the surface of the table. “He’s a kid, Snape. He doesn’t understand—he thinks that people just—just forgive each other. That it’s as simple as—I know you hate me. I guess I—I can admit that you’re kind. I didn’t know that before. But just because you’re kind enough to—there’s a hell of a gulf between feeling responsible for—for stopping somebody from—that isn’t exactly love.”

“Right,” Snape said, relieved as feeling returned to his extremities. “Right. Yes. Right. Okay. I—are you—do you feel like shagging? Or do you—are you well enough to go back to—to—we can just sleep if you want.”

Black didn’t look up. “I, uh—what do you want?”

I want to bury myself under your skin until I can’t tell where I end and you begin.

“Take me,” Snape blurted. “Make me—I want to forget my own name. I—I want—you. Make me—I want—I want—please.”

Black looked up and smiled. “As you wish.”

Snape blinked and looked away, and Black came to him and knelt in front of him, staring into his eyes. “Hey, there.”

“Hello,” Snape whispered. Black grabbed his thighs, surged up, and kissed him, then pulled away, grinned deviously, and swept him off the chair and into a bridal hold. “Oh, bloody—you really are a menace.”

Black tilted his head, took Snape’s arse in hand, and moved him so he was hanging on by his waist. Snape opened his mouth to complain, and Black kissed him before he could, stopping here and there on the ten-second walk to his bedroom to kiss him against the wall. When they reached Snape’s bedroom, he laid him down on the bed and stripped him, batting away Snape’s hands when he attempted to reciprocate. When Snape was bare, Black pulled away, gave him an appraising look, and looked down at him from beneath his lashes as he stripped. He bit his lip and moved agonizingly slowly; Snape’s awareness of the fact that it was a show didn’t make it any less effective.

Black narrowed his eyes, lowered his body over Snape’s, and murmured, “You just leave it to me, sweetheart. My turn to take care of you now. I’m going to make sure you feel nothing but pleasure.”

It really is completely and totally hopeless, Snape thought grimly, and hung on. 

The next day, Black came back. Snape didn’t look at him until he came over to him and sat down in his lap, kissing him so thoroughly he forgot what he’d been doing before. “Why did you bring up a roe?”

“What?”

“Yesterday,” Snape said. “You—you said I didn’t have the heart of a roe.”

Black shrugged. “James’s animagus form was a stag. I was in love with him.” Snape felt his eyes widen, and looked down. Black sighed. “You didn’t—I thought everyone knew that. He was the love of my—you didn’t know about that?”

Snape bit his lip. “I—I—I think I probably ought to show you something. It isn’t—you’re right that I’m a monster, but I—you probably deserve to know what kind.”

Black tilted his head. Snape took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and cast his Patronus. I’ll hurt you, Snape thought. I’m not strong enough to turn you away. I got her killed, and I can’t promise I won’t do the same to you. Take care of yourself. Run.

There was a very long silence, and then a surge of warmth. Snape felt himself turn bright red, and buried his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but felt absolutely positive that the blasted thing was nuzzling Black’s chin.

Then movement, and the loss of Black’s body heat, the pressure of his legs absent from atop Snape’s own. Black’s voice was very choked when he said, “Oh.”

When he opened his eyes, Black was gone.

Snape didn’t go to the Order the next day, or the week after that; the following week, Dumbledore made a point of demanding he attend. He went, though he avoided Black’s eyes the whole time; when he headed into the corridor, he heard footsteps behind him, and closed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“Snape?”

Snape blinked and turned around, coming face-to-face with Lupin. “Oh. You.” He sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know what the hell you did to poor Sirius, but you need to fix it,” Lupin said. “He isn’t okay. I know you hate him, but it isn’t—this is just cruel.”

Snape looked away. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Bollocks.” Lupin took a menacing step towards him. “He’s miserable. He barely sleeps, he barely eats, he’s been hurting himself so much it’s—”

He cut off as Snape flinched and clutched his own arms. “What, you care now?”

Snape closed his eyes. “Maybe you should ask him what happened. I don’t—I did everything in my power to help him. It’s not my fault that he—that he doesn’t want—well, I can’t say I blame him. But it isn’t—I don’t—he walked away. He left. He—I showed him who I am, and he ran away. He was right to, but I—the only thing to blame me for is the fact that I’m myself.” He shook his head and opened his eyes. “Which is enough. But I didn’t—I wouldn’t try to hurt him.”

There was a long silence, and then Lupin said, “Sorry. I—I believe you.”

“Good,” Snape said. “Because the next time you accuse me of something that awful, I won’t take the time to explain.” And he turned around and left.

He skipped the Order the next week, and the week after that; the following Wednesday, Potter sighed very loudly as he entered the room. “Okay, Professor, I didn’t want to say anything, because I know you want to kill me or whatever, but will you come back with me to Grimmauld Place? Poor Padfoot has been pining away so much it’s—I’m worried about him.”

Snape sneered. “What does that have to do with me?”

Potter sighed again, and rolled his eyes. “He’s pining for you, obviously.”

Snape felt his sneer relent into a scowl. “He isn’t. The answer is no.”

Potter pouted. “Please? Oh, please, Professor Snape. It’s completely pathetic. It’s sad. Please? Please, please, please, please—”

“Dear God, fine,” Snape snapped. Potter looked smug, and swept a hand in front of him. Dumbledore blinked at Snape as he exited the floo, but got caught up in helping Potter up from his imbecilic entrance. Snape took advantage of the distraction to flee.

He followed his wand to Black’s bedroom, then stopped just outside the door when he heard voices. Lupin’s, of course, was the other. “—don’t you just go to him? He told me himself he wouldn’t hurt you. I don’t think he’d make you leave. Even if—I still don’t understand why it matters so much that you’re—compatible, or whatever. So what if—I mean, Merlin. What does it matter if you hurt his feelings? I’m still not convinced he even can love you, but if it’s—if you hate each other anyway, who cares?”

“That’s the problem,” Black moaned. “He hates me. He thinks I’m cruel. And he has the heart of—he’s pure of heart. He’s noble. He’s—he’s beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful. And—and vulnerable. He weaponizes it, but it’s—and I—I just fucking—I told him I was still pining for James, and then I stomped all over—he’s right. I am cruel. I deserve to—to—I don’t deserve someone that—I didn’t understand him at all. I thought his cruelty was—was—he’s given up his whole life in service of others. Since he was about twenty. He spends all his time trying to—to make sure his actions are ethical. To serve justice and freedom and—I—I thought that he—he—I treated him like—I wasn’t thinking of him as a real person. But now that I know that I really—really can hurt him in a meaningful way, it’s—I just kept pushing him for more and more intimacy when he told me over and over that it would break his—that he was uncomfortable with that level of—I manipulated him! I—all I’ve done is give him another burden to bear. I—I mean, Merlin, Moony, I can’t even make myself be polite to Kreacher. I’m a monster!”

He started weeping, and Lupin made a frustrated noise. “I really don’t think he does hate you. When I told him you’d been hurting yourself, he—it was like looking at a wounded animal. It’s—he does give a damn. I don’t know enough about—I mean, I think Harry’s right that—I can’t tell whether he’s as hopelessly in love with you as you are with him, but I don’t think—”

“I am not in love with him!”

Lupin sighed. “You’ve been pining for him for months now. He’s all you talk about. You literally just gave me a speech about wanting to protect him. You told me to my face that he offered to find you another lover, and instead you’ve spent an entire month tormenting yourself about the possibility of hurting his feelings. You might not like him, or want to be in love with him, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t. Since when do any of us get a choice about that? And anyway, it’s—if he really is so bloody noble, don’t you think it would hurt him to know he’s made you feel this awful?”

Black sobbed so loudly Snape flinched. “Oh, God, Moony, he’ll never love me back!”

Snape jolted. I shouldn’t be listening to this, he realized. I need to go home. And he stumbled down the stairs and back to Hogwarts.

He went to the Order that Friday, since Dumbledore sent him a Patronus about it; when he stepped out into the corridor, he heard footsteps behind him. “What now, Lupin?”

“Hey.”

Snape turned, and there Black was, slumped and vulnerable and far too thin. “Ah.” He sighed. “Sex?”

Black still wouldn’t look at him. “I—yeah. Sex.” His laugh was so bleak it made Snape want to scream. “Whatever you want.”

Snape looked away too, and thought about the sex dungeon. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

Black looked up. “No?”

“Sex shouldn’t be about punishment, even if it isn’t about affection,” Snape said. Black’s eyes went very wide. “We can shag if it would bring you pleasure, but I refuse to be a part of—of—no. Do you want it? Or do you just want to be near me?”

Black looked down again. “What if it’s the latter?”

Snape sighed, swallowed a groan, and held out a hand. “Come on, then.” Black hesitated for what felt like about five minutes, then took his hand and let Snape lead him back to Hogwarts. He made him brush his teeth, got him settled into bed, and brought him a glass of water. “Alright?”

Black still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“If this qualifies as nice to you, then you’re obviously in desperate need of genuine kindness.”

“Patient, then. You hate me. Are you always so—so patient with the people you despise?”

Snape sighed and sat down next to him on the bed. “Well, I am a spy. It’s not like I really have a choice.”

Black twisted his hands in the comforter. “You didn’t have to bring me back here. You had a choice about that.”

“Did I? Lupin says you’ve been hurting yourself again. Potter has been worrying himself to death over you.”

“You don’t have to care about that. You could just not give a damn.”

“Haven’t we established that I’m soft-hearted?”

Black drew in a shuddering breath. “I—I’m sorry for—I didn’t mean to react the way I did. I guess I thought—well, I never did think about it. But I suppose I would have assumed that you couldn’t cast a Patronus at all.”

Snape looked away. “I know I’m a monster, but I—”

“I can’t,” Black interrupted. “Ever since Azkaban. I can’t cast it anymore. It’s—all the good in me has gone. I guess I—I wanted to think it was okay to be cruel to you. If you didn’t have any good in you either. But it’s—every single real conversation we’ve had has been about—I spent a decade in Azkaban, and I didn’t even—you’ve dedicated your life to—to service. To atonement.” Black wiped the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—you aren’t a monster.”

“Of course I am,” Snape said, though he tried to be as gentle as he could. “It’s alright.”

“You aren’t,” Black said. He looked up, his eyes so fierce that Snape flinched a little. “You aren’t a monster.”

“Black—”

“I lived with monsters,” Black said. “I lived with my mum and my dad. I lived with dementors. They didn’t care what happened to the people they hurt. They didn’t care about telling right from wrong. They didn’t think about—about what was an appropriate way to treat the people they hated, because they didn’t think of them as people at all.” He made an incoherent noise of rage. “If accidentally hurting people makes you a monster, then I’m a monster too.”

“Don’t say that.” Snape grabbed Black’s hand. “Don’t—you aren’t. Of course you aren’t. It’s—it’s different with me. I—it was on purpose. I hurt people on purpose.”

“So did I,” Black said. “I’m cruel to Kreacher because it feels good to let out my rage. I was cruel to you because I thought it was—was fun to provoke you. I was—I broke Ron’s leg. I—”

“Stop that. That was—it’s different.”

“How?”

“I was already a bad person,” Snape said. “You were tortured for a decade because you tried to help your friends avoid getting murdered. I was the one who got them murdered. I was—the fucking sex dungeon—it’s a miracle you’re sane at all. I’ve had every opportunity to stop being cruel. And I never take them.”

Black was silent for a very long moment, and then buried his head in a pillow and screamed. Snape went still. “Sorry,” Black said. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know how to—I can’t figure out how to—I don’t want to scare you away. But even admitting that I don’t want to do that is—if you really want to stop being cruel, shouldn’t you stop being cruel to yourself?”

Snape closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

A moment of silence. “Okay. I’m sorry.” Black squeezed his hand, and Snape opened his eyes and looked up. “Will you—will you lie down with me? Please?”

“Alright.” Snape sighed and lay down, and let Black lay his head on his chest. “I wish you had someone better to go to.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Snape went silent, and Black did too; after a moment, he began to shake, and Snape realized he was crying. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I feel like all I do is make you cry.”

Black laughed raggedly against his chest. “I’m just so fucking relieved,” he whispered back. “I missed you. I’m sorry. I—I know you need me to hate you. But I—being apart from you was like—”

“I know.”

Black laughed again. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t—if I knew how not to need you—”

“After the war,” Snape said. “You really will be free. And then you can find someone who—until then, I don’t—I promise I won’t turn you away. I may be—but you know I—well, you’re not the only person who needs me. I understand that it isn’t about me.”

“Of course it is,” Black said. “That’s my point.”

As they roiled into exam season, Snape grew used to Black. He came to expect his presence periodically, like a particularly persistent ache. Every night or two, Black would come to his rooms and sleep in his bed, making conversation about philosophy or news. He’d been wanting to shag more lately—he seemed to be doing better in general, thank Merlin. Snape didn’t want to be responsible for Sirius Black, but it seemed to be extremely obvious that he was; there had to be worse burdens in this world, but Snape despaired to think of them. Though being coworkers with Dolores Umbridge certainly had to be pretty high up on the list.

On the last day of O.W.L.s, Potter came barging into his rooms, wild-eyed and frantic. Snape scowled, but Potter deflated almost immediately, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down. “Hey,” he said. “Sorry. I, uh—Voldemort sent me a vision. Of Padfoot at—at the Department of Mysteries.” From Snape’s lap, Black waved, and Potter laughed. “But I—obviously you’re fine, so, erm—bye.”

He didn’t move, and Black stood and went to him and hugged him. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m completely fine, Harry. Snape’s taking good care of me. You don’t need to worry.”

“Alright,” Potter mumbled, and left. 

Black returned to Snape’s lap and sighed. “That poor child.” Snape hummed noncommittally and made himself comfortable again. “Can you imagine having Voldemort in your head?”

Snape rolled up his left sleeve pointedly. Black winced. “Sorry, right. I—do you think I should learn Occlumency? Harry—what if something happens to Dumbledore? He’ll need more help.”

“Probably,” Snape said. “Frankly, I think Occlumency should be a lot more common than it is. But it’s very difficult to—there’s an element of trust in letting someone in your head. And the amount of mental discipline—well, there’s a great deal of—of emotional regulation required.”

“Then I definitely need to learn it.” Snape hid a smile. “Will you teach me?”

“I’d be in your head.” Black shrugged, and Snape frowned. “Though I—I suppose you must already be somewhat competent at mental discipline, to be able to successfully become an animagus.”

Black turned around, grinned, and kissed him. “Teach me.”

“Oh, fine.” Snape sighed. “But you have to take it seriously.”

“Or what? You’ll punish me?” Black stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “You’ll give me detention for being such a bad, bad boy?”

Snape narrowed his eyes, and Black bracketed his hips with his knees and undulated against him. “You’ll punish me, Professor? Oh, teach me a lesson.” He let out a delighted laugh as Snape seized his arse and flipped them over on the couch. “Please, sir, I’ve been so bad.”