Midnight In The Garden
by Ishafel

"You were a bastard, you know," the boy says, his voice forlorn. "Why did you always have to be so mean?" And he's drifting, green eyes vague, seemingly unaware. "You were so mean, and what did it get you?"

What it had gotten him was tied to a bed in Grimmauld Place, with a madman looming over him, and wasn't the war over? Shouldn't there be a statute of limitations for this kind of thing? The boy had professed his intention to torture Severus, and now seemed to be trying to talk him to death. And Severus had a terrible, terrible itch just in the middle of his back; in a place he couldn't have reached even if his hands weren't bound.

The boy's hair is as untidy as it ever was, and the earpiece of his glasses is bent, so that the glasses hang awkwardly half off his nose, leaving a tiny red rubbed mark. What did it mean, that the most powerful wizard in the world couldn't manage a simple Reparo?

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Severus asked, and grimaced when he realized he'd asked the question aloud. He'd heard before that peace made men careless, but he'd never experienced it. He was not the spy he had once been, anymore than the boy was the hero.

"Going somewhere," the boy repeats in a menacing squeak. "I'm going to make you pay for everything you did to me. I'm going to--." But clearly his imagination fails him. "I'm going to -- going to fuck you into the mattress!"

It's so unexpected Severus almost laughs. He knows sadism when he sees it, and he doesn't see it here. The boy should be threatening broken bones, missing limbs, exotic new Unforgivables, and all he can come up with is sex. From the camps to genocide to sodomy in a single generation. That he should have lived to see such a Dark Lord almost makes his life worthwhile.

"Do it," he says, aware that he's pissing into the wind and unable to resist. "Fuck me 'til I bleed." It's all he has time to say, before the boy's on him. And who knew a child's mouth could be so demanding? That mouth is hard enough to bruise and hot enough to burn; Severus twists under it, desperate for air and desperate because he feels the first faint stirrings of something that might be arousal.

The boy's hand twists in his hair, tugs sharply, and Severus opens his mouth reflexively, and it's like being swallowed whole. The boy kisses like a sailor who's been years at sea, and all the while he unfastens the laces of Severus's shirt with his free hand. Severus is lost; he would beg for more if he could only get his mouth free long enough.

There are hands on his nipples and tongues in his ears and if Severus didn't know better he'd think this was magic. Maybe it is. There seem to be more hands and more tongues than there should be, and all of them are driving Severus mad. He writhes on the bed, bound as much by his lust as by the ropes around his wrists and ankles.

The boy's weight is gone suddenly, and Severus has no use for such freedom. He hears himself making a small, frantic whining noise; he knows that he sounds like an animal in pain but he cannot stop. The boy is looking down at him. "You like this, don't you," he asks, and then he smiles. "You like me."

"I don't," Severus protests, but it's every bit the lie it sounds like, and the boy ignores it.

"Eximo," the boy says, and it's no spell Severus has ever heard but the boy is so powerful that it works and Severus is lying naked before him. Naked except for the ropes, and too startled even to struggle. And the boy is naked, too, and even paler and thinner than Severus; a man's body, but only just. It's not Severus's cup of tea, exactly, but his body doesn't seem to remember that.

The boy moves, crouching over Severus, his small penis hard against his flat stomach. He is drooling, a little; Severus finds it both revolting and a little flattering. He forgets sometimes just how far gone the boy is. And he must be under some spell, surely he is, or he would not want this. The boy did something to him, some wordless, wandless magic. Must have done.

The boy is tracing runes on Severus's erect cock. Runes for lubrication, stamina -- or maybe he is only examining Severus. Maybe he's never done this before. But he seems confident enough, as he reaches back to finger the hole between his own legs. Severus lies on his back and waits, as much because he wants to as because he has to.

When the hole swallows him at last, inch by inch by inch, it is like being eaten alive. He cannot thrust, cannot hurry the process, can do nothing to bring his own pleasure nearer. He has not given up control so thoroughly, often. The boy takes him halfway and then three-quarters; the feel of it is maddening. Severus wants nothing so much as to have it go on forever, but he wants nearly as badly to break his bonds, roll on top of the boy, and have the matter over with in a heartbeat.

He is inside at last. The boy sits on him, his body flush with Severus's and tight around him as a virgin. He looks pleased with himself. He has a right to be. He's reduced Severus's mind to mush. He rocks slowly, gently, on Severus's cock. There is enough friction that nothing more is necessary. Severus closes his eyes, holds his breath, but he's well aware no amount of concentration can delay what's coming. He's on the edge of exploding; he can feel the orgasm start somewhere around his heart. And when he does come, the boy comes with him. Severus lies back, struggling to keep from panting. He can feel the semen drying on his chest.

"Now will you admit that I'm the Dark Lord?" the boy demands. Severus can only nod mutely. Surely only a Dark Lord could give him an orgasm like that.

 

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