A Well-Respected Man
by Victoria P.

He managed to be civil to Lockhart, when Dumbledore introduced them (reintroduced them, actually. He remembers Lockhart from his own schooldays. He'd been two years ahead of Snape, in Hufflepuff, which makes his success all the more suspect), but contempt bubbles below his calm facade and he doesn't know how much longer he can fake it.

Gilderoy Lockhart, teaching Defence. It's utterly laughable, and Snape cannot believe Dumbledore has passed him over yet again, in favor of this bumbling fool.

Lockhart is oblivious; he treats Snape as if he were another adoring fan, and Snape finds himself hard-pressed not to curse the man into a coma. When Lockhart shows up at his chamber door one evening, Snape shuts the door in his face. But he is persistent as well as stupid, a combination designed to drive Snape mad.

A few weeks later, after the dueling club's first meeting, Lockhart follows him back to his office. "Sev, you simply must lighten up. All that frowning is murder on the skin. You'll be wrinkled as a Shar-pei before you're forty."

He is tempted to mutter a threat about showing Lockhart murder, but he's above such banal banter. And Sev? He'd almost rather be Snivellus again, for all the twelve-year-old boy stupidity of it; at least it was a clear statement of where everyone stood on the matter.

He keeps walking, ignoring Lockhart, who will not take the hint. "And honestly, I must say, you are in dire need of a haircut. And a wash. Perhaps a leave-in conditioner. And those robes--" Lockhart sniffs disdainfully. "Black is so last year Sev. With your coloring, you should be wearing a nice vibrant green." Lockhart moves in closer, invading Snape's personal space, disregarding his sneer and the way he gathers his robes to avoid touching Lockhart's. "Why, you'd be almost attractive with me to guide you. What a pair we could be."

"I assure you, Lockhart, I have no desire to prance about like a peacock."

"No, of course not. I would be the peacock in this equation. Or, to use a more suitable metaphor, I am the diamond displayed against your dark velvet."

Snape blinks at this idiocy, wondering if Lockhart is having him on, but then he has other things to worry about, as Lockhart is shoving him against the door and kissing him. Lockhart, for all his mincing and fey manners, is surprisingly strong, though he has no finesse; his tongue is thrusting hard and hot into Snape's mouth, and Snape is so shocked that for a moment, he does nothing.

Then he shoves, hard, and Lockhart sprawls to the floor, robes arrayed around him.

"Like it rough, do you?" Lockhart says, eyes darkening with something that appears to be desire.

Snape cocks his head, considers various withering put-downs, before he realizes his body is responding. It's been a while since he's had sex, but if Lockhart is willing, and it will shut him up for a few minutes, it may be worth it. Snape has played more than his share of such games, though itís been a few years. This is an opportunity to show Lockhart that fan clubs and swooning second-years are no true measure of power; the idea of showing Lockhart his true place at Hogwarts is more arousing than thinking of the sex act itself.

Lockhart rises and is dusting himself off when Snape grabs him by the front of his cobalt blue velvet robe and hauls him into the office. He turns them, kicks the door shut and murmurs the locking spell before gripping Lockhart's chin tightly and kissing the hell out of him.

Without breaking the kiss, he walks them back toward the desk, enjoying the feel of Lockhart's body rubbing against his. Lockhart pulls away when he hits the desk. He opens his mouth to speak, but Snape forestalls him.

"Turn around." He says it softly, but there is no doubt who is in charge here. Lockhart turns, and Snape says, "Bend over."

Lockhart bends over the desk, and Snape wrestles with the heavy fabric and complicated lacing of his robes, cursing the man's vanity and his obviously expensive clothing. His body is humming with need now, and finally he just shoves the damn thing up around Lockhart's hips, exposing matching blue silk boxer shorts.

"Merlin," he mutters derisively, though he secretly enjoys the slide of silk against his fingertips before he wrenches them down, exposing Lockhart's perfectly rounded, snowy pale arse.

Lockhart looks back at him. "Sev--"

"Silence," Snape snarls, admiring the view in front of him. He doesn't think he can do this if Lockhart speaks, so he slides his wand out of his sleeve and makes a vaguely threatening gesture with it. Lockhart gets the hint, and turns back to the desk, smirking.

Snape manages his own robes much more easily, and soon he is slicking his cock with the lotion he keeps on the desk for use after handling especially abrasive potions ingredients. He slides two fingers into Lockhart's arse, and Lockhart moans.

With that cursory nod toward preparation taken care of, Snape withdraws his fingers and presses in with his cock, closing his eyes at the sensation of tight heat gripping him. He thrusts and Lockhart moans again, wordlessly, one hand between his legs as Snape moves inside him.

If Snape squints, Lockhart's blond hair is burnished copper -- almost red -- in the firelight, and he can imagine he is with --

He refuses to complete the thought; even now, he observes his own odd sort of respect. It is one thing to fantasize when he's by himself, but here, while fucking this cretin, he tells himself he will not think of her.

Lockhart's skin is smooth under his callused fingers, soft and girlish in the dim light, and red marks blossom when he tightens his grip, ruthlessly suppressing thoughts of her; he feels a primal satisfaction at the sight.

Lockhart comes noisily, his body convulsing, and Snape grits his teeth, feeling the pressure build around him, inside him. He leans forward and bites down hard on Lockhart's neck as he comes, eyes closed. Her face fills his vision, because he has no control at these moments, and as the world explodes, he can imagine she is with him.

When he is done, he pulls out, cleans himself with a quick spell. Lockhart is still splayed out on his desk, robes hitched above his hips.

"Clean yourself and get out," Snape says.

Lockhart shakes out his robes and turns, smiling his fatuous smile. "That was most enjoyable. I would like to do it again sometime."

Snape looks him over from head to toe, a slow appraising gaze, lingering a little too long on crotch and lips, lip curled into a disdainful sneer. "Perhaps," he says after it's clear the silence is making Lockhart uncomfortable. "You were... tolerable."

"Sev?" Lockhart's smile melts into puzzlement, but his eyes are calculating, and Snape feels his stomach turn.

"If you call me that again, Lockhart, I will eviscerate you slowly. With a spoon."

"Of course. I do apologize, Sn- Severus." Lockhart's eyes go cold though his tone is ingratiating despite the slip, which Snape knows is intentional. Snape has his measure. He knows where he stands, now, and that is more important than sex or false camaraderie.

"I'm sure." He folds his arms and half-sits on his desk, staring at Lockhart until he flushes.

"Ah, yes. Late night. Early start tomorrow. I'll just be going, then."


Lockhart leaves in a swirl of blue velvet, and Snape lets his shoulders relax slightly when the door swings shut. He craves a cigarette, though he's long since given up the habit. Smoking gives him a clarity of mind the way few other things do, and it is far more immediate and less time consuming than working, which is his other refuge.

Finally, he rises, shaking his head at his descent into the sordid physicality men like Lockhart trade on. He knows this scene will repeat again at intervals during the year, and he refuses to feel shame or guilt. He has guilt enough to spare, but never over interludes like this. Lockhart is as much predator as prey, and Snape is determined to come out on top in whatever little game Lockhart is playing.


Silverlake: Authors / Mediums / Titles / Links / List / About / Updates / Silverlake Remix