amanuensis1 | Drabble Night, Oct 22, 2004

Got back to drabbling for a bit! The theme was "Sins of the Flesh," and I did three.

Harry/Voldemort, consensual spanking. (challenge by

goseaward)

"Your choice, pet."

Harry, hands at his sides, presses the pads of his thumbs against his curled index fingers. It's what he does, now, instead of clenching his fists. That's too much defiance for Voldemort to let pass--so, instead, this.

He decides. Not difficult, really.

Instead of speaking his choice aloud, he acends the few steps to the dais and kneels next to Voldemort's chair. Like a pocketknife, his naked body unfolds to drape itself over his Lord's lap. He does not allow his head to droop, mercy though it would be, but stares straight ahead.

Humiliating, but less so than the alternative.

"One day," coos his Lord, "you'll call me Master freely, instead of choosing the punishment."

Harry does not reply--only watches the twin looks of lechery and disapproval on the faces of Snape and Malfoy, as Voldemort delivers the first slap.

Snape/Hagrid, masturbation. (challenge by

sparrohawk)

Nights in the dormitory are the worst. He won't be one of them, making those rustling noises as obvious as a herd of hippogriffs--or that utter stillness behind a Silencing Charm, no less embarrassing. As if the great disapproving eye of God's on you.

Showers--forget it. Severus won't even linger longer than a few moments there, for fear of an accusation about taking so long.

Secret places in the castle--there aren't any of those. Not with Bloody Black and Poncy Potter and Lunatic Lupin and Precious Pettigrew's eyes on him, all the time, hunting him like the little sneaks they are.

Which is why he's here, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Hullo!"

Severus, pants about his knees, nearly has a heart attack right there--but silently bewails the deflation of his aching prick most of all.

It's the bloody caretaker. Is there no place to have a goddamn fucking private wank around this fucking school?

But the bulky caretaker--Hagrid--only leers--no, wait, it's a grin--and takes out a handkerchief the size of a small tablecloth and tosses it to Severus.

"Kinda close quarters in that castle, innit?...You come here when y'like. I won't tell. Or watch--promise."

Severus never does go back. But he keeps the handkerchief.

Snape/Dumbledore. Gluttony. (challenge by

venivincere)

Albus feeds on Severus's mouth as if he's been denied sweets all week. Which isn't true, Severus knows; he can taste pepper imps with every kiss, and there was no mistaking the squeak of ice mice earlier that evening.

He laps at Severus's chest as though the salt sweat there will cure an imbalance in his humours. Which, Severus thinks, could explain some of the man's eccentricities.

He feasts upon Severus's cock as though it is a gourmet's rare delicacy: an oyster or other shelled creature, still damp from the sea, tender and ready to be coaxed to unshy vulnerability. Severus has never known a lover so ravenous.

Once Severus made the suggestion they bring a jar of honey or cream to bed. "My dear, whatever for?" Albus had said, with a quirk of one eyebrow--and resumed his feast.