A Night on the Tiles

TITLE: A Night on the Tiles
AUTHOR: thisveryinstant
PAIRING: SS/SB
RATING: NC-17
FEEDBACK: thisveryinstant (at) yahoo (dot) com
DISCLAIMER: The characters don't belong to me, but I promise to return them when I'm done. I'm not making any money from this.
SUMMARY: PWP. Takes place during OotP, after Snape announces Harry's Occlumency lessons. Snape takes a bath. Sirius hits a bottle of Ogden's. Smut ensues.
NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest 3rd Wave (in response to scenario #4, "Snape gets caught with his pants down"). Thanks to Sparrohawk and Little Needle for terrific betas. All remaining mistakes are my own.
SPOILERS: Contains mild spoilers for book 5.
ARCHIVING: The Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest Archive, The Thin Line and my website.

The house at number twelve, Grimmauld Place stank of decay and decadence, opulence and disrepair. Snape was more annoyed by the shabbiness than by the ambient maliciousness and dark magic. Anyone could feel the rich, mystical history of the place, but Black couldn't be bothered to change the moldy curtains or fix the peeling paint. It was simply inexcusable. The state of the house confirmed Snape's long-held suspicion that without their money, the wealthy were completely useless.

Nowhere was this more apparent than the once-magnificent bathroom, with its peeling wallpaper, chipped tile, and cloudy mirrors. The bathtub was dusty and missing one of its clawed feet, but it was a masterpiece of engineering, spelled with more superfluous enchantments than Snape could count. Ridiculously decadent, and falling to pieces. Miraculously, it was still in perfect working order.

Snape did not need that sort of ridiculous luxury, obviously, but he didn't see any reason not to indulge now; he ought to get something out of being forced to accept Black's dubious hospitality. He had to admit that he was enjoying the way the tub subtly and automatically transfigured to accommodate his movements, supporting his head and back and lengthening as he stretched his legs. The water felt pleasantly slick against his skin (he suspected it was fortified with aloe, and possibly chamomile) and smelled slightly astringent, with subtle hints of Melissa officinalis and eucalyptus.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the moist steam that clouded the room. Hogwarts classes resumed tomorrow morning, and his vacation had been less than restful. Today had been particularly long and exhausting. It had still been dark when he apparated to Knockturn Alley for a bleary-eyed, tension-filled talk with Lucius Malfoy, who found it convenient to meet between five and six in the morning. He'd nearly had a heart attack when Malfoy announced imperiously that "our Lord does not deal mercifully with traitors." After a moment he realized that Malfoy had been referring to Karkaroff. That afternoon there was an equally trying meeting with Dumbledore, in which he found himself agreeing to give Occlumency lessons to Potter, and immediately afterwards there had been a messy confrontation with the ungrateful wretch and his idiot godfather.

Snape felt his body tense, as it always did when he thought of Sirius Black. Black had actually pulled his wand on Snape--and deep down, Snape had hoped that he would use it. Dumbledore seemed blind to the fact that Black was obviously unhinged, but one of these days Black would surely show his true colors. The man's lack of judgment and self-restraint was appalling; his presence in the Order was a danger to them all. He was brainless, vicious, and easily manipulated.

Snape had to admit that he got a great deal of pleasure out of baiting the man. When Black inevitably gave him an excuse, Snape planned to curse the man within an inch of his life. Snape was no longer sixteen years old. Black no longer had Potter to back him up, or to rescue him when his pranks went awry. It was only a matter of time before he did something that not even Dumbledore could justify.

His wand hand twitched with anticipation and moved, as if of its own accord, across the wet surface of his stomach and over his hips to gently massage his thigh. He closed his eyes and hissed as his hand moved over his groin. He imagined the look on Black's face as he stared at the wrong end of Snape's wand, realizing that he had made a monumental error of judgment. It was unlikely that Black would ever realize that he had only himself to blame--the man's capacity for self-delusion seemed to be limitless--but perhaps he would. Perhaps he would break down completely.

Snape's hand curled gently around the shaft of his cock. He was half-hard, and growing harder by the minute. He opened his hand and rubbed his palm in small circles, deliberately tormenting himself, feeling hot strands of pleasure coil and uncoil. He pictured Black, tightly bound by magical ropes, glaring up at him with helpless loathing, the dark hair falling over one eye, perhaps, sweat streaking his face, muscles tense and useless--

The bathroom door clicked and swung wide open, banging hard against the wall.

"Snape!" Sirius Black's voice reverberated hollowly against the porcelain tile.

Snape gave an undignified yelp, and the room tilted back alarmingly as his body slid under the surface of the water. He came up a moment later, sputtering and coughing, dark tendrils of hair tangled around his face.

"Skittish, aren't we?" Black said, his voice muted through the water in Snape's ears.

Snape reacted instinctively, lunging blindly over the side of the tub, still choking on the strands of hair that had somehow found their way into his mouth. He clawed at the wet tile, feeling for his wand.

"Looking for this?"

He froze, still balanced half-in and half-out of the tub, and slowly turned his head. His wand dangled casually from Black's fingers.

"You don't look half bad, bent over the side like that with your arse in the air," Black jeered.

Snape glared, panting, rage warring with caution and sheer disbelief. Finally caution won out and he sank back into the bathtub, regarding Black warily. Adrenaline coursed through him, prickling just under his skin. He was vividly aware of the danger he was in; Black had shown that he was quite capable of murdering Snape when they were only sixteen. Snape's mind went very quiet, and he chose his words carefully.

"What do you want, Black?" he asked.

"I think you know what I want." Black said, his tongue snaking out to moisten his lips. His eyes were very bright, his hawkish nose slightly red, and there was high color on his prominent cheekbones. His voice sounded strange as well; almost too deliberate.

The man had finally come completely unhinged. Black was here to kill him.

Underneath Snape's fear and loathing was a cold feeling of triumph. He had expected something like this all along. He knew Black better than Dumbledore did, apparently. Now Dumbledore would have to admit that he had been wrong, and Snape had been right. Assuming, of course, that he made it out of this alive. Stay alert, he told himself. Look for an opening. Play for time.

"Congratulations, Black," he said, carefully modulating his voice, alert to every change in Black's face. "You've gained the upper hand over an unarmed man in his bath. How very…un-Gryffindor." He shifted subtly, bracing the balls of his feet against the bottom of the tub, poised to move quickly if he had to.

"Oh, shut up," Black circled the bathtub with uneven strides until he was standing directly over Snape. "I suppose you're one to talk about fair play?" His voice set Snape's teeth on edge: a man's husky baritone with the impatient cadence of a teenager.

Black flashed a grin at Snape, the same grin that had sent half of Hogwarts' student body--of both genders--swooning at his feet back in their school days. The expression looked absurdly out of place on his face now. Black's eyes were slightly hollow, and always had a dull, hunted look. Even after two years of freedom he was almost freakishly thin. But his grin was the same cocky, ruthless smirk that he had sported twenty years ago, the smile of an ignorant, carefree boy who was secure in his good looks and popularity.

"Get. Out." Snape lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. Black's smile didn't waver.

"It's my bathroom, and I want to stay. I thought you and I should have a talk. And from the look of things," Black raised his eyebrows significantly, "we have lots to talk about." He swung one leg over the side of the tub, and before Snape's could register what was happening, he had climbed into the tub--fully clothed--and dropped heavily onto Snape's legs, pressing his hands against Snape's shoulders. The bathtub expanded obligingly.

Water splashed everywhere, stinging Snape's eyes, hitting the floor with a wet smacking sound. Black teetered a little, grinding the other man's shoulder blades into the porcelain. Snape struggled, but Black was surprisingly strong.

When he got a whiff of the man's breath, his jaw dropped.

"Are you drunk?" his voice rose alarmingly.

And Black--Black snickered, like a schoolboy.

"Maybe a little," he said. He tossed the wand away and reached a hand toward Snape's face. Snape tried to jerk back, but only managed to splash more water into this eyes. He suddenly felt very, very naked. Black's body was hot against his thighs, even through a layer of rough fabric.

"Let me up," he said through gritted teeth, "or I will make you wish you were still in Azkaban." Black flinched at the word "Azkaban," and Snape took the opportunity to lunge forward again. Before he could twist free Black's hands were on his shoulders again, shoving him hard. The back of his head cracked against the edge of the tub. Pain flared from the point of impact through his temples and the base of his skull.

"Oh, for fuck's sake--come off it, Snape. I'm not here to kill you."

"Well then, what do you want?" Snape snarled.

Black met Snape's eyes for a moment, raising his eyebrows. Then he let his eyes drop deliberately, moving slowly over Snape's face and chest and tracing the lines of his body under the water.

Black couldn't mean--but as Black's smile widened Snape realized with dawning horror that that was exactly what Black meant.

"Get out," Snape repeated, horrified to hear his voice shaking. To his disgust, his crotch was suddenly tingling again. He glared at Black with all his might. "Believe it or not, the entire Wizarding world is not lined up on your doorstep looking for a shag. Even you ought to be able to see why. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Black didn't appear to be listening.

"You always wanted me when we were in school," Black's voice was slightly slurred, "I could see it in the way you watched me." His breath was hot against Snape's face; it smelled stale and damp under the overpowering stench of firewhiskey. "You hated James, but you always watched me."

"You conceited bastard," Snape seethed, glaring helplessly at Black. He fought to keep his breathing steady. He could feel the contours of Black's body through his trousers.

Without breaking eye contact, Black slid his hand under the surface of the water and wrapped it loosely around Snape's cock.

"Why, Snape, you're half hard," he smirked. Snape swallowed, blinking rapidly, fighting to clear his mind and ignore the heat blooming under Black's hand. He narrowed his eyes, ready to say something really cutting, something that would shatter the confidence in Black's eyes, leaving him crushed--

Black moved the rough pad of his thumb in small circles over the sensitive spot under the head of Snape's cock, and suddenly his mind was wiped blank. A high sound tore from his throat; he was shaking, weak with searing pleasure that was half consummate sensation and half aching need for consummation.

"You want me," Black said. "Say it."

The fingers shifted and the thumb slipped over the top of Snape's cock, spreading a drop of viscous precome in slow, slick strokes until it dissolved into the water.

"Obviously you're the one who wants me," Snape was breathless, and his voice was wispy and weak.

"Say it."

Black's hand closed around Snape's shaft and jerked upward once, twice. Snape felt his balls tighten and muscles of his arse spasm violently.

"Fine!" he barked in a high, sharp voice, "I want you, obviously."

A little smirk of satisfaction flickered across Black's face.

Yes, he wanted to fuck Black. His hatred of Black had always been a rich and complicated thing. He wanted to fuck Black, and he wanted to destroy him, and somehow the two desires had become one in his mind.

"Well here I am," Black shifted forward, swaying toward Snape.

"Why?" Snape said suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. Black shrugged.

"I'm horny. You're here." He brushed Snape's hair away from his lips and shifted forward, pressing his knees tightly around Snape's hips. The bulge at his crotch lightly grazed Snape's erection, and before Snape could stop himself his hips were jerking forward, desperately seeking contact. He felt a puff of moist breath, and then Black's mouth, deliciously warm and burning of firewhiskey, was sucking at his lower lip. Black wasn't restraining him any longer, but he was making no move to escape.

Black attached his mouth to Snape's neck, and then worked his way across his chest, sucking hard enough to leave small, circular bruises up and down his collarbone, punctuating each one with a small, stinging bite. The ends of his hair dipped in and out of the water, snaking wetly against Snape's stomach. A shudder moved through him as Black's fingers grazed the head of his erection.

"I know why you hated me when we were in school," Black said smugly, between harsh kisses. "You were jealous. You wanted money, family, history--respectability--and your family was-- "

Snape jerked his body away from Black's mouth, feeling the blood rushing to his face.

"Yes, of course, isn't that convenient for you? You and your friends weren't vicious, arrogant little bastards after all; I was merely jealous--"

Black continued as if Snape had not spoken.

"I would have given anything to have James' family, or Remus'." His lips hovered above Snape skin as he spoke.

"Please, tell me your life story, really, I'm interested--" Snape said, and then his mind seemed to short out as Black's hand snaked back down between his legs, cradling his balls, rubbing them with light, slow agility. Black's mouth moved in slow spirals around his left nipple, torturing it with hot whispers of breath, eliciting groans and strings of profanity from Snape.

His teeth finally, finally closed around Snape's nipple in a light, controlled nip, and a lattice of tingling heat raced across Snape's skin like fireworks. Snape's hand slid over Black's sodden clothes, tearing at the buttons, pulling Black's shirt down, fumbling with the fastenings of Black's trousers, running his hands over the smooth skin.

Black struggled out of his clothes. He retrieved a wand from the back pocket of his trousers (was there no limit to the man's stupidity?) and set it on the edge of the tub, throwing his belongings over the side of the tub in a sodden pile. His naked body was pale and thin, but wiry, and his arms, legs, and chest were lightly dusted with dark hair. His erection seemed to waver under the water in its nest of hair, long and slender, circumcised, with a thick vein stretching jaggedly along the shaft. Snape licked his lips, his heart beating hard. He raked his nails down Black's back and around his hips, and then wrapped both hands around the smooth length. Black whimpered and thrust into his hands.

"Did you want to fuck me when we were in school?" Black leaned back, his mouth open and his eyes squeezed shut. Then he attacked Snape's chest again, hitting erogenous zones that Snape didn't even know he had.

Snape ignored him. He leaned forward and grazed the skin of Black's neck with his lips, tasting salt and the tang of alcohol. Black moaned, sucking hard on his shoulder, and he responded by sinking his teeth into Black's neck. He curved his fingers around Black's cock and stroked with a hard, quick rhythm, hoping that Black would follow his example. He was not disappointed. That is, until Black began to speak again.

"Of course you wanted me," Black said, his mouth just inches from Snape's neck. "You hated James, but you always wanted me." Snape pointedly let go of Black's erection, hoping the man would take the hint.

"You certainly are full of yourself," he snapped, hating his breathlessness. Black straightened up. He was grinning again, his eyes manically bright, his hand still moving up and down Snape's length, squeezing harder now, tensing and relaxing with each stroke.

"You were pathetic," he said, "we used to laugh at you, you know--"

Snape's rage flared.

"I am pathetic?" His voice was very soft. A strong, hot feeling swelled in him, superceding everything else; it was the hungry, burning anticipation of a duelist or chess player as he sets his opponent up for a killing blow. His cock pulsed powerfully between his legs. He ignored it.

"You are useless, Black," Snape enunciated carefully, sharpening the consonants like blades, holding Black's gaze with as much intensity as he could muster. "Used up and useless, and living on Dumbledore' charity." The hand on his erection had stopped moving, and Snape throbbed under the still fingers. The beginnings of a vicious smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "You are a liability, and everyone knows it but you. You failed Potter, 15 years ago--"

Black lunged forward, tackling Snape with an incoherent cry. The water split and crashed against the sides of the tub as Snape toppled backward, Black's weight pushing him under, crushing his erection in a spasm of searing pain.

It was just like Black not to think of going for his wand, which lay only a few feet away. Although to be fair, if Black had been in full possession of his faculties, he would not be here in the first place.

Snape thought that he kept his head admirably well; he held his breath and concentrated on landing blows to Black's stomach and chest (in his typical, thoughtless fashion, Black had leapt with his arms wide, leaving his body defenseless). The water boiled and frothed around them.

If Snape had had his wand, Black wouldn't have stood a chance. But, brainless though he was, Black was taller than Snape, and surprisingly strong. The outcome of the struggle was never really in question. It only took Black a few seconds to capture Snape's wrists.

Snape's face broke through the surface of the water. He gasped in the cool air. The bathtub had come to his rescue, raising a shelf beneath his body. He shivered. Black propped himself up on his arms, leaning hard on Snape's wrists, his legs and hips flush against Snape's body. They glared at each other, panting, as the water drained off their bodies.

"Why are you here, Black?" Snape whispered, his voice dry, breathless. He noticed with detached surprise that he was still hard; his arousal mixed with the adrenaline that surged through his blood. "Because no one else will have you?" He knew, distantly, rationally, that antagonizing Black was not a wise course of action, but a strange, suicidal compulsion drove him to continue speaking until Black broke, or he did. This confrontation had been building for years; he could no more stop himself than he could stop a raging storm or a tidal wave.

A shuttered look passed over Black's face. He ran his eyes down the length of the body pinned beneath him, a drunken, triumphant smile on his face.

"You're still hard," he smirked, squeezing Snape's wrists painfully. "Getting off on this?" Black's own erection was digging into Snape's thigh.

"So are you." Against all reason, Snape continued his attack. "What does that say about the kind of person you are? Gryffindor indeed. You never really had anything in common with Potter's type. Can you see Potter enjoying this?" His voice got very quiet. "Your performance as a golden Gryffindor was very convincing, with your looks and your charm and your arrogance. But you lost all of those things in Azkaban, didn't you? Your looks. Your friends. What's left of you now, Black?"

While Snape was speaking Black's eyes were widening, his nostrils flaring, his hands closing around Snape's wrists like vices, crushing the bones together. For a moment Snape's satisfaction gave way to dizzy, wrenching terror.

Black's eyes narrowed and he snarled. Snape allowed himself a small, tight smile.

"You bastard," Black said, his voice slurred. "You little shit." He brought Snape's wrists together and held them tightly in his left hand. Snape winced, still pinned firmly under Black's hips. Black picked up his wand with his right hand, murmured "Accio," and a small object flew through the air and dropped onto Snape's stomach. A tube of lubricant. Snape's muscles clenched in anticipation, and a shudder rippled visibly through his body.

"You came prepared," he observed. "You can let go now," he continued dryly. "Obviously, I am going anywhere." Black ignored him.

Black set his wand on the edge of the tub, picked up the tube, and squeezed it with his free hand, releasing a blob of the stuff onto his palm. He dropped the tube and began stroking his erection, closing his eyes, his breath coming in soft gasps.

"You like this, you sick bastard," he murmured, his face inches from Snape's.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Snape shot back, and Black flinched. His eyes flashed and he leaned forward, capturing Snape's lips, thrusting forcefully, his tongue still burning with the greasy, bitter residue of firewhiskey. He used his feet to spread Snape's legs apart, leaning forward and rolling the other man's hips back, maneuvering himself so that the head of his cock pressed firm and slick against Snape's entrance.

Snape felt the tight ring of muscle spasm, give slightly, and spasm again. Sensation exploded outward with each spasm, up his spine and down the backs of his thighs, concentrating in his cock, which stood frustrated in the air between their bodies. Snape wrapped his knees tight around Black's hips.

Black lowered his body, easing the pressure on Snape's wrists, and finally releasing them. Snape slid his hands down Black's flanks, running his fingers over the prominent ribs, and settling on the hip bones. He hooked his thumbs underneath them, pressing hard enough to leave bruises.

Black's eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth hung slack; he pushed forward again, and Snape cried out as a harsh, bright streak of pain stabbed and receded, overshadowing the pleasure for an instant, then fading to a dull, aching burn. He could feel the head of Black's cock inside of him, stretching him from the inside. Black's heartbeat throbbed hotly through his body.

Black's mouth opened and his eyes closed; he breathed out audibly. He raised his hands and threaded his fingers into Snape's wet, tangled hair, making small, high noises as he sank deeper into the other man's body, pressing their lips together and swallowing Snape's moans.

Snape's arse burned, his cock shifted exquisitely between their slick bodies. He was on sensory overload; his entire body seemed to vibrate with energy. He felt his muscles contract. Black clung to his shoulders with desperate, clawed fingers, pouring stuttering, hot breaths into Snape's ear.

"Sweet," Black whispered, "so..."

Snape shuddered and clenched, and Black gave a harsh cry, then a low, rough moan. The sound sent waves of shuddering, sympathetic vibrations through Snape's body.

Black braced his hands on either side of Snape, and pulled out slowly. Snape felt as if his guts were turning to liquid; he was shuddering, turning inside-out; if Black stopped he would die, Merlin, don't stop--

"Don't stop," he heard himself groan. Black's breath hitched in his throat at the sound of Snape's voice; he squeezed his eyes shut, poised with the head of his cock pulsing just inside Snape's body, actually shaking, sweat breaking out in small beads on his forehead, adding a new sheen to his already damp skin. Sweet Merlin, it was like explosions flaring in his head--

As Black settled into a steady rhythm the sensations blurred together. There was the hot swell of fullness as Black thrust in; the liquid rush as he pulled out; the pulse of his own erection as it slid between their bodies. His hips jerked up to meet Black's quickening strokes.

Black was grimacing as if in pain, his eyes fixed on Snape's face, low growling sounds vibrating in his throat. Something seemed to explode inside Snape, rushing and unstoppable; he cried out, biting his lips, digging his nails into Black's shoulders.

"I'm going to--" his voice was strangled and harsh.

"Oh my god--" Black pounded into him, heedless of rhythm, his face going red and his mouth falling open.

Snape came in thick, vivid pulses of heat that pounded through his body to his fingernails. He heard a guttural groan, felt his eyes rolling back into his head, his body melting in a rush of liquid heat.

Time seemed to hang still for a moment; he was arching backward, frozen, shuddering with the aftershocks of what was possibly the most intense orgasm of his life. He could feel the weight of Black, slumped on top of him, his chest rising and falling in time with his gasping breaths, his cock softening and sliding limply, wetly, out of Snape's body. Black was very warm, and his weight was not unpleasant. His head had fallen into the hollow of Snape's neck, resting under his chin.

They lay still until their breath had slowed to normal, and there was no sound but a quiet, steady dripping of water. Finally, Black peeled his body stickily away from Snape's. He reached for his wand and tapped the side of the bathtub, muttering, "finite incantatum." He did not meet Snape's eyes. The platform beneath them sank back down, and warm water rose around their bodies.

Snape sat up, eyeing the other man warily, the familiar feeling of tense mistrust settling strangely over the warm relaxation in his body.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Black's eyes darted about, and one corner of his mouth twitched nervously.

"I should..." he cast his eyes toward the door.

"You should," Snape confirmed, not taking his eyes off Black's face. Black braced his hands against the sides of the bathtub, as if to pull himself to his feet, but then glanced down at his body and froze. Snape raised one eyebrow.

"Don't you think it's a bit late for modesty?" he asked.

Black glared at him and stood up quickly. He stepped out of the tub, dribbling water all over the floor, and waved his wand toward the sodden pile of clothes at his feet.

"Siccavestis," he said. A cloud of vapor rose from the pile and vanished. He dried his body on the only available towel, and then turned his back to Snape to pull on his trousers and button his shirt. Snape could see the individual vertebrae standing out on his curving spine. When he turned back around, his eyes held their usual combination of petulant suspicion and dislike. Snape was running low on patience.

Black opened his mouth to speak, and Snape cut in before he could make a sound.

"Just go, Black. Don't make this any more awkward than it has to be."

Black looked as though he wanted to argue with Snape on principle, but instead he nodded once, tersely. He crossed the room and shut the door behind him.

Snape stood up shakily, keeping his thoughts tightly reined and his movements careful and controlled. He retrieved his wand from the floor, wincing as his muscles pulled painfully, and tapped it once against the edge of the bathtub. Water flowed down the drain in a rush. Grimacing, he bent over and plucked the tube of lubricant. He crossed the room swiftly and pulled his bathrobe down from its hook, knotted the belt tightly around his hips and pocketed the incriminating tube.

On a whim, he crossed to the bathroom sink and peered into the mirror above it. Its anti-fogging spell had obviously faded, so he wiped away the condensation with his palm.

The face looking back at him was ghostly pale between dripping curtains of tangled black hair. The nose was hooked and oversized, the eyebrows low and menacing over dark eyes, the mouth a colorless line, twitching unpleasantly.

He forced himself to relax, and the face changed; the lips parted, and the eyebrows drifted up and apart. The nose remained glaringly ugly, as did the pallid skin, but he was used to the way he looked. At least Black didn't look much better.

Allowing himself to be seduced by Black was certainly mortifying, but no real damage had been done. In fact, if this induced Black to stay the hell out of his way for once, perhaps it had been worth the humiliation.

Even better, a well-placed hint that the Potter boy might not appreciate Black's taste in men could work wonders on the man's disposition.

The face in the mirror smiled.

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