Sharon Hawkins (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} alwaysasnapefan) wrote,@ 2007-10-21 21:23:00 |
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| Entry tags: | hp, nc-17, snumbledore |
Voyeuristic Portraiture
NC-17 Dumbledore's portrait and Snape confess their feelings for each other. Things go on from there.
Voyeuristic Portraiture
“You really should call it a night.”
He glanced over at the portrait. “I don’t owe you anything.”
A quick bow of a head, then he gazed at him levelly again. “The fact is, Severus, that I worry about you.”
A snort. No one worried about Severus Snape.
“Do you remember the night you came back to Hogwarts?”
“Is this,” he gestured between them, looking disgusted, “talking your method of getting me to leave this office and go to bed?”
“Perhaps it is,” he said, but then he sighed in his frame. “No. I simply wanted to talk.”
“Albus Dumbledore in talking mode. Things don’t get much more frightening.”
He looked a little hurt, the old man, but Snape ignored it.
“You should go to dinner. Do you recall that you skipped lunch? And also breakfast?”
Snape ignored him.
“You’re trying to avoid seeing the students,” he said, steepling his fingers on the desk in front of him.
“It isn’t your concern.”
“Yes it is, in fact.”
He turned to look at the portrait. “I beg to differ.”
“Holing yourself up here, Severus, is just ridiculous. You should know by now that not everyone is going to like you.”
“How about no one is going to?” he said dryly, turning back to the book he was reading.
“I like you.”
“Now that you’re dead.”
The portrait of Albus Dumbledore paused. He readjusted his glasses. He rearranged the things on his desk. He tried to sleep. Now it was his turn to ignore.
Snape hissed in pain and grabbed his left forearm.
Dumbledore started. “You are being summoned now?” He glanced at the clock, “At 3:15 in the afternoon?”
“It’s just a reminder,” Snape said with a grim sort of smile.
“Ah.” He let the silence stretch before changing subject. “Who has been eating the sherbet lemons, Severus? Surely it wasn’t you?” Dumbledore teased after a moment.
“No, no. That would be Hagrid.”
“Hagrid hates lemon,” said Dumbledore’s portrait.
Snape looked at him. “But he likes you.”
He was surprised, a bit. Then eventually he responded. “Do you like me, Severus?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”
“Fair enough.” He twiddled his thumbs and began humming a tune.
“What time is it when an erumpent sits on your fence?”
“I don’t know, what time?” he said absently, ignoring him as he read the potions journal.
“Time to get a new fence!” He chuckled. “Did you like it, Severus?”
“Absolutely incredible. Took my breath away. Forgot to laugh.” Snape still had not looked up.
Dumbledore still looked oddly pleased with himself. “Do you ever tell jokes, Severus?”
Severus’s head turned very suddenly. He just stared at him. “No.”
“Pity. You’re very clever. I’m sure they would be grand jokes.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking more ill than pleased at that particular “compliment”.
“You are entirely too brave to be allowed.”
He almost wanted to cover his ears. That comment was getting tiresome.
“Loyalty of a Hufflepuff . . . .”
Snape groaned.
“. . . brains of a Ravenclaw, and cunning of a Slytherin.”
“That’s more like it,” he said. “Didn’t need the Gryffindor-laced intro. Merlin, Albus, are you trying to deflate the ego I don’t have?”
“I like thinking of you as a Gryffindor, and as a Slytherin, and a Ravenclaw, and a Hufflepuff all in one.”
“Do you do that on purpose?”
“What?”
“Give me non-compliments!”
“That, dear Severus, is a matter of opinion.” He twiddled his knobbly old thumbs, gazing off into the distance.
“I think I love you.”
The sandwich paused on its way to Snape’s mouth. Then he leaned forward and bit into it, trying to ignore the old man, but still quite stunned.
“I don’t think I realized it until mere seconds before my death.” He paused, then, “Severus? What do you think of me?”
“You’re a portrait.”
“No, what do you think of me? Just tell me.”
“You’re like a jarvey, always prattling on, and about nothing of consequence.”
“I like you. Aren’t you of consequence?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“Could you ever love me?”
Snape whirled around to glare at him.
“Oh.” He then knew portrait’s hearts could break. He tried not to look too terribly lost.
“I did love you! When you were being a ridiculous, self-righteous bastard who didn’t give a shit about me, who kicked me when I, clearly, was already down, I had loved you. But you broke that chance, not me.”
Now that was surprising! “I didn’t not care!” cried Dumbledore. “Don’t you see? I had to take you as spy without letting my feelings get in the way. I think I even loved you as a student.”
“Ridiculous.”
He shook his head. “True!”
“Well it’s too late now, Albus. I guess you’ll have to wait until I’m a portrait too.”
“I like to watch.”
“What?!”
“Severus, do something for me.”
“What?” he asked, quietly.
“Touch yourself.”
There was a chime letting him know someone was coming up the stairs. “Oh good God,” he groaned, “Not now!” Not right after he’d confessed his love to a portrait.
He was busy the next few days. He looked overworked, terribly, terribly overworked.
“Take an hour off.”
“Can’t,” he moaned, pressing fingertips to his forehead.
“Lock the door. Do it! Just give yourself an hour off. You need it, or you may well wear yourself to insanity.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” He raised his wand and locked the door.
“Take off your robe.”
“What did you just say to me?” the tone was icy.
“I have to see you,” he said. “I must know what you’re like.”
Snape frowned slightly, first in distaste, then in thoughtfulness. “I don’t see why I couldn’t indulge you just this once.”
“Please,” said the old man. He lowered a hand to his lap as he sat behind the Headmaster’s desk in the portrait.
“Do I get to watch you as well?” he asked.
“Next time,” promised Dumbledore. “Don’t be sure you’ll like what you see, though.”
“Have I ever proven to be superficial?” he said in an acid tone.
Dumbledore just shook his head.
“There you are, then,” said Snape. He removed his robe, and then his underpants, and his socks and shoes.
“Put the socks back on,” said Dumbledore huskily.
Snape grimaced at how odd it was to do so, but complied, slipping them back on his feet.
“There should be some lotion in the drawer still.”
“Believe me,” said Snape a bit coldly. “I noticed. Wank in here often, did you?”
There was a bit of an embarrassed grin.
“No wonder you were so relaxed,” he said with the raise of an eyebrow.
“Yes, yes. But, Severus, touch yourself. I have to see it. Please.”
He reached for his hardening prick, but Dumbledore, shaking his head, seemed to disapprove. “What?” he said, almost sounding nervous.
“Your whole body. Work up to it. Please. And lay back across the desk, I beg you.”
Snape looked thoughtful, turning to cast a Softening Charm on the desk’s edge, and a Cushioning Charm along the top for good measure.
“Oh yes,” moaned Dumbledore.
Snape just stared at him. He hadn’t really done anything yet.
“Lay back!” ordered Dumbledore, eyes heavily-lidded.
Snape nodded, grasping the bottle of lotion and then sprawling back across the desk.
“Touch your face. All your pretty features. Don’t look at me that way, I like them.”
Tempted to call it off and never face this portrait again, he did, in fact, raise a hand to his face.
He touched his cheeks, cheeks which to him simply felt thin and sunken, not beautiful. He ran fingertips over his thin lips—which prompted a deep groan from Dumbledore.
“Oh, if only I could kiss you!” his eyes were that of a man in utter agony. “Oh please, your neck, your collar bone . . . .”
Snape obliged, running his knobbly fingers over his neck like a lover might.
“Fondle your nose!”
“Wha—?”
“Fondle. Your. Nose,” said Dumbledore, the patented Dumbledore fire in his eyes that left no room for questioning.
Snape shuddered, and as he reached up to caress his nose, feeling quite foolish, he heard a gasp and opened his eyes. In the portrait, Albus Dumbledore was hunched low over the desk, gasping and shuddering. His half-moon spectacles fell off his nose with a clatter.
“Severus!” he moaned. “My . . . need. My . . . angel.” He seemed to be shooting very hard, and with a pang Snape realized he wished to see it all happen, but that stupid desk—the very one he was leaning over—was in the way.
“Yes,” Snape hissed, stroking his nose in earnest now, as well as his hard shaft. “Yes!” He himself came, biting at his lip as he was wracked with his own shudder. His head was thrown backward and he let out a low moan. “Nn, Albus. You don’t know . . . what your words do to me.”
“Severus?” panted Dumbledore, catching his breath. “When you become a portrait, we are going to explore new worlds together. It won’t be long, my Severus.”
“Albus,” he sighed, sounding pleased. But then he frowned. “You are expecting me to die, then? Soon?”
“Why? You weren’t expecting the same?”
Severus sighed.
“Think of it, my dear, as the next great adventure. If only because of what that adventure will entail for your portrait. I’ll meet you in the afterlife, Severus. You can count on it.”
The chime on the wards sounded. Severus gave him one last glance before pulling his clothes back on—all except the socks, which he was already wearing—and unlocking the door with a swish of his wand.
Dumbledore went back to pretending to be asleep. Nothing looked amiss. The headmaster’s office appeared as it always had since Snape had made it his own. Only the headmaster and the former headmaster’s portrait knew of what had occurred. And they weren’t going to tell anybody. No one had known of Albus’s private affairs while he was living, so why should now be any different for his portrait?
After Amycus Carrow left the office again, Snape turned to Dumbledore to say something—even he wasn’t sure what—but instead found himself sneering as Dumbledore blew him a soft kiss.
“Deep down you like it, Severus,” he said with twinkling blue eyes.
Snape just shrugged and turned back to his desk, Summoning the papers he had thrown off of it. Why let Albus know he was right? He didn’t have to answer to a portrait.
“You really should call it a night.”
He glanced over at the portrait. “I don’t owe you anything.”
A quick bow of a head, then he gazed at him levelly again. “The fact is, Severus, that I worry about you.”
A snort. No one worried about Severus Snape.
“Do you remember the night you came back to Hogwarts?”
“Is this,” he gestured between them, looking disgusted, “talking your method of getting me to leave this office and go to bed?”
“Perhaps it is,” he said, but then he sighed in his frame. “No. I simply wanted to talk.”
“Albus Dumbledore in talking mode. Things don’t get much more frightening.”
He looked a little hurt, the old man, but Snape ignored it.
“You should go to dinner. Do you recall that you skipped lunch? And also breakfast?”
Snape ignored him.
“You’re trying to avoid seeing the students,” he said, steepling his fingers on the desk in front of him.
“It isn’t your concern.”
“Yes it is, in fact.”
He turned to look at the portrait. “I beg to differ.”
“Holing yourself up here, Severus, is just ridiculous. You should know by now that not everyone is going to like you.”
“How about no one is going to?” he said dryly, turning back to the book he was reading.
“I like you.”
“Now that you’re dead.”
The portrait of Albus Dumbledore paused. He readjusted his glasses. He rearranged the things on his desk. He tried to sleep. Now it was his turn to ignore.
Snape hissed in pain and grabbed his left forearm.
Dumbledore started. “You are being summoned now?” He glanced at the clock, “At 3:15 in the afternoon?”
“It’s just a reminder,” Snape said with a grim sort of smile.
“Ah.” He let the silence stretch before changing subject. “Who has been eating the sherbet lemons, Severus? Surely it wasn’t you?” Dumbledore teased after a moment.
“No, no. That would be Hagrid.”
“Hagrid hates lemon,” said Dumbledore’s portrait.
Snape looked at him. “But he likes you.”
He was surprised, a bit. Then eventually he responded. “Do you like me, Severus?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”
“Fair enough.” He twiddled his thumbs and began humming a tune.
“What time is it when an erumpent sits on your fence?”
“I don’t know, what time?” he said absently, ignoring him as he read the potions journal.
“Time to get a new fence!” He chuckled. “Did you like it, Severus?”
“Absolutely incredible. Took my breath away. Forgot to laugh.” Snape still had not looked up.
Dumbledore still looked oddly pleased with himself. “Do you ever tell jokes, Severus?”
Severus’s head turned very suddenly. He just stared at him. “No.”
“Pity. You’re very clever. I’m sure they would be grand jokes.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking more ill than pleased at that particular “compliment”.
“You are entirely too brave to be allowed.”
He almost wanted to cover his ears. That comment was getting tiresome.
“Loyalty of a Hufflepuff . . . .”
Snape groaned.
“. . . brains of a Ravenclaw, and cunning of a Slytherin.”
“That’s more like it,” he said. “Didn’t need the Gryffindor-laced intro. Merlin, Albus, are you trying to deflate the ego I don’t have?”
“I like thinking of you as a Gryffindor, and as a Slytherin, and a Ravenclaw, and a Hufflepuff all in one.”
“Do you do that on purpose?”
“What?”
“Give me non-compliments!”
“That, dear Severus, is a matter of opinion.” He twiddled his knobbly old thumbs, gazing off into the distance.
“I think I love you.”
The sandwich paused on its way to Snape’s mouth. Then he leaned forward and bit into it, trying to ignore the old man, but still quite stunned.
“I don’t think I realized it until mere seconds before my death.” He paused, then, “Severus? What do you think of me?”
“You’re a portrait.”
“No, what do you think of me? Just tell me.”
“You’re like a jarvey, always prattling on, and about nothing of consequence.”
“I like you. Aren’t you of consequence?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“Could you ever love me?”
Snape whirled around to glare at him.
“Oh.” He then knew portrait’s hearts could break. He tried not to look too terribly lost.
“I did love you! When you were being a ridiculous, self-righteous bastard who didn’t give a shit about me, who kicked me when I, clearly, was already down, I had loved you. But you broke that chance, not me.”
Now that was surprising! “I didn’t not care!” cried Dumbledore. “Don’t you see? I had to take you as spy without letting my feelings get in the way. I think I even loved you as a student.”
“Ridiculous.”
He shook his head. “True!”
“Well it’s too late now, Albus. I guess you’ll have to wait until I’m a portrait too.”
“I like to watch.”
“What?!”
“Severus, do something for me.”
“What?” he asked, quietly.
“Touch yourself.”
There was a chime letting him know someone was coming up the stairs. “Oh good God,” he groaned, “Not now!” Not right after he’d confessed his love to a portrait.
He was busy the next few days. He looked overworked, terribly, terribly overworked.
“Take an hour off.”
“Can’t,” he moaned, pressing fingertips to his forehead.
“Lock the door. Do it! Just give yourself an hour off. You need it, or you may well wear yourself to insanity.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” He raised his wand and locked the door.
“Take off your robe.”
“What did you just say to me?” the tone was icy.
“I have to see you,” he said. “I must know what you’re like.”
Snape frowned slightly, first in distaste, then in thoughtfulness. “I don’t see why I couldn’t indulge you just this once.”
“Please,” said the old man. He lowered a hand to his lap as he sat behind the Headmaster’s desk in the portrait.
“Do I get to watch you as well?” he asked.
“Next time,” promised Dumbledore. “Don’t be sure you’ll like what you see, though.”
“Have I ever proven to be superficial?” he said in an acid tone.
Dumbledore just shook his head.
“There you are, then,” said Snape. He removed his robe, and then his underpants, and his socks and shoes.
“Put the socks back on,” said Dumbledore huskily.
Snape grimaced at how odd it was to do so, but complied, slipping them back on his feet.
“There should be some lotion in the drawer still.”
“Believe me,” said Snape a bit coldly. “I noticed. Wank in here often, did you?”
There was a bit of an embarrassed grin.
“No wonder you were so relaxed,” he said with the raise of an eyebrow.
“Yes, yes. But, Severus, touch yourself. I have to see it. Please.”
He reached for his hardening prick, but Dumbledore, shaking his head, seemed to disapprove. “What?” he said, almost sounding nervous.
“Your whole body. Work up to it. Please. And lay back across the desk, I beg you.”
Snape looked thoughtful, turning to cast a Softening Charm on the desk’s edge, and a Cushioning Charm along the top for good measure.
“Oh yes,” moaned Dumbledore.
Snape just stared at him. He hadn’t really done anything yet.
“Lay back!” ordered Dumbledore, eyes heavily-lidded.
Snape nodded, grasping the bottle of lotion and then sprawling back across the desk.
“Touch your face. All your pretty features. Don’t look at me that way, I like them.”
Tempted to call it off and never face this portrait again, he did, in fact, raise a hand to his face.
He touched his cheeks, cheeks which to him simply felt thin and sunken, not beautiful. He ran fingertips over his thin lips—which prompted a deep groan from Dumbledore.
“Oh, if only I could kiss you!” his eyes were that of a man in utter agony. “Oh please, your neck, your collar bone . . . .”
Snape obliged, running his knobbly fingers over his neck like a lover might.
“Fondle your nose!”
“Wha—?”
“Fondle. Your. Nose,” said Dumbledore, the patented Dumbledore fire in his eyes that left no room for questioning.
Snape shuddered, and as he reached up to caress his nose, feeling quite foolish, he heard a gasp and opened his eyes. In the portrait, Albus Dumbledore was hunched low over the desk, gasping and shuddering. His half-moon spectacles fell off his nose with a clatter.
“Severus!” he moaned. “My . . . need. My . . . angel.” He seemed to be shooting very hard, and with a pang Snape realized he wished to see it all happen, but that stupid desk—the very one he was leaning over—was in the way.
“Yes,” Snape hissed, stroking his nose in earnest now, as well as his hard shaft. “Yes!” He himself came, biting at his lip as he was wracked with his own shudder. His head was thrown backward and he let out a low moan. “Nn, Albus. You don’t know . . . what your words do to me.”
“Severus?” panted Dumbledore, catching his breath. “When you become a portrait, we are going to explore new worlds together. It won’t be long, my Severus.”
“Albus,” he sighed, sounding pleased. But then he frowned. “You are expecting me to die, then? Soon?”
“Why? You weren’t expecting the same?”
Severus sighed.
“Think of it, my dear, as the next great adventure. If only because of what that adventure will entail for your portrait. I’ll meet you in the afterlife, Severus. You can count on it.”
The chime on the wards sounded. Severus gave him one last glance before pulling his clothes back on—all except the socks, which he was already wearing—and unlocking the door with a swish of his wand.
Dumbledore went back to pretending to be asleep. Nothing looked amiss. The headmaster’s office appeared as it always had since Snape had made it his own. Only the headmaster and the former headmaster’s portrait knew of what had occurred. And they weren’t going to tell anybody. No one had known of Albus’s private affairs while he was living, so why should now be any different for his portrait?
After Amycus Carrow left the office again, Snape turned to Dumbledore to say something—even he wasn’t sure what—but instead found himself sneering as Dumbledore blew him a soft kiss.
“Deep down you like it, Severus,” he said with twinkling blue eyes.
Snape just shrugged and turned back to his desk, Summoning the papers he had thrown off of it. Why let Albus know he was right? He didn’t have to answer to a portrait.
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