InsaneJournal

Not a very pleasant past, Snape’s. It wasn’t the worst childhood ever, no, but it definitely wasn’t very positive. The worst part was not the home life or the taunting at school. The worst part was that he had no one but himself, really, to help him through it all. He was, and always had been (and, he suspected, always would be), alone.

He didn’t whine about it to a professional. In fact, he tried to hide his insecurities and utter lacking from anyone. He’d needed someone when he was younger, and anyone coming to him now was merely “too little, too late”, and, really, that was just how it went.

The worst thing about life had not been a lack of inane friendships and amicable chats. The worst thing had been when he’d truly realized, no, truly realized, that he was one of the ugliest buggers the world had ever seen. That everything said about him was true. He was ugly and utterly untouchable. Who on earth would want something as utterly repulsive as him in their sheets? No thank you, not even with the most powerful of Scourgifying Charms following the visit.

Not a very pleasant life, Dumbledore’s. He had grown up abused by his mother until he was taken in by a grandfather who had, really, simply forgotten how to be close to a child. He suffered, alongside his twin Aberforth. Aberforth ignored it all, blissful through the emptiness in his brother’s eyes. He went away to his happy place and left Albus to suffer. Albus would cry himself to sleep and wish that just for once he could find someone to love him.

School had been a little easier for Albus. Aberforth hadn’t been able to go because he hadn’t been magical like Albus. That’s what happened with Muggleborn wizards, it could be sporadic. He learned to write, while Aberforth . . . didn’t. It hurt to leave his brother . . . but at the same time he felt he was leaving behind the abuse and the emptiness.

He had eventually become quite popular indeed. But he was bookish and quiet and even though he had friends they did not seek out his company actively, and neither did he seek out theirs. The emptiness was nothing like the emptiness of the old days. It was an entirely new form of lack. He lacked something real. He had surface friends. But no one knew things about him that truly mattered—the things that truly mattered, Albus had wanted no one at all to know for a very long time.

If Albus recognized that he was not altogether horrible-looking, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. How could he handle any intimacy? If he did . . . “it” . . . he wanted it done right.

Severus Snape was twenty years old when he became spy for Albus Dumbledore and the side of the light. And this was the beginning of the first relationship for either of them in which no barriers could be one-hundred percent. All previous barriers (of normal spying conduct) had to drop at some point in this arrangement. This scared and thrilled them both.

And then one day in the years of Voldemort’s return . . . new barriers dropped.

Severus returned from the meeting with the Dark Lord this time, shivering from the cold and from the thoughts that encased his mind. And also, perhaps, from self-loathing.

“My boy?”

Severus stumbled forward toward him and produced a sob.

A wrinkled hand clutched at his shoulder. “Shh,” the old voice soothed. Flicking his wand, he removed the wetness of melted snow from the fabric of the travelling cloak. He conjured a blanket to throw around Snape and sat him by the fire. He turned a plastic-wrapped lemon drop into a cup of steaming tea and moved the large chair behind his desk to the side of Severus’s to sit, holding the tea out to him calmly but concerned all the same, observing.

Severus had had to do something grave, he was sure. He would hear about it later, so there was no use in pointless conjecture yet.

“Bit nippy out there,” he joked lightly. He did not expect a response, and he did not get one.

He floated the tea out in front of Severus, seeing if maybe he’d take it. The black eyes were trained on the fire, and slow tears were trailing down so that it looked like the melting of two smoggy, sooty snowflakes, polluted and as unnatural as could be.

When Snape did not move, he sent the tea over to his desk and set it down, using a piece of scrap parchment like a makeshift saucer. “Come,” he said, and he did not check himself as he peeled the soft blanket away from the man. He took Snape by the hand like a child and they left the office, moving toward Dumbledore’s bed. His furnishings were less grandiose than one might expect. The place was somehow very homey. It had taken him over a century to figure out what exactly “homey” meant, as he’d never felt he had much of a home, save when it came to Hogwarts.

He started a new fire and it flickered around the walls of his bedroom. He pulled Snape to the bed. “Cloak off,” he murmured, pulling at the cloak until it fell to the floor harmlessly. He sat a slightly-confused Snape on the edge of the bed and tugged his boots off, doing the same to his own.

“Why the change of scenery?” said Snape, voice hoarse.

Albus looked around at his own bedroom for a moment before looking straight into those black eyes and saying quite seriously, “I just want to hold you.”

Snape’s eyes glanced away for a moment and he replied so softly Albus’s ears almost didn’t quite catch it, “Do it.”

There was a sudden pause in which both wizards almost felt awkward, and then all of a sudden it was like a race to slip into the bed first. Dumbledore swished his wand again and their robes changed into proper night attire. Albus sat up against the pillows and opened his arms, letting the potions master explore his new clothing for a moment.

“Frilly,” he muttered, seeming a bit put-off.

“I like it,” said Albus with a helpful smile. “At least it’s warm. And do you like the socks?”

Snape moved the bed clothes and looked down at his feet.

“You see,” supplied Dumbledore, “they are thick and woolen, and they have a phoenix.”

Snape stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Albus said a bit sheepishly, almost seeming rather stupid as he said it, “he marked you once, but I marked you twice.”

There was a moment of silence following this in which Albus stared straight ahead, not knowing how Severus would take it, and he was very surprised when lips pressed against his. He stared into the black eyes, a small smile curving his mouth. “You’re welcome,” he whispered, and he smiled.

Severus slid his body against Albus’s, cuddling against him like they’d said they would. “The symbol lacks the same appeal, but pain is no match for the warmth of socks,” he whispered to the old man, smirking so gently it was almost a genuine smile. One time, he remembered, Albus had babbled on and on about socks. It was no big wonder why so many people thought him mad. Personally, Severus appreciated the strategy. There was nothing like the element of surprise.

“I’m touched,” said Dumbledore softly.

Severus shook his head. “No. Not yet. But you’re going to be.” It was Albus’s turn to shiver.

“You know,” said the old man, “that was my first kiss.”

Snape looked so startled Albus feared he may just leave the bed, but he did not. Instead he leaned in and pressed lips to his again, licking at the part of them to coax them open. When he felt them divide, his tongue entered the old man’s mouth and he tasted tea and lemon drops. It went on for a bit, Dumbledore’s surprised groan urging him onward, but soon he pulled away. His black eyes met the blue and he felt a certain need creeping up on him like perhaps it had never done for anyone before.

“You won’t hurt me,” he found himself saying, looking almost startled that he had said this.

“Never,” said Albus, looking a bit nervous. He knew what to do, he thought, if Severus would allow it . . . .

“Albus.”

“Yes?” he hardly breathed.

“Take me.”

He bit his lip and pushed Severus down onto the bed. His wand hand trembled a little as he silently conjured some slick substance. He looked very frightened that he might harm the boy after all. A hand placed itself on his and he looked into those black, endless tar pits again.

“Then don’t do it,” Snape said simply, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He coated his fingertips in the slick substance and lowered his hand. With the other hand, he grasped an old hip and gently tugged the body nearer to him. He nuzzled his ugly, hook-like nose into that soft, white beard, with the vague thought that it must be made of heaven’s clouds.

Eventually, Severus whispered, “I won’t hurt you.” He laid Albus down, throwing the bedclothes away from them. The shaft in his hand throbbed gently in anticipation. His eyes greedily drank in the sight of that rigid flesh. He slid the wand out of Albus’s uncaring fingers and conjured more lubricant. “Just lie back and trust me,” he said gently.

“Oh please,” murmured Albus, his eyes closing.

Severus made quick work of things by shedding the nightshirt, relaxing himself with a spell, and coating the insides of himself until he was groaning.

He heard a gasp from Dumbledore when he looked down and saw that Severus did not appear to be enjoying himself . . . at least it didn’t look that way. Well it did, but then why wasn’t he . . . . “Alright, Severus?” he murmured, looking very concerned and starting to deflate in his colleague’s hand.

“Hmm? Oh! Albus, I cannot gain an erection.” He said nothing further, acting as if the issue were now closed. “Relax and enjoy yourself,” he said serenely to the old man, holding himself poised above the shaft he was willing to stay stiff.

Albus looked frightened again and he sighed. “Albus. Let me fuck myself on you or so help me, we will never touch again,” he growled.

Dumbledore’s lip quirked softly at the corner and he nodded softly, pushing any concerns out of his mind. Severus seemed fine.

More than fine, really, as Severus lowered himself onto the old man like a velvet sheathe over a sword. “Yes,” hissed the Slytherin, head thrown back for a moment as he sank over him. Well. With reactions like that, Dumbledore would be in no danger of softening. He twitched inside of the smooth passage at the utter abandon he was witnessing. Oh, if only he could hang on properly and not embarrass himself, he thought with a wry smile.

“Albus,” he moaned, eyes closed tight as he slid up and down that magnificent erection beneath him that was now holding fast. Albus shuddered and throbbed beneath him, being absolutely swallowed in a sea of heat and pale, pale skin, with dark eyes and hair and a hooked nose all forming together to create the picture of, well, perfection. He was sure most would not agree, but Severus was his and not anyone else’s, or at least he sincerely hoped that would be the case.

It was not much longer when the panting, moaning Snape convulsed, and Dumbledore was caught in the rhythmic contractions around his shaft that caused him, along with the pleasure on Snape’s face as he orgasmed internally, to come harder than he had come in his entire lifetime.

Albus lay beneath Severus and moaned to himself, shivering. Severus pulled off of him after a moment and scooped him into his arms. He nipped at the old man’s ear. “No longer a virgin, Albus?”

He whimpered and turned his face to catch the younger man’s lips in a furiously passionate kiss.

“You did not hurt me,” murmured Snape, “and I did not hurt you. You see,” he said, taking one of Albus’s hands and pressing it to his own penis, which as he said, would not erect. “I may not be able to fuck anything,” he said, sounding as if that didn’t sound the least bit interesting anyway, “but that does not mean I cannot orgasm. Some people are not terribly thorough in casting dark spells,” he smirked softly.

Albus gave the flaccid member a fond pat and wrapped his arms around his Slytherin. “You looked amazing,” he said a bit dumbly. “I . . . you did.”

“Mmm. If only you had seen yourself.” He was wearing a very Slytherin grin.

“I am one-hundred and thirteen . . . .”

“And you saved your virginity just for me,” said Snape, in mock smugness.

“How are those socks?” asked Dumbledore, changing the subject as his cheeks reddened.

“I really do like them,” he mused. “You and I, we’re like feet wearing socks now.”

“How so?” he said, looking amused.

“We no longer have to stay cold.”

“Oh, come here, Severus,” he cooed, and pulled the boy into his arms, smiling. He soon drifted off to sleep, and when he awoke, he awoke—for the first time in his life—as a man who was not alone.