InsaneJournal

It’s all four of them, as usual, trekking along. Today’s a nice day, but before they head out to the pitch, they see if they can’t find Snivelly hiding under his favorite tree.

“Sensational!”

Snape looks up when he hears this, and dread slowly fills his stomach. He’s just trying to read. He hasn’t followed them in a good while. He stopped caring about revenge—mostly—when Lily broke off the friendship.

“Something on your mind, Snivellus?”

“If you really want to know,” Snape says, sounding casual, “I could tell you. I doubt you’ll like the answer.”

“Like we could like you less than we already do!” snorts Sirius.

“Let’s have it, then, Snape,” James says.

“I’m thinking about you. And me. And only the two of us. Alone. Do you want that too, James?”

Sirius lets out a yelp like a kicked puppy.

“He’s kidding,” says James. “Aren’t you kidding, Snape?”

“Dead serious,” says Snape cheerily in reply. He thinks to himself idly about how nice those words sound, sounding almost as if he’s saying “Dead Sirius”, even though he isn’t. The smirk shows up clearly.

“I . . . .” Sirius’s face is bright red and he looks from James to Snape to Peter to Remus to Snape to James to Remus to Snape to James . . . . He had felt the need to say something, but really he has no idea how to respond.

James passes it off in a laugh. “Well, I guess you’ve earned us leaving you alone for a bit, eh? Come on, boys.” He turns to look back over his shoulder into bright, black eyes that glitter like a polished broom. The other marauders don’t know it, but he plans a return visit.

He sends the boys on some errand or other and comes back to Snape as Snape remains sitting under the tree. “Did you mean it?” He glances around as if a little suspicious, or nervous, or something.

Snape shrugs. “Does it matter?”

James shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe. He looks around again. “Don’t play stupid, Snivellus. It’s just . . . weird.”

“Potter.” Snape looks amused. “I said that to get rid of you all. You do know that, right?”

“Well yeah, but . . . did you mean it?”

“What?!” Snape looks stunned. He stares at James as if James’s head has just flown off or as if he just spoke to him in Swahili, danced a jig, and tried to eat an entire Flobberworm. “You . . . what?!”

James shrugs. “You’re a bloke. I’m a bloke. No one has to know.” He scratches at the back of his head and pauses, as if unsure. “Er, so how . . . how ‘bout it, then? Snape?”

Snape still looks stunned, so James takes the initiative. He grabs a thin wrist and they’re in the school all of a sudden, and James is darting around corners like some spy on Muggle television and he motions for Snape to follow and only the raw, shocked curiosity has Snape following, following and not turning to run all the way down to Slytherin’s common room and contemplate how to keep the marauders away now that that approach didn’t work.

They stop, finally, and as James Potter opens the door to an empty classroom, his eyes shine like jars of slimy, pickled potions ingredients, warm in the halting light of the sun. Snape breathes in a breath as if having just stepped outside, even though outside was where he was and now he’s inside, and all.

“Well, up on the table then, Snape.” Snape sneers and James feels a little redness appear in his cheeks. “What?”

“Why me?”

“What?! Surely you don’t expect—”

“And why not?” An eyebrow raises dangerously.

“You, well, you . . . you’re all slender and . . . well, shorter than me . . . you see, and—”

“No, I do not see.”

“You’re, you know, more, uh . . . feminine?”

Snape scowls so deeply James almost has the urge to joke that if he keeps it up it may get stuck that way. “I am not a woman.” With a flick of his wand he locks the door and steps forward toward James, who actually backs up a step. He flips up his robe, pulls down his underpants and steps out of them. Holding the hem of the robe up, he crosses his arms and stares James down. “Remember this?” he says icily. “I remember when you thought it was great fun to see ol’ Snivelly naked.”

James smirks at the memory, but quells the expression very quickly. “Er, well . . . .”

“Surely you will not deny me the same pleasure of viewing you in your own nakedness?” He is as derisive as ever. James won’t let himself start to consider it all a bad idea, so he lifts his own robes and pulls down his own underpants until he’s bare too. He goes one further and flings his entire robe off, raising an eyebrow in a mockery of one of Snape’s favorite facial expressions.

Snape looks down and scoffs. James tries not to tense. “All the same,” says Snape in a deceptively soft voice, “I think I’ll go easy on you. I mean, I’m betting this is your first time with a male—” James scoffs even though it’s the truth “—and I don’t want to damage you, just in case you try to enact ‘revenge’ or something.”

“You just like taking it up the arse, don’t you, Snape?” says James with a snicker, even though now what he’s mainly feeling is relief.

“Perhaps.” Snape raises a brow. James seems to freeze, and he goes on. “Well anyway, I wouldn’t be so keen on snickering like that if I were you. You’re the one who wants my arse.”

“You going to take that robe off?”

“I did not know that was a requirement. Making sure there aren’t breasts? Poor, confused Potter.” He lifts the robe over his own head. He’s skinny, and paler than anything James has ever seen before. James takes in the sight silently.

Snape reaches into the robe he’s just removed from himself and extracts his wand.

“What?”

Snape glances at Potter. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to jeopardize this ‘arrangement’. But, Potter? This is a one-time occurrence.”

“Agreed. Most definitely agreed!” He nods enthusiastically. No, this wasn’t a relationship. It was a one-off.

“Don’t move,” says Snape, sounding almost bored. He leans back against a table and points the wand at his backside. James frowns thoughtfully as he watches. Snape then taps the wand against his left palm. Some substance that is clearly meant to lubricate appears, and Snape slips long, pale fingers into the stuff. He reaches behind himself and pushes one into himself. He stares levelly at Potter as he starts the preparation.

James feels his mouth go dry as he looks. He motions for Snape to turn around, so he can . . . so he can see. Snape rolls his eyes and obliges, and James’s breath catches as he watches knobbly fingers slide out of view and back into it and out of it again. Only now, looking away from James, does Snape let the pleasure fill his eyes. Really, it is pretty good. He’s masturbating, essentially, and someone’s watching. He smirks softly as he stretches himself wide, bumping his own prostate with just the right pressure. He fights shivers of pleasure.

James lets his own hand slide down and grasps himself. When Snape turns back around, flushed-looking and seeming quite ready, he looks up a bit guiltily, even though he really has no reason to be ashamed of Snape catching him touching himself, considering the situation.

Snape scoffs. In a no-nonsense manner, he slides the lube over James, who can’t successfully repress a shudder. Then he turns away from him again. As he leans forward over the table, long, greasy hair cascades down a slender back. James licks his lip.

“You will go carefully,” he instructs from his spot, not even bothering to look over his shoulder to say this. “You will push in slowly, and not start until I say so. You will carefully try to hit my prostate—”

“Wait . . . what? Your what?”

“Do not interrupt me!” He turns to glance back over his shoulder this time. He feels a smirk grow at the confused look on James’s face. “You will be gentle with me, or so help me I will hex your prick off.” James gulps. Somehow, though, the image the words bring forth doesn’t deflate his desire at all.

“And . . . the . . . the thing, the prostate?”

Snape gives a long-suffering sigh. He turns back around. “Give me your finger.”

“What?! No, I’m not touching—”

“Potter!” He grasps one of James’s wrists. “Don’t be difficult. Just slip one inside.” He pulls the hand between his thighs and then releases it. “Push in.”

James pulls a face. But, he sighs at the murderous glint in Snape’s eyes and decides to just humor him. He grimaces as it slides in. Although, it’s warm . . . and quite pliant . . . and so, it’s not so bad around him, even if it’s his bloody finger in there. Making a mental note that he’s definitely going to use a thorough Scouring Charm after this, he looks thoughtful as it slides in.

“Let me.” A hand grips his wrist again, and he holds the hand still as he angles his hips. And then something brushes against James’s fingertip and he groans at the look on Snape’s face.

“Like that, do you?” he teases Snape. He experiments in touching him on the inside, and it makes him so much harder than he already was. The black eyes he’s looking into glaze.

“Yessss,” Snape hisses. All of a sudden his free hand tangles furiously in James’s hair, and their faces are pressed together. Teeth are nipping at his lips, then the side of his jaw. “Stick it in me,” he growls after a few moments.

“Er . . . I’ll need my hand back.” Snape snarls at him, though he’s right. He tugs the hand out of himself roughly. “Er, okay, then.” He stares at Snape, who stares back.

Then Snape turns again. “Slowly, remember.”

James nods. Enemy or not, this is sex, and sex should be good for everyone. It’s one of his deepest beliefs. He slides a hand around one of Snape’s barely-there hips and smiles at the sight of that supple backside. He’s chewing his lip in anticipation now.

“Get the fuck inside!” snarls the boy, leaning forward into the table. James laughs, but he presses against that hole all the same. Here comes his first slide into such heat. He aches to move as he moans into the air and grips at that hip hard enough to bruise.

“Oh wow . . . .” That flies from his lips quietly, unheeded. He stands still and twitches within the passageway. Snape is disconcertingly silent. “I...,” James holds still, but it’s such a struggle . . . “Snape, Snape, I . . . can I move?”

Snape doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, come on!”

“Yes, you can move.” James can tell from the voice that Snape is smirking.

“You bastard,” he huffs, but all he does in response is pull out, and then slip back in. He shudders. “Oh, that’s good, Sniv.”

“Mm. Or so I’ve been told,” he says, and there’s that same bloody smirk evident in his voice. James doesn’t care.

“Ah . . . .” He groans. Why is it so good? Merlin . . . . He suddenly remembers Snape’s reaction to him touching that thing, that . . . what? His prostate, that was it. He suddenly wants to see more of Snape losing himself to the feeling of his pleasuring. He carefully angles his thrusts according to where it had been when he’d touched it. “Oh!”

Snape groans, and he tightens around James involuntarily. James hisses at the pressure. It’s almost like he’s got claustrophobia for cocks, but it’s such a raw, hot, sensational feeling that it doesn’t matter. It’s good and cloying all at once.

“Good work, Potter,” pants Snape breathily. He leans forward even more. James takes that as a clue to lean over him and thrust harder.

“That good, Snape?” he murmurs absently, intensely concentrating on making every stroke about the same. The body beneath him is shuddering around him.

“What . . . do you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” his turn to smirk. To spite him, the arse squeezes around him and draws a gasp from him.

“Harder,” comes the command from below. James gulps and complies.

“Mmmm,” he says, rocking into him. The thrusts are starting to lose their rhythm.

“You fucking Gryffindor,” snarls the boy beneath him, rocking up into his movements.

“Mmm. Slytherin,” he says affectionately.

“God . . . .”

“That too.”

“Ah!” Snape cries out. All of a sudden he’s shaking, trembling all over, and something splatters on the floor and James would be very smug were it not for the tight contractions around himself.

“Ohhhh . . . .”

Snape slumps against the table, grunting needily each time another thrust hits him.

“I’ve wanted . . . this . . . yes! Forever . . . .” he’s growling nonsense into Snape’s ear now, and he’s leaned down all the way on top of him, pinning him to the table unceremoniously.

Snape moans at these words, closing his eyes. James nearly bites his own lip all the way through as he comes to his own climax. He collapses on top of the other boy, who merely says, “Mmm.” It’s nearly a whimper, and James loves the weak, pleasured, fucked sound of it.

It’s a number of minutes before either moves.

The first one to speak is Snape and he sounds dazed. “Wanted it forever?”

James stands shakily and starts pulling his underpants and robe back on. He scoffs. “Are you really that stupid, Sniv?” he says, almost mockingly. He pats Snape on his greasy little head. “It was my idea to get a peek under your robes, wasn’t it?” And, feeling much more chipper than he’s felt in a good while, he leaves Snape with that thought.

The next day, they come across Sniv in the hall.

“Dream of Prongs last night, did you?” Sirius sneers.

“Actually, no.” It’s a lie.

“You’re disgusting!” Peter chimes in. James clenches his jaw, but only Snape notices that.

“Snivellus wishes he was a girl so James might fuck him.” Snape scoffs, but the reason he does is only apparent to he and James. “Well too bad—you’d make an ugly girl as well, you unwashed git. James wouldn’t touch you with—”

“I don’t even like him!” Snape says, sounding exasperated, as if he’d been holding this in. “You bloody ponce. I said that to make you go away.”

Sirius lets out an odd bark of laughter. “Oh yeah, sure, we believe you, Sniv, you lying—”

“Yeah,” says Peter, laughing too, “I bet you have a huge crush, don’t you, Snape?”

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” he sounds deceptively calm again.

Something flashes in Sirius’s eyes. He realizes, finally, that he is indeed messing with a Slytherin—even if that Slytherin is a bloody weakling. He scoffs and turns to leave. “Right now, I don’t even think you’re worth our time.”

Peter and Remus turn too, but before James does, he winks at Snape. Snape smirks back.

They, Prongs and Snivellus, Potter and Snape, James and Severus, know what happened. Snape knows James is either bisexual or very much in the closet. That’s not his problem. He’ll remember the time they had, though—if only for material to wank off to. He could always use more of that.