I've been getting to know the members of Team Phoenix (and other excellent ladies) better over the past few days, and a happy result of this has been my discovery of Word War, the rules of which are simple: host a chat, give everyone 20 minutes to write outside of the chat, return to the chat with word counts (the "winner" is the person with the highest count), and then share the results. I've done this twice, now, and it's been so much fun! Here are the results, warts and all. :)
A Taste for Pastry (NC-17; Snarry; 597 words): Harry's got a taste for something special; Snape's got something of a sweet tooth, himself.
Severus was incensed. It was one thing to have to share quarters with Potter at this blasted conference, but quite another to be expected to eat with him—particularly when that mouth of his was so . . . edible.
"Something wrong, Sev'rus?"
And he talks with his mouth full. Outside of enough, thought Severus, scowling.
"Right then. Same as usual," Harry continued, helping himself to something altogether too sweet-looking and full of cream for Severus' tastes.
No restraint. The boy has no—
Severus' mind blanked as Harry's tongue darted out to lick at the delicacy he was holding.
"Bed," Severus announced, hoping fervently that it didn't look as though he were fleeing.
Harry sat and the table making small-talk with the other attendees, well pleased by his dessert selection. He had no intention of being bored all week, and a very specific idea as to how he was going to fill his time.
Fill, he thought, and laughed. Oh, yeah, there'll be filling, all right.
The brat returned to the room entirely too late, rather, too early, and Severus feigned sleep. This was easy to do—until he felt the hand on his prick.
"What the hell do you—"
"SHIT! SOrry, sorry—I thought this was my bed."
"Potter. Use your wand, you idiot!" Severus demanded, feeling oddly disappointed by the accidental groping. Of course not. No. Mr Cream-Licker would never—
"So, um, since you're awake, thought I'd ask . . . ."
"Fancy a fuck?"
It was quiet. Well, Severus imagined that Potter might be able to hear his heartbeat, but he hoped like hell that wasn't so.
Harry grinned in the darkness in Snape's general direction. The man had spent too much time, in their work together, staring at his arse for him to mistake his desire.
And that was a hard cock, not a wand, wasn't it? he thought, certain Snape had been thinking of him. "I said, fancy a fuck? We're both grown men, and this Ministry business is bollocks. Neither of us really needs to attend the panels. I just thought—"
"To service your boredom by servicing me?" The voice was offended.
Harry laughed. "Who said I'd be doing the servicing?" he asked, moving to the edge of Snape's bed. "Kinda fancy being serviced, myself."
Don't say anything stupid. Don't breathe. And if he's playing with you— "You want to . . . you . . . you want me to fuck you?" Severus asked, the rest of his body warming to the idea as had his prick, earlier.
His prick was now so hard that it was leaking, and he was finding it difficult to breathe. Of course he sodding wanted to fuck Potter!
Severus didn't answer verbally.
Harry's mind was on fire with yeses because of the strong, sure hand manipulating his cock, the hot kisses Snape was pressing into his neck, the fingers working his trouser buttons.
It didn't occur to him to worry. His plan had worked.
"Idiot. I don't need my wand to restrain you," Severus said to Harry, who was now nude and bound to the bedposts. How dare you play games with me!"
"But I wasn't! I want to—"
"And I should believe that, why?"
"Did you say ‘cream puffs'?"
"Ordered 'em special, you git! Didn't think yo—mmph!"
Even without the cream—but, of course, that came later—Severus found that he enjoyed kissing Potter. And spending the bothersome conference wrapped around his willing young body was something he intended to get used to.
Even if the brat's taste in pastry leaves something to be desired.
Too sweet, Severus thought, but only just.
Gratitude (PG; Luna, Professor Snape; 644 words): It could be Nargles, but it's not.
Luna observed how the Headmaster's face became more pinched with every passing day. It worried her. Could be Nargles. Could be infestation of Carrows, too, which, she supposed, seemed more likely—but it was rather more likely that the weight of Professor McGonagall's gaze was oppressing him more than anyone else.
Accusation: it was a powerful thing.
Especially when the accused is innocent.
Oh, Luna knew she had no real proof for it, beyond the lack of any real detention, but there was something so quietly noble about Snape—or perhaps it was how tall he was; secretly, Luna knew that tall boys, er, men, made her less impartial than she should be—that wouldn't allow her to believe he was a murderer. She'd discussed this with Neville before.
"Bollocks. Harry was there. You trust Harry, right?"
Luna sighed to remember Neville's words. She did trust Harry, but people had a way of not seeing beyond their prejudices.
"And none of us knows Professor Snape."
In any case, as she trudged through the Forbidden Forest a little behind the others, Luna knew that, noble tallness or no, something needed to be done. Professor Snape looked at the end of his wits, just, and she didn't like to think what would happen to the others should he run out of them.
Nargles would be an easier situation. But it wasn't Nargles.
After washing up and pretending to go to sleep, Luna rose and carefully made her way to the Astronomy Tower. She knew from her own patrols that Professor Snape liked to end his there. She found him staring up into the sky, his arms hanging limply at his sides, his back visibly tense through his robes, which were of a slightly better, more closely fitted cut since he'd taken on his new position. They'd been a gift, one which had arrived in the Great Hall during breakfast, and Luna had imagined that Professor Snape had looked ashamed to receive them. It had been Professor Can't-Keep-His-Hands-To-Himself who'd urged the Headmaster to open the parcel.
No one had laughed.
She watched him, wondering what he was doing, and was surprised when he began to float! He floated up and onto his back, as if he were in water, and Luna stopped herself from moving to get a better view of what Professor Snape kept under his robes.
She didn't think that floating was Dark, but she wasn't certain. Still, perhaps, as she didn't know what to say to him and he looked almost peaceful, she thought she might leave him to what appeared to be his own strange form of meditation. She was just creeping away when his voice, made deeper by his position, startled her.
"What is it, Lovegood?"
"You know it's me!"
"Lovegood?" Professor Snape repeated, not sounding as vexed as usual.
It was then that Luna took note of the sweet scent of something recently burnt. Cannabis. Oh. Oh! "You've got . . . fags?"
"You know I don't, Lovegood. What is it?"
Ah. There was the annoyance she'd expected. "Just came to thank you, sir, for my detention."
A snort was her only reply.
"Is that really wise, sir? I mean, don't you want your wits about you?"
"Not presently, no. It's past curfew. Return to your dormitory."
Must be powerful stuff, Luna thought, smiling. Maybe he'd be okay. She didn't think they all would, frankly, but—
"You will remove me from the list of your concerns—and mind the others."
"Yes, sir. Good night," Luna said, her interrupted thought completing itself:
—maybe they would be all right, just with luck, and a little burnt floating.
How odd, to see Professor Snape as human. Well, she'd known that, hadn't she? It's why she'd come.
She returned to the others rather more quickly than she'd planned to, feeling something akin to relief—and grateful to know it wasn't Nargles.