Word Count: 1500
Summary: Severus walks into a pub, alone, and out of it followed by Percy Weasley. It's a joke. A good one. With fucking.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling, and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by the posting of this fic.
Author's Notes: Happy birthday, fodirteg! I hope you don't mind that your ficlet ran long. ;) Thank you, alisanne and eeyore9990, for beta'ing.
A man walks into a pub. Well, Severus does, and he sits down at the tap and orders a pint. No one looks at him directly; they know he's just come from the Wizengamot.
Innocent. That was the verdict.
And it's also, come to think of it, the problem here.
Only I would spend the last day of my trial hornier than a Seventh Year after drinking a lust potion.
The lack of stress in a man's life can wake him up to other empty . . . aspects, shall we say, of himself that need filling. Oh, yes, and trying to think of idiotic jokes in order to put his mind off the hole in question just isn't a help.
A man walks into a pub—
And Percy Weasley, pompous, officious, red, sits down next to him.
Severus doesn't look at him directly. The joke he can't even complete is already wearing thin.
Clearing his throat, Percy turns to the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, the former a lot of things, and offers the man his hand. It's been years of fantasising, and he's going to, he knows, offer the man his cock if he can steel himself to do it—but that will take time, and several drinks.
A man walks into a pub and is accosted by a former student. No, that isn't funny at all, Severus thinks, downing his pint in one long swallow while watching Weasley out of the corner of his left eye.
The bob of the younger wizard's Adam's apple makes his prick throb.
Percy flushes. No one notices. No one ever does. He's a Weasley. He orders a pint and sits. He doesn't adjust himself. He doesn't look at Snape. Except that he does, so hard that his right eye starts to hurt from the strain.
He's chosen his moment poorly.
I should have waited until closer to closing. They rent rooms here.
The very thought is enough to make him choke on his beer.
A man walks into a pub. He is accosted by a former student, who doesn't go the fuck away when ignored. It's not funny. . . . But at least there's pounding.
Severus knows that he shouldn't hit Weasley so hard. It won't help him stop coughing. But it does feel good. And so does Weasley.
There's muscle under these robes. "If you can't handle your drink, perhaps—"
"S—stop! I mean, thank you," Percy manages to say.
Snape sneers at him, turns away, orders another pint—turns back to glare.
It's progress. And Percy's so hard he has almost forgotten what the fuck he's doing sitting in a pub. Next to Snape.
Oh, yes. Snape.
Weasley's hands are shaking. He's flushing. He's sitting close enough to Severus that Severus can feel his body's warmth.
He smells good.
Ah, yes. That would be the joke he couldn't finish when he walked into the pub.
Severus tosses a Galleon and four Knuts down and leaves.
Weasley follows him. He knows this without looking back.
Knockturn Alley—Percy is shocked that Snape would dare visit it so soon after his acquittal, stunned that he's following his cock after the man he's wanted since Fifth Year into the dark recesses of scandal. But so he is. Part of Percy has calculated how vulnerable a man might be after a public, unpleasant legal battle. Part of Percy has just filled with blood at the thought of spreading Snape's cheeks and . . . .
A man walks out of a pub, gasping for it, and he's followed, Severus thinks, by an indiscreet twat.
As soon as Weasley is close enough, Severus snatches the man's arm and Disapparates.
When they reach Spinner's End's lounge, they do not take their ease.
Percy isn't thinking. He's ripping off Snape's clothing and licking every bared inch of skin he can. Salty. Musky. Male. He can't stop grinning.
Five Galleons was not too much, as it happens, to have paid for that Felix Felicis. The "nerve" potion, he brewed himself. He usually needs one before staff meetings. Minister Shacklebolt is intimidating.
Severus bites Weasley's right nipple. He licks it. He's not sure what else to do with his tongue. He's got ideas, of course, but . . . .
"Where's . . . your bed?"
"Why?" Snape asks.
"Because I don't want your knees to get sore."
Severus doesn't remember walking into the bedroom, but his knees aren't sore as he kneels before Weasley, who is standing on his bed and leaning against the bookshelf behind it. All he remembers is Weasley's demand about the teeth.
Mind the teeth. Yes. And suck.
Percy grabs a fistful of Snape's hair and pulls his head off his cock.
"I want to come in your arse," Percy says, not surprised by his crudity, not really.
There's a time and a place for everything.
Severus stares up at Weasley, his mouth hanging slack. He's too dazed to mind what an idiot he must look—and somewhat alarmed. He swallows.
"Gods, you look hot with your mouth all swollen and open for me like that. Don't you want me to fuck you?"
"Yes," Severus says, barely able to hear his own response.
No one has fucked Snape before. Percy can tell this by the way he hesitated, by the way he squirmed on his fingers, by the sounds of surprise and unrestrained pleasure the man's making now as Percy thrusts slowly in, slowly out, slowly inside that grasping, tight heat. Too slowly.
"Too fucking slow. Want to ride you. Spell enough? Feel all right?"
"Feel you. Want to feel more."
It's like being split open. It's like being . . . no, he was right the first time.
"Stop gentling me, Weasley. You've your prick up my arse!"
Yes, Percy knows this. He can barely believe it, but he seizes Snape's hips and pounds in and out of his arse.
Good spell. Better potion. "Oh, oh, yeah, oh! Fuck you feel so hot and tight and perfect. Knew you would. Knew you would."
Weasley's a babbling twat, but thick and long and unrelenting for all that, and Merlin, he feels good.
"I can't, I'm going to—"
His scream is silent. His eyes, closed. His thighs are shaking. It's glorious.
Weasley's bollocks are silken and heavy. They keep slapping against his own as Severus comes apart.
Merely reading about the prostate was insufficient.
Severus gasps, buries his grin into the pillow, tries not to think about how many people saw him walking out of a pub with Percy Weasley.
Percy wakes up under a coverlet—and a leg. Snape is wrapped around his body.
"I . . . I fucked you."
"Yes. Tell anyone, and I'll—"
"Poison me, I know."
"Come for you and fuck you in public."
It's a ridiculous thing to say. Severus has never fucked anyone. But his sense of dignity is no longer so lust-addled, and he's not sure what comes next.
Percy smiles. He will always, from this day forward, carry luck potions with him.
But only so that I can fuck you, he thinks, turning to gaze fondly at Snape.
Severus starts and sits up. "You fancy me."
"We just shagged. I think we can lose the student-teacher dynamic, don't you?"
Snape flushes. It's not from the sex.
"Unless you want to play with that fantasy?" Weasley asks.
Snape begins to fidget but quickly remembers himself and throws himself down on the bed, just barely touching Percy.
"You do like that idea. Good. But I get to be you."
Severus swallows, hard.
I can't remember ever having brewed a better batch of Felix Felicis, he thinks.
Of course, he never expected it to lead him to Percy. Red's never been a good colour on him—until now.
Thinking this, he snorts.
"I am, as well," Percy replies, a tad pompously.
He's feeling more himself now, but not enough to need a nerve tonic to kiss Snape.
A man walks into a pub, alone, and walks out of it with a Weasley.
Yes, that's a good joke, but it's not on him.
Innocence suddenly seems a cross he can bear. Weasley seems the type to stay, at least for awhile.
"When we wake up, I'm going to fuck you so that I can see your face and suck every gasp out of your mouth and into mine."
Percy can't believe he just said that.
Severus can't believe the things that fall out of Weasley's mouth. He's definitely not a complete twat, not anymore.
"When we wake up, I want to see my prick disappearing into that mouth of yours."
Weasley doesn't speak.
But he doesn't laugh, either.
Severus turns to look at him directly.
"What the hell've you been doing with yourself since Hogwarts?"
"Fucking discreet men while working up the nerve to approach you."
Severus laughs. It's not a joke, what Weasley's told him, but it's good to be able to laugh. With someone.
He leans in to kiss Weasley. Weasley's tongue is warm and soft.
It isn't a joke.
And it's good to be filled.