Here is some Snape smut with no redeeming value. I am taking a break from my holiday fic exchange project and needed to blow off some steam this evening. I offer my apologies in advance.



CAPTIVE AUDIENCE
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Lucius, a hint of Snape/Harry
Warnings: voyeurism, dubious consent, HBP spoilers
Disclaimer: JKR owns all. I hope to God she never sees this, though.
Summary: PWP. Harry witnesses a scene he's not sure he wants to see.



Harry was trapped.

Macnair was dozing against the wall at the top of the stairs, and the Lestranges were talking quietly at the opposite end of the corridor leading to the rest of the house. Harry was in the middle.

He clutched the cold metal cup closer and huddled down under his invisibility cloak. Thanks to the damn anti-Apparition wards on the house, the cloak was all that stood between him and certain death--but he knew it would be scant protection if they should somehow realize he was there. They could easily close in from both sides, and being invisible wouldn’t help him much in the narrow corridor. He had already cast a silencio on himself to keep the sound of his breathing from them, but he was fairly certain they could still hear his footsteps. If he stepped on a squeaky floorboard, he was done for.

There was a large set of double doors, slightly ajar, immediately to his left. He looked. Yes, there was just enough space for his body to slip through without moving them. He went. At least this room might have a window, or a Floo, or at the very least a dark corner where he could hide until the Death Eaters in the hallway went to the loo or something. Once inside, he crept quickly to the far side of the room and crouched down next to a green leather sofa.

And froze.

Directly opposite him, sitting primly with his knees crossed and sipping something blood-colored from a cut crystal glass, was Lucius Malfoy.

He was rather thinner than the last time Harry had seen him, and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there before. But in every other way, he was still the picture of privileged hedonism. His exquisite emerald velvet robes hung casually open, exposing white linen shirt, soft suede britches and silver watch chain. Not a single ashen hair on his head was out of place. His leather-booted foot bounced nervously, but otherwise, he was all cool, grey-eyed composure. And he was staring straight at Harry.

After a few moments of sheer brain-dead terror, Harry realized that Malfoy was merely staring through him, and as of yet, had no idea he was there. The effect was still unsettling, and he tried to decide whether it would be better to move and risk making noise, or to stay put and endure the discomfort of Malfoy's unintentionally accurate gaze. The deep silence of the room, apart from the fire crackling away in the vast fireplace on the far wall, made him decide to stay put.

The silence did not last. The double doors suddenly slammed open and both heads in the room jerked toward the noise. For the second time in five minutes, Harry's heart stopped in his chest.

Severus Snape was in the doorway.

A thrill of hatred raced through his body at the sight of that familiar figure, so cherished in his imagination from all the nights that Harry had lain awake planning his bloody dismemberment in loving detail. It was almost like unexpectedly seeing someone you were infatuated with, he thought bemusedly. The same increased pulse, the same stab in the gut upon recognition. The thought came unbidden into his mind, I am going to kill this man. It was a cold, matter-of-fact thought, and it rang with utter certainty. I don't know how or when, but it's going to happen as surely as I know my name is Harry James Potter.

Once he'd recovered from the shock of seeing Snape, he focused on the scene that was about to play out in front of him, and noticed for the first time the absolutely electric look that Snape and Malfoy were exchanging.

"Are you mad?" Snape hissed. "You should never have come here! It's the first place they'll look!"

"Relax," Malfoy said with a careless wave of his glass. "They don't even realize I'm gone yet. My…stand-in has enough polyjuice to last several days, I'm quite certain."

Snape had come further into the room and was settling warily into a chair, his eyes never leaving Malfoy's. "Rodolphus told me you were here, but I didn't believe you'd be so stupid…"

"Honestly, you're as tiresome as ever, Severus. Though I must say…" and here he offered Snape an appraising full-body glance, "getting out of that dungeon seems to agree with you. You're certainly looking…well."

Snape colored slightly. Actually, Harry noted, he was looking well--for Snape, anyway. His long black hair was clean and relatively neat; his eyes were less sunken than usual; for once, he had the appearance of someone who actually had blood in their body. He still wasn't entirely wholesome-looking, but it was an improvement.

"Are those your clothes, by the way? Or did you avail yourself of the black items in my wardrobe?"

Snape frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but Malfoy just laughed and waved him off again. "I'm kidding, Severus! My robes would hang on you like a scarecrow's." His smile was wide and insincere. "Though I daresay you've made yourself at home here. I'm told you've taken Draco under your wing. Tell me, have you taken to fucking my wife as well?"

Snape was on his feet again. "Of all the--"

"Sit down."

All the laughter had left Malfoy's voice.

"Now, about my son. I'm to understand that you're the main cause of the Dark Lord's current displeasure with him."

"Lucius, I happen to be the only reason your son is alive--"

"Yes, yes. I've heard the story. Narcissa is very grateful…but she understands nothing. You see, I've already had a chance to speak to a few people since my return."

All the color immediately left Snape's face, but his expression did not change.

"It seems you went to some lengths to protect, not my son on that night, but Harry Potter. Is that true, Severus?"

"Of course it's true. You've been out of the loop, Lucius, or you'd know that the Dark Lord's orders--"

"--were to keep Potter alive, yes. Only Bella explained to me that you recommended that course of action to him, Severus, promising instead to bring Potter to him alive."

"Your sister-in-law is quite correct," Snape ground out. "I fail to see--"

"And Mulciber tells me that you had every opportunity to collar Potter that night, and yet you did not."

"Shielding your son was more important at that moment; I didn't exactly have time to worry about that useless Potter child and still get Draco off the grounds alive. Surely you understand."

Lucius smiled again, but this time the firelight glinted on his teeth in a sinister way. "You always have an answer for everything, don't you, Severus?"

"I assure you, Lucius, I speak nothing but the--"

"Come here."

For at least the third time in as many minutes, Snape looked shocked. "What?"

"I said, come here."

Slowly, Snape rose and went over to where Malfoy sat on the sofa and sank down beside him.

Immediately, Malfoy turned to face Snape, and his voice was suddenly gentle. "I don't want to suspect you, Severus. Surely you must realize that?"

Snape turned his head slowly to meet Malfoy's eyes.

Malfoy had let a hand drop casually onto Snape's knee, and his voice pitched lower. "Surely you know how much I want to believe you. I just need you to show me I can trust you, don't you see, old friend? I really don't want to have to go with Bella to take it up with the Dark Lord, I don't…"

Harry could hear Snape's fast, shallow breathing all the way across the room. "I swear to you, Lucius…" he said, a slight break in his voice. Malfoy smiled a horrible, saccharine smile, and the manicured hand on Snape's knee began to slide up, up. Malfoy took Snape's sharp chin in his other hand and slowly brought their mouths together.

Harry nearly swallowed his tongue.

He could actually see the moment when Snape made his decision. The rigid, black-swathed body, leaning over awkwardly at first into Malfoy's non-negotiable kiss, slowly softened, liquefying and curling against Malfoy's broader frame. His jaw fell open to accept Malfoy's tongue. Malfoy brought both hands up to cradle Snape's dark head, deepening the kiss suddenly and brutally, and Snape simply melted into it, letting his mouth be plundered.

It was obscene, it was disgusting, it was almost violent. It was also just about the hottest thing Harry had seen in his entire life.

What Malfoy did next took Harry's breath away. He pulled back, releasing Snape's mouth with a soft wet smack, and took two handfuls of Snape's robes at the throat. Then with three swift, powerful jerks, he split the black robes straight down the middle from collar to hem.

Snape looked startled, but he said nothing, simply watching Malfoy's face with glassy, unfocused eyes as though he couldn't look away. Malfoy's expression was bland and vaguely pleased as he studied his handiwork, then pushed the shredded robes apart.

Oh god, where's his underwear? was Harry's first panicked, incongruous thought. He didn't have much of a chance to prepare himself before Snape's pale, awkward nudity was filling his vision. There was suddenly a lot of white skin, stark and gleaming against the black cloth; a patch of coarse black hair in the center of his chest that became a narrow trail as it wandered down his belly; and there was Snape's cock, dark and quiescent below another thatch of thick black hair, which Malfoy was presently surveying with disinterested curiosity. He was already pushing the strangely compliant Snape backward onto the sofa, bending the man's knees and stretching out over him to resume the deep, punishing kiss.

Snape's arms, still in their sleeves, clung to Malfoy's back and his skinny legs alternately squeezed around Malfoy's hips and fell wide. Snape's bare legs looked a little ridiculous, as he was still wearing those severe black boots whose clicking heels had long been the school-wide signal to make oneself scarce. Harry rather doubted he could see them as symbols of authority after this. Malfoy pulled back slightly, there was a bit of fumbling and the sound of buckles opening, and then he covered Snape again, this time grinding his hips hard against the cradle of Snape's pelvis. When Malfoy shifted, Harry could see that Snape's cock was hard now, flushed with blood and chafing against Malfoy's expensive clothes.

The soft noises coming from the sofa grew more urgent, and after a few minutes, Malfoy pulled back again and drew his wand from his pocket, muttering a spell that Harry couldn't quite hear but was reasonably certain was the same spell George Weasley had taught him in second year, along with the equally-useful silencing ward for the bed, which together permitted comfortable and hassle-free wanking in a crowded dormitory. Harry had heard that some boys used the same spell for sex with each other; here was the proof of that, he supposed. Malfoy's hands were moving around between Snape's legs now, and the wet sounds and Snape's breathy moans gave Harry a decent idea of what they were doing down there.

Abruptly, Malfoy sat up and hauled Snape's skinny thighs upright, then sank back down, pistoning his hips forward and drawing a short, startled cry from Snape's throat. "Shhh!" Malfoy hissed, bracing his hands on either side of Snape's head as he thrust again. "Do you really want Macnair to come in and see you like this?" Some of the white-blond hair had come loose from its fastenings and was flying around Malfoy's face as he moved.

Harry's head reeled with the knowledge that Lucius Malfoy was balls-deep in Snape's arse not five feet away from him. He was equally alarmed to find his hand wandering to the placket of his jeans, the heel rubbing the stiff denim against his now swollen cock. He heard himself make a tiny sound in the back of his throat and was suddenly glad for that silencing spell he'd cast on himself. Malfoy had pulled out and driven back in again, hard, and Snape's legs were clamped tight around his back, pulling him down as he began to really fuck Snape in earnest. Each noise Snape made sounded a little pained, but also a little something else--Harry didn't think Snape was entirely unhappy to be where he was. He wondered how long Malfoy had been putting it to Snape--did it go all the way back to their school days? Harry tried to imagine the skinny, wilted kid in the pensieve memory getting buggered in the Astronomy Tower and decided he'd rather stick with the present reality, which was plenty compelling on its own.

They were kissing again, seemingly against the odds as Snape's body was bent practically in half--they were sucking, wet, obscene kisses that were more tongue than anything. Harry's eyes were glued to the sight. Malfoy was muttering things under his labored breath as he thrust, things that sounded strangely like endearments, or perhaps insults spoken in a gentle tone. Yes, it would be just like Malfoy to call someone horrible names as he fucked them. Snape said nothing but just groaned inarticulately, apparently happy to be called whatever Malfoy was calling him, happy to have his body twisted into that absurd position. It did look humiliating, and Harry knew how Snape ordinarily reacted to being humiliated, which just increased the strangeness of the whole thing. He half-wished his Gryffindor potions class could be here to see this, as suitable payment for all the humiliations Snape had meted out to them over the years. Then he realized he didn't want that at all--Snape's naked body was suddenly a sight he wanted reserved for himself alone.

Malfoy had now gotten up off of Snape and was balanced on his knees, holding Snape's thighs up and apart and driving into him with deep, savage thrusts. Harry was a little fascinated; he'd never be able to last as long as Malfoy was lasting. Snape's arse must have been on fire after…how many minutes had it been? Snape's head was lolling to the side now, his neck arched a little and that adam's apple sticking out; his face was hidden by his hair, strands of it caught in his open mouth and fluttering with his hoarse breaths. His skinny chest heaved, and Harry noticed how red his nipples were. Black, white and red--like Snow White, he thought, with a little laugh that had a crazy edge.

Suddenly Malfoy's thrusts were growing shorter and quicker, and he threw his head back with a single long, gasping breath, making barely a sound as he came, thrusting furiously until at last he slowed. Dropping Snape's legs unceremoniously, he looked down at Snape's crotch and muttered "Oh, for heaven's sake," and before Harry knew what was happening, he'd slipped down the sofa and taken Snape's cock in his mouth.

Snape was arching up off the sofa now, sucking in great, sobbing breaths around the wrist that was flung across his mouth. Malfoy's head bobbed rapidly, as though he were eager to get this part out of the way--which he no doubt was. In short order, Snape came with a strangled sob, biting down on the wrist, body drawn up like a strung bow, then collapsing back down with a shuddering sigh.

Malfoy made a big show of spitting Snape's come over the side of the sofa, then using his wand to vanish the mess. He got up without so much as looking down at his exhausted lover, picked up his glass and took a deep swig, swirled it around in his mouth and then spat into the fire. Snape didn't appear to notice or care. He was lying in the ruins of his clothes, limbs in a jumble, looking utterly spent and thoroughly fucked, and Harry thought it was just about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

His clothes straightened and his hair tucked back into its fastenings, Malfoy returned to stand over Snape's splayed body and sighed dramatically. "One of the great mysteries of my life, really…that you should look the way you do, yet I should still want to fuck you so desperately. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if it isn't some sort of low-level hex."

Snape sat up and glared at Malfoy in helpless fury, looked utterly mortified but too well used to muster up much more than that. He gathered his ruined robes around him and hunched over his knees, rocking forward a little.

"I suppose you'll be wondering whether that performance was enough to keep me from having that chat with our Lord and Master. Well, I simply haven't decided yet. When you're through in here, do try to repair your clothes before you parade yourself past Macnair; the man has a weak heart as it is." And with that, Malfoy spun on his heel and walked out.

Snape didn't move. His hands still clutched his robes together; his gaze was focused somewhere below the floor. Harry watched him, hardly daring to breathe. A single thought was ringing through his mind over and over on an endless loop: he was protecting you, he was protecting you, he was protecting you. And accompanying that repeating thought was an image: Snape's nude, supine body and the overwhelming knowledge that Harry. Wanted. That.

Tamping down his arousal, Harry tried to think. Snape had protected him? It didn't add up; and yet he'd just watched Snape pay a rather graphic price for defending him, pleasurable though it may have been at moments. It was clear that Snape had let Malfoy fuck him because Malfoy was right--he had no real excuse for defending Harry the night Dumbledore had died. And now, in all likelihood, Malfoy was running off to do exactly what he had threatened to do in the first place.

He suddenly realized how prescient his thought earlier had been--he was going to kill Snape. He already had.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared to do what might end up being the stupidest thing he had yet done in his short--possibly soon to be even shorter--life. And he knew exactly what the man sitting across from him would think of this Gryffindorish little stunt.

Lifting up the cloak a bit, he hissed at Snape: "Psst!"

Snape's head snapped up, eyes startled, and then a kind of slow horror bloomed across his face as he realized, no doubt, what Harry had just witnessed in the last fifteen minutes. Well, there was no time for that now. Harry held out the cup and pointed to it.

Snape suddenly smirked, and mouthed: "I see you got my note."

Harry let the cloak fall back into place and went to crouch at Snape's knee. "Two can fit under here," he whispered.

This was stupid. It was so stupid it didn't even bear thinking about. Snape would kill him; Snape would turn him over to Voldemort. He was letting the thought of that pale flesh and that beautiful cock lead him down a path of utter inanity. And yet, if he'd heard Malfoy correctly, Snape's life was shortly about to be worth less than nothing. Not half an hour ago, that thought would have delighted him. Now, all he could think of were those sharp, pained little sounds Snape had made while Malfoy fucked him, while he laid back and paid the price for safeguarding Harry's life. Obviously, there were unanswered questions here, but there was no time to ask them now.

"Why should I trust you?" Snape murmured under his breath.

"It's either that or wait for Malfoy and Bellatrix to come back with Vol--er, You-Know-Who, isn't it?" Even Harry couldn't quite bring himself to say the name in a house crawling with Voldemort's henchmen.

Snape looked sourly at the approximate place where Harry's head was. "So I can assume that you witnessed my conversation with Lucius from...er, beginning to end?"

"If it's any consolation, I wish I hadn't."

"It isn't, really." Snape grabbed a handful of the cloak and suddenly he was under it, pressed against Harry's back. "So…" he said softly, "this is the view from the other side." Harry chuckled, feeling a little hysterical.

In a manner somewhat reminiscent of running a three-legged race, Harry maneuvered them over to the door. Snape held a finger to his lips, then made a few complicated gestures with his hands that Harry was pretty sure meant go right, then left, then down the stairs. Harry nodded, clutched Snape's wrist, took a deep breath, and together they slipped through the doors.


END





A/N: Actually, that had more plot than it needed. It's like one of those annoying "artsy" porno movies that tries to convince you it's more than just a porno movie. And the question of post-HBP Snape's guilt/innocence is like a scab I can't stop picking. Can I please just write a story that doesn't address that in some way? I am starting to get tired of myself.
A/A/N: Did you notice the high incidence of the "adjective, adjective noun" construction, not to mention the adverb abuse? That needs to stop. It's a bad habit, like cracking your knuckles. Oy…writing is hard. < / Barbie voice >
A/A/N: "Gryffindor" is in my word processor's spellcheck dictionary! "Voldemort" is not, however.