It occurs to you that you are very, very drunk, and that, gosh, all those rumours about your father inventing charms to negate alcohol's affects on – performance – must be true.

These thoughts flit through your head in a matter of milliseconds: just enough time for Snape to drop down and straddle you. He leans down, close enough that you can taste his brandy-breath. His hair trails into your face and he whispers, "What will you do for me, Potter? What would you do?"

"Anything," you whisper. "Anything."

"My family," he says. "Make your father help us."

"Anything."

He kisses you, and you laugh into his mouth, because you know that this is absurd, this is ridiculous, and when it's over, you won't want to think of it, you'll hide the evidence, you'll pretend it never happened. You certainly won't tell anyone else. This is absurd.

But God, you want it.

Snape is practiced, skilled and very much in control. He fucks you up the arse, hard, and laughs bitterly as you moan into your pillows. He kisses the back of your neck, lightly, and then more passionately. You shiver, and he nibbles you skin. This makes you laugh, and he suddenly turns nasty, drawing blood.

"Vampire," you mutter, and gasp as his teeth latch onto an earlobe.

"Fuck you."

"You – are – already."

"...Right."

"Sirius said–"

Long fingers clutch your arm, the nails breaking the skin.

"I don't – want – to talk about – Black."

You lick his nipples, and run your tongue down his stomach. His torso is sparsely covered in black hairs, which get caught in your mouth.

Snape is nothing at all like Lily.

He pulls your hair while you suck his cock, and you wonder why you let him do this, except that there are debts, and deals, and you want it so much...

Afterwards, you lie back, sore and satiated. Your sheets are messy and damp, and you hope that the house elves won't mention the extra work to your mother. Snape – Severus – Snape lingers, trailing a hand down your now-flaccid prick, pinching your inner thigh.

"It wasn't because you saved my life," he mutters.

"Nah," you agree.

You pass out, drunk and exhausted.  >> next chapter >>