written for the "sexual healing" challenge on the lj-community pornish_pixies.
Later, Sirius thought that it was a pity that it hadn't been Tonks who had been with him when he'd drunk the doctored glowwine, or that sweet-faced Hestia Jones, or even Remus, who was at least a friend. But Remus was still in Yugoslavia on a mission for the Order; the women had left with the others when the meeting concluded, and in any event it was unlikely that either of them would have recognized the symptoms and known what to do. Snape, though, had stayed to research something in one of the more occult tomes in the Black family library. The unpleasant prospect of Snape's presence for the evening was why Sirius had instructed Kreacher to bring a bottle of glowwine up from the cellars in the first place, so in a way it had been Snape's fault when Sirius took a swig, not bothering with a glass, and immediately started shaking so hard the bottle slipped out of his hand.
The crash brought Snape hurrying from the library. "For God's sake, Black, are you already so soused that --" His expression changed as he knelt beside Sirius's trembling body.
"C-c-can't hold s-s-still," Sirius ground out, his teeth chattering wildly. He could hardly force out the words.
Ignoring him, Snape bent to run a finger through the puddle of wine, then brought it to his considerable nose. "Hmm...maybe...just a bit..."
"What-t-cha b-b-blath'ring on 'bout?"
"Shut up," Snape told him as he extracted a small stone from one of the pockets of his robe. He dipped it in the wine, and it crumbled. A satisfied smile crossed his face. "Dissoluere. A Death Eater favourite."
"K-k-k --"
But before he could finish his sentence (which was meant to be, Kreacher, you treacherous bastard), Snape had got up and left. The git. Probably going to leave him here to tremble and shake, until...until what? Dissoluere, he'd called it. That didn't sound good. He imagined his organs shaking until they liquefied, his insides pouring out to mix with the puddle of adulterated wine. He imagined --
A glass was shoved under his mouth. "Spit," instructed Snape.
"Wh --"
"Spit." With difficulty he managed to get a little saliva into his mouth and then into the glass.
"Now your arm." He had no control but Snape grasped his shaking arm, holding it tightly with one arm and -- fuck, was that a butcher knife? He tried to pull away but Snape tightened his grip and made a neat cut across his wrist with the wicked-looking blade. Blood dripped into the glass to join the spittle at the bottom; the sight made his stomach churn.
And then Snape reached into his robes, and his nausea doubled. He tried to bat Snape's hands away, but his bleeding arm refused to obey him. "The f-f-fuck, Snape?"
"I'm trying to save your life here, idiot." Snape's long, thin fingers rolled across his limp cock. "Think about Desiree Dillybottom. Or whoever you think of when you wank."
Sirius slumped back against the wall, closing his eyes, allowing it to happen. Desiree Dillybottom, all right. He tried to think of the magazine picture, Desiree smiling and moving her filmy robes back and forth across her naked breasts, a wispy panel covering and uncovering the heart-shaped patch of hair...but then an image of Snape intruded, sallow skin and hooked nose, and his erection deflated despite the stroking fingers.
He heard Snape mutter irritably, and then -- "Oh!" An incoherent cry was wrenched from him as wet warmth descended on his cock, a tongue probing and stroking, soft caresses to his balls and the skin of his inner thighs, his thighs that were jerking and shaking from the poison but still felt every touch, every rasp of Snape's stubbled chin. Oh God, Snape's mouth was on his cock, and he couldn't imagine what that must be costing him, Snape who hated him, and why the fuck wasn't he just leaving him to die here, instead of sucking at the head of his prick and dipping his tongue under the foreskin, oh God, just like that, how the fuck did he know how to do that?
No, don't think of Snape, he told himself. Think of Desiree Dillybottom's empty come-hither smile, think of Tonks and her pink lips, think of Hestia's curved hips and softly rounded breasts that you could just see the tops of under the neckline of her robe. Imagine those lips that were gently sucking along the underside of his cock, his fully-hard and eager cock, yes, those lips belong to a beautiful woman with honey-coloured hair softly sweeping across his thighs, yes, thrust into that lovely mouth, yes, yes, oh...
And then the lovely warm mouth was suddenly gone and he was spurting into a glass held by long, stained fingers, with Snape's voice, deep with irony, ringing in his ears: "Well done, Black."
Shaking, he watched as Snape tipped three drops of something into the glass and muttered an incantation, something complex that he couldn't follow. The contents of the glass smoked and swirled, and he felt a sudden odd pull against his body. There was a tug at his groin; droplets of blood flew from his wrist; he felt the urge to spit, and watched as the saliva described an unnatural arc toward the glass, all the fluids combining and smoking and swirling together, and he watched, mesmerized, not aware until after the last tendril of spell-smoke had dissipated that he was no longer trembling.
"This is the part," said Snape, "where you thank me for saving your life."
Right. He looked up; Snape had a strange glassy look, his lips still wet and unusually red, his shoulders set and tense. His robes were in disarray, and Sirius could see...oh, fuck. Snape hadn't been revolted by what he'd done, had he. The hard bulge against his robes spoke volumes.
Sirius shuddered. He should be a gentleman. He should offer. He should.
He met Snape's eye. "Goodnight, Snape. And thank you for saving my life." Pulling himself awkwardly to his feet, he headed up the stairs and did not look back.
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http://hieroglyfics.net/hp/cure.htm | written April 2004 by Isis