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The Other Side of the Tracks	By : Ataraxia Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Draco Views: 3044 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise and do not profit from this story.

Chapter List
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PART III

The smell of washing-up liquid invades his nostrils as Draco runs a cloth over a plate from last night's dinner, rinses it, and sets it in the draining tray to dry. Quietly, he hums the melody from some pop song that's been playing incessantly on the wireless. It's a guilty pleasure.

He jumps as he looks up and sees Snape watching him from the doorway of the small, galley kitchen.

"Major, you can't go sneaking up on a bloke like that!" he gasps, gripping the edges of the sink fiercely.

"The Lieutenant Malfoy I remember would never have allowed such an approach to escape his notice," Snape observes, crossing his arms over his chest as he shifts his weight to his right hip and leans against the doorframe.

Draco's eyes follow the lean curve of Snape's body. He is clad in new, dark-wash denims that flatter his long, lean legs, and a simple, grey v-neck sweater that exposes the very top of his collarbone. After months of seeing him clad in little more than tattered t-shirts and oversized athletic pants, the sight of a well-dressed Snape makes Draco's pulse quicken. He suddenly becomes keenly aware of the sorry state of the boxer-shorts and t-shirt he is wearing.

His eyes flicker up to the man's face, and Snape meets his gaze almost inquisitively, causing Draco to snap his attention back to the sink full of cooling dishwater.

He tries to convince himself that the warmth rising to his face is not outwardly visible, and that if it were, it could certainly not be considered a blush.

"The Lieutenant Malfoy you knew is gone," Draco admits, struggling to maintain composure. He is surprised that his voice comes out without a trace of sadness; he would have expected the sudden admission to leave him feeling a sense of loss or mourning for the man he once was.

"Probably for the best," Snape agrees, and Malfoy knows that if Major Snape didn't die on the battlefield, he died in an alley with a dirty syringe in his arm. The man standing in the doorway now is completely different from the solider he once knew.

The change is not bad.

Moments pass where the only sound is the soft swish of the dishwater punctuated by the occasional clank of dishes striking each other as they are carefully washed, rinsed and set to dry.

"I've found a flat."

Snape's words cut through the air like a knife, and Draco feels himself deflate. His hands pause over the plate in his hand and his fingernail absently starts picking at a small chip in the rim.

"Ah," Draco says, trying to keep his tone jovial. "On to bigger and better things, I presume?"

Snape snorts and shakes his head in Draco's peripheral vision. "Certainly not."

It is most likely that Snape's found a small, one-room flat in one of the more unsavoury areas of town. Draco cringes at the thought of Snape returning to the very area where he and Blaise found him that fateful day.

"Why leave, then? I mean, I know what we have here isn't much…" His teeth nervously seek his lower lip and gnaw on it for a moment before he works up the nerve to finish his sentence. "I know it's not much, but you're welcome to it. There's no reason to leave."

His eyes dart out from below his blond lashes as he peers nervously at the man in the doorway.

Why am I nervous?

Snape shifts his weight back onto his other foot and purses his lips. "I do not wish to wear out my welcome."

"You haven't. You won't."

Snape cocks an eyebrow, his expression sceptical. "I'm intruding." The statement is simple, but carries with it more feeling and explanation than a paragraph spoken by any other man.

Draco chuckles mirthlessly. "You're really not, I assure you." He rinses the plate and rests it on the rack beside its brothers before plunging his pruning fingers back into the water to retrieve a fork. He smiles as he notes the notched and dented tines; this is the same fork that Snape used his first night here. Draco runs a finger down its length as a quick vision of flaky, white fish being raised to thin lips flashes before his mind.

"Blaise and I aren't what you think, not really," the long overdue explanation begins. "We're best mates, and we're very close–"

Snape's quiet snort interrupts him.

Draco allows himself a smirk. It is a bit of an understatement. "We are close, and we do love each other, but we aren't a couple. We tried that, and it never seemed to work. So we live together and prepare meals and we occasionally fuck, but we aren't–" He struggles for the word.

"Exclusive?" Snape supplies.

"Complete," Draco whispers. "We have what we have, and it's wonderful, but it isn't... complete."

He drops the fork into the sink with a splash as Snape's fingers suddenly and unexpectedly wrap around his slender wrist. He isn't sure what happened, and how he didn't notice the man glide across the kitchen towards him, but suddenly he is there.

Soapy water drips over Snape's fingers and down Draco's arm; at his elbow, it begins its short fall to the yellowed linoleum floor. Draco peers at his wrist in confusion before dragging his gaze into the eyes of the man holding it.

They are burning. They are dark and heated in a way that Draco has never seen before. Entranced, his free hand reaches up to stroke the crow's foot that pinches the skin around Snape's eye. His fingers leave a glistening line of dishwater in their wake.

Draco is not sure, but he feels as if Snape is resisting the urge to turn his face into Draco's hand. He spares the man the indignity and opens his palm to cup the familiar face, and stroke his cheek with a pruny thumb.

Their lips meet in a kiss that is both fierce and tender, and Draco finds himself pushed against the counter so hard that its chipped, melamine edge presses uncomfortably into his spine. He doesn't mind, though, for his front is being pressed firmly into the body of Snape: his Major, his flatmate.

He moans softly into Snape's mouth, and brings one of his hands up to tangle in the long, black hair. Snape's tongue hesitantly sweeps past his lips and seeks to meet with Draco's own. Draco obliges, willingly, and gasps his appreciation as the smooth muscles touch and tease each other.

"Please," he moans. What he's pleading for he does not know, but in that moment it doesn't seem to matter. Draco can tell that neither of them want this touch to end.

Snape grunts, and it's a low, sexual noise that emanates from deep within his throat. He slides his hands under Draco's arse and lifts him easily onto the edge of the counter. When Draco's legs part, Snape pushes between them and the intensity of their kisses increases relative to the proximity of their groins.

Snape pulls off Draco's t-shirt roughly, causing the blond head to bounce against the cupboard in the process. "Sorry," he murmurs against flushed lips, and Draco accepts the apology by reaching for the slide on Snape's belt.

There is a moment of hesitance on Snape's part, and Draco is forced to remind himself that the last person to touch the man here was a john, and a violent one at that. He pushes thoughts of Snape's hospitalized, bruised body from his mind as he fingers the slide cautiously.

"Okay?" he asks, his eyes seeking permission in Snape's face.

"Yes," Snape breathes, and holds still as the thick leather slips from the buckle.

Slowly, Draco pushes the metal button through the hole in the denims before lowering the zip. The sound of each tooth sliding through the shiny brass car causes him to shiver in anticipation. Once it's open, he slides the denims down over Snape's lean hips, and pauses for only a moment to admire the snug fit of boxer-briefs, before liberating the man of his pants as well.

Snape groans softly as his straining erection is released, then quickly divests Draco of his boxers, teasing a finger delicately over his leaking tip.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his appreciation evident.

"Likewise," gasps Draco, reaching forward to wrap his fingers around Snape in a similar manner.

Their mouths meet again, hungrier this time. Their strokes are smooth and even, so well matched that their fingers graze each other's at the top of every upstroke. For some reason, that small moment of intimacy causes Draco's heart to stutter in his chest.

Snape leans forward and buries his face in Draco's neck, his breath hot and wet against the skin. Draco can feel Snape's thigh muscles twitching as they press against his own, and he knows the man is near climax. With three more deft strokes, Draco's brought him off, and Snape is grunting into his neck as his stomach is splashed with ropes of Snape's seed.

Snape's grip falters momentarily, before he regains a smooth rhythm and smirks, his hand soon covered in the lieutenant's come.

Their foreheads press together as they fight to regain their breath, neither party relinquishing their hold on the well-sated cock in each of their hands. Snape grabs the closest towel he can find and uses it to gently wipe the cooling ejaculate from Draco's belly, before cleaning his own hand.

"So–" he begins, hesitantly.

"So." Draco slides down from the counter with a smile and leads the other man down the familiar hallway to the bedroom.

SSDMBZ

Snape undresses Draco reverently, tracing his fingers across the smooth expanses of flawless, white skin. He kisses the breastbone and smiles to himself as he realizes that his lips are pressed against the very spot where his lieutenant's dog tags once laid against his skin.

Draco moans beneath him, and stumbles backwards towards the bed, pulling the half-naked Snape on top of him.

Snape hesitates as he lays above him. His eyes flicker to the empty pillow beside Draco's face, where the indentation left by Blaise's head is still visible, even this late in the afternoon.

"It's fine," Draco assures him.

Snape reaches over to flip the pillow, to remove the reminder of the man who normally shares this bed, but Draco grabs his wrist before he can complete his objective.

"No, Snape... it's fine."

Is it fine? Snape isn't sure what that means anymore, not really. His sense of morality went out the window after selling his dignity for intravenous love in corners of back alley, London streets. It has been so long since he has fucked for the pleasure of it that he is unsure of the protocol. He can't even remember the last time he allowed anyone to touch him while he was sober, and his hesitant mind is relying on his eager body to remind him exactly how it's done.

But then Draco's hands are sliding under his jumper, gently easing it up his torso and over his head. It's tossed aside casually, and the static-charged wisps of his hair attempt to follow it to where it rests on the floor. Draco smiles up at him and smoothes the errant strands, before lowering his hands to Snape's chest and abdomen.

Snape tries not to twitch as Draco's hands trace the scars that mar his body. Battle scars, all of them, though not all were earned in the hot, Middle Eastern sun. Some of the more ugly ones were earned much closer to home, in places he wishes to forget.

As Draco's lips press against a particularly nasty gash on his shoulder, a souvenir from an angry john who didn't feel he'd gotten his money's worth, it's clear he doesn't mind. Draco's tongue slowly traces the shiny, puckered scar before moving up his shoulder to his neck, and eventually his lips.

They kiss hungrily, like teenagers, and Snape notes that Draco is careful to never back him into a corner or pin him down. This unspoken understanding leaves Snape feeling cared for in a way he has not felt in decades. Despite this, he is still surprised when Draco offers himself, and is sure his reluctance shows.

"It's been quite a while." He isn't sure if he can explain that he doesn't want to hurt Draco, and right now he doesn't trust himself not to.

"It's alright," Draco says, guiding Snape's fingers to the cleft between his cheeks and coaxing them into stroking his entrance, which he has slicked with lubricant.

Cautiously, Snape sinks a long finger into Draco's body and moans as the young man writhes beneath him. With a crook of his finger and a few gentle strokes, Draco is gasping and moaning with need, his prick dripping clear fluid onto his toned belly.

Snape kisses his neck gently as he inserts a second finger, carefully stretching him, preparing him for what is to follow.

"Please!" Draco begs, working himself up and down on the two digits that currently fill him. His hand shoots to the bedside table, where he fumbles for a moment before procuring a rubber. He tears the package with his teeth and shucks it aside before deftly unrolling the latex onto Snape's hard prick.

Withdrawing his fingers from the squirming body beneath him, Snape settles himself between Draco's thighs and lines himself up, nudging the entrance experimentally before sliding in to the hilt.

Draco's scream is of ecstasy, not agony, and Snape is glad he knows the difference or he may have been terrified by the sudden burst of sound that seemed to fill the small bedroom. He crushes his lips against the open mouth beneath his own, and swallows the grunts and moans his lover makes as Snape repeatedly pumps his cock into the tight channel.

He knows he's going to come and grits his teeth to fight it; the only thing Snape wants more than sinking into that oblivion is to make sure that Draco gets there first. He reaches down and fists Draco's cock, firmly and with small twists at the head, noting with satisfaction that it is his throaty whisper that seems to throw Draco over that invisible edge.

"Come for me."

Moments later he himself is lost. His body tenses and his thrusts become irregular. With a groan, he spills himself, falling heavily onto the heaving chest of the man underneath him.

SSDMBZ

Snape hears the front door open and cracks an eyelid, just wide enough to make out the numbers on the alarm clock. It is 4:00 am. He can hear Blaise stumble down the hall, no doubt inebriated after a night on the town with his mates.

Light from the hallway spills into the room from the gap under the door, its yellow sliver widening as Blaise enters the bedroom. Snape quickly shuts his eye, and tenses slightly from where he is curled around Draco. He has no doubt that the room smells like sweat, sex and unwashed man and he knows that despite the fact that Blaise is most likely drunk, will still not fail to notice. However, Snape does hope that Blaise will fail to notice the tied-off condom dumped unceremoniously on the bedside table.

The sound of fabric brushing against itself can be heard as Blaise undresses. Snape is confused, as he is sure Blaise must know there is an intruder in his bed. Regardless, the boxspring dips, complaining loudly as it is forced to bear the weight of a third man.

A smooth hand comes to rest on Snape's hip, and he soon finds himself sandwiched between two men, enveloped in the warmth that radiates from them both. Blaise's fingers run up and down his arm, lightly tracing the tracks that litter his forearm and the otherwise soft skin in the crook of his elbow.

Draco stirs, scooting back closer into Snape – if that's even possible – and Blaise's wandering fingers leave Snape's arm to explore Draco's.

"How does it feel?"

Snape is not sure who Blaise is asking, even though the words were breathed warmly into his ear.

He opens his mouth to speak, but is saved by Draco, who answers for all of them.

"Complete."

A/N Thank you so much to my love, my beta, my best friend, lovetoseverus. You are amazing.
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The Other Side of the Tracks