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• Old Crimes Die Hard	By : Trewyn Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Lucius Views: 2841 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
  Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

• Chapter List
  • 1-Old Crimes Die Hard
• • 1
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  Old Crimes die Hard

  
  
  

  Storyteller

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  It is a strange passion of the young to invent and reinvent
  new things, new adventures. They say they get bored easily and need change,
  diversion. A new challenge to take on, a new body to
  terrorize. A different pleading look, another hoarse
  screamed voice. And this works for the young. It gives the kicks to
  their adolescent raging bodies, getting much needed release.

  
  
  

  But as you grow old, you grow weary of the effort it takes
  to find new victims. You tend to settle more easily with the familiar; the
  things you have in ready. And you find you can relish perfectly in the
  satisfaction it gives.

  
  
  

  And so, this is tale of old crimes. Old,
  delicious crimes of one luxurious body, and that of my own. A delicate entwining of bodies and of years. Youth to adulthood and beyond. The pleasure remains the
  same.

  
  
  

  You could say he keeps me young. But it would be nearer to
  the truth to say he keeps me me. Through him I never forget about the old days. I should
  remember to thank him one day.

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  I wonder sometimes, what it is like for him to teach my son.
  After all, Draco in many ways resembles my younger
  self. Would he look at him and see me, sitting in front of him, a
  self-confident grin etching the hard lines of my face?

  
  
  

  Would it be, not a class full of teenage Slytherins
  but just the two of them, the two of us? An empty classroom.
  The dark daydream taking over. The
  air thicker than before. Knowledge of the silencing
  spell on the doors and walls.

  
  
  

  “I’ve missed you.”

  
  
  

  My comment provoking instant disgust.
  No other visible reaction.

  
  
  

  Would he watch my son’s fingers as they move to cut potion
  herbs with the same feverish look he used to watch mine? My
  fingers, moving upon his flesh. Shoulders, neck, cheek. A tangling grip from which he cannot escape.

  
  
  

  “You taste like rain.”

  
  
  

  He won’t open up just yet. But my hands work, my tongue
  licks and sooner than later, the kiss deepens.

  
  
  

  There is no stopping it.

  
  
  

  Does he remember, does he? Every freaking
  day of his pathetic teacher’s existence. Remember how I pressed against
  him, whispering;

  
  
  

  “You’re not even trying to resist me.”

  
  
  

  I imagine him, in between the broiling cauldrons, his cheeks
  reddening, not from the heat. Would his trousers strain the way they did back
  then?

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  I would laugh upon hearing his whimpers. Not caring if they
  came from pain or pleasure. He would know I couldn’t care less if he were
  screaming in agony. Heaven knows he screamed when I took his virginity.

  
  
  

  Would he watch my son and feel again his own wickedness.
  Pain and pleasure were molded, blended until he became the twisted man he is
  and will ever be.

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  Until class is over. Everything is
  over. And he’s a huddled mess. Sweating, reeking and tearing.

  
  
  

  “Until next time,” I say. Pressing a last
  kiss against bruised lips. “I’ll expect you to be waiting for me.”

  
  
  

  He does not need to voice. I know he will be waiting. That
  he will not live until that next time.

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  So maybe after all, he should be thanking me. Where he gave
  me youth, I gave him life.

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  He’s an old crime. My oldest. And
  yet here I stand. I knock on his door. He opens. When he spots me, his look
  rests coldly upon my face. But I can see beyond and notice his eyes smoldering.
  I simply take a step forward.

  
  
  

  “I’ve missed you.”

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  The End

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  Thank you for reading. Please leave a review. I hope you
  liked it!

  
  
  

  Disclaimer: I do not pretend to own Harry Potter. I do not
  make money out of this.

  
  
  

  This story, however, is my own.

  
  
  

   

  
  
  

  Greetings,

  
  
  

  Storyteller.

  
  
  

                                                                                                

  
  
  
• • 1
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