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Fire Eyes	By : starstruck86 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Sirius Views: 3487 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Fire Eyes
- 1
Title: Fire Eyes (written for hp_rarities on
Livejournal)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s):
Severus/Sirius
Summary: Power can be dangerous if the fire
dies.
Warning(s): Breath play, D/s, masturbation, angst,
set during OOTP.
Word Count: ~2,925
Author's Notes:
With great thanks to my betas S & Kfor the marvellous job and
helping me keep these two in line!

Fire Eyes

“Are we still playing this game?” Sirius raised
his eyebrows in surprise.

There was no answer, but then he
had not expected one. The old walls of Grimmauld Place were quiet
around them, all other occupants currently to be found in the kitchen
for dinner. The Order meeting had been dull, with very little by
means of progression. The knock on the door and the man in front of
him were just what Sirius needed for a spark of life.

“It's
been a few months,” he tried again, letting a smirk play about
his lips. “I thought you'd forgotten me.”

“How
could I forget filth like you?” Snape's voice was cold.

“Filth
you can't let go,” Sirius countered with a shrug of his
shoulders.

He looked up and met the man's eyes, which seemed
darker than he last remembered them -certainly darker than they had
looked over the wide kitchen table only minutes before. The stiffness
of Severus Snape's body was obvious; it was in the rigid spine, the
fixed shoulders and his level chin. The blatant pride forced Sirius
to take a step forward, to point out to Snape that, no matter how
long he had held out, he had still eventually given in.

Moving slowly across the carpet, recently restored by the
woman cooking her heart out in his kitchen, Sirius kept his tread
light and his eyes glued to Snape's face. He supposed the technical
term for his movements was prowling, and enjoyed it as he neared the
thin body. He stepped close, directly into the other man's personal
space. A flash of fire in onyx eyes gave him his first stab of
satisfaction.

Leaning in, so that the fabric of his shirt
caressed plain black robes, Sirius simply stared. Snape said nothing
and Sirius allowed his lips to curl into the taunting smile he saved
only for the man he loathed. Keeping his face turned, Sirius slowly
began to circle him.

“Always so proud and straight...”
he said softly. “Just like the first time. Do you remember that
night?”

There was no answer, so he continued.

“I
remember,” Sirius whispered. “Your awful dress robes.”

He reached out and trailed a finger across the span of
Snape's shoulders as he passed.

“The grease in your
hair.”

Snape's head jerked back as he reached for a
lock of it.

“The smell of your skin.”

Sirius
took a step closer.

“The look in your eyes.”

Thin lips parted and there Sirius found the proof that his
intimidation had worked. The tremor in Snape's breath would have been
unnoticeable, had he not been waiting for it. Sirius thrived on that
tremor -it sent a charge down his spine and pushed him to continue.

The first time, as teenagers, he had been forced to look down
into those dark eyes, but now, as men, they stood matched in height
and stature.

It changed nothing. He reached up with his
fingers and laid the index and middle digits over Snape's lips. They
were soft beneath his skin, surprisingly so, but the softness was not
the point. He pressed with the tips, forcibly keeping the upper and
the bottom together.

“Silence, as always,” he
warned in a mutter.

Snape's compliance came in his muteness.

“Good boy,” Sirius laughed. “You always did
like to follow...” he trailed the two fingers down so they hung
on Snape's bottom lip before he moved them over a cleanly shaven chin
and traced the line of his windpipe. In a quick movement he wrapped
his entire hand around as much of the base as he could, pressing in
gently. Snape barely flinched. “Silence... good, that's
good...”

Sirius did nothing then; he chose to simply
stand there and look into Snape's eyes, keeping the light pressure he
had exerted constant on the wizard's throat. He held him suspended in
silence, feeling the slight expansion of the muscles beneath his
fingers as Snape breathed steadily in and out. When that steadiness
began to annoy him, he tightened his grip.

Slowly he
increased the pressure, noting the way his own knuckles began to
bleach white and the way pale skin strained beneath his touch.
Eventually, when he was marking and his own tendons had begun to
ache, Snape's thin lips parted and the small gasp of air he took was
tellingly loud in the quiet room.

Sirius immediately
slackened his grip and pulled back his hand.

“I think
that, tonight,” he plucked at his shirt, as though pulling away
a loose thread. “You should be naked, Snape. Just because of
the length of time you left it before coming to me.”

Moving
very obviously, Sirius locked the door to the room and spelled the
Floo connection shut. He then turned his eyes expectantly to the
man's face, cocking his head slightly with measured impatience. He
watched as long, thin fingers rose and begin to flit over the
multitude of buttons. He had no interest in seeing the body slowly
being revealed. He simply enjoyed making Snape strip.

When
the fabric fell away, revealing milk-white skin and dark body hair,
Sirius fixed his eyes on the long cock and smiled.

“You
came here with a purpose this evening,” he commented. “Didn't
even put underwear on, I see. Whore. On your knees.”

The
man fell like a sheet of ice, his knees making a dull thud on the
carpet as they landed. Sirius watched the dark, greasy head bow, the
miserable face turn to the floor, and smiled. Warmth unfurled in the
pit of his belly as he reflected, as he always did, that Severus
Snape was the only man to ever have bowed at his feet. The power was
extreme as it began to course through him, as he stood there looking
at the oily hair which looked no different to that first time, when
they were nought but boys. Sirius had always found himself at odds:
he loved a man, but that man could not give him the power of
dominance that he craved. Remus was powerful when he needed to
be, and with that wolf inside him, there was no doubt that he needed
to be.

Consequently, Sirius had been forced to look elsewhere
for his kicks. He had never expected them to come from such a
surprising source.

The first time, he had felt the cool stone
of Hogwarts at his back, keeping him upright. Perversely it had given
him the strength to push forward, to grab the Slytherin's slender
body before him and slam it into position.

Although he was
used to the meetings, he was used to the prolonged intimidation and
the power and the resultant trip, he knew he would never get over his
surprise at what Severus had asked him to do. He would have merely
been content with being dominant, forcing what was then a pallid,
stringy teenager down onto his knees to act on Sirius' command. But
Severus had wanted more, and Sirius had given it.

“I
need you to... choke me...” The tentative and shamed voice
played in his mind.

“What?”

“As
you... I want you to...”

Sirius clearly recalled
the moment where Snape had given up on his faltering words and simply
reached out, with shaking fingers, to pick up his hand. He had lifted
it high, his own spindly digits wrapped around Sirius' wrist, and
placed it at his throat.

“You're sick.”

Sirius had meant those words when he had uttered them, as an
eighteen-year-old being transferred power over his most loathed
enemy. But, as they had moved against the rough wall, rutting; as he
had crept his hands into private places and kept them there with
force, Sirius had unflinchingly prepared himself to do what the other
boy asked, though why, he had never quite deduced.

When the
boy returned, asking for more, and continued to come as a man until
he could come no more, blocked by the walls of Azkaban, Sirius
ignored his mind's questions. Locked in prison, he forced the
memories back, in case they were stolen. The few times he allowed
himself to examine them, they made him shiver, grow hard and finish.
After prison, after revelation, when Snape could come back again,
Sirius waited, ready to make new memories.

There was no doubt
that they still loathed one another. Nothing had changed, yet neither
had their secret.

As he pulled a handkerchief from his
pocket, he thought about how very badly their evening could turn. It
could always go wrong. The danger of pulling too tight, too
long, the thrill of the reality that the wizard in his grip could die
from his actions -the fatal thoughts sent a throb to his groin. With
a twisted smile on his face, Sirius spoke.

“Look up.”

He transfigured the cotton in his hand into a thin length of
black satin and began to run it through his fingers. He saw Snape's
eyes follow the movement and kept it up, repeating over and over
until the air between them was thick with tension. With graceful
quiet, he knelt down before Snape and ceased his taunting.

“Hands
behind your back.”

Snape immediately complied. Sirius
knew how those slender, brewing-stained hands would be folded at the
wrist, palms outward. He bound them there with a flick of his wand.
He did not miss the shiver which passed through Snape's body.

“Ready?” he asked, and moved forward anyway, not
waiting for an affirmative -Snape's very presence was that. Or, at
least, it was enough for Sirius.

“Look up,” he
snapped, realising that the onyx gaze had fallen to the carpet again.
“I want you to look me in the eye tonight, Snape.”

An
indignant blush blossomed onto pale cheeks and he smirked, reaching
forward with the satin to loop it once around what was, still, a
rather thin and delicate neck. He took hold of either end and pulled
it taut enough that the material lay flat to the skin and stood out
in a vivid stripe of black.

He said nothing and did nothing,
leaving Snape to hang in the midst, waiting for the first shift, the
first pull of the fabric. He watched the man's face, looking directly
into his eyes, searching for the first sign of frustration in the
dark. There had been times when Sirius had taunted too long and
resultantly there was a longer period of time before they met again.

As much as the particular quirk was Snape's, Sirius would
never openly confess that he needed it.

He tugged without
warning, tightening the fabric and lifting his chin to match Snape's
when it rose in involuntary response. He let his lips tighten into a
scowl, leaving the man in no doubt as to what he thought of his
physical appearance. Thin, pale, stringy -Severus Snape had grown
into a man, but in Sirius' mind, he wasn't much of one; a weed
struggling to grow in dingy light, as he had often proclaimed in
their youth.

He didn't want to consider what his unchanging
opinion made him.

The greasy hair repulsed him. The
sallow skin was warmed by both candlelight and a blush from the
exertion of their meeting, and yet, still, Sirius could find no
attraction within it. No attraction, of course, but the power which
thumped through his veins as he tightened the strip of fabric.

“Not
tight enough yet?” he dropped his eyes down, seeing the
swelling prick bobbing between them. “Not dangerous enough?”

He rose up on his knees and tugged harder, holding Snape's
gaze, which followed him up. With his head tipped back, Snape gave a
low, choking moan as the pressure finally began to show in his eyes.
Sirius watched, seeing the usually clear onyx fight to stay in focus.
The furious fire which always shone there -at least, always shone
there when Snape looked in his direction- was dampened, the
remaining shine in the firelight a weak imitator of the usual hatred.

Another moan slipped between Snape's parted lips, and Sirius
smirked. “That's it,” he crooned wickedly. “Let go,
Snape...”

And then, because he could, he ducked his
head and ghosted his lips over the parted ones, which flung wide in
protest. Snape futilely sucked at the air, a gaping fish out of
water, whilst Sirius pulled harder at what bound his throat.

Moving
forward, Sirius shifted one thigh so that it pressed into Snape's
groin. The erection blazed through his trousers, hot and wanton, and
he rubbed as best as he could, trying to retain his balance.

“You
like that, don't you? Rutting against my knee like a randy teenager?”
he laughed into the man's face, making sure that his breath danced
fully over the flushed skin. He saw beads of sweat on a creased brow.
A low whine was his warning.

Snape inched closer to the end
and Sirius held fast, unrelenting, gently rubbing with his thigh.

“You always think I'll stop,” he whispered,
locking eyes. “What if I didn't? What if right now I kept on
pulling,” a tiny squeak escaped Snape's mouth. “And let
you go?”

His words hovered in the air, he saw Snape's
torso sway slightly, and knew the game was up. He quickly took both
ends of the strip in one hand, keeping the pressure tight, and flung
the other down between them to grasp Snape's long and dripping cock.
He pumped up and down and then, as hips bucked pathetically forward,
he let go of everything -the satin, the throbbing penis in his palm-
and threw himself back on his heels to see the man's ruined orgasm
spurt over his thighs and drip onto the floor.

There couldn't
have been any pleasure in the climax, not with the stimulation being
removed so closely to the finish, and Sirius watched Snape's face
crumple in desperation, watched his lips part and heard the cry of
dissatisfaction as the man fought for his returning breath.

With
a slow exhalation, Sirius rose to his feet and stood in front of the
shivering body. Dispelling the binds on Snape's wrists, he stepped
around him, heading for a dresser to the side of the room which
housed a good selection of spirits on top. He picked up an expensive
decanter and worked the crystal lid free, before raising it to his
lips and taking a large mouthful of the whiskey inside. He hissed as
it burned, sliding down his throat and sending him crashing back to
earth.

The euphoria of the power began to fade; with his
second mouthful it dwindled, with the third it was clinging by a
thread, the fourth, which made his eyes swim, eviscerated it
completely. When he set the ornate glass down with a loud slam, he
was Sirius Black again, and there was a naked and mentally
incapacitated Severus Snape on his drawing room floor.

He
reached for a glass and poured a large measure into the bottom, and
walked back to where he had left the huddled wreck. He crouched down
and pushed the glass into loose fingers. They tightened and he
stepped away again, simply waiting.

It never took long for
Snape to collect himself. The whiskey was consumed in two succinct
mouthfuls, and the rasping breath was quickly quieted. Then came the
rustling sounds of fabric lifting and being smoothed into place with
buttons slipping through buttonholes, followed by the clunk of boots
being replaced on long, slim feet and being speedily laced.

Sirius
turned then, to meet the man's eyes. He folded his hands primly in
front of him and raised his eyebrows.

“You ask me why I
am never afraid,” Snape said suddenly, surprising Sirius. There
were never normally words. “But that is because your threat is
nothing. If you pull and refuse to stop, I have nothing to lose. You,
however, have everything.”

An infuriatingly smug sneer,
much like the one which had graced Sirius' own lips for better part
of their meeting, tore up Snape's face. There was a soft inclination
of his greasy head, and then the man strode, strongly and completely
healthily, to the door. In a second he was gone.

“You
son of a whore,” Sirius hissed beneath his teeth, feeling
robbed of his glory. He stooped to the floor and picked up the
neglected tumbler. Without a second thought he raised it and flung it
at the wall, enjoying the satisfying shatter of glass it produced as
it crumbled.

With his chest heaving, Sirius stormed to the
door, hating that Snape had been awarded the last word, the last win.

It was only the fact that he knew there would be a next time,
another game to win, which calmed Sirius as he walked through
the cold hallways of Grimmauld Place, ready to rejoin warmth again.
- 1
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Fire Eyes