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Juxtapose	By : runningwithcoyotes Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Lucius Views: 4849 -:- 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-Juxtapose
- 1
Notes: The problem with this wasn’t writing it. It was
NAMING it. Seriously, I’ve never had more problems with
coming up with a name for a story. Anyway, italics mean
thoughts. Enjoy yourselves.
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”Lucius…” the other man breathed in his ear, making him
tremble. He pushed him away.
”No.” But he persisted; wrapping his arms tight around the
blond and running his tongue over the shell of a delicate ear.
Lucius tried to repress the shudder, but failed. The man
laughed; a low, throaty sound. It made shivers run down his
spine. ”Look at me, Lucius…”
”No!” he pushed him away, violently, and tried to straighten
his clothing. ”I said no. Leave me alone.”
”You don’t mean that, Lu-ciuss” he drew out the name,
letting the last part become a hiss. Lucius loved the way this
man made his name sound; it was smooth, seducing, tempting and
bewitching. Almost like liquid sex. But he wasn’t going to
give in. Not again. He had given in so many times.
”I’m married.” he bit out. But the man only laughed.
”To a frigid bitch, my dear Lucius. A woman who took you
for your money and your name. Tell me; is she as useless
in bed as she is pretty to look at?” He turned a furious gaze
at the other.
”Do not speak like that of my son’s mother!” he hissed.
”Interesting... You refer to her as your son’s mother, not
your wife.” the man’s laughter was mocking. ”For that is all
she is, is she not – your son’s mother. And your bed is cold
and your nights are lonely and your body…” teeth scraped the
tender skin just below his chin, making him moan ”…is as
empty as your bed.”
“Stop. Please.” It was humiliating to beg like this, but
this man always made him feel so vulnerable. So needy, so
desperate. He hated that feeling. But not as much as he loved
what came from it; his lover would humiliate him in ways he
knew would make him ache with shame when he came home, early
in the morning, but ache even more with longing to do it again.
Therefore he did not protest when his clothes fell to the
floor and he was laid on the bed, trembling before his lover
like a virgin bride on her wedding night. This was ridiculous,
since he was far from innocent.
That devilish mouth painted a wet track up the inside of his
thigh, and he moaned hoarsely.
“…Don’t…” but they both knew he didn’t mean it. His mouth
might be saying no, but every other part of his being was
screaming yes. And his thighs parted in invitation and he made
a sound almost akin to a sob at the burn as the other man sank
deep into his barely prepared body. It hurt, but oh, such
delicious pain.
His face burned in humiliation, as his lover’s clothed body
covered his own, expensive fabric pressing against nude flesh.
It made him feel even more vulnerable, even more exposed, to
have his lover still mostly clothed as he rode between thighs
that welcomed him even as the mouth belonging to the same body
begged him to stop.
They both knew he didn’t mean it.
By the time his lover pulled him up on all fours, taking him
from behind like an animal, pulling roughly at his long hair
with every brutal thrust that made his body rock with the force,
he was still begging – but for more, harder, faster. And then
he was screaming, and coming, and god, he couldn’t stand it.
It hurt so much. It hurt so wonderfully. Both his body… and
his soul.
And he made no protest as he was, again, rolled on to his back,
merely wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist. The other’s
clothes had fallen to the floor, lying in a tangled heap next
to his, as their limbs tangled with each other, their bodies
meeting and moving together.
And he gazed into dark eyes glazed over with lust and pretended
it was love. And he moaned. And he begged, and he screamed in
ecstasy, his cries matching his lovers. Oh, it was beautiful.
They rolled over, again, Lucius now straddling the other man,
riding him with a frantic need that would have made him flush
with shame if he was not so lost in the pleasure this act gave
him. His back arched into an almost painful bow as his lover's
cock slammed against his sweet spot, again and again and
again. And stars were going off behind his eyes and his body
trembled and shook and it hurt and it was exquisite.
And his lover’s hands were gripping his rapidly moving hips so
hard he knew he’d be having finger-shaped bruises there for
days, and it turned him on even more if that was possible. And
his lover was sitting up and devouring his mouth and he raked
his nails down his back and they were coming together in
pleasure that was more pain and he was screaming his lover’s
name and it was…
Oh, the world was ending and being renewed and he felt as if
he was dying and being born. And he felt like a whore and he
felt like an angel and he felt used and he felt treasured. And
he thought he was going mad and then it was over and they were
lying there, trembling, as close as they could get without
actually still being joined and he knew he looked a mess,
covered in come and sweat and his hair tussled and his skin
flushed and he could feel the bruises forming on his skin and
he didn’t care.
And he looked at the man lying beside him and knew he loved
him. That there was nothing he would not do for him, even
humiliating himself like this. He wanted to say it. To scream
out, “I’ll be your whore, I’ll be your toy, use me as you will
and throw me away when you are done – if you love me, oh if
you love me, I will be anything you want.”
But his pride would not allow it. He was a pureblood, an
aristocrat, and he did not humiliate himself by begging.
Especially not a man who’d just fucked him so hard he would be
walking bow-legged for several days. Because it was just sex.
Granted, it was the best sex he’d ever had and, most likely,
would ever have – but still, their… relationship… was only
carnal. He sat up slowly, trying not to wince at the soreness
of his body.
“What are you doing?” the man still sprawled amongst the
rumpled sheets frowned at him.
“What does it look like? I’m leaving.” He pulled on his
underwear, realizing a little belatedly that they were going
to be stained by bodily fluids before he got his trousers on,
but kept dressing. He wanted out of there. Preferably before
he did something stupid. Like blurt out “I love you”. A hand
on his arm stopped him cold.
“Lucius.” He did his best not to turn around.
“What.” Arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back towards
the bed. Clever fingers undid the button in his trousers,
tugging them down his thighs.
“Stay…” he tried to resist, by Merlin he tried, but he was too
weak. Nothing mattered in this room; not his family, not his
wife’s dinner party (which he was already thoroughly late for),
not his pride, not his good name, nothing.
Nothing but the man kissing his neck, nibbling at his earlobe,
sliding in between thighs already parted in invitation. And
he closed his eyes and pretended. He pretended that this was
more than fantastic sex. That the man sliding into his aching
body, pressing him down into sweat-soaked sheets, wanted him
for more than a few hours behind closed doors.
He sighed his lover’s name, like a prayer. Like a plea. Or a
sob. Don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me anymore.
“…Severus…”
~~Fin~~

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Juxtapose