WARNING: This is a slash story, which means it contains male/male erotic content involving consenting adults. If you're not of legal age or are offended by such material, please go find something else to read.

TITLE: Party's Just Begun
AUTHOR: Seeker
E-MAIL: seeker@meowmail.com
PAIRING: SS/multiple (SS/RL/SB, SS/HP/DM, SS/AD)
RATING: NC17
DISCLAIMER: no harm, no foul
SUMMARY: Marty Sue is thwarted.
NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest (Snape/multiple pairing)

It had been a long day on both sides of the divide between reality and fantasy.

Severus Snape, most feared professor in all of Hogwart's, wanted nothing more than a nice, dead-quiet, utterly solitary evening with a cup of hot tea, a few chocolate biscuits and the newest issue of the Journal of the British Potioners Association. He'd seen some articles in it he'd taken exception to and he looked forward to sitting back, relaxing, and laughing at the results of the experiments of those arrogant and foolish enough to think themselves his peers. After a hard day dealing with moronic children, he found it profoundly satisfying jeering at moronic adults.

Fate had something ... completely different in store for him.

On the other side of the dividing line, and not the side one might think, Seeker scratched the rambunctious ginger kitten behind the ear and sighed. "I know, Dandan, but it's hell week. One more day and all the grant funds will be spent, and I can do something other than work like a dog." Spit, hiss, very fluffy tailed-response. "Er, sorry. Didn't mean to bring up Sirius." A deep-throated yowl. "Or Remus, for that matter." Golden yellow eyes smiled. "Yeah, I have a soft spot for the werewolf too." Another scritch, a blissful purr, and the fur was settled.

The evening's plans weren't. After a hard day busting balls (others' as well as his own) Seeker was ready to play. The problem was there was no one with whom TO play. Clark and Lex were off in a corner snogging so hard it was a wonder Lex's lips, at least, didn't explode. Blair wasn't allowed in the house until Dandan forgave the Wolf for stealing her kitty treats, and Jim wouldn't come in if Blair was stuck out in the outhouse. Uhm, dog house. From the yelps and moans that erupted from them on a regular basis, he didn't think the pair was too unhappy about their exile. Legolas was off polishing his bow and Aragorn was somewhere in Washington State communing with the trees. Boromir was still dead. There was always Daniel, but he was sulking since being summarily ascended; besides, Jack was too busy being stoic to be any fun, and Teal'c was kel-no-reeming like a madma-, er, mad Jaffa in the corner, so that playpen was not the place to be.

And his boyfriend was working late.

The werewolf gave him an idea. It had been a little while since he'd tormented Snape. And he had that new laptop he wanted to test drive, the one that should have been for work had work not imploded. He'd been told by the salesperson, with a wink, that it had magic in it, and he'd laughed. She hadn't. Just smiled.

In retrospect, that should have made him nervous. As it was, he happily unpacked, plugged in, loaded up, and fiddled with his new wondrous machine. Then he propped his feet up, scritched DanDan one last time behind the ear ... and touched the keys.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzap!

Woah. That had been a hell of a jolt. Seeker pried fingers from keyboard and looked around. No glowing green rocks. No transgenics. No mutants. Not even a stray black hole, so there were none of the hallmarks of any of the universes in which he normally played. Just his flat, his cat, and the almost subliminal buzz rising from the laptop. He blinked. Reached out for the ever-present can of diet coke at his side. One hand wrapped around the metal can; the other returned to the keyboard.

Cat and flat disappeared. The buzz remained.

Blinking at the dimly lit dungeon where a moment before there had been a light-filled seaside room, he gazed stupidly at the can in his hand, then at the laptop still sitting on his lap, although he himself was now sitting on the floor.

"Wild," he muttered. "Wonder where they got the mushrooms on my salad today. Thought they were Japanese; maybe not."

Gingerly setting can and computer aside, Seeker got up and did what he always did. He poked. Peered into corners. Opened drawers.

Grinned at the black lace undies and leather restraining devices in the bottom drawer. "Huh, he puts his stuff in the same place I put mine. Cool." For now he knew, of course, where he'd landed when he'd touched the computer port key, powered by the Diet Coke, guided by his preoccupation with a certain hook-nosed, lank-haired, velvet-voiced Slytherin sex master.

He was in Snape's place. He was Seeker.

It was time for sex.

<><><><><><><>

The evening didn't get off to a good start. Having gathered biscuits, tea and journal, Snape plopped with a lack of grace never seen in public across the seat of an overstuffed chair, throwing one leg over the arm and balancing the plate of biscuits on his knee. Blowing on his tea to cool it while browsing through his evening's entertainment, he was disconcerted when a ginger cat suddenly apparated out of nowhere and landed in his lap.

Biscuits went one way, tea another, journal a third, as Snape contorted into a pretzel in his attempt to protect his privates from the clawed paws of one extremely freaked-out kitten.

He was unsuccessful.

He also shrieked like a girl.

At which point Snape peeled himself off the ceiling and the kitten dove beneath the chair, complaining bitterly in cattese that she was the most massively abused animal on the face of the earth and SOMEONE was going to pay.

"Right, it's not my fault you landed on me, I didn't invite you!" Snape sniped back. It was a well-kept secret that there were other kinds of animal talkers besides Parseltongues. Felinotongues were almost as rare. Since they were also almost exclusively female, single, eccentric, and had the reputation of being soft hearted cute fur-lovers, Snape made damned sure nobody but Dumbledore knew of his talent.

Well, Dumbledore and Black. But since he'd sicced a pack of rabid house cats on the bastard, Black wasn't about to mess with Snape on THAT score again. It had taken three months for the scratches to heal the last time.

Muttering snarky answers to every one of the kitten's whines, until he realized the kitten could top every answer, he gave up and stalked into the washroom to clean up the spilt tea and biscuit crumbs that had flown everywhere when he'd, ah, been startled. He refused to think of the girly scream. Stripping down to his skin, since the bloody crumbs had gotten EVERYWHERE, he caught up a cloth and ran some hot water. At least the sound of the water drowned out the worst of the kitten's bitching.

Wandering back out to the main room, starkers, one hand running the cloth between his legs to clean out clinging crumbs whilst the other held his balls out of the way, he was startled all over again to hear "SON OF A BITCH!". He stopped dead, head popping up to stare at the stranger in Muggle clothes standing in the middle of his dungeon floor.

Drooling. With a truly lecherous expression on his otherwise completely nondescript face. His eyes were fixed on Snape's hands. Snape looked down.

Rather, his eyes were fixed on what Snape's hands held. By pushing his balls out of the way to wash his thighs, Snape's prick was pushed sideways, and at the moment appeared to be staring straight back at the stranger. Snape shuddered. Pulled the cloth away from his skin so quickly he nearly gave himself cloth rope burn, and spread the pitiful square of cotton as far over his genitals as it would go.

"Do you MIND?" he snarled. "This is ridiculous! First I'm assaulted in my own rooms by a cat appearing out of nowhere, and now I'm ogled by a complete stranger! DO have the decency to turn your back if you will not leave!"

"Decent?" the man mumbled vacantly. "Never been accused of that before."

Snape glared even more murderously. The man, average height, average weight, hazel eyes, mouse brown hair, average everything in fact, continued to stare back. A bemused smile was growing on the average face. It was too much.

"Leave!" he commanded. "This instant!"

"No."

That prompted an "Accio wand!" and an instant later Snape fried the bastard.

Or tried to.

Instead, ropes, of all things, shot out of the end of his wand. Waved in the air midway between them, then made an abrupt U-turn and wrapped around him. The stranger smirked.

The smirk, at least, was not average. It was, in fact, evil. Snape's wand fell to the floor. "What --- how the bloody --- I can't bel---" he sputtered.

"Hush," the man murmured. A ball gag appeared.

In Snape's mouth.

"Why would I want to leave now, when the party's just beginning?" He reached down and picked up the wand from where it had rolled across the floor, landing against the toe of his average brown boot. Humming a fragment of lyric "the party's just begun, the party's just begun," until the monotony of the song nearly drove Snape into a frenzy, the man walked over. Pulled the scrap of cloth away from Snape's genitals, the friction making Snape jerk and moan, and ran one finger very gently beneath Snape's balls. "Welcome to fantasy land, Snapey-babe."

Snape's eyes bulged. His tongue fought the ball pressing it down, and his body wriggled (delightfully) trying to escape.

"Oh, fight it. Please," the man urged, eyeing the shimmying body appreciatively. "Won't do a bit of good." He stepped closer, until he was an inch away from Snape, and looked up the three inches necessary to look into Snape's eyes. "You're mine tonight. The Festival Gods have so decreed." He reached up and brushed the hair away from Snape's face, lingering against his cheek for a moment before pulling regretfully away. "While I can't have you myself, since such lines between universes cannot be crossed without dire consequence --"

Snape blinked, the only way he had left to show his extreme relief. At least the man knew the basics of inter-universal dimensional travel for fictional purposes and wouldn't ignorantly provoke a chain reaction of collapsing dimensional vortexes by shagging Snape himself. Snape had heard of that happening, once, in a universe called Professionals, and the progeny from that catastrophe had been plaguing universes ever since. He never wanted to be placed in the position of birthing the dreaded MS. Bodie was still trying to live it down thirty years later, but Doyle wouldn't let him.

"-- there are plenty of people here who've been dying to get under your robes for years."

Snape gargled. Looked as pitiful as he knew how, and since he was naked, tied up, gagged and slowly freezing his arse off in the drafty dungeon, that was pretty darned pitiful. The man smiled, even more evilly than he smirked.

"I am the Seeker, and you are Snape, and we will have sex in this space," he proclaimed.

Snape was still rolling his eyes when the seeker -- and didn't THAT just figure, that the one tormenting him should be named after Potter's Quidditch position --

"Hey!" the man interrupted his indignant thoughts. "I'll have you know I was Seeker before I even read the books! For philosophical reasons! And the only reason I'm IN this universe is because I saw the blasted movie and you were too damned sexy to ignore!"

Caught between consternation that his tormentor was apparently psychic and a hint of smugness that it was his undoubted charms that had seduced the man into HP fandom, Snape was unprepared for what happened next.

Seeker snapped his fingers. It appeared whatever universe he came from didn't need wands. Snape would have felt vaguely envious, but he was too busy trying not to throw up after having been rushed at the speed of light over to the bed, tipped and spread-eagled upon it, then bound again as the ropes morphed into chains and attached themselves from his limbs to the four corners of the ridiculously large bed that hadn't been there a moment ago. Seeker blushed.

"Uh, sorry 'bout the speed thing. Been watching Lex watch Clark too much lately."

Utter gibberish. The man was mad. Snape flexed uselessly against the manacles, showing off his muscles nicely but not getting an nth closer to escape. Seeker's eyes glazed over and he started to drool again. God, he was as bad as a dog.

As if his thought summoned action, Seeker got that bloody smile again. The door to the dungeon opened.

Sirius Black bounded in.

Stopped dead in his tracks, the angry expression on his face melting into something much like Seeker's vacant look. The corners of his mouth lifted. So did the front of his robe. "For me?" he asked breathlessly, not bothering to glance Seeker's way.

"Yup, but you have to share."

Black growled. Snape yelled obscenities, but the only sound heard from around the ball gag was a muffled, "Mmmrrrrrg!" Seeker nodded. The door swung open again.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," Remus Lupin murmured distractedly as he wandered in. "Full moon's not for another ten days and Holy Mother of God." He stumbled to a stop next to Sirius. His eyes, fixed on Snape, rounded. His tongue licked once round his lips then forgot to return to his mouth, hanging out slightly like a, well, wolf scenting fresh meat.

"Grrrrrrrryip!" His eyes flashed gold. His hands moved in a blur. In less time than it took to think it, he was naked and crouched over Snape, licking him from one nipple to the other and growling under his breath. A moment later, he looked up long enough to bark, "Sirius! Get your ass over here!" then went back to licking.

Snape started squirming. An instant later, with a definitely dog-like yelp, Black was naked and crouched facing the opposite direction, licking along the join of Snape's thigh and groin. His mouth met up with Lupin's somewhere over Snape's navel.

By this time Snape's struggles had nothing to do with escaping, and everything to do with getting closer.

Magic chains being what they were, it was no surprise that they had just enough give for his attackers --er, lovers -- to shift him over to his side without giving him enough chain to choke either of them, had he actually wanted to get away. More lusty licking followed, until he'd had a tongue bath from his ankles to his head on both sides. He wasn't sure what made him the most insane: Lupin nibbling his knees, sucking his balls, biting his throat, nipping his ear; Black nuzzling his nape, licking a trail down his spine, biting his calf, spending an obscene amount of time French-kissing his arsehole; or the fact that he was thoroughly enjoying all of it.

It got worse, or better, depending from which side of insanity one viewed the situation. Lupin took Snape's testicles in his mouth and proved that his monthly forays into canine life were comprised of more than blood-thirst and self-mutilation. Wolves were, after all, dogs, and spent quite a lot of time licking themselves. Lupin proved to be a master at it. Had it not been for the fact that one of the links in the chain had expanded to enclose his sac, then tightened again to make an effective barrier against orgasm, Snape would have come like a freight train from Lupin's dexterous tongue snaking about his perineum.

Black was no slouch in the genital-licking arena either. He practically set up camp at Snape's hole, tongue working it like a pro (or someone who'd spent twelve years as a dog in a hell-hole trying to resist the joy-eating presence of the Dementors with no other way to make himself feel better). Snape had never been tongue-fucked so skillfully, even by Lucius, who had always been the king of the arse kissers for as far back as Snape could remember. Literally as well as figuratively. In and around, plying the muscle so sweetly, softening resistance, sealing his mouth around the hole and coaxing the inner flesh further and further out, creating a vacuum that had Snape sobbing soundlessly to be fucked or fisted or anything, ANYTHING to appease the ache in his arse. He felt like he was dying.

So, of course, Lupin and Black had to drag it out. Mouths meeting between Snape's thighs for leisurely kisses, exchanging tastes before returning to his prick and arsehole respectively, they kept him hovering on the edge of the abyss for days, subjectively, and a damned good hour, objectively. Snape thrashed between them, whining like the needy bitch he was, aching, begging for more.

Black gave in before Lupin did. Remus was still playing with Snape's foreskin, chewing on it, sharp-edged teeth driving Snape round the bend, prodding the pee slit with the end of his tongue, when Black steadied Snape's hips with his hands and wedged just the tip of his prick in Snape's grasping hole. It sucked at the prick greedily, desperate to be filled, and Black moaned appreciatively. He didn't move.

The moan must have been some sort of cue for Lupin, because he stopped teasing and dove on Snape's prick like it was a tasty sausage roll. A large swollen leaking-wet sausage roll, at that. Lupin gurgled and sucked, angling his head to take the prick right down his throat, then holding it there and swallowing around it. Snape whimpered, clear as a bell despite the gag.

With a teeth-gritted "Fuck!" Black fed his arse another inch of prick, then rocked ever-so-gently back and forth. The angle and the shallow penetration kept Snape's hole stretched, added a tiny amount of friction without letting the muscle relax, and Snape screamed at him to get on with it. What actually sounded in the room was a whine of immense frustration. Black laughed.

If Snape hadn't been chained, and so desperate to be fucked he could taste it, he'd've murdered the bastard.

Lupin upped the ante then. He slid up until only the end of Snape's prick was between his lips, then slid all the way down again, his hands busily working Snape's balls, until even the improvised cock ring wasn't keeping it all back. A trickle of spunk squirted out, and Lupin hummed. Snape's entire body spasmed.

"Shite!" Black yelped, sounding as if someone had stepped on his tail rather than squeezed his prick, and jolted forward another couple inches. It burned, and Snape rocked as far back as he could, in a frenzy to get the rest of that lovely cock stuffed up his arse. Black did the best he could, but Snape would not be denied, particularly with Lupin huffing and sucking and humming away on his unsteadily squirting prick. With a resigned, "t'hell with it," Black pushed forward the rest of the way, and Snape wriggled happily. "Bitch," Black mumbled into Snape's hair as he started to saw back and forth.

He could say anything he damned well wanted as long as he kept fucking, Snape tried to tell him. The bulk of the ball pressing into his tongue was one more delicious weight now, and the inability to say anything was by that point a blessing. His entire body was coated with sweat, he could feel drool dripping down the corners of his mouth around the gag, he could hear the squelch of sweat and saliva and pre-come both where Black was fucking him and Lupin was sucking him, and if he'd been able to say a word, the only one he'd've been able to come out with would be, "YES!"

Just as well he couldn't. The twosome were insufferable enough as it was.

The tension and the frustration and the sensation built until a human body, even a wizardly one, could no longer sustain it, and Snape's world exploded. The link around his balls gave, and he came, howling clearly around the gag, pumping his come down Lupin's greedily swallowing throat. Black gave him no quarter, fucking him hard all the way through his climax, and Lupin kept sucking even when there was nothing more to give. Snape twitched as if he was connected to live wires, pleasure and pain mixing until he couldn't tell the difference and didn't care as long as it continued.

His prick was sore to the point of exquisite torture when Black suddenly humped hard against him and shot. Lupin STILL kept sucking, even then, and Snape found himself clenching everywhere, a reaction that was much appreciated by Black, if the anguished, "God, yes, Severus!" and the bruising clasp on his hips were to be believed. Only after Black finally collapsed against his back did Lupin stop sucking. With a final kiss to the flinching tip, he allowed the abused prick to fall against Snape's thigh.

Reaching up, shifting himself along the mattress until he could kiss Black over Snape's shoulder, Lupin then unlatched the gag from Snape's mouth. Propping a knee against the pillow, he held Snape's jaw open and shoved his prick carefully into Snape's drool-soaked mouth. With a blissful sigh, he pushed gently, fucking Snape's mouth, then harder, into his throat. It took very little time for him to come.

Snape swallowed. It was the least he could do, considering the incredible job they'd done on him. Besides, Lupin tasted good. Not that he'd ever tell him that.

When Lupin had finished, he pulled his spent prick from Snape's mouth and carelessly wiped it with a handful of Snape's hair. Snape would have glared at him, but a glare would require energy he simply didn't have, and besides ... it was sexy. Disgusting if Black had done it, but sexy when Remus did. That applied to almost everything Black and Lupin did, Snape admitted to himself, including breathing. Black stirred against his back.

Not including fucking.

Then Lupin kissed him, and Snape was surprised enough to allow it. With a final swipe of tongue against his lips, mingling Snape's taste with his own, Lupin rose from the bed. He extended a hand to Black, who needed the help clambering away from mattress. Happily Black didn't try to kiss him, or Snape would have had to bite him, and he didn't want to lose the taste of Remus so quickly.

Lupin and Black staggered out past Seeker, as if he were invisible, and continued to stagger out the door. Snape relaxed against the mattress, surreptitiously rubbing his messy, stretched, delightfully achey arse against the sheets. Blinking up limpidly at Seeker, he smiled, showing teeth.

"Now you've had your fun," he refused to give the man the satisfaction of admitting he'd enjoyed it too, regardless of how obvious his body had made his enthusiasm during the act, "let me go and go away."

"Nope," Seeker told him, albeit a tad breathlessly. "That was only round one."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Round one?" he hissed.

Seeker nodded. Snapped his fingers again, and Snape found himself clean, on a clean bed, with clean chains, only this time he was prone. With a pillow under his hips.

"What the bloody hell are you --" Before he could finish the sentence, his tongue went numb. The door opened. The bed rotated. Footsteps sounded. His eyes widened.

Potter.

And *Malfoy.*

Snape buried his face in the pillow. Behind him, so low he could barely hear it and just loud enough to set his teeth on edge, he heard that stupid song. "The party's just begun," Seeker sang softly, "party's just begun."

"STOP SINGING!" The roar was only partially muffled by the pillow beneath his face. Unfortunately, Seeker wasn't the one who paid attention to him.

"Professor?"

"Sir?"

Snape groaned.

"Are ... are you all right?" Potter's voice was a fascinating mixture of horror, startlement, not-particularly-well sublimated desire and laughter.

Malfoy's was much more direct. "Brilliant," borrowing one of Ron's favorite compliments, only Snape prayed he'd never hear the youngest Weasley say anything to him in that tone of pure unadulterated lust.

"C'mon, Malfoy," Potter said, determined to be the hero even when he wasn't sure what was going on and didn't like the rescuee, "We've got to help him." He started muttering various charms to unbind the chains.

Fortunately --er, unfortunately, he didn't know the right one, and wasn't pronouncing half of them correctly anyhow. Malfoy sighed gustily. Snape peeked from the pillow. Yes, Malfoy was rolling his eyes. Snape smothered a grin.

"Don't be a prat, Potter," Malfoy drawled, "although Prat Potter does have a ring to it, don't you think?"

Potter growled. Much like his godfather, only Potter was much cuter when he did it. Snape blinked, rewound his thoughts, and cringed. When had he started to think Potter cute? Was it when the lad turned seventeen and Snape accidentally .. mostly ... caught a glimpse of him in the prefect's bathroom? He shook off the thought. He could think about that later. Right now he was too busy, not to mention the thought that every time he thought of Potter in the bathroom he had to have at least one hand free and be in private surroundings. Malfoy's voice interrupted his increasingly heated thoughts.

"It's after midnight, in his own bedroom, although I had NO idea he went in for things like this, he's naked, chained to the bed with his arse in the air and he's moaning like a ghost on heat."

"Can ghosts go on heat?" Potter asked, scientific inquiry evident in his tone. Malfoy snorted.

"Why the fuck would I care when we've got Snape right where we want him?" Absolutely lascivious, the boy. Carrying on the family tradition in fine style. Snape squirmed.

"We do?" Potter didn't sound too sure.

"Oh, for god's sake." Malfoy grabbed Potter by the arm, swung him around, and kissed him until his glasses fogged up. Malfoy's other hand popped down the front of Potter's trousers like a homing pigeon coming in to roost, and Potter gave a very undignified squeak. Then a groan. Then a whimper.

Snape watched with interest. Tongue, hand, and thigh all moving with the same speed and rhythm. Yes, Draco was his father's son, all right.

When Potter was visibly dizzy, Malfoy finally broke the kiss with a wet sound. Then he took his hand off Potter's arm and removed the now-useless glasses. Dazed green eyes stared dreamily at Malfoy.

"Why is it the only way I can get you to shut up is to kiss you until you can't see straight?" Obviously it was a rhetorical question, because Malfoy swept on before Potter could get his tongue to work. "Obviously this is what he had in mind when he told us to come back after detention. The wards were down and he's," a pause for an appreciative leer, "ready for us!"

Snape glared at Seeker. "Playing with the rules, eh? I did no such thing, and how dare you lower my wards!"

Seeker smirked. "Oh, honey, your wards are the least of your worries."

"Who are you talking to, Professor?" Potter asked, having returned to the land of the cognizant.

"You can't ... of course you can't see him. NO ONE." He snarled the last two words directly in Seeker's face. The smirk never faltered.

"Who cares as long as it doesn't get in the way of our fun?" Malfoy asked the unanswerable again. Then he shucked his clothing faster than Snape had ever see him do *anything* and climbed atop the bed. "Get it in gear, Harry."

Potter stared at him. Stared down at Snape. Walked slowly around to the end of the bed. Snape didn't need to be able to see him to feel the heat of that green-eyed gaze on his hindquarters.

"Fuck, yeah." All other emotions had been pushed aside in favor of lust. There was something oddly compelling about dirty language coming from the squeaky-clean mouth of the honorable Gryffindor. Snape quite liked it.

"Told you you would," Seeker snarked.

"Piss off and die," Snape snarled back.

"Not 'til I've had me some of this," Potter shot right back.

"Not you, Potte-argh!" The words were cut off as Draco shoved his cock down Snape's throat.

Moments later a second prick found its way into action, as Potter, with very little preparation, shoved his up Snape's arse. Snape would have screamed but he had no air, since Malfoy wouldn't stop thrusting long enough for him to catch his breath. The first orgasm nearly drowned him, awkward angle he was in, being jolted back and forth by Potter's enthusiastic thrusts.

When Malfoy finally pulled out, Snape was coughing and tearing up, nose running, spunk dribbling out the corners of his mouth where he'd been flooded. Teenagers. God. Wham-bam-thank-you-sir personified.

"That was great," Malfoy sighed, rubbing the end of his prick all over Snape's messy face. From behind him, Snape heard an approving grunt, then Harry pushed up hard against him and came. About a gallon, from the way he kept humping it in. By the time he collapsed over Snape's back, Snape felt like an overfilled bowl, sloshing out both ends.

Strangely, it didn't bother him in the least. Probably because he was hard as a rock and the pillow was doing nothing for him.

"Fuck!" he yelped. Malfoy looked down at his spunk- and spit-shiny face and smirked.

"Again?"

"Right!" Harry warbled from behind.

Damned if they didn't.

An hour and forty minutes of being ridden into the bed later, Snape resignedly wiped his face on the pillow and muttered to the insensate teenage male bodies sprawled to either side of him on the bed, "Would someone PLEASE get me off?"

Seeker landed beside him.

"Not you!"

Average hazel eyes attempted an orphan puppy look, but Snape was unrelenting.

"Is this really what you want?" he nodded meaningfully at a shape taking form a few feet from the bed. It was hazy and insubstantial, growing more solid the closer Seeker's hand got to Snape's cock.

It was the dreaded Marty Sue. (Bodie's were girls, so they were Mary Sues, but that was only to be expected in the late seventies. Gay rights hadn't really made it to fan fiction yet). Seeker Sue was stunning, with flowing golden auburn hair, flashing aquamarine eyes, a jaw line that would put Batman to shame, a physique that would make Superman green with envy, a cock that would give fire hoses a run for their money, an ass quarters begged to be bounced off, and the fashion sense of Puffy Combs, or as close as even a super-cool white guy could get. Not to mention he spoke thirty eight languages, held fourteen PhDs, was welcome in every indigenous tribe in the Andes due to his political action on behalf of native peoples, was the only man to be successfully accredited as a geisha, and carried out secret missions for the United Nations rescuing orphans and nuns (even though he was Buddhist, being an equal opportunity hero) from war-torn areas all over the world.

Oh, and he had a five octave singing range and could play every instrument known to man.

In short, he was Ewan McGregor, only taller and even better hung. Impossible as that second part might be to believe.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!" Seeker screamed even more like a girl than Snape had earlier and levitated, again without benefit of wand, all the way across the dungeon, landing against the stone wall with a thump before sliding down and huddling in a heap. "Make it go away!!"

Snape thrust his hips uselessly in the air. "Make THIS go away!" he bitched. The dreaded MS began to solidify. "NOT YOU!" he yelped, in one of the higher octaves reachable by a man past puberty. Seeker murmured a few words and the chain lengthened.

"Ta," Snape told him absently as his hand shot to his groin and he began to work his aching, neglected cock. Getting fucked was lovely, and sucking was always nice, but neither on their own was enough to get him off. He *needed* this. With a groan that sounded a lot like pain (because by then it hurt) he finally, finally came.

Only to nearly shoot bodily to the roof when a familiar voice said, "I can make you come without ever touching it. It only takes a little experience." The bed dipped as Malfoy was rolled unceremoniously out of the way. Snape moved far enough to allow the boy to land atop Potter, to sleepy grunts of appreciation from both lads, then looked at the newcomer and winced. "Toffee, dear boy?"

Discretion being the better part of valor, and having a rather pressing need of his own from his voyeuristic activities that evening, Seeker silently faded into the stonework.

From beneath the chair in the dungeon, a remonstrative "Mrreow!" bellowed at him. With alacrity, he unfaded, grabbed his cat and Diet Coke can to his chest and scooped up his laptop with his other hand. Trying not to see Snape writhing as Dumbledore used his beard to strop between Snape's legs, he clicked his keyboard three times and said, "There's no place like home!"

Snape yowled like a queen in the center of a tomcat gang-bang. Dumbledore rumbled happily. Malfoy and Harry had their tongues tied too thoroughly together to comment. Seeker rolled his eyes.

"Okay, fine." Off key he sang, "Party's just begun, party's just begun --"

Before he could finish slaughtering the song (regardless of the fact that particular song could do with a little judicious murder) he was back on the other side of the dividing line between fantasy and reality (again, not necessarily the side one would expect). Setting the laptop as far from the can of Diet Coke on his table as he could get it, he petted the ginger kitten and sighed.

"Well, that was fun." Placing the kitten gently on the chair, he left her to take out her frustrations on the upholstery and headed for the bedroom. A welcome voice called, "Hey!"

The door shut. Happy noises emerged, muffled by the door. In the living room, the kitten glared at the form attempting to take shape. Marty stared over his (perfect) shoulder at the portal between universes, bummed out that he didn't get his chance with Snape. Then he sighed (beautifully) and stared (tragically but still beautifully) at the closed door.

"Everybody else is having a party but I can't get no satisfaction," he hummed. In three part harmony. Using a vocal technique unknown to the Western world, perfected in a remote Amazon community, notoriously xenophobic, who'd adopted him.

The ginger kitten threw a furball up on him. The perfect ending to a perfect evening.