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Title: Drowning Lessons Author: flameboi Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Snape/Draco Disclaimer: Not Ms. Rowling, no own, no sue- no money! Feedback: relentless_entropy@yahoo.com Website: http://flameon.8m.net Where is my master the rebel prince ~Rufus Wainwright, Rebel Prince~ Drowning Lessons
Once, when he was a small boy, he had tried a transmogrification spell, read in one of father's many books, on a dove which landed on the lawn of the estate: the spell had misfired, simply crushing the bird's fragile wings. He had watched, in horrified fascination, as the wounded dove had stumbled into the pond, struggled with feeble desperation for perhaps a minute, and then, slowly, slipped beneath the water, and drowned. Now, it was the reflection of water in the porcelain of his bathtub that gave that memory it's resurfacing, and his fingers gripped tight around the pen, to still the trembling of his hand; he would find no better words, nothing that would make any more sense, and so he simply scrawled what came to mind onto the single white sheet. "When your wings are broken, and you cannot fly, you can only drown. I love you. Goodbye." A single tear trickled down one porcelain cheek as he folded the note into thirds, slipped it into its equally plain white envelope, sealed it, and wrote the name across the front, "Harry." Apporting the letter to Potter's bedroom was child's play, quickly done, and then, what else was there to do but the last small part? His hands were steadier as he slipped off his black robes, stepped into the tub, and laid down in it; he took up the small, sharp dagger, and hissed in pain but did not hesitate as he drew the line of death on the inside of his forearm from elbow to wrist, and then he simply waited while the water turned from clear to crimson; it dyed the ends of his silken golden hair to copper. Draco whispered, soft and weak, "It would have made all the difference," and then he closed his eyes. Waking in the infirmary, Draco opened his eyes in the soft filtered gloom of low lights meant to be soothing, and softly moaned, almost overwhelmed with shame at the realization that he had not even been able to do this one last thing successfully, and he cursed in a parched whisper to himself. Even that little sound was enough to summon Madame Pomfrey, and she was quickly at his bedside, checking him over, fussing and murmuring softly, telling him that he is a boy with everything to live for, that he was very lucky to be alive. Draco, though, felt anything but lucky. There were visitors, of course, during the week while Draco recovered first in the infirmary, and then in his own room: Dumbledore, concerned but firm, telling him that only due to special consideration of the circumstances was he not being expelled, and the other professors, Crabbe, Goyle, their usual stupid selves, other Slytherins, even his father, behaving with something close to paternal affection and worry for a change, though Lucius made the disappointment in his son far clearer. Potter, though, never came, though Draco knew, now, that it was Harry who, reading the note sooner than Draco had thought he would, had saved him. From Harry there was only a letter, brief, and meaningless, regrets that he could not return Malfoy's feelings, that the single night of passion had been for him only an experiment, not an epiphany as it had been for Draco. Despite those who came and went, Draco was alone, alone with pain and grief and shame, and the cold and heartless words scrawled on a sheet of lined paper, alone except for the hour or sometimes two in the evenings when Professor Snape, whose extreme effort on Draco's behalf was solely responsible for him retaining the position as Slytherin's Prefect, would visit, sitting sprawled in the straight-backed chair and giving Draco his lesson for the day, along with idle gossip and whatever he thought might cheer the boy, though Severus was not quite socially adept, nor exactly careful to be entirely mundane in his conversation. Snape could dance around an issue like any master of intrigue, but he could also be straightforward, disarmingly, or alarmingly direct, and so he was the fourth night he visited his favorite pupil. "What could you possibly see in that Potter, really? He's not even close to worthy of you, Draco," and the bald stating of it made Draco flinch, and look away from Snape's intense dark stare. "I.. don't know, Professor," he whispered, finally, "He just.. it is the way he looked at me.. and his lips are so soft. And his hands.. he's.. strong.. He's .. " Draco's hand gestured, meaning -everything- as his voice trailed off into nothing, and Snape reached out and touched his hair, a quick gesture, smoothing down the blond locks, "Yes. I understand. He is much like his father. If I could have spared you this pain, I would have. It hurts, I know, but it will fade, in time, mostly." Snape pulled his hand back, folded it with it's mate in his lap, and seemed almost lost for words for a moment, a flicker of some old sorrow in his eyes as Draco looked at him, realization dawning, "You, Professor? You, and James Potter?" he asked in a whisper. Snape replied with only a nod, and then a trace of a smirk, "You will survive, boy. I promise," and he stood, seemingly uncomfortable with the revelation he had made, and patted Draco's shoulder, but Draco reached up to grab his hand, his eyes wide and vulnerable, filling with tears, and despite Professor Snape's expression of surprise, he held on as tightly as he could, a deathgrip, as if he were drowning, and, gasped out in a sob as the tears fell, "Promise?" Almost, Severus did not know how to react; he had deliberately cut himself off from so much of human interaction, that he barely kept himself from fleeing, steeling himself with the inner voice of his better self, and the memory of how terrible it felt when he had been sixteen, had hurt, like this: almost, but in reality, he sat beside his wounded student, letting him hold fast to his hand, slipping his other arm around thin and trembling shoulders, "Yes, Draco, I promise," he replied, and then simply sat with him in close silence while he wept the bitter tears of never. Draco's face was soon pressed to Snape's chest, and he found himself holding the crying younger wizard; Severus found, despite himself, that he did not truly mind, that he almost reveled in the image of himself as young Malfoy's protector, and he held him close even when the sobs trailed off into sniffles and the sniffles into deep and even breaths- only then, with Draco asleep, did Snape gently shift him back onto the bed, tuck him in, put out the lamp, and leave. Pausing in the doorway, glancing back at the small figure with his spun-silk hair spread out upon the pillow illuminated by the moonlight, the professor murmured softly to himself, "Potter could never appreciate one so beautiful," and then, he shut the door, and returned to his own chambers, to brood. To sleep, perchance, to dream: Draco dreamt, passion, pleasure, rapture, and then loss and grief, and the horrible crushing suffocating fear of forever alone, cold sweat chilling his sleeping, shivering form, a scream clawing its way up to his throat as the myriad terrors spawned within his subconscious, and then, rather than the usual jerking awake, clutching the covers, heart pounding, the nightmare ended. Or, not precisely, ended, rather changed, as a tall dark figure stole into the dreamscape to rescue and to soothe away his fears, hold him in arms as strong as love or hate. Severus, too, dreamed, dreamed a pale, angelic beauty of a boy, aching, alone, his skin so soft; Draco, and, he could have woken himself but did not, allowing the indulgence of at least the dream, of being, for a change, not the studious loner unworthy of the popular boys, not the villain with the mark of the skull on his flesh, not the most hated professor at Hogwart's, but now, transformed, into what he had dreamed of being- someone's lover, his hero. For both wizards, morning came too soon, but both woke from a sleep less troubled than those of other nights. And time, as is it's relentless habit, passed; the days resumed their usual ebb and flow: classes, Quiddich, dining hall and common room. For Draco, it was hard at first, for while he could bear the stares and whispers with his head held high and the superior smirk on his lips, it was a different matter when his eyes inadvertently met Harry's- then he would drop his gaze, turn away, his heart pounding until he felt sick. The only moments in which Malfoy could bear Potter's presence was in Snape's classes; somehow, there, Harry had lost his hold upon him at least to some degree, for all Draco need do was glance up, to see the Professor, and feel somehow, that he had nothing to be ashamed of. Severus, for his part, was well enough aware of this, and, made a point to be available now, more, simply stopping by Draco's room to mention some point of the lesson or other, more often than not staying to simply talk over issues magical or mundane. When the visits became the high point of each day, when he began to anticipate and look forward to each, Snape would have had trouble pinpointing, but that was what he found to be the case as the month wore to it's close, and now, he lingered longer; Draco, too, found excuses simply to stay after class, or arrive where he imagined Snape would be, and yet, what could there be but shared glances, the pat on the shoulder, or, a small, shy smile? One was still the student, and the other, his professor. Severus found himself growing more impatient and ill tempered than ever, now, with anything, everything, but Draco, an old line running always through his thoughts: The heart has reasons that reason cannot know. For his part, Draco only knew that his mind and fantasies now turned to his dark mentor more often than his classmate, and, if the nightmares had succumbed to the hero, the other dreams, the sticky, writhing, deliciously frustrating ones, were becoming ever more frequent. Draco awoke from that sort of dream, and slipped from his bed, not even truly planning or even thinking as he dressed in only his robe, and snuck from his room, following the corridors silent as night with only glimpses of moonlight to guide him in the areas where there were no lights, down to Professor Snape's chambers, not hesitating as he knocked on the door. Too quickly, it was answered- Snape had not been to bed, obviously, he was not tousled or out of sorts, but looked much as always, if surprised to see the younger wizard at his door at this hour, "Draco, is something the matter?" he asked, not bothering to mask his concern behind a smirk, nor the gleam of pleasure at the unexpected visit. Draco, for his part, only blinked, almost owlish, his mind screaming at him to stop being an idiot, but his body not listening, slipping his arms around his teacher, standing on his toes and pressing a kiss to the long pale throat, feeling the thud of pulse and the hearing the gasp; then Snape drew Draco inside, shutting his door quickly behind them, locking it, too, before something unfortunate could occur, such as their being seen embracing. Another moment of almost, for Severus, almost, the words that would slice and sever as efficiently as any blade, 'Malfoy, just what do you imagine you are DOING?!', but he could imagine all too clearly the pain in Draco's eyes if he spoke them, could feel, more clearly, the chance sliding away from him like glass on ice, and, he drew in a long deep breath, held the smaller form pressed close to himself, and broke his silence with only a murmured, "What a pleasant surprise." The words were true enough, thought Snape recklessly: even if it were to cost him his position, even, if it were to cost him everything, reveal him, might it not be worth it? After all, what, other than battling the Death Eaters, teaching the ungrateful, and, regretting his own might have beens, did he, Severus Snape, really have, until now? But now, there was Draco, beautiful, needing, and, in his arms. Snape guided them back to the chaise he had been sitting and reading on, and pulled Draco down with him, onto his lap as on that one night before, but this time he did not hold Draco for tears, but brought his lips to the boy's, kissing him almost fiercely with the force of long denied desire; Draco was startled by the passion for only a moment before he was kissing back every bit as hungrily, moaning into the kiss, gasping at the slide of tongues, the taste of the joining of their mouths, and the heat in his belly. Finally they drew apart for quickened breaths, and Draco smiled, his lips luscious and bruised, Snape's eyes lingering on that flushed face and darkened mouth. Draco whispered, "I was hoping you wouldn't mind, Professor," and Snape chuckled, "How could I possibly, and, Draco? Call me Severus, please, this is not the classroom," though he added mentally to himself, 'though perhaps I have a thing or two to teach you, anyhow.' Malfoy could only nod, overwhelmed, his hands fluttering at trying to slip beneath the dark robes and press in to another kiss all at once; Snape, despite a recent lack of practice, found that the old saw about 'like riding a bicycle' to be true enough, as he had far less trouble stripping himself, and the younger man, though his hands were not quite steady, either: that done, he shifted Draco off and to the side, laying, before he lay beside him, hands roaming soft ivory skin that flushed under the gentle touches- fingers brushed over nipples and Draco gasped, lower, dancing around, then along, the velvet hardness of his erection, and Draco moaned, his eyelids fluttering. Snape's teeth closed on one hard erect nipple in a bite just short of pain, and Draco felt the fire filling his groin as he arched up to the beautiful torment; Severus's hand circled his aching cock in a tight stroke, and Draco screamed as he spurted onto his belly and his lover's chest. Snape, fortunately, had long ago spellwarded the chamber to be soundproof, and, so, had only to focus on the beauty of Draco's lips parted in pleasure, and his eyes flickering behind closed lids, as he licked off his own hand and then Draco's smooth, taut abdomen, savoring every drop. Severus felt something akin to a laugh of delight in his throat, until, as he slid up to gently hold the limp and panting young man: his own erection brushed Draco's hip, bringing a low growling groan to his lips. Draco whispered, "Do that again," and Severus murmured, "Again, so soon?" only to be answered, "No, the growl," and so he snarled softly, dramatic with purred feigned menace, behind Draco's ear, before his tongue flicked out to trace along the perfect curve of it, his hand resting low on Draco's belly, the boy shivering and softly whimpering, slinking down the chaise in a slow languid slither, surprising Snape yet again with a tongue that dipped into his navel, and half-tentatively at first, then more eagerly, lapped at his cock, drawing gasps from his teacher's lips. Draco, of course, was barely experienced, and quite unsure, but did not waste a moment to consider his next move, only trying what he had done, before, to.. the other he had been with, his lips parting to take in the tip, tongue mapping the differences between this prick, uncircumcised, hood drawn back in arousal, and both longer, and thicker, than that other, caught up in learning which nibbles and licks brought the loudest gasps and moans, even trying to take the length of it fully in, though he choked, and quickly drew his head back. Looking up, then, Draco found his eyes and Severus's locked, and he felt the blood rush back into his own prick at the depth of naked lust in the older man's gaze, entirely hard by the time Snape pulled him back up, atop himself, crushed him close in another shattering kiss, stealing his breath, and teaching his heart how to fly, or so it felt. Snape, for his part, could not recall the last time he had been this aroused, if he ever had been, and he was not about to even break the kiss, not while this beauty squirmed atop him, not while their tongue's dueled; casting without words being merely very difficult, but not impossible, he focused a moment, and aported the small bottle of scented oil to his hand, surprised to find it trembling, along with its twin, when he coated his long fingers with it, and slowly slid two into Draco's tight heat, making him yowl low like a cat, pushing down onto the fingers, panting and writhing and wanton. Slowly, gently, adding more oil and stretching him carefully, teasing Draco to the point where he almost could have cried with frustration, Severus took his time, finally drawing his fingers out and breaking the kiss, helping the golden haired imp atop him to sit, offering him the bottle, just to see if Draco would know what to do: he did, and with no regard for the antique chaise, simply pouring it onto his lover's erection, wrapping his fingers around it, and, slicking him thoroughly, then dropping the empty vial to the floor, moving up and straddling; hesitant at the last moment, because Severus was quite large. Snape saw the almost fear admidst the desire, and, understood, "It will hurt, a little, Draco; you do not have to," exactly the right thing to say, as the boy took the challenge, using a hand to steady Snape's erection, and slowly started to impale himself on it, lovely angel's face flinching in pain, though he never stopped his slow downwards slide, and Snape had a flicker of conscience, but then it was gone as he groaned and bit his lip and found it all he could do just to keep himself from thrusting up into that delicious tightness, gripping Draco's hips in his hands, not moving. Draco forced every inch inside himself despite the sheer hurt of it, driven by a need stronger than lust or pain or anything, seeking something he did not even know the words for, something he craved down to his soul. Once he was sitting flush against his lover, Draco leaned close, willing muscles to relax, feeling them finally do so in response to a gentle caress up his back, and then he moved, just a little, still very aware of the burning, tearing sensation at every movement, but even more aware of the long groan his motion tore from Severus's throat, hoarse, almost a plea, almost a demand. Hands found their way back to hips, as Snape's mind rapidly dissolved into simple passion and need, small thrust carrying him deeper into the young man's body, Draco's gasp. The pain shattered into a billion bright fragments of electricity straight through Draco's balls and along his cock; he thought of his wizard's wand conducting magic and actually giggled, and then Severus's fingers were wrapped around his dick and stroking in time to their movements, Snape's thrusts coming harder and faster, while somewhere in the background someone sobbed and yowled and begged desperately for more; distantly, Draco was aware that the someone was himself, as much as he was aware of anything, drowning in ecstasy, flying, screaming as stars exploded behind his eyes, as he came, mouth open in a soundless scream, breathless. Snape felt the tight clenching of the muscles within Draco's passage, and that was more than he could have withstood even had he been less on the edge, and groaning loudly he fell with his little lover, filling him, shuddering in climax together. Draco, gasping, heart pounding, collapsed onto Severus, whose own heart raced in time with the boy's, his hands coming up to caress his sweaty back, pet his damp lovely hair, just holding him for long moments of bliss and perfection as they drifted slowly back down to earth in a tangle of limbs and sated pleasure. Finally, Snape gently pulled out of him, drawing a tiny whimper of protest from Draco, soothing him with gentle hands, whispering a few words of magic to clean them both for the simple ease of not having to do anything but hold this lovely young man, Draco's face pillowed on his chest, while Severus marveled at his own good fortune. Snape felt Draco begin to doze in his arms, his breathing becoming soft and regular, and while there was nothing he wanted more, now, than to hold him all the night through and wake with him in the morning, his sense of self-preservation was sufficient to caution against such a risky proposition, and Snape very gently, reluctantly, shook him, "Draco, wake up." Murmuring sleepily, Draco tilted his face up, blinking his eyes open to focus on his lover. Snape's expression was one of tender regret as he said, softly, "Draco, you have to get dressed, and go, now." Draco tensed in his arms, tears springing to eyes filled with raw agony, stunning Severus with the intensity of the emotion until he realized a moment later how Draco must have interpreted his words; he smoothed a hand over the boy's hair, then cupped his cheek gently, "Draco, I will want you tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, and all the tomorrows of forever, I promise. I only meant it would be better for us both if no one found out about this, just yet." Draco relaxed, sighing relief as deep as the gasp of a condemned man winning a last second gallows reprieve, and he smiled though the tears still glistened on his lashes; Snape pulled him close and kissed the drops away. Draco's voice was a whisper as he spoke, "I love you, Severus," and he felt his heart pause its beating until he heard the unhesitating reply, "And I love you." A chuckle followed, warm and full of new found joy, as Snape added, "But do remember to call me Professor, in class." Laughter, kisses, dressing, then hugs of temporary goodbye, and Draco walked back to his room and sprawled upon his bed, exhausted, sore, but whole in spirit and truly alive. Eyes drifting closed, Draco smiled to himself, realizing he had found a better truth after all: that sometimes the drowning is only a little death, and, that sometimes, broken wings can heal, and learn to fly again.
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