WISHLISTS: Grip (Severus/Regulus)
Jul. 12th, 2017 11:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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snax0
Recipient:themightyflynn
Title: Grip
Pairing: Regulus Black/Severus Snape.
Prompt Used: Hand/finger kink.
Rating: R.
Word Count: 1,350.
Summary: It only takes the touch of a hand.
Warnings: Marauder Era, underage (15&16), swearing, underage drinking, semi-public hand jobs.
Notes: Sorry for the semi-experimental writing style, but I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you like it! Also on ao3.
Deft fingers, flipping through pages. Long digits splayed out across the back of a book. A nail, clipped short, scratching over the jut of a wrist bone. Absentminded.
Beautiful.
Regulus is done for.
It had started with a study session -- pale hands holding a ladle, stirring slowly, the ligaments rippling beneath flesh -- and, well. It was downhill from there.
It is inexplicable, Regulus thinks. He doesn’t know why it affects him so, but it does. Like he’s transfixed; an unknown force keeping his gaze there, drawing it back every time he dares look away.
Inconvenient.
He wouldn’t call Snape a graceful person, no one would. Sneaky, slimy, seedy, sure. But graceful? No. His personality is too blunt, too harsh. His body too bony. His actions too, too... well. Him, really.
But still, there is something. Something about those hands that captivates Regulus. So sure of themselves, so skilled. Books, potions, spells—
He can’t help but wonder how far that skill extends.
Snape tutors him -- not out of the kindness of his heart, but because Slughorn has asked, and because Regulus gives him a few galleons each time. But these days, well. Regulus pays more attention to the hands than the book they hold, the potion they work on.
Often, he walks away not having learnt a thing.
It’s almost a problem.
***
Or, definitely a problem.
“Why do you pay me to do this if you’re not going to pay attention?” The words are tired, bored.
They snap Regulus out of his trance. He looks up, blinks. Tries not to look guilty. “What?”
A sigh, tired. Irritated. The book in his hand falls to their table, thumping quietly. Regulus looks over his shoulder to make sure Madam Pince hadn’t heard.
“I’m not going to tutor you anymore.”
“What?” Panicked, almost. Regulus winches internally. He clears his throat and tries again, attempts to not sound so pathetic this time. “Why?”
“You don’t listen.” Blunt, to the point.
“Sure I do.”
“Really?” Severus deadpans. “Alright. What goes in after the moonstone?”
“Uh.” Fuck, Regulus thinks. Fuck, fuck. These sessions -- they’re the only time he can get Snape to be alone with him. Or be near him at all, really. He doesn’t want to lose that. “Dandelion root?”
Another sigh, louder this time. Snape’s hand twitches. Like he wants to rub at his temple, Regulus thinks.
“You’re as much of an idiot as your brother.”
Annoyed. Definitely annoyed, but. Well. Regulus sort of takes it as a compliment. He knows Sirius isn’t that much of an idiot, despite some of his actions.
“I—” he starts, but he can’t stop Snape from leaving.
Fuck,, he thinks again. Fuck.
***
He stays for the winter holidays that year. To study, he tells himself. But, well. At least he had good intentions.
Snape stays, too. Always does, Regulus notices. Like he doesn’t want to go home. Must be bad, he thinks. Because he never seems to enjoy staying much, either.
Rosier stays, too. And— that’s always fun, Regulus has come to learn.
He comes back one night to a near empty common room, only a few of the fifth and sixth years sitting around. He has two bottles of firewhiskey in his hands, another held under his arm, pressed against his torso. There’s a shit eating grin on his face.
No one asks how he got it. No one asks anything, with him. That’s just Evan, they’ll say. And, well. It’s true.
Regulus sits in his armchair, right in front of the fire. He likes it, here. It gives him a full view of the room. Allows him to watch, unnoticed.
Rosier goes to Snape first, handing him his own bottle and oh. Oh. It’s almost delicate, Regulus thinks. The way the wrist bends. The way his fingers curl around the bottle’s curve. The way they hold the neck, like it’s no effort at all.
Fuck.
He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.
He’s called over eventually. Regulus can’t decide if he’s glad or not.
Evan points to the spot between him and Snape, pulling him down with a giggly Come on, Reggie.
Already drunk, then.
McNair is there, too. And some sixth year girl he’s never learnt the name of. She smiles at him, surprisingly cheerful. He smiles back.
“Here.” A bottle is placed in his hand, the glass cool to touch. Regulus looks up at Snape, starts to say thank you, but stops.
The liquid burns. Bitter. Not his favourite taste, but still nice. Still drinkable.
The night passes in a blur. The fire cackles, flames shining in the corner of his eyes; hues of orange and red. Beautiful. They heat his face, add colour to usually pale skin. The alcohol helps, too. He’s pretty sure his cheeks are tinged pink. Snape’s certainly are.
They talk. Joke. Their interaction less strained than usual. It’s nice, Regulus thinks. He’s glad he stayed.
And then the girl disappears with McNair, and then the common room is empty save the three of them. And then—
“Regulus wants you to fuck him.” Said like it’s no big deal, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to say.
That’s just Evan.
Two heads turn in sync. Shocked. Embarrassed. Perhaps a little turned on. Regulus can feel his face heat. His eyes widen.
“What?” Evan asks. He doesn’t understand their surprise. “Everyone knows. We have bets.”
He takes the bottle from Severus and tilts his head back, throat moving as he swallows another swing.
Bets, Regulus thinks. Bets. He looks ready to strangle something. Preferably Evan.
“What.” And that’s Snape’s voice. Flat and indifferent. Not letting on what he’s really thinking.
Bastard, Regulus thinks. Can’t let anything be easy.
“Yep.” He ends the word with a loud pop, lips turned in a smirk. So he’s realised what he’s done, Regulus thinks. And he’s happy about it.
Bastard.
“It was funny at first,” Evan says, and Regulus is definitely going to kill him. “But it’s annoying now.”
Severus looks at Evan. Regulus watches him from the corner of his eye. His bottom lip is held gently between his teeth, his eyes narrowed. Like he’s trying to figure something out. And then he turns. Looks right at Regulus.
“Is it true?”
And, because the alcohol has destroyed any sense he may have had, Regulus’ first instinct is to blurt: “It’s your hands.”
Evan is grinning again, now. Head hovering above Snape’s shoulder. He reminds Regulus of Sirius when he does that.
“I’ll be off,” he says. Cheerfully. Like he’s trying not to laugh.
Kill him, yes. Regulus is definitely going to do it.
***
Or, maybe not. Maybe he owes Evan a couple of favours. Because now Snape’s hands are on him, and, fuck. If it isn’t the best thing Regulus has ever felt.
They’re pressed against one of the armchairs, Severus’ body above his. Regulus has his shirt bunched up around his waist, his trousers hanging around mid-thigh. It’s messy, rushed. But so, so good.
Snape’s fingers are curled around his cock, the pressure fucking brilliant. They’re definitely skilled, Regulus thinks. If a bit inexperienced.
It’s almost torturous. Snape squeezes, rubs, pulls until he’s a panting, moaning mess. And then he stops, replaces the steady pressure with feather light touches. With the pads of his fingers trailing over sensitive skin. With the faintest brush of a nail, almost enough pressure to hurt, but not.
Fuck.
“This is what you were thinking about,” he says. Not a question, but a statement of fact. “In our sessions.”
“Yes.” Moaned. Breathless. Regulus wants to scream it. He doesn’t, but his hips buck up, into the heat of his hand. Friction.
“You should have said.”
The words are followed by a finger moving up his shaft, across the vein, circling the head. Severus presses his thumb against the slit, collects the precome, and drags his hand back down.
Experimental.
Regulus comes -- eyes wide and staring, a strangled swear on his tongue, his stomach jolting, his legs shaking. White, thick come splatters on his stomach, his shirt, Severus’ hands. He licks his lips.
Yes, Regulus thinks. He definitely owes Evan something.
snax0Recipient:
themightyflynnTitle: Grip
Pairing: Regulus Black/Severus Snape.
Prompt Used: Hand/finger kink.
Rating: R.
Word Count: 1,350.
Summary: It only takes the touch of a hand.
Warnings: Marauder Era, underage (15&16), swearing, underage drinking, semi-public hand jobs.
Notes: Sorry for the semi-experimental writing style, but I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you like it! Also on ao3.
Deft fingers, flipping through pages. Long digits splayed out across the back of a book. A nail, clipped short, scratching over the jut of a wrist bone. Absentminded.
Beautiful.
Regulus is done for.
It had started with a study session -- pale hands holding a ladle, stirring slowly, the ligaments rippling beneath flesh -- and, well. It was downhill from there.
It is inexplicable, Regulus thinks. He doesn’t know why it affects him so, but it does. Like he’s transfixed; an unknown force keeping his gaze there, drawing it back every time he dares look away.
Inconvenient.
He wouldn’t call Snape a graceful person, no one would. Sneaky, slimy, seedy, sure. But graceful? No. His personality is too blunt, too harsh. His body too bony. His actions too, too... well. Him, really.
But still, there is something. Something about those hands that captivates Regulus. So sure of themselves, so skilled. Books, potions, spells—
He can’t help but wonder how far that skill extends.
Snape tutors him -- not out of the kindness of his heart, but because Slughorn has asked, and because Regulus gives him a few galleons each time. But these days, well. Regulus pays more attention to the hands than the book they hold, the potion they work on.
Often, he walks away not having learnt a thing.
It’s almost a problem.
***
Or, definitely a problem.
“Why do you pay me to do this if you’re not going to pay attention?” The words are tired, bored.
They snap Regulus out of his trance. He looks up, blinks. Tries not to look guilty. “What?”
A sigh, tired. Irritated. The book in his hand falls to their table, thumping quietly. Regulus looks over his shoulder to make sure Madam Pince hadn’t heard.
“I’m not going to tutor you anymore.”
“What?” Panicked, almost. Regulus winches internally. He clears his throat and tries again, attempts to not sound so pathetic this time. “Why?”
“You don’t listen.” Blunt, to the point.
“Sure I do.”
“Really?” Severus deadpans. “Alright. What goes in after the moonstone?”
“Uh.” Fuck, Regulus thinks. Fuck, fuck. These sessions -- they’re the only time he can get Snape to be alone with him. Or be near him at all, really. He doesn’t want to lose that. “Dandelion root?”
Another sigh, louder this time. Snape’s hand twitches. Like he wants to rub at his temple, Regulus thinks.
“You’re as much of an idiot as your brother.”
Annoyed. Definitely annoyed, but. Well. Regulus sort of takes it as a compliment. He knows Sirius isn’t that much of an idiot, despite some of his actions.
“I—” he starts, but he can’t stop Snape from leaving.
Fuck,, he thinks again. Fuck.
***
He stays for the winter holidays that year. To study, he tells himself. But, well. At least he had good intentions.
Snape stays, too. Always does, Regulus notices. Like he doesn’t want to go home. Must be bad, he thinks. Because he never seems to enjoy staying much, either.
Rosier stays, too. And— that’s always fun, Regulus has come to learn.
He comes back one night to a near empty common room, only a few of the fifth and sixth years sitting around. He has two bottles of firewhiskey in his hands, another held under his arm, pressed against his torso. There’s a shit eating grin on his face.
No one asks how he got it. No one asks anything, with him. That’s just Evan, they’ll say. And, well. It’s true.
Regulus sits in his armchair, right in front of the fire. He likes it, here. It gives him a full view of the room. Allows him to watch, unnoticed.
Rosier goes to Snape first, handing him his own bottle and oh. Oh. It’s almost delicate, Regulus thinks. The way the wrist bends. The way his fingers curl around the bottle’s curve. The way they hold the neck, like it’s no effort at all.
Fuck.
He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.
He’s called over eventually. Regulus can’t decide if he’s glad or not.
Evan points to the spot between him and Snape, pulling him down with a giggly Come on, Reggie.
Already drunk, then.
McNair is there, too. And some sixth year girl he’s never learnt the name of. She smiles at him, surprisingly cheerful. He smiles back.
“Here.” A bottle is placed in his hand, the glass cool to touch. Regulus looks up at Snape, starts to say thank you, but stops.
The liquid burns. Bitter. Not his favourite taste, but still nice. Still drinkable.
The night passes in a blur. The fire cackles, flames shining in the corner of his eyes; hues of orange and red. Beautiful. They heat his face, add colour to usually pale skin. The alcohol helps, too. He’s pretty sure his cheeks are tinged pink. Snape’s certainly are.
They talk. Joke. Their interaction less strained than usual. It’s nice, Regulus thinks. He’s glad he stayed.
And then the girl disappears with McNair, and then the common room is empty save the three of them. And then—
“Regulus wants you to fuck him.” Said like it’s no big deal, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to say.
That’s just Evan.
Two heads turn in sync. Shocked. Embarrassed. Perhaps a little turned on. Regulus can feel his face heat. His eyes widen.
“What?” Evan asks. He doesn’t understand their surprise. “Everyone knows. We have bets.”
He takes the bottle from Severus and tilts his head back, throat moving as he swallows another swing.
Bets, Regulus thinks. Bets. He looks ready to strangle something. Preferably Evan.
“What.” And that’s Snape’s voice. Flat and indifferent. Not letting on what he’s really thinking.
Bastard, Regulus thinks. Can’t let anything be easy.
“Yep.” He ends the word with a loud pop, lips turned in a smirk. So he’s realised what he’s done, Regulus thinks. And he’s happy about it.
Bastard.
“It was funny at first,” Evan says, and Regulus is definitely going to kill him. “But it’s annoying now.”
Severus looks at Evan. Regulus watches him from the corner of his eye. His bottom lip is held gently between his teeth, his eyes narrowed. Like he’s trying to figure something out. And then he turns. Looks right at Regulus.
“Is it true?”
And, because the alcohol has destroyed any sense he may have had, Regulus’ first instinct is to blurt: “It’s your hands.”
Evan is grinning again, now. Head hovering above Snape’s shoulder. He reminds Regulus of Sirius when he does that.
“I’ll be off,” he says. Cheerfully. Like he’s trying not to laugh.
Kill him, yes. Regulus is definitely going to do it.
***
Or, maybe not. Maybe he owes Evan a couple of favours. Because now Snape’s hands are on him, and, fuck. If it isn’t the best thing Regulus has ever felt.
They’re pressed against one of the armchairs, Severus’ body above his. Regulus has his shirt bunched up around his waist, his trousers hanging around mid-thigh. It’s messy, rushed. But so, so good.
Snape’s fingers are curled around his cock, the pressure fucking brilliant. They’re definitely skilled, Regulus thinks. If a bit inexperienced.
It’s almost torturous. Snape squeezes, rubs, pulls until he’s a panting, moaning mess. And then he stops, replaces the steady pressure with feather light touches. With the pads of his fingers trailing over sensitive skin. With the faintest brush of a nail, almost enough pressure to hurt, but not.
Fuck.
“This is what you were thinking about,” he says. Not a question, but a statement of fact. “In our sessions.”
“Yes.” Moaned. Breathless. Regulus wants to scream it. He doesn’t, but his hips buck up, into the heat of his hand. Friction.
“You should have said.”
The words are followed by a finger moving up his shaft, across the vein, circling the head. Severus presses his thumb against the slit, collects the precome, and drags his hand back down.
Experimental.
Regulus comes -- eyes wide and staring, a strangled swear on his tongue, his stomach jolting, his legs shaking. White, thick come splatters on his stomach, his shirt, Severus’ hands. He licks his lips.
Yes, Regulus thinks. He definitely owes Evan something.
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no subject
Date: 2017-07-12 05:18 am (UTC)And Evan! I haven't really read him much before, but this is brilliant! Thank you! :)
no subject
Date: 2017-07-12 06:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-07-12 11:04 am (UTC)the hotness and the sexiness in the descriptions of the hands just blows my mind
but damn the characterizations were just so spot on too! and awesome!
such a good read- i was so sad when it was over because now i want to know more about your characters!
well done you- very well done!
no subject
Date: 2017-07-12 09:42 pm (UTC)Thank you so much! I've been working on both those things, so I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the characterisation and imagery!
no subject
Date: 2017-07-12 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-07-12 09:41 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2017-08-02 12:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-02 06:13 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2017-09-02 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-09-03 10:52 am (UTC)