Anything You Want

By Bernice, Beta reading: Luthien.

Notes: This may or may not be a potential follow on to my other Snape/Black story, "Sorry", but it doesn't matter really, does it, in the grand scheme of things.

-oo0oo-

Black was wiggling like an excited puppy, and Snape tickled his stomach indulgently, listening to the squeaking giggles this caused, and smirked calmly to himself. He tightened the cord that fixed Black's left hand to the bedpost, and gave it a short, sharp yank, watching the skin redden around the rope in protest.

"Easy, there, Severus, you're not trying to kill me now," Black said, chuckling a little, but Snape didn't answer, just gave him a sideways look and yanked the cord again.

Just because they'd been having sex for a while, didn't make them lovers, as far as Snape was concerned. There was no love between them, and there never would be if he could help it, just sex and more of their games of power and dominance. Their childhood games of one-upmanship had found a new outlet, that was all. Despite their intimacy, Snape was never going to trust Black; far too many hexes and torments lay between them for Snape to ever let go of his long held resentments completely. Of course, that didn't mean he had to forgo what were frequently some very satisfying physical intimacies, and he had become quite addicted to the feeling of superiority he got from magnanimously allowing Black into his bed.

"Do you want me to gag you?" he asked, his tone polite. He was rewarded with a raised eyebrow of suspicion. Black had complained previously that if Snape was polite, it was worth being worried.

"No..." Black spoke quietly, apparently ashamed that he didn't have quite that level of trust in Snape. "I might need to use my safe word."

"And just what is a safe word?" Snape asked, as he reached down to test the bonds securing Black's feet to the end of the bed.

"A word I can use if things go too far. If I say my safe word, you have to stop doing what you're doing."

"I see. How very convenient." Considering that Black had never let him have a safe word when they had been students, Snape really he wasn't sure that he should extend that courtesy now.

Then again if he didn't allow this odd little idiosyncrasy, the oral sex might stop, and there was a lot Snape would do for a good blowjob.

"How about 'dragon'? We'll both remember that. If I say 'dragon' you have to stop whatever you're doing, all right?"

"If you wish," Snape said, and settled comfortably on Black's stomach, straddling him, knees on either side of Black's ribs. Even through his dressing gown, he could feel Black's erection tapping against his buttocks. Black was as hard as a broom handle, obviously extremely aroused by having finally convinced Snape to try this bondage thing he'd been prattling about for so long.

A few more tugs, and Black was naked, hard, panting, and totally immobilised. Without Snape's help, he would never reach his wand, he was totally at Snape's mercy, and Snape felt a small shiver of excitement that had little to do with sex. As a teenager, he had dreamed so many times of having Black under his control like this. Powerless, helpless. Of course, he'd never imagined Black doing this voluntarily. He'd never imagined having Black almost beg to be so totally under his power like this.

He ran his hands over Black's flat chest, noting the still-prominent ribs, the pale flesh that was only now recovering health, the almost non-existent pectoral muscles, and the nipples that peaked and pruned under his gently stroking fingers.

"Oh yes..." Black arched up into his hands, pushing as far as the ropes would allow before collapsing back into the rumpled bed sheets, the veins on his arm corded and blue with the strain.

"Oh yes, what?" Snape asked. For all of Black's keenness on this variation on their usual routine, Snape really had little idea of what was expected. He knew of torture, he knew of pain, he knew how to make someone who was tied down scream and beg and bleed, but somehow he suspected his knowledge in this area wasn't quite what Black was after. Not tonight, not yet, not quite yet anyway. Snape had an idea that he was expected to have a deeper understanding of the twelve uses of phoenix feathers for what Black wanted tonight.

"Oh yes, anything," Black whispered, his eyes half shut, his lips moist with anticipation.

Watching the pink tongue flicker, trying to moisten lips dry with nerves and uncertainty, Snape said, "You will have to guide me in this, Black. You are the one with the perversions and desire for unnatural sex acts, not me. What is it you want me to do?"

"Anything you want. I'm at your mercy, Snape. You can do anything you want." Black almost gasped out the words, and Snape wondered if he was now having second thoughts. He wondered if Black was worrying just how well he could trust Snape now, and perhaps he was wondering if Snape's reputation as a sadist was well earned, or merely more school gossip.

Picking up a thick candle from the bedside table, Snape held it closer to Black's chest, watching it reflect its yellow light in the sweat-sheened skin. "Anything?"

"Yes, anything. Anything you want." Black looked at the flickering flame and licked his lips again, the flicker giving away his increasing unease and excitement.

"Anything I want," Snape murmured to himself, and stood up, sliding off the bed. He held the candle high, watching the taut, shivering body on his bed as Black twisted and strained.

He placed the candle on the table again, letting the light reflect in Black's wide, glittering eyes. If he leaned closer he could smell the sweetness of Black's sweat, clean, not yet sour. It would become sour as the night progressed; he knew Black would sweat until he and the bed and even Snape was rank with it. Earthy, meaty, masculine.

Tightening the belt on his dressing gown, he swirled out into his small living room and stoked the fire up a little before the kettle on the boil. He made his tea slowly and carefully, the familiar ceremony calming his nerves like nothing else ever did, and fetched himself a good, large book from his shelf. He had to blow a layer of dust off the old leather cover; it had been a long, long time since he'd had a chance for a quiet evening to read in peace.

The kettle boiled and he made his tea with anticipation, pausing only to cast a silencing charm on the bedroom when the angry shouting became too intrusive.

He settled into his favourite armchair with a deeply contented sigh, and opened his book. A nice cup of tea and a good sit down. Bliss. He had to give Black his due, he was right; this bondage thing was absolutely wonderful.

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