DISCLAIMER: Neither Snape nor Jack Sparrow, delicious creatures that they are, belong to me. Unless I go for plastic surgery and impersonate J. K. Rowling, which would be one out of two - did I say that outloud? Oops.
Author's Note: This fic is mostly PWP; I wanted to explore the dynamics between Snape and Jack, and I'm taking it one (very small) step at a time (i.e the Sex first). The only difficult bit is that they are both dominant men (READ: they both top), but they're both dark, stubborn seductive men, so Jack's presumptuous nature would override Snape's self-sacrificial-while-being-a-jerk nature. They should be happy together, but we'll just see, then? There should be a sequel to this. Soon. Maybe. Enjoy (: Final words below.
He picked up the bottle, and shook it. It was very nearly empty. Damn. He would have to walk over to the counter, and fend off the advances of the bargirl again, to get another –
"Drink?" A voice murmured against his ear, shockingly warm and sweet with the taste of rum. Snape tensed involuntarily as a presumptuous arm snaked around his waist, brushing against the little buttons there. His fingers curved around the neck of the bottle, lifting it to disguise the lapse and tossed back the last of the drink.
Captain Jack Sparrow watched the lines of his throat curve, and felt his own jerk to mirror it. Snape then detached the bottle from his mouth with a small, wet sound, and Jack's breath couldn't help but hitched the sight of Snape's glistening lips.
There was an audible chink as the bottle was placed back on the table. Snape looked impervious to the little sound Jack had made, and the tiny circles the arm around his waist was rubbing, but appearances were often deceiving, and in Snape's case, always.
Jack had felt the man's stomach clench as his hand stroked past it, and relished the reaction. His usual grin on his face, he leant in until he felt the ends of the man's hair tickle his neck, puffing tiny breaths against his elegantly curved ear, and inhaled the lingering scent of rosemary, incense and the tang of liquor. The heady mixture shot straight down to his groin, and when the man turned dark obsidian eyes on him in a displeased glare, he straightened rather hastily. Bloody, but that man has gorgeous eyes. Jack cursed under his breath. Dislodging a bar stool, he pulled it over to where Snape sat, deceptively calm.
"Finished sniffing my neck, have you? And now you've decided to seat yourself in the exact spot I'm occupying. Well, do not let my presence bother you. Please, make yourself comfortable." Snape ended with a dangerous incline of his head.
He had injected almost lethal amounts of his trademark sarcasm into the little speech, and was absurdly pleased when he was greeted with silence at the end of it. Maybe now he would be able to get some peace – and another bottle of whisky. The last one had been good, but unsatisfying.
Or not. "Thank you, luv. Thought you looked like the polite sort."
Jack had not heard most of what the man had said, but that was not due to his stupidity (unlike that time he had tried to argue the merits of a tryst to a very well-dressed and well-married man, and barely escaped with his life, and vital organs unscathed), but because he had been staring so hard at the man's face after he turned to address him that he forgot decorum demanded one actively listened in a conversation, rather than ogling the other person. No matter how captivating. But Jack thought the man - or woman, most likely – who had thought of that rule had never seen this man.
Before, it had been his eyes. Now his entire face mesmerized Jack. The striking eyes that had so disturbed Jack previously was as black as the night outside, without a hint of the wildly twirling lights all around them, sparking off their clothes. It called to Jack like a siren's song, lured him closer with the promise of the sea, and drew him down into the twisting depths. The sharp angles of his pale face stood out in the shifting shadows in the bar, yet at the same time blending with the dim light so that wherever Jack looked, all he saw was Snape. Snape's face. Snape's long fingers curved around - he swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry.
"I'm not." The quiet, deadly proclamation jolted Jack out of his reverie. He had no idea what the man was talking about, so he picked up his bottle (which was still almost full) and drank to stall. The man continued looking at him, his gaze almost assessing.
Snape had never seen someone so pretty – he caught himself. That had been a purely objective observation, of course. Besides, Severus Snape, word extraordinaire, never used the word 'pretty'. It was beneath him, just like the common, unkempt man sitting in front of him right now, as bold as brass, was, wearing ridiculous make-up and things in his hair, which was actually really pret -. Damn. He cast about for another word to describe him – ah. Effeminate.
He had never seen anyone so effeminate before.
He convinced himself that the less-than-complimentary connotations of the word were what he had meant all along.
"I prefer the term 'damnably attractive'. Not effeminate. Which is not to say I'm vain, luv, because I'm not, at least not completely. It takes a real man to wear such trinkets, y'know?"Or a real pirate, but Jack didn't think his companion needed to know that when they haven't even exchanged names. He punctuated his (rather lengthy) pronouncement with several effusive gestures.
Snape realized he had said that last line aloud. Damn.
"And are you?" His voice was cold as always, revealing nothing of the strange tight feeling in his chest when the nuisance of a man moved his arms, his shirt stretching against very interesting parts of his body.
"What?"
"Are you a real man?"
The question hung between them.
Suddenly, Jack moved off his stool and in between Snape's parted thighs in one fluid movement, his hands swiftly coming up to rest on Snape's shoulders, his face inches away from Snape's stolid one. Their bodies brushed, the lightest of a butterfly's touch. They exchanged breaths for one tense second, and then Jack turned his face away into Snape's hair, swaying so close into Snape that the fabric of their clothes touched with an electrifying rustle.
"Why don't you find out?"
His voice came out raspy, almost seductive, his best effect yet, and he congratulated himself even as his arousal strained against his pants, and he kept it carefully away from Snape's thighs. Surprisingly the body under his hands was hard and corded with muscles, not the soft flesh of someone slim but unfit, as he had originally thought. Right now, every single muscle in the man's body stretched, anticipatory, and Jack felt a thrill run through him at what this man's disciplined, controlled body could do. Might do. To him.
Snape felt the heavy, careful hands of the stranger on him, even through his robes, the intoxicating scent of rum on his breath, the heat of his body, so close to him. So close – if he just leaned forward … The stranger smelled salty and sweaty and normally Snape took points off for sweaty children in his class but this was different, he was different and for all his surface distaste he felt himself wondering what the man would do if he moved closer. Just a little bit, and their mouths would meet; he'll taste like rum, Snape was sure, and feel like pure desire and he found himself far too curious about the current subject of the conversation.
Snape knew he was on the edge of a precipice, clinging on, barely and his wand was out of reach. This strange attraction between them loomed large below him, coiling, and it was as dangerous as it was desperate. Once Snape let go, he'll fall and fall, all the way down and for a breathless, horrifying moment he was really falling, into Jack's eyes – olive green and dark – as he shifted again – closer to that intoxicating heat, closer – into their swirling depths – sucking him in like eddies - and he thought vaguely if this was what it felt to fall – into him - he might almost – with him - not mind – for him -
That stopped him short.
Snape forced his traitorous mind back to reality. This alcohol-induced infatuation was growing too strong to ignore. Keeping his own body tightly away from Jack's wine-heated torso, he looked Jack in the eye and declined firmly.
"No thank you. I don't do business with pirates."
Jack felt the surprise course through his body, and because of their proximity he knew the man saw it too, had known all along, and suddenly he was wary, wary of this man he had wanted, and underestimated from the start, when he had entered the bar to the silhouette of him, bottle tilted, throat pale and arched, his body shadowed.
The bastard just knew he hadn't known, and now he knew Jack knew, and Jack knew he did, too, and the fact was that he shouldn't have known, but irrelevant of the rather confusing points, one thing was for sure: He was Captain Jack Sparrow, and he was damned if he allowed some – man to best him at deception. No matter how alluring he was. And he wasn't. Alluring, that is.
And that didn't influence his subsequent decision at all. It was purely in the name of revenge that Jack did what he did next, and not because he had been attracted to Snape from the moment he saw him. It was pure business; Jack Sparrow never mixed business with pleasure.
Jack Sparrow never lied, either. Jack would cite you examples of hundreds of people who would testify to that fact, but as they were all dead of mysterious circumstances that Jack most definitely doesn't know anything about, there was really no point in asking any of them.
"A pirate, eh, luv? And do you know what pirates do best? Plundering."
The last word came out as a hiss that was instantly swallowed by Snape's mouth when Jack smashed his own furiously down on it, his work-roughened hands pinning Snape's arms behind his back, against the cold seat of the bar stool. Teeth nipped stubbornly closed lips painfully for a moment before Jack pushed his entire body against Snape's heaving chest, rubbing against his torso like a cat, twice as warm and much more arousing, if Snape's sharp inhalation was anything to go by.
The bottles on the counter shifted dangerously, the half-full one almost spilling its contents, as Jack shoved Snape backwards against the bar top, slanting his mouth even harder over Snape's lips, unless finally, finally they parted, and Jack wasted no time in slamming his tongue into the moist, hot and utterly delicious cavern, eliciting a reluctant groan from the man under him.
The first taste of the pirate's tongue in his mouth was far, far better than anything Snape had ever imagined, and he couldn't help wanting more, wanting it faster, harder, hotter and it took all his self-control not to betray himself – any further, at least – by pushing back into that inviting, drugging warmth, which was even now teasing his own, dormant tongue.
He told himself it would be completely misleading to wrest his hands free and wrap them around the other man's body, to let his tongue duel with the pirate's, to thrust his body demandingly into the other's, to even enjoy this, damn it, but just then Jack did something with his tongue, inside his mouth, a little twist and ohfuckitfeltsogood and what was left of Snape's discipline broke like rain after a long drought.
Jack knew the moment Snape cracked.
His hands were clutching empty air so quickly the air still felt warm between them, and for a split second Jack thought, but then long impossibly cool fingers hitched up his half-buttoned shirt and splayed themselves like cooling balm across the overheated flesh, the trembling digits stroking the lightest of streaks, and Jack decided thinking could sod off, for all he cared. Everywhere Snape touched Jack felt he was being branded, and he crazily thought he'll see marks tomorrow, faint, white and not really there. Snape's mouth had opened, and his tongue, wickedly clever, was now slipping into Jack's mouth even as Jack made a helpless sound against Snape's swollen lips.
Their bodies, freed from control and reason and common sense, pressed hard against each other, their torsos sliding against the other, their hips frantically shifting, trying to find the perfect rhythm, perfect position.
Relentlessly, Snape kept up his assault on Jack's mouth and body, his fingers scratching up to teasingly flick at Jack's nipples, his own tightening at the low keen rumbling in his throat when he gave it a hard pinch. Momentarily forgetting where he was, who he was with and what his name was, Snape drew his left thigh in between Jack's legs, nudging the bulge in his leggings with his own, shuddering at the exquisite feel of contact.
Jack groaned at the touch, and thrust back wildly, his eyes dark and blind as he placed a hand on the topmost button of Snape's robes, swearing when the button refused to obey his unsteady hand. Snape's amused chuckle, despite going straight down his throat and tingling in his body, prompted him to wrap fingers around his high-necked collar, just above that errant button, and give a vicious tug.
Pinging sounds were heard as the row of buttons broke, scattering over their joined bodies and onto the floor. The collar gaped open, revealing a thin stripe of milky white skin that went straight to Jack's groin. He touched a reverent finger to the exposed flesh, and felt rather than heard Snape's tortured intake of breath. Jack would have grinned victoriously at Snape, but his mouth was in the process of being thoroughly pleasured, and he couldn't break the kiss even if he died trying.
Snape had no such qualms, apparently.
Wrenching his mouth away from Jack, he pinned the still dazed man with a patented Snape You-are-in-so-much-trouble-that-if-I-could-give-you-detention-you-would-never-see-the-sun-again-but-even-if-I-can't-I-will-still-manage-to-make-your-life-miserable glare.
Snape looked down briefly and examined his state of undress. "This is my favourite article of clothing." Snape informed Jack in his coldest, most quietly dangerous voice.
Jack seemed to think that the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that Jack was almost straddling Snape's thighs, and their mouths, both bruised red, were mere inches apart. "It was."
The lines of Snape's mouth tightened. Jack found himself tracing a finger over the intriguing definition, almost leaning in, and felt petulant when Snape flicked his hand away and dropped him back on his stool, settling himself down on his own calmly, as though he wasn't wearing an unbuttoned robe and breathing heavily from a previous fellatio.
Until Snape tried to reach for his bottle of whiskey, before remembering it was empty, which had been the cause of his trouble in the first place. Snape stared at the empty bottle, and then at his conspicuously outstretched hand. His fingers curled around air, before he jerked it around Jack's bottle and brought it to his lips, the taste of the rum spicy and warm and tingling, just like Jack.
Oddly, Jack felt heartened by the slip. His body was occupied with other issues; his erection still strained against his pants, and was saying very loudly that if the man could look so sexy freshly kissed, he would look majorly fuckable freshly shagged, if Jack only hurried up, and did it already.
"Ah –" Jack gestured vaguely to Snape's neck. "Your – collar, you know, is still opened." And he could still see Snape's porcelain skin around the open lapels, see the flush that Snape's actions and words denied, even smell – Jack shook his head, trying to throw off the lingering heat from the previous encounter.
Snape looked up so quickly Jack felt the whiplash. Then he saw the collar re-button itself. Jack blinked. And again. The man's coat suddenly had buttons again.
Snape was wearing that infuriating smirk of his again. "Saw anything interesting?"
"You mean besides the fact that I saw your bloody coat re-button themselves?"
The smirk grew larger. There was a suspicious sort of glint in his eyes. "The reverse is possible, too."
Jack's irritation was wiped clean away by the sudden rush of heat and memories and need and Snape. He savored the feeling, not letting it overpower him even as he felt his blood rushing through his veins and the heat burning through his clothes, feeling it build up in his erection. Damn if he was letting that annoying, irritating, beautiful man get the better of him.
Although he suspected he already knew. Then he'll just have to make this harder for him. The corners of Jack's mouth lifted, and Snape's eyes darkened.
"I don't have sex with strangers." Jack drawled slowly as he stood up, knowing Snape's eyes followed the line of his body as it unfolded.
"But frottage is acceptable?" Snape had stood up as well. It was a mere inch between their overheated bodies.
"Among – other things." Jack's arms slipped around Snape.
Snape bought his mouth up to Jack's ear, blowing air across the flesh and biting down before swiping his tongue across the reddened flesh. "My name is Severus. Severus Snape."
Jack gasped, and arched his back into Snape's torso, more because of the sound of Snape's name over his skin than of the hand slipping under his loose shirt and stroking down his stomach. Severus. "Jack Sparrow."
Then there was no more coherency except for their mingled breaths and desire and pleaseharderohfuckplease and the sound of their bodies twisting under silk sheets on the bed Snape had Apparated them into seconds before they both lost their sanity.
In the morning, Snape would be grateful for that modicum of modesty and sensibility at least – if there wasn't the world's worst hangover mashing the insides of his brain, only slightly alleviated by the relaxed warmth in his body, emanating from that soothing, slightly hairy arm draped across his hip, and the ghost of lips brushing over his scalp.
Readers waiting for the sequel to Detention and the other drabbles, I apologise for the delay. Detention 2 is on its way, though, and re: the drabbles, I just need inspiration for the letter O, because I've gotten all the other letters (well, except X, Y and Z) done, so if you've got an idea for O, please let me know.