I do not own these characters. I only play with them. HP/SS SLASH, Harry is in 5th year

Ascendancy


It isn't often that Snape indulges in physical release, but he hasn't been sleeping well. Voldemort is working up new plans and Snape is lucky enough to be included in the drafts ~ if being privy to the mad man's mind can be considered 'lucky'. Unfortunately, this requires a change in the hours that he is available to the Dark Lord. Usually he is only required to attend to Voldemort on weekends as the Dark Lord doesn't often call on his services beyond ensuring that the Death Eaters have an available supply of potions. These usually include basic potions for healing or for keeping the Death Eaters alert on long missions.

Now, Voldemort is requesting a more complex, disturbingly dark potion that is requiring many hours of research on Snape's part stealing his precious hours, once used for sleep. And things are changing.

Voldemort and his inner circle are moving ahead faster than Snape would like. The silver in this cloud is that he now has better access to the Dark Lord's vision -although he still hasn't worked out exactly how it all fits together. This latest potion makes the surly Potions Master more anxious than any of the others. However, he admits to himself that he finds the challenge exhilarating. After hours of searching his personal stores, and those long neglected throughout the school, he has found the missing ingredient- one that has long been unavailable as this type of potion is all but extinct. For good reason. It took weeks to locate it and he shakes his head at the fact that it is found in a room just beyond his own. He has been out until the now early hours of the morning brewing for the Dark Lord.

But now he is home. He waves his hand over his door, muttering the password under his breath.

He is weary. He disrobes, placing his clothes in a hamper. He enters the bathroom. He turns on the water to the shower and lets the hot water run through the cold pipes. He places his hand under the water and checks the temperature. Frigid.

While he waits for the water, he brushes his teeth and leans over the sink to spit. He stands up and peers into his reflection. He quickly assesses the long, lank hair framing his narrow face. He knows it only accentuates the length of his crooked nose which matches his crooked teeth. He is remembering an old muggle nursery rhyme and sighs as he moves back towards the shower.

He holds out a hand and the water is ready. Goose pimples pop up all over his body as it recognises that it is cold and the water is warm. He steps in and adjusts the taps so that his body is wrapped in the warm cascade. He stands for a moment and enjoys the streams of water as they gently massage the tension from his muscles.

It is not his wont to indulge in fripperies, but he does not begrudge himself this shower. He imagines it washes away his guilt after sessions with Voldemort. It is his own personal baptismal font. He soaps a cloth and washes away the grim of the dust from his legs, his arms. He thinks of his bed and he knows that the exhaustion he feels is not enough for his body to succumb to sleep. He runs his hands along his chest. They move lower. He fights his urges as he does most nights. They are inappropriate. They confirm what he knows. He can never truly stand in the Light.

He can deny them in the harsh light of day, but at night…

The nights are the hardest.

His hands take over and his eyes flutter shut as he gives in. He runs his fingers through the tight curls at the base of his cock and he feels the heat pooling there. He welcomes it as the blood moves from his brain…from the part that screams for him to stop. On the second stroke, his cock silences his mind and he gives in to the images that feed it. He slides his hand along his chest and in his mind, his fingers become the tip of a soft, pink tongue as they lick and flick across his nipples. He swallows a moan as his cock fills completely.

He leans his forehead against the shower wall trying to support the body his legs have all but abandoned. His hand moves behind him and squeezes his arse with a promise of more to come. His legs part, needing. He imagines it is another hand, ~a delicate hand~ and he trembles as the finger slips into his cleft and searches out his most sensitive spot. It reaches his anus. With the pad of his finger, he pushes at the tight, gripping muscle and he shivers despite the humid heat of the air caressing his body. His cock throbs and his hips thrust back in encouragement.

He grinds his teeth as he removes his hand. He cannot do this. He cannot bring himself to defile that delicate hand. It was not made for him.

He turns around and leans his back against the shower wall. He tries to clear his mind of all these images and finish what he started. He is too far lost in the sensations to will away his arousal.

He cups his balls weighing them. He relishes in the soft, velvety feel of them. He rolls them around as he frantically tugs and twists at his arousal. He rushes to completion as his cock pulses out his frustrations. He's satiated for now. He turns to rinse his ejaculate down the drain along side his guilt. He turns off the shower and wraps himself in a towel.

Drying himself off in his bed chambers, he climbs under the cold covers and shivers. Embers glow in the grate doing nothing to dispel the chill. He waits for his body to heat the bed. He knows he is weak. He knows he has succumbed to temptation, but he is satisfied as he did not indulge.

He knows that he will always fight this battle.

Tonight he wins and that is enough. He sleeps soundly.


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