Title: Screaming Virgin
Note: A response to a SSFF challenge for Snape/Hagrid and for the plotline: "odd couple in the Three Broomsticks". Not entirely sure story is successful as a Snape/Hagrid story - I feel much happier with Size Queen, although there are a few bits of the story I do like, including Snape's view of his own attitude towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, and Sprout's attitude to Voldemort's remains.
Have fixed whacking great continuity-error when pointed out to me: in this story I wrote Harry grown-up to write him out of the way, but I found the sex-ed story worked much better if Harry's generation were still at school to make jokes and rude remarks about. The sex-ed story is now finished and up, see top of page.
Pairing: Severus Snape/Rubeus Hagrid
Black's appointment was the talk of the school. Snape was not prepared to be Black's colleague, and wrote a letter of resignation immediately. He didn't precisely want to resign; that was the backup plan. However, he was prepared to if necessary. He had the letter in his hand when he went to Albus's office.
"I don't suppose it would do any good to ask you not to give him the position of Defence against the Dark Arts?"
Albus poured them both tea, and said, "I fear not. Voldemort decimated a generation of wizardry, Severus. I often agreed with you on the incompetents we were forced to accept. Whatever your feelings, he knows a lot about the subject. And, unfortunately, Rita Skeeter has filled the press with rumours about Sirius Black being the true hero of the war, and stopped just short of calling you a villain."
"And if I asked you to give me the position instead?" Just to stop him, he meant, and he knew Albus had understood that.
Albus looked at him over steepled fingertips. "You could be adequate, Severus, but—not with the Houses as they are. I caused much of the problem myself, trying to keep a proper sense of wariness towards Dark wizardry."
"I told you at the time that inter-House unity would make more sense." Not that I'd have lifted a finger to promote it, but it would have been the right thing to do.
Albus looked straight at him. "I am quite frankly somewhat afraid. If I give you the job, some of the more hot-headed element..." Gryffindors, Snape filled in, "...might try to do you serious harm. I am not prepared to have that happen again."
"In the case of that unfortunate incident when you were young, I decided that the best thing all round was to downplay the seriousness of what nearly occurred. You were all boys, it hardly seemed..."
"...important that somebody should try to murder me," said Snape acidly.
"At the time, I thought it would frighten all of you less if I treated it as a prank that went wrong." Albus sighed. "Would it make it any better to know that it only later occurred to me how you in particular would take it?"
"I believe I was wrong," said Albus.
Snape sipped his tea. For an apology he had been waiting for all his life, it ought to feel more significant.
"I would miss you very much, personally and professionally, if you left," said the old wizard. "I shall, however, give you the best of references if you require."
"Do you regard this as a useful opportunity to get rid of me?" he asked, glaring at Albus.
"No," said Albus. "As I said, I would miss you. But I've always known you don't find teaching at school-level ideal. You've never made any secret of that. Voldemort's death has freed many of us: I consider I don't have the right to ask any more of you than you feel willing to give. I shall quite understand if you wish to find a suitable research position."
Snape's hand clamped onto the letter, and he scrunched it up into a ball so viciously it nearly hurt him. He'd come in fully prepared to leave, if necessary, but he felt an absolutely irresistible impulse to stand his ground when he thought of how convenient it would be for his enemies if he left.
"No, Albus. I would be able to cope with leaving malicious gossip behind me, but I am damned if I will let Black win by default."
Snape threw the letter onto the cold ashes in the hearth, and relieved his feelings a little by setting fire to it vigorously.
"In the long term, yes, a research position would suit me," he admitted, "but I would prefer to retire with dignity rather than leave my foe in uncontested possession of the field, so I intend not to leave my job immediately. I assume he will not be taking up the position before the new school year."
"No, but..." Albus looked uncomfortable. "It's going to be the end-of-term staff meeting next week. I invited him, and all of us. The one where everyone's in a bit of a holiday mood and no-one talks about work."
The one I don't go to, thought Snape.
"Just this once, I would like to have all of us there. Celebrating Voldemort's final demise. Drawing a line under the past. All the adults that were in the war, anyway."
"That's true," said Snape, slightly less gloomily at the thought of not running into Potter and his little gang of maniacs for once. Potter was at an away match, so just for once he wouldn't be haunting Snape in his Invisibility Cloak. Also, a lot of his hangers-on would be cheering him on, and Rita Skeeter would be searching for an Exclusive. That made about ten or fifteen people Snape didn't want to meet that he wouldn't have to meet.
Well, Voldemort was dead, and they were all alive. He supposed that marking the occasion couldn't be too bad.
"If I must," Snape admitted, with bad grace. "Don't expect me to be particularly civil to Black."
Snape wasn't looking forward to the staff meeting. He even bathed and washed his hair. He didn't wash his hair as often as a popinjay like, for example, Lockhart, but it seemed wasted effort when it would get steam and Potion splashes all over it. However, this wasn't a working evening, and he didn't want to give Black any more ammunition for his jokes. Not that anyone would notice it was clean; he wondered why he bothered.
Snape didn't have a problem with celebrating the death of Voldemort, actually. He felt quite pleased about that, in a quiet way. He'd finally lost that tasteless tattoo, and the likelihood of being killed in a number of annoying ways, or seeing death visited upon his students. He didn't like his students, and he thought it beggared belief that so many substandard idiots should turn up in one school, but that didn't mean he wanted to see them killed.
One problem was how many people believed the gossip. In fact, he didn't want the Dark-Arts position, and never had. He was a research wizard; if circumstances hadn't forced him into schoolteaching his name could be feared, respected and hated at a much higher level. As it was, he enjoyed spending his few free evenings writing blistering letters to academic journals on Why This Is Wrong and Your Usual Columnist Is An Idiot. Nobody saw that, at Hogwarts, because nobody else read the journals except him.
Damn. He had been really looking forward to writing one tonight. He'd been saving up the last issue of Pure Potions Journal, with an article by the moron who served as the editor. He'd already hashed out the first paragraph, and brewed up a batch of ink poised to burst into flames the moment the editor's eyes travelled over the signature after reading it. That would keep people on their toes.
Instead, he would have to go out to the Three Broomsticks and drink something and listen to inane conversation, instead of having fun.
The fresh underwear he had been intending to wear tomorrow had a hole worn in it. The rest wasn't quite clean. It would not do.
That left only the soft smooth black-silk-things he kept in a private drawer for best and never used. He had those as a present, a box of them, and had truly thought he'd never use them. But now was probably the time. Nobody would ever see it, of course, but he wanted to be properly covered for the psychological advantage. He eased it on, trying not to notice how pleasant it felt. He wasn't going to be there for anything pleasant. This was a damage-limitation exercise to try to ensure any nonsense about the Dark-Arts position would stop.
A few years ago, when one of the Weasley brats had overheard him berating one of the first appalling no-hopers to take the position, it had been a matter of no consequence. A year after that, Quirrell had been taken on, and people had begun to say ?no smoke without fire' as they watched him intimidate the pathetic little wreck. He'd been lucky with Quirrell: only his own natural deviousness and refusal to play an open game had led him to speak to Quirrell in covert enough terms not to betray himself to Quirrell's...inhabitant.
Snape put on another layer of cloth, a rather splendid dark purple waistcoat, and thought about Lockhart.
Lockhart had added his own, "well, of course he's just jealous!" commentary to the mix, and people had begun to say, of course all that stuff about Potions taking real skill compared to flashy wizardry is just envy; of course he wants the exciting job.
He snorted. As if he could have been jealous of anything Lockhart had to offer. Even that appallingly-scented blond hair. He brushed his own hair crossly. It seemed to have gone slightly wavy. I knew it was a bad idea to wash it, he thought.
The next year, Snape had become his own worst enemy, not that he was lacking in real ones. He'd hoped for less of a clothes-horse in the Dark-Arts position, but Remus Lupin's appointment hadn't pleased him either. He admitted to himself that spitting bile about the one good Dark-Arts teacher in recent memory had been a strategic mistake, but he'd been boiling-mad with spite, and the perfectly-justifiable indignation of a man whose attempted murder had been brushed off as a joke, and Lupin had suddenly been within reach of his anger while the real culprit had not. Not my finest hour, I will admit, Snape thought.
He smoothed down his bottom layer of clothes—always best to make sure some passing imperfection hadn't got the ability to cause havoc underneath the unruffled surface.
Those few people who'd believed he'd merely been offended by incompetence had been silenced by his behaviour to Lupin, he remembered as he sealed himself into plenty of clean black cloth and started to fight the buttons into submission.
With a skill made possible by practice he finished enclosing himself into the layers of cloth that formed a proper barrier between himself and the rest of the world.
And Lupin hadn't been perfect, of course. His...defect was enough to disqualify him from teaching. The incumbent after him hadn't really been himself, and the ferret incident didn't say much for his pedagogical abilities.
He adjusted his spats.
And now, the worst yet. A problem that dwarfed his normal detestation for the Dark-Arts professors. Somebody he'd hated since he'd been—what?—eleven? A lifetime's enmity, thinly-covered by Sirius Black's unpleasantly mocking manner and Snape's own icy bitterness. The moment he let his feelings show—and he would—people would be certain to think he was behaving unfairly to Black because he wanted Black's job.
There was a knock on the door. "You ready, Professor?" bellowed a disgustingly cheerful voice.
"As I'll ever be," Snape sighed gloomily, doing up a last little button. In his opinion, he'd liked the fact that he had no friends. It kept things uncluttered. The rot had set in with Albus, who had simply ignored any coolness of manner from his prickliest member of staff. And then, Albus had given him a second chance in life, and then Albus wasn't as stupid as he looked. He'd got accustomed to Albus being friendly.
The rot had set further in with Hagrid. Hagrid seemed to like him however unfriendly he was. Snape had tried to insult him, at first, but Hagrid had hardly noticed, brushing all the nastiness aside casually. Hagrid sat next to him at meals, quite often, and chatted about nothing-very-much. Eventually, insulting him got to be too much trouble. Well, Hagrid could sit next to him in the pub and stop him getting up to try to kill Black.
He opened the door.
"Are yeh lookin' forward to goin' down the pub?" asked Hagrid.
"No I am not."
"Well, let's get on our way then or everyone else'll have drunk the place dry," said Hagrid, grinning quite as if Snape had said yes. Snape hated that grin. It always seemed to draw the corners of his own mouth momentarily upwards as if he'd be in danger of smiling in another minute. An impulse he had no intention of submitting to.
"You do realise who's going to be there?" Snape asked, striding out to keep up with Hagrid's long legs.
"Everyone, in't it?" said Hagrid, and beamed at him as if that were a delightful prospect.
"Everyone drinking, which is far worse. Dumbledore, dropping some revolting sweetmeat into a fizzy drink," Snape mentioned, with disgust. Dumbledore tended to do that, in excessively holiday moods, either stirring the sweet in or watching it bob up and down slowly.
"Too sweet for yeh?" said Hagrid, with an even bigger grin. "I've got a stoat sarnie in my pocket if you fancy something savoury."
"Unsavoury, more like," muttered Snape, shuddering. He'd seen one of Hagrid's pocket-sandwiches once before: waxed paper was a passing nod to the question of food hygiene, but it had been kept there for more than a day, and sat on at least once.
"Anyway, yeh like Dumbledore."
"I admit Dumbledore, Sprout, Pomfrey, Flitwick and you aren't too bad, if one has to have colleagues. I can even cope with McGonagall, sipping gillywater through pursed lips, and giving me a look that could curdle milk if I ever have the temerity to mention my Slytherins, because bias towards one's own House is only permissible when she does it."
"There yeh are, then. Hogwarts teachers aren't a bad lot, on the whole." Hagrid smiled at him, as if that had settled the matter.
"Sybil Trelawney will sit across from me and drink that vile Romany drink she favours, and look into her portable crystal ball and see fog, which she will pretend is a vision of the future. The fact that average wizardly life-expectancy has gone up by decades because of Voldemort's death hasn't occurred to her."
"All right, sir, bit irritating I suppose. I just don't let her bother me."
Snape snorted. Imagine going through life not letting things bother him! "Then there's Black. I suppose you're going to tell me he's not so bad really?"
"No," said Hagrid. "He didn't really mean to kill yeh when he nearly got yeh killed, but it wasn't right. I wouldn't say as I like him. Too pleased with himself to start with. Then he spent twelve years in...that place, which I wouldn't wish on anyone. Well, it's got to have some effect. If he weren't a bit odd to start with, he will be now."
"Do you know, I find that refreshing. The wizarding world sees Black as some great hero, and you see a slightly crazed ex-prisoner."
"Maybe he's both," said Hagrid.
"You wouldn't be intending to perpetrate philosophy, would you Hagrid?" inquired Snape suspiciously. Peasants, fools, and the hard-of-thinking were popularly supposed to have a deep inner folk-wisdom that mere intellect couldn't come near. Tripe. Better to squash such an idea before it could gain ground.
"Philosophy? That's in books, in't it?" Hagrid asked as suspiciously as he had. "I wouldn't go messin' about wi' anythin' like that." Snape would have taken this for the inverse of his own prejudice if it hadn't been for the sly gleam in Hagrid's eye. Snape wasn't quite sure, but it looked a bit as if Hagrid found such prejudice...amusing. Surely not, he decided.
He gave a disgusted snort and said, "Anyway, Black is far from my favourite topic of conversation. You can talk about dragons if you like," he offered generously.
"Nobody's ever told yeh anythin' about conversation—the natural ebb-and-flow, like, 'ave they, sir?"
"No," said Snape baldly.
They had reached the pub by this time. Black wasn't there.
Flitwick was swizzling a cherry on a stick in his drink, Trelawney was prophesying doom and looking puzzled because it didn't have as much effect as usual, and Hooch was talking about Quidditch tactics.
For a while, Snape allowed himself to indulge the fantasy that it wouldn't really be that bad. He started drinking steadily, and found, as usual, that it didn't make the experience any less boring.
Then Black came in, all loud laughter and back-slapping. He insulted everybody, and nobody seemed to mind. They were all grinning like apes. It was terrible.
Snape had a flash of momentary relief when he thought Black was going to ignore him, but it turned out that Black was merely leaving him till last.
"Couldn't you have done us all a favour and washed your hair instead of coming to the pub with us?" asked Black. There were, of course, worse things Black could have said to Snape, many of them, but it was galling to have that be the first insult out of Black's mouth, when he'd taken care to pre-empt that particular comment by actually washing his hair. He took another medicinal swig of his drink, lips twisting with bitterness.
"He's a dog half the time," whispered Hagrid, ticklingly close to his ear, "he ought to be able to smell it's clean." Hagrid sniffed. "Bit minty, lovely smell that."
Snape took a smaller drink. At least there was someone on his side—at his side. Hagrid was drinking quite a bit, too, but that was normal. Hagrid was a wall of warmth between him and the others, and he could admit (if only to himself) that it was welcome.
"I said, wash your hair, Snape," Black continued jeeringly. "It must be getting close to that time of year."
"At least I don't use something from the vet's, marked ?for a glossy coat with added flea-treatment'," Snape retorted crossly.
"No, you don't look that well-cared-for!" boomed Black cheerfully. "Look as if you've got hepatitis keeping you that yellow. At least we know you didn't contract that sexually."
A few people chuckled. Snape trembled with rage. It was worse when there was just a grain of truth to the rumours. He was a little sensitive about the question of his lack of sexual experience.
"Yeh're just choosy, sir," whispered Hagrid, comfortingly. His breath smelled sweet from the mead.
Black, apparently scenting weakness, said heartily, "That right, Snape? You a virgin or something?"
"You know about certain unfortunate past acquaintanceships I had. Surely even you," Snape spat, "have some conception of the risks that would be involved in mixing any innocent I might have met up in that mess. Or worse, becoming involved with certain people. I told them power was a jealous mistress." He had told the Death Eaters that, and been believed. The glamour and charm of Lucius Malfoy had been such that he'd been slightly hurt when Malfoy had smiled, shrugged and accepted his excuse as a matter of course (but then, compared to Narcissa, the blandishments of power itself were warm, he'd realised later).
"No idea," grinned Black. "I lost mine long enough ago that I wasn't worrying about politics or spying, magic or otherwise, at the time."
Snape trembled with rage.
"Steady on sir," whispered Hagrid, "he's not worth the trouble." Snape felt a tiny spot of warmth beneath the iceberg of bitterness he carried about with him: he'd heard that sort of comment about him for Black's benefit, but few people had ever sided with him. Hagrid moved away from him a bit: now he had room to stand up. He stood up.
"Just because I don't spend my time rolling around in filthy pickup joints like this!" Snape snapped, goaded, thinking: bad strategy, he'll use that, even as the words left his mouth, and wanting to apologise to Rosmerta who had just gone past and given him a rather hurt look.
"Who the hell would want you, anyway?" asked Black.
"Me!" said Hagrid simply.
Black laughed helplessly. "Well, you've got one defender, even if he is just being kind."
"I in't!" said Hagrid indignantly. "I'd shag ?im in an ?eartbeat, ?e's gorgeous!"
There was a silence.
"I din't ought to 'ave said that," said Hagrid, his big brow crinkling. "I mean," he added to Black, "I meant it, right enough, but it weren't the right thing to say."
Black looked at them both with fascinated and hilarious repulsion. "I still can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "I mean, Hagrid, you're nice. You can't fancy him!"
A look of determination crossed Hagrid's large face. That was all the warning Snape got before a huge hand cupped both his buttocks and squeezed. Snape jerked away in furious panic before his body could betray him into enjoying it, nearly hurting himself on the table.
"D'yeh believe that, Black?" rumbled Hagrid, rather threateningly.
"I think this has gone far enough," said Albus Dumbledore. "Black, shall I be forced to reprimand you for your behaviour before you even join the staff?"
"Sorry, sir." said Black.
"Apologise to Severus."
Black muttered something that might have been "s'rry". Snape sat down again, and Hagrid settled in beside him. He felt embarrassed, suddenly aware of the intimacy of having Hagrid's leg pressed against his, when both of them knew Hagrid wanted him. This was irrational, so he ignored it.
Albus suggested a toast, and they all drank plentifully in honour of Voldemort never ever coming back.
"To Voldemort bein' dead, for keeps this time!" said Hagrid simply.
"May he never come back!" said Albus.
"The Dark Presence is forever gone!" said Trelawney.
"Can we piss on his grave now?" said Black.
That's what one gets for letting people in who are only human some of the time. It lowers the tone, thought Snape, although he agreed with the sentiment.
Albus said, "I fear we cannot. There was not much left of him, and no sane wizard would want to bury what there was."
Madam Sprout cleared her throat. "Actually, I have some of his ashes, in a cardboard box."
There was a shocked silence.
Madam Sprout said. "I'm going to put it on my roses. It struck me that what Tom Marvolo Riddle would really hate, more than anything, is being of use in the world."
The silence splintered into rather drunken cheers, and everyone raised their glasses to Madam Sprout, and started to think of useful things that needed rose products. Professor Trelawney considered inventing Floramancy, Hagrid thought of several animals that ate rosebushes, and Snape could think of at least seven Potions which used rose-petals or rose-thorns. This particular rosebush, thought Snape, is going to be very thoroughly utilised. No fraction of it will go to waste.
Soon they all stumbled out, leaving Snape behind, trapped by Hagrid's thigh, which was probably just as well if he was going to avoid attacking Black.
"Want me to walk yeh home, sir?"
"I suppose so," admitted Snape. "Trying to Apparate drunk is a good way to end up splinched all over the landscape."
The trouble with walking back in silence was that it gave him a chance to brood. He steamed with fury. He was drunk, and angry, and he'd rather do anything than face that crowd again when they all knew about his private life (or lack of it). And the nearest he'd got to sex in years was having Hagrid grope his bottom...
A strange, uncensored thought crossed his mind. He was actually with somebody who'd expressed a serious interest in his not being a virgin. Somebody who might be presumed to be capable of correcting that minor oversight in the construction of his past. If he were sober, this would probably seem like a really bad idea. He stopped walking. Hagrid did too, looking puzzled.
"Could we have sex now, Hagrid?" Snape asked mildly, wrapping his legs around Hagrid and leaning against the wall.
He looked at Hagrid, who was doing a very good impression of extreme surprise.
"Isn't that rather uncalled-for?" asked Snape. "I thought it was already established that you were interested. Unless you were lying about it, but you're not the type."
"Couldn't lie if I tried. Never really tried," Hagrid said.
"Well, then," said Snape reasonably, "let's fuck." He felt the first lift of excitement at his groin. He'd thought about sex—of course he'd thought about it, he was a grown wizard, and the stuff about the search for power was a rather thin excuse, as he could at least admit to himself.
He'd heard Hermione Granger talking about silly romances for silly Muggle women, once. "And the heroine always can't stand the hero—you can tell he's the hero because he's tall, dark and argues with her—and she's always sickeningly in love with him by the end of the book. I think it's called ?the attraction of opposites'." Snape shuddered, gladder than ever that he wasn't in a Muggle novel. Imagine having to fancy Sirius Black.
Sirius Black wasn't objectively unattractive. He was just bumptious, callous, and full of cruelty disguised as humour. Snape didn't particularly object to cruelty, or cruelty sharpened with wit, but he had a strong objection to the perpetrator saying ?can't you take a joke', or ?it's only in fun'. If one wanted to be nasty, one might as well have the courage of one's convictions.
"Well, what brought this on, all of a sudden?" asked Hagrid.
"It could be mutually satisfactory," said Snape. "You get what you want, I get rid of something I want to get rid of. I'm drunk, but not too drunk: from what I've read, that makes it easier."
"I'm not that cold-blooded, sir. You haven't even cuddled up, or talked to me."
"I talk to you all the time. I'm talking to you now - and I'm still waiting for you to make sense, Hagrid!" Snape said indignantly, rubbing his stiffening prick against Hagrid's thigh. In point of fact, he did talk to Hagrid a lot more than he talked to a lot of people, and only insulted him as much as everyone else. This was, in his terms, an unusually good relationship. Hagrid should have noticed.
"I don't mean ?move over!' or ?pass the salt!', I mean talk talk," said Hagrid stubbornly.
"What-fine-weather-we've-been-having, what-do-you-think-of-Britain's-prospects-for-the-Cup, what-do-you-think-of-the-latest-Pure-Potions-Quarterly, mucked-out-any-interesting-monsters-lately?" Snape said scathingly. "That's weather, Quidditch, and work: can we fuck now?"
"Were yeh this much of a brat when yeh were one, sir?" asked Hagrid.
Snape emitted a sharp snort of laughter, and said, "Much worse. Come on, let's get it over with and then I can stop worrying about it."
"You remember the Monster Book of Monsters?" asked Hagrid, apparently off at a tangent. "Fat book, bit lively?"
"If you have to start drivelling on about your work I suppose I can't stop you," said Snape.
"There's a right way of ?andlin it, and a wrong way. Same with sex. That's the wrong way you're tryin' at the moment."
"I just want to get it done and stop worrying about it."
"Wrong," said Hagrid. "Why do you want to pick me?"
Big body glowing with heat, more trustworthy than a Death Eater, only person who's ever groped my arse, only two people I'd trust with this are him and Dumbledore (and Dumbledore's never expressed an interest), I trust him not to hurt me, if he can make me smile despite myself perhaps he can make me come despite my doubts about the whole question... Snape thought, and said, "You asked," remembering just as he spoke that that was inexact: Hagrid hadn't got as far as asking.
"So yeh're not interested, then?" asked Hagrid.
"You know what you're doing, and you're not cruel. You wouldn't make it too bad."
"I'm not that desperate," said Hagrid. "I want yeh, but I'm not that desperate."
"I am," said Snape quietly. "I wouldn't be in this unfortunate condition if I found it easy to ask. I'm not thinking of you as a sort of...trial run, before I can go after somebody else. I'm just tired of being mocked, and I'd do anything rather than go back among that crowd of people again, letting them pity me. I—I mean it," he said, cursing the slight stammer that got in the way when he was talking about what he was feeling, and undoing his clothes. Robes up, trousers and underwear around his knees, there was no way Hagrid could say he didn't mean what he was saying. He shivered. The breeze was cold tonight.
Hagrid picked him up, peering into his face and cupping Snape's buttocks in his large warm hands. "Yeh're a bit small compared to me. Are yeh sure you want to fuck? I could do lots o' things that in't so drastic. Might be fun," he coaxed, sliding one hand around to Snape's prick
Snape moaned a little. A good, hard, warm grip, just like the way he'd pleasured himself night after night, wondering what someone else's hand would feel like. What someone else's hand felt like, it transpired, was bloody marvellous. And a hand the size of this could take the lot of him, root to tip, and squeeze his prick until it leaked.
"No!" he croaked, as his balls filled and head emptied. He collapsed against Hagrid.
"No?" asked Hagrid, as if curious. "Don't it feel good, then?"
"Want fucked, not just wanking," he muttered, squirming. "Get me ready."
Snape watched Hagrid bring his spare hand to his own mouth and suck at the little finger. Then Hagrid brought that hand into play: index finger and thumb rubbing gently at Snape's balls while wet little finger went straight up his hole.
For a little finger, it wasn't that little.
It screwed happily into him until Snape yelled something that wasn't "No!", went rigid, and came all over the place. If cock felt any better than that, he decided rather dizzily, he doubted he'd survive it.
He added it to his list of memorable experiences: as good as the Potion he'd created in his sixth year which had made his name above any number of ambitious young wizards; as good as finding out Voldemort was dead; better than any other orgasm he'd ever had (he was still shaking); much better than the way he'd felt when he'd thought Black was going to go to Azkaban (maybe he'd better give up malice and take to sex); much, much better than anything he'd felt while trying to convey his love of his subject to imbecilic juveniles.
He stayed there for some minutes, with Hagrid just holding him (inside and out).
That finger still felt good in his arse, a comforting reminder of what he'd just had, hot and still inside him. He shifted irritably: wonderful as it had been...
"That wasn't what I asked for," he said.
Hagrid chuckled. "Wasn't a good come what yeh really needed? You look happy."
"I feel happy, but I wish I'd done it properly," he admitted. "I want there to be no possible doubt about my virginity."
"So yeh think yeh're just a bit of a virgin?" Hagrid asked doubtfully.
"Perhaps." Put like that, it did sound a bit...silly.
Hagrid slid his finger out, evidently so he could hold Snape properly. Snape made his mind a blank so that he needn't notice himself enjoying it. Blank was easy, considering.
Time passed. He didn't feel much impulse to speak, or move. This was surprisingly comfortable, must be the effect of unexpected sex.
Footsteps started along the alleyway. Hagrid removed his arms from around Snape and looked worried.
Snape sighed, and put his arms up for Hagrid to embrace him. He intended to disguise himself from public view (he wouldn't go so far as trying to disguise Hagrid from anyone who'd ever seen him before, that was probably a lost cause). He intended that at first, anyway. His arms slid up around that great bull-neck, and his legs parted impatiently around Hagrid's thigh, slipping upwards until he could feel Hagrid's thick prick rubbing his inner thigh. Abruptly, all thoughts of disguise left him.
"Who's in there?" someone called.
"Some tart. Practically having it away up the wall," came a disgusted voice just behind them. Snape should have felt disgusted too, he supposed. Not this wave of heat and freedom and pleasure rolling up his spine: now nobody could call him a virgin, he was a greedy slut needing to have it even if he was up against a dirty wall, covered in semen and sweat.
The footsteps went away again. Snape barely noticed, simply redoubled his wriggling.
"Come on, sir, let's get yeh home ter me nice warm bed."
"Do I have to wait?" Snape was a little embarrassed to find a whine to equal any adolescent's coming out of his mouth. He couldn't really think (god, he wanted another come, dying for it already).
"Yeh don't want to do it up the wall, like a dirty whore ?oo don't know no better!" protested Hagrid, sounding shocked.
Snape moaned and held on. "I want to get dirty! I want to be mucky and breathless and covered in you!" he snarled desperately.
Hagrid opened his mouth, no doubt to say "steady on!" and Snape kissed him. Quite hard. It made him want to have sex even more than he did already, if possible.
"I'm not sure as I want yeh if yeh're just messin' about. If yeh'd rather do it in an alley than think about ?oo yeh're with," Hagrid said, after the kiss, rubbing his bottom lip where Snape seemed to have bitten it slightly.
"All right. I can wait until we get home if it'll stop you going on about it," muttered Snape, "if we hurry."
When Snape started stumbling over his feet, Hagrid picked him up. He looked remarkably un-discouraged by the icy glare Snape favoured him with. That might have been because Snape was wriggling a bit. He stopped wriggling.
"Are yeh sure yeh want to do this?"
"I want us to go home and lick each other all over," whispered Snape. Apparently that worked, because Hagrid walked faster.
"Home," he supposed, could have been his nice clean dungeon, but turned out to be full of feathers, fur and scales from moulting creatures.
"Stoat sarnie?" Hagrid asked, discovering one under the bedclothes as he threw them back.
"I said what I wanted, and it doesn't involve stoats."
"So yeh did."
He let Hagrid strip him; he was feeling lazy, and it felt damn good to have fingers poking and stroking and caressing him. Who would have guessed that he had an erogenous zone on the inside of his knee? He'd never heard of that. Inner elbows, too. Armpits: perverse but delightful. Given that he'd had a proper bath before coming down to the pub, he shouldn't have anything too much to be ashamed of.
Hagrid licked his armpit and fondled his balls at once, which felt too good to be allowed.
"My turn," he gasped, rather desperately, before his body could pre-empt the situation.
Hagrid got undressed and lay down obediently enough. All of that, for me, Snape thought, rather smugly. Licking Hagrid all over might take years, considering the relative sizes of his tongue and Hagrid, but what he really wanted now was....
With a little judicious experimentation, Snape decided that although Hagrid's whole cock wouldn't fit in his mouth he could get the head in very comfortably. He sucked slowly up the shaft, open-mouthed, playing with everything he could reach, and then held the cock very firmly in both his hands and took a mouthful of cock-head.
Oh, very nice... He liked the flavour already, and if it wasn't for the fear that he'd either choke or have it running out of his nose he'd conclude the act properly.
He sucked, hard. When he felt Hagrid was close to orgasm, he stopped, and rubbed and stroked at it with both hands. Then he bent down, grinning wickedly, and licked and nibbled right at the sensitive groove between head and shaft. Too rough for a normal man, probably, but from the bellow he heard and the fountain of come that drenched him all over, just firm enough to be...intriguing for a half-Giant.
Hagrid, of course, was full of abject apologies.
"Shut up, I like it," he murmured. He did like being practically bathed in the stuff; it was disgraceful, of course, but it was also as far as one could get from his previous virginal state.
Snape grabbed a handful of it and began to rub it into his own cock.
"Do it for me," he begged, and felt Hagrid's bigger hand on him.
Ah, that felt...dirty and wet and silky and wicked and disgusting and wonderful! he thought as he finished off, groaning and spurting and collapsing back in a messy blissful heap.
Hagrid wiped them both off, eventually, but it didn't really wake them up. Snape was fuzzily glad about the sex; it would worry him to enjoy somebody holding him if he hadn't just... He yawned, and fell asleep mid-thought.
What woke Snape up was a large dog pulling the bedclothes off and drooling on his toes the next morning.
"If you want to do some more of this tonight," said Snape, "we're going to my room."
"Oh, he won't hurt you!"
"If he does that again, I'll hurt him," Snape muttered ominously. "Permanently."
The dog panted, and put its big paws on the bed.
"Down," said Hagrid. The dog got down, and sniffed at Snape's feet again.
Snape sighed, and pulled the bedclothes over him again. He wasn't fit to face the day yet, and he had to cope with this. He looked out through rather glazed eyes as Hagrid got up and put a large heavy cauldron on the fire.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Water. Take a while to heat up, though, sir."
Snape picked up his wand from the floor by the bed, pointed it at the cauldron and muttered a spell. The lid began to dance on clouds of steam immediately.
"Thanks," said Hagrid, and reached for a large sack, tipping some of the contents into the cauldron.
Five minutes later, he handed Snape a mug. It smelled, deliciously, of coffee. Snape managed another judicious temperature-spell to cool it to a good drinking temperature, and sipped. He almost spat it out.
"How do you filter the coffee, Hagrid?"
"Filter?" Hagrid's brow creased with effort. "What's that, sir?"
"Oh, never mind." Snape strained it crossly through his teeth as he drank.
Still, at least it was coffee, and he finished it. Ah, now he felt a bit better. "Tonight, my room." He retrieved his clothes, put them back on a lot more carelessly than he'd armoured himself for the visit to the pub, and left.
By that night, he was feeling fairly eager. When Hagrid followed him through the dungeon to his private rooms, hitting his head on the low lintel and barely fitting into the tiny bedroom, let alone the bed, he wished he'd thought about size in order to prepare properly. Well, they'd have to improvise. He cast a spell on the bedside table, giving it legs, and snapped his fingers. It followed him obediently.
They went back to the main dungeon, where Snape performed a transformation on the big table, turning it into a bed. When it was ready, he dis-animated the bedside table, and flopped down on the ?bed' in exhaustion.
"Tiring, is that?"
"Mm." He enjoyed the feel of Hagrid undressing him, though.
"Lovely knickers yeh got there, sir," Hagrid said, when he got down to the black silk and rubbed his big hands all over them. "Didn't see ?em last night, yeh were in such an ?urry to get ?em off."
Snape spread his legs. Hagrid pulled Snape's prick out and sucked at it while he fondled Snape's bottom through the silk. Snape thought this was deliciously decadent. Curious, he asked Hagrid what he thought of it.
Hagrid stopped, with a kiss to the tip. "Naughty but nice, sir," he said, with a broad grin.
Snape moaned a little. "I want all my clothes off," he ordered.
"You can't stick a finger in me unless I take that off," he admitted.
"For a virgin, you like things up your arse a lot," said Hagrid.
He didn't reply to that. It was a statement of the obvious.
Hagrid looked slightly worried.
"It's practice," Snape admitted, "in case anybody ever does get round to fucking me." He shivered reminiscently. "And it makes me come about twice as hard, as well."
Hagrid looked curious.
Snape sighed, and reached for an item on the bedside table. Then he opened the drawer beside his bed, and got out a pot of handmade exquisitely-smooth lubricant which would have cost him a week's salary if he'd had to buy it. "I use this," he explained.
Hagrid turned the thing round in his fingers, and looked bemused. "You mean it's a... but it doesn't look like a..." he mumbled, and blushed.
"You are correct. I don't choose to be embarrassed by the frequent hordes of uninvited guests finding out about my masturbatory practices."
"It's a regular dare among all four Houses to steal something from my bedroom. Look at my diary."
Hagrid picked up the neat little book from the drawer and opened it. Inside, Snape knew, Hagrid would find neat lists of ingredients, brief notes from staff meetings, and results tables for tricky Potions. And absolutely nothing else.
Hagrid read, just about without his lips moving. "Nothin' at all personal."
"So yeh use somethin' that..."
"...feels pleasant, but could easily be mistaken for a small abstract sculpture," Snape said, fingering the deliciously-rough nodules that made the surface so much more interesting.
"Yes." Very clever. There have been moments when I wondered if it was that much of a problem not having tried the real thing.
"But does it really feel nice to have something rootlin' around back there?"
"You saw how I enjoyed it when you put your finger in me," Snape told him.
"I could see yeh found it sexy, but the way yeh're talking, sounds like it makes yeh come. Just wondered what it was like. I mean, I 'ave been fucked, once or twice. Always thought it were for the other man's benefit. You're makin' it sound more interesting."
Snape cocked his head on one side. "Curious?"
"Well, I'd better actually fuck you, then. My delicate little fingertips aren't going to get where they're needed." He picked up the lubricant.
Hagrid looked nervous.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I doubt I have enough to hurt you if I tried, considering our relative sizes. Curiosity is a motivation I understand very well."
Snape took the question of fucking Hagrid quite logically. A little fingerplay, lots of lubricant on his cock, and then in he went, sliding and moaning. Well, difficult to feel logical while he was doing that, but then he had to get just the right angle. Visualising. Nudging. Circling. It was bliss for him, of course, but it wouldn't be entirely fair if he couldn't (he paused to moan) hit the spot for Hagrid.
Just as he was about to give up and chalk it down under ?failed experiments', Hagrid shuddered and groaned very loudly. Now I know how an axe feels cutting into a very large tree. Not that I'm doing anything that invasive, but the noise sounds similar. He felt a shudder of excitement go up his spine, and he started just ramming it in, trying to reach that spot with every stroke.
"Ooh, tha's lovely," mumbled Hagrid.
"Touch your cock, could you? My reach isn't that good from here." Not when I'm perched up here trying to keep my balance.
Hagrid made a selection of even-less-coherent noises, bucked so hard he nearly threw Snape off, and came.
Snape loved the feel of fucking someone at last, and the gasping words Hagrid had come out with went straight to his cock. On the debit side of the experience, he didn't feel very securely mounted, and he was hanging on like grim death. A modicum of undignified thrusting and clawing, and his cock was doing its poor best to plunge into the depths of Hagrid. He groaned helplessly, and just managed to come before losing his balance.
"In't bad, sir. I can see why yeh like it," Hagrid said, grinning as he picked Snape up and cuddled him.
"Next time I do that, I want to invest in crampons and ropes before we get started," mumbled Snape.
"Wan' a cup of tea, sir?" asked Hagrid, yawning.
This wasn't a totally successful experiment, because Hagrid managed to put his foot through one of Snape's specimen jars while stumbling around looking for the kettle, and had difficulty finding the tea-bags, even though they were filed under: Darj.b.06.04c in the ?non-dangerous items' filing cabinet (what was difficult about that, for heaven's sake?).
It wasn't even particularly nice tea, being black, too sweet and too strong. Snape drank it, for fear that Hagrid would come up with something worse given the chance.
At least, he thought, there wouldn't be any damn dogs waking him up drooling on his toes. He fell asleep, on the lower slopes of Mount Hagrid, quite contentedly.
Instead, he woke up having his toes sucked. His prick, which had no sense of dignity, was completely convinced that this was a good way to start the day.
Especially when Hagrid started working his way up, tickling the instep, swirling his tongue around Snape's ankle, weaving wet patterns up Snape's inner thighs.
Snape had started out thinking of fellatio, of course, but having Hagrid burrow and tongue between his legs like that was giving him all sorts of other fantasies. Maybe, of course, Hagrid was teasing his cock by leaving it till last, but... mmm, that tongue. What he wouldn't give to have it sliding up his arse.
A wet fingertip slid into him. "Yeh know," said Hagrid, "I could do this with me tongue, if yeh weren't too disgusted."
"By an odd coincidence," admitted Snape, "I was considering how much I'd like a good tongue-fucking. If you weren't too disgusted."
Hagrid grinned, and swiped his tongue across Snape.
Snape moaned, but said, "There's something I need to do first." He reached for his wand, conveniently placed on the bedside table beside a large pink umbrella, and waved it in the direction of Hagrid's mouth.
"What's that, sir?"
"Pre-emptive healing charm. People can get stomach upsets from doing this, unless they're protected. All right, go ahead." He rolled over.
He squirmed and squirmed and groaned as Hagrid's tongue fucked him silly. A double-sized tongue was probably quite as good as a normal-sized cock, and it felt incredible. He wasn't getting any attention to his cock, which was rubbing impatiently against the sheets, but that didn't matter. God, that tongue was huge. If it wanted to move into him and set up residence, he'd have no complaints. He could do this for hours. Or at least until he had an orgasm, which was beginning to sound like a really good idea.
"Mm?" Hagrid hummed interrogatively, and the extra frisson went straight to his prostate, and his cock.
He burbled something about ?oh god yes!' into the pillow, and felt Hagrid put some energy into it. Harder and harder and wetter, rubbing and stroking inside him until he was nearly screaming for it. Hagrid had got the rhythm absolutely perfect, and was going at it with the intensity of someone who wasn't going to stop until his partner finished.
Snape screeched, bucked, and came all over the bed. Bedclothes weren't his sensation-of-choice to rub against, but considering what he'd been getting from behind (and considering his brain had practically melted) he wasn't going to complain.
He wriggled round on the bed to cuddle Hagrid, and incidentally to take care of Hagrid's erection, which was taking up far too much room in the bed.
He treated Hagrid to a handful of that extra-special lubricant, which went down (and up and along and round) extremely well. He liked doing this. It reassured him he wasn't the only one to make undignified noises when he had his cock rubbed. He found it arousing, as well, even though he wasn't seriously interested in more sex yet.
"Oooh," sighed Hagrid lustily, "yeh can tickle me in places I didn' know I had with those sweet little fingers. I'm too clumsy meself."
Inspired, Snape tickled every sensitive spot he could find.
"Just like tha', go on." Hagrid's voice was a breathy whisper. He looked totally relaxed. Totally giving himself up to the pleasure being inflicted on him.
Snape enjoyed having Hagrid at his disposal. His hands worked slower and slower as he teased and worshipped every inch. All of it, vein and head and smooth length down to that great bush of hair, fascinated him. He fingered the slit gently, smiling as Hagrid's prick seemed to reach towards him.
He kissed the tip rather apologetically. Treating it as the odd object of beauty it seemed to become when looked at closely enough was a bit...hard...on its owner, who liked as much firm handling as any man might.
"Mouth or hands?" he asked.
Hagrid considered it thoughtfully. "Hands. Then you don't 'ave to pull off at the last minute. It'd about kill me if yeh start an' stop again."
Snape lay down on him and used both hands, hard. Rubbing and twisting and pushing until Hagrid gasped and groaned and came.
Eventually, Hagrid sat up, wiped himself, and looked deeply into Snape's face.
Snape resisted the urge to jerk away irritably.
"If I have a spot on my nose, Hagrid, I don't really care."
"It in't that, sir. Yeh're lovely when yeh've just had it and done me. All smug and sleek and pretty. Like yeh know yeh were wanted."
Snape wriggled a bit, before the word ?pretty' caught up with him. He snorted, thinking that it was both undignified and untrue.
"We could...if yeh want," said Hagrid tentatively, stroking Snape's thigh.
Rather to his surprise, Snape realised he'd be capable. "No, Hagrid. I have work to do. Come back tonight, if you want. I'm still a virgin from behind."
Hagrid sighed. "This is a horrible room, sir. Dark, and full of things I stub my toe on." Snape resisted the impulse to point out that this was only because Hagrid had enough toe for any three normal men.
"All right, Hagrid. Tonight you fuck me on your bed, if you like. As long as you explain to your pets that if they drool on my feet in the morning I will turn them into something unpleasant."
Snape made sure to eat lightly that day, and to try to increase his state of relaxation (not a state natural to him).
In the evening, he had a shower and performed a minor cleansing charm that made sure he was as clean inside as he could be.
He did not demur when Hagrid poured a big goblet of mead and offered to share it with him. Yes, that's right—alcohol can increase relaxation, he thought, and sat himself down on Hagrid's lap when Hagrid patted his knee and said, "Come ?ere, then."
Snape was rather surprised to find himself enjoying the drink.
He was even more surprised when it occurred to him that he was suffering from none of his usual fastidiousness about hygiene, and happily drinking from the other side of Hagrid's goblet.
Snape had to admit he felt good, and ready to learn what it was all about.
He struggled as he was carried towards the bathroom instead of the bed. "What are you doing, Hagrid?"
"Just going to give yeh a nice bath, sir."
"Doesn't that seem a little...intimate? No need to be living in each other's pockets all the time. I am capable of getting clean, whatever the gossip is."
"If yeh want me to fuck you, sir, that's a bit bloody intimate."
Snape supposed it was. "Oh, all right then." He was capable of submitting, if not with grace.
To his surprise, being bathed by Hagrid was pleasurable, once he relaxed.
"Haven't you got a flannel?"
"Think somethin' ate it," muttered Hagrid. Snape had to admit that big soapy hands felt better on his skin than a flannel ever could. Hagrid seemed to like touching him all over, about as much as he liked to be touched.
He gasped a little as Hagrid began to handle his prick. Just soaping him, of course, paying careful and tender attention to getting him clean; except that the knowledge that this wasn't foreplay was making his contrary prick even more interested. He'd always had a bit of a fantasy about some faceless man bathing him. A big, calm, innocent man, not intending it as sexual at all until Snape's own prick lifted and begged for attention.
"Are yeh sure yeh want to wait for me to fuck you? I don't mind if yeh want me to stroke yeh a bit."
Snape sighed, and stopped rubbing between Hagrid's hands. It felt wonderful, but it wasn't what he was here for. He'd still count as being a virgin, presumably, no matter how often Hagrid played with his cock.
"Absolutely certain, Hagrid. Take me to bed."
Hagrid tenderly rolled him dry in a vast towel, and then picked him up and deposited him gently on the bed.
Snape rolled over.
"Er, can we do it face-to-face, sir?"
Snape didn't particularly like the idea, and his reading had suggested that it wasn't the ideal position for a first time. On the other hand, he was feeling the strangest impulse to deny Hagrid nothing. Must be the drink, he thought, and lifted his legs.
Hagrid proceeded to tease him until he begged, touching everything except his cock or his hole, until he was desperate for any attention at all. And desperate to have that enormous cock: he always enjoyed touching it, but the thought of it spearing into him was both terrifying and very very exciting.
When the thing finally went in, he'd never had anything quite so painful - or quite so good - in his entire life. It hurt, but that made it feel real. Surely, if he'd imagined it, the pleasure would slowly rise to the point of orgasm, not be interrupted.
"Are you sure you..." Hagrid asked.
He locked eyes with Hagrid, glad about the face-to-face position for once. "I want to know," he said, quietly and intensely.
It was true. After nearly forty years of learning, he wanted to learn this. Carnal knowledge was just another form of knowledge.
Hagrid gave it to him slow and steady, letting him adjust--that in itself seemed fairly miraculous when he remembered he hadn't exactly slowed down when he'd fucked Hagrid before.
The pain lessened slightly as he relaxed. He couldn't force the pace--couldn't impatiently relax. He told himself it would take as long as it took. That helped. Inch by inch, give and take, in and out, Hagrid slid his prick in very very gently.
Eventually, Snape was utterly relaxed. He couldn't believe how much of the thing he could accept inside his body.
"How do I move it, sir? To touch that little place that yeh like?"
Neither of them were quite sure, but Hagrid rocked Snape very gently in place, sliding fractionally in and out, until Snape gave a shuddering gasp.
"There?" said Hagrid.
Snape squirmed, rubbing his cock and balls happily against a convenient patch of soft hair.
Once he had the knack of it, Hagrid did it again. Snape came, harder and louder and longer than ever before. He could feel Hagrid coming too, deep in him, making the whole experience even better.
Hagrid gasped, and shuddered, and said, "You've got a good grip on yeh, back there."
"That a complaint?"
"No, 's lovely." Hagrid beamed at him.
Good. I'd hate to have to feel guilty after coming like that.
He yawned, complaining as Hagrid pulled out.
"Yeh know yeh'll be sore tomorrow if we sleep like that," Hagrid said reasonably.
"Mm." He yawned again, got Hagrid properly into his arms, and fell asleep.
Next day, unfortunately, he had time to think about it. Hagrid had (very ably) provided his loss of virginity, he had no excuse to think about it any further, so that was that.
He wasn't a virgin any more, nobody could accuse him of that now, but in that case there was no real reason to trouble Hagrid any more.
He explained, kindly but firmly, to Hagrid that thank-you-very-much, it was lovely, but there was no further need to trespass any further on Hagrid's time.
Hagrid looked very sad, but made no attempt to make him reconsider (rather to the disappointment of part of Snape).
"Well, if that's 'ow yeh feel, sir, there'll be no changing it," Hagrid said.
In fact, after that, Hagrid treated him just as usual. As a friend. Well, as a friend he gave a few lustful looks to.
Snape spent over two weeks trying to get back to normal, and failing. He'd thought it would be easy to get back to his usual for-sake-of-a-better-word-"friendly" relationship with Hagrid, and it was. Hagrid didn't seem to resent the fact that they were back to normal now, and didn't seem to take any untoward liberties (unfortunately, part of Snape kept insisting). Everything was just as usual, except there was a slight, tense embarrassment if they happened to be together in the late evenings, which Snape could only put down to both of them remembering going off to the same bed. But Hagrid didn't mention it, ever, just said, "Well, good night, sir," and walked away, looking sad.
Snape missed the sex. However often he masturbated (even trying a rather larger toy), it didn't quite seem to make up for it. He'd even slept better in Hagrid's arms, and although he'd hated being woken up by some damn animal dribbling on his foot every couple of days, he rather missed the whole thing.
Nineteen days after stopping sleeping with Hagrid, he gave celibacy up as a bad job. He had a light dinner, and prepared himself carefully. Actually doing it again would take less time than all this fantasising, and if Hagrid had been missing it as well it was worth a try. He hadn't thought of any sensible excuses, so he'd have to fall back on something bloody stupid.
He turned up at a time of night when he was fairly sure Hagrid wouldn't actually be taming anything particularly stressful.
Hagrid put the mending he was doing politely aside as Snape came in.
"It occurs to me," Snape said, "that although I was sure I wasn't a virgin nineteen days ago, the affliction may grow back unless I make absolutely sure it doesn't." He hoped Hagrid had heard of the concept of saving face. He looked up.
There was an enormous grin on Hagrid's face. Just for once, Snape didn't resist the urge to grin back at him.
"About how often will yeh need to do this? Just to make sure..."
"Once a night should be enough, Hagrid."
Hagrid's grin got, if possible, even bigger. "I'd like that."
Snape smiled back.
"What d'yeh want now?" asked Hagrid.
"I had a hot bath and a couple of drinks, and made some other preparations," Snape said, gesturing delicately behind himself. "Take a wild guess."
"I thought it was that drove yeh away," said Hagrid. "If yeh didn't like it."
Snape glared at him. "Did I appear not to like it?"
"So assume I did like it. I'd had what I asked you for, so that there seemed no point in hanging about. I wasn't a virgin, and that's what I'd specified."
"Even if yeh wanted to ask for more?" Hagrid hinted doubtfully.
"Yeh don't find it easy ter ask for things, do yeh?"
"No." Even just afterwards, with the pleasure still flooding through him, he had considered and rejected the possibility of asking for more some time in the future. Only the certainty that he was spending more time wishing and wondering than he would spend actually doing it had made his mind up today.
"So yeh don't want ter ask, so I'll 'ave ter guess?" Hagrid reached him then, sliding a hand under his robe.
"Sir! You ain't wearin' any..." Hagrid sounded scandalised.
"No," agreed Snape, hissing with pleasure as a thick finger went in. "Nor are you," Snape added. Nothing but thick warm flesh met his hand when he'd undone Hagrid's trousers. Hagrid lay down on the bed. This not interfering in any way with Snape's plans, he permitted it.
Snape shrugged the robe off and positioned himself.
"But I'm just not wearin' underwear, sir!" protested Hagrid. "You're not wearin' anythin' under your robe."
Snape wriggled into place. "I didn't want anything..." he mounted, "...slowing me down," and slid home.
The discomfort this time subsided faster. The practice with the toy had helped, and he wanted to be fucked very much indeed. As gravity, and Hagrid, gave him the sort of slow satisfying grind he wanted, he groaned, flung his head back, and wriggled again.
Hagrid's hand settled tentatively around his prick. It wasn't nearly enough. "Both hands—hard!" he panted, and sobbed for breath as Hagrid rubbed him. Hard. Rough calloused fingers. Hurt if it takes long—not a problem! Snape decided, as nearly twenty days' worth of pent-up feelings worked loose in a hot gush of ejaculate. He could feel Hagrid following his example as if he'd been getting desperate, too.
"Was that what yeh needed?" asked Hagrid quietly, after a few moments.
"Part of it," Snape murmured. He yawned hugely. "Sleep better with you holding me. If you don't mind?" he added cautiously, remembering it was polite to take account of other people's feelings. He liked being generally impolite, but if he was impolite to Hagrid, Hagrid might stop him doing this, or might stop him doing it as frequently as he liked.
Hagrid eased him off, and held him.
If I could bottle this, I'd make a fortune. Safe, non-addictive, powerful and delightful. For once, though, he felt the strangest impulse not to think about Potions. He slept.
Epilogue, a year later
Sirius Black was irritated.
Albus had given a few hints, just before he joined the staff, that Snape might be leaving in a year or so's time. Good riddance to the greasy bastard, he'd thought, but had the deference not to say in front of Albus. After all, Albus had given him a second chance as well.
In fact, he'd raised the question with Albus the other week, and Albus had merely smiled, and said he thought that Severus had no current plans for moving on.
Sirius didn't like mysteries. Considering one of the few occasions when Snape had shown any deep emotion had been when Snape had been trying to get him, Black, killed or worse, that cat-who-ate-the-cream expression was ominous.
Had Snape got some sort of plan to land the plum job everyone said he was really after by trying to get rid of the present incumbent? Snape hated teaching dunderheaded brats Potions—everyone said that, even Snape. Sirius hadn't, of course, tried to get Snape killed when they were children—but he was quite sure Snape thought so, and wouldn't put it past Snape to have homicidal tendencies.
If Snape looked happy, he was probably up to no good. After all, he usually was.
"Today," said Albus, "we may as well sort out the sex-education lesson for next term—don't all run at once!" he called, as some of the younger staff made a dash for the door. The sex-education lesson was infamous, but Albus was always convinced that the children needed to know these things, even though they'd managed well enough just grappling each other behind the broom-sheds when Sirius was a boy.
"We have most of the main sexual orientations represented," he said calmly, "heterosexual male..." he nodded at Sirius, "heterosexual female," McGonagall, "homosexual female", Hooch, "so that leaves homosexual male. Severus, would you do the honours?"
Dozy this year, Sirius thought gleefully. Gossip was that the last time this lesson had been scheduled Snape had belted out of the room, pleading something left inattentively on to boil (as if that was likely—even Sirius admitted the man was more-than-competent at his job, loathsome as it was) and running even faster than the younger members of staff.
"Very well, Albus," said Snape calmly.
Sirius, as ever unable to resist the impulse to prod him, sneered, "Is it useful to give the job to him? I mean, what's a screaming virgin know about sex?"
Albus's mouth opened on the expected reprimand, but he was interrupted by Hagrid saying, "Screamin' yes, but ?e in't a virgin. Not by a long way." A sudden look of panic crossed Hagrid's face. "I din't ought to 'ave said that. Forget I said it."
"Don't worry, Hagrid," said Hooch, "we all hear him half the time from his dungeons. It's getting embarrassing having to tell the kids he's conducting experiments in there."
Albus chuckled. "He is, in a way. Just rather later than usual."
Sirius looked round, amazed. Everyone was smiling and laughing, but not at Snape. This seemed a reversal of the natural order of things.
Not half as much, though, as when Snape threw his head back and...laughed? A harsh, unpleasant noise, but recognisably a laugh. "For once you're half-right, Black, as my colleague has pointed out. And I owe it all to you. If you hadn't made yourself amusing on the subject, I wouldn't have done anything about it." He stood up. "I suppose, if I'm going to have to speak authoritatively about the ins-and-outs, further research is in order. Shall we, Rubeus?"
To Black's amazement, a grinning half-Giant followed Snape out.