Entry tags:

snape/luna

FIC: Worth Keeping (Snape/Luna)
To: damned_queen
From: Your Secret Santa

Title: Worth Keeping
Author: bewarethesmirk
Pairing: Snape/Luna
Summary: Snape had gone to the Squealing Pig for some peace and quiet, and instead he got Luna Lovegood in a fluffy scarf.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Snape’s drunk, so the consent is murky at first – but it makes more sense in context.
Author/Artist's notes: Thanks so much to r_becca for running another round of this wonderful fest. I adore writing this pairing and I’m glad I got another chance to do so. damned_queen, I hope you like this. :) Thanks to R for the beta and Brit-pick and L, my lover, for the beta.

Rumour had it that Snape never left Hogwarts - let alone the dungeons - where he was apparently destined to reside forever, making potions and hunting the halls for Harry Potter.

Truth be told, Severus Snape liked to escape the castle whenever he had a legitimate excuse, which translated into roughly “all the time.” There were always miscreant children about from whom Snape wanted to legitimately escape.

It was on such a day that Snape was sitting in a pub, nursing a pint, with the crinkled folds of the weekend Prophet spread out in front of him. Every now and again, the front door would admit a new person with an infuriating jangle of bells, and a frigid draught would bluster in, chilling Snape even through his heavy wool robes.

The Squealing Pig was not located along Hogsmeade’s High Street and was not likely to play host to any meddling students, colleagues or acquaintances. In other words: he was free.

Ever since Snape had almost died while looking into Harry Potter’s eyes, he wasn’t in the mood for company.

Which was no doubt why, at that moment, the bells chimed , heralding the arrival of – Snape looked up when his newspaper fluttered in the breeze – Luna Lovegood.

Looking around the pub as if seeking out new magical creatures, Lovegood wore her perpetual stuck-in-the-clouds expression. Her eyes were vacant and her blonde hair was long, falling below her elbows. Lovegood’s scarf was an unfortunate shade of green and could only be described as “fluffy.”

Snape had downed a few pints and he might’ve been slightly inebriated, but he had no doubt that life was trying to fuck him – yet again.

He had no choice now. He’d have to leave.

Snape rose from his seat in one graceful movement (he didn’t stumble at all on his way to the door, not at all), and hoped that Lovegood would be so distracted in her endless examination of the pub that he might escape unseen and thus unscathed.

On Snape’s ever-so-stealthy escape, his shoulder knocked violently against hers.

She made a small sound of pain.

Lovegood turned the full force of her disarming gaze on him, regarding him as though he was the magical creature of which she’d been searching.

“Severus,” she said, her voice misty.

How dare she? He crossed his arms across his chest and sniffed authoritatively. “You will call me ‘Professor’.”

Lovegood looked at him – and she looked – and she looked some more.

“What?”

A small smile stretched across her lips. Snape wanted it to disappear.

“You’re sad.”

Snape rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for these little games of hers. “Sadness is a trite emotion reserved for those who wallow in self-pity.”

Lovegood nodded. “I know.”

While Snape was opening and closing his mouth a few times, Lovegood bent down to retrieve his newspaper and he was startled to see inches of white skin revealed when her skirt rode up. Didn’t the girl know it was freezing outside? When she was upright once more, Snape yanked the Prophet from her grasp with a snarl.

“I don’t have time for this,” he declared, and pushed his way past Lovegood. He was hindered by a collision with the door frame.

“Fuck.” And I used to be a spy.

“Fucking is nice,” Lovegood said somewhere behind him and Snape’s eyelids closed of their own volition. He leant his forehead against the entryway, praying for sanity and for the images assaulting his brain to disappear.

“Don’t worry, sir. It’s obvious what you need.” A soft weight - her hand - pressed between his shoulder blades.

“I do not need anything. Especially from you, Lovegood. I will be taking my leave now.” He stumbled forward, toward the door and away from her. “Good day.”

Snape collided headfirst into the door, and at the soft sound of bells he thought, at first – through the pain and the fog of his brain – that someone had opened the door, triggering the bells, but it turned out to be Lovegood laughing.

“I think we need to get you upstairs,” she said, and the next thing Snape knew, he was being steered by Lovegood’s hand at the crook of the elbow, his world a glimmering sea of colour and pain. At least this time when he perished - from alcohol poisoning or overexposure to a lunatic – Potter would not be around.

Lovegood glided them over to the barkeep. “We need a room,” Lovegood said. “Oh, and please be sure it’s not the one infested with Nargles. I stayed there last time, and it was quite dreadful.”

The barkeep squinted at Lovegood as if she were an insane hallucination – which was quite possible, Snape reasoned. It would not, however, explain why he was allowing her to clutch his elbow possessively.

“You needing a room for the night?” the man behind the bar asked, teeth catching the light as he grinned, “or just an hour.”

For some reason, Snape was insulted. “The night,” he said with utmost conviction.

Lovegood craned her neck and beamed up at him. “I thought so,” she said conspiratorially.

“I have no idea to what you’re referring,” he muttered in a low voice. He leaned further against her for support, cursing himself for relying on a former student just a few years out of Hogwarts.

She smiled up at him as if he’d just uttered a great joke, which was impossible. He didn’t joke – or, if he ever did, he didn’t tell ones she’d understand.

The barkeep perused Lovegood with a seedy shift of eyes that had Snape’s molars grinding .

“The key,” he said, not deigning to add a ‘please’.

The barkeep didn’t cease his exploration of Miss Lovegood’s finer attributes. He smoothed a disgusting hand through his matted hair. “Miss, I don’t think this man is what you’re wanting.”

The ironic juxtaposition to both agree and disagree hit Snape in an onslaught. Lovegood, contrarily, flashed a would-be dazzling smile – not that it was dazzling.

“I think we’re fine. May we please have a room for the night?”

The barkeep gave her one last penetrating look and shot a filthy glance at Snape, which he took to mean: not fair. Snape rolled his eyes. Lovegood laughed and tightened her hold on his elbow, and Snape had the suspicion that things were going horribly, horribly wrong.

The barkeep stormed off to the back of the bar and disappeared through a side door.

Snape’s side, where he was leaning against Lovegood, was as warm as furnace. He wasn’t sure what to think of that. And he wasn’t sure at all what to think when Lovegood leaned up on tiptoes and whispered into his ear, “That man was wrong. I do want you.” She pulled away from him, her breath tickling his ear. Conversationally, she said, “Let’s go upstairs so I can prove it to you.”

Snape closed his eyes and wanted to die. He would take a Potter-by-his-beside death over this atrocity.

In the nick of time, something that might as well have been a stampede of elephants assaulted Snape’s ears. What was it so loud? He opened his eyes. Blearily, he could make out that the arsehole behind the bar had returned loudly. A key dangled from his fingers. Snape swung out his arm, managed to knock Lovegood in the face and retrieved the key in his long fingers. He snatched his hand back sharply, smirking at his success.

The barkeep shook his head. “Second floor. Room Fourteen. Do enjoy yourselves, now.” And it was obvious what he really meant to say was fuck you.

Not for the last time that evening, Snape closed his eyes. “Fuck,” he said.

“Yes, let’s,” Lovegood said cheerily.

*

Snape immediately denied to himself that he’d allowed Lovegood to bodily escort him up two flights of stairs. As soon as he had shut the door behind him, he leaned against it, panting from exertion.

Collapsing on the bed didn’t seem like a bad idea. Maybe now that Lovegood had played the heroine – or the insufferable busybody, depending on your perspective – she would leave, and Snape could pass out in peace.

Snape groaned low in his throat as a wave of nausea gripped him and wouldn’t release him from its dizzying claws. He swallowed down bile and forced his forehead from the door and began a stumbling dance to the bed.

It was only when he was halfway across the room did he notice there was a naked woman sitting on the bed with her hands folded politely in her lap.

Lovegood was naked. And sitting on the bedraggled bed, with its putrid green covers. Her blonde hair flowed over the swells of her breasts, but he could still see pink-rose nipples and her flat abdomen and the hint of blonde hair between her legs.

Snape found himself growing hard before he could try and halt it. He blamed alcohol for inhibiting his reflexes. If he’d turned away faster, he wouldn’t be aroused.

Lovegood laughed. Snape bristled.

“Cease your laughing,” Snape said, and the room span. Making a quick decision, he hobbled over to the bed and tried to ignore the fact that there was a naked Luna Lovegood perching on its edge, surveying him. He fell on the edge of the bed with a sigh and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the staleness of the room and lumpy pillow beneath his head. It was bliss.

Until something kicked him.

“I’d heard men fell asleep during sex,” Lovegood said, but she didn’t sound happy about it.

Snape mustered all his energy and opened one eye. “We were having sex? I apologise. I didn’t notice.” He closed his eyes once more. That was that.

“I’m naked,” Lovegood said.

Rolling his eyes under closed lids was an arduous task. “I had noticed.” His cock had, too.

Lovegood hummed and then fell into silence.

Snape sighed and thought he might actually get to sleep –

The weight on the bed shifted until Snape was certain, even without opening his eyes, that Lovegood (or a mysterious third occupant in the room) was now lying beside him. He could feel her warmth through his robes.

“Miss Lovegood,” he mumbled, slurring the words, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“Showing you love,” Lovegood said, and following those terrifying words, she caressed his cock through his robes. Snape hissed.

“Love?” he spat, his eyes fluttering open. He wished he hadn’t. Lovegood was leaning so close to him that he almost jumped. He could see hints of brown in her eyes. He tried to lift his arm to bat away the girl’s hand. It ended up flailing about a bit before falling back to the bed.

“Yes,” she said simply. “No one has loved you for a long time. You’re lonely.” She said this with sincerity, and for some reason, Snape felt something in his chest seize up.

“I am not lonely.”

She laughed. “Stop playing hard to get, Severus.” She sat halfway up and rested her chin on one hand. Her breasts swayed a bit, and Snape groaned under his breath.

“You’re drunk.”

“Excellent observation.”

“So I’m going to make it easy. I want you inside me. I’m already really, really wet.”

Yes, you’d already mentioned that, he wanted to say. His cock twitched. He imagined how wet Lovegood might be, how wet and hot and tight. Bugger.

“You can’t really move without falling off the bed, so I’m going to climb on top of you.”

Before Snape could object (whole-heartedly, irrevocably), Lovegood clambered atop him. He felt, before he saw, her nimble fingers tug at his robes and he was appalled to find he was panting. He tried to stretch his neck to look, but lethargy anchored him down.

Lovegood was a warm presence, balanced on his thighs. He wanted to thrust up, and…

“I’m going to ride you,” Lovegood said, and Snape, damnit, he groaned.

“But–” Snape struggled for a reason why he should not sink his cock into her clenching, tight…. Fuck. There had to be a reason why this was ludicrous. He’d merely taken leave of his senses.

Lovegood wriggled on top of him, and Snape found the willpower to move, at least – to clutch at the bedpost nearest his head. He’d thought it a fleeting dream that he’d ever be this hard again. Never in a million years would he have pinpointed Lovegood as the one with that potential.

When Lovegood laughed again, Snape’s eyelids fluttered open. No one had ever laughed at him so much without sustaining a deadly injury. “What are you laughing – oh?”

“You need to learn to relax, Severus.” And then Lovegood settled the palms of her hands flat on his still-clothed chest and began to rock back and forth, obviously with the intention of driving Snape mad.

His hands – of their own volition, surely – settled onto her hips.

“Mmm, that’s better.” The moan that caught in her throat had Snape’s hips jerking up before he could stop them. He felt disconnected from his body and wondered if it was old age, insanity, inebriation, or all of the above.

As she bent over, her hardened nipples brushed through the wool of his robe, and she pressed one single chaste kiss against his lips. He struggled not to remember how long it had been since he’d last been kissed.

“Tell me if you want this. I know you’re drunk, but I don’t want to take advantage of you,” she said. Her words sounded sincere enough, but her rotating hips were a devised bit of blackmail. Snape approved.

“What a wonderful time to ask,” he said.

“But you’re hard,” Lovegood said as if that settled the matter, and she didn’t ask him again.

She sat up again, and he found himself missing – fucking missing - the feeling of her breasts against his chest. But now they were right in front of his face instead and she positioned herself on him. He felt her doing something intricate with her hands, moving aside articles of clothing. His brain was too full of a cotton-like fog for him to attempt to contemplate what the insufferable –

Oh.

His neck arched back and his hands scrambled for her hips as he felt his cock exposed in the cold air of the room. It wasn’t cold for long. Lovegood was rubbing against him, rubbing his cock against her cunt, and she was so wet, she was easily lubricating him. He wanted to reach down and touch his cock to see how much moisture there was –

Lovegood moaned something that sounded like “so good” before the head of Snape’s cock was swallowed by Lovegood’s cunt. She was just as wet and tight as he’d imagined. The heat surrounding the head was a painful, delicious contradiction to the rest of his cock; he was still waiting for Lovegood to sink down on it, to take him all the way in.

She was making small whimpering noises, and Snape couldn’t stand it any longer, so he began to push up and down on her hips. “You want me to move?” she asked and laughed again. But she did not move, and Snape was going to kill her.

She twisted her hips to and fro, but never took him any deeper.

It was torture admitting it, but his nerves were afire and his balls were tight and it was already much, much too soon.

“Fine,” he seethed through his teeth.

Lovegood’s half-smile was the only warning he received before she took him in whole, sitting on the full length of his cock, before pulling back up all the way and sitting down again. Snape gripped her hips like a lifeline. Every time she pushed up, his hips followed her. Finally, she was sitting on top of him and rocking back and forth.

Her hand went to work between her thighs, little slapping noises rising forth as she twined her fingers around her clitoris. One her hands went to her own breast, pinching the pink areola between her fingers, until her neck tilted back – until Snape was gasping.

No matter how insane this was, he was going to come stupendously.

“Put your hands on my arse,” she said.

Snape somehow managed to reach around her and grab two handfuls of her firm arse, and he began to move her back and forth. Her hips were rolling and her fingers were moving faster between her legs. Her breasts were bobbing and Snape wanted nothing more than to take a nipple in his mouth.

He wanted to inspect her arse closer – feel her as deep as he could go – kiss her properly – come deep inside her.

Lovegood cried out and her body began to shudder. He rocked her harder and harder, ensuring his cock brushed against her clitoris.

Snape nearly yelled when Lovegood – still shuddering around him – pulled herself off him. The lack of her cunt enveloping his cock was making him delirious and if that little bint planned to leave him without any satisfaction, he was going to kill her.

“What are you--?”

“Don’t you want me to lick it?” she asked, and before Snape could process what the fuck she was on about, she was kneeling between his legs and lapping at the slit of his cock, playing with the foreskin. One long lick of her tongue set him off and he came in a rush, spurting her lips and her cheek. Lovegood, to her credit, tried to capture it all. She smiled all the while, and Snape fell onto his back.

His body felt wrung out, every muscle loose and soft, and it was only late afternoon, but he was exhausted and wasn’t sure how he was going to stay awake.

Next he knew, Lovegood was curling beside him on the bed, stroking his hair.

“Promise me you won’t put this memory into your Pensieve.”

Snape, who had no idea what the girl was nattering on about. “Why would I do that?” he asked.

“You always do,” she said softly.

Close to dozing off, Snape murmured, “Not this time.”

He may have been mad for his affair with Lovegood, but maybe it was time to accept it.