FIC: Last Meal (Snape/Narcissa)
To: envinyatar15
From: Your Secret Santa

Title: Last Meal
Author: bsafemydeers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Narcissa
Summary: On the night before the Battle of Hogwarts, Narcissa does Snape the charity of bringing him a little food.
Author's Notes: I really, really hope you like this. Merry Christmas, even a little late!




In some ways, knowing he was going to die soon was the most freeing experience Severus Snape had ever known.

The feeling wasn't so morbid as all that; it was a sense of nearing the end of a long and muddy road in hopes of getting to sit a while and dry off. That it would mostly likely be a death orchestrated by the Dark Lord was unfortunate. Another painful and messy ordeal in a long line of them, but the last. The idea of no more was perhaps the most comforting thought he'd ever known.

Merlin help him, he didn't even know where it was they were taking shelter now. The Dark Lord was so hellbent on finishing this thing as well, so passionately focused on Potter that unless one of his Death Eaters could be of direct service, he barely looked at them. Needless to say, posh accommodations weren't happening on these last few nights. The cold stone wall that Severus leaned against might as well have been the icy slab of his tombstone. He snorted, quietly and to himself, and let his wand trace glittering green inscriptions on the wall close to him. His name, of course, and date of birth and death-- but what of the last bit? How did he want himself known for the ages?

So much of that depended on how the last battle went. If it could be won at all, with Potter's impending doom. He thought it almost a tragedy that he couldn't sit the little fucker down and have some whiskey, warm both their icy stomachs. That would be rather kind of him, hardly the bastard he was supposed to be.

Severus Snape. Not the bastard you thought he was.

Not bad, as possibilities went.

His second snort of laughter echoed a bit in the tiny structure-- he supposed it was really a shed, just on the edge of someone's property. But it had been emptied out, or looted if you like, and now it seemed a small drab tomb. Perfect for right now, really. After all, there was virtually no way out of this. If Potter's cronies were victorious, they'd quickly have him killed for the crime of murdering Dumbledore, no matter how many bright little Ravenclaws figured out the obvious. If the Dark Lord won, he was in no better situation, as his double-crossing would soon come to light. Doubtless he'd lack the desire to torture and murder the other side, which was suspicion enough.

Those who so desperately wished for the Dark Lord's victory had no idea what they were working towards-- their own end, a world in which strength became tied to how many Muggles you could destroy without blinking. Wonderful for the furthering of pure blood, but a vicious world in which they'd be so surprised to find out that the worm could turn against them as well.

He was enjoying images of that happening to sodding Greyback, who'd serenaded him last tea with limericks about devouring the innards of children, when the door to his tiny fortress of solitude opened.

"Narcissa," he said bluntly.

"Severus." She set down a small tray in front of him, cold tea and some bread and cheese. She was as gaunt as the rest of them, high-born beauty faded into whites and grays. Yes, Narcissa had once been something to look at. Hell, Severus had wanked more than once to the thought of her soft, unworked hands and her lush red mouth. "I brought you something to eat. You should try to find some energy before tomorrow."

"Before I am inevitably killed in battle? Executed by Aurors? Taken out by our own poisoned ranks? I will keep that in mind, dear Narcissa."

"Don't be a bastard," she said tightly, her fingers clenched. "I'm trying to be kind."

"Yes, trying to squeeze some last drop of civility out of us all, I see." All the same, he picked up the teacup and sipped. When hot and fresh, it might have been very good indeed. Now it tasted of ash. "Tell me, did the Dark Lord send you out here?"

Narcissa looked up, her eyes surprised above hollow cheeks. "Yes. He said that you would appreciate some food and company tonight."

Though he thought it had all seeped out of him, there was a fresh stab of fear in his belly. "Did he?"

She didn't answer, simply watched him and waited for him to come to the inevitable conclusion.

"Do you know, Narcissa," he said with a weak laugh, "I do believe he intends for me to die."

"Don't be foolish," she said sharply.

"It only makes sense," Severus said. "While technically in favor, I am not with him. I am old and have outlived my purpose. I will be so very surprised if he does it himself."

At that, Narcissa bowed her head, and her shoulders curved in on themselves. He could see the jut of her collarbone, now razor sharp, and the way she held her jaw so tightly that it was an underbite. She was hardly as beautiful as she had once been, but as he watched her-- crying, Merlin help her, over him-- he could see traces of the girl they had all found so lovely. It was the first time a beautiful woman had cried for him.

"If he kills me, he will likely spare Lucius," Severus said. "And Draco, and yourself." There was no way of knowing that, but he thought it was the sort of sentiment worth proposing.

Narcissa looked up, and jabbed him in the shoulder with her small fist. "Fuck you," she whispered. "That's not fair."

His arm stung, but it brought him some warmth. "Nothing is fucking fair, Cissy. Our families betray us and go mad and we give everything to other people until we're not even shit on the ground."

"Don't call me that," she said. "I'm not-- I'm not." She swallowed whatever else it was she might have said, and sat breathing through her nose, aristocratic nostrils flaring. "Lucius spends his time licking the Dark Lord's boot and whoring out our son for His amusement. Not even I'm stupid enough to believe it's for our family."

"You can get Draco out," said Severus to her. "You can. The two of you are clean enough, if you try."

"But Lucius..."

"Isn't worth the death of you both. The torture. Either side could happily tear you apart to punish him."

Narcissa fell silent again, watching him gnaw at the hardened bread. Despite the fact that he had just advised her to abandon hope of getting out of this with her husband, there was a hard light burning in her eyes. She was too good to thank him for it. She might have even been too good to bring this food here.

Standing with surprising grace in her bony limbs, Narcissa began to undress, methodically laying her robe and clothes out on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

She turned and stared at him, her small breasts rising and falling in the tiny gray light. "Last meal, Severus. As a pureblood, I think I can offer you more than stale bread and cheese." She slid her knickers over her hips, and he stared at her, this creature he never thought he would see. She was not deeply longed-for, like Lily, but a flower of a different sort. His friend's wife, a society woman, everything he was supposed to want: and he did want her, like he would have enjoyed stealing the wine from the Dark Lord's dinner.

While she might have been curvier in her youth, her hips more obviously flared, her straight body held an ascetic beauty now. Her waist was simply a notch above her hips, and when she moved too quickly, her ribcage surged against her white, white skin. She let her hair down and it needed washing, but it was still silvery blond, impeccably cut. There was a space before her thigh, and then the sudden shocking pink of her cunt. He did not question the lack of hair, did not want to think about what Lucius liked.

He smiled slowly. "My last meal?"

She lifted her chin. "You can't tell me you don't want it."

"But do you? Unlike our circle, I don't care to rape a woman."

"I want what I want." Narcissa slid her hand, the once finely manicured nails now cut short and kept plain, down between her legs, and rubbed the tip of her middle finger along the lips of her cunt. Her fingertip dipped inside and she stroked. Once, twice, and she stumbled backwards a few steps so she could lean against the wall and splay her legs open. "And right now, I want you," she added, hips riding some invisible mount.

With his cock threatening to burst out of his trousers, he crawled forward, only those few steps, and slid his hands up her thighs. She was staring at his hands, his fingers. "I've always thought... about those."

Severus raised an eyebrow, and caught her hand. "You're in a shed on what is possibly the eve before the battle to shape our world, with the greasy old Potions Master instead of your husband, sowing your fucking oats. I want some fucking language." As punishment, he caught her hand and sucked her fingers into his mouth, tasting her juices.

"Fine," she spat. "I've thought about how long and quick your fingers are, and I've had fantasies about just how long it would take you to get me off under my robes."

He released her fingers with a soft pop. "A shame you always kept your robes on."

Narcissa glared at him like she might scold him, but then only laughed, head dipping back. He took advantage of this lapse in conversation to nip sharply at her clit and then bury his face in her cunt. A glance up told him that she'd muffled any cry with her own slick hand.

He licked in earnest then, hornier than a fucking schoolboy, suddenly bound and determined to hear her panting and feel her thighs quiver. Which they did, and so he pushed up on her arse with both hands so that he could scoot underneath her. Her frail frame was now sitting between himself and the wall and her fingers were tightening frantically in his hair. He would have thought it bloody brilliant if not for the urgency now consuming him as well, the fucking agony and heartbreak in sucking his best friend's wife until she was mewling and crying. More than Lucius' wife, she was Narcissa, everything promised to him by the Dark Lord and never ever given.

It was his now, his now, and he grasped her arse with satisfaction even as she rode his face, mashing her clit against his nose, that monstrosity that was finally doing someone some good. No sooner than she shook with orgasm did he pull her from his shoulders and crash to the floor with her. He climbed astride her, not worrying about getting her on her back or her stomach, but parting her thighs and driving his cock inside. The walls of her cunt were still trembling with aftershocks and he had hold of one of her thighs, slippery hands sliding down to her knees, opening her up and up. There was no chance he'd last long but he knew that they'd do it again and again until day finally broke.

Her fingers knotted up in the clothes she'd thrown down earlier, and wantonly, without any care whether she looked like a slut or an animal or the fucking goddess he was now suspecting her of being, she rolled her hips. Rolled them, meeting his cock every time and getting his bollocks soaked, her flat abdomen sucking in and then curving down. As his mind began to fade away from the situation, melting away in the tight heat of Narcissa's cunt, he was vaguely aware that she was stuffing her robe in her mouth, that he was leaving bruises in the marks of fingerprints on her knees.

Distantly he heard her begging for something and then he was coming, save the best for last and all that shit. He came with his whole body and it was like nothing his poor cock had ever known.

"Nasty man," he heard Narcissa murmur, licking cooling sweat from his neck.

Severus pulled her on top of him, realising that she didn't crush him only because she was starving as well. "I never claimed to be anything else."

Her mouth twisted, and so he pinched her nipple lightly.

"I'd like to do that again," he said, finding that her nipple was fascinating to play with. "Perhaps I'll do my best to live after all."

"Shut up," she said quickly, and he read in her eyes that mortality was not something she could bear thinking about for now. As he regarded her with questioning eyes, she shrugged, a fast flash of her shoulders, a flick of her eyes. Her hand wrapped around his cock, and she raised one eyebrow, still aristocratic and cool. "I've not yet had my last meal either."