Title: Gravity and Propriety
Author: Atra
Recipient: karasu_hime
Pairing: Snape/Tonks
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Written for hp_springsmut for karasu_hime, who requested dirty talk, UST, dubious consent, and a happy ending. I'm not sure this qualifies as any of those things, but I tried. Thanks to A for laughing at me holding my hand, a different A for letting me borrow a line or two, and starrysummer for not kicking my ass running this fest.
Severus Snape sighed and slammed his book shut. It had been an exceptionally bad month—he was locked up in Twelve Grimmauld Place, he'd been forced to resume Occlumency lessons with the Potter brat, his subscription to Potions Monthly wasn't being forwarded, and his latest ingredients order had yet to turn up. He sometimes even found himself wishing Longbottom were around to blow the house up. At least yelling at Longbottom was interesting, which was more than could be said for anything else.
The knock at his door took him by surprise, and pushed all thoughts of Longbottom out of his head—permanently, he hoped. He called for the visitor to enter before he'd had time to consider all his options. Which, once he thought about it, was probably for the best, as he didn't exactly have options.
The door opened and a slim figure slid inside, tripped over the corner of the dingy silk rug, pitched backwards into the doorjamb, and then leaned against it with affected nonchalance. Snape sighed and tried to make it sound long-suffering.
"Tonks," he said. "Do make yourself at home."
"Thanks," she said, and Snape managed not to wince. Her voice, like the rest of her, was loud and bright and out of place. "Don't mind if I do. You didn't really think you'd get rid of me that easily?"
"Excuse me?" he said, trying to fathom what she could possibly be talking about.
"Last night," she said with a frown. "I saw you sneaking about downstairs after you thought everyone had gone to bed. I thought you saw me, too."
"No," he said, and picked up his book. He might be bored out of his skull, but he was at something of a loss when it came to conversing with Tonks. "If that's all…"
"Why don't you ever come out?"
Snape stared at his book for a long time; he knew there was no point in staring at her—she never squirmed. There were a thousand answers and there were no answers, so he kept his mouth shut and wasn't surprised when Tonks misinterpreted.
"No one hates you, you know," she said.
Snape looked over the top of his book and raised an eyebrow. She reconsidered.
"Well, Harry. But Harry's sixteen. He hates everyone."
"You believe I'm hiding from the brat?"
She shrugged, and the purple scrap of fabric masquerading as a shirt slipped off her shoulder. Snape tried to look away, but he wasn't quick enough, and the image of bare, pale skin stuck with him. "Maybe not, but you're hiding from something."
"Goodbye, Ms. Tonks," he said. He looked pointedly at his book and waited for the sound of a door slamming shut. All he heard was silence.
"Sev?"
His head snapped up and he gave her his best glare. "What did you just call me?"
She grinned. "Staring at that book is not going to make me go away."
He sighed and slammed it shut. "All right, then. What will make you go away?"
She pushed herself away from the doorframe and walked towards him. She was probably going for a stalk, but she once again managed to trip over the edge of the rug. Snape watched in bemusement as her hair—bright green and spiked in such a way as to defy both gravity and propriety—didn't move. She regained her balance and continued trying to stalk across the room.
"I'm not going anywhere."
She was much closer, and actually was beginning to seem rather threatening. Her eyes, he noticed, were the same color as his, and there was an utterly terrifying gleam in their black depths. He shifted uncomfortably in his leather armchair and surreptitiously slid his hand into his robes to finger his wand.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't bother. I'm an Auror, you know."
"Yes," he said. "And as you know, I have been outmaneuvering Aurors since you were in short pants."
"I was never in short pants."
If she came much closer, she was going to have to climb up on his lap. He crossed his legs and leaned back. "Would you be so kind as to do me a favor?"
She stopped in her tracks and smiled, and her eyes flashed silver. For a brief instant, she looked every inch the Black she was, and a shiver raced down Snape's spine. "That depends on what you want," she said. It was almost a purr.
"Would you mind morphing into someone who is not completely batty?"
"Oh, you don't want that."
"Oh, I really— get away from me!"
The lunatic woman actually had tried to climb on his lap. Snape shot to his feet, dumping her unceremoniously on her arse.
"Ow!" She pouted up at him. "What was that for?"
Snape stepped around her and walked to the other side of the room. "For molesting me!"
"I didn't molest you," she protested. "I was trying to, but no—"
"No! Exactly. No. Now leave."
"Why? I know you're bored. Why not let me entertain you?" She stood up and tried to stalk towards him again. It was rather more effective now that he knew what she was planning, and he flattened himself against the wall.
It was ridiculous, really, and it was only the utter absurdity of the situation that kept Snape from losing his temper. He was trapped in his bedroom, very nearly cowering, while a raving lunatic made ready to pounce. He pushed his hair out of his face and glared at her. "Tonks. I do not want you here. I do not want you, full stop. Why you continue—"
"Who do you want, then?" she asked, morphing as she did so into a tall, leggy blonde with enormous breasts. Snape shuddered. She morphed into a Potter, although whether she was supposed to be James or Harry, Snape wasn't sure. "I can be anyone."
He seriously considered hexing her—for all her talk about being an Auror, he was certain he was faster on the draw—but couldn't quite bring himself to do so. She was right; he was bored. And she was rather attractive when she wasn't being a Potter.
Nonetheless, the last thing the wanted was for his personal life to become further fodder for the Order's late-night gossip sessions. He tried to push himself a little flatter against the wall.
"I have put in my request," he ground out. "It is for someone sane. Clearly that is impossible, and you should therefore leave."
She scrunched up her face and morphed back into herself, or at least into the image that was Tonks. "You don't want that." The only word for her grin was feral.
"On the contrary," he snapped. "That is exactly what I want."
"Why?" she asked. It sounded like genuine curiosity in her voice, but Snape wasn't fooled. She glanced over her shoulder at the book he'd set aside, and Snape groaned inwardly. "Are you really that eager to get back to Quidditch Through the Ages? I'm much more interesting than Quidditch."
"You're not," he said. "Now go."
"On one condition."
"Name it."
"I want proof you don't want me here."
Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What form of proof do you require?"
He heard a rustle of fabric, and then her body was against his, pinning him to the wall with surprising strength. He opened his eyes in shock just in time to see her own closing as her lips descended on his. Her lips slanted over his, and he stood frozen, thinking utterly ludicrous thoughts like, she must have made herself taller and what would be the harm? and there's quite a lot of lilac in her shampoo and her hair is rather pointy. It kept poking his face as she moved. He very deliberately did not think about the way her lips felt or the way the blood was rushing to his cock.
After what seemed a very long time, she pulled away and pouted. "I wanted you to kiss me, not stand there and act like a prat."
"I'm going to say this very slowly, and with very small words, so that you may have some hope of understanding. I do not want you here. Go."
She narrowed her eyes, which at some point had shifted to silver. He tried to flatten himself against the wall a little more, but there was nowhere else to go, and she just pressed herself closer.
"Where do you want me, then? Because I know you do." She twisted her hips slightly, grinding against his erection.
"I don't," he said, although there wasn't as much conviction behind the words as perhaps there could have been. He was beginning to suspect it was futile anyway. She was clearly insane.
"You are such a wanker," she muttered.
He opened his mouth to protest, not that there was much arguing with that particular pronouncement, but she took the opportunity to kiss him again, and then her tongue was in his mouth and she tasted of strawberries and cinnamon and alcohol and Snape had to work very hard to remember why this situation was not a good one.
When she pulled away that time, both of them were breathing heavily. She smiled, licked her lips. "Much better."
"Is there any way I can convince you to leave?"
"Not after that. I might've left had you stood there like a statue again."
Snape cursed inwardly.
"But fortunately for both of us, you didn't. Take off the robe."
"I'll do no such thing!"
"How am I supposed to fuck you if you don't take your robe off?"
"You're not supposed to fuck me. You're supposed to sod off and leave me alone."
"Well. Never been much for doing what I was supposed to, have I? You ought to remember that much."
Snape closed his eyes in defeat and let his head fall back—hard—against the wall. Clearly the woman was utterly mad, certifiably insane, and licking his neck. Her tongue was warm and wet and very slightly abrasive, and he absolutely had no desire whatsoever to know how it would feel on his cock.
He put a hand on her shoulder to push her away, and was vaguely surprised to find bare skin; he'd forgotten all about the shirt that had slipped off her shoulder. Her skin was cool, and he slid his hand to her neck, ran his thumb over her collarbone, felt her pulse fluttering under his fingers.
"You taste good," she murmured against his skin, and then her hands were making quick work of his robes. He was determined not to help her, and that was a battle he was fairly certain he could win, despite the fact that he was clearly going to lose the war. No, he decided, his hands were much better occupied divesting her of her shirt, such as it was. He tugged her shirt up and over her head and even thought about opening his eyes to see if it had mussed up her hair, but he was almost certain it hadn't. His eyes stayed firmly shut, and really, he was going to push her away any time now. He took a deep breath, one hand over a very naked shoulder, and pushed.
He'd meant to push her away, but somehow he'd pushed her down, and he hissed as her nails scraped over his bare skin. His eyes finally flew open at the revelation that she'd managed to get his robes open; it was too hot in the house to wear anything underneath, and so he hadn't been. Cool air drifted over his hard cock and he realized she was blowing on it. He looked down. The green hair was disconcerting.
"Tell me," she said, flicking her tongue over the tip of his cock.
"Tell you what?"
"Tell me to suck it."
"No. You're the one who wanted this. I'll not be giving you instructions."
She wrapped one hand around the base of his cock. "Don't be such a hypocrite. You want this, too."
"That has a mind of its own," he said. He tried to sneer, but she chose that moment to swallow his cock, and it was probably only in his imagination that he'd actually got the word 'own' out coherently. He dropped his head back against the wall again and tried not to thrust into her mouth.
It was a losing proposition. Her tongue was slightly rough against the underside of his cock, her mouth almost too tight and hot for belief. His normally comfortable robes scratched against his back where she'd shoved them off his shoulders. He meant to pull them back up, but when he moved his hands he found them tangled in her hair. He noted that it had shifted into slightly less gravity-defying spikes and slightly less propriety-defying green.
It had been a while since anything other than his own hand had touched his cock, and the pressure in his balls was building rather more quickly than he'd have liked. Still, he caught himself thrusting into her mouth and seemed helpless to stop himself.
She laughed around his cock and pulled her mouth away. She trailed her other hand lightly up his leg, grabbed his balls, and twisted slightly.
"Tell me," she said.
"No," he bit out.
She nipped her way up his inner thigh, licking the sore spots as she went, kneading his balls with one hand. "Don't want me to suck you, then? Don't want to come down my throat? You could fuck me, right here, pound me through the wall. D'you want that?"
He did, actually, and he very nearly considered saying so, but then she swallowed his cock again and rendered the point moot.
Her mouth was everywhere around him—perhaps there were benefits to fucking a metamorphagus, he thought, or maybe it was just Tonks—hot and tight and wet, and he was fucking her face mindlessly and thinking about all the ways he was going to kill her if she pulled away again.
But instead of pulling away, she moved closer, sucked him in deeper, and slid a finger into his arse. He groaned low in his throat as she stroked his prostate, setting off what felt like a series of explosions that shot up his spine. He bit his tongue to keep from moaning and thrust harder, trying to get even closer, trying to get more.
It didn't take long. She was working his cock too expertly for him to hold out, and he felt like the edges of himself were flying apart. She stroked his prostate one more time and he fisted his hands in her hair and thrust hard once, twice, and then he was shattering as he came straight down her throat.
She sucked down every drop and then eased her finger out of his arse. She licked at his cock a few more times, cleaning him off, before pulling away.
"Well," she said, licking her lips and sitting back on her heels. She looked speculatively around his room. "Got any stamina potions?"
He quirked an eyebrow and looked down at her. "Of course."
The End