Downward Spiral: Lily/Severus, NC-17

Title: Downward Spiral
Author: Envinyatar (aka randomisedhabit)
Pairing: Lily/Severus, background James/Lily, implied James/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: adultery
Word Count: 2,247
Summary: She’s long since ceased trying to deny her inner urge to go to Snape when she really needs it. He's the only one who can help her.

Notes: Written for nautipirate in the wizard_love exchange. Originally posted here. Inspired by the song "You Don't See Me" by Poolstar*, a local band from Berlin, Germany. Lyrics at the beginning. And a huuuge thank you goes to zebraspots05 for the quick beta.

For 50scenes: #09 spiral, lions_serpents: #09 lies, and 15pairings: #11 inconsequential/unconsensual.


My life lies down in pieces
Excrements of my soul
My light is out and darkened
I lost my race, my war
And I tried so hard to fake me on again
In those times when I just used myself fulfilling my fate

You don’t see me
You’re tearing me down
You’re tearing me down again

And it ripped me all apart
Unable to dispart I’m still bleeding
This time you can beat me forever
Say is that all I’ll never have?
Or is it all I ever had, is it?
I can’t clear it

*~*~*

“More,” she whispers into the darkness, at the same time hoping and fearing he will hear her. She knows this is wrong, knows she shouldn’t be here, but the knowledge doesn’t change a thing, now does it? She’s still here, lying on this bed, thinking about how she shouldn’t, and still she’s spreading her legs, trying to urge him on with almost-silent pleas and pants and moans.

She draws in a laboured breath as he flicks his tongue on her clit just so, the two fingers inside her hitting the right spot at the same time. Why, why does this have to feel so good?

It’s amazing, really, just how her mind never completely shuts up, even in the middle of sex. There’s always that rational part of her, telling her not to enjoy this. You’re cheating on your husband, Lily. You’re cheating on the man you vowed to love, honour and obey. But her body doesn’t listen to the voice. So what? is all the answer her mind seems to get, and for one blissful moment there’s silence – except for her pleas and pants and moans. She’s twisting on the bed, desire coursing through her at every move he makes.

“More,” she urges him on again, nearly sobbing in desperation, and he complies by stopping his activities, leaving her wet cunt and crawling up her body.

“You want more?” he growls, his rough voice sending shivers down her spine, straight to her core and back again. Wrong. She has long since ceased caring about wrong, though, as she is reminded by her body as she wraps her legs around him. Instinct and habit both have made her what she is at that moment: a wanton whore trying to get off with a man she barely knows, if at all.

So what?

Her control over her own voice is nearly broken. Instead of telling him this is indeed what she wants, she shows him with her body: claiming his mouth with hers, hard, pressing her groin into his, rocking into his hard length as she simultaneously grabs his arse and pushes him down into her.

He hisses between clenched teeth into their kiss, breaking away from it. His black eyes are furious, blazing, and at that moment she doesn’t quite know whether to be terrified or excited. Before she can decide, though, he’s already positioning himself at her entrance, teasing her with his tip, and it’s all she needs to discard every doubt that might surge up within her about his motives, or her own. “You want this?” he asks, and Lily swallows hard.

She does.

Nodding, she draws him down for another kiss, tongues duelling in that way that speaks of practise. They’ve done this before, many, many times. She feels the muscles in his back flex as he prepares to enter her, and then he does. Without further warning, he plunges into her, counting on her to admit him into her very core. And why should she not? This is everything she wants.

He is everything she wants.

Before he came, it had been a long time since she remembered how it was to long for a touch, a kiss, a cock. He has brought it all back.

Her back arches off the bed as he plunges into her with one powerful thrust, and she cries out in both pleasure and pain at the half-expected intrusion, biting his lip in the process. Pain for pain, in a way. The blood on her tongue reminds her of what it might cost her, if ever they were discovered, and the danger only heightens her desire.

He gives her the fraction of a second to adjust to him before he begins moving; sliding almost all the way out, just to thrust in again with all his might. It doesn’t take long before the pain has dissolved, leaving behind a tingle in her stomach that soon grows into more. He pounds into her, mercilessly, and this is what she craves: to let go. She’s never allowed to do that anymore, especially not with James, so why shouldn’t she seek release where she can get it? With him it’s so easy to lose herself in the moment, his face hidden by lank black hair so she can almost – almost – pretend he’s someone else. If she wanted to.

But she doesn’t. He thrusts into her, sheathing himself inside her more deeply than any man ever did, and she twists underneath him. The tension is building; she can feel it take her over, control her, and she thinks she needs to come now, or otherwise she’ll die.

Another push, and he hisses in that way of his, a sound she knows all too well by now. He’s on the edge, as well. Lily sneaks down one hand to her clit, flicks it once, twice, in time with his thrusts – he’s the farthest thing from a considerate lover anyone could possibly think of – and then she comes, clenching around his cock, a silent cry frozen on her lips as she is washed away on a wave of glory. It’s all he needs to follow her into oblivion, and with a low moan he is spurting hot come into her, claiming her, marking her, his teeth grazing her shoulder while his hands dig into her hips.

When he slips out of her and drops down beside her, the awareness of the darkness around her comes rushing back to her.

This time, there is no voice saying So what? anymore.

*~*~*

The key turns in the lock with a screeching sound. Oil, she thinks, slightly annoyed by this unwelcome disruption of her silent contemplations. Why does nothing go the way it’s supposed to?

Once inside the flat, she doesn’t bother flipping on the light, dropping her coat – robes are too impractical to wear, at least for a Muggleborn who never really got used to them – on the floor and getting rid of her shoes in one fluid motion. Just as she makes her way through the living room to the kitchen, a voice stops her.

“Lil? Is that you?”

Please don’t. “Yes.”

The sleepy form of her husband is barely distinguishable in the darkness of the room, but she can tell from his tone of voice that he’s been waiting for her. Or rather, there’s that certain quality in it, speaking of what exactly he’s been waiting for, and her mind flashes back to the man she’s just left.

It never used to be like this. How did it come this far?

James stands up and comes over to her. Lily knows what will follow; it’s always like this, if he remembers that he has needs only his wife is supposed to fulfil. Supposed, because she suspects there’s someone else he fucks – confirmation she has never received or needed, for that matter – and he only comes to her to hold up decorum.

Best friends, indeed. Bugger them all and let them go to hell. She has needs, too, not only emotional ones, but physical ones as well. It’s become almost irrelevant that they loved each other once – because that love is certainly replaced now by habit – if just… If just what? He didn’t fuck someone else, and she didn’t fuck someone else?

As if that would change anything at all.

Lily holds perfectly still as James leans in for a kiss, his hand at the small of her back trying to draw her close to him. She resists him, though; she can’t. Not tonight, at any rate, not when she just came from him.

“Lil?” a confused James asks her after another second.

“I’m sorry. I’m tired,” she answers his unspoken question, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. “Please… Could we just go to bed and sleep? It’s been one hell of a day.”

“Yeah… Yeah, of course,” he whispers after the fraction of a second.

Goosebumps cover her flesh. Wrong. And she knows it is, but now the tiny voice in the back of her mind is back.

So what? it asks defiantly, and she can only inwardly nod in agreement as a wall of anger is imprisoning all the guilt she might have otherwise felt.

If just things were different.

*~*~*

She’s back at Snape’s door less than a week later, one uncomfortable night when James is out drinking with his mates – shagging around, more like – and she is facing a lonely evening at home. Her only companion would have been all this anger inside of her that’s making her so explosive that James felt compelled to flee, so isn’t it better to just go where she’s bound to be freed from her frustrations? That’s what she tells herself, and that’s what she does.

She’s long since ceased trying to deny her inner urge to go to Snape when she really needs it. He’s the only one who can help her. Not James and his friends – most certainly not his friends, not even Remus with all his understanding, because they are James’ friends first and foremost – not the Longbottoms, or the Weasleys, or any of the girls she knew in school.

It’s Snape with all this fury in him, too, and with all his despicable features and his disdainful sneer and – most importantly – his hatred he isn’t afraid to show. He’s fucking her because he’s getting back at Potter – and oh can she see him sneer at the disgusting word on his tongue. There’s no pretending involved: It’s as simple as that. Fucking and being fucked to their mutual satisfaction. No less, and certainly no more. It’s been that from the very beginning.

*~*~*

“Evans.”

Lily looks up, surprised that someone would call her by her former surname, then quickly hardens her facial expression as she sees who it is. “Snape,” she says through gritted teeth. “Piss off.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, such language from a Gryffindor such as yourself? I wouldn’t have thought it possible, especially since you are married to your House’s golden boy, aren’t you?” In one fluid motion, he sits down at her table, gesturing to her left hand with his head. Then he cocks his head, and as his hair falls back and to the side, his face is revealed for the first time: pale, tired and sickly. “But then again, what should one expect from a Mudblood?”

“So what would your Death Eater friends say if they knew you sat at the same table as me, of your own free will?” she retorts, the ever-present anger bubbling up within her.

He only smirks to that, and she knows him well enough to realise he doesn’t have an answer. A little sense of triumph surges through her, and she smiles. Mockingly.

“Don’t you have anything to add to that, Snape?”

“Only why you are sitting here in a dirty, stinking bar, all alone on a Saturday night when you should be at home getting fucked by your new husband. He’s rather busy with someone else these days – or always, I suspect – isn’t he?” That with a raised eyebrow and that damned silky voice that he thinks shows his superiority, and for the first time she notices how his eyes glitter viciously at the thought of James.

His words bring back the stab in the back she’s been trying to forget. The pain of a dagger – and his words are just that – twisted into an already open wound is nothing she can run away from, though, so she turns like a caged animal and fights back instead of admitting defeat.

“Trying to get laid yourself, Snape? Not that anyone would have you,” she says, gazing at him from head to mid-stomach. Her voice is pure acid, and although it may never quite match the burning coldness of his voice, it’s rather remarkable for a normal human being, as she knows quite well.

He isn’t a normal human being, though, and only smirks again. “You wouldn’t know, now would you,” he murmurs to himself, getting up. He leans over to her ear, whispers, “We are more alike than might be visible on first glance. Think about it,” and striding out, he vanishes into the night.

Later, she wishes he’d never said that. Because she did think about it, and look what good it brought her.

*~*~*

Now standing in the rain in front of the door that leads to hell – and if this is hell, she asks herself, then what in this godforsaken war isn’t? – she reaches for the bell with a determined motion. Wrong, says something inside of her, and the other part silences it with the question that slowly becomes her mantra. So what?

Snape opens the door, unreadable black pools greeting her, and already she’s drowning in them, taken in by the silent fury that could be almost anything else, too. But she likes to think there’s something she has in common with Snape, because if she doesn’t, then what is she doing here?

He nods to her, says “Evans” in that low, deep voice that has her almost begging right then and there.

“Snape,” she greets back in almost the same manner, but her eyes must have shown something, because sooner than she could imagine she is on her back, with him buried between her legs. She whispers “More” into the darkness, afraid he will hear yet at the same time hopeful he will.

And from there it spirals downward.