heartbreak, old friend, goodbye it's me again [userpic]
FIC: Reefer Madness (Snape/Draco, NC-17)

I wrote this for [info - personal] bethbethbeth's birthday a few weeks ago and just realized I hadn't posted it anywhere outside of her birthday comm since.

So since there are a few people on my flist who might like a wee bit of Snaco porn, here you go. :) Do note the warnings and the title--there is definitely pot smoking involved. *g*

Off to watch an episode of Leverage and then maybe go to bed early....

Title: Reefer Madness
Author: Femme
Pairing: Snape/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~ 3,500
Warnings: Um...Draco (that warning would be for Cordelia *g*), semi-epilogue compliance (in other words, Snape aten't dead \0/), established relationship, slightly pervy portraits, the humiliation of teenagers, and unabashed pot smoking.
Author's notes: A huge thank you to [info - personal] supergrover24 for beta services, and a happy, happy birthday to Beth. *hugs*

"I found this in Scorpius's room."

Severus blinks as a linen bag is dropped on his desk, half-covering the manuscript on the use of aconite in talisman curses he's been working on all morning. He settles his glasses on the bridge of his nose and lays his quill aside.

"Breathe, Draco," he says in the most soothing tone he can muster. His husband is high-strung at the best of times, and when his stepson has done something uncharacteristically foolish, Severus has learned to tread warily.

Or to Firecall Astoria.

"Do you know what that is?" Draco demands. He leans over the desk, both hands planted firmly on either side of Severus's desk blotter, face twisted in fury.

Severus nudges the bag open with one finger. A bit of plant material spills out; he leans forward and sniffs it, then snorts, relieved. "Cannabis."

"Exactly." Draco folds his arms across his chest. "And I'm quite certain he got it from Potter's whelp—"

"That whelp is, albeit to my chagrin, my godson," Severus says mildly. "And it's only cannabis, Draco. It's not as if the boy is attempting to resurrect the Dark Lord."

Draco glares at him. "He's sixteen years old!"

"And at sixteen you were attempting to murder the Headmaster." Severus picks up the bag and stirs the contents with one finger. A sweet, dry scent drifts up. "I rather think," he says, pulling out the rolling papers he's just found on the bag's bottom, "that outweighs Scorpius seeking to—I believe it was turn on, tune in and drop out, my Aunt Edie used to say."

"Oh, for God's sake, that makes entirely no sense; what are you on about?" Draco snaps. "Not to mention your Aunt Edie was barking mad like the rest of your Muggle relatives, I might point out, and how many times have I told you, Severus, not to bring up the whole murder thing? It's really quite rude."

Severus just grunts and smoothes his thumb across one of the rolling papers before picking through the buds and leaves in the bag, selecting the right amount to roll. Pulling a packet of cigarettes from his desk drawer he taps one out onto his palm, then peels it open, sprinkling some of the tobacco on top of the cannabis before he sets it aside.

The furrow between Draco's eyebrows deepens dangerously. "Severus."

"I assume," Severus says calmly as he rolls the paper and twists one end tight, "that you plan to incinerate this before he comes home." At Draco's nod, he reaches for his wand. "Then I intend to assist you." He lifts the spliff to his mouth and lights it, inhaling deeply.

Draco sighs in exasperation. "I can't believe you—"

Severus blows fragrant smoke into Draco's face. "You fret far too much about the boy. And I'm quite aware you and Zabini nicked some of the cannabis from my storeroom during your fifth year."

Draco gives him a baleful look. "That was Goyle."

"Bollocks." Severus inhales again, holds his breath before coughing slightly, puffs of smoke filling the air in front of him. It's been some years since he's indulged in this manner. "I'm fairly certain I remember coming upon the both of you on top of the Astronomy Tower, giggling like fools. Or at least you were giggling. As I recall Zabini had your prick in his mouth." He scowls at the memory. "Little slag."

"Jealous?" A small smirk curls the corner of Draco's mouth.

Yes. "Not any more than you are of your father." Severus lifts the spliff to his mouth again. The narrowing of Draco's eyes pleases him. Draco had been horrified to find out Severus had a six month fling with Lucius two years before Draco had entered Hogwarts. He's never quite been able to forgive his father for that. Severus doesn't blame him. Every time Zabini comes over for dinner, Severus has the distinct urge to hex the brat's bollocks off, a fact which amuses Astoria to no end.

One should never overindulge in drink with one's husband's ex-wife, Severus has discovered. Particularly if said ex-wife can drink an Irishman under the table and still wake up the next morning with full memory of the night before.

"That wasn't cannabis we nicked." Draco smiles faintly. "It was Euphoria Elixir. I've never—" He snaps his fingers, frowning as he searches for the phrase. "—smoked up? I left that to Vince and Greg."

"And suddenly so much about those two is explained," Severus says under his breath. He takes another drag off the spliff, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment, before breathing out. He can feel a familiar faint buzz in his head that reminds him of long, lazy afternoons lying out by the Hogwarts lake with Mulciber and Avery during seventh year. It's one of the few pleasant memories of his adolescence.

Draco walks around the corner of the desk and holds his hand out. "I'll admit to being curious though. Share."

Severus eyes him suspiciously. "No binning it."

His husband rolls his eyes. "Just hand over the damn spliff, Severus."

With reluctance, Severus does, and he settles back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. He watches Draco take a slow toke, then burst into coughing, his face reddening as he splays his hand against his chest.

"It tastes like Hippogriff shit," Draco chokes out.

"Breathe it out," Severus says, in his lecturing voice, "then inhale again immediately. That will draw the smoke into your lungs. Then hold it before you exhale again."

Draco nods, his eyes watering as he tries again. He coughs again, though not as badly, and when he speaks small puffs of smoke drift from his lips. "Better?"

Severus smiles.

***


They lie on the floor of Severus's study two hours later, their feet bare, their robes off, staring up at the ceiling as they pass another spliff—their second—between them.

"I think that cherub is winking at me," Draco says, frowning at one of the paintings on the wall.

Severus coughs out a stream of smoke. "That's your Great-Uncle Maximus, not a cherub, and he's a pervy old sod who likes to wank himself when he thinks no one's looking." He ignores Maximus's sputtering. "He rather horrifies your Cousin Althea's portrait from what I can tell." He pauses, considering. "Then again, most everything horrifies Althea."

Draco rolls over onto his side and props himself up on one elbow. "Does he horrify you?"

"As much as one can." Severus takes one last toke off the spliff before banishing it with a flick of his wand. He drags the tip lazily through the dissipating smoke, sending it curling towards Maximus.

This is the one room in the Manor that he's laid full claim on since he'd moved in ten years before. It was small by Manor standards (which meant it was larger than Severus's quarters at Hogwarts had been) and lined with dark walnut bookcases and portraits of the less illustrious and more infamous members of the Malfoy clan.

Severus rather enjoys the company of the masturbating Maximus (a more recent addition to the study discovered when Severus had the paneling removed last winter) and the tart-tongued, if prudish, Althea, a grand old spinster who'd been pushed down the back hall stairs on her ninety-third birthday by an annoyed nephew—and before cake at that, she makes sure to inform Severus with a highly irritated sniff at least twice a week.

Draco smiles at him, a slow, sleepy curve of his mouth. Forty-two years old and Draco's still beautiful, despite the faint wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and the slow, backward march of his hairline. He takes Severus's wand from him and drops it. It rolls off the Aubusson, stopping at the foot of the desk. "I like lying here with you," Draco says, stretching, then curling against Severus's side, his head on Severus's shoulder.

Severus brushes his knuckles against Draco's cheek, his faint stubble rough against Severus's skin. He smoothes his fingers back, tracing the curve of Draco's ear, brushing his silky blond hair back from his temple. Draco presses his mouth against Severus's wrist; his tongue flicks lightly beneath the edge of his cuff. Severus shivers.

"I love the way you taste," Draco murmurs, and the warmth in his eyes makes Severus's breath catch and his cock stiffen. After all these years, just a touch, a look can still make Severus ache for him.

A bottle of Felix Felicis had brought them together.

It had arrived in the post the day after his fiftieth birthday—celebrated once again, alone. He hadn't minded; he preferred his peace and a bottle of Firewhisky, and after all, there were very few people he kept in contact with after the war ended. Minerva. Horace. Potter, surprisingly enough, though not out of any effort of his if he was honest.

The note with the bottle had been in Potter's near-illegible scrawl. It was little more than yet another admonishment for turning down the invitation to dinner the night before with Potter and his ridiculous brood, but at the end Potter had written I hope this helps you find what you're looking for, Severus.

He'd just snorted and tossed the package aside, potion and all. Potter was a maudlin fool; that much had been proven over the years.

It'd taken a week before he'd discovered the phial again, lying beneath a stack of notes on the properties of fluxweed. He'd turned it in his hand, watching it glitter gold against his palm, then set it aside, losing himself in the new potions text he was writing. He'd forgotten it until teatime, when he bumped the phial with his hand as he set his quill down.

Severus tells himself even now he only took the potion so as to avoid Potter's incessant pestering the next time he found himself coerced into dining with the brat and his wife. He'd never expected to find Draco an hour later in the newt's eyes and frog toes aisle of Slug and Jiggers. Or to sit together at a table in Vinalia's just off Knockturn thirty minutes after that, discussing Draco's recent divorce over a bottle of red wine and plates of linguini with clam sauce, light from the restaurant's wall sconces glittering in Draco's hair.

He'd certainly never expected to fuck Lucius Malfoy's son for the first time just inside the door of his tiny flat, two creaky staircases up from Diagon Alley, their bodies moving together desperately in the moonlight, hands and mouths rough, eager. They hadn't even fully undressed.

Severus drags his fingertips over the sharp angle of Draco's jaw. It's softened some since he was a boy; Draco's face has filled out more over the years. There's a faint white scar along his throat. It disappears beneath the collar of his white shirt, and Severus knows how it spiders out across Draco's chest, remnants of a schoolboy fight that nearly left him dead.

He's never thanked Potter for this, not directly. That's not Severus's way. Instead he took his godson under his wing, reluctantly allowing a connection to form between them over the years. Potter had understood.

Draco's fingers brush Severus's. "I like the way this feels," he says dreamily, his eyes closed. "It's like floating."

Severus kisses him, a slow, lazy press of their mouths together. Draco's lips are soft and warm, and he opens up to Severus, his tongue sliding against the back of Severus's teeth. He moans softly, and Severus runs his palm over Draco's cheek, tangling his fingers in Draco's hair.

"Severus," Draco murmurs into the kiss. He rolls backwards, pulling Severus with him. They kiss again, lips and teeth and tongue, and it's not urgent, not desperate. Not yet.

Draco's sharp teeth catch on Severus's bottom lip, and he sucks it lightly, licks away the sting. "I do like the way you taste," he says again. Severus laughs softly and shifts over him, leaning down for another kiss.

His hair swings forward, thick and lank, brushing against their cheeks. It's streaked salt-and-pepper now, greyer at his temples, and Draco rakes it back from his forehead, his fingers twisting in it as their kisses grow more heated.

Severus turns his head, bites down Draco's throat. His hands catch Draco's hips, holding him still. He can feel Draco's prick hot and heavy against his stomach. He pulls back slightly, looking down at his husband.

They'd married five years ago, after the laws had changed. Severus hadn't wanted to; he'd said bluntly that it was ridiculous to think some piece of paper signed by a bloody Ministry clerk was going to change anything about their relationship. It was legitimate enough as it was and they didn't need anyone else validating it for them, thank you very damn much. Draco had merely looked at him with narrowed eyes and informed him that Malfoys married their partners. Two weeks later he'd found himself signing for a marriage license.

That was, after all, a rather ridiculously long time to go without sex.

Severus drags his thumb over Draco's swollen mouth. Draco bites the tip, smiling. His hands slide over Severus's back, pulling at his shirt, tugging it from his trousers until Draco can press his palms against Severus's bare skin.

"Do you know what I want?" he asks, and he ruts up against Severus's hip.

Severus breathes in sharply. His cock aches. "What?"

Draco leans in, his mouth brushing Severus's ear. His breath is warm and wet against Severus's skin. "Wank for me," he whispers.

A shudder ripples through Severus. Suddenly there's nothing he wants more. He pushes himself up, straddling Draco's hips, and his hands slip up Draco's chest, fingers pulling at the buttons of his shirt. "Is that all?" He raises an eyebrow in amusement.

"For now." Draco stretches beneath him, raising his arms up over his head. He watches Severus through lidded eyes.

Severus pulls Draco's shirt open and scrapes his fingertips over Draco's skin. His nipples are hard and pink, and Draco hisses as Severus's hands brush over them. "You're beautiful," Severus says, his fingers tracing the web of scars.

"And you're not wanking," Draco says tartly. He licks his bottom lip and arches into Severus's touch. He catches Severus's wrist and drags it down to the buttons on Severus's trousers. "I want to watch you."

"Bossy little prat," Severus says, but his voice shakes. He leans back, fingers working at his belt. His prick aches.

Draco just smiles. He traces circles lightly on Severus's thigh. "I'm forty-two years old and you're still calling me little?"

Tugging at his trouser buttons, Severus leans forward and captures Draco's mouth in a rough kiss. "I'm an old man."

"Bollocks." Draco licks the corner of Severus's mouth. "Sixty-two's the new forty, haven't you heard?"

Severus snorts. He slides his hand into his pants—proper black silk as Draco insists upon purchasing for him—and fists his cock. Draco breathes out when he leans back, his hand moving slowly beneath the silk, the head of his prick barely peeking out from behind the waistband. Severus presses his hips down; he can feel the heat of Draco's cock against his arse.

Draco gasps, and his fingers tighten on Severus's thighs. "Do that again."

A faint smirk twists Severus's mouth. He tucks a stray lock of greying hair behind one ear and rocks back again. "This?"

"It's a start." Draco presses his feet into the floor and pushes up against him. "Wank, Severus."

Severus groans, and his fingers slide down his shaft, lifting it from his pants. He rubs his thumb along the thick vein on the underside, breathing hard. Everything feels, all over his skin, and he knows it's the drug tingling through his nervous system, making each light stroke languorous and intense.

Draco watches him, eyes bright and steady, and his hands slide up Severus's legs to clutch his hips as Severus twists his palm over the head of his prick.

"You like this," Severus says, and Draco nods. He curls his fingers around Severus's wrist and pulls Severus's hand to his mouth. His tongue drags across Severus's palm, wet and hot, over and over, dipping between his fingers, licking across fingertips before he sucks each one in turn into his mouth.

Severus's cock throbs, and he groans as he watches his fingers slide between Draco's damp lips. "Fuck," he whispers, because there's nothing else to say. He shudders, catches himself with one hand before he falls forward, and his prick slides against Draco's stomach, leaving a slick trail.

Draco groans, his teeth scraping against Severus's thumb, and Severus is breathing hard as he pulls his wet hand away. Draco swallows; the pulse in his throat flutters. "Come on me," he says, voice thick and raw with want, and Severus needs to.

His fingers curl around his cock, tight and hot and slick with Draco's spit. He fists himself quickly, roughly, holding himself up over Draco as he jerks his prick. He can't breathe, can't suck enough air into his lungs, can't stop, oh, Christ—and when Draco shoves his hips up, twisting against him, his fingers digging into Severus's skin, his nipples pink and hard, Severus gasps.

It seems to take forever, their groans and ragged breaths echoing in the silent room along with the wet, quick slap of Severus's fingers over his skin. Draco rolls his hips up, a flush spreading across his chest, highlighting his pale scars.

"Severus," he chokes out, and then he arches up with a soft shout, his shoulders off the floor, his fingers scrabbling, twisting in Severus's trousers. He falls back, still trembling, his mouth a soft o as he breathes out. His hair catches on his damp cheek, shining silver-gilt against his pinkened skin. His fingers flex lightly against Severus's hip. "Oh," he says, shakily.

Sliding forward, his knees on either side of Draco's chest, Severus pulls harder, rougher, the red head of his cock slipping quickly between his clenched fingers. He's close, so fucking close and he watches Draco watch him, eyes soft and bright. He loves him. Needs him. Wants him—

Severus cries out, come splattering over his fingers, over Draco's throat and jaw. He squeezes his prick, tight and hard, sliding his foreskin back and forth over the slick, flushed head. Draco's hands are on his chest, touching him, stroking him through the cotton of his shirt, and he can barely breathe, can barely hold himself up. He rubs his prick against Draco's jaw, smearing come over his skin before he presses it to Draco's mouth. Draco sucks him in, his tongue flicking lightly at the still sensitive head, and Severus groans and lurches forward.

He falls to Draco's side, breathing hard, his toes flexing and curling against the Aubusson.

They lie there for a moment, legs still twined, their breath coming in sharp, short gasps.

"Oh, lovely, my dear boys," a voice says above them, and Severus glances over to see Maximus beaming at them from his portrait, his trousers hanging open and his hand slick. His prick hangs limp and pink from his fingers.

Draco throws his arm over his face with a muffled—and horrified—laugh. Severus scowls at the damned portrait. "Out," he demands, mouth tight and browns drawn down, and with a huff, Maximus pulls his trousers together and stomps out of his frame, passing through Althea's empty portrait before disappearing all together.

"I do loathe your ancestors, you know," Severus mutters, and Draco rolls against him, laughing and kissing his throat.

"It might have been Grandfather Abraxas," Draco says against his skin.

Severus shudders. "I would never be able to get hard again."

"I highly doubt that." Draco's fingers ghost over Severus's cock. "I rather think I could coax you into it."

They smile at each other.

The pounding of footsteps down the hallway is the only warning they get before the door slams open. It's just enough time for Severus to pull his flies together and grab his robe to throw over them both.

"Oh, God," Scorpius says in a horrified voice, staring at them from the doorway. Albus—Severus refuses to use that ridiculous nickname his idiot father has bestowed upon him—peers over Scorpius's shoulder. His black hair begs for a combing. Scorpius buries his face in his hands. "My eyes. My eyes, Al. I'm going to have burn them out now."

"Knocking," Severus says calmly, "is courteous."

Draco snorts. "And there's no need to be dramatic. Nobby brought me those magazines you've been keeping underneath your mattress."

"Magazines?" Severus eyes his husband curiously.

"I'll show them to you later," Draco says, and beneath the cloak he squeezes Severus's prick. "You'll rather like PotionsWiz. Evidently they disrobe if you brew their potion correctly."

"Hmm," Severus says. "Entirely nude?"

Draco nods, his hair falling into his eyes. Severus wants to kiss him again. "I think the June centerfold's the best. Very nice cock."

Scorpius makes a strangled noise, his fists still pressed to his face, and Albus pats him on the back. "Your parents are weird," he says, choking back a laugh.

"I hate you all," Scorpius mumbles.

With a snort, Severus grabs his wand from where it'd rolled earlier and flicks it at the door, slamming it shut on them both. The lock clicks into place. He looks back at Draco. "We're keeping the cannabis."

"Obviously," Draco says and he slides over Severus, pushing the robe away. He looks down at him and grins. "Want to go again?"

Severus laughs and pulls Draco into a kiss.
Thinking: exhausted exhausted
Singing: The Holloways - Two Left Feet

Comments

That was lovely . . . Was frankly put off at first by the drug use (that and smoking are squicks of mine) but I came back for giving it a second chance. Glad I did!!! X^DDD

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