It is not getting better. Since the last time I saw him, I cannot stop thinking about him. Maybe it would be easier if Moony and I were not just sitting in my house, waiting for further instructions. I need something to do; something that can take my mind off him.
Why on earth am I so fascinated by the repulsive, disgusting Severus Snape? Why can one brief meeting with him make me lose my composure for days?
Moony of course notices that something is wrong with me; he is worried. He will be even more worried when he notices that I have just disapparated while he was in the bathroom.
The Shrieking Shack. Snape almost died here 15 years ago. A year ago he caught me here, wanting me dead. I live on, with him on my mind.
I turn into a dog as I leave the Shrieking Shack and cross Hogwarts grounds. There is no moon in the nightly sky that brightens my way, but my enhanced dog senses don't need so much light.
It is way too easy to sneak into the castle; one would think, Dumbledore would put up better wards after I got in so easily more than a year ago, but maybe he thinks because the children are all on summer vacation he does not need to protect the school from intruders.
Moony told me where his quarters are, he did not seem to be surprised that I wanted to know.
I can smell him when I walk down the stairs into the dungeon. A deep growl escapes my throat.
His scent gets clearer the closer I get. It makes me want to .... to hunt.
I reach the door of my prey's home and change back into a man. I knock, waiting in eager anticipation. After a while I hear his steps nearing the door, then him unlocking the door and turning the handle.
His deep black eyes lock with mine when he appears in the gap between door and wall. His eyes widen and his face loses its usual cold mask, contorting in hatred.
"YOU!" he spats. "What do YOU want?"
I do not waste my time with eloquence; I just jump at him and push myself through the open doorframe. Our bodies collide, I feel his frail body through his pyjamas. I'm letting out a shuttering breath and kick the door shut behind me. I'm in my prey's home now. He is trapped.
Snape stumbles back a few steps, glaring at me in anger and confusion. And fear. I'm already hard as a rock.
He is wearing black silk pyjamas that hardly disguise his slim form. I want to tear them off and crush his slim body. Not just want; I do it, leaping forward, slamming him into the wall, ripping off the upper part of his clothes. That's what I'm here for, after all.
I stare into his shocked eyes as I trail my fingers over the naked skin of his chest, dimly aware that I'm growling at him.
The impact of his fist on my face takes me by surprise. The pain is making me dizzy as I stumble backwards, feeling the moist warmth of my blood dropping onto my chin. He hits me a second time and I stumble over a chair. Ouch, the impact with the floor really hurt!
I glare up at him, into his furious face.
"Let's see if Dumbledore will still think that you're harmless when I tell him that you attacked me in my private quarters!" He is hissing like a snake. When I growl loudly, he halts in his steps towards the fireplace. I don't leave him the time to turn around; I just leap at him, sending him crashing onto the floor, face down, with me on his back.
I rip off what's left of the upper part of his pyjamas, then rake my fingernails across his back. Snape is wriggling, trying to get out from under me, but I move to lie completely on him, pinning his wrists onto the floor with my hands.
I breathe in his scent, feel his slim body under me, taste him as I start licking his shoulder. It's intoxicating. I barely notice my hips thrusting against him.
Letting go of his right wrist - so slim, like his long fingered, slender hands -, I slip down the trousers of his pyjamas, exposing his white buttocks. Kneading the muscle with my right hand, I notice that he does not fight back anymore. In fact he is lying very still. Too scared to fight?
The wrongness of what I am doing here dawns on me. I shouldn't... yet I can't stop...
I have to stop if I still want to respect myself tomorrow. With a supreme act of willpower I move off him and try to calm down my agitated breathing.
I hardly succeed with his half naked body lying next to me. His scent, his sheer presence makes me want to plunge into him and break him to pieces.
As he's slowly sitting up, I can read confusion and fear on his face. And something else... repressed arousal?
Now he is turning his head and looking at me, his sneer not quite as cold and arrogant as usual: "Did the years in Azkaban make you THAT desperate for a fuck?"
I growl again. I often do that lately. Lived too long as a dog, I guess.
He's eyeing me warily. I'm staring back at him. Then I slowly crawl closer to him, until I'm just inches apart from his face. His eyes narrowing suspiciously, he asks: "What are you up to, Black?"
I don't know. I just act, I lose my ability to think clearly whenever Snape is present. So without thinking about the consequences, I grab him at the back of his head and kiss him wildly. I couldn't describe his taste, he is just... addictive.
My behaviour must shock him; he neither fights back nor indulges at first while my tongue is exploring his mouth. Then he *bites*.
I draw back, swearing in pain, tasting my own blood. I'd rather taste his blood; I want to drink him empty.
He's glaring at me with all his anger and hatred. "What kind of sick game do you think you're playing, Black?" he whispers, before he loses control.
I'm surprised when he plunges at me, pushes me to the floor and closes his hands around my neck. Choking, I stare up into his face, which is full of hatred and passion, his greasy hair falling into his face. I hold still and enjoy his attack for a moment, relishing in his intensity.
Then I kick his stomach. Snape doubles up, loosening his grip on my throat. I push him off and take a deep breath. Then I plunge at him, pull off his pyjamas trousers, that are anyway only hanging at his knees since my prior attack, and pin him down.
Sitting astride on him, my hands pressing down his wrists, I look down into his behated face, black eyes full of fire. A sense of power runs like shivers through my body. No matter how much he fights back, I have always been stronger than he; I could take what I want, and I know he wouldn't tell anyone - who would believe him?
I can read in his eyes that he realises the same. He is giving up, the fire dies. A resigned look on his face, his body slackens, his eyes close.
I shouldn't have come here. My prick is begging for release, but I don't want to become a rapist. I was innocent when I was put into Azkaban; I don't want to change that now.
I crawl off his slender body, raise and leave without looking back; I don't know if I could hold myself together if I looked back.
After jerking off in the Shrieking Shack, I apparate in my house.
Moony is still there. As I expected, he looks worried: "Padfoot, were have you been?"
I could never tell him.