Title: Greasy Git

Author: Skye

Email: BeckyHoadley@hotmail.com

Rating: Hard R, Mild NC-17

Pairing: Severus Snape/Male canon character of your choice

Catagory: Fluff

Summary: Snape, finally, takes a bath

A/N: Zebee's challenge

Greasy Git

by Skye

Snape cursed, in the mundane sense, at life in general and the plumbing in particular. Superior to muggles his ass. He felt absolutely disgusting and he didn't have time to chat up the bloody hot water heater for an hour and a half to convince it to provide him with water that wasn't straight from the damn near Arctic lake. And they wondered why he was always ill tempered and greasy. If they had to shower with water perhaps half a degree above freezing they'd...

But no. Of course the other faculty and precious little brats had plumbing that had been installed in the last half century and that complied easily with the requests for hot water. Not him, oh no. His bathroom was equipped with plumbing he swore had been old when Merlin was alive, and that did not even begin to touch upon the subject of the enchanted heater who insisted it was lonely and wanted to talk. God damn obsolete piece of...

With a sigh he pulled his robes on and went to teach. If nothing else there was the guaranteed joy of knocking the bloody Gryffindors down to size. They never failed to give him ample opportunity to take house points. Severus was a simple man with simple, if sadistic, pleasures.

___

At the end of the day he entered his chambers again, all but spitting in rage. That god damn Creevey child was worse than his brother. He had seen fleas with longer attention spans. Come to think of it he'd seen fleas more inclined to sit still. He'd certainly had his excuse to take copious amounts of points from the brat, but he was also covered in thick, white, foul smelling-- goo.

Nothing for it. He'd have to brave the icy shower. This was not something a cleaning charm could remove... not that the things were terribly effective to begin with. With his luck, the slime would combust if he tried. Just as he went to undress, shivering in anticipation-- and not the good kind, he realized that if he COULD have a warm shower... or even--- dare he? A hot bath.

The staff would never let him live it down. Albus and Minivera in particular. The students would no doubt mock him within an inch of his life if he was seen stalking the hallways like this... Still, the idea was tempting. He scratched his head absently and thoroughly repulsed himself. That was it.

The hell with the students. Let them try to taunt him... he'd have their great grand children indentured to Filch. He was taking his god damn bath, where it was warm and he was going to be *clean*. He was going to absolutely squeak, and frankly he thought he might make himself bleed. God knew how much grime he'd accumulated since he'd entombed himself with in the dungeons with their faulty pipes and senile accouterments. Enough.

Fortified with visions of pink skin, a scalp that didn't feel as if it was crawling (and quite possibly WAS crawling), and hair with enough oil to lube Blacks damn motorcycle, he made his way out of his rooms. At least he wouldn't have to carry his damn towel about.

In the halls students stopped to stare and snicker, but ran away quickly. IF it was the smell or death glare, he didn't know. He didn't care. His goal, warm water and lots of soap, didn't leave his mind. If students had thought he swooped or stalked before, now his stride was downright frightening. He had a purpose and it showed. No one wanted to know what it was, and were afraid to find out.

When he found the prefect's bathroom he summarily threw out a Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff necking on the bench that held the towels. They had the good sense to flee. He closed the door and leaned against it a moment and then turned the faucets on with trembling hands. Adding liberal amounts of soap from several of the smaller taps, he watched the massive basin fill.

The steam rolling off the water was-- wonderful. He shuddered and disrobed as fast as his fumbling hands would allow him and then eased into the water.

Hot, almost too hot. He could feel his skin tighten and knew he would come out looking like a lobster. Perfect. Ducking under, hot water and clouds of soap enveloping him, he thought that this was better than anything, even better than sex. It was so blissful, so perfect, just the right combination of pleasure and pain that it was almost orgasmic.

Nerves tingling he emerged and watched steam rise lazily from his arm and then picked up a bottle of soap and a rough sponge thing he could never remember what they were called. Not that he'd seen one anytime in the recent past and began to scrub-- hard. Red skin turned redder as he literally washed away layers of sticky grime as well as a layer or two of skin. Merlin-- perfect.

He was absorbed in the wonderful sensation of being CLEAN that he never heard the door open, and remained unaware, absorbed in scrubbing every inch of flesh he could reach. When he felt something cold and slimy fall on his head he started and screamed. A very girlish scream, to tell the truth. More of a shriek really. He started to turn to verbally thrash whomever had disturbed his privacy when fingers dug into his scalp, scrubbing vigorously, short nails scraping against his skin.

He allowed himself to be pushed under and emerged and the process was repeated. This time-- with lather. After covering his scalp again, the fingers moved to wash the length of his hair, dragging against the back of his neck. He shuddered and moaned softly, arching back into the touch. He had a death-wish he decided. He had no idea who was sharing the bathroom with him and he didn't care. As long as he died *clean*.

Hands moved down his back, washing vigorously, but not quite as hard as he had scrubbed himself earlier. He bit his lip and decided he was going to be damned anyway, may as well be happy in hell, "Harder."

The hands with the rough... watchamacallit.. began to scratch deliciously and he purred. He purred, he thought incredulously? He didn't purr, he wasn't a great bloody... He purred again. Oh well. Felines were graceful predators after all, perhaps it wasn't too...

His thoughts ended abruptly, crashing to a halt when a soapy hand moved lower, at first just washing but then drifting between his cheeks and stroking lightly over the entrance hidden there. Oh god, he thought hazily. A bath AND sex. He would die, but he would die a very, very happy man... if that finger would just press in a bit further.

It obliged him, sliding in easily and was soon joined by a twin. Pride forgotten, or even non-existent Snape pushed down and moaned--loudly. The fingers twisted inside him, brushing against his prostate and he jerked convulsively.

Strong fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for his own cock and pulled it away. The hand returned, on his shoulder and guided him forward, fingers still up his arse, moving constantly, scissoring and twisting, brushing that wonderful little spot.

He had a moment ot be thankful that he was in fairly deep water. Otherwise he knees would have buckled. When he reached the edge he put his arms on the tiled floor and pulled himself forward. Chest against the cool, slick, tile, ass in the air, legs in that wonderful inferno below him.

Snape crossed his arms and buried his face in them when he heard a thick 'blurp' and then something much more satisfying than fingers nudged against him, and then pressed slowly into him. His hands fisted and he hissed at the unexpected, entirely welcome burning pain. He wanted more.

Finally he felt scratchy pubic hair against his buttocks and groaned. The other held still. Very still. Frustratingly still. It was some plot to kill him with terminal sexual frustration. That was it. This was all some..

"Oh," he breathed as the cock that had filled him so completely pulled out and pushed back in. Carefully. Too carefully. Dammit-- "Fuck me" He growled. He couldn't move much himself, not without falling back into the water, but he was gratified to find the man behind him had no such problems with maneuverability.

The cock pulled out, entirely and then slammed back home. Snape growled. That was more like it, he thought as he was pushed further up onto the tile. So perfect, it hurt JUST enough to add one more layer of sensation without overwhelming the pleasure.

He could hear the other man grunting and panting behind him, and squeezed himself tighter around him. He wasn't going to last long... then again Neither was Snape. When a hand wrapped around his cock, wet and hot, pulling roughly and the hand on his hip dug in, breaking skin and adding a slight sting to the dull ache in his ass, and tingling burn of too hot water he convulsed, and emptied himself down the side of the tup, dripping sluggishly into the water below.

Drained and limp he would have slid into the tub if not for the strong hands holding him there. The hand left his shrinking cock and grabbed his hip. Three or four bruising thrusts later the other went very still, buried deep inside him and he felt warm, liquid heat lave his battered flesh. It was almost soothing, he thought drowsily.

He was lowered slowly back into the still steaming water. He opened his eyes to find bright green eyes staring at him. He was too tired to be infuriated. Too tired and too satiated. The heat and orgasm had thoroughly leeched all strength from him. He'd deal with this-- later. He would need another bath after all of that activity. Or perhaps a shower...

end