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Title: Two Way Mirror
Author name: Icarus
Author email: email@example.com
Sub Category: Angst
Summary: Gritty, anonymous encounters under the shadow of war. A fugitive is at risk of being believed.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Copyright © 2005 by Icarus Ancalion. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced in whole or part without the author's explicit permission. Ask, guys. I'm easy to reach and usually quite generous.
Author notes: Thank you to the ever-insightful Cheshyre, world-renowed expert on Percyness, and to Dana Phearson for her enthusiasm. Also a call-out to Killerbeautiful for her prompt reply (do you want the next one?). Seven Shoe Alley belongs to CLS (my absolutely fabulous beta from Primer to the Dark Arts) from her Marauder-era Stag Night, which you really ought to read.
It was always the men's room where one heard these things. Percy shook himself off and was buttoning his trousers when the wooden door bumped open. He turned, a bit startled, as two men continued their conversation in surprisingly loud voices that echoed off the dank grey walls.
"Yeah, they've got Squibs - girls and boys - who'll suck you for practically free."
By their casual robes they looked like they were from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. A bathroom stall door thumped closed.
The taller of the two stood in front of the urinal and said loudly to his friend, "Oh yeah, I've heard of Seven Shoe Alley. Wouldn't be caught dead paying for it though."
Percy hovered by the faucet and pretended to ignore them as he peered at his reflection. He stroked a curl a flat with a little water.
"Eh, everybody does it one time or another. Don't mean nothing about you, just that you needed a quick pick-me-up."
The other laughed as he buttoned his robes. "All the same, I think I'll stick with my girlfriend."
"Yeah? And how's that working out for you? You find the magic key to unlock her knees yet?"
"Oh, fuck you!"
It was just the usual crudeness among men, and Percy didn't know why it preyed on his mind throughout the day. Yet he found himself at his desk thinking about it, quill poised as he leaned on an elbow, the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window behind him. There was the usual bustle of people in his office… whose last words he had just missed. "-the Minister's signed the anti-Dementor Act rider, however-"
He blinked and tried to catch up.
Of course he knew about blow jobs. That was nothing new; he'd even had one once. But somehow 'blow job' coupled with 'boy' had fired his imagination.
He wanted that.
He wanted to do that.
And apparently other people did as well.
Fantasies of men's cocks plagued him from that day onward. He had work to do, yet the thought of that warm weight in his mouth - Percy rearranged his robes at a meeting and cleared his throat - his licking around the head, suckling, then swallowing it down…. the idea of his lips on a man's dick, he simply couldn't get it out of his mind.
He found himself staring inappropriately at some of the men at work. One morning Dawson leaned a hand against Percy's doorjamb in a way that was almost enticing. Percy's eyes travelled down his sleek Ministry robes seeking a bulge, wondering how big he was, what he would taste like. Moments later he realised he'd nodded his head and agreed to organise the department Christmas decorations committee, which he had no time for, but right then he would have said yes to anything.
Another time he spotted someone particularly attractive walking into the men's room. Dark, longish hair, bright intense eyes…. On a foolish whim, Percy followed him and caught a quick glimpse of a short, surprisingly thick cock that fueled his fantasies for days. But that was dangerous. He carefully avoided the fellow thereafter, just in case he'd noticed his furtive glance.
In his flat at night however, he was free to do as he liked. Tangled naked in his linen sheets, Percy stroked himself and sucked his fingers to approximate what he wanted. He tried various smooth objects. The back end of his wand. A cucumber. The slick round handle of a letter opener that had just the right curve at the end -- but no.
He sprawled out on his double bed, bare chest rising and falling in the dark, and admitted he had to try it. Just to get it out of his system. He was a practical man. And at least he knew exactly what he wanted.
Just the once.
But somehow, deep down, he knew it wasn't going to be only one time.
The long wooden fence that lined the entrance to Seven Shoe Alley blinked with Wanted posters of various Death Eaters, just like everywhere else in wizarding London these days. Wrappers from various unsavoury items blew along the ground as Percy wrapped himself more firmly in his cloak, stepping around abandoned corks that rolled a bit in the breeze.
The posters didn't seem to affect business here. There was a surprisingly long line outside a place called "The Banana Club," and laughter poured out of an establishment next door that had a sign depicting a crude line drawing of a centaur. It shifted and then displayed a picture of a very endowed centaur.
Percy stared. This appeared to be the right place.
The windowless outer wall of the Naked Centaur had a line of posters all featuring the piercing glare of Severus Snape, listing the reward money for his capture. He looked the same as when he was Percy's professor, if slightly more bored.
It was under those calm, hardly blinking eyes that Percy stopped a young man in a kilt and revealing sleeveless vest to ask a few questions. The young man turned him down - to Percy's complete mortification - but breezily sent him along to another who did, in fact, do men.
His face burning, Percy decided Seven Shoe Alley had probably seen everything. Hopefully. Which made it not one whit less embarrassing.
The man turned out to a black fellow who was probably a Squib. Staring at his shoes, Percy arranged a price of eleven Galleons then rented a cheap hotel room for an hour. The room had only a bed that took the entire space and smelled like spilled beer as Percy laid back on it, watching the man undo his belt. He had a very large cock. He taught Percy exactly how to suck him, how to circle his hand around the base and pump, though it quickly became apparent Percy would never be able to take in more than a little. Percy sucked and licked, gasping, and his arse burned. Finally he asked the prostitute if he'd fuck him.
The man went very slow, his arm wrapped around Percy's waist. Percy was unable to relax enough and couldn't get it in the first time.
But in later visits he grew much better.
Percy was always careful to only visit during the week, with the slightly paranoid notion he might run into those two from the Ministry bathroom on the busy Saturdays. At times, his new schedule would strike him suddenly as odd. Read the Daily Prophet, scanning for names he might know in the latest Death Eater attacks. Apparate to his conservative position at the Ministry. Return home to change his clothing. Then Apparate to a dirty street corner to follow a man into a hotel room, and find himself with his knees pressed back around his ears. Though cock-sucking remained his favourite activity.
One day his regular trick wasn't at his corner. Simply packed up and gone. Percy never knew if he'd been arrested or killed by the followers of You-Know-Who, or had perhaps gone on to a better life. He privately hoped for the latter. But by then, Percy had learned of other possibilities that weren't quite as expensive. They lacked the original intimacy of his regular "date," but he discovered that unlike witches, wizards were quite available for anonymous encounters for free.
Stepping into a dim bookstore that advertised a variety of short-term Engorgement Charms, Percy pretended to examine the shelves until the coast was clear. Head down, not making eye contact with the clerk, he paid at the front counter and was handed the overlarge countercharm key that unlocked the booth.
He crossed to the back of the store and pulled back the faded blue curtain. There he disapparated, feeling the sickening jolt as his destination apparated elsewhere with him. It was magically foolhardy - splinching was the least of one's worries - but utterly secure. Two booths, commonly called "boxes," apparated in from random locations. They required no Floo connection so were as untraceable as personal apparition. Not only did the other person not know who Percy was, it was impossible know where he was either.
Inside there was nothing but a tiny room with a bench, and a long oblong hole little wider than one's face between the two boxes. Slightly dizzy, Percy put his hand on the wall and sat down.
The room had a heady sort of quiet that was filled with the presence of another wizard. The other box had already arrived. The man sat on his bench on the other side of the wall, his knees visible through the hole, hands folded politely in his lap. He sniffed a little, like he had a cold.
So he was human. Probably.
Percy smiled, tentatively, as a matter of courtesy to prove he didn't have vampire incisors or the like; there was always a slight thrill of fear in these silent negotiations. But the other man didn't lean forward to peer through, or smile in return. He wore thick dark robes, as black as a Dementor's, and his face was hidden in a deep cowl.
Vampire then…. no thank you. Percy stood, and started to disapparate.
He knew that voice. A sudden chill creeped down his neck.
He recalled that the main Auror liaison in the criminal division was Dawlish, though certainly any Auror on duty would take the report turning him in. Percy worried about what this would tell them of his proclivities given this location, and he hated to think what it might do to his career but… he stopped.
He had no idea where Snape was. There was no way to tell.
The Aurors could search every apparition box in the country - provided they knew where they all were - and Snape would be long gone. And Percy was so far from a duelist he hadn't even considered Expelliarmus until just this moment, not that it would do any good. He chewed his lip. Snape was as secure as Percy, for the exact same reasons.
The man who killed Dumbledore. The worst criminal since You-Know-Who.
His hand still on the wall, Percy stayed. He didn't know why. Perhaps he was lonely, and this was the first familiar voice in this new world of his. Perhaps he didn't want to run. Perhaps he wanted to talk to him, ask him why. Or perhaps it was that note in Snape's voice, that said "please" in a way notorious criminals weren't supposed to.
Something was certainly off. They were silent a long time.
Snape spoke. "I didn't know you did this, that you were…." He trailed off.
"I didn't know either," Percy answered in all honesty.
They weren't supposed to speak, but they'd already broken that rule.
"It does make sense, however. When I think back."
It didn't to Percy, but he wasn't going to argue. He leaned his forearm against the wall between them, burying his forehead in his elbow. He clenched his fist.
"Why?" The tears were there, for Dumbledore. Percy had never shed them and wasn't planning to now.
The room went still. Snape took a long breath and said cautiously, "It could not have happened any other way."
Which didn't make any sense either. Snape was speaking in riddles. Percy tried to get angry, and he was angry for an instant, but then instead just felt… empty.
Snape's voice was muffled as if buried in fabric as well.
"At least let me see you," he asked.
Percy knelt on the grimy floor hoping Snape would do the same. There was still a part of him that didn't believe this and he needed to see.
"You're beautiful," Snape said softly, his voice a caress.
Percy brightened a tad at the compliment, no matter the source. He glanced up from the floor and saw that Snape had knelt as well, and had lowered his cowl.
He had never been a handsome man. But now, he looked nothing like Percy remembered. He was gaunt, hollow-eyed, and his cheeks were sunken, eyes lined and aged. His hair was straw-like and dull. He looked more the role of the hunted criminal than the master spy of the Death Eaters. He seemed so impossibly thin.
"Are you getting enough to eat?" Percy couldn't help but ask.
"Going to invite me over for tea are you?"
Wry, gallows humour. Funny Percy had never been able to recognise it in school, though there was a lot of it around these days.
"Well, the kettle's always on…." Percy tried to say it lightly. It was a weak joke, but Snape made a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a cough. Percy had never heard Professor Snape laugh before.
Professor Snape breathed a sigh and reached his hand through the hole. Percy pulled back for a moment, because this just wasn't done. These sorts of encounters weren't like that. But they were far beyond the rules now.
He let Snape touch his face, delicately, almost reverently stroking along Percy's jaw-line. Percy studied his long fingers, the cracked nails, as they moved, his breath quickening. He looked up into Snape's burning eyes as he withdrew his hand, and wanted to kiss him.
And he did, hot, with a great deal of fire and unnecessary amount of teeth, chin pressed against where they were separated by the wall. Percy's arm was stopped where he tried to reach around to grasp Snape's shoulder, his palm pressed flat, the hard edge of the wood denting his face where it crammed against his cheek. They broke apart, giving up, shuddering and shaken.
Snape stood, strangely looking almost school-boy shy as he unbuttoned and parted his robes.
And Percy did it.
Snape's long uncut cock pressed through that hole, curving down, thick dark hair at its base. Percy reached through and palmed his bare hip, his skin unaccountably smooth as he lovingly sucked Snape's cock, tongue trailing down the shaft, swallowing the small head. He grasped Snape about the base and stroked, feeling him lean against the wall with an inarticulate sound. Then he let his hand slide down Snape's thigh, to cup and fondle his balls, one finger sliding up his perineum. Heard him gasp on the other side of the wall, thrusting into Percy's mouth, slightly out of control. There was the scrabble of nails against the wood that Percy wanted on his skin, hot and intense, and Snape came with a long shuddering groan, slumping against the wall. As he swallowed, Percy worried if this was quite healthy for Snape, and what to do if he collapsed.
They didn't say anything more, though Snape returned the favour - which was unexpected.
They adjusted their clothes, buttoning trousers and robes in a near-silent shift of fabric. Then Percy waited for Snape to depart. But Snape remained, his steady eyes on Percy who felt curiously vulnerable and naked under that gaze. Like a Floo call where neither could end the conversation, they just stood there, wordless. Finally, Percy made a decision and disapparated.
For a long time afterward Percy was disgusted and angry with himself. What sort of weak worm had he become, getting on his knees!? He fantasized about firing spells through that hole and apprehending Snape himself. Or else telling him off in long, well-crafted scathing speeches about all that he had done to the wizarding world.
At other times Percy worried about him turning up in a ditch somewhere, dead of starvation - or worse - and wondered how he was. Wishing him well, if unsuccessful in his criminal aims.
He never reported it. Other than exposing himself, what good would it do?
The Wanted posters everywhere haunted Percy, Snape blinking at him from every corner, reminding him. Finally Percy commandeered one from the Ministry and hung it up in his room. Somehow then he felt better, though who could say why?
He did go back there from time to time, disapparating when the person on the other side didn't have dark robes and longish black hair. But for the most part Percy stopped his nocturnal ventures, telling himself he needed to concentrate on his work.
In truth, he fantasized about that encounter almost exclusively and knew that whatever followed wouldn't measure up, although the sex hadn't been all that good. Snape had come too quickly, and then there'd been that wall….
But at night in Percy's fantasies, there would come a knock at his door. There was no war and no one to blame for it. And each time, a low dark voice tinged with mockery would say as he opened it, "I thought I might drop by for tea."Finis