hpkinkfest | FIC: Silent Salvation (Ron/Snape) NC-17

starstruck1986.livejournal.com posting in

Title: Silent Salvation
Author:

starstruck1986
Prompt Number: 277 submitted by

emilywaters1976
Kink Showcased: Sex in prison, prisoner!Snape, Auror!Ron
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Ron Weasley/Severus Snape
Summary: Sometimes, the pain you cause is necessary.
Warnings: dub-con with rough, commanded sex, bondage and restraint, angst.
Word Count: ~5,843
Author's Notes: Could I be any more nervous? I'll just say a quick thank you to all my betas -sorry for all the wibbling! And, to

emilywaters1976 for submitting a prompt which allowed me to write my OTP for this fest with such an interesting idea, thank you :D Just to say a quick warning about the warnings, I've found it hard to categorize this, it is a mix of all three cons so chose the middle ground. I also wanted to play on a different side of kinkdom, so I did. xx

Silent Salvation

The cold concrete walls of his cell were enough to make a man shiver without the breeze floating in through the reinforced window. Severus was sitting, as he usually did, staring at the centre of his existence. At some point a fool had obviously tried to remove the window, but had failed. He supposed that he should think himself lucky that his walls were not made out of iron bars, that there was at least something covering the small hole in the wall which served for a pitiful view of what he was missing in the outside world.

In the distance he heard the clang of a door shutting and concentrated on the sound. Footsteps were quiet but present; his spine tingled. Footsteps he knew drew closer.

More gates were opened and closed; the absence of jangling keys set him on edge. He felt foolish for that every time – they were wizards, there was no need for keys to even come into the equation. It was a stark reminder of how truly incarcerated he was that the door to his cell only opened by the touch of specific magic, and he shivered again.

The shuffling steps came closer as Severus had known they would. He straightened his back against the wall, his wrists numb in the manacles that were never removed. He was long past caring about the state of the skin beneath them. His heartbeat fell in time to the approaching person and suddenly his mouth was full of taste, his nostrils full of smell. That scent he would never forget; couldn’t forget, even if he tried.

Everything heightened as he heard the hand press into the metal of his cell door. He shouldn’t have heard it, he shouldn’t have been able to distinguish the sound of soft flesh pressing into cold steel above the crashing of the sea outside, but Severus plucked it from the air with ease. The door swung open, and he shivered harder whilst averting his eyes.

He could scream for help, Severus knew that. It had been a month since this had last happened.

The door closed. “Look at me,” a low baritone commanded, and Severus raised his eyes to look into the blank expression owning Ronald Weasley’s face.

The boy was still young, barely into his twenties, yet his face looked older and greyer than it should ever have done. His freckles were still present amidst skin that had once been creamy, but had since lost its lustre. The red hair, which Severus had so often used to distinguish Weasley from the crowd at Hogwarts, had grown long –shaggy, almost. Thick waves brushed his shoulders; a fringe covered his forehead and hung like a protective veil to hide behind.

He was dressed in the scarlet robes of his profession, his shoulders were broad in the Auror robes as though he still had dignity, still had reason to be proud of himself. Severus just looked, unblinking, and waited for a command.

Sapphire eyes raked over his form, over the thin standard prison garb -the robes would have benefitted from being thrown away at least three inmates before him- and his equally thin body beneath it. The cotton left nothing to the imagination. It clung in all the wrong places and hung off his backside, the skirt was too narrow and any form of alteration in size at the groin showed immediately.

Humiliation; Severus had long ceased caring about that.

“Up,” the word was spat.

Severus moved, his limbs numb from the time he had spent on the floor, but, he reminded himself, at least he had been there out of choice. His chains were charmed, they moved with him as he slowly rose to his feet, magically elongating to accommodate his movement. He had always thought it rather fruitless to cage a convicted and miserable man in a room with chains he could easily tangle to wrap around his throat and die.

However, as soon as he descended into that argument he realised that it may very well have been the point –none of his subjugators would care if he, or if any of the other prisoners, did exactly that.

Standing, he felt blood rush back to his extremities and continued to look the Auror in the eye as requested, waiting to see what instruction he would receive that day. The scarlet robes swished as Weasley edged closer, his eyes narrowed, mouth twisted in a sneer which Severus had never thought could be more hostile than what he had experienced from the redhead at Hogwarts.

That was the predicament of being malevolent in nature; people took pleasure in proving him to be nothing, bringing him down and took pride in doing so. The man standing before Severus was talented at it.

The accompanying stare was dead as Weasley spoke, “Kneel.”

As the thin body moved nearer, the scent of it took up residence in Severus’ nose and refused to leave. The boy smelt of honey, thick and rich, with a spicier overlay of cinnamon.

“Suck.”

Not stopping to pay the scent any more heed, despite the welcome reprieve it brought from the dankness of his cell, his numb fingers ghosted the hem of the robe on the filthy floor and began to lift it. The usual dragon hide boots slipped into view –Severus wondered why Weasley only owned one pair of shoes- and the thick socks which bordered the tops. Then came nothing but pale shins, peppered with hair every bit as flaming as that on the man’s head. At the knees, Severus noticed the same old shiny scars, some years old, some newer. The thighs which followed were thin and tensed, but were also deceptively powerful, as he well knew.

They had to be, for the visit to continue.

“Faster,” the redhead hissed.

Severus cursed inwardly, ashamed he had let his analysis slow him down. Every visit was the same –he was at a loss to find an explanation as to why he felt the need to dissect each one. Finally he reached his target, noticing once again the absence of underwear. He lifted the scarlet material over his head and dropped it, ensconcing himself in the oppressive redness. The overpowering honey-cinnamon scent wrapped around him until his breath was a struggle and his senses were cloyed. Close to the man’s cock the musk grew thicker and Severus swallowed, shivers tickling into the base of his skull.

“Are you trying to disappoint me?”

“No, Sir,” Severus knew his words would be muffled and barely audible, but they had to be said.

Glad that his face was hidden, so that the trembling of his lips would go unnoticed, Severus leant forward, and pressed his first lick of the day to the flaccid penis in front of his face. The smell grew stronger, intoxicating him; it only heightened as the member began to stir beneath his ministrations. It had been long enough for Severus to know what worked. His hands were out of commission, only permitted during the lifting of the robe. His mouth was to be filled as he worked the man into a suitable state for the main event of their ‘meeting’.

He applied long, laborious strokes with his tongue as the cock filled with blood. It tasted of nothing in particular; nothing other than what it was, at least, which Severus ignored.

There was no sound from above as he teased it into full hardness, and he found himself forced to rise onto his aching knees to follow the head. With that movement he had to change his technique; from that point onward, licks would no longer be satisfactory. Taking a deep breath he smoothed his open mouth over the crest, washing once, twice over the still-dry tip, purposefully nudging against the slit with gentle scrapes. His lips massaged the stretched foreskin and then, and only then –as usual- was there a tiny sigh from Weasley’s lips. Following it, as Severus expected, a hand gripped his head through the scarlet robe.

Taking more of the redhead in, Severus tried to relax his throat -gagging would please neither of them; he tried to keep his tongue active as his mouth was filled. Another sound, a stifled grunt at the wet heat, filtered down to him and caused his body to shudder in response. That rumble was elicited by the forced fellatio he was giving; his mouth had evoked that tiny implication of pleasure. He shivered again as the realisations swirled in his mind.

It was all he was likely to get in terms of twisted gratitude. The slender body stood as rigid as the erection in his mouth. Severus was willing to bet that the hand not gripping his head through the robe was clenched in a tight fist, and could envisage a broad chest rising and falling with determined steadiness. Control was the order of the day, and the Auror had to have all of it.

Finally he tasted a dribble of salt on his tongue and swallowed it away, causing fire to rise inside of him at the degradation of the act he performed. It assaulted his brain, making every inch of his skin bristle. But he would not stop.

He slid back to work at the head again, closing his lips so that he could wetly kiss the prick in between them. The hand on his skull tightened; Severus imagined how the white knuckles would look as he lapped at the thickness commanding his tongue.

“Enough,” the order was steely and Severus immediately paused, pulling back to let the erection spring from his mouth. He did not remove his head from the sanctuary of the robes.

His breath was heavy, brushing over the fine ginger coating which softened long thighs, and curling over the hanging balls which twitched in reaction. Severus was overcome with the strong urge to lean forward and lick from the top to the bottom, along the seam in the crinkled flesh --his tongue even folded out of his mouth, but he pulled it back and bit on it.

All of a sudden the cold air of his cell was back; Severus realised just how warm Ronald Weasley was every single time the robes disappeared. Fingers shaking, he folded them in his lap and waited, too aware of his greasy hair lying awkward and tousled by the roughly removed fabric. A fist curled into the roots, tugging hard, and Severus saw no option but to allow himself to be dragged to his feet.

Nothing was said as their eyes met, and his visitor’s face was back to the blank expression it had worn on entering. Severus covertly searched the glaring sapphire orbs but nothing extraordinary appeared to lurk there. The man was so silent, so monotone in his instruction Severus often thought he had forgotten how to speak bar his commands. A wand was pulled from a scarlet sleeve, and however cold he was at that moment Severus knew the temperature was about to drop even further.

His robe and shoes were immediately gone, banished to the pitiful excuse of a bed resting in the corner. He was at least glad they hadn’t ended up in the filth on the floor. Severus didn’t look away as he waited, completely naked with his hair scrunched tightly in the redhead’s fist. Narrowed eyes were cruelly running up and down his frame, seeming to drink in every imperfection, every mark and every prominent bone showing through his sallow skin.

Severus shouldn’t have admired him, but he did. How anybody could stand there and look at a man so debased, so malnourished, so broken, and not bat an eyelid or even lose the strength at the corners of their mouth… no, he shouldn’t have admired Weasley for his lack of empathy. But it was the impenetrable shell he so approved of, nothing more. If Severus knew the importance of one thing, it was the importance of having an impenetrable shell.

That was probably because he also knew his own would be broken with the next move of the wand. Weasley suddenly moved, leaning so close that their noses touched, giving their eyes a direct path from pupil to pupil. Severus heard a hard huff of air and felt it brush over his lips. Seeing his chance he narrowed his eyes, daring, taunting; the blood in his veins pumped a little quicker.

His hair was released as a hot hand splayed into his chest, pushing him back into the cold, rough wall with a thump. Severus waited, stalwartly refusing to move his limbs from their awkward position. The manacles on his wrists suddenly melted; his arms were pulled behind the small of his back and shackled again. He didn’t look down to see his hips pressed outward due to his squashed hands.

“Turn around,” came the growl, fingers gripping the long wand tightly.

Severus turned, his eyes locking onto the grey; only then did he let himself wince as the harsh texture chafed against his groin. He offered no protest when a spell was uttered, causing his feet to spread wide apart; cold metal clamped around his ankles.

The man’s body warmth was suddenly against him and Severus’ bound hands pressed into the flat belly through no fault of his own. Sometimes they were left that way, others they were strung up.

“What should I do with you today?” the voice had lowered; it gravelled into Severus’ ear and he shivered, realising just how close the man was to his body. There was a surge of pressure through his bones as he was pressed harder into the wall. “Do we want these up or down?”

Severus didn’t answer; instead he focussed on keeping his breathing regulated. A gentle laugh sank into his ears and the question was answered by altering the binding to pull Severus’ arms high up over his head, fixing them to the wall.

Thoroughly spread out and defenceless, Severus turned his cheek to press it into the stone. The warmth disappeared and he assumed that his predator had stepped back to survey his prey.

Severus tried to conceal his shudder as a wand tip poked into the nape of his neck and traced a random swirl, before leading the way down his spine, over every protruding bump. His skin crawled at the slow progress the wand made, and then all too soon his belly began to churn in sick anticipation when the wood caressed the cleft of his arse. The wand’s master paused it there, perhaps feeling the tension, perhaps soaking it up and relishing it.

After a few agonising moments the wand sank between his cheeks, Severus felt the sweep of a wordless hygiene spell cleaning the way. Ron lost his gentleness, dragging the wand through the clammy skin until he reached his goal. Tensing, waiting whilst the wand movement was suspended again to purposefully intimidate him, Severus closed his eyes for the first time since the redhead had entered the room.

The wand breached him in a dry scrape, and he fought back a hiss. A muttered incantation sent minimal lubrication through him; there was no other preparation. Severus grit his teeth and held his breath.

“Are you hard yet?” The hiss came in his ear, as one hand crept around his naked hip to grope clumsily for his cock. “Oh yes,” the hiss turned to a lascivious purr. “Should have known… You always are, you old piece of shit.”

Severus couldn’t hide the shake which claimed him then, and Weasley waited for it to subside before he commented.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want it,” a wet tongue smothered the shell of Severus’ left ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t sit here and dream of me turning up to fuck you into this wall.”

The hand between his body and the stone was yanked back and settled on his hip. Another mirrored it on the opposite side and Severus fought down a growl as his pelvis was dragged backwards and held. The bare crotch of the other man suddenly grazed against him, causing white light to burst behind his closed eyelids as his blood pressure rose. Immediately, every tiny inch of him was hypersensitive. The metal around his wrists and ankles, though it had warmed, seemed icy cold. His strung out muscles ached and protested where they had not before. His cock grated on the wall. His mouth was dry. His feet were frozen on the damp floor.

There were no brutal kisses, no warmth other than the compulsory heat gifted by the presence of another body. When the cock he had tongued to life slipped between his cheeks, barely greased, the blood filled into his own and, as ever, he was grateful the wall hid it from view. Weasley grazed over his hole, positioned himself, and pushed inward. Severus felt the bunched Auror robes pressing into the small of his back; they were incredibly soft –the only thing soft about the ravishment taking place. Greedily he concentrated on the pleasant weave; he lost himself in the way it caressed his skin to take his mind off the pain inside his body.

The redhead was, as usual, unrelenting. His fingers held bony hips tight enough to bruise and Severus was forced to break into a pant when the burn ripped his mind away from the robe.

“Shut up,” the man’s grip tightened. “You deserve this, prick.”

Severus remained silent, waiting for the end of the pain. Weasley suddenly rolled his hips in a circle, his juddering gasp shooting hot breath over Severus’ ear.

“And you want it,” there was a crack in the dead tone, almost a whimper as Severus’ tight heat swallowed the redhead’s cock almost to the hilt.

Completely breached, he could do nothing. His feet were too widely spread, his hands too highly strung; the only thing to do was take a deep breath to steady himself for the imminent assault. His body screamed in protest but he ignored it, ignored everything, until manly hips snapped in their first thrust. Only then did Severus allow himself to get lost in the pain, in the humiliation of his stance and treatment. More blood hardened his cock as laboured breath drenched his neck and shoulders. The redhead was snapping into him with hard pushes, growling beneath his breath at the peak of each, fingers pinching at the skin of Severus’ hips.

“Oh yes,” Ron suddenly choked out; Severus wanted to see his face, to see whether a flush had finally broken through the pale demeanour, to see whether the sapphires had rolled back into his head. “You want this… you want me to fuck you, slut… my slut…”

Severus waited until Ron was properly panting before he lowered his voice and whispered over his shoulder, “Yours.”

The only response to his submission was the dragging of his hips higher into the air, and the renewed pounding at a different angle. The pain was present, Severus ached, but as the cock slammed into his prostate, and blood began to pound in his ears, he found he could no longer distinguish between the pain and the pleasure.

“Nobody else fucks you but me,” Ron reached up a hand and grabbed hold of his hair again, snapping his head back to a dangerous degree. “Me. I’m all you’re ever going to fucking get, because you’ll never get out of here. You deserve to rot here.”

“Yes,” Severus answered simply.

“Fuck me back, you arsehole,” Ron hissed.

Severus could only manage pitiful bucks backward but it seemed to please the redhead, who made a noise akin to howling, threw his arms possessively around Severus’ chest and bit down into the skin between his shoulder blades.

The boy wouldn’t last long. Great tremors shook the young body behind him, he tensed himself, waiting for the moment, and Ron bucked out of time, fucking him in an erratic rhythm until he fell into orgasm.

Everything stopped. Severus allowed himself a gasp as his passage flooded with heat, and his own cock, which had been thoroughly neglected, burst into spasm and spurted come down onto the already soiled floor of his cell.

With it went his dignity, his control; he sagged, blood swirling with fire through his veins as the climax torched him to nothing.

Which was, of course, exactly what he had wanted.

Ron was still trembling behind him and Severus finally let a moan fall out of his tortured lips. Keeping quiet was always so hard. But nothing else made him feel so raw, or made him come as hard.

Dizzy as he tumbled down from his peak, he barely noticed when his arms dropped to his sides, or when the unforgiving metal around his ankles disappeared. He waited, ignoring the subtle wheeze in his breath, and wondered how it would go between them. Sucking at the air he held it in his lungs, in case his releasing sigh changed the course of his visitor’s day.

“Severus…”

Broken, dejected, lost. Severus knew the hot hands would come before he felt them. He let Ron turn him without any objection and he could only swallow at what he saw. Ron’s face was blotchy, his eyes glistening with tears. Wanting to reach out, but not feeling he had the right, Severus could only look at how much vibrancy the moisture brought out in the sapphire irises. The redhead’s large and trembling fingers took Severus’ wrists and began to massage at the damaged skin. He had dropped his robes when he’d withdrawn.

Severus said nothing, as usual; Ron performed the spells he didn’t seem to be able to leave the cell without completing. Fuller hygiene charms washed across Severus’ body, carrying away grime, dirt, sleep sweat and the fluids of their recent tryst. His hair lightened as the grease was pulled from it. The drying spells which followed were, admittedly, heaven. The heat seeped into his bones with every rolling wave. Severus took a selfish moment to revel in them. He closed his eyes and imagined he was somewhere else. When he was turned again, and his were cheeks parted, he said nothing, allowing the redhead to check for damage from the brutal taking that had occurred. The plea for it not to be healed sat perched on the tip of Severus’ tongue. He held it back.

Ron stepped away when he was finished and cleaned the meagre attire he had removed, before he re-dressed his lover’s body with tender hands. When Severus eventually opened his eyes, he saw that the boy had gone through it all with his tears rolling down his face and his mouth in a tight line.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Severus spoke his first words of the day which were not a submissive acquiescence.

Words seemingly failed him, and all Ron could do was to shake his head; a few tears flew and plopped onto the floor. Blue eyes followed their descent and scowled at the state of the concrete. It was immediately cleaned with a wave of Ron’s wand.

Severus watched him. The immediate tears were something he had long given up feeling concerned about, as heartless as that made him. The thing which successfully triggered his guilt complex, however, was the way that the youthful face had completely drained of colour. Even the blotches of sexual stimulation had faded to nothing. Full lips were almost white, mottling to grey. The boy looked like an inmate, as though he resided in his own miserable cell, because of what Severus asked of him.

Swallowing hard, he searched for the right thing to say. The scenario had played out so many times before. At Hogwarts secreted in his chambers; at Spinner’s End, perversely in his childhood bedroom; at the redhead’s poky London flat. But truly incarcerated, for war crimes of which Severus was both innocent and guilty, he found his desire for the rough treatment, the abuse that sometimes never even made it to a single soft touch, increased. The prison setting only boiled his blood further, in the most stimulating manner.

He would never, ever forget the first time that he had whispered his confession to the redhead –that he liked to be treated like scum, to be treated like a helpless prisoner whilst he was fucked, preferably by a younger man. That he loved the filthy talk, the insults, and the commands. He didn’t expect Ron to try and understand it, to understand why his kink made him feel like he was atoning for the many, many mistakes he had ever made in his life.

Dragging the loving, caring boy into it all had been one of the biggest.

But he couldn’t regret it. The roughness which sometimes barely even made it to a kiss, with such intimacy dependent on how much time the boy could get away from work, kept Severus lucid in a world of stone grey depression. His fettered kink gave him something, or more honestly everything, to wait for.

It was certainly something to stop him from winding his chains together and wrapping them around his throat, or using the deadly poison secreted in the front right leg of his bed. It was so easy to switch his mind off, to refer to his lover by his last name in his mind, and submit to the rough, forceful touches.

“I hate this,” Ron burst out finally, his voice quivering in the cold air. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

Making the most of his moment without the shackles chaining him to the wall, Severus stepped forward and pulled Ron into his arms. Honey and cinnamon washed over him once more, but that time he truly indulged himself, putting his nose to the thick hair and heaving a drag from the softness. His shudder, when it came, was one of equal pleasure to those previously experienced, but in place of cold justification Severus only felt warmth.

“Every time you say that, you still come back,” he said softly in the perfect ear next to his mouth.

Severus knew he had underestimated the inner turmoil in the redhead the second the flat palm shoved against his chest again. Once more he hit the wall. Even out of role play Severus wouldn’t fight back. Somewhere along the line his resistance had melted; his need to protect himself had taken flight and never returned. His spine ached but he said nothing.

“I come back for you,” Ron tried to snarl but his tears choked him. “Not for rape role play which makes me want to gouge off my own skin. It’s too… in here… it’s too real!”

Severus remained quiet, leaning against the wall, but he found himself unable to look at the sorrowful, handsome face any longer.

Ron spun round, his robes whirling about his boots as he began to pace in the tiny little cell, his anxiety and rising frustration plain for Severus to see in his expression.

“I will get you out of here if it’s the last thing I do,” he hissed after two minutes of thickening tension. “I’m so close, Severus, so close, the right evidence is planted with the right people. I’m so fucking close and all I can think about is you here in this fucking hellhole!”

Severus had nothing to say to that. He had no hope for release -what was more, he had no desire to return to a world full of people who thought him a traitor, who condemned him without examination and chose to bung him away out of their sight, so that they could forget about him.

It seemed that everybody had forgotten about him, except the one person currently filling his cell with pain.

“No matter what you get from it,” Ron was shaking his head, his mouth locked in a upset rant. “Or how it makes you feel… How bloody… what did you say? How punished and penitent it allows you to be… I am never fucking you in these robes again. I can’t stand to wear them, Severus; I can’t look at myself in the mirror! They make my skin creep. Never again.”

Ron pounced forward then, grabbing the front of the prison robes in his fists and they met in their first kiss of two months. The last time Ron had visited, it had been for a period of ten agonisingly short minutes. There had been no intimacy, no conversation: just the fuck, the harsh words, and the slamming cell door ringing in Severus’ ears, as the boy was gone before he’d really even arrived.

And so, that afternoon, Severus was glad for the extra time. He smoothed his hands over the back of Ron’s detested Auror robes and held him fast, kissing in return even though his mouth and breath probably tasted vile. The conditions in Azkaban had become no more sanitary with the removal of the dementors.

Moisture landed on his cheeks that was most certainly not his own; Severus opened his eyes to find Ron in desperate tears as he massaged their lips together. In that moment his guilt finally flooded him and he clutched tighter, dragging the redhead so their bodies were flush. Breathing became difficult but Severus didn’t release Ron; he tried to pour everything unsaid, all his gratitude, sentiment and repressed pain, through their oral connection.

Ron resisted until Severus curled his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, softly tugging on it and angling his head backwards. Then and only then did he melt into the touches. They reverted back to how they had first begun, Severus mastering the redhead completely, leading the kiss, touching where he wanted and trapping Ron’s hands in between them so he could only be held tight. It had been that way until Severus had confessed what he needed; the boy had just stared at him for a moment, and blinked before murmuring his assent.

However, Severus realised he had been foolish to not pay attention to just how much of a toll it was taking on the young man. He nuzzled against the side of his head, neglecting their kiss as he took the shaking form properly into his arms.

Soothing upset lovers had never been his forte, and Severus felt cruel to know that he was truly the only person who could comfort Ron.

That particular fault of their sorry situation was also of his doing. Nobody knew of their attachment on his request. Severus made a face at the wall as he mentally corrected himself –they shared far more than that. No, their relationship was a complete secret to the boy’s family. It would have been to Severus’, also, if he’d had one to tell. It was a great clandestine affair that neither he nor Ron had any idea as to the origins of, and they were party to even less as to how it had survived.

The inklings Severus did have made him sleep no more soundly at night. He suspected that Ron’s devotion had been a great deal to do with the distraction he presented from the war and all that came with it –the fighting, the hardship, and mostly the innumerable deaths. Ron had forced his way onto Severus’ case to be the only Auror attached to his imprisonment. Ron had been the one to place him in the miserable concrete hell and, if the day ever arose, then he would lead him from it, too.

The visits were rare; Ron could only make them when they looked viable. Both had quickly learnt that once a month was not enough, not when they desired each other every day.

“I have to go,” Ron murmured against the skin of his throat. “I need to get back to my office before a… t-trial this afternoon.”

Severus kissed the flaming tresses next to his mouth and murmured, “Then you should go.”

Pulling back, Ron immediately made to wipe his skin dry, but Severus beat him to it. With his thumb he carefully swept away each and every droplet of the redhead’s pain. He only wished he could take what was still inside and trap it with him in the cell. There was no need for both of them to be miserable.

“Here,” Ron pulled something out of his pocket and enlarged it. A book and a large bar of chocolate opened to their usual size and he made for the door, hiding his wand in his sleeve.

“When will you be able to come again?” Severus asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ron sniffed deeply. “I love you.”

Severus didn’t answer, but then he never did. The door clanged shut behind Ron’s lanky form and he immediately went to it, pressing his hand to the steel and splaying his fingers. He waited, his ears as pricked as they had been when he had first heard the footsteps earlier that morning. When the sob came, it was bitter, as every sob that had come before it had been, and it tore Severus’ heart out of his chest to hear.

What he asked of Ron hurt him more than ‘just’ his imprisonment would have, he knew. But Severus was far too selfish to stop. The presence of the redhead alone should have been enough to keep him sane, but he needed their game to keep alive, keep vigilant. He kept his hand to the metal until his fingers became numb, and then gently peeled them away.

The room suddenly seemed empty.

Turning to face it, he leaned back on the door, eyes idly drifting over his clean cell. A twinge from his wrists made him realise that Ron had forgotten to incarcerate him again. With a sigh he pushed off the door, knowing he could no more touch Ron through it than he could jump out of the window and swim back to England, and picked up the shackles. They magically sealed around him as soon as his bones were in place.

He felt sated and beautifully calm; the edginess with which he had awoken that morning had burned itself out. Dropping onto the creaking metal bed he rolled his head in a circle, happily finding the tension also missing from his neck.

The warmth that Ron had left him would fade in roughly a week, from his experience, but he didn’t think about that. He simply sat and reflected on the truth that he would never scream for help when his one saving grace of an Auror came calling.

It was always silent when he did. The cell would have made Severus’ screams louder, more painful and heart-wrenching than they already stood to be. They would echo; the room represented an acoustical dream and yet it was completely wasted upon him.

Such screams, such desperate protestation, no matter how harmonic they might have sounded, had no place in his deepest sexual desire --his salvation.

-fin-

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seraphimerising.livejournal.com

I think this piece becomes more beautiful in its angst and anguish every time I read it. Great job 0:)

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FIC: Silent Salvation (Ron/Snape) NC-17

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