Imprisoned

Sirius Black opened his eyes to darkness, and gasped when he felt the warmth of something pressed against his side. It took him a moment to orient himself. It's just Sna--Severus. Severus. Just Severus. The Slytherin's breathing was soft and even, and to anyone else he would have sounded asleep, but Sirius knew better. He had listened as Severus fell into true sleep a handful of times before, and he knew that his cell mate's slumber was seldom soft or even; he was plagued by too many nightmares. Sirius imagined that his own sleep would resemble Severus's--troubled.

"You're weren't afraid I'd choke you in your sleep?" the smooth, velvet voice asked him. It made him want to choke the person it belonged to, but it also made him want to drown in the richness of it. He had had many hours to memorize the timbre of that voice.

"Oh bugger it..." he mumbled to himself. "If I was afraid, Snape, I wouldn't have made my way over to your corner of the bleeding cell, now would I?"

"You were never known for your astounding intelligence, Black." Sometimes Sirius really did want to shove that bloody pillock's head down the toilet.

"I was trying to be friendly, Snape." He really was, and he'd be damned if he let the bugger spoil all the good progress they'd made. He couldn't go back to that desperate silence. He couldn't go back to waking up to nothing, or worse, waking up to a dementor stroking his hair, feeding him fabricated memories of his own sins.

"I don't recall ever indicating I wanted you to be 'friendly' as you say."

"So all that about saving me from the dementors, and not wanting me to die, that was all something you did in an effort to cultivate our enmity towards one another, Snape?" Sirius asked hotly as he twisted his body so that he was faced the Slytherin, his right hand gripping Snape's left forearm. He could feel the other man's head shift slightly to look at the spot where their skin touched, where Sirius felt his palm tingle from the contact. He didn't know why it felt so good to touch Severus, a man who he once hated. A man who was a Death Eater. He gripped the arm harder, silently daring Severus to pull away, or protest, or do something. Severus's pulse beat under his, and he wondered if the other man felt his pulse beating as well, through his palm. The urge to bring his palm to his lips almost made him jerk when it surfaced suddenly.

"Let go, Black." Severus's voice was blank and cool. Sirius wanted to scream at him. Merlin, he feels nothing. It's just me that Azkaban is making crazy.

"Why?" he asked, more than half-expecting the other man to make some sort of biting comment about how he didn't want a blood-traitor touching him. He was ready for that comment; he would have just told Snape to fuck off and remind him that he hadn't minded sitting next to Sirius for the past two days. What he got instead was a question.

"What did you mean 'the way you are'?" Severus asked. "When you said that Potter made you his son's godfather because of 'the way you are', what did you mean?" Oh buggering hell. He couldn't even pretend to not remember, the way the question was asked. Well, he can't hate me much more than he...used to, can he?

"I'm-- I like... Bloody hell. I'm not attracted to women." The arm tensed, but didn't move.

"You? Not attracted to women? So all that flirting in school, your reputation, was what?"

Sirius sighed. "It was flirting, and rumours. Flirting doesn't always amount to anything, you know, Snape."

"So what is this, then?" And there was something in that deep voice that made Sirius think about his answer. It almost sounded as if Severus was asking him a serious question. A serious question.

"It certainly isn't flirting," he ventured. "Hell, Severus, I don't know. I'm just--"

"You're just lonely, and I'm human and warm." He said it with so little emotion, and it made Sirius want to choke him again. How could he be so-- Oh. He's doing this on purpose.

"Goddamn it, Severus!" Sirius took the risk. He scrambled so that he was straddling Severus's thighs, and gazed at the gray outline of the other man. "Yes," he admitted. "Maybe that's it. But..." He really didn't know what else was there. Perhaps it was just only loneliness and warmth that was the cause of this sharp, exquisite pang inside of him. They had all of their lives together to ponder that, didn't they? "Not the 'just.'" He leaned in, not caring how much his breath probably reeked, not caring that he might have only imagined Severus's gaze lingering on his lips, not caring that the spark of concern might not have really been there. He brushed his dried, cracked lips up against Severus Snape's. Once again, he expected Severus to push him away, to protest, to punch him, maybe. Instead, the lips, which felt red-hot under his, opened to let him in.