Snowfall

Warning - this story gives reference to past child abuse and attempted rape.  This is also a very explicit story.  The sexual acts depicted between two men are very graphic.  If the idea of Albus Dumbledore talking dirty makes you grow pale and ill, then don't read this.  You have been warned.

It's starting to snow.  I bet it looks very pretty from your window, big wet flakes dancing in the night sky around the castle like those muggle snow globes that clutter the shop shelves this time of year.  I imagine you, calm and clean from the evening bath, swathed in those heavy flannel robes you're so fond of as you settle in front of the hearth with a book in hand and a glass of wine at your tableside.  It must be wonderful, a little taste of serenity in the middle of this hell.  I know how hard it must be to carve a quiet moment to yourself when all around people come to you for answers and protection.  I suppose I am one of them.

I'm so cold.  The snow dances around me as well, blanketing the trash and refuse in the alley I'm trying to sleep in.  It's so cold out here and I'm too poor for even the cheapest room in this godforsaken part of town.  But, I don't begrudge you your warmth and safety tonight.  This was my choice and I live with the consequences.  I always have.  I never imagined the Mark burning with the summons at such odd times that I wouldn't be able to hold a steady job.  Employers don't take kindly to help that has to leave suddenly and not return to work for several days neither do they appreciate employees that never show up at all.  I never thought that I would need to worry about such things, now all I do these days is worry.

I'm cold and hungry.  My, how repetitious one gets in his suffering.  Such a bundle of needs I've become, haven't I?  But I can't remember the last time I've eaten and, judging from the looks you and anyone near me give, it's been far too long since I've properly bathed.  Spells can only do so much for personal hygiene. 

The snow is falling harder, faster and I curl my body under the remains of a cardboard box that's going to become worthless in an hour or two.  The muggles have shelters for their homeless and sometimes I go there, but tonight they're full.  Why don't I use magic to warm myself?  Yes, I can imagine you asking that, but I don't want the presence of magic to give me away.  The aurors roam London diligently; weaving carefully among the muggles as they try to seek out anyone connected to him and the Mark on my arm would certainly qualify.  I know that your words protect me from prison, and please don't think I'm anything less than grateful, but they don't protect me from the threat of random violence from the hands of disgruntled, low paid Ministry workers.  Not every auror gets the glory assignments and I don't feel like bearing the brunt of their malcontent life.  I have enough pain in my life.

 The temperature is dropping steadily and I must admit that, compared to the few grim options in my life, freezing to death doesn't seem too terrible.  Just curling up in the garbage and drifting off to an eternal sleep, tell me why that's so wrong?  There's not much more waiting for me in the morning.  Yet, it is your voice in my head, scolding me for this selfish, self - defeating attitude that forces me to pull my numb and weary body from the gutter.  It always is.

"Severus, come in," you say softly, your eyes as bright and warm as the fire behind you, but the shadow of weariness is like a fine veil on your features and suddenly guilt turns my feet to lead.  Slowly, I force myself to cross the entrance to your chambers.  It was easier to turn myself in as Death Eater to you than it is to tell you what I am seeking.  It's almost midnight and I feel so terrible for waking you.

 "Is there going to be another raid?  Was there another meeting?" The urgent concern in your questions and the tension in your body as it readies to spring into defensive action makes me want to cry.  The door has barely closed behind you and you're ready to plan the next counter attack, to head off the next assault because that's the only reason I ever come to you.  I'm your spy, your source of information and nothing more.  The only conceivable reason for my presence is to provide the latest intelligence in the war effort.  You pace without getting too near me and I understand without insult.  I smell and look every bit of the mess I am.  "Severus?" you prompt, slightly irritated.

 I've dreaded this moment from the second I gathered the resolve to seek solace with you tonight.  "There..." I began, uncharacteristically hesitant and I can't look you in the eyes any more, "wasn't a meeting or raid tonight," and my voice barely climbs above a whisper around the lump forming in my throat.

 "Why are you here, Severus?" and tears sting my eyes.  I didn't want to hear those words, that tone of voice.  A terrible pain fills my chest and the urge to run makes my nerves twitch.  Like everyone else I've known, you can't see that I have needs that aren't too different from a normal person.  Food, shelter, being clean and safe, not even my parents saw that I needed these things too.  Yet, I've always taken care of myself, saw to my own provision when I could or done without.  But it's so cold tonight and I'm... lonely.  A puddle is growing around my boots from all the melting snow on my thin cloak and I hope I can still my shivering enough to keep my voice level.

 "It's quite a blizzard out there, tonight.  The temperature is well below freezing, I imagine," You give me a look of bewilderment and I suppose I do sound a bit daft.  Who in his right mind wakes someone up in the middle of the night for a weather report?

 "Severus, have you been drinking?" you ask gently, eyeing me carefully to see what mind altering substance might make me a danger.

 "No sir," I reply, my tongue feeling thick and dry, "I just wanted to ask if... I could..." I can't finish the rest of it and turn to go.  If there were anything in my stomach, I would vomit right now.  This entire idea was ridiculous and the shame of my situation is more than I can stand.

 "Severus, stop," and the command in your voice stills everything in me but the wild pounding of my heart.  "Are you all right?" and I shake my head, staring at the subtle pattern in the carpet.  "Tell me what's wrong," again the command voice pulls at me.

 "I... have no where to go tonight," the words rush out and I hope I spoke loud enough that I don't have to repeat myself.  A blush burns my cheeks and I hate that.  Yet, what I hate more is that I have to say this at all.  I'm shaking, exhausted, and miserable, but you can't seem to see this.  I suppose if you did, you would've offered comfort long before I forced myself to beg for it.

 "I see," you answer and I pray that you don't make me tell you what I want, that you can come to the conclusion yourself and let me keep the little dignity I have.  "I had no idea, I'm sorry.  How cruel of me," this nearly knocks me off my feet and I just stare.  "I think in this great castle, I can find some room for you," your eyes twinkle warmly and that smile of genuine kindness calms me greatly.  "Come on then, you need a bath first," you don't pull me by the arm, I wouldn't even touch myself, and I follow.

 I haven't showered in so long.  Under the hot water, I scrub myself until my skin's pink and I'm convinced I'm finally clean.  Washing the Mark is always the hardest.  I can scarcely stand simply knowing it's there, seeing it shames me, and touching it disgusts me more than eating garbage from the muggle trash cans does.  However, I run the cloth and soap over the hideous thing as it is attached to my body.  "Severus, here are some more suitable clothes for sleeping.  The House Elves have taken your things.  You should have them clean and repaired in the morning,"

 The sound of your merry voice startles me out of my angry reverie with a new thought, "Sir, with all due respect, I'd rather have my things.  I don't think it'd be good to walk through the castle in sleep clothes," My skin is beginning to itch from standing under the hot water too long, but I can't bear you seeing my ugly body unclothed.

 I didn't expect to hear your warm musical laugh ripple over the water's rush.  "Severus, come out of the water before you prune," you scold sweetly and I obey.  I always do.  The pull of your voice makes me close the faucet and poke my arm out from behind the shower curtain to grope for a towel.  You chuckle and press one into my hand.  "You're staying here, Severus.  Where did you think I'd send you?"

 I wrap the towel around my boney hips just as you pull the curtain back and I'm blushing terribly.  "Sir, I can sleep in a broom closet or one of the empty classrooms," my voice falters and I can't pull my gaze from the tile.  I don't deserve this; I'm a repulsive piece of filth.

 You laugh again and smile gently, "Get dressed.  When you're done, come out here and have a little soup.  You'll sleep better if you get a bit of food in your stomach," with that, you turn and leave.  I slip on the soft articles.  It's such a contrast to my tattered grimy clothing and, for the first time in a very long time, I'm starting to feel warm.  I'm grateful you are about my height, although your build is heavier than mine and the clothes hang off me.  Feeling a bit foolish in a sea of blue cotton, I creep from the bathroom and join you at the little table.

 "Well, who would have guessed that sapphire is your color?" and your eyes twinkle again with something I've never seen before in you or anyone that's ever looked at me.  I take a hesitant seat at the table and you push the bowl of noodle soup closer.  I'm actually shaking from hunger, the hollow ache in my stomach suddenly intensified by the fragrant steam.  I've always been... sensitive to smells.  It's part of what gives me the gift with potions, but it's a curse.  Enduring the sour reek of the older garbage as I search for something remotely safe to eat is an obvious thing.  Yet, I find that I suffer more when I'm forced to watch others enjoy a meal.  Working in restaurants is pure torment when you're starving.  So much good food is tossed out, food that I will have to root through filth to find later, that it's unbearable.  Of all the humiliations I've endured, one of the hardest to bear is that I've been released from employment for taking the remnants of meals from customers' plates and stuffing it in my pockets.

"Here we go, this will help chase away the cold," you pour a generous amount of bronze liquid into our tea.  I couldn't even guess at the language on the label of the purple bottle and sip the tea cautiously.  A wave of honeyed fire washes down my throat but it's quite pleasant.  After a few more sips, warmth creeps over my skin and it doesn't seem so cold anymore.

 More of your intoxicating brew makes its way into my cup, although the amount of tea is reduced and you've become more generous with the purple bottle's contents.  After only this second cup, I feel myself dissolving into the sofa.  No cold, no hunger, just this moment with you in this magical room.  In the back of my head, the voices that hiss at me, reminding me of all the good reasons why I hate myself, are even silent.

 I barely notice that my cup is being refilled and that I'm eagerly drinking its contents.  How I've managed to lift my leaden hand is beyond me.  The flavor of tea is a memory and only the taste of searing honey remains as it burns its way merrily.  From some far away place, I hear you stirring and the sudden feel of your hands on my shoulders startles me, but I'm too heavy to move.  How you've managed to shift both of us on the sofa is amazement.  Slowly, your strong hands knead the muscles in my neck, "Severus," you whisper in my ear, "do you think you could let yourself relax for one night?"

 I suppose my silent melting into you says what you wanted to hear and you continue.  Through my haze, your question tumbles through my thoughts.  Living in poverty hasn't given me much exposure to comfortable things and I don't think it would have survived my task for you this long if I allowed myself much relaxation.  To punctuate that last point, the Mark begins to ache with more intensity.

 "Severus, must you stroke it?" disgusted irritation out weighs the mellow intoxication in your voice.  I suppose you don't like being reminded either of who laid claim on me first.

 "Sorry, sir, it's hurting a bit more than I'm use to," the words are a drunken mess, but the way your eyes widen suggests that you've heard me and that you've never realized that I'm always in pain from the damn thing.  I force myself to stop rubbing my forearm.  It's displeasing you and it's really a rather empty, useless thing to do anyway.  No matter what, it radiates varying degrees of misery.  Several of my 'comrades' have died from overdoses and many others are hopelessly addicted to morphine and other narcotic potions trying to escape the agony it can cause.  

 Another teacup filled with only your bottle's potion is in my shaking hands and finding it's way to my lips.  The burn is welcome, as are the effects of the liquid, and I know that staying awake is a laughable suggestion.  "Sleepy?" you whisper and I think I nodded or perhaps my head is rolling around on its own volition now that you're now longer behind me.  How you can move at all is something we'll need to discuss later after I remember how to be conscious.

 Vaguely, I'm aware that you're arranging me on the sofa.  "Sleep well, Severus," you whisper as you pull the heavy blanket over me.  That is enough for me to contend with and I give up my last grasp of awareness.

Screaming is never my favorite way to wake up.  The dull ache in my arm has grown into a sickening pain that has me curled in a ball.  I never should have drunk with you.  The alcohol has taken my control and I can't disassociate from this misery like I would on the street or in a shelter.  Moans and gasps rush past my lips faster than I can stop them and I don't want to wake you.  You don't need to be burdened any more by me than I have already. 

 "Severus, what's wrong?" your sleepy voice is the last thing I wanted to hear and I open my watery eyes expecting to see your face tight with grim irritation and disappointment.  

 "Are you being summoned?  Do you need to Apparate?" only concern touches your voice and I don't know what to say.  The Mark speaks for me with another wave of pain more severe than the last and I lose myself completely with a harsh scream.

 "My poor Severus," you whisper, pulling my sleeve away to expose the feverish skin surrounding the inky black brand.  The summons leaves blisters from the burning of the calling spell: this is just random pain.  I can't breath it hurts so much, can't see straight from the alcohol and pain, but I am aware that you're picking me up and carrying me somewhere.

 "Please, sir...don't send me back outside," my strongest fears take advantage of my weakened control and dart pass my lips.  You don't say anything, you don't need to; the way you lay me down on your bed is a response that soothes my fears better than any word could do.  I hurt too much to wonder at the significance of being invited to your most private sanctuary.  These questions will be raised when I can put breath to more than just desperate moans and gasps. 

 The agony reaches its highest point as you cradle me against you, rocking me gently in your arms as I sob helplessly.  When my mind clears, if it ever clears from the torment, I will be properly ashamed and seek forgiveness for troubling you tonight.  It almost feels like a summons and a new fear grows in me: does he know I'm with you?  He could torture me to death through the Mark if he desires.  Will I die in your arms tonight?  Perhaps I should have stayed in the garbage in the alley instead of burdening you with the possible disposal of a corpse.

 You pull me closer, strong hands sliding under the cotton shirt I'm wearing and stroking my back in slow gentle circles.  Dimly, I realize you're singing a lullaby, some dusty ancient bit of Latin that I only catch vague words of.  Even through the fog of alcohol and the fire racing along my nerves, part of my mind begins to try to focus on translating.

Minutes or hours pass with me curled against you, clinging and clutching like a child.  I can't focus on your singing anymore, can't breath or see properly, and I want to die.  I want this to end.  I fear that I have disappointed you again, that I am not strong enough to endure this misery much longer.  You've stopped singing and tilt my tear streaked face to meet your eyes, "I'm sorry, my dear Severus," you whisper sadly, stroking my cheek.  I expect the next words to be the killing curse.  You're powerful enough to cast that spell without a wand and I don't deserve to live, don't deserve your kindness.  Instead you kiss my forehead and hold me.

Slowly, mercifully, the pain recedes to its familiar dull ache.  Laughter mixes with my tears and a wave of relaxation washes over me, draining the tension from my muscles.  I lay against you, panting slightly and nearly limp from the relief - except another element chooses to humiliate me.  Seemingly of its own will, my cock hardens and I know that hiding anything from you is ridiculous.  Still, I try to discreetly shift my hips so that the damn thing isn't nudging against your thigh and set my mind to the task of extracting myself from your arms.  At the mere thought of spending the rest of the night in bed with you, my cock twitches a bit voicing the opinion that that would the most preferable option.  However, my heart knows that you would never take me as a lover.  I am not of enough value for that honorable position.  The 'incident' with your beloved Gryffindor boys taught me where my place is.

An odd thing happens as I try to slip from your grasp.  The hand that you had under my shirt slides down my back and beneath the waistband of the loose pants you gave me.  I am frozen and speechless as you cup my arse for a moment and proceed to gently stroke my bottom without comment.  This is completely contradictory to my fears and thoughts, but my cock seems to have no trouble responding to your touch.  You kiss the top of my head and pull me a little closer.

You continue the shamefully soothing strokes and I arch my hips against you, but no words are spoken.  Despite the actions of my body, I am... frightened.  Except for defending myself against Macnair's pathetically clumsy attempt at raping me a few weeks ago, I have no sexual experience.  The one vague wet dream I can remember isn't enough to guide me and I've never had anyone to even talk to about the things others do in bed.  It's a little over whelming to be this hard, this aching for something I've never thought would happen to me, but the warmth of your arms and the kindness you've shown is encouraging.

Ever gentle, but much too confident to be tentative, one of your fingers dips into my cleft and lingers against my anus.  I tense in your arms and gasp, breaking the silence.  "Shhh, " you whisper, pressing lightly against me, "let me do this,"

You summon a jar from across the room and kiss my cheek, "Just trust me," and your lips make a trail of kisses to my mouth.  No one has ever kissed me.  It takes a moment for me to trust my instincts and let your tongue slip into my mouth.  The sweet burn of the mysterious liquor flavors our kiss and I wonder if this is where your desire comes from.  You could have anyone, why you would choose me is something I still can't comprehend.  Slowly, your tongue coaxes mine into a gentle, urgent dance and you press against me.  This is almost too intimate, sharing your breath and warmth.

You pull away only to coat your fingertips and your hand disappears back down my pants.  You pause for a moment to guide my head to lie on your shoulder, rubbing the back of my neck while the slick fingers of your other hand rest in my cleft, "Trust me, Severus," you murmur in my ear, licking it and making me gasp and arch.  My father used to drag me around by my ear when he was angry with me, pinching and pulling the sensitive place you're exploring.  I never imagined that I could find pleasure here.

With small circles you coat my entrance thoroughly.  The firm rubbing tugs at my anus and it's odd to feel you starting to coax me open.  My cock seems to be more ready for what you're going to do next as it swells and leaks eagerly against my stomach.  I can feel your hardness, hot and wet as it nudges against the inside of my thigh.  Sitting on your lap with my head on your shoulder and my arms around you is comforting and intimate, but I can only feel your arousal.  I would like to touch your hardness; the only cock I've ever felt is my own.

You bit my neck firmly as two fingers push past the tight ring and slide deeply within.  "Oh, sir!" I gasp and cry, but you hold me tightly against you.  Everything... down there... is confused, trying to simultaneously accept and expel the invasion.  However, my cock is harder than ever and my balls are beginning to ache from the prolonged arousal.

You keep the fingers in me, chuckling as you lick the bruise on my neck, "I'd like you to call me Albus," I nod mutely, too focused on the myriad of sensations swirling through me.  You slide your fingers in and out, spreading them to stretch me wider and it's still uncomfortable, but I trust you.  You could do anything you wanted to me.  I owe you more than my life and I will never forget the extent of my debt.

A third finger pushes in and I moan again, my hips still jerk in attempt to escape the intrusion.  You hold me tightly, rubbing my back and whispering soothing nonsense that makes me relax.  I feel so full already from just your fingers and your thick, long cock throbbing eagerly against me is a bit intimidating.  My pants are much too confining, but I don't want to be naked in front of you, not even in the dim light.  Bony, scarred, and simply born ugly, I'm afraid that if you get a good look at me you'll change your mind and ask me to leave.  I don't deserve pleasure, but you do.  You deserve more than my worthless tainted body.  My virginity isn't special or sacred and it would have been more fitting to lose it to a rapist like Macnair.

You withdraw from my body and I didn't expect to feel so empty.  Perhaps, you've realized that you can do far better with your own hand than waste time teaching an eighteen-year-old virgin how to have sex.  You kiss my cheek again and give my cock a gentle squeeze, which throbs eagerly in your grasp, "Take your clothes off, Severus," you whisper and lean back to watch me.

Trembling, I scoot away and grasp the hem of the shirt.  You smile and open your pants, freeing the huge beautiful cock that I've only felt.  I've seen other cocks in the lavatories and shower rooms, but they were soft and I only took a quick peek.  The fact that you can openly show yourself is amazing.  I obey your wishes and take the shirt off.  You're stroking yourself calmly and sigh as you watch, "You're beautiful to me," I must have given you a look because you chuckle, "now take your pants off," 

Shocked, I fumble a bit, but comply as quickly as possible despite being embarrassed.  At the base of my cock, a thin dark scar runs its way across my lower abdomen and ends just past the edge of my hip.  My father gave this to me the day he walked in on my one and only attempt at self -pleasure.  I was barely thirteen and home for the summer.  I started getting erections in the last few months of school, but was too shy to try relieving them in the crowded dorm room.  Alone in my bedroom, I thought I would have enough privacy and time to do whatever it was that my body needed.  I was so lost in the new found pleasure that I never heard my father come into the room.  I think I was close to an orgasm when he grabbed my hair and threw me to the ground.  He kicked me over and over before turning his anger to my still hard cock.  He grasped my erection and drew his knife.  It was only by the barest luck that I squirmed and blurted a spell that distracted him from mutilating me.  I was left intact, but he'd already sunk the knife into the skin at the base and his jerking away caused it to slice up to my hip.  I suppose I should be lucky that the cut was only deep enough to cause bleeding and scarring, not disembowel me.  The fear of being made a eunuch was enough to keep me from exploring masturbation ever again.

"Severus..." you call and your warm hand on my thigh releases me from the bad memory.  Slowly, you move up until you touch the scar and I shudder, "you're beautiful to me," you repeat and squeeze my cock gently, "and you're mine now," with that you guide me to lie down on my stomach and sit beside me, stroking my back.  "Let me see," you whisper, patting my arse, and I reach back to grasp my bottom.  I feel so vulnerable like this but the hardness is rapidly returning to my cock.  "Open yourself for me," you command and I expose myself as much as I can.  You tease me for a few moments running a slick finger around my entrance before pushing three fingers inside.  I gasp and buck, but still keep myself open to you.  Unlike the first time, you rub a place within that takes my breath away and I grind my hips into the bed.  You work your fingers against that wonderful spot and my cock leaks copiously.  I can't help but moan as you pull out just as quickly.

"You have no idea how lovely you look right now," I hear the wet sound of you stroking your cock, "Get up on your knees," you order and I scramble into position.  I don't like feeling vulnerable and this position is rather embarrassing, but again I would do anything for you.  I lay my head on my folded arms and try to relax.  I hear more wet sounds behind me just before you rub more of the oil into my anus.  You slide just the tip of your finger inside and I whimper, pushing back in desperation to have you touch that place inside.  Yet you torment me, these maddeningly shallow thrusts making me shiver and whine.  "Patience," you chide with a chuckle, "I will give you what you need," and my heart trembles at those words.  No one has ever cared about my well being before.  You nudge my knees farther apart, "So open, so ready," you whisper and I blush deeper because it's true.  I need you inside me. 

I am forever grateful for your thorough preparation as you shove your cock completely in with one quick motion.  "Oh, Merlin!" I sob and tremble.  So many feelings...  The hot pain and impossible fullness mixes with strange pleasure as you stay still within me while fisting my cock with your slick hand.  You withdraw completely and rub your cock against my sore opening.  After a moment, you slam back inside just as hard and fast as before.  You repeat this several more times, each time I shiver and groan.  "Sir..." I whimper, tears running down my cheek.  I should call you Albus, but I can't say it or any other words.  You're... hurting... me and poised on the tip of my tongue are pleas for you to stop.  I don't know if this is how it should be and I'm too scared to ask.  It makes sense, given the principles of anatomy that taking you inside me should be painful.  I bury my face in my arms and the warmth of the Mark catches my attention.

Shame fills me; I'm crying as you fuck me, but I endured more pain than I can put words to for him.  I let that evil foul bastard brand me as his and he gave me nothing but misery.  Yet, you showed mercy when I came to you in disgrace, offered me comfort when I despaired, and even let me find sanctuary in your home.  With this revelation, I focus on relaxing and rediscovering the urgent need I felt before the pain.

"You're so tight, Severus," you say as calm as if we were having tea while pounding into me, "This isn't comfortable for you, is it?" at my silence, you sigh and pull out. 

I'm so afraid of you right now.  You shake your head and lay on the bed.  I can't read your flushed face but seeing your massive erection slick with oil and precome tells me everything.  This isn't how the evening should end.  You should have just taken your pleasure and gone to sleep.  You don't need to be concerned about me.  You spread your legs and rub your huge full sac idly, "Severus, are you a virgin?" you ask gently and I nod, easing out of my position.  I can't help but wince as I sit back on my heels and I can't look you in the eyes.  "Well... this is a surprise.  Forgive me for being  too... rough... with you.  Would you like to try it again?"

I can't believe your generosity, "Yes, sir... Albus," I whisper, nodding at the second chance at repaying you for your kindness.  You smile and with a flick you your hand my teacup reappears in my hand, partially filled with the bronze fire.

"Here we go, this should help you to relax a little bit," and I sip the liquid.  Almost immediately, the potent drink spreads fire through my veins and it's almost too much to stay upright.  "That's better," you murmur, guiding me to lie on my side.  You spoon behind me and kiss my neck while you hand wraps around my hip to caress my cock.  Many long moments of this pass, but the hot nudge of your cock in my cleft keeps me focused on the next thing to come.  Still, you were right: the alcohol helps considerably and I find that I'm grinding my arse against you like a slut.

You leave my cock only to position yours against my anus, "Push back again," and I do, but this time you slide easily inside.  It's so much better now; the pain is so slight, drowned out by the sensation of being filled by you.  You go slower, gentler, taking the time to kiss my neck and shoulders, stroking my cock with slick rhythmic glides of your hand.  I'm moaning in pleasure now, matching your movements with counter movements of my own.

I'm babbling, groaning, gasping, and making otherwise embarrassingly needy sounds as I writhe in your arms.  Behind me, you pant and grunt, slamming harder into me, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  My whole world is caught and torn between the silkiness of your slippery hand tugging on my cock and the hot driving fullness of your cock rubbing that wonderful place inside.  The fire of the drink roars through my veins and carries nothing but dizzying pleasure as I rock with you.

"Like it, don't you?" you whisper, sucking at my neck, pressing the place behind my sac and I moan, wriggling shamelessly.  I didn't know that I could love this, that I could crave your inventive touches. "You like my big cock up your arse," you growl and I find your coarse words strangely exciting.  I've never seen you as a father or grandfather figure, so this isn't upsetting.  It's just...naughty and my cock swells.  

Your grip on my cock focuses at the sensitive tip and it's too much.  Heartbeats later, I learn the meaning of ecstasy.  I can count on one hand all the climaxes I've had, all of them the product of shadowy dreams that leave only a vague memory of pleasure and relief.  This is wild, hot, and completely overwhelming.  You have no idea how grateful I am to you for showing me this.

During my release, you've stayed still and calm.  Once my head clears, how you can do this will be on my list of questions for later.  "On your stomach," you rasp, pulling out of me as I hazily comply, lifting my hips for a more suitable angle.  I think I'd agree to just about anything at this point, especially anything that would give you the same delirious joy that I felt.  

You waste no time.  Your strong hands grasp my hips and hold me still as you ram your cock back in.  "That's it, take my big cock," you grunt.  I can't move, pinned to the bed as you thrust vigorously, cursing and panting as you take me.  The animal in you comes out as you stiffen and shove deep.  I didn't think I'd be able to feel your come filling me, but it's amazing as the hot liquid gushes inside.  

After a moment, you open your eyes, withdraw from my body, and murmur a cleansing spell before lying beside me.  "My poor, nervous love," you whisper pulling me to lie against your chest.  "So full of surprises, aren't you?  You should have come to me sooner.  I had no idea you needed so much," 

"I never thought it was my place to ask for anything," I reply truthfully, turning away to hide my blush, "and I never imagined that you would... want... me..."

You grasp my chin and kiss me deeply, "You are mine and I will always care for you," you say firmly, warmth dancing in your blue eyes, "However, we need to work on getting you to learn how to ask," I nod shyly and you laugh gently before pulling the blankets over us.  Cradled in your arms, safe, warm, and satisfied in so many ways, I watch the snowflakes dancing outside your window and it is beautiful.