What if Severus Snape and Bill Cosby fell in love? EDITOR'S NOTE: Art and fic does not reflect real actions by the real Bill Cosby or Severus Snape, but fictional situations imagined by the authors/artists. Bill Cosby is the property of Bill Cosby, and Severus Snape is the property of J.K. Rowling.
Also, I don’t know how to reblog fuckyeahsfda without it going to my main tumblr, but this made me lol: http://sfd-anon.livejournal.com/64286.html?thread=520289054#t520289054
Twenty-four hours. That was four times the wait time of the normal version, but this was Snape’s first attempt at recreating the treat with potions he had on hand. Heading towards the small fridge at the back of his office where he kept certain concoctions, he found himself holding his breath. Would it be a success? This was the moment of truth.
Opening the fridge door, he found the bowl he was looking for and gently took a silver spoon out and tapped the substance. The red liquid made a quiet splash and Snape couldn’t help but sigh out of frustration. It hadn’t solidified in the least.
A failure.
He knew it would be much easier to just find the product on a grocery shelf and make it that way, but somewhere along the line it had become a goal of his to make it under his own power with the skills he took so much pride in.
“I knew you’d be here,” a familiar voice said, breaking the silence of the room. “What’s so interesting in that fridge of yours today?”
“None of your business,” Snape snapped back, a little too defensively. There was no way he was going to let Bill find out about the truth.
Unfortunately the sweater-clad man moved with the swiftness and stealth of a hawk and soon Snape found himself face-to-face with the gently smiling man. Looking beyond the flustered Snape, Bill noticed a bowl in the background filled with a suspicious red liquid.
“Did you try to make some jello?” He asked, grinning at the idea. His suspicions were silently confirmed when Snape refused to meet his eyes. “Hmm…let me try it. You know how much I love jello.”
“No,” Snape commanded. “It’s…not jello.” The last line uttered sounded just a touch sad. Perhaps he tried to make some and failed…?
Bill Cosby reached over and grabbed the bowl out of the fridge, ignoring the flailing Snape and the excuses he was half-shouting. He placed a single finger inside the liquid. “I’ll be the judge of that.” Taking his finger out, he put it right to his mouth and let the flavour tingle his taste buds.
“Delicious.”
One fine hogwartzy day, Bill walked into the Potions dungeons.
“Bill, I’ve told you many times muggles aren’t allowed in Hogwarts” said Severus.
“But, babe, I wanted to show you something.”
“Fine, come here.”
Bill walked towards Snape with a smile on his face that suggested he was hiding something.
“I see you have something behind your back” said Severus.
“Hehe yes I got you something from Monkey Wards yesterday.”
“What the devil is Monkey Wards?”
“It’s a type of department sto… nevermind, just have a look see”.
Bill revealed what was behind his back - it was a wool sweater that contained nearly every color of the rainbow and then some. However, it seemed to be nearly four sizes too large.
“Cosby, what’s the meaning of this?” asked Severus.
“Hehe, why don’t you try it on?”
“You know it’s way too large for me Cosby.”
“Hehe, I know, it’s a sweater for TWO” said Bill.
Severus tugged the sweater over his head. “I look ridiculous” he said. Bill knelt down and climbed under the sweater so that they were both under it at the same time. Bill’s eyes met Severus’s, and their lips soon followed.
THE END(?)
“Why are we doing this again?” Snape muttered to Cosby as their groomsmen hoisted them high in the air.
Cosby grabbed at the wooden seat of his chair as it tipped at an alarming angle and laughed. “It’s a traditional Jewish wedding dance.”
“We’re not Jewish!”
“But we’re quirky!”
“No, you’re quirky,” Snape retorted. “I’m the one who wanted to go to a justice of the peace and do this quietly… and safely,” he added breathlessly as he nearly slid off his perch and onto the heads of the wedding guests below. “Watch it, Mochrie!” he admonished the balding man who was struggling to guide his chair.
“Sorry,” came the grunted reply. “But you’re not exactly Ryan Stiles, you know.”
Snape shook his head and looked around at the guests, who danced boisterously to the lively strains of the hora, clapping and cheering as he and Cosby were paraded about the reception hall. A grudging smile softened his expression as he looked over at Cosby. “I have a feeling that this is just the tip of the quirky iceberg for us.”
“Well, you have the rest of our lives to find out.” Cosby’s gazed locked on Snape’s and he smiled. Snape’s breath caught in his chest and he forgot about his discomfort. Until…
“Colin! Watch where you’re going!” The shout from below carried over the noise of the crowd. Startled, Snape jerked his head up – just as he pitched face forward, grappling futilely at the air as he bounced off the shoulders of a few wedding guests before landing on the floor. The wind was knocked out of him and he was unable to scream at the sight before his horrified eyes. From above, he heard Cosby voice his anguish for him.
“OH FOR THE LOVE OF JELLO PUDDING POPS!”
For a moment the world went black. When he dared open his eyes again, he found himself surrounded by a sea of anxious faces. Cosby was crouched beside him while the rest of the crowd simply stood around him in a circle, the horrified silence nearly palpable. To his left, Ryan clutched at the chair that he’d caught too late. Snape eyed the wooden leg that had served as a deadly weapon as Ryan cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
“Ouch. That’s gonna put a damper on the honeymoon…”
“Put it on,” Snape says calmly.
His voice sounds steady enough, he thinks. The two Jello shots he downed before this made sure of that. But still his hand shakes as he holds the red dress out to Cosby. He’s nervous as fuck.
“Put it on,” he says again, and Cosby looks at him doubtfully.
He’s already hard because he can imagine it exactly, what the dress now crumpled up in his sweaty hand will look like stretched out on Cosby’s body. He knows Cosby can tell.
Cosby is hesitating, giving him a last, steady look, maybe trying to find a flicker of humor, a sign that he’s not serious.
Snape opens his hand and lets the dress fall to the floor in a quick whoosh of fabric.
The silk reflects light enticingly even lying in a splash of red on the floor. They both look at it for a moment, and then Snape takes a step back, ready to walk away from this if he has to. Everyone has a breaking point, and this might be Cosby’s. He’s ready to accept that.
“Don’t,” Cosby says, stopping him before he’s even fully moving.
Snape feverishly thinks he should have eaten another Pudding Pop. He should never have asked Cosby. He should never have…
Cosby smiles shakily, “I said I would.” But he sounds unsure, still.
Snape nods and looks at the dress again. The intrusive presence of it looks like a puddle of blood between them on the hard wooden floor. It makes his stomach coil in anticipation. He bought it on a whim this afternoon, walking past the store window four times before getting the courage to go in. He had lied, of course, said it was for his wife. He had fingered the silk in the bag all the way home.
By the time he can tear his eyes away Cosby has started stripping, quickly and efficiently, his clothes landing left and right. Snape already feels his heart beat heavily in his chest, but it has nothing to do with the pale flashes of Cosby’s naked skin, and everything with the idea of the dress. God.
When Cosby finally grabs it, slips it over his head and shoulders and lets it fall down over his body, hug his shape, Snape’s mouth goes dry. His imagination was nothing like the real thing.
This is better.
The dress is all slick decadence, in turns tight and loose around Cosby’s frame, rippling and shifting as he moves around in it experimentally, his hands gliding over the fabric.
Snape coughs, and tries to find something to say. “It’s…”
“Good?” Cosby asks coyly, turning to the side, letting his see a hint of the low scoop back and the curve of his ass.
Snape swallows. “Yeah.”
He’s stepping forward and reaching out even before his knows it.
The silk feels cool to the touch like before, but it’s completely different with a human being underneath, the contrast delicious, and he spends long moments just running his hands over Cosby’s sides.
Cosby laughs a little, and says something that sounds slightly teasing, but Snape is not really paying attention to that anymore now. His breaths are speeding up and he could come from this alone, he knows. This closeness, this wrongness.
He tries to smile at Cosby, tries to convey something grateful and calming, but he’s not quite feeling calm himself right now so he’s not sure he’s successful. Cosby shivers, and he can’t tell whether it’s from nerves or cold, but he can see the faint outline of one of Cosby’s nipples under the silk, slowly growing more defined as he watches it.
He wants to taste. He really, really wants to.
Cosby’s breath hitches as he traces his nails over the fabric.
Snape leans in, and puts a soft, teasing kiss right next to his nipple. Cosby shifts, squirming a little, and so Snape complies, opening his mouth, sucking the fabric into a wet circle.
Cosby groans, and so he does it again.
He gets distracted doing that, by the sound of Cosby’s breaths, by the dry taste of the fabric, for a while. It’s intoxicating.
By the time he can think again Cosby is hard too, his cock straining beautifully against the skirt. He’s sighing, eyes closed.
Snape glances at the table, and what’s waiting there, and Cosby follows his look.
He tells him, “Get on the bed” and Cosby goes easily.
He looks like a vision, lying there. Already slightly disheleved, his hair tousled, a couple wet spots on the dress. His cock is more pronounced lying down, actually lifting the fabric enough that when he follows Cosby’s thighs he can catch a glimpse of what is underneath.
Snape takes a long moment to look, and then turns around.
He had often imagined using lube, before. Splatter it over the dress, making it dirty, sticky, a truly fucked up fantasy.
To Cosby’s enormous credit, he had suggested something else completely.
He walks over to the table and smiles a little to himself when he sees the tomatoes. He fingers them for a long moment, revels in their texture, the wetness of the seeds inside. There’s a couple leaves of salad, too, and a jar of mayonnaise they managed to find. It’s been out of the fridge for a while but it’s still condensing cold against his fingertips.
This, this is even better.
The tomato is wet and cold in his hand as he takes it and carefully places it on Cosby’s stomach, minutely moving up and down as he breathes. It’s almost the same color as the dress, and the silk sucks up the wetness right away, the stain slowly spreading like a flower.
Snape watches for a while, absent-mindedly rubbing Cosby’s erection through the silk, feeling it spring back hotly against his hand, get firmer. He doesn’t waste time with the next slice, and the salad. It’s pure, unadultered pleasure to see the mayonnaise land in big globs onto the silk, to stick his bare hand into the jar and rub it over Cosby’s chest, catching the small hairs near his neck and on his bare legs.
His clothes are getting in the way, so he takes them off, hands slippery, the air smelling strongly of food. He can’t hide how much this is turning him on, his dick red and neglected and already wet at the tip, but Cosby is looking at him trustingly.
This is the best part. This is what he’s been waiting and longing for. He gets one knee on the bed, and then the other.
Cosby looks at him, and his skin feels electric with the tension of it. He carefully lowers himself over Cosby’s body. Some parts are shockingly cold against his skin. The silk is warm, now.
And then he starts moving. Cosby groans, and holds on to the sheets. Snape doesn’t pay him any attention; he’s lost in the feeling of the mess, the enormous delicious mess he’s making, rubbing between the both of them.
The sounds are wet, squishing, and Cosby even laughs a little at them, his body shaking. Snape doesn’t notice, lost in the perfect, perfect feeling of it, the way the fabric is getting ruined forever, the way it’s so incredibly filthy.
Every thrust moves the dress up more and more over Cosby’s thighs until it’s bunched up over his stomach and Snape is thrusting there, into the folds of silk and warm hairy skin. The mayonnaise heats up between them, making it all hot and slippery and Cosby is groaning, straining his body to give back as good as he’s getting.
Snape is breathing heavily, so close, and it’s the flurry of images, the smell, the feeling, the slick fast dirty wrong that makes him come so hard that he sees stars and maybe forgets to breathe for a minute.
When he blinks the room, the feeling into focus again, Cosby is quiet and still underneath him. Snape pushes himself up, his arms shaking, pieces of tomatoes and flat abused leaves of lettuce stuck to his chest. Cosby is a mess, the mayonnaise everywhere. They are already sticking together beyond belief.
Cosby is looking away, a dark blush staining his cheeks.
Snape gathers up the courage to ask “did you…” and Cosby looks at him, his eyes glittering “Oh yeah.”
