Note: I take no responsibility for any foodstuffs that may fly through the air as a result of this. None. And I blame mac, who should know better than to egg me on when I get a wild hair up my arse!!!

Dumbledore tried to keep his face clear as he beamed at students and staff alike, bidding them a good meal that dinner. He was acutely aware of the potions master sitting to his right, every motion bringing a glimpse of black into the line of his vision, making his heart stutter and his breath quicken.

The staff meeting that afternoon had been particularly trying, to say the least.  All through the meeting, Snape had been taunting him, he was sure of it.  The way he sat in that chair, the way his legs had been folded….Those ankles...oh merlin……  He had been so hard pressed to keep himself under control all meeting, to stop himself launching across the table and ripping articles of clothing from the other man. That sinful little glimpse of black silk sock under the cuff of the other man's pants, that promise of so much more underneath.  His breath quickened at the thought.

Silk and satin and all manner of deliciously wicked thoughts paraded through his mind.  Stockings and suspenders, smooth and ribbed, it was all he could do not to whimper.

"Minerva," he said abruptly, beckoning his deputy closer, "Important business calls me away.  Do apologise to the children that I cannot be there until the end of dinner, but I must go."

The transfigurations professor nodded once, watching him leave with a little worry in her eyes. Poor Albus, it seemed of late everyone required a piece of his time. The man couldn't even finish a meal in peace!

Dumbledore slipped down into the lower belly of the castle, into the laundry. The house-elves puttered about their business through the clouds of steam, unworried by his presence.  It was so easy, not a single one of them noticed him pausing beside the potions master's basket, nor saw the hand that quickly darted out and claimed those sinful socks, tucking them into the voluminous sleeves of his robe.

Mission accomplished, he made his way guiltily to his tower rooms, locking the door behind him with metal and wards, changing the password to the gargoyle and barring his fireplace to floo for good measure.  Only then did he feel safe.

Drawing the little silk socks from their hiding place, he pressed them to his face, inhaling deeply.  They were already cleaned, they smelled of soap and steam and a look of disappointment crossed his face.

Laying them down on the floor, he paced a slow circle around them, watching them.   After a moment, he checked the wards, the locks, the fireplace and changed the password once more.

The little box he drew from under his bed was old, battered, no one would have guessed at the powerful magics protecting it and its precious, precious contents from peeping eyes and prying hands.  A few muttered words had it released and he opened it reverently with all the awe of an apostle before his god.

Black ones, white ones, silk, satin, plain wool, hundreds of socks lay within and he began to pant with eagerness. His socks. His beloved, sinful, beautiful socks

Each one was carefully laid out on the rug before the fire, each sock holding its own precious place.  His latest acquisition, those lovely delicious black silk socks of Snape took pride of place as he worked, carefully spreading his acquisitions about until a veritable carpet of footwear covered the floor

And when he was done, he simply stood there, panting, tongue flicking out to touch his lips, hands trembling. His socks. His precious, precious, incredibly erotic socks. No female form so divine aroused him as much as the sexual feast spread before him

His hands shook so hard with the promise of pleasure that he could hardly remove his clothes, leaving the venerable headmaster of Hogwarts naked in the soft light of the fire.  His penis bobbed eagerly against the flames, and he moaned, prolonging the moment as long as he could before the desire became too strong and he lowered himself down onto the mound of socks

oh merlin! oh glorious sweet merlin!  a thousand times over he thanked the man who created socks, footwarmers, lace and silk. He rolled in them, feeling them slip and slither deliciously beneath his body, the warm rough kiss of wool, the serpentine slither of satin and silk.  Moans poured from his throat in a never-ending flood as he indulged himself in an ecstasy of sockiness, firelight flickering over his passion.

He whimpered, straining against them, hands out desperately seeking until they closed about those silken socks of Snape, fisting around them, stroking them. Drawing them across his chest, he stroked his nipples with them, head back and mouth panting wantonly as they made their way along his body, teasing every inch of him before reaching his groin.

"OH SWEET MOTHERFUCKING MERRRRRRRLIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!"

His penis practically leapt through the neck of a sock, burrowing into its depths and he screamed, hips bucking against the plethora beneath him. So sweet, so sweeet!!!! He flogged his balls gently with the other sock, tiny kisses of stinging pain and came with another scream, rolling over, filling his mouth with socks, arms flailing, throwing them about until they fell about him like rain, soft flops against his body, caressing him, loving him. Oh his socks....his precious, precious socks....

Minerva watched with worried eyes as Dumbledore made his way to the teacher's table for breakfast. Poor poor man, it looked like he hadn't slept at all!  This war was so hard on them all, it hardly seemed fair that the rewards of virtue could be so harsh.

Beside her, Snape leaned over and snagged a pot of jam, spreading it over his toast with sharp, biting movements. "Bloody house elves," he muttered. "That's the third pair they've lost this month..."
 

All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
Last modified: November 12, 2010