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Notes: A small Snape/Harry drabble.

'Do I have a choice?' Potter spat.

'Do you want one?'

There was a silence--and Snape approached, mouth curled with hate, as Potter turned his face aside. Chains jangled on either side of him--a dull iron sound, heavy and echoing, Potter's wrists twisting against the wall.

'You won't fight me,' Snape whispered, fingers stroking the moist skin of Potter's belly before sliding down to curl around the soft, limp penis. 'Because I am your only refuge here.'

It was only later, when Potter sobbed and arched and came, that Snape forgot about the war--about politics, about Voldemort, about betrayal--about what he was doing, trading the boy's dignity for his life. Wrapped tightly in the boy's heat, throbbing in the moments after his own release, he wondered if he was the one seeking refuge after all.