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“Harry?”
Harry blinked his eyes open and tried to focus on the four faces staring
down at him.
“What happened?”
“Er...”Ron began with a goofy grin. “We checked the map and saw that you and
Snape were in his office. We figured things didn’t go right, so we thought
we’d help out. You...sort of...got in the way.”
Harry pulled himself to a seated position and looked around to see a
familiar dingy room. He was in the shack. He looked to see Snape slumped in
the corner, unconscious. He fought back a feeling of déjà-vu and explained,
“His robes...the spell caught on his robes.”
“Deflecting charm,” Hermione said. “It makes sense that Snape would wear
spell-resistant robes. They block all minor spells. You're lucky that I
know how to aim a spell. These three idiots stunned you.” Hermione shot a
reproaching glance at the three boys.
“Right,” Ron said, pointedly changing the subject. “So...we’re going to
leave you alone now. We haven’t been able to find Malfoy yet. Hermione think
he’s using an unchartable spell so we can't track him.” Ron stood up and
smiled awkwardly. "Just don't let him wake up and you should be fine."
“See you in the morning,” Seamus grinned. Dean sniggered. Ron looked guilty
and Hermione still looked worried.
“It’s your fault, you know. You should have never agreed to this,” Hermione
said before walking out the door. She was right, of course. But Harry
thought she might have been a little more compassionate. The others followed
her out, each offering various words of encouragement to go along with their
much too amused expressions.
Harry was left alone with a sleeping Potions master.
For a long moment, Harry could do nothing more than stare at the man slumped
in a rather awkward position, head lolled to the side, face covered by a
black curtain of hair, nose jutting out prominently. If the man stayed as he
was in that corner he would have one terrible back ache by the time either
the spell wore off or Harry woke him up. Harry considered moving Snape to
the bed.
Harry approached the limp figure cautiously. He knew logically that there
was no reason to be afraid. But he couldn’t help thinking that stunning the
man was one thing—touching him was quite another. Harry loomed over Snape,
staring down with a regretful expression.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “This was all Malfoy’s idea, you know. If you’re angry
at anyone it should be him. But...Fairness never was your thing, eh?”
Sighing, he bent down and hooked his hands under Snape’s arms, pulling the
man up. Snape was surprisingly light despite his height. Harry supposed
perhaps it was the man's demeanour which made him seem so large and
imposing. In fact, Harry thought, without his robes, Snape would hardly
weigh a thing.
He then decided it was best not to be thinking about Snape without his robes
because even after seven years, Harry wasn't convinced that the man couldn't
read minds. And even when the man was knocked out, Harry still had the
impression that Snape would just know what he was thinking.
Harry dragged him over to the bed and arranged the body in what looked to be
a comfortable position. "There. I hope that's better." Harry sighed and
seated himself next to the man on the bed.
As an afterthought, Harry wondered if he should take the man’s wand. Just in
case the spell wore off. Harry remembered that the body binding spell would
last a good three hours, but couldn't recall if the stunning spell was
stronger and therefore didn't last as long, or stronger and so lasted
longer. He sighed. It seemed as though every last bit of information he'd
crammed into his head studying for the NEWTS drained out of him and into the
quill when he finally took the test.
Yes. He'd better take the wand. Just to be safe.
He inched his hand toward Snape's chest, hesitating. “I’m going to take your
wand. I’m sorry. But...” He didn't know why he felt the need to speak. But
really he often talked to things when he knew they couldn't hear him. He
figured it had something to do with spending vast amounts of time locked in
a dim cupboard.
Biting his bottom lip apprehensively, Harry rifled through the seemingly
endless folds of Snape’s outer robes searching for pockets. He couldn’t seem
to find any. He began patting the man down, searching for the telling hard
length of a wand. Harry felt himself blushing and cursed the blood away from
his face. Unfortunately it was streaming now to other parts. Harry gave up
his search, vaguely horrified.
He sat and stared at the man for a long time silently, trying to explain
away a strange swirling in his belly. He was not getting hard touching
Snape. The very thought...was...it was...
“Disturbing,” Harry whispered. Who could possibly be attracted to the mean,
greasy git? Not Harry.
But surely someone had to have been at least once.
Harry grinned. “Oh, Professor Snape...you’re so...hot.” Harry giggled.
“Where do you keep your wand, Professor?” he said, affecting a low seductive
voice. He sniggered again and then sighed, brushing back a stray strand of
hair that lay across the man’s forehead.
“You’re certainly not pretty, are you?” Harry’s eyes moved across Snape’s
face, over the large, hooked nose, the thin lips. His fingers stroked over
the crease between Snape's eyebrows, down the bridge of the nose and over
the wrinkles reminiscent of the man's usual sneer.
The features were interesting, Harry had to admit. In fact, it couldn't be
said that the man was ugly, exactly. Harry searched for a better word. The
man was...aesthetically challenged. He reminded Harry of old portraits of
men and women who, at the time the portraits were painted, were thought
beautiful and only became strange-looking because aesthetic tastes change.
Harry decided that maybe in another era Snape might have been considered
attractive. Like Mona Lisa.
And besides that bottom lip could almost be considered pouty when not drawn
taut with wickedness. It almost looked—kissable?
Harry jumped away from the bed. Away from the realisation. He began pacing
the room, almost wishing that the Slytherin scavenger team would burst
through the doors, saving him from his own thoughts. He glanced over at the
sleeping man.
“I’m not attracted to you. I don’t even like you. You’re cruel and evil.”
But, no, that wasn’t right. “Fine. You saved my life. I’m in your debt as
you were in my dad's. I’d say that I was grateful, but I don’t think you’d
believe me. You never believe anything I say. But I am. Grateful. Even if
you are a prat, somewhere in that cold heart of yours there’s something
human. Caring even. Not that you’d ever show it.”
Harry approached the bed once more and stared down. “Why are you like that?
Have you always been so bitter? Have you ever been in love?” Harry let out a
deep breath and flopped on the bed and stretched out beside Snape. He stared
up at the ceiling and wondered if that might be why Snape was such a prick
all the time—because he'd never been in love. And then Harry began to wonder
if he was going to turn out like that too. He shuddered at the thought.
“I’m gay, you know. I haven’t told anyone. You probably would have had a
field day with that knowledge, wouldn’t you? You’d have tortured me with it.
‘Mr Potter, I’ll ask you to not make eyes at Mr Malfoy in my class. Please
leave your twisted sexuality back in your dormitory where it belongs.’”
Harry snorted mirthlessly. He looked over and twisted his mouth up
thoughtfully before rolling to his side, propping his head on his elbow.
"You didn't have your wand out when we were in your office, did you? I don't
think you did. And I doubt Ron thought about taking it from you. Do you have
a hidden pocket?" Harry pursed his lips. Harry reached over and ran his hand
down the length of the man’s side...looking for Snape’s wand, he told
himself. He could feel the lean muscle, the ripples of Snape’s ribs, through
the man’s robes. There was no wand. Harry ran his hand across the man’s
chest, to the other side and down to the man’s hips. Muscle, bone, no wand.
Harry was nearly breathless when he reached for his own wand and sat up.
“I think it might be best if I...Because I can't keep you...like this. I'll
get...bored. So, if you promise not to kill me, I’ll wake you up. Right?” He
pointed the wand at Snape.
Taking a deep breath and wishing away a shameful erection, Harry whispered,
“Enervate.”
Dark eyes opened suddenly and looked about, frantically trying to transition
to consciousness. They fell on Harry and narrowed. Harry tensed and kept his
wand pointed, putting a remorseful expression on his face. “Sir, I’m sorry.
But...you have to stay. Just until tomorrow.” Snape’s eyes went slightly
crossed as they focussed on the tip of Harry’s wand. Harry might have
thought it humorous if he wasn’t so apprehensive about the Potions master’s
response.
The man stared a long moment. Harry thought he would prefer to be yelled at
or insulted, maybe even hexed. But staring was not something he had been
expecting. He shifted uneasily.
“Sir?”
“Stop pointing that thing at me, you foolish boy.” Snape’s mouth drew into
its usual thin line and he closed his eyes again. Harry lowered his wand and
stood. He now wondered if he had made the right choice to wake the man up.
Now, instead of boredom, there was awkwardness. Somehow he couldn’t imagine
having a nice long chat with the man. Not while Snape was awake at any rate.
Harry began pacing again.
“If you’re going to do that all night, I’ll ask that you stun me again,”
Snape muttered.
Harry stopped, apologising under his breath. He leaned against the wall.
Snape sat up with a long sigh, swinging his legs to the floor. He looked
around the room with a disgusted expression and then looked back to Harry
who immediately lowered his eyes to the floor.
“I don’t suppose you had the foresight to bring food along.”
Harry blushed and shook his head. “Sorry.”
“And it would be too much to hope that you brought a book along to pass the
time.”
Harry twisted his mouth up. “Sorry. I had my book bag, but I think it got
left behind.”
“I see.” Snape flopped back onto the bed with an uncharacteristic
exasperation. Harry thought he heard the man say “kill me now,” but he was
too shocked at seeing the man do something so terribly human to be sure.
“You may stun me again.”
“Sir?”
“You’ll be more entertaining if I’m stunned.”
Harry pursed his lips indignantly. “I’m not so bad, you know. I know you
think I’m an idiot, but...I’m not,” Harry retorted.
“Let me get this straight,” Snape said, sitting up. “Are you telling me that
I might like you if I got to know you? Please. Spare me.”
“Look, I’m not too thrilled about having to stay here with you either.”
“Then I’ll stun you.”
Harry laughed suddenly and then remembered himself. “You can’t. You don’t
have your wand.” His intonation was the verbal equivalent of sticking out
his tongue. Snape reached into the folds of his robe and produced that for
which Harry had been searching. Harry gaped a moment. Long enough that Snape
was able to take his wand.
More gaping.
“But I...I mean, I checked. I looked...where?” Snape raised an eyebrow and
Harry blushed furiously at the realisation that he just admitted to patting
down his professor. And then he kicked himself for blushing guiltily before
blushing even harder.
“My robes are charmed, Potter, so that any person who manages to get close
enough to rummage through them will be unable to recover their contents.”
Snape smirked.
Harry slid down the wall and buried his head in his hands. Wandless, he had
now officially lost the bet and disappointed the honour of his House. His
class would be forced to sport the Slytherin colours at the Leaving Feast.
And, as though that weren't enough, he'd have to confess his undying
devotion to Snape. “So...that’s it, then? I mean, I suppose we can go back.”
“I wish,” Snape mumbled. “But no, Potter. You have succeeded in kidnapping
me, and now I am obligated to wait until my students come to rescue me.”
Snape’s words were dripping with bitterness.
“Dumbledore?” Harry guessed.
Snape's sneer deepened. “Encourages good inter-house relations, he says.
Friendly competition.”
“Is he mad?” Harry spouted. “Friendly? Malfoy’s trying to get me killed....I
mean...not that I think...er...”
“No. I would never accuse you of thinking. Nevertheless, we are stuck here
until either you decide to let me go or my students come to find me. Given
that only a select few people know just what this rubbish heap really is, I
think it’s safe to say that we will not be found. Therefore, I implore you:
stun me.” Snape tossed Harry’s wand back to him. The boy stared at the older
man with a suspicious expression. He shook his head dumbly.
“I...I don’t want to. Can’t you just...sleep or something?”
“Very well, Mr Potter. You leave me no choice.” Snape raised his wand and
hissed, “Stupefy.”
Harry felt his body seize under the spell and then fall limply to the
ground. He then began to wonder how it was that he was conscious of falling.
And of those footsteps coming toward him. And of that voice speaking.
“I had previously decided, Mr Potter, to be merciful enough not to teach you
this particular lesson tonight. I supposed you would learn it sooner or
later and the memory of your foolishness would incite a mere detached
embarrassment rather than the utter humiliation you feel now. I would have
expected that a graduate would understand the difference between being
stunned and being knocked unconscious. But you understand now, don’t you,
Potter?”
Hands—Snape’s hands—seized Harry and hoisted him up. Harry was thrown, none
too gently, back onto the bed and then arranged in the very same position he
had arranged Snape. Through his panic, Harry took a moment to be glad that
the position really was a comfortable one. He then went back to the
humiliation pounding through his veins.
Snape had heard. Everything. Snape knew that he had been touching him,
feeling his body. Snape had been conscious of Harry’s hands smoothing over
his chest, memorising his torso, caressing his face. Harry wanted to die.
Right then. He never wanted to open his eyes again.
“Stunning merely suspends the capacity for voluntary movement. But not those
functions which are involuntary. The beating of your heart, breathing, your
capacity to blush.” Snape ran a finger across Harry’s cheek. Harry might
have flinched, were it not for the fact that he couldn’t move. Snape
continued, “Some bodily reactions, Mr Potter, are beyond our control.” The
same finger which had caressed his face, trailed down his chest and Harry
couldn’t even whimper.
“Of course, you might have discovered this unfortunate fact, had you
ventured a little further in your search for my wand.” Snape’s finger
stopped at the button of Harry’s jeans and tapped at it through the fabric
of Harry’s robe before retreating. Harry tried to tell himself he was
thankful. But it seemed that disappointment was one of those involuntary
reactions Snape had been talking about because his entire body sank with it.
“So, the boy who lived likes other boys. Will wonders never cease?” Harry
cringed inwardly and wished with every ounce of his (quite useless, really)
body that he could disappear, go back in time, and tell his foolish self to
shut the hell up. “You can’t even manage to be normal in your inclinations,
can you? Always remarkable. Always extraordinary. Our Harry Potter. A cut
above and beyond the rest.”
Harry mentally buried his head in his hands and thanked every god he could
think of that after tomorrow he would never have to see the man again. He
hoped beyond hope that Snape would keep him stunned so that he wouldn’t have
to react. Kept helpless as he was now, he was stripped of the obligation to
answer for what he’d done.
The sound of Snape’s low wicked laugh fell over the boy like cold mist. “The
boy who never loved. Poor little Harry Potter.” Harry could feel the man’s
breath assault his face and inwardly shivered to think of Snape so close. He
found it strange that the shiver was not wholly unpleasant.
Snape continued. “Though I daresay that you will not know love when it is
offered to you, so intent will you be to experience Le Grand Amour—the only
sort of love fitting for a hero, isn’t that right, Mr Potter? Drama and
romance. And then, when you realise that the great passion that comes along
with your drama is short lived, you will move on searching for the next
happily ever after. You will never stay still enough to recognise true
love when it’s presented. For it takes patience to detect subtlety. And love
is nothing if not subtle.”
Harry didn’t quite know what to feel about this lecture. He was quite
accustomed to being lectured by Snape, insulted by Snape, berated by Snape.
But that Snape should be addressing him regarding this subject and in
a voice that hinted that the man had some authority on the subject, was
simply unthinkable. Harry was still reeling at the possibility that perhaps
the man had loved once, and maybe still loved, when he felt the man’s
face touch the side of his, the man’s nose burrowing against Harry’s ear.
Harry might have tensed expectantly, had he been capable.
“Love, Mr Potter,” Snape breathed. Harry’s body wanted to tremble. “Is
telling a man he’s not pretty while stroking his face with a reverent
touch.” Snape laughed again and pulled away leaving Harry shaken and
stirring in places that apparently had a will of their own. If given a
choice just then about whether he would prefer to stay stunned or be given
back his control, he couldn’t be certain which he would choose. All he knew
is that he wanted Snape to keep talking. And to shut up. And to touch him.
Everywhere.
And he knew this all at once.
“But you certainly are pretty, aren’t you? Pretty and dull. Or so I had
believed until tonight. It’s a pity that you don’t give into your darker
impulses more often, Potter. Shadows, as any artist will tell you, create
depth. And you would choose to hide your darkness under a veil of brilliant
light. I have to admit I was surprised when your search for my wand left the
realm of appropriate, virtuous Gryffindor behaviour. That Harry Potter would
take advantage of a helpless man...why, what would the Headmaster
think? I wonder where your hands might have gone if you possessed an ounce
of real courage.
“But no. This is a position much more befitting Harry Potter, perpetual
victim of darkness. It’s how you prefer it, isn’t it? Defenceless. Forced to
submit. Because if you had the opportunity to run you’d take it. You’d have
to whether you truly wanted to or not. And I don’t think you want to,
Potter. No, I think you’d rather like to see how this scene plays out. Tell
me, what would I find were I to search for your wand?”
Harry was as much intrigued as indignant. Add scared as hell to the mix, and
the boy was confounded, indeed. Snape was right. Were Harry capable, the boy
would have been half way up the Gryffindor Tower just at the first touch of
that masterful hand sliding over his torso. As he couldn’t flee, however,
Harry had to admit that there was a deeper part of him that would have
preferred to arch up into that hand, to urge the hand to go more quickly in
its downward path. And damn Snape for having a better assessment of Harry
than Harry, himself, had.
Harry could feel his cock swelling as though that hand was sweeping all the
blood into his much too tight trousers. He was struck with both panic and
excitement at the realisation that Snape was a mere inches away from Harry’s
shame. When that hand, once again, paused at the button of Harry’s jeans, a
frustrated groan sat at the base of Harry’s throat, praying to be produced.
“Shall I continue, Potter?”
That torturous finger ran the length of the waist of Harry’s jeans. Even
through the layers of fabric covering Harry’s skin, Harry could feel the
coolness of those hands.
“I won’t, although I suspect that you’d want me to. I’m certain you would be
only too happy to be my victim. But I have no interest in boys who will not
accept their own desires. Shame, Mr Potter, is a taste I have never cared to
acquire. I much prefer the tangy flavour of abandon.”
The hand disappeared and Harry felt a weight distribute itself evenly on the
other side of the bed. He heard a sighed, “Evervate,” and gasped as
his body came back under his control. The groans and sighs that had gathered
into a ball in Harry’s throat seeped out slowly.
“Good night, Mr Potter,” Snape said.
Harry looked over to see the man lying on his side, facing the opposite
direction. He wanted to say something. To do something that would finish
with both him and the Potions master naked and messy. He didn’t want to be a
victim. He wanted to roll the man over, and fill that scowling mouth with
his tongue. To finish the exploration of that lithe body and to offer his
own body for Snape’s discovery.
“Professor?” he whispered.
A grunt of acknowledgment.
Harry took a deep breath. What he decided to do now would determine how the
rest of events unravelled. He had to make this right somehow.
“I...” He held his breath and then sighed. The words, “I’m sorry” were
forced out with the exhaled breath.
Harry passed the rest of the night trying to find a way to take it back.
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It was the night, it seemed, for unexpected happenings.
It was unexpected when the door of Snape’s chambers flew open before Harry’s
timid knock could even land upon it. It was even more unexpected that Harry
should find himself so abruptly sprawled upon the floor, with Snape pinning
him down, wand pointed between Harry’s eyes.
“You are a foolish, reckless little twit who must learn to heed the warnings
he is given,” Snape snarled.
Belatedly, Harry found his voice. “I-I-I...”
Apparently his capacity for coherent speech still stood at the door.
“Hold. Your. Tongue,” Snape purred dangerously. It was good advice, Harry
decided, given that his tongue wasn’t doing him any good anyway. He bit down
on the useless muscle for good measure.
“Seven years, Potter. Seven miserable years you have tormented me. Seven
years I have kept myself from wringing your perfect little neck. I deserve a
bloody medal for my miraculous show of self-restraint. And now...” A smile,
wicked and cruel, spread across Snape’s face. He began again in a low
threatening voice. Calm and chilling. “You are no longer my student. I am no
longer under the obligation to ensure your safety and can finally show you
what I do to wizards who dare cross me.”
A whimper was born and died in Harry’s throat which was once again encircled
by those long stained fingers.
“I do not take kindly to humiliation, Potter. Nor do I appreciate being made
a spectacle. Had you expected that I go swooning into your arms? That I
would shed my forbidding armour under the power of your kiss? That the taste
of that sweet tongue would coax out the lover in me?”
Snape breathed raggedly, angry spittle gathering in the corners of his
mouth. The hand around Harry’s throat tightened convulsively and Harry could
feel the blood swelling in his face.
What had he expected? Snape’s description was accurate enough but didn’t
seem so ridiculous when Harry was planning it. His intentions given a
voice—given that voice—made Harry realise how utterly naïve he had
been. That realisation, however, wasn't doing him any good just now.
The grip around his throat loosened, and Harry panted gratefully.
“I’m sorry,” he choked.
“You will be,” Snape whispered, before leaning down to slide his tongue
across Harry’s open mouth. “You taste like innocence, Mr Potter. By the time
I’m through with you, you will taste of debauchery.” The hand which was
resting over Harry’s throat retreated and reached into Snape’s robes to
extract a phial of a luminous green liquid.
Harry wondered briefly just how many potions the man carried with him at any
given time. A flash back to his fourth year when Snape threatened him with
Veritaserum sent a chill down his spine. Before tonight he couldn’t imagine
anything worse than being forced to ingest he clear secret-revealing potion.
But the look on Snape’s face told Harry that he wouldn’t have to try to
imagine anything worse. He was about to experience it.
“I wonder, Mr Potter, if you've ever heard of a thing called Impulsion
Serum.” Snape shook the phial before Harry’s eyes. Harry blinked. He hadn't
heard of it, and he would just as soon live blissfully till the end of his
days in ignorance.
"No? Well, allow me to enlighten you. Impulsion Serum, my dear boy, is a
potion that disables the control that separates the sane from the psychotic.
Tonight we shall see who Harry Potter might be were he to indulge all those
carefully repressed impulses. Open your mouth."
Harry shut his mouth tightly and stared up at the deranged man, terrified.
Clenching his teeth, he opened his lips just far enough to allow a
frightened "No" to squeak out.
The corner of Snape's mouth twisted up sinisterly. He ran a cool hand over
the boy's face in a mock caress. "What's the matter, Potter? Afraid of what
you might do when stripped of your self-control?" A devious chuckle rumbled
in the man's throat. "You should be. OPEN. YOUR. MOUTH."
Opening his lips as little as possible, Harry tried once again to plead the
man back to his senses. "Sir, please. I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
embarrass you. Really." Snape couldn't be serious, Harry assured himself. He
wasn't really going to...
"Listen to me, you irritating little sod. You came here expecting something.
You deliberately ignored my warning and came to offer yourself as my victim.
You should know better by now than to think that I don't mean exactly what I
say. You are going to answer for what you've done, for once. Your impudence
has gone too long overlooked. And no one is here to save you now."
Snape's hand went back to Harry's throat and squeezed. Harry held out as
long as he could until his mouth opened reflexively to gasp for air. As his
mouth fell open Snape tipped the phial and two cool drops slid over Harry's
tongue, sliding down to pool in his throat. The hand disappeared and Harry's
throat contracted around the sparse liquid.
Snape stood, looming over the hacking boy.
"Give me your wand," he ordered.
"Fuck off," Harry spat, glaring up at the man.
"Mr Potter, in roughly two minutes you will be completely unable to keep
from following any impulse which might be born. Unless you want murder to be
the first act you commit as a qualified wizard, you'll do as I ask now."
"You should have thought of that before you forced me to take that shite!"
Harry growled.
"Very well," Snape sneered. "It's your conscience."
Harry took a deep breath and considered his position. He was now helpless to
remedy the situation and there was nothing to do but ride it out. And it
would be best if he could get through the night without killing Snape. He
grudgingly reached into his robes and produced his wand, handing it up to
the older wizard.
"How long will this last?" he pouted.
"Roughly one hour per drop. Can you feel it, Potter? The burning sensation
settling into the flesh of your throat?" Snape jeered as he stuck Harry's
wand in his pocket. Harry swallowed against the aforementioned burning; a
strong residual taste of peppermint coated his tongue.
"It's an ingenious potion. In two minutes it seeps into the flesh and is
carried away into the blood stream. You can practically almost feel your
inhibitions dissolving as it courses through your veins, travelling the
length of your body." Snape's voice was low, but the intense vibrations
seemed to flood Harry's body, tripping along his spine in innumerable
shivers.
"Soon, you'll feel it. The need. The intoxication of unadulterated impulse.
Perhaps you feel like ripping me to pieces for what I've done to you,"
Snape's eyes glinted as he walked backwards away from Harry. Harry sat up
and listened as Snape's description of the potion's effects continued. "That
urge sits in the centre of your chest until you can't breathe. You can't
stop thinking about it. It grows and swells until finally that is all you
are. Need. You need to hurt me. You need to punish me. And you can't control
it." Snape laughed. "You don't even want to anymore."
As though Snape's words were an incantation, Harry felt it. Everything the
man was describing. He wanted to hurt the man. To tear him apart for doing
this to him. For being so unjust. All Harry had wanted was to continue what
had been started the night before. To show Snape in no uncertain terms that
he was interested. He had come to Snape's chambers to apologise, to rectify
the wrong he'd unwittingly done. And now...Well, Harry couldn't be certain
what sort of punishment he was facing. The only thing he could be certain of
was that he was pissed off. And his anger was slowly turning to rage and...
With a shout, Harry lunged at the other man. It didn't matter that he no
longer had his wand. He wanted to experience the very real pleasure of
physically ripping the man limb from limb.
"Petrificus Totalus."
Harry fell to the floor with a dull thud and lay there face down, paralysed,
his enraged growl withering to a slight breathy wheeze. He could hear Snape
moving close to him and felt a hand pet the length of his back.
"Tut, tut, my foolish little Gryffindor. You don't really expect that I'd
allow you to harm me? This is your punishment, Potter. How does it
feel? Does it burn? Does it feel like you're being pulled in a hundred
different directions?"
Harry might have whimpered that yes, it did hurt. It did burn. And he was
being pulled. Ripped between the desperate need to kill the man who was
touching him so lightly, carefully caressing his spine and another much less
fatal, but no less urgent longing to convince that hand to squeeze his
petrified cock.
At length the hand retreated and Harry had the impression that Snape had
stood. He heard a muttered, "Mobilus Corpus," and was raised off the floor,
and then tugged by an unseen force toward an unknown destination. His body
was tense with the need to act. Impulse deprived of the power of will. He
wanted to fight. He wanted to flee. And he wanted to curl into a ball and
whimper.
As it was, however, he could do nothing but float through the air, attached
by an invisible string of magic to Snape's outstretched wand, staring,
unblinking, down at the cold stone floor and wish, uselessly, that he'd
never followed his impulse to pursue this cruel man, wish he'd never taken
an interest in the man, and wish furthermore that he'd never been Quidditch
captain.
For all his wishing, Harry was still petrified, still floating just above
the floor in Snape's chambers, and then being raised higher to hover just
over a black-blanketed bed before falling face first onto the firm mattress.
Hands seized his stiff body and rolled him over. Harry stared up at the
Potions master, who smirked down with a wickedly pleased expression.
Harry couldn't look away.
The fire lashing within him, engulfing his self-control, flared once more
begging to be translated into action. Harry yearned to curl his hand into a
tight fist and pound it into that hawkish nose. Angry, desperate tears
streamed from his eyes into his hairline.
Snape extended a finger to collect a bit of the salty liquid and then
brought the finger to Harry's mouth, wetting the boy's bottom lip.
"It aches, doesn't it, Potter?" Snape continued, his voice hypnotically soft
and calm. "The yearning. Imagine feeling that ache for seven years." Snape
pressed his hand into Harry's chest directly over what seemed to be the
fiery source of the Harry's need. "Seven years of wanting to act and being
unable to do so. Thwarted at every attempt as injustice after injustice is
added to the fire within."
Snape circled Harry's chest with soft soothing caresses, his voice carrying
with a gentle lilt, comforting, appeasing. Only his words were harsh.
"You've consistently defied me, foolish boy. I looked after your best
interests, and you suspected me. I saved your life, and you humiliated me.
Again and again. And now..." Snape drew in closer so that his breath fell
over Harry's lips. His voice went lower, bass tones reverberating along
Harry's eardrums. "Now you've taken a fancy to me, haven't you? And I'm
expected to get on my knees and thank the gods that Harry Potter, Our
Benevolent Hero, the Brave and Handsome Superboy, wants me. Needs me. You
know what I say? I say Fuck Harry Potter."
His curse trailed into a bare whisper which seemed to seep through Harry's
skin. The contradiction of Snape's angry speech delivered as soft as a
confession of love did very strange things to Harry's body. His indignant
anger at the accusations clashed with the arousal evoked by Snape's
caressing and all was smoothed over by the sweet calm of that low voice.
Harry's heart was beating madly and his breath came laboured. He wanted to
run away, to slap the wicked man, to touch himself, to touch Snape. He
wanted. And wanted. And was nearly mad from the sheer power and span of his
impulses.
Snape drew his hand away and began unfastening his robes as he rose from the
bed. He walked out of Harry's limited range of vision and Harry would have
given everything he owned to be allowed the simple action of turning his
head.
The professor began speaking again for which Harry was thankful because the
sound of the voice distracted him from the longing eating away at his
insides. "How did you imagine this would go, Potter?" the man asked, his
voice gone back to its normal tone. Like distant thunder, Harry thought
fleetingly. "Did you imagine you'd come to my chambers to deliver your
heartfelt apology? Perhaps I would be reluctant and stubborn at first and
you would continue to insist that you were really very sorry. That
you only wanted to let me know you were interested. And then, perhaps you'd
kiss me, crush your lips to mine with fevered desperation to have your
apology heard, accepted. And my icy disposition would thaw to passion. Then,
no doubt, you imagined sitting passively while I commenced divesting you of
your virtue. And, after a memorable night of making love, you'd drift off to
sweet dreams in my arms. The Hero gets his Potions master and they all live
Happily Ever After. An appropriate love story for Our Naïve Protagonist."
Harry, were he able to get a word in edgewise, or speak at all, really,
would have explained that he hadn't really imagined past the part where he
apologised. But, now that the man mentioned it, that version of things
didn't seem half bad. Except, perhaps, the happily ever after part. The idea
of living 'ever after' with Snape, let alone happily, made Harry want to
laugh incredulously.
But he couldn't do that either.
"The problem inherent within that version of our tale is that the
protagonist seems to have confused the villain with the love interest. A
strange twist indeed. So the villain, having lost his role as such, devises
a very clever way to put our protagonist in both roles. You, Harry Potter,
are now your own worst enemy."
Snape stepped back into Harry's range of vision. Harry choked on a breath as
his eyes took in the Potions master, stripped of the bulk of his robes, clad
only in loose black trousers. The white expanse of his torso reminded Harry
of a postcard he once saw of a smooth, unmarred beach which had given Harry
the urge to leave his footprints all over. He wanted to touch and to mark
and to scar every bit of that flesh. To etch 'Harry was here' across the
stomach.
Snape lay on the bed, stretching out next to the boy, propping himself up on
an elbow. "Because somewhere deep down inside me lurks something 'human', as
you so insightfully pointed out, I'm going to give you a choice, Mr Potter.
I can release you and set you free to publicly make an utter arse of
yourself, or you can stay here and humiliate yourself solely for my benefit.
If you choose the first I'm certain your friends will be understanding of
any transgressions you might commit. If you stay here, I willingly submit
myself as the victim of your impulses." Snape smirked down and stroked
upwards along Harry's thigh before resting a hand on the boy's hip. He
leaned in closer. "What'll it be, Potter? Finite Incantatem."
Harry's body melted into the bed as it was released from the magical bind.
Harry rubbed his painfully dry eyes as his body twitched with a new freedom.
The incendiary impulse swirling about inside him began spilling out in the
forms of moans from his throat. Harry opened his eyes again. He was
paralysed by so many impulses that he didn't know which to follow. Snape's
face hovered just over his and Harry was suddenly overcome with the urge to
lick the man.
And so he did.
On the hooked tip of his nose.
Snape apparently hadn't been expecting that and pulled away, stunned. Harry
started laughing and couldn't seem to stop. The look of utter shock on the
other man's face filled the boy with a freeing sense of amusement. The
laughing seemed to help assuage some of the ache inside, but not all of it.
And soon the sense of hilarity gave over to an awareness of the proximity of
that nearly naked body lying next to Harry.
Harry looked over at Snape who had slumped onto a pillow and now lay on his
back with his hands covering his face. Harry pulled one hand away and Snape
opened an eye.
"I give up," the older man said. "I surrender, Mr Potter. You win. Get the
hell out of my life."
Harry pulled the other hand away. "No. I don't want to," he said before
rolling onto the other man. The contact of his body with Snape's lit another
fire, this one down much lower. Harry straddled Snape's hips and began
rocking gently. He couldn't help it. He had to. "You did this to me.
Everything I do here will be your fault," he whispered leaning in to press
his lips against that tightly drawn mouth. "I hate you," Harry murmured
before darting his tongue out.
Snape remained tense, not giving in to Harry's attentions. Arms now resting
at his sides, lips tight and forbidding, eyes narrowed, Snape might have
been a statue for all he was contributing to the act.
Harry growled with frustration as that mouth continued to deny him entrance.
He slid down, assaulting the long white neck with his mouth. Tracing every
contour with his tongue. It occurred to Harry that he had never before seen
Snape's neck. And it was a damn shame that the man kept it covered, Harry
decided. As Harry's mouth was busy exploring the heretofore unseen territory
of Snape's neck and shoulders, Harry's hands ventured over the man's torso
of which they still held the memory, but delighted in discovering the skin
which stretched over the muscle and bone.
Soon Harry's mouth wanted to experience that about which his hands had
seemed so enthusiastic. Harry licked a trail from Snape's throat to his
sternum before veering left and taking a pink nipple between his teeth. A
hissing sound coming from above provoked the boy further. He wanted more
reaction from Snape. He needed it.
One hand flew downward, burrowing into those trousers, eager. Harry moaned
to find that the man was already erect. A reaction, it seemed, that not even
Snape could control. Snape's stomach tightened and his legs came up slightly
pressing into Harry's own erection.
"Oh god," Harry moaned, releasing the nipple and looking up at the man. His
fingers slid over the silky length of the man's cock while his hips
continued grinding into the man's thigh.
"Professor, may I—" Harry started to ask, but was already down at the man's
waist before he could finish his question. He didn't care about permission
at this point. It seemed foolish to ask. He had to do it. He had no choice.
Harry yanked the front of Snape's trousers down, uncovering the hard length
of the other man's cock. Harry had no idea what he was doing, but he had
seen this in a magazine once and had the urge to try it just then, hoping to
elicit another of those delicious responses from Snape. Harry stretched his
mouth over the head, swirling his tongue to taste the slick stuff which
leaked out of it. Harry's other hand tore open his own trousers and then
curled around his own arousal. He moaned as he began stroking himself, and
heard an echoing gasp from above. Harry lifted his eyes to see the professor
staring down at him, mouth open. When their eyes made contact, Snape closed
his again and pursed his mouth shut. Harry began fisting the man's cock in
time with his other hand's stroking of his own erection.
It wasn't enough. He needed more. The desire filling him demanded action.
And Harry couldn't say what it was he wanted. He pulled up and groaned
loudly with frustration. He couldn't think, he couldn't catch his breath. He
kneeled between Snape's legs and buried his head in his hands in an attempt
to still the torment.
Panic welled within him. Or something which felt like panic. His heart
thumped hard in his chest and his body trembled with undirected energy. One
thing was certain, he didn't want to be clothed anymore.
As soon as the thought struck him, Harry was overwhelmed with the need to be
naked. His skin seemed to be trying to shrink away from the cloth covering
him. He jumped off the bed as though he were propelled and began tearing at
the fastenings on his robes. He could feel the other man watching him, but
couldn't take his mind away from the task at hand. And why did this simple
act seem so bloody difficult just now?
His fingers weren't working fast enough and fumbled clumsily with the
fastenings. He was bouncing impatiently on his heels and growling with
frustration. He was about to begin tearing at the infernal cloth when once
again that dark, thick voice fell over him.
"Problems, Potter?"
"Shh," Harry hissed. "I can't...it won't..." Harry looked up, eyes filled
with desperation as he tried to block out the agony of the fabric scraping
across his skin, getting tighter, smothering him. "Please?"
Snape smirked, holding the boy's pleading gaze as he slithered off the bed
and stood in front of Harry. His hands covered Harry's own before pushing
them away and beginning where Harry had failed to unfasten the robes. Harry
found a lovely place just over Snape's hip bones to place his hands. His
fingers sliding under the waistband of Snape's trousers, circling over
Snape's arse.
Snape set about his task slowly, deliberately, as though intent on torturing
the boy by insisting Harry remain patient. Harry, however, had no patience
left. He did what he could to keep from squirming, eager to be free of the
torturous confines of his clothes, eager to rub his naked body over
something smooth and alive. Over Snape, though Harry thought he would have
felt the same were it McGonagall standing before him. Harry's cock strained
against his boxer shorts, begging to be touched and to touch. Pleading for
mercy.
"Hurry up," Harry groaned, bringing one hand to his aching shaft, stroking
it through his robes. This action earned him an amused chuckle from the
other man.
"So eager, Mr Potter."
"Shut up," Harry spat and then moaned impatiently.
"And rude," Snape taunted.
Harry clenched his teeth, his hand rubbing at his erection fervently. The
fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of Snape's arse. "This is your
bloody fault," Harry growled, breathlessly.
Snape threw his head back and laughed loudly. Harry's hand came up suddenly,
slapping the man before Harry could stop himself. Not that he'd have been
able to stop himself anyway. Snape stopped laughing and glared down, mouth
twisting into a smile which sent shivers down Harry's spine. Harry groaned
and began rubbing himself once more, lowering his eyes to avoid Snape's
stare.
"Did that feel good, Potter?" Snape purred, before falling to his knees to
continue undoing Harry's robes. Harry blinked down at the man, spellbound at
the image of Snape on his knees before him. Harry became swept up in
imagining Snape's mouth around his cock. He suddenly wanted to slide
into that scowling mouth, to feel the warm wetness of it. "Oh god," he
gasped, and began trembling once more. "I want your mouth," he whispered.
The mouth in question twisted into a smirk and Snape glanced up before
returning to his task.
Harry came to the sudden realisation that his robes were undone far enough
to slip out of them, and so he shrugged the fabric off his shoulders and
watched as it fell over his professor's hands. Harry quickly pushed down his
trousers and boxer shorts and grabbed Snape's head, pulling it toward his
prick. He was surprised that Snape didn't seem to resist, but his capacity
for surprise vanished as that mouth sucked him in.
Harry jutted his hips forward desperately, his fingers curling into Snape's
greasy black hair. The urge to wash that hair battled with the impulse to
begin rocking his hips. The latter won out, for the time being. Snape's
hands went to Harry's hips, not seeming to want to still them, but
moderating their movement. Snape's tongue slithered along Harry's length as
the boy thrust, flickering over the leaking head as Harry withdrew. Harry
struggled against the hands, wanting to move faster, to go further inside.
It was the single most exquisite sensation which Harry had ever experienced
and he wanted more of it. His abdomen tightened increasingly, and seemed to
control the impulse to drive deeper. Harry cursed and moaned constantly,
incoherently, in between desperate gulps of intoxicating air. He was
swelling, near bursting with pleasure and need for release. Snape, it
seemed, anticipated this, and sucked hard. Harry screamed as he came,
filling that mouth with his seed as shattering waves of pure pleasure
thrashed through him. Harry thought that the only thing keeping him up were
Snape's hands at his hips, Snape's mouth around his cock.
Harry shivered violently when that mouth withdrew, and stood, panting, head
reeling. Snape stood suddenly and grabbed Harry's face, pulling him into a
kiss. Harry parted his lips eagerly and wrapped his arms around the other
man's shoulders. Snape's lips parted at last, spouting forth Harry's own
cum.
Harry made a small exclamation of surprise when the liquid was spit into his
mouth, his eyes opened wide as Snape kept Harry's mouth pressed against his
own. Harry swallowed and Snape pulled away looking rather smug. Harry didn't
know whether to be angry or not. Perhaps this was customary. Harry wouldn't
know.
He decided it didn't matter. Aside from the fact that it wasn't the greatest
tasting substance in the world, the thought of sharing it with Snape pleased
Harry. And the memory of that mouth pliant against his insistently drove all
thought of the matter from Harry's mind.
"Thank you," Harry breathed, and then pulled Snape back to him.
Snape released his own grunt of surprise which became what sounded to be the
dying moan of resolve as Snape parted his lips and thrust his tongue into
Harry's mouth as though to get back a bit of what he'd just given. Snape
hands tugged up Harry's t-shirt and he pulled away just long enough to get
it past the boy's head. "You're hopeless," Snape breathed before crushing
his mouth once more to Harry's, and then leading the boy back to the bed.
Harry stepped out of his clothes as he followed the man, sparing a passing
thought to remark that the tension and burning in his chest were gone now.
It couldn't have been two hours, could it? Harry decided it didn't matter
and submitted himself to the guidance of that mouth.
Snape's hips collided with the bed and he stopped briefly to shed his
trousers before falling back onto the mattress, pulling Harry down with him.
Harry whimpered lightly as his bared torso pressed against the smooth skin
of the other man, his spent cock meeting with Snape's erection. Harry
manoeuvred himself so as to ensure that every possible inch was touching
that exquisite flesh. Freed of the intense need which had driven him
previously, Harry was allowed the calm fluidity of thought required to
savour the sensations of being so close to someone else.
That the someone in question was Severus Snape didn't bother Harry as much
as he thought it should.
Snape rolled over, trapping Harry underneath him and breaking the contact of
their endless kiss. Harry spread his legs, entwining them around Snape's, to
accommodate the other man's hips. Snape's cock nuzzled Harry's own which
spurred Harry to jut up against it. Snape's hand went to still the boy's
eager hips and Harry opened his eyes to see Snape studying him with a
narrowed gaze.
"What?" Harry asked.
"You." Snape answered, as though that should explain everything.
Harry grinned and leaned up to brush his lips across Snape's. He kept his
lips close to whisper, "I really am sorry I embarrassed you," and then
kissed the man again. Snape seemed to tense at the mention of it and Harry
was about to kick himself when Snape made a growling sound and deepened the
kiss, thrusting into Harry's hips. Harry's hips responded with equal fervour
and his cock stirred slightly and began listening to this strange
communication.
Snape pulled away from Harry's mouth in favour of feasting on the skin of
Harry's neck. Harry cried out as the skin was attacked and who'd have
thought that part of him could be so sensitive? Harry writhed below the man,
taking note of every response the man elicited from his attentive skin.
Every last thing the man did—from a slight brush of a tongue along Harry's
jugular, to the merest breath melting over Harry's skin, shot electric waves
of pleasure throughout Harry's body, all with the apparent final destination
of Harry's cock. It was incredible and soon Harry became convinced that
Severus Snape was the most powerful man alive, able to play Harry's nerve
endings as though he'd been studying them his entire life.
Harry's throat hummed with a constant stream of breathy encouragements.
Occasionally his lips and tongue joined in to give the vocal breaths form,
emitting a 'god' here and a 'yes' there. Eventually the soft approving moans
became more forceful pleas for 'more' and 'now'.
Snape, however, seemed impervious to the words pouring from Harry's mouth,
and continued languidly tasting Harry's body with a skilful variety of nips
and bites, of opened-mouth and barely brushed kisses, licking and blowing
and sucking. Harry had never before considered the mouth's potential for
giving pleasure. He wasn't really pondering it then either, intent as he was
to both build and release the increasing pressure in his abdomen.
Hovering above Harry's navel, Severus dipped the tip of his tongue inside,
laving the depression with the most amazing play of pressure and wetness,
with just the right amount of air to enhance the effects. Harry whimpered
and thrust his hips once more, his now fully swelled erection prodding at
Severus' chin. Severus stopped and Harry looked down to see the man looking
up at him with an expression Harry had never seen before. Dangerous without
being frightening. Threatening, without being intimidating. Intent without
the malice of the usual glare. Harry sucked in his lower lip and whimpered
pitifully.
"What do you want...Harry?"
Harry's stomach flip-flopped at the sound of his name carried on that voice.
Harry thought he might just be content if the man simply repeated his first
name over and over again. But on second thought, he decided he would much
rather prefer to take care of that bothersome virginity that he'd been
hoping to give to some unsuspecting man before he died.
"You," Harry answered, hoping that would be specific enough. He really
should have known better than to think that Professor Snape, of all people,
would let him off so easily.
"What do you want from me?" Snape asked again, eyes locked on Harry's as he
opened his mouth and slid his tongue once more across Harry's belly button.
Harry groaned. "I want you to..."
The phrase 'make love to me' flashed through his mind and Harry was quite
relieved that he was able to trap it before it made the journey to his
mouth. He couldn't help thinking that it would be inappropriate and would
likely put him in line for humiliation again.
"I want..." he repeated and vaguely wondered where the hell his impulses
were now. It would have been much easier to just say the words without the
torture of having to construct a careful phrase. "I..."
Harry growled and threw his head back onto the bed. Closing his eyes
tightly, he forced the words, "Fuck me" out of his throat.
For one eternal moment, everything was still. Harry's request weighed upon
the room expectantly. When Harry felt the bed let up, signalling that the
man was leaving him, Harry swallowed back an agonised groan and flipped onto
his stomach, burying his blushing face into the folds of the blankets.
He'd been stupid to expect that Snape would give him what he wanted. He was
being punished, after all. And this was Snape, the man who loved to torture
Harry at every opportune moment. Harry felt his dying hope turn to lead in
the pit of his stomach. Perhaps it was best, he thought. Perhaps he
shouldn't want to lose his virginity to a man who hated him. Maybe it really
was better to save himself for 'the one'.
Harry smothered his hopeless groan and began praying to nameless gods that
Snape would change his mind.
He nearly shouted 'Hallelujah' when he felt someone nudging his legs apart,
but settled for crying out when he felt a slick finger brush along the cleft
of his arse before swirling around his puckered entrance.
This—this is what his entire life had been leading up to. This moment. A
more momentous occasion than even his victorious defeat of the Dark Lord,
which, despite the Wizarding world's insistence to the contrary, was really
a matter of dumb luck. Harry hadn't known, after all, that the sibilant
translation of 'go to hell' in parseltongue was Nagini's irreversible attack
command. He certainly hadn't meant for Voldemort to be swallowed whole by
his own snake.
No, this was by far a more memorable experience. And an infinitely more
pleasurable one. Harry arched into the finger which pressed against his
hole. Harry whimpered when the finger slipped in and began moving slowly in
and out, progressively going deeper within, fighting against the reflexive
contracting and coaxing the muscle to give over, to surrender to the
intrusion.
When a second finger joined the first, a cry wrenched itself from Harry's
throat. Snape draped himself along Harry's side. Harry turned his head and
stared at the man with glistening, bright, wild eyes. Harry's mouth hung
open as he panted. Snape drove his two fingers in harder and Harry shut his
eyes and clenched his jaw to keep from screaming.
"Do you like it?" Snape hissed. "Is it everything you thought it would be,
Harry? It hurts, doesn't it? The pain you feel now is only the beginning.
When I shove my cock in there you'll feel as if you've been ripped open. Is
that what you want? Is that why you're here?"
Harry answered with a general, 'god, yes.' Snape rewarded him with another
finger which inched in slowly, stretching Harry beyond the boy's wildest
dreams. He could feel those fingers turning and twisting within him. He felt
so full and not nearly full enough. Harry's breath came in quick squeaks of
surprise as the man continued to fuck him relentlessly.
And then Snape did something.
"Hu-ah!" Harry cried as some small explosion took place within him. Harry
bucked down and it happened again and again until Harry thought he'd go mad
or die or both. An endless flood of curses and praises poured from his
mouth, a poetic mixture of fuck and please, of 'no more' and 'god, don't
stop'. He couldn't take the torture anymore and if it stopped he would
surely die.
But it did stop. And Harry was shocked and disappointed to find that he'd
lived through it.
His disappointment quickly became expectation once more when he felt
something much more substantial than fingers press against him. Harry tried
to back up into it, desperate to feel the exquisite torment of those
explosions once more, but firm hands kept him in place.
"Ask me, Harry. Ask me nicely to hurt you," Snape said in a low voice,
leaning in just slightly, applying pressure to Harry's needy opening.
"Please," Harry whined. "Hurt me. Just...Inside me. Now. Please," Harry
struggled once more against those hands. Needlessly, for just as his pleas
were spoken Snape's cock tore through the tight ring of muscle, stabbing the
clenching walls of Harry's arse, driving Harry's breath from him in a
surprised shout. Just as Harry managed to take a breath again, Snape
withdrew slightly and plunged back in, further this time.
Harry's head spun as pain and pleasure twirled within him, seemingly carried
within the blood being pumped hard throughout his body. Snape drove in once
more and froze as he was fully sheathed. Harry might have been pleased to
hear the man's laboured breathing, but he was far too concentrated on the
fire in his arse and the ache in his cock to notice. He was, however,
distracted momentarily by a hand petting down his spine, and that sensation
was decidedly pleasant.
Harry sighed. He remarked that by doing so, some of the burning in his arse
had subsided, giving over to pleasure. He took another deep breath and
released it. He could feel his arse relaxing around the man's length,
readjusting to the man's size. The ache in Harry's cock, however, seemed
only to increase as the pain in his arse waned. When the man moved his hips
in gentle circles, Harry was lifted back up into ecstasy.
"Oh..." he gasped, allowing his hips to be guided in this peculiar dance. A
rhythm steadily built as the two moved sensually, gyrations gave over to
rocking, rocking gave over to thrusting, and then thrusting gave over to
pounding and being pounded and calling out for more.
A slick hand reached round and grasped Harry's cock for which Harry screamed
his heartfelt appreciation. The stroking corresponded nicely with the cock
driving into his arse and soon the tempo seemed to be ordering all
sensation, all sparks of pleasure to gather in Harry's abdomen and file into
Harry's balls.
Sir...Profess—Severus! I..." Harry's voice trailed into a long wordless cry
of release as he erupted over the hand fisting his cock, his arse
contracting and clenching around the cock still pounding madly into his
arse. He didn't resist when he was pushed suddenly onto the mattress and
even raised his arse compliantly as Snape drove himself over the edge,
growling. Harry felt the liquid warmth coating his insides as though a
soothing salve. He hummed softly and then melted onto the mattress. A tickle
of contentment stirred in his chest when a heavy weight covered him. A light
kiss on his shoulder urged the contentment to curl onto Harry's lips.
After a much too brief moment of repose, Snape raised himself up and reached
for his wand. A quick cleaning spell found both of them as good as new, if a
bit groggy in the afterglow. Harry crawled up to lay properly on the bed,
resting his head on the pillow and staring down at—well, he supposed it was
still Snape, though it seemed strange to associate the man looking at him
now with the man who'd glared at him for the past seven years.
Snape shook his head before sighing and lying next to Harry. The two lay
silently for a moment before Harry snorted.
Snape looked over. "What?"
Harry grinned. "All things considered I think I should thank you for making
me take the Impulsion Serum. I mean...it got us here, right?" Harry ducked
under Snape's arm and laid his head on Snape's chest as though to
demonstrate which 'here' he was referring to.
Snape went still for a moment before grunting irritably, curling his arm
around Harry's shoulders.
"But I think you should probably check to make certain it's still good,"
Harry advised.
Snape made a noise of vague curiosity.
"Well, it stopped working awfully quick, didn't it?"
Another grunt.
Harry sniggered. "I think next time you should be the one to take it. You
need to let go much more than I do."
Snape held his breath for a moment before sighing, "Don't be ridiculous. I'd
have killed you ten times by now. And if you don't shut up and go to sleep I
might yet."
Harry snorted and then settled further against the older man. "Good
night...Severus." He sighed.
Drifting off to sleep, Harry thought about how fortunate he was to have been
named Quidditch captain. He thought perhaps he might go professional after
all.
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