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harry potter fanfiction

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All of You

No more hiding.

Snape/Harry  |  NC-17  |  1,100 words  |  August 2005
warnings: bondage, bloodplay, knifeplay, d/s


I'd keep you bound, keep you trembling, and you wouldn't be able to flinch away from me.


He's not bound very tightly. He could move. He could lift his head, look down between his parted thighs as he's feasted on, devoured. He could squirm and writhe on the table -- wants to, because he's not exactly comfortable -- but he doesn't. He stays so still he aches with it, stays so still he's actually almost moving, his muscles trembling and shuddering with each slide of Snape's tongue across his cock, each press of Snape's knuckles behind his balls, each twist of Snape's fingers inside him.

He feels dizzy, light-headed, caught somewhere between tension and lassitude, trapped on the brink of orgasm and far too desperate to beg. He's already done his begging, and it won't do him any good now.

Snape had been certain he would move. He'd been so certain that he'd taken precautions, twined razor blades in the ropes. They barely graze his skin, and Harry only feels them when he moves. Part of him, the part that's tense and aching and dying inside, poised on the edge of orgasm and wanting nothing more than to fall, is tempted. He's tempted to kick and arch and twist and impale himself, bleed out on the table, life and breath and blood and come spilling until he's empty.

But Snape's fingers twist again, thrust again, and Harry shatters as Snape milks yet another orgasm from his over-sensitive cock. His hips want to ride into the air, back arching, mouth gasping, muscles straining. But he only digs his fingertips into the rough wood of the table, something else to feel as the pleasure takes him, and coats his chest with come.


"Impressive," Snape says sometime later, and Harry wonders if he'd been asleep. He starts to turn his head towards the sound of Snape's voice, feels cold metal at his neck, and freezes. "Well," Snape amends, stepping around to the side of the table so Harry can see him. "Until just then. I really ought to have known you wouldn't be able to follow instructions for very long."

The look on his face doesn't bode well, and Harry realizes that the metal against his neck isn't one of the razors in the ropes. Snape's holding a knife to his throat. Fear coils at the base of his spine, settles in the back of his throat, and Harry meets Snape's eyes and resists the urge to swallow.

"Well?" Snape says, and scrapes the edge of the blade along Harry's jaw. It seems loud, and Harry shivers. He's not sure what he's supposed to say. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and then he feels Snape's mind at the edges of his own.

It's instinct, really, to throw up the shields, throw Snape out of his head, and for a second he thinks it was the right thing to do. But then Snape's eyes flash, and the eyebrow goes up, and Harry's stomach sinks to the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" he says quietly, dragging the point of the knife from Harry's chin to his ear. He's not applying much pressure, but it's difficult for Harry to stay still, to not jerk his head away. He exhales sharply and feels sweat break out on his forehead.

The tip of the knife digs sharply into his neck, and Harry realizes Snape is waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry, sir. I just-- reacted."

"By hiding," Snape says flatly, and Harry frowns.

"I-- " The knife jabs into his neck again and Harry shuts his mouth.

"And what is it you suppose you're hiding from me, Potter? Are you really so stupid as to imagine you have any secrets left?"

He's used to Snape's insults by now, used to his derision, but there's something dangerous in his tone. He blinks, uncertain, and then Snape pulls the knife away, brings it into Harry's field of vision, and the fear Harry'd been fighting nearly chokes him. It's not a particularly distinctive knife, not large or beautiful or wicked or any of the other things knives can be. It's a simple utility knife, but it's Snape's, and Harry's seen it slice through bones like butter. His stomach twists as Snape brings it to Harry's face, sets the tip against his scar.

"Well?" he says again, and traces Harry's scar lightly. Harry's toes curl, but he manages to not move otherwise. If Snape slips, drops the knifeā€¦

"I'll have all of you," Snape says then, softly. He moves, taking the knife with him, and drags the flat of the blade over Harry's chest and stomach, gathering up the drying come. "Taste all of you," he continues. He steps back into Harry's field of vision and licks the blade, his eyes never leaving Harry's, and Harry's cock stirs before he realizes what Snape is saying.

Oh, he thinks, but his mouth's suddenly too dry to get the word out. Snape waits, watching him, and Harry knows he likes this part, likes watching Harry squirm. Time passes, or it doesn't, and eventually Harry nods slightly, gives in just like they both knew he would. Something that looks like acknowledgement flickers so briefly though Snape's eyes that Harry thinks he might have imagined it, and then the knife is back at his throat and Snape's fist is in his hair and he's snarling in Harry's ear.

"Did you just nod at me, Potter? Did you just give me permission? Do you imagine I need your permission?"

Harry clenches his jaw and fights for calm. "N-no, sir."

"No?" The edge of the blade scrapes up his throat, over his Adam's apple, and Harry's shaking with the effort of holding still, of controlling his terror, of forcing himself to not move not move not move. "I don't have your permission? Do you wish to leave, then?"

"No, sir," he says again, his voice shaking like the rest of him. He hates it when Snape talks to him; he never has the right answers.

"I see," Snape says, the tip of the knife digging slightly into the soft spot under Harry's chin, forcing his head back. "Just surrendering yourself to my mercy, are you?"

"Yes, damn you," he says through his teeth. "You know I am."

"Good," Snape says, and then he's laying Harry open.


The knife's so sharp Harry doesn't feel it cutting him, not at first. It's just the cool slick slide of metal down his sternum, under his pectorals, over his abdomen. The pain hits all at once, the slow burn blossoming as the blood starts flowing, warm and thick, and Harry can't help arching up, twisting away. He only remembers the razors when they impale him, dig into the skin at his hips, at his shoulders.

"Fuck," he gasps out, struggling, but it's only making things worse, only driving the razors in deeper, and the panic in his stomach threatens to boil over.

Snape's next to him, then, a cool hand on his forehead, a soothing murmur in his ear, "Easy, Potter. Easy." Harry shudders but manages to rein himself in, manages to breathe and relax into the burn, into the hot throb of pain as it washes over him.

He tenses when Snape moves away again; he's not so sure about this anymore, not sure how long he can do this, and when Snape leans over and simply licks up the line of his sternum, Harry almost sobs in relief.

He loses track of things after that. He's back to shaking with the effort of not moving, not flinching, trying to take everything Snape can do to him. His cock is painfully hard again, with some mixture of fear and adrenaline and pain and pleasure he doesn't really understand. There are lines in his skin, bright and burning, and Snape's tasting them all.

He opens his eyes once, when Snape's back between his legs, slicing and sucking at the soft skin of his inner thighs, moving ever closer to his cock. He looks up and licks the knife, licks his lips, both red with Harry's blood, and for some reason it's that which does it, drives Harry helplessly over the edge, coming and crying and bleeding and coming again.

Fluid 960 Grid System, created by Stephen Bau, based on the 960 Grid System by Nathan Smith. Released under the GPL/ MIT Licenses.