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harry potter fanfiction

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Severus is feeling generous enough to give the boy what he thinks he wants.

Snape/Harry  |  NC-17  |  2,300 words  |  June 2005
warnings: dubcon, chan, some d/s, some breathplay



"But, sir, I--"

"Move," Severus repeats, the word longer and lower, a hint of steel in his voice. The boy's body jerks forward clumsily, and Severus sits back in his chair and watches. Waits. Wants.

Potter shuffles closer, all uncertainty and defiance and useless internal struggle.

"Stop thinking, Potter. You've not the capability." Severus sneers, pauses, considers. "Remove your shoes." The boy's left trainer is squeaking softly against the flagstones as he walks, and Severus isn't interested in listening to whining. Not that sort, at any rate.

Potter stops, still too far away, and frowns, his brow knitting under the messy dark hair. "Sir?"

Severus drums his fingers slowly on the arm of the chair. Potter stares, gulps, sets his jaw. The muscles in his cheek ripple under smooth, pale skin.

Severus does not gulp. Instead he asks, "Do you imagine I enjoy repeating myself?"

Potter shakes his head. "No, sir."

"Do you imagine I will be pleasant if you continue forcing me to do so?" He pauses, fingers still moving slowly. Potter looks away. "Your shoes, boy," he snaps. "Remove them."

"Yes, sir." The boy kicks off the offensive left trainer, but the other gives him problems. He balances unsteadily on his left foot, raises the right, and tugs a bit desperately on the heel. Severus isn't sure why the boy doesn't just untie his shoe, but he's enjoying the awkward spectacle too much to say anything. It finally comes off with a harsh yank and Potter pitches sideways, landing on the floor in a heap of slender schoolboy limbs.

The boy's face goes red, and Severus sighs, his eyebrow arching on its own. Potter scrambles to get up, pushing himself to his hands and knees and--

"Stop," Severus orders. "That's far enough."

Potter freezes and looks up, alarm flashing in his eyes. Severus' own eyes crawl over Potter's thin frame, the shoulder blades jutting upward under the thin white shirt. It's too big for him, and the neck gapes open, exposing the ridge of Potter's collarbone under milk-white skin. His tie, skewed and loose, trails on the floor between his arms.

"What do you say when I give you an order, Potter?"

He looks back down, intent on the piece of floor between his hands, the triangle of faded Gryffindor red on the end of his tie. "Yes, sir," he mumbles.


"Yes, sir," he says again. The words are clearer, but no louder.

"Louder," Severus says sharply, raising his own voice.

"YES, SIR!" Potter yells, sitting back on his knees, red lips pulling back from his teeth in a snarl. The thin chest heaves.

Severus raises one -- no. Raises both eyebrows. Potter grinds his teeth and looks away. His shoulders shake and then the boy takes a deep breath. Masters himself. Moves slowly back to his hands and knees. Glances up, and back down. "Yes, sir," he says clearly.

Severus' cock starts to fill.

"If you expect this to work, Mr. Potter, you'll need to master your temper." He isn't confident Potter truly has any idea what this entails; he'd come to Severus weeks ago demanding -- demanding -- discipline, as if he knew the meaning of the word. Severus had sent him away and sent him away and sent him away and Potter had always come back, always demanding. Tonight he'd managed to find Severus' private quarters, and Severus had let him in, feeling generous enough to give the boy what he'd claimed to want. And now here they are.

"Come closer." Potter starts to push himself up, but Severus stops him, his tone harsh. "Did I say anything about standing up?"

The boy freezes again, awkwardly hunched over in the act of straightening, his arms extended and fingertips grazing the floor. "No, sir," he says, the barest hint of insolence in his tone. "But I thought you wanted me to come closer."


Potter frowns, slightly bewildered. He bites his bottom lip, even white teeth sinking into -- well. Severus shifts in his chair, crosses his legs at the knee. Waits. Potter reddens as the realization hits. "Oh," he says weakly, and sinks back to the floor.

"Indeed," Severus says again.

Potter begins to crawl.

Severus still doesn't gulp. Not when Potter is slinking across the floor, back arched and shoulders rolling, arse in the air. Not when Potter's chin is down but his eyes are raised, peering up at Severus through the untidy fringe, all defiant submission, as if he's daring Severus to push him over the edge.

Severus wants to wrap the boy's tie around his pretty white neck. Perhaps he will.

He puts both feet on the floor and leans forward slightly, waiting for Potter to move within striking distance. Potter crawls closer, closer yet, and finally stops, just before his head runs into the chair between Severus' legs. He freezes and waits, his eyes finally lowered with the rest of his head. He's trembling, and Severus doesn't care to know why.

From his chair, Severus can see just-formed beads of sweat on the back of Potter's neck, darkening and dampening his hairline. He watches as one drop gathers, makes its way down the boy's neck, slides underneath the loose collar. He tears his eyes away from the sweat but not from Potter, and they roam to where the white shirt clings to the small of the boy's back. His jeans are riding too low and the waistband tents up just enough to give Severus a tantalizing glimpse of Potter's Y-fronts.

He swallows. "Up," he says. "Turn around."

"Yes, sir," Potter says, and Severus leans back in his chair to give the boy room to move. Potter pushes himself to his knees and starts to stand.

"No, stay on your knees."

A pause. "Yes, sir." He turns awkwardly, legs twisting underneath him. Severus has to move his own legs to give Potter room, but the boy manages to slide his calves under the chair, slide himself backwards until he's pressed up against it.

Severus waits, hardly breathing. Potter's narrow shoulders are so tense they're shaking, although Severus supposes it could be the sweat that's dripping between them, rolling slowly down Potter's spine. It must itch like mad, but Potter's not moving.

Severus keeps waiting. He knows he can wait longer than Potter can, and perhaps it's cruel to drive the boy to disobedience just to punish him, but Severus has never pretended to anything else.

It takes longer than he thought it would, but Potter finally twists, looks over his shoulder. "Sir?"

And just like that, one hand fists in Potter's hair and the other closes over that too-thin neck. He moves forward in the chair, bringing his erection up hard against Potter's back, and twists the boy's head around. "Eyes front," he snarls in Potter's ear. "You're not to move without permission. I thought I'd made that clear."

Potter's throat fits easily in his hand. Naturally. Both hands would more than circle the brat's neck. He squeezes harder, blood and breath and magic pulsing weakly underneath his fingers. He feels Potter's mouth opening and closing, gasping uselessly, and the boy squirms, his hands curling into fists and beating against Severus' shins in blind panic. Severus waits another second before he lets go.

The boy slumps backwards into Severus, gasping and gulping in air. Severus gives him a few seconds to collect himself, and then tightens his grip on the boy's hair. "What do you say?" He lets his lips ghost over the skin of Potter's ear.

"Yes, sir," he pants.

Good boy, Severus thinks, but he doesn't say it. He should, he knows. He should. Instead he lets go of Potter's hair and slides his hands around to the knot of his tie. It's loose and sloppy and comes undone easily, and the soft swish of noise it makes sliding against the fabric of the boy's collar is the most erotic thing Severus has heard in years. His hips twitch against Potter's back.

"In the future," he says, before he'd known he'd decided there would be a future, "you'll not wear this tie when you come to me."

"Er." Potter's shoulders twitch slightly in what Severus imagines is confusion, but he recovers quickly. "Yes, sir."

Severus absently runs his thumb over the rough fabric and then discards the tie behind him. He closes his hands over Potter's shaking shoulders and then reaches for the top button of his shirt. Potter sucks in his breath as Severus bares his skin, button by button, inch by inch, slowly exposing it to the cool dungeon air. Severus' fingers trail over the boy's chest, over protruding ribs and quivering muscles and small, pebble-hard nipples. His hips move against the boy's back almost imperceptibly, the slow circles putting pressure on his balls and threatening to drive Severus out of his mind.

He takes hold of the left side of Potter's collar and pushes the boy's shirt down off his shoulder. Potter's breath -- surely it's not Severus' breath -- Potter's breath. Potter's. It hitches in his throat and Severus crosses his right arm over Potter's chest to trace the hollow of his collarbone with one long finger. His left hand glides down over Potter's stomach and the muscles there ripple under his touch as he makes quick work of the button on Potter's jeans. His fingers find the zip and the sound it makes as it falls is unbearably loud.

Severus leans over Potter's shoulder to see, to watch his hand disappear into Potter's jeans, and his lips find the base of Potter's neck. Potter's skin is just as thin as the rest of him, his blood so close to the surface Severus can almost taste it. The boy moves, tilts his head, and it gives Severus better access so he doesn't bother to correct him. Instead he bites, fast and sharp, and a soft cry flies from the back of Potter's throat. Severus soothes the hurt with his tongue, tasting salt and sun and skin.

He lays a line of kisses down the boy's bare shoulder before he remembers what he's about and slides his hand inside the open flies of Potter's jeans. He's warm, his soft cock and balls not close to a handful, and then Severus notices Potter's body is rigid in his arms.

"Sir?" His voice is unsteady. "Sir, I thought-- "

"And I thought I told you not to bother." Severus' left hand doesn't stop moving, rubbing, coaxing. "You thought you'd be, what?" He moves his lips back to Potter's ear, bites the lobe lightly. "Scrubbing cauldrons? Skinning shrivelfigs?"

Potter shifts restlessly, his hips pumping slightly, his cock beginning to fill Severus' hand through the cloth of his pants. "Well," he breathes. "Yeah."

Severus bites his earlobe again, much harder this time. "Address me properly."

"Sorry, sir!" he gasps. "I-- yes. Sir. That's what I thought."

The pumping of Severus' own hips is considerably less subtle; he's sure the boy feels it by now, sure he understands. "Then you see why you oughtn't bother," he says, and grinds his erection against the boy's back a little harder, slides his hand inside Potter's underwear. He finds bare, hard flesh and wraps his hand around it, strokes smoothly, quickly, the foreskin sliding easily over the shaft.

"Oh!" Potter drops his head back to Severus' chest and Severus presses himself closer, his cock to Potter's back, his lips to Potter's skin, his arm to Potter's chest to stop him moving. His thighs clamp hard against Potter's sides and he's got the boy surrounded but it's not enough, not even close to enough.

"Press back against me," he growls in Potter's ear, then it's back to sucking on that spot below the boy's collarbone as his hand flies over the hard prick it's holding.

"Yes, sir," Potter breathes, barely audible, barely coherent, but he presses his back against Severus all the same. The boy-- no. The pressure. The pressure is delicious and Severus grinds forwards as Potter pushes back, narrow hips moving with the rest of him as Severus strokes his cock, faster and faster as if it's his own, and his own, fuck, his own cock is aching and pulsing and straining to get closer to Potter.

Potter's body goes rigid again and then another one of those noises comes from his throat and he's shuddering, shaking in Severus' arms and his cock is pulsing in Severus' hand, coating it with hot fluid. Severus' arm tightens around the boy's chest, holding him closer, holding him still, and Severus is close, so close, the feeling of Potter's lithe form trembling against his cock and he twists his hips and drives them closer and-- yes, there, yes, Severus comes, gasping and groaning yes into Potter's sweaty neck.

Severus is trembling as badly as the boy is and he floats back to himself, sits upright, rakes a hand through his hair, straightens his robes. Potter reaches for his shirt and Severus bats his hand away, growling low in his throat, and Potter freezes. He's looking down, and Severus sees the look for what it is: humiliation. Now, he can think it: The boy is delicious. He puts a hand under Potter's shoulder to help him to his feet, and then tugs the boy onto his lap. "What do you say?" His voice is steady.

"Sir? I don't-- I don't know, sir." He's looking away, trying to hide his face in his shoulder.

"Thank me."

Potter nods a little brokenly. "Thank you, sir," he says.

Severus leans closer. Now, he can say it: "Good boy," he whispers, and Potter relaxes against him, a hint of a smile on his lips. Severus returns to his usual tones and says, "But in the future, do not come without permission."

Potter nods again, still smiling faintly. "Yes, sir."


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