multifandom fic & recs by atrata

harry potter fanfiction

contact me

my primary home is now on dreamwidth, exactly where you think it is: atrata.dreamwidth.org. earlier stuff is here and at my livejournal.
you're also welcome to email me at atrata at gmail dot com.

No Bounds

Harry has a plan. Snape has a grudge.

Snape/Harry (Snape/James)  |  NC-17  |  3,300 words  |  April 2006
warnings: noncon, chan, bondage, bloodplay (sort of)

*

Harry swore under his breath and massaged his aching right hand. Snape had made him copy those stupid cards for four hours, until he could barely hold his quill, and when his detention was over, Snape had sent them up in flames. "The point of this exercise, Potter," he'd said, "is for the new cards to be readable, not rendered more illegible by the subliterate scrawl you call handwriting."

Harry had clenched his jaw and curled his fists and managed -- barely -- not to try out the Prince's spell for enemies.

But this one, he thought, might work. "For note-taking," it said, scrawled in the margins of a complicated chapter on predicting the reactions of volatile potions ingredients.

*

"Done." Harry tossed his quill on top of the newly copied cards. "Sir."

It had been almost too easy. The Prince's spell was wandless; all he had to do was touch the old card, cast the spell, and then touch the blank card. He'd spent the week practicing silent casting, and was pretty sure that as long as he kept his back to Snape and pretended to write, he'd be able to get away with it.

Not that it hadn't been nerve-wracking at first. Harry hadn't even got a chair this time; he was stuck on one of Snape's uncomfortable wooden workbenches. He spent the first hour looking over his shoulder to make sure Snape wasn't paying attention, but Snape was engrossed in his marking, and after a while Harry relaxed. He finished box one thousand and thirty-seven in a little over three hours.

"Are you." Snape was suddenly right behind him, and Harry started. He hadn't even heard Snape move.

"Er. Yes, sir." He tried to stand up -- he didn't like having Snape behind him, where Harry couldn't see him -- but Snape's hands closed over his shoulders and kept him still. Harry tensed, but he refused to pull away. Snape was just trying to intimidate him.

"Very diligent today, Potter," Snape said softly. His hands clenched, clawlike fingers digging into Harry's shoulders. Harry could feel body heat seeping into his back; Snape was standing much closer than he'd thought. "And almost legible. If I didn't know better, I might be inclined to say you've been cheating."

Harry's heart started to pound; this wasn't sounding very good. Maybe Snape had noticed. "You were sitting right there, sir," he said.

"Yes," Snape replied, drawing the word out. Harry closed his eyes and swallowed. "I was."

Snape took a step closer, bringing his body up against Harry's back. Alarmed, Harry finally tried to pull away, but Snape's hands dug into his shoulders and kept him firmly pinned to the bench. Snape was a lot stronger than he looked.

"Well, Mr. Potter," he continued, his voice too close to Harry's ear, "as you've been so very diligent, perhaps you can tell me what they say."

"Sir?" Harry wasn't sure what was going on. Snape's grip on his shoulders relaxed slightly, and then his fingers slid sideways, trailed lightly over the ridge of Harry's collarbone. "What-- stop! Get your hands off me!"

He jerked forwards and stood, tearing himself out of Snape's grasp and shoving the bench backwards as hard as he could. He was rewarded by Snape's soft grunt of pain, but just as he was about to turn, he found himself frozen in place, just standing there in front of the table.

It felt -- strange. He was awake and quite aware of his surroundings, but he couldn't move. His muscles weren't rigid, though, and if anything, Harry was more relaxed. Or he was, until he remembered to panic. He instinctively opened his mouth to yell, and was so surprised by his ability to do so that he sputtered incoherently for several seconds. Finally he managed to spit out, "What'd you do to me?"

"Really, Mr. Potter." Snape's smooth voice slid over him, dripping venom. "Do you mean to tell me you don't recognize the spell?"

Harry racked his brain, but he couldn't remember ever having heard of a spell with the effects he was experiencing, and Snape's silent casting hadn't given him any clues. "No, sir," he said, hoping the title might calm Snape down. "I--." He tried to throw off the spell, to fight it, but his muscles simply wouldn't listen to him. "Take it off!"

"I think not," Snape said. "I told you to do something, and you'll not leave here until you do."

"I-- I don't understand, sir." Harry tried to think, knew he sounded stupid, but his blood felt like it was made of ice. It all seemed to be collecting in the pit of his stomach, a knot of cold, hard fear, and he didn't know what to say to make Snape let him go.

"It's quite simple, Potter," Snape said, his fingers sliding inside the collar of Harry's robes. Harry's stomach twisted as he realized the spell seemed to have heightened his senses; each light stroke of Snape's cold fingers felt like a trail of fire on his bare skin, and his breath caught in his throat. "To have copied the cards, you must have read them. Am I correct?"

"Er. Yes, sir."

"Then you ought to be able to tell me what they say." Snape's hands were very nearly around Harry's neck; fingers on his collarbone, thumbs at his hairline. Harry thought he might be sweating, but he really wasn't sure. He was having trouble thinking.

"Are you-- I must've copied hundreds of cards! I can't-- How am I supposed to remember what they all say?"

One of Snape's palms moved to cup Harry's throat, and he realized he was about two seconds away from being strangled. "Oh, I think these are the sorts of things you'd remember. Read one."

Snape reached around Harry to grab a stack of cards from the box, and then he must have cast another spell, because the cards were suddenly floating right in front of Harry's eyes.

The breath shriveled in Harry's lungs as he heard the bench slide away, felt Snape pressing up close behind him. "Read," he said softly, his breath hot on Harry's ear, his hands settling lightly on Harry's hips.

Harry swallowed, fear and anger mingling in his throat, and he hoped that if he just did what Snape wanted, he'd be let go. "James Potter and Sirius Black," he read, forcing the words out. "Assigned one detention apiece after gluing the tongues of everyone in Slytherin House to the roofs of their mouths during supper."

"Ah," Snape said, his fingers finding the hollows below Harry's hipbones. It was -- distracting, even through Harry's robes. "Does that sound fair to you, Mr. Potter?" Harry thought he felt lips against his ear, but the touch was gone so quickly he was sure he'd imagined it. "One detention apiece. Several students choked, you know."

"Yes," Harry snarled. "I hope you choked."

"Indeed," Snape said, and this time Harry was sure he felt the soft press of lips on his earlobe. "Read another." The top card dropped.

"James Potter," Harry said through his teeth. "Caught in the girls' locker room during a Quidditch match, nicking knickers. Made to sit out the next match."

Snape's right hand crawled up the buttons on his robe, and Harry sucked in his breath. Snape wouldn't. He wouldn't -- would he? Snape was awful, but this...

"Amusing man, your father," Snape breathed in his ear, and Harry knew he would have shivered if he'd been able to, despite the heat. "What do you imagine he was planning to do with them?"

"I don't know," Harry gritted out. Snape's fingers made short work of the clasp at the top of Harry's robes, and Harry was struck by the image of how it must look -- long, thin fingers, elegant and pale against his robes. Harry was having trouble breathing.

"Another," Snape said. A new card was revealed, and another button came undone.

"James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew," Harry read. "Strongly implicated in making the Slytherin dormitories uninhabitable for one week through the judicious application of dungbombs. One weeks' detention each. Oh, god. Don't--."

But Snape did. He did. It had been hot that morning when Harry'd got dressed, and the only thing he had on under his robes was a pair of boxers, and Snape's fingers were cold and hot against his bare skin, and Harry was angry and terrified and confused and Snape had his robes half open.

"Another," Snape said, lips against Harry's ear. Part of Harry was glad for the spell keeping him frozen, because at least that way Snape wouldn't know how much he was getting to Harry.

"James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black," he read, hating the sound of his own voice, thin and shaking and young. "Caught in the kitchens after curfew. One detention apiece."

"The kitchens," Snape murmured, soft lips moving against Harry's neck, cool hands moving against his belly. "What do you suppose they were doing there, Potter?"

Harry gasped as Snape's nails raked across his stomach and tendrils of heat curled through his body. "I reckon they were hungry," he heard himself say, although he barely recognized his own voice.

"Hungry," Snape repeated. "Hungry for what, I wonder."

Time stopped, everything stopped, as Snape's hand inched lower, towards the one part of Harry's body that seemed perfectly capable of movement even without his permission. Harry'd been trying desperately not to even think about his cock, about the fact that he was half hard and getting harder, about how Snape's fingers would look wrapped around it, about how they would feel, hot and rough and firm and--

"Another," Snape said, hand hovering millimeters away from Harry's prick, just one thin scrap of fabric between them.

"I hate you," Harry choked out.

"Not half so much as I hate you, Mr. Potter. Read."

Harry wondered what Snape would do if he refused, but wasn't sure he wanted to risk it. Snape hadn't hurt him, not really, not yet, but there was nothing Harry could do to stop it if that's what Snape decided to do.

"James Potter and-- and Severus Snape," Harry read. "Caught committing--." He stammered to a halt.

"Committing what? Do go on."

Harry swallowed. "Lewd acts."

"Ah," Snape said, sounding somehow satisfied. His fingers slid inside the waistband of Harry's boxers and circled round to the small of his back. Harry thought his heart might pound its way out of his chest. "Lewd acts."

"You're lying," Harry said. "My father wouldn't-- he wouldn't. Not with you. He wasn't--"

"Careful, Potter," Snape said, a note of warning in his voice.

"Fuck you," he snapped back. He didn't know what Snape was playing at, but he'd had enough. He tried again to fight the spell.

"Thank you for the invitation," Snape said, cold voice full of warning and promise and things Harry didn't want to think about. "I believe I will." His hands were suddenly inside Harry's boxers, rough palms sliding over the bare skin of Harry's arse. Harry tried to breathe, but he couldn't. Even his lungs were shaking.

"But first," Snape said as he moved his hands and tugged Harry's boxers to his knees, heedless of them catching on his erection, "tell me. What do you suppose that means, 'lewd acts'?"

"Probably something like this," Harry said, hoarse and desperate. "What are you-- why are you-- please, just stop. Please."

"You do beg quite prettily, Potter, but I don't think I will." His hand closed around Harry's erection, and a noise clawed its way out of Harry's throat, some combination of whine, whimper, gasp and moan. "Nor do you particularly want me to." He squeezed once, and Harry felt his whole body go red with shame. The spell, whatever it was, wasn't strong enough to stop his shaking, and then another card fell. "Read."

Harry opened his eyes and looked at the card in front of him, hoping it wasn't about his father. His heart sank. The card wasn't like the others; it was blank, and then Snape's scrawl was appearing across it as he watched. Snape was... Harry wasn't sure what he was doing. A spell, probably, letting him write down whatever had happened, and he expected Harry to read it out loud. Harry didn't even know what he felt anymore, scared and sick and shaking and confused and hard and angry and, "I don't want to."

"Fascinating," Snape said. "I don't care." He pulled back slightly, placing one hand on Harry's hip and the other on the back of his neck. He pushed and pulled and then Harry was bent over the table, bare arse in the air, cheek against cool, smooth wood. He tried to focus on that, but then the cards moved back into his line of sight. "Read."

Harry took a deep breath and started reading.

"Hiding in the broomshed after a Quidditch match, finally going to get the better of Potter, finally going to show him you're not his punchbag, not to be messed with. You're there in the darkness and the silence and you're ready when the door opens, ready with your wand out and the curse on your lips."

"Potter-- oh, god. Please don't--." Snape was bent over him, his body curled around Harry's, the rough wool of his robes chafing his skin and Harry felt that he was somehow approaching sensory overload. He sucked in his breath as Snape wrapped his hand around his prick and started stroking.

"Don't what?" Snape asked. "Don't stop? Keep reading."

Maybe that was the thing to do. Reading was at least something to focus on, something that would keep his mind off the fact that he was helpless and Snape was tossing him off, was probably going to fuck him, was -- no. He looked at the card.

"Potter's your enemy, so that's not guilt you feel when you see all the blood. The air thickens with it, you sicken with it, bend over and retch and run and try to leave but Potter's hand shoots out, snarls your escape. You slip, you trip, you hit the ground and he's on top of you, all over you, his blood and his fist in your hair and his knee in your chest and his cock -- his cock." Harry stopped again, feeling ill. "Please don't make me read this," he said, sounding small and tired and defeated. "I don't -- I don't want to know."

"You surprise me, Mr. Potter. I would think you'd want to learn as much as possible about your father. Was his cock bigger than yours?" He paused and squeezed, and then went back to stroking. "It was, I'm afraid. Don't you want to know--"

"Stop!" Harry cut in. "I don't -- just stop. I'll read." He took a deep breath and looked at the words scrawling their way across the card.

"His robes slide off and he slides up, knees to your armpits and 'suck,' he says, 'suck,' and he's too heavy to move and even his cock is slick with blood." Harry paused to catch his breath, dangerously close to coming. Snape's grip had got harder and his strokes had got faster and Harry's body was shaking, on the edge, and reading was very difficult. "It's heady on your tongue, rich and sweet and your neck is cramping and you're choking on something, on bile and rage and hatred and guilt and fear, on blood and dirt and come and sweat, on all things -- oh, god, all things Potter-- fuck."

Harry was glad he couldn't move as the orgasm tore through him, sparks and shivers and shakes running from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes as he groaned and his cock pulsed and emptied all over Snape's hands. Snape's strokes slowed but didn't stop and Harry whimpered, exhausted and spent and confused and ashamed far too sensitive to take more. He wasn't sure why he'd got hard in the first place, why he'd come in Snape's hands to words about his father.

Snape finally let go of his cock and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, hoping he could go, hoping it was over, hoping--

"Keep reading." Snape's voice lashed over him and something in Harry shriveled. He felt numb, and wasn't sure he even cared what Snape was going to do to him next. He focused on the card in front of him and went back to reading.

"He collapses on top of you and you spit his softening cock out of your mouth and shove him off you, shove him on to his stomach. He's weak from coming, weak from bleeding, and he tries to fight you but he can't. It feels good, better than it should, Potter brought this low. Your cock is hard from it, from sucking his, from the smooth slide of it down your throat, from the weight of it on your tongue."

What Snape was doing, Harry realized, was getting ready to fuck him. He'd pulled away and Harry heard the rustle of robes, the sound of Snape's hand on his own cock. Harry was nervous, a hard knot of fear in his stomach, and he went back to reading, trying not to panic.

"You crawl on top of him, pin him down, hold him still as you open your robes. They're a mess, a bloody, dirty, sweaty mess, and you reach for your cock, slick it up with blood. It's Potter's blood, or it's your blood, and it doesn't really matter as you spread him open and push inside. He groans and he thrashes beneath you but he pushes back, the whore, he clenches around you and likes it. You like it, too, he's hot and tight and soft and you're not going to last long but at least he'll finally know."

Harry held his breath as he felt a hard, blunt pressure at his hole, and then his breath hissed through his teeth as Snape pushed inside him. Pain flared in his arse, bright and burning, but it wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting. Maybe Snape had done him a favor by making him come first. His body was relaxed and he was numb, and when Snape pulled out, it felt strange, like Harry's insides were being pulled out, too. Snape slid back in and that was better, that felt full and whole and somehow complete, and Harry clenched around him like his father had done. He was rewarded by a quiet gasp behind him, and so he did it again.

"Whore," Snape said, and slammed in again. "Just like your father." Harry didn't care. He went back to reading, trying to concentrate on the words in front of him while Snape fucked him. It was almost as if it was happening to somebody else, and maybe it was. Maybe it was his father. He didn't know anything anymore.

"He doesn't, though, he doesn't know. He laughs, says, 'never done this before, have you?' but gasps as you slam inside him, hard as you can and only getting harder, getting angrier as he laughs and groans and you think that's him grunting but it might be you. It might be but it doesn't matter, nothing matters as the pressure builds and you explode, cock pulsing deep inside Potter."

Snape came at the same time, hips jerking hard against Harry, fingers digging into Harry's shoulders, his groan so quiet Harry could barely hear it. Harry tightened instinctively around Snape's cock, waiting, and then did the only thing he could think to do: he laughed.

Snape stiffened and pulled out, pulled away, shoved Harry to the ground. A noise that could never be called a laugh came from his throat. "Nice try, Potter," he said. "Finite incantatem. Clean yourself up and get out. I'll see you next week."

FIN.

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