Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Longest Road	By : WinterRaven Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 11234 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and do not have the rights to Harry Potter. This story is written for fun. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Thanks to everyone who read and rated! Reviews would be appreciated :)

Three: Lingering

There was a dull, pervasive ache annoying Harry’s backside the day after his first lesson with Snape. Harry forced his face to hold a flat expression as he ambled to classes in the corridor, but the throbbing only coaxed him to remember the excitement that coursed through him when Snape had spanked him, disciplined him, punished him…
Perhaps it was a good thing that Harry was so distracted by the lingering pain plaguing him, because he did not catch the frustrated and angry looks Ron had been giving him all morning. Ron was completely silent through breakfast and their History of Magic course, not bothering to play silly games with Harry as they usually did. Hermione sat between the boys, realizing something was off, but she made no comment on the subject, nervous that she would provoke an argument. Her brown eyes gave away her worry; they flicked back and forth between Ron’s pursed lips and Harry’s glassy-eyed gaze.
But Harry soon found out the source of Ron’s anger.
The cluster of sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins lined up outside of Snape’s classroom after lunch, and it was only when Harry snapped himself out of his reverie, that he realized he was about to have class. With Snape.
Shit!
He had not prepared himself for this. He felt his heart rate spike immediately, staring at the closed door was a sense of terrible trepidation. He felt clammy and cold and somehow too warm at the same time. How could he have forgotten that today was Defense Against the Dark Arts? How should he behave? He knew he needed to act normally, scowl and give Snape dirty looks, but he wasn't sure he could manage to do that this time. He and Snape had crossed some invisible barrier; Harry knew that all of his actions outside of their private lessons would filter into his time with Snape. The thought of Snape spanking him again made Harry's heart skip with need and disgust.
He wondered if Snape would be as cruel as ever, and Harry felt himself flush, realizing he wanted Snape's spitefulness now. Harry knew that was the feeling that was motivating Snape to behave in such a twisted, depraved way. Embarrassed, Harry stared down at the ground, his breathing loud in the silent corridor. The Slytherins were huddled together, still downtrodden about the news of Malfoy’s death. The typical taunts and sneers were lost among the students, and if Harry hadn’t been so worried, he would have felt some semblance of pity for the Slytherins. He could only muster enough strength to pity himself.
“Enter,” came Snape’s voice. The door opened on its own and Harry gulped.
Making sure to avoid eye contact with Snape, the boy shuffled quickly into the dim classroom, choosing a table all the way in the back of the room so he was shrouded in darkness. He looked up, however, when Ron slammed his bag right next to Harry’s hand, nearly crushing his fingers with heavy textbooks. Harry stared up at him, recoiling from the filthy glare Ron was giving him. Hermione sat down nervously.
“Ron, what—”
“Shut it,” Ron hissed.
Snape had begun talking, saying things that Harry was no longer concerned over. All he knew was that his best friend was pissed off and he needed to figure out why—
Oh, Harry thought.
His face went redder. He knew exactly why Ron was angry. The boy felt himself become more overheated. Was that sweat pooling in between his clenched palms? In between Ron’s palpable rage and Snape’s luxurious voice filtering through the classroom, Harry thought he might faint.
He caught traces of Snape’s words, commanding students to read the next assignment in the textbook, to pass forward their essays from last week… Harry stared down at his hands; he was shaking. He shut his eyes, steeling himself but the memories crashed—
Snape’s arm wrapped over his chest. Snape’s smell, overwhelming and spicy and so erotic. The feel of his skilled, experienced hand palming his hardness—
Harry felt an elbow knock into his side and his eyes snapped open. Ron was glowering at him, pushing a small piece of paper toward Harry.
The boy slid it toward himself and stared at Ron’s handwriting.
Why did you break up with her?
Harry felt his mouth go dry. His hand trembling more visibly now, he took an inkwell and quill from his backpack and penned an answer back to Ron. He pushed the paper toward his friend.
Because Ginny would be in danger if I kept going out with her.
Ron nearly crumpled the paper in frustration and threw it back to Harry.
What danger? We’re at Hogwarts and you know it’s the safest place there is.
Harry closed his eyes, trying to rack his brain for any excuse. He couldn't confess about Snape. He mustn't. Harry knew what Snape was doing was wrong and foul and the man was clearly taking advantage of him... but, he wanted it. He didn't want it to end.
I can’t date her in good conscience. Not with everything that’s happened in the past few days, Harry managed to write.
It took Ron a long time to respond, but when he did, his handwriting was untidier than usual.
She’s liked you forever, you know that. It’s not right.
Harry put his face in his hands.
I know but you’re not being fair to me about this, he responded.
Ron barely suppressed a snort of anger.
There’s nothing to be fair about with you! You broke her heart. She’s my sister, what do you want me to do?
Harry stared down at the paper, his brain frozen. He didn’t know what to write. He didn’t know what to do. He was flooded with a sudden sense of disgust and self-loathing. How could he be so selfish, throwing Ginny to the side for some filthy tryst with Snape? Snape of all people. A man who he had despised since the moment he set foot into the castle. Harry’s hand was raised in midair, the quill shaking in between his fingers, splattering little flecks of ink all over the paper and the table.
He lowered the quill back to the page but stopped when a sudden shadow appeared over him, blocking out the dim light.
He heard Ron and Hermione’s gasps of surprise and with a terrible feeling-- like his stomach had been ripped from his insides-- Harry looked up. The situation would have been comical if Snape wasn’t seething. His black eyes bored directly into Harry’s and it took every ounce of self-determination not to look away.
“Give it to me,” Snape whispered. His teeth were bared. He was angrier then he had been last night when Harry showed up late for the lesson.
Harry didn’t move.
“Give me the paper, Potter, or it will be ten points from Gryffindor.”
Shaking all over, Harry put the paper in Snape’s palm, his eyes fluttering slightly when their skin made contact. Snape seemed not to have noticed; his eyes roamed the note before him, and his thin lips twisted into a sick smile.
Harry knew what was coming.
“Well,” Snape whispered, turning on his head, paper still clutched in his hand, “Potter and Weasley have kindly provided us with this afternoon’s entertainment.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw some of the Slytherins look over at Snape with returned glee, happy for a distraction of some sort. Snape was now behind his desk, and in a booming voice, read out the entire note for the class to hear. Harry felt Ron shaking next to him, flinched every time Snape paused and allowed the Slytherins to roar with laughter.
Every eye was on Harry and Ron now. And Harry knew he was about to lose control—
“Potter. Weasley,” Snape said, his voice low with mirth, “Thank you both for amusing us with tales of your insignificant lives. That will be twenty points from Gryffindor for penning rubbish in my classroom. You two will have detention beginning this evening at eight o'clock--”
“Shut up!” Harry snarled. He couldn’t control the angry words that left him. Snape froze, an uncharacteristic look of shock plaguing his normally smooth, emotionally inscrutable face.
The rage was back. The anger that had consumed Harry all of fifth year tumbled within his veins, pulsing and throbbing and giving him a strange sense of strength, of power.
Fuck self-control, Harry thought, smirking to himself. He felt a flood of defiance course through him; he felt a sick sense of pride and joy at watching Snape’s features rearrange themselves so that his surprise was masked again.
“Sit down, Potter,” Snape snarled, placing the note on his desk.
The entire classroom watched the man move with bated breath. But Harry was on his feet now; he had snapped his quill in half and he heard Hermione beg him to calm down, felt Ron nervously tug on his sleeve, desperate for Harry to sit.
Harry didn’t care.
Snape was back in front of him, his hands on Harry's desk. Snape's face was now aligned with his. Harry smirked again. So Snape would try to intimidate him in class? Not today. Not when Harry had ammunition against him. Harry studied Snape’s features up close, his eyes roaming over the sallow skin (now tinged pink), high cheekbones, hooked nose (though not quite as curved as Harry once thought) and any twinge of attractiveness he had found in Snape the night before evaporated instantly.
“I said sit down, insolent boy,” Snape whispered so that nobody else could hear. “And if you ever speak to me that way again, I will punish you beyond—”
“Fuck you,” Harry said, his voice even and surprisingly calm. His words rang throughout the room. There was a collective gasp. “Fuck you, Snape. I’m not taking this anymore.”
Snape’s hand was curled into a fist and Harry had half a mind to think that Snape would punch him across the face. But neither person moved. The tension in the air was so stifling that Harry felt himself suffocating in it. They stared at each other, emotions that Harry could not identify or understand pillaging through Snape’s eyes. The boy took grim satisfaction in knowing that Snape could not do anything wild to him in front of others. Harry smiled.
He was in control now.
“Sit,” Snape snarled again, as if his word settled the matter. “And that will be fifty points from Gryffindor.”
“Go ahead, take as many points as you want,” the boy laughed. He looked crazy, with his wide smile plastered on his face, his eyes glinting with the beginnings of shame at his outburst. “See if I give a shit.”
Harry snatched his backpack from the floor and with one last look over his shoulder, threw Snape a glare of hatred and disgust.
The classroom door slammed behind Harry with a loud bang, the echo following him all the way back to his dorm, all the way back to his bed. Harry felt himself collapse under the weight of too many emotions. He buried his face in his pillow and screamed.

~*~

Ron tiptoed into the dorm cautiously. Harry was lying down on his four-poster, the sunlight from dusk spilling into the room, washing over his still form. The boy had been staring up into the ceiling for what seemed like hours, trying to wrap his mind around what he had done. He knew he would be in more trouble then he had ever been in before. He stole glances at the clock on his nightstand more times then he wanted to admit. Eleven o’clock would be upon him in a few hours.
Would he go face Snape or not?
“Harry?” Ron whispered.
The boy sat up, slowly, his body aching all over. Ron’s eyes held deep worry. Behind him stood Hermione. Harry stared down at his hands.
“Are you okay?” Hermione asked. She stepped into the empty dorm room, walking toward her friend and sitting at the edge of his bed. “What was that about earlier?”
Harry shrugged.
“I'm just overwhelmed,” was all he said. It felt good to be honest, as though a huge burden had been lifted from him.
Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. Harry looked deep into her large eyes and felt himself calmed suddenly.
“Look, mate,” Ron said, his voice still small. Harry felt a twinge of guilt at the sad look on his friend’s face. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier with all this Ginny stuff. I just needed to know what happened.”
“I know,” Harry whispered. “And for the record, you didn’t upset me. It… it was all Snape.”
Harry closed his eyes. He could almost feel Snape’s anger pulsing through him, his hot breath over his skin, so tempting—
“What happened after I left?” Harry managed to say.
“Nothing. Snape did nothing,” Ron responded, shaking his head with disbelief. “It was scary, actually. He just switched everything off.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked sharply, his head jolting upward at Ron’s words.
Ron seemed to be struggling to articulate himself.
“It was like he turned into a robot,” Ron said.
Hermione nodded.
“I thought he was going to go after you,” she said, her voice very small. “But he stood at the desk for a while, staring at the spot where you had been standing. We got a good look at him. He was blank.”
“Oh,” was all Harry said. He felt a strange lurch in his chest. “Well…I mean, he’s always like that, isn’t he?”
Ron shook his head again.
“He’s always mean. He’s always angry,” Ron interjected. “But this was different.”
“Right,” Harry said, his voice shaking a bit.
Harry tried to master himself but confusion washed over him. He didn’t understand if he felt guilt or triumph or disgust.
“Do you want to go get dinner?” Hermione asked gently.
“Not right now,” Harry said. “Not too hungry.”
She stood from his bed and went to Ron. They gave Harry a look of worry.
“Well, if you want to join us, we’ll be in the Great Hall for an hour,” Hermione said. She gave Harry a small smile before she and Ron left.
Snape was blank, Harry thought. I did that to him.
The boy didn’t move, lost in confusion. He didn’t go to his lesson.

~*~
The next few days passed in a blur. Teachers reminded students of their impending final exams and Harry couldn’t have cared less. The end of the week was approaching. Hermione tried to convince Harry to study; even Ron was doing the same (for once) but the boy ignored him.
He often spent nights alone prowling the castle around the time that he was supposed to be taking lessons with Snape. This was the third lesson he had missed. He had not seen Snape again since he stormed out of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry hadn’t even seen the glowering man in the Great Hall. Some part of him wondered where Snape was and what he was doing. Another part of him didn’t care.
At the end of the week, Gryffindors and Slytherins sat in for a Potions review. Harry walked into the class like everyone else, ignoring Slughorn’s booming, jovial laugh. He sat in between Ron and Hermione, pulled out his materials and then froze—
He no longer had his Potions textbook. Snape had it. The Prince had it.
Harry stared at the empty table. He needed that book back.
He needed Snape.
Harry was seething at his mental admission, shaking again and when Slughorn asked him what was wrong, the boy gave a fake, painful smile instead of a verbal answer. Harry borrowed Ron’s textbook for the remainder of the class, attempting to brew the potion on the board but his Shrinking Solution was turning into a certified disaster. Hermione was the only person who had produced a perfect solution, but even she didn't have the heart to gloat about her success.
At the end of class, Harry fuming and nauseous from the stench of his botched potion. Slughorn had approached Harry first, clearly eager to see another spectular potion from the boy. Harry felt exhaustion sweep over him at the sad look in Slughorn’s eye, the disappointment in Harry's first failure.
When the bell rang, Harry left the classroom in a hurry, his mind spinning a million different ways until he slammed right into Neville.
“Harry!” Neville said, massaging his forehead. “Here, Dumbledore wanted me to give this to you.”
The boy handed Harry a rolled up note.
“Thanks Neville,” Harry whispered. The round-faced boy gave him a soft smile and departed down the opposite corridor, leaving Harry standing quite alone.
Harry pulled open the note, read it over quickly and immediately set off for Dumbledore’s office. He told the gargoyle the password and was knocking on Dumbledore’s door before he knew it.
“Come in,” came the old man’s soft voice.
Harry entered swiftly, eyes roaming the room. Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, his blue eyes glinting. Fawkes was perched on his shoulder.
“I didn’t expect you to come by this early,” Dumbledore said, pointing to a chair near his desk. Harry sat down without a word. “How have you been, Harry?”
“Fine,” Harry lied.
Dumbledore studied him for a moment before speaking again.
“How have your lessons been with Professor Snape?”
“Fine,” Harry lied again.
Harry wondered if Snape had said anything to the Headmaster. From the genial expression on Dumbledore's face, it seemed not. Was Snape trying to protect himself or was he trying to protect Harry too?
“I’m glad to hear it,” Dumbledore said softly. “Harry, I asked you to come here because I am closing in on my newest theory on our fake Horcrux.”
Harry’s head shot up, Snape thrown from his thoughts. Dumbledore smiled softly at the boy’s newfound interest.
“Do you know where the real locket could be?” Harry asked in a whisper.
“I’m almost there,” Dumbledore said, “I believe I will have our answer very soon but I wanted to prepare you, Harry. I can’t stress enough how important your lessons with Professor Snape are. He has yet to update me on them, so I’ll take your word that they are going well.”
Harry paled considerably.
“I will take you with me on the condition that you have made some improvement in your Defense skills, particularly in Occulmency,” Dumbledore continued. “And when you are ready, we will depart together to find the Horcrux.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered.
Dumbledore smiled, taking Harry’s sudden silence for nervous excitement.
“Well, off you go then.”
Harry stood, walking automatically to the door.
“Are you certain that you’re alright, Harry?” Dumbledore asked before the boy could leave.
“Oh yes, sir,” Harry whispered, pulling the door open. “I’ve never been better.”

~*~
Eleven o’clock couldn’t have come fast enough. Harry snuck from his dorms and walked to his destination with purpose. The day’s events slammed back into him; his failure in Potions class, lying to Dumbledore, avoiding every living being—
He cringed when he realized he needed some sense of control.
The office door was closed but he didn’t care. Harry burst into the office to find Snape’s mulling over a dull essay. His quill moved quickly as he crossed out sentences here and there. He didn’t so much as look up when Harry strode inside; instead he ran a hand through his long hair, eyes glued to the paper in front of him.
“I want the book back,” Harry snarled, not certain why those were the first words that left his mouth.
The look of disappointment in Slughorn’s eyes came back, Harry’s own embarrassment. Everything around him was crumbling; he needed to succeed at something, even if he had to resort to copying every word Snape had put into that text, even if it meant that he needed Snape in more ways then one.
But Snape ignored him.
Acting as though he was entirely alone, Snape waved his wand with a flick and a mug of steaming tea appeared next to his left hand. He gripped it with elegant fingers and took a sip, his pale face impassive.
“Snape!” Harry yelled.
Harry rushed up to the desk with reckless abandon and slammed his fists on the table. He had not felt this level of uncontrollable anger since he lost himself in Snape’s class. Harry looked around the office, wanting to repeat that moment, to rage and curse and release the pent up pain within. He wanted to take out every bit of self-loathing that had consumed him these past few days.
The boy knocked his hands to the table again, papers and the mug of tea jumping and rattling. Snape did not seem to notice as the teacup tipped over, spilling hot liquid over quickly dampening essays.
“You are no longer welcome here,” Snape murmured with a trace of amusement in his voice. He dipped his quill in an inkwell. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You are nothing but a delinquent, spoiled brat, who thinks rules are above him.”
Harry’s nostrils flared.
“I specifically recall Dumbledore telling you to take lessons with me every single day,” Snape continued. “Your simple mind can’t even process such basic instructions.”
“I won’t do it anymore if all you’re going to do is insult me and mess with me in class!”
“And yet, you had no complaints a week ago, did you Potter?”
Snape’s head finally shot up; his cold eyes bored through Harry’s and the boy stumbled backward—
There he was, slammed against the wall that early morning, moaning as Snape rubbed his hardness with his knee… The memory shifted to that same evening, his face directly visible in Snape’s mind now, the boy biting down on his lips, his eyes betraying his lust—
“Don’t!” Harry screamed, breaking the flow of memories instantly.
He was breathing as though he had run a race. His face covered in cold sweat and with a skip of his heart, he saw Snape was smirking.
“You’ve improved in Occulmency,” the man said with cold sarcasm. “Now I know what will motivate you to close your mind.”
He stood from the desk, flicking his wand again so that the essays and quills, cup and spilled tea disappeared with a pop. Harry sputtered. Snape had never looked so dangerous.
Snape stared directly at him with burning intensity and it happened again.
Harry was telling Ginny that it was over, the shocked look on her face reverberating throughout Harry’s brain… Harry was sharing a fumbled make out session with Ginny months ago, a trace of dissatisfaction on his face when they pulled apart… He was in Snape’s office, Snape’s chest pressed against his spine, Harry’s back arched, his face contorted in pleasure that Ginny could never bring. He whimpering as Snape’s large hand caressed his throbbing cock—
“Stop it!” Harry yelled, his eyes wide with fear. His anger left him entirely.
Snape moved from his desk so quickly that he was a blur, discarding his robes as he went. He was back in his Muggle attire. Harry only had a second to contemplate the man’s tall, thin form hovering near him.
Harry was pushed backward against the wall as Snape approached him. He was trembling at the blank look in Snape’s eyes. The lack of emotion terrified him and Harry immediately saw what Ron had been talking about.
Without a word, Snape took Harry by the shoulders and flipped him around, so that his chest and face were knocked against the icy tile. Harry tried desperately to reach for his wand but Snape had snatched it from his pocket and thrown it aside with practiced ease. The two scuffled for a few moments before Harry felt Snape’s hand come down on his ass.
The boy gasped, gritting his teeth and willing himself not to react, but his body had other ideas. His erection sprang up before he could stop it and Snape smacked him again, harder than he ever had before.
“Oh, fuck,” Harry whimpered.
He instinctively pushed his ass against Snape’s crotch. Harry snarled when he realized, yet again, that Snape wasn’t hard.
“What were some of the highlights of the last lesson you came to?” Snape asked in Harry’s ear.
“I don’t give a shit—”
The third lash came down with so much force that Harry knew a bruise would bloom within hours. His head knocked against the wall, bringing stars before his eyes. He tried struggling against Snape again and knew he had managed to elbow the man in the ribs. Snape hissed and pushed Harry harder against the wall as retaliation.
“Please—” Harry whimpered uselessly.
He felt embarrassment flush through him; there he was rendered an incoherent, begging mess, needing any kind of distraction to clear his mind.
“Tell me, Potter. What did I try to impart into that empty skull of yours?”
“I don’t—”
The fourth lash made Harry let out a dry sob. He pushed his ass back to Snape’s crotch in quiet desperation. The man did not react.
“Please,” Harry whimpered, his voice cracking. Dropping all pretenses, he murmured: “Please, make me come again.”
Snape froze.
For the first time, Snape's heart skipped, painful in his chest. Harry tried to grind himself against Snape again but the man pulled his body away swiftly. He put a foot of space between them, his arms still outstretched, hands pinning Harry to the wall.
Harry was finally lost again, his mind blank.
The boy was babbling nonsense now, without realizing what he was doing. The whispers of begging and moaning broke the stillness of the office. Snape gripped Harry harder than ever before, his nails digging into the crook near Harry’s neck. Snape felt a rare wave of nausea overtake him, realizing the serious error he had made in touching Harry.
But he couldn’t move.
He glanced down at the enticing curve of the boy’s ass, pushing back, desperately trying to find friction on Snape’s body. Snape felt the heat of Harry’s need and he knew he should kick the boy out of his office, tell Dumbledore that it would not be prudent to have him teach the boy anymore yet—
He turned Harry around, flinging him at the desk without a word.
Harry stumbled and caught himself upright on the edge of the table. They said nothing to each other. Harry ripped his jeans and boxers, shirt, shoes and socks off, kicking his garments to the side. His face red with vulnerability and he climbed on top of the polished wood, lying down on his back, displaying his sinewy figure, naked for Snape's viewing pleasure. Snape stood directly above him, breathing slowly through his nostrils.
Snape kept his face blank as he studied the boy’s hardness with the same bored expression that he gave his students’ essays. His black eyes roamed the strength of the boy’s thighs, crafted smooth from years of Quidditch; the way the boy’s hipbones jutted forth; the way Harry’s hand began to snake around the soft hairs that surrounded his cock… The boy’s erection was thick and weeping, the head leaking with precum, one visible vein throbbing.
Snape distracted his body in every way he could, thinking of the most absurd things possible in order to stave off his own erection. It was only due to years and years of practice, of learning to smother his emotions that allowed Snape to halt himself from showing arousal.
Harry waited, his breath bated, staring at Snape with earnest need. The boy’s desperation would have broken any other person, seared right through them, caused them to jump Harry and take him wildly without a second thought, but not Snape. Instead, the man’s hand moved, steady, over Harry’s cock, gripping the hot base softly.
Harry moaned, bucking to the touch.
“Answer my question, Potter,” Snape whispered, his hand moving languidly over the boy’s cock. He ran an expert finger over the tip, smearing precum over the head. “What did you learn during our last lesson?”
Harry’s eyes were shut tight, his mouth open in a silent moan. The boy seemed completely lost, so Snape stopped what he was doing.
The boy whimpered.
“I don’t remember,” he whispered stupidly.
Snape clenched his jaw, squeezing Harry’s cock.
“Fuck,” Harry whispered. His eyes shot open and he stared at Snape. “You—you were trying to teach me about control.”
“And what did I tell you to address me as?” Snape murmured.
“Sir,” Harry said softly.
“That’s right, Potter,” Snape hissed.
His hand pumped Harry’s cock faster and faster. Harry arched against the desk, begging for more.
Then Snape halted.
Harry swore wildly.
“You never gave me an apology, Potter,” the man said, a trace of a smirk emerging on his face. “Your woefully melodramatic display of anger is my classroom is a perfect example of your lack of control.”
“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Harry stammered, his eyes running down to Snape’s still hand. Harry bucked up into the touch, but Snape did not move.
“I don’t think you’re sorry enough,” Snape snarled. He let go of Harry’s cock entirely and walked away.
Harry sat bolt upright. Snape had gone to his door and locked it shut. He whispered a silencing spell.
“What--?” Harry started and he yelled when Snape pointed his wand at him.
Harry’s back was snapped back against the desk as ropes locked over him, pinning him to the cold surface. He felt the back of his head crash against the unforgiving wood and he was suddenly dizzy.
“Snape! What the hell—!”
The boy struggled to break himself free, swearing and shouting curses in the hope that his wand would respond, but it was no use. He had left his weapon discarded on the floor in a pool of his clothes. And now here he was, bound to a table, naked, and at Snape’s full mercy.
Snape stood over him again and immediately clamped his large hand around Harry’s hardness. All fear was lost as Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he practically screamed at Snape's touch. The sound strangled in the boy's throat.
“Is this what you needed?” Snape murmured.
Harry arched his back against the desk again, gripping the sides so hard that his knuckles turned white.
Harry and Snape locked eyes.
“The Weasley girl couldn’t satisfy you?” Snape whispered, practically laughing as he said it.
Harry thrashed against the desk, whimpering.
“I asked you a question, Potter.”
“N-no sir, she couldn’t.”
Snape gave Harry a thoughtful look and his eyes glinted in the dimness of the room. The light reflected off his irises and Harry groaned when he saw Snape’s pupils were dilated. Snape was aroused even if his body wasn't showing it. His hand gripped the base of Harry’s cock softly, moving up and down, twisting at the right places with a gentle touch.
“I need more, sir,” Harry moaned. He was desperate. He tried to buck to Snape’s touch but couldn’t move for the ropes binding him to the desk.
“More?” Snape whispered. Through his haze of lust, Harry noticed the slight tone of confusion in Snape’s voice.
“Please—”
“What more could you ask of me, Potter?” Snape growled.
“Show me you’re as turned on as I am.”
Snape froze again.
“Potter—”
“Please,” Harry whimpered. Snape nearly cringed at the look Harry was giving him. “Please, you’re the one that started this.”
Snape felt himself flush deep crimson. The boy, as insolent and idiotic as he was, was telling the truth. But the man never thought a few spankings would have turned into Potter splayed on his desk, delicious and wanton and needy. His.
And after so many years of loneliness, how could Snape deny himself such a treat?

TBC
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The Longest Road