Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Sadness of Eros	By : LoupGarou1750 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 7628 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her business associates own the world of Harry Potter. I make no money from this, nor anything else. The words 'The open palm of desire wants everything' are from the Paul Simon song 'Further to Fly'. He owns those.

Chapter List
- 5
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- 7
6

The same bouncer was at the door, the same bartender behind the counter. He might as well have stepped back twenty-two hours in time. Reaching in his wallet, he pulled out a wad of crumpled bills and slapped them on the counter. "Whisky, and keep them coming."

His mind flitted to the day he'd be able to order a Snow Vodka, and smiled. The bartender, assuming the smile was meant for him, returned it. "You were in yesterday, right? This is a better look for you." His eyes roved appreciatively up and down Harry's body. "Maybe sometime we could go, I dunno," he laughed, "get a drink or something."

"Don't think I'm in the market for the same thing as you," Harry said, his eyes on the door leading to the toilets. "Unless you want to step out back for a quick go?"

The bartender gave him a regretful look. "Can't leave the bar." He picked up Harry's empty glass and replaced it with a full one.

Downing it immediately, Harry pointed at his empty glass and nodded. He drank two more in rapid succession. Head spinning slightly, he winked at the bartender. "Better hit the back before I hit the floor. Need some protein to balance that out, if you know what I mean. What time is it?"

"Going on half past." He slipped a condom packet under Harry's hand. "Be smart. Four whiskies in fifteen minutes will knock anybody stupid. 'Course if you wanted, you could just duck behind the bar here. Nobody'd be any the wiser, and your tight arse has my cock drooling."

The memory of yesterday's perfect, perfectly ugly cock sticking through the hole in the bathroom stall was all Harry could think of. "Sorry," he said. "I've got a date." He fervently hoped it was true. He could feel the bartender's eyes on him as he stumbled off.

Two men were using the urinals and Harry, heart once again thudding in his chest, almost turned tail and ran, but forced himself to walk the three paces across the sticky, grimy floor to the empty stalls. He locked the door, checking it twice to make sure, before undoing his flies and taking his cock out. He heard a mumble, then a brayed laugh and flinched back, hoping that neither of the two men he'd seen would enter the empty stall next to him. But the soft susurration of two zips nearly in tandem and the banging of a door signalled their departure and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

He looked at his watch and groaned softly. Still twenty-five minutes before the designated time. What the fuck am I doing? So stupid. It's not like he's going to come back. Wasting half the day hiding in the toilets with my cock hanging out? For what? For what? Still, I'm here. Why not see what happens? Never know.

Taking a seat on the toilet, not touching his cock because it was much too soon, Harry closed his eyes. He'd have liked his mind to go blank, to kill the remaining minutes by dozing, but his brain was in a feverish state, jumping from thoughts of his earlier wank, to Ginny, to Snape's memories, to Snow Vodka, to Ginny, marriage, life, kids, Snape, vodka, Malfoy, Ginny, men, desire, the first time, Ginny, Snape, Malfoy, the last time, uselessness, hopelessness, incompleteness, the next time, victory, death, Snape, Malfoy, Ginny.

Lost in his private hell, Harry didn't hear footsteps, banging door, a zip, nothing at all until several deep, thudding blows struck the wall next to him. He jerked upright, drenched in sweat as if with fever, and looked, wild-eyed, at the cock sliding through the hole between the stalls.

"You asleep in there or what? Take care of this or get the fuck out and give another bloke a chance at nirvana, why don't you? Fucken' amateurs."

The cock on display was ordinary, average, definitely not the same one whose image had been plaguing him for the past day. If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with. The lyrics of the mouldy-oldie flitted through Harry's mind, almost making him giggle. Well, why not?

With one hand on the wall to steady himself as he leant forward, Harry used his other to grasp the stranger's prick, pumping it a few times before lowering his mouth to it. He worked his tongue around the head, probing the tight ring of foreskin and then backing off a bit, grimacing as the strong, unpleasant taste of scented soap invaded his mouth. The soap masked whatever natural taste the prick had and Harry found that disappointing. Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated on working every skill he had to bring the man off quickly and was rewarded a bare two minutes later with a flood of salty spunk over his tongue.

Laughter came from the other side of the wall as the spent cock withdrew and was quickly replaced by another, longer and skinnier. For a shocked moment, Harry thought he must have blacked out for a second, then realised two men were sharing the adjoining stall. Grinning, imagining the first rubbing up against the bum of the second – a deliciously dirty, arousing thought – Harry bent back to his task and brought the second off almost as quickly as the first.

More muffled laughter, two grunted "Thanks," and then two grubby fingers – and they must have belonged to the second man as the first had been too clean to sport such filthy nails – pushed a couple of twenty pound notes into the hole. This was a first; no one had ever taken him for a rent boy before. Harry was momentarily offended, then just smiled and shrugged and pocketed the notes; Muggle money was always useful and what did he care what two strangers thought of him?

Even as he told himself he wasn't going to, Harry glanced at his watch – thirty minutes to go.

I can't believe I just sucked off two total strangers.The thought made him choke on bitter laughter. He'd been sucking off total strangers for twenty years; why should two in rapid succession matter?

As Harry tucked himself away, no longer interested in coming, he listened to the sound of bumps and soft laughter spilling from the adjoining stall. It seemed to take them an interminable amount of time, but finally he heard the two men exit. Once again, Harry closed his eyes and leant his head back against the cool tile. His tongue circuited his mouth, still tasting the combined bitterness of soap and spunk. Harry grinned. Even if his hoped-for assignation didn't happen, the two men had provided fodder for many wank sessions to come.

He spent a few minutes amusing himself with ornamenting the fantasy before letting it go and allowing his mind to simply drift. With his eyes closed, the muted music and soft plink of water dripping from the taps became strangely soothing. It was stupid to wait – he was sure now that the man wouldn't return – but he was...comfortable. Harry smiled at an odd thought, that this was where he belonged, his natural habitat. Then once again he heard someone enter the next stall; once again excitement and fear clashed, churning his stomach; and once again the cock that appeared was not the one he waited for. Busier than platform nine and three-quarters in here. Harry laughed to himself. Well, in for a penny... he thought as he leant forward once again.

Soft grunts of pleasure came from the next stall as Harry took his time, wanting this one to last, to bridge the long minutes until two o'clock. Even if the hoped-for assignation never happened, he'd be able to go home sated, if not completely satisfied. And if his "date" didn't show, Harry would take it as a sign that he was meant to stop, that the cock currently in his mouth would be the last he ever tasted. And if that's the way it is, I'm going to make this the oneto remember.

It took several glorious minutes before Harry heard the accelerated breathing and guttural moans warning him of the punter's imminent explosion. He felt a slight pang of disappointment – as far as he was concerned, he'd have been happy to go on forever – but didn't slow down or ease off until the man's moans were matched by his own near whimpers of arousal and the briny wave at last washed over his tongue.

"Fucking hell! You should blow for England, mate! That was bloody fantastic!"

As usual, Harry remained silent, but he gave the man's limp cock a good-bye lick before gently nudging it back through the glory hole. This time he was wholly amused when a twenty pound note was slipped into the hole, and he pocketed it without hesitation.

For perhaps the thousandth time that day, Harry looked at his watch and then leapt to his feet. 1:59. Panic, the like of which he'd not experienced since the war, pounded through him, making his heart race, constricting his breath, causing his limbs to shake and his brow to bead with sweat. Absurdly, one hand flew up to smooth his hair, while the other attempted to do the same with his clothes. He found himself wishing there were a mirror in the stall. The idea that he could step out and use the one over the sinks flitted through his mind, but the thought of a potential face-to-face encounter made him feel like puking.

Go home! Go home! Go home! It's not too late! Leave! Get out! Go! Oh god! What was I thinking? What the fuck was I thinking?Harry whirled, his fingers fumbling at the door's latch. He was nearly hyperventilating now, dizzy, afraid he might even lose consciousness.

He was too late. Even through the feverish roar of blood in his head, there was no mistaking the squeal of the adjacent stall's door, nor the bang as it closed, nor the rasp of the bolt sliding home. Harry collapsed onto the toilet. As quickly as the panic had risen, it went, replaced by a cold, numb feeling.

"Are you seated, or kneeling?"

The question came in the same grating whisper Harry'd heard the day before and all the blood that had earlier been pounding in his ears rushed to his cock. The cold numbness ignited and burned away in a bright flare of lust.

"Seated," Harry responded, breaking his habitual silence without hesitation, but still cautious enough to disguise his voice.

"I would prefer you on your knees."

Harry looked down at the damp, grotty floor; the idea of kneeling on the filthy tiles was both disturbing and arousing. Given his actions of the last half hour, it also seemed appropriate and oddly amusing. "You're joking."

"You'll get on your knees, you greedy little whore, or we'll stop this farce now."

Harry closed his eyes, uncertain. He wanted to kneel, to grovel, to give in, give up, and he didn't want to.

"You requested this...repeat performance. You want more of my cock and I want you on your knees. It seems a fair exchange." The man sounded almost bored, as if he didn't care if Harry sucked his cock or not. A spark of dismay scorched Harry's nerves. Will he leave if I don't? After everything Harry'd gone through just to be here at this moment, he wasn't willing to risk it. He rose from the toilet, and with only a passing thought for his poor trousers, knelt.

"That's right," the man whispered. "Wallow in the muck like the filthy pig you are." The man slid his cock slowly through the hole as he spoke.

It was even thicker than Harry remembered, and uglier, with thick veins like worms under the surface. Harry swallowed hard against the rush of saliva that flooded his mouth. He leant to take it in his mouth, but the man pulled back slightly.

"Admit you're no more than a whore."

"Yes," Harry whispered, ashamed.

"Tell me. Work for your prize, boy."

"I'm a whore." Saying the words should have been humiliating, not exciting. Harry groaned.

"Pathetic," the man said. "I told you to work for it. You'll have to do better than that."

"Oh god," Harry groaned. The man's ravaged whispers seemed to vibrate along his nerve endings. Harry's cock strained against the thick fabric of his jeans; the friction and the man's voice seemed to be conspiring to finish him off before he'd even begun. "I'm such a slut. I need this so much. I haven't thought of anything other than taking you in my mouth since you left yesterday."

"Better." The stranger seemed to know Harry's exact position and his cock came forward again, but only just far enough to brush against Harry's lip. "More."

In Harry's clouded mind, it seemed both a question and a demand; he responded to both. "Yes. Please. I want you to fuck my mouth, like you did yesterday, hard and fast. I want to be used by you." He couldn't quite believe these words were actually coming out of his mouth. It was never like this with Ginny. No! Don't think of her! He never spoke during these encounters, but now he felt helpless to resist. "If you want a slut, if my being a slut excites you, then I am."

"Yes. You are. How many men did you service with your whore's mouth, you dirty boy? In the last half hour before I appeared, how many spent themselves on your tongue?"

Oh shit!Harry squirmed in an ecstasy of shame. He knows.

"Two?" The cock slid closer.

"Yes." Harry groaned again, extending his neck to take the dark cockhead in his mouth.

"Little liar!" And the cock slipped away again.

"Four, five. I don't remember. I didn't think you would come."

There was a low laugh, and Harry's nerves thrummed excitedly.

Suddenly, his mouth was full, his cheek distended. Harry closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever god was dispensing such gifts. His tongue danced around the glans, probed the tiny piss-slit, wormed its way under a foreskin so thick and heavy it allowed only a portion of slick, sweet cockhead to protrude. Harry felt a rising exultation; everything he was, had ever been, would ever be, seemed to condense into this moment, this pleasure, this burning, painful desire.

So involved was he in his rapture, Harry didn't hear the whispered spell that conjured invisible rope to bind him. Blinding panic struck again. He instinctively tried to jerk away and found that nothing but his head could move, and that only a little – not nearly enough to release the cock from his mouth.

No! Fuck no! No! Fuck! Nononono!

"Such a depraved boy. Such a nasty, dirty boy. Four. Five. You don't remember! And they paid you. Every one of them. Shoved their dirty money through the hole the same way they shoved their dirty cocks into your slutty mouth."

It seemed like each word was punctuated with a violent thrust; each thrust received in fear, in mounting, savage desire. Bound, helpless, reviled and scorned, but willing. Willing and grateful and hungry for all of it.

It seemed like it might go on forever. Harry choked. His eyes watered. His lips seemed stretched to the tearing point. Phlegm welled up, choking him further and greasing the way for the wide head and thick shaft that fucked him without mercy.

His own cock extended down the leg of his trousers, rock hard and rubbing almost painfully against the thick ridge of inseam. Harry came explosively, only just rational enough to keep from biting down.

At last, long minutes after Harry's own orgasm, the man's obscene narrative faded into a low-pitched keening. The savage rhythm of his thrusts eased to a long, slow slide out of Harry's mouth. He spent himself, not, as expected, in Harry's throat, but spurting over his face and chest.

For a long while, there was silence punctuated only by harsh panting and the inevitable rhythmic drip from the tap. Harry licked a thread of spunk from the corner of his mouth, but, still spell-bound, was unable to wipe his face until he realised with a quiet laugh that he didn't need to move to cast his own simple spell. Scourgify! solved the problem of splattered face and sticky pants.

He heard a movement beyond the wall. "Don't," he whispered, not knowing how he knew what was coming. "Don't Obliviate me. Please. I want to remember. This is my last time and it was perfect and I want to remember."

There was no answer, but neither was a spell cast.

"Thank you," Harry said fervently. "Do you think we could–" he stopped, feeling stupid. Oliver sodding Twist. Please, sir. I want more. Pathetic. Disgustingly pathetic. "I want more." If he could have writhed in embarrassment, he would have. Still, he was pleased to hear his voice come out steady rather than desperate.

"Surely you didn't expect to meet your heart's desire in a filthy toilet stall in a club catering to society's dregs?" The harsh voice practically dripped amusement.

Harry flushed and was glad the man couldn't see him. "I didn't...I don't mean a relationship, for god's sake. I...I just want something beyond sucking your cock." Blood was once again pounding in his ears; he only barely heard the hoarse laugh coming from the next stall.

"You want me to fuck you. Can't say it, boy?" The sneering whisper caused a ripple up Harry's spine. "There's insufficient room here."

Harry felt faint; he jerked his head, trying to shake himself out of it.

"In any case, I have no wish to be seen, nor to see you. I'd rather preserve my fantasy of golden youth, I'm sure the reality of you would be depressing. And what would your wife say?"

"How did you know–" Harry cut himself off abruptly.

"I didn't. But I do now, you idiot. I hope for your sake you're good looking enough to get by with so little brain."

Harry smiled happily – knowing he'd just been insulted, he wasn't sure why.

"Two minutes. The alley at the back."

Shocked disbelief collided with a wild delirious hope. Too stunned to respond, Harry rocked back on his heels, not registering the sounds he usually waited for. Then he started. How long had he been crouching here? How many minutes had passed? Rising unsteadily to his feet, he felt for his vial of Prostasy. Halfway to his mouth, his hand stopped. Later, he thought. After. He stumbled out of the stall, hurriedly splashed water on his face, drying it on the tail of his t-shirt, and quickly headed for the rear door.

Too late! Too fucking late!He'd stepped out of the bar's back corridor and into the alley just in time to catch a glimpse of the man before he Disapparated. For several long minutes, Harry stared at the spot where he'd vanished, unable to comprehend what he'd seen, what he thought he'd seen. For an instant the man's face had been lit by the streetlamp illuminating the mouth of the alley: just enough time to register sallow skin and a hawk-like nose; just enough time to send Harry's reality spinning.

~*~*~*~*~
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Sadness of Eros