Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Putting You In Your Place	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 22652 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 1-Putting You In Your Place
- 1
Putting You in Your Place
Monday
It was with a fair amount of trepidation that Harry approached the dungeon that evening. The temperature dropped with every step, and Harry pulled his cloak more tightly around himself, grateful that he had the foresight to bring it along. He breathed into his hands and couldn't suppress the shiver that coursed through him. The thought of spending five evenings in a row with Snape no longer scared him, but would it kill the man to light a fire? He was less worried about what Snape would be making him do and more worried that he might freeze to death first.
Harry's mind went back to what brought him to his unfortunate Monday evening activity, and he couldn't stop his mouth from twitching into a small smirk. He still felt like it was kind of worth it, though he wondered if he would still feel that way by Friday. Nevertheless, Harry didn't think he'd ever seen his professor go that red before. Of course, intentionally baiting Snape was about as safe as hand-feeding a great white, but sometimes doing something that stupid made for highly entertaining results.
Potions, as a rule, was never a lesson one would look forward to—unless, of course, you're in Slytherin. Harry always had a talent for pissing Snape off just by breathing, so it didn't come as a shock that his well-timed comeback had earned him a week's detentions. Still, he was fairly certain that any reasonable teacher would have given him one detention, not five. Of course, Harry doubted that the word reasonable was not in the Potions Master's vocabulary, at least when it came to him.
Harry found himself quite suddenly outside of Snape's office door. He was still enjoying the afterglow of Ron and Seamus heartily congratulating him on infuriating the Potions Master for the sixteenth time that term, while Hermione tutted and tried to ignore them. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the most brilliant idea to intentionally piss him off, but he was still trying to tell himself that his reaction was worth it. Of course, following up a demand of Snape's with, 'a gentleman would buy me dinner first,' was both completely worth it, and one of his less brilliant moves. He was amazed that he'd only lost Gryffindor a mere fifty points, though had Ron and Seamus not turned their laughs into highly unconvincing coughing fits, it could have been much worse.
He knocked twice upon the door, and it swung open of its own accord. Harry stepped inside, chewing on the inside of his cheek out of nervous habit and he eyed the Potions Master. “Sit.” Harry dropped his bag near the desk, and sat in one of the high-backed chairs that faced his desk. He did not fail to notice that the chair was slightly lower to the ground than the one Snape sat in, making him seem taller than usual. Snape rested his elbows against the surface of the desk, and steepled his fingers. While everything from Snape's posture to the low chair was obviously intended to make the student in question feel inferior, he was too used to Snape's barbs for it to have much effect. Nevertheless, he kept his mouth shut while he waited for the professor to speak.
“It would seem that in the seven years you have spent at this school has done little to deflate that ego of yours.” Snape's voice was steady, but Harry could sense the thinly veiled threat in his words. “While I am loath to believe in miracles, perhaps spending your nights re-entering the reference notes for the Hospital Wing will curb your impulse to talk out of turn.” He flicked his wand, several thick folders and a stack of blank parchment flew to a desk in the corner of the office that Harry had not noticed before. “Begin. I will alert you when your detention for this evening is completed.”
Grinding his teeth, Harry trudged over to the desk, pulled out his quill and bottle of ink, and opened the top folder. He found quickly it was going to be a long night, as the notes he was to recopy were terribly, mind-numbingly, tedious. Alteratives, he wrote, Agents that tend gradually alter a condition. Alteratives are often combined with botanicals listed under 'aromatics', 'bitter tonics', and 'demulcents'. He genuinely had no clue what Snape expected him to gain from rewriting Madam Pomfrey's reference materials. At the same time, it shocked him that the punishment was so...mild. Compared to some of the detentions he'd served in the past, and considering what he'd said, he was expecting something much worse. Even now, the memory caused his lips to twitch into a faint smile. Considering the amount of snide remarks and blatant Slytherin favouritism he'd been subject to over the past seven years, it was nice to throw a little back, even if the moment only lasted for barely thirty seconds.
He stared down at his work, using the neatest handwriting he could, knowing full well that Snape would have no problems making him rewrite it if it was messy. The work itself was as boring as he expected, and held his attention about as well as a lecture from Professor Binns.
Harry rested the thumb of his free hand between his teeth, biting down on it as he focused on the task at hand. He felt a surge of frustration every time he chanced his eyes to flick to the clock on the wall, which seemed to have slowed down to a tenth of its normal speed. Harry was acutely aware of Snape's eyes on him, and whether he was ensuring that Harry wasn't slacking off or waiting to catch him doing something he shouldn't in an excuse to give him even more detention—he wasn't sure. In these instances he kept his gaze focused on the pages before him, determined not to give Snape any free ammunition. At the same time, the stare seemed more intense than the scathing glares he'd been given during his lessons. They seemed more intense somehow, and Harry squirmed in his chair, unsettled by the look he was being given.
He stifled a small yawn with the back of his hand, and he once again felt the black eyes upon him. He found himself recalling fondly those wonderful few weeks in fifth year when Snape was so furious at him that he would ignore him completely. Though still far from fun, it was definitely better than being stared at so intently. Harry shifted uncomfortably and struggled to keep his focus on the work he was expected to do, not daring to tell Snape to knock it off. Demulcents, he wrote, Substances usually of a mucilaginous and bland nature, taken internally for their soothing and protective-coating properties...
The eyes looked away, and Harry felt his shoulders sag, unaware until that moment just how tense he was feeling. He chanced a glance at the time, but he still had forty-five minutes to go. His thumb slipped back into his mouth, he absently chewing against the cuticles as he worked, while he struggled to stifle his yawns. The work was extremely boring, and between Quidditch, lessons, and revision for his N.E.W.T.s, it was no wonder that he was already so exhausted.
A sudden hand on his shoulder made Harry jump sharply, blotting the parchment with a droplet of black ink. The hand retracted quickly, “mark your place Potter, you will resume tomorrow evening at eight o'clock.” Harry looked up, but Snape was already striding back to his desk, resuming his work. Harry flicked his wand to remove the ink blot, tucked a scrap of parchment in the folder where he had stopped, and walked from the office as fast as he dared without breaking into a run.
Harry rushed back to the Gryffindor common room, and was unsurprised to find Ron and Hermione waiting for him. He fell into a chair near the fire, and dug into his bag for his Transfiguration homework. Tired as he was, McGonagall would flay him alive if he was late on his homework again.
“What's Snape having you do?” Ron asked, looking up from a Potions essay that he was rewriting, Hermione's neat handwriting in red scattered across the first draft.
“Rewrite reference stuff for Pomfrey,” Harry replied with a yawn, “it's boring, but it could be worse. I thought I'd be disemboweling horned toads or something.”
“Weird. Yeah that's really, well, tame for him. Forget disembowelling toads, I was sure he'd be practising Unforgivables on you or something,” Ron snickered, “I don't think I've ever seen him get that mad before.”
“That's illegal Ron, even Snape wouldn't do that. But you still shouldn't have said that to Snape, Harry,” Hermione tutted. Harry looked up, and was amazed to see her go back to her runes homework without further comment.
“It was brilliant though,” Ron said with a snicker. “I thought he was going to have you drawn and quartered right there.”
“He would've figured out a way to give me detention anyway Hermione,” Harry said, she still eyeing him with a distinct look of disapproval. He pulled his unfinished essay toward him, “may as well go out with a bang.”
“Yeah well a few more cracks like that and I wouldn't put it past him to actually murder you,” said Ron with a laugh.

Tuesday
Harry felt significantly less worried about his impending detention than he had the previous evening. This was in part because he had two free periods that day, where he and Ron played several games of Exploding Snap, while blatantly ignoring Hermione's dire warnings that they would get nothing but T's on their N.E.W.T.s. Of course, her reprimands fell on deaf ears, and she eventually gave up. She once more buried herself in her Arithmancy homework, looking up occasionally to watch the boys play.
Harry silently hoped that his better than average Tuesday would at least keep him at least partially conscious during his detention that evening. He bid Ron and Hermione goodbye and set off for the dungeons, Hermione giving him a well-you-did-break-the-rules sort of look, while Ron wished him luck with a faint smile. He wasn't sure if he'd need it, though it was more likely he'd need an Anti Smartass Remarks Charm, rather than luck, if Snape decided to dig into him again.
He knocked twice on the office door, and after a moment it swung open. As it did so, Harry could have sworn he saw the side door in his office snap shut. Harry stepped inside, and when he did not immediately see Snape he felt a combination of panic and confusion—panic because of the disaster that followed the last time he had been left alone in Snape's office, and confusion as to why the door would admit him if the Potions Master was elsewhere.
“Potter,” Harry's gaze swiveled to the right and away from the office's side door, and he saw Snape bent over a cauldron. He was intently focused on the task at hand, and while Harry was curious as to what the potion could be, he had little desire to engage the Potions Master in small talk. “Resume where you left off yesterday. I will alert you when it is time to leave.”
Harry found it particularly odd that Snape hadn't even paused to insult him before setting him to his task, but he wasn't about to complain. He dropped his bag next to the little desk, found his place and resumed, biting back the desire to huff in frustration, dreading the hour that lay ahead of him.
Behind him, Harry could hear the soft sounds of Snape working. He could not figure out why he found it so distracting, even though the sounds couldn't be more than the scrape of stirring spoon against pewter, or the occasional hiss as Snape dropped in another ingredient. He had a feeling telling the Potions Master to keep it down would be an extremely bad idea.
Harry turned as quietly as he could, hoping that he would finish soon so that he could refocus on the work and get the bloody detention over with, but instead he felt his face go red, and he quickly turned back to his work. Snape wasn't wearing his robes, and instead was wearing something similar to Muggle clothing but...not quite. Without the overlarge black robes making him look like an overgrown bat, he was shown to be leanly muscular, in a fitted black button-down shirt tucked into a pair of black trousers. The unsettling aspect for Harry was how good he looked.
Harry was not unacquainted with his attraction to men. There had been the summer before his fourth year where he had snuck off with Charlie during the World Cup, and last year's mutual groping sessions with McLaggen, but this was Snape. Harry shook himself, and tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing. Nervines, Agents that tend to abate, or temporarily relax, nonserious nervous irritation, due to excitement, strain, or fatigue...
Harry found it particularly difficult to concentrate that evening, his mind fluctuating between kicking himself for checking out someone like Snape, and wondering what it'd be like to blow the man. It was made ten times worse when Snape felt compelled to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing remarkably toned forearms. The sight made Harry feel uncomfortably warm, despite the chill of the dungeon.
Suffice it to say, Harry left his detention that evening with an extremely painful hard-on.
Harry took a quick detour to the lavatory to relieve himself, then rushed back to Gryffindor tower, all but running to his dormitory. He was certain his guilty face would give him away if Ron or Hermione stopped him to ask him how the detention went.
Though he wasn't in the least bit tired, he changed into his pyjamas and climbed into his four poster, making sure to close the curtains completely. He flopped backward on the bed with a soft groan of frustration, and slammed his pillow over his face. How was he going to face Snape tomorrow without turning bright red? A small part of him quivered with excitement at the thought of seeing him again, but he quickly quashed it. This is Snape, he told himself, He's a teacher, for one, and he hates you. You're not supposed to be wanking to the thought of him. The last thought sent an involuntary shiver of arousal to his groin, despite his best efforts to ignore it.
Harry heard the door open, “Harry? You all right mate?” He fought the urge to groan, and he had a funny feeling that Hermione probably put Ron up to checking on him, given that he didn't sound worried at all.
“Yeah, fine,” he mumbled, his voice distinctly muffled for the pillow he still had pressed into his face.
“Snape didn't give you a hard time or anything did he?” Harry almost choked into cotton. Hard time. Of course Ron had to use that phrase.
“No nothing like that, same as yesterday,” Harry's voice was still muffled, what with him pressing the pillow even harder into his face, causing his glasses to bite into the skin on the bridge of his nose, but he'd be damned if Ron saw him turning bright red at the mere mention of their cranky, greasy Potions Master.
“Harry, are you sure you're all right? You're acting very...odd.”
“M'fine, tired,” he mumbled, still keeping his head buried. Finally, Ron gave up trying the wheedle the truth out of him. Harry heard the door close and the descending footfalls of Ron heading back to the common room.

Wednesday
Harry's day was an unrivalled disaster. It started when Harry woke from a particularly erotic dream involving a certain professor putting him over his knee, leaving Harry feeling sticky, distinctly freaked out, and unsatisfied in equal measure. Of course, Ron, Seamus, and Dean spent a good portion of the morning pestering him to tell them who he had been dreaming about—Neville seemed reluctant to join in—which only stopped when Hermione joined them in the Great Hall.
Most unfortunately, Harry was so caught up worrying about his afternoon double Potions lesson and subsequent detention, he paid almost no mind to his morning lessons. In addition, Ron and Hermione had started asking him, “are you sure you're okay?” at random intervals, as though they were trying to surprise an answer out of him. This had annoyed Harry so much that by lunchtime he chose a place at the Gryffindor table far from the pair of them.
As he braced himself to head down to the dungeons, he struggled to put the images from last night's dream out of his mind, with little success. The memories resurfaced, and he shuddered a little, wishing now he had time for a quick trip to the loo before the lesson began. However, he had no desire to give Snape a reason to give him more detention, and so he hastened to the Potions classroom, sincerely grateful that his voluminous school robes left so much to the imagination.
Harry deliberately picked a desk at the very back of the class. Ron and Hermione joined him, though they had thankfully stopped pestering him to divulge his current crisis. Snape swept into the room, donned once more in his overlarge robes and back to his look akin to that of an overlarge bat. He reached the front of the class and the light murmur of talk ceased immediately.
“Today you will be brewing the Draught of Tranquility,” he said in his low, even tones. Harry bowed his head as low as he dared, feeling the heat in his face, certain that it was going red. Snape's voice never sounded good to him before; the fact that he was enjoying listening to it so much made him feel almost dirty. “This is a common potion that may appear in your N.E.W.T.s. It is generally administered to witches and wizards with damage to their minds, either by curse or natural cause. The instructions—” he tapped the blackboard, “—are on the board. You may begin.”
Despite his best efforts, Harry could feel his neck getting progressively warmer as the lesson went on. Embarrassed, he kept his head bowed and tried to focus on the task at hand. Unfortunately, Snape couldn't have assigned a more finicky potion, forcing the seventh years to work with ingredients they did not use too often, including basan feathers, gila monster scales, and cobra venom. The fact that Snape was sweeping through the classroom, belittling the Gryffindors and praising his Slytherins did little to ease Harry's stress. However, he was relieved that he had something to focus on, effectively pushing his wet dreams involving the Potions Master to the back of his mind.
At the end of the double period, Snape called for their attention once more, “your Draughts need to stew under this week's new moon. You will resume next lesson. Dismissed.” Harry glanced doubtfully at his Draught, which was far too pink compared to Hermione's ruby red brew, but he was more amazed that Snape had not wandered over to sneer at his effort. He wasn't sure whether he was pleased or frustrated about that.

~

That evening Harry headed down to the dungeons for his third detention, his stomach in knots. He still couldn't pin down the fixation he had suddenly developed for a man who openly loathed him, wondering if he was subconsciously a masochist, or just a glutton for punishment. Harry had spent the better part of his rushed dinner stealing glances at the professor, but when Hermione started to ask what he was looking at, he quickly stopped.
'This is insane,' Harry thought as he rushed towards the dungeons for the third detention, 'he's my bloody professor, and he's way older than me. Oh, and there's the part where he hates me with every fibre of his being.' He shook his head, raked his fingers through his hair, effectively making it even messier than usual, and skidded to a halt in front of Snape's office, just barely on time.
“Potter,” Snape drawled as Harry stepped nervously over the threshold, “you are two minutes late.” Harry gritted his teeth, swallowing the scathing remark that had settled in his throat. “Let's make that five points from Gryffindor for each minute. Get to work or it will be twenty.” Harry garbled something that something was close to 'yes sir,' but it seemed to stumble in his throat, and came out as a grunt. He strode over to the desk, and resumed the tedious task he had been set.
Unlike the previous two evenings, Harry had too much on his mind to even feel bored. He chewed on the cuticles around his thumbnail absently, and punctuated his work with furtive glances towards Snape, furious at his loss of points for something so ridiculous, and also unsettled by the growing warmth in the pit of his stomach every time he glanced towards his professor. He felt his cheeks grow warm, but if Snape had noticed, he didn't comment on it. He was back to sitting behind his desk, but sans robes, giving Harry the opportunity to ogle the man to his heart's content.
Of course, his glances lasted no more than a millisecond. Harry had no illusions to the kind of person Snape was, and he had a feeling that if he was caught looking, it wouldn't end well for him. He was acutely aware of Snape staring him down with equal intensity, though Harry supposed he was looking for Harry to be slacking off, for another thinly veiled excuse to dock even more points from Gryffindor. It was still enough to give Harry a painful erection for the second half of his detention, and it took a great deal of self-control to keep from squirming in his seat.
A hand grasped Harry's shoulder, and he managed to keep from blotting the parchment this time. Snape retracted his hand quickly. “Until tomorrow, Mr Potter,” he said while Harry gathered up his bag, quill, and ink, and hurried out of the dungeons without another word.

Thursday
'Two to go...' Harry thought through his fog of exhaustion. He was thoroughly grateful that he didn't talk in his sleep, though he was less than thrilled to wake from his highly satisfying dream to find his right hand absently stroking himself. He was at once horrified and too horny to care, and he beat himself off halfheartedly before sliding out of bed to get dressed.
The day passed around him in the same somnolent haze. He was grateful that his feigned mood of 'I'm fine' seemed to placate his two best friends, as they had finally stopped giving him weird looks and asking if he was all right at random intervals. Unfortunately, his exhaustion made him feel like the day had been turned into one painfully long Divination lesson. No matter what he did, he couldn't clear the sleepy and stupid fog from his brain.
By dinner, he had finally managed to properly rouse himself, and had managed to work himself back into a state of frustratingly conflicting emotions. He was excited to see Snape, horrified that he was excited to see Snape, and dreading an hour rewriting the most boring notes he had ever laid eyes on. His feeble attempts of trying to remind himself that he was supposed to hate Snape, not lust after him proved much more difficult to work through. Even the thought of that voice was enough to make his cock twitch. If his internal conflict showed on his face, Ron and Hermione didn't comment on it. After barely touching his dinner, he bid the pair farewell and headed out of the Great Hall, slinging his bag onto his back.
Harry felt weak in the knees as he approached the imposing door to Snape's office. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, and tried to quell the faint tendril of excitement that twisted in his belly. He could feel the jumble of his overly horny teenage subconscious jumbling up with the reality of who Snape actually was, and he shook his head several times in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts. It didn't help.
Harry reached the office door he raised his hand to knock, but a soft sound stopped him short. On the other side of the door he heard a soft mewling noise, like someone in pain...or in the throes of passion. He seriously doubted that it was the latter, and despite his urge to turn and leave Snape to whatever he was doing, he knew the Potions Master would love to use his absence as an excuse to dock another fifty points from Gryffindor. Swallowing past the nervous lump in his throat, he knocked.
The door did not open straightaway, and Harry could hear a strange muffled scuffling taking place inside the office. After a moment the door opened, and on the other side was—Draco Malfoy. Harry blinked in surprise, as this was not the typical haughty, arrogant Slytherin he was accustomed to seeing. His hair was mussed, his cheeks were flushed, and his robes were distinctly rumpled. “Er—” Harry was struck dumb, but Malfoy did not explain himself. He smirked knowingly at Harry, swept past him and headed down the passageway.
“Inside Potter,” Snape's voice cut through his dazed surprise, and he turned his attention back to the Professor, who was leaning against his desk, but looked no different. He cast a final glance back down the passage Malfoy had headed down and back to the man, before stepping over the threshold and into the office.
“Professor, what—” Harry began, unable to stifle his curiosity.
“Mr Malfoy had to see me regarding his Head Boy duties. It is nothing to concern yourself with.” Snape cut him off, and it took Harry a good deal of effort to not snort derisively. Head Boy duties, sure. “Resume your work. I promise you that if you do not finish I will be delighted to extend your evenings here into the following week.” His tone was close enough to a threat that Harry didn't answer back. He stepped over to the little desk, and sat down heavily.
As expected, the work had not miraculously become more interesting overnight, and Harry found it as difficult as ever to stay focused. Expectorants, he began, Agents used to induce expulsion or loosen phlegm of the mucous membranes of the bronchial and nasal passages...
Unlike the last two evenings, Snape was back in his voluminous robes. Harry hated himself for being disappointed by this, as he was unable to get in a good ogle during the evening's detention. 'He. Is. Snape.' Harry told himself firmly after his fifth furtive glance towards him, though his downstairs brain seemed to be ignoring the sentiment.
'He is a greasy git who hates your guts.' Despite his best efforts to talk himself out of it, his mind kept flitting back to his recent dreams, still as clear in his mind as though he was watching it on a film reel. His face grew warm, and his eyes flitted briefly to the Potions Master, who was back behind his desk, an overlarge stack of parchment in front of him, and a crow's feather quill in hand.
Harry found his eyes drawn more than once to the long fingers that curled around the quill. What would those fingers feel like against his skin? Each time he felt a jolt to his groin, and in response he felt his face heat up. He tried his best to not look, but it was as though his eyes had been magnetically drawn to the man's hands, regardless what the sensible part of his brain was trying to tell him. 'Greasy git, greasy git, greasy git...Damn it, snap out of it,' he told himself more than once, following each chanced gander at the professor not five feet from him.
“Is there something you need, Potter?” Snape asked him not fifteen minutes later, when Harry had once again chanced a glimpse in his direction, only to be caught looking. His tone was the usual slow drawl, though without the venom that it often carried when he spoke to Harry.
“I—er—” he felt his face go red, despite his best efforts to resist. “Nothing sir,” he mumbled and turned back to his recopying. Not ten seconds later, a large hand slammed down on the old parchment he had been copying from, and he jumped, his head snapping up in surprise.
“Lesser teachers may allow you to get away with neglecting the task before you, but I will not tolerate it. You are in detention Potter, not your common room. If you so much as sneeze, I will not hesitate to give you another week's detention.” Snape's eyes glittered dangerously, a look he was all too familiar with, and Harry knew it was not an empty threat. At the same time, the idea of spending another week with the man did not hold the same dread it normally would have done. It sent a thrill straight to his groin. “Do I make myself clear, Potter? Or do I need to further simplify your reason for being here?”
Harry's face burned again, uncertain though whether it was from anger or lust. “No sir,” he mumbled, tightly clenching his quill in an effort to keep from saying anything he might regret. At the same time, the close proximity to the subject of his dreams for the past three nights all but made him tremble with desire.
Snape leaned forward suddenly, and Harry jumped up from the chair with a start, effectively stumbling into the wall behind him. The Potions Master followed his movements smoothly, and pressed his forearm across Harry's sternum, effectively pinning him in place. He lifted his right arm in an attempt to push the man off, but Snape merely reached out and coiled his fingers around Harry's wrist and pressed it back into the stone. Harry's breath hitched, and he tried again with his left, but Snape merely lifted his arm from the boy's chest, caught the wrist, and lifted it to join its opposite against the cold stone of the dungeon wall. Harry stared at his Professor with wide eyes. While his subconscious and his cock may have fantasized about scenes similar to this, Harry was wholly unprepared to cope with the fact that it was actually happening.
“I am not a fool, Potter,” he murmured, his low tones making Harry shiver. “I have seen the way you look at me. It is very...distracting.” He leaned closer and Harry's gasped softly, wondering vaguely if he had fallen asleep. Snape's lips ghosted over his own, as though testing the waters, his hands still holding him firmly in place. Harry licked his lips and strained halfheartedly against the older man, but the fear and lust that coursed through him made it hard to decide whether he wanted to bolt or let the professor bend him over the desk.
Snape took one step forward, forcing Harry to part his legs slightly as the Potions Master's thigh pressed into his groin. Harry inhaled sharply, and his eyes fluttered shut as Snape moved forward again, capturing the boy's lips in a kiss.
Harry's mind went blank. It took him a second to wrap his head around the fact that what was happening was definitely real, and not some highly realistic fantasy. The man's tongue brushed against his lower lip brought Harry back to reality. He opened his mouth with a small eager moan, extending his own tongue to meet it. Harry struggled against the strong man restraining him, but he wasn't surprised when Snape did not relinquish his hold. He groaned softly through the kiss, his tongue twining with Snape's, exploring the older man's mouth as thoroughly as he explored Harry's.
Harry felt the firm hold on his wrists relax slightly, and Snape pulled back while tugging lightly at Harry's bottom lip before letting go. Snape regarded him through half-lidded eyes that told him all too well that he wanted to do more than just kiss the boy, but perhaps something in Harry's expression held him back.
“Go, dismissed,” he said hoarsely, and he turned from Harry and walked stiffly back to his desk. It took Harry a moment for his brain to switch back on from the numb, lust-fuelled shock. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but he succeeded only in becoming more aware of the painful hardness straining against his trousers, as well as the wet spot that had blossomed there. Struggling against his strong desire to straddle the professor seated back behind his desk, Harry gathered up his things and stepped reluctantly out of the dungeon office.

Friday
“Harry?”
“Hm?” Harry looked up from his breakfast, which he had been poking at for the last ten minutes but not really eating it, and he refocused his attention on Hermione. She looked tense and worried.
“Erm, I was wondering if everything went all right. I mean last night in your detention with Snape?”
“Same as the rest of the week. Why?” His voice quivered more than he liked when he answered her, and Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Well when you got back last night, you...well...” she trailed off, her cheeks tinting a faint pink.
“You looked like you lost a wrestling match with the giant squid, mate.” Ron chimed in as he sat down heavily next to Harry and helped himself to a mountain of eggs and bacon. Harry crammed a triangle of toast into his mouth, and was thankful that for once he seemed able to control the flush that threatened to colour his face.
“Er, no. Everything was fine,” Harry said thickly around the toast. Of course, everything was far from fine. He was riddled with anxiety about tonight's final detention, though how could he tell his two best friends what actually happened? Knowing Hermione, she would probably try to stop him from actually going to the detention—or tell McGonagall. Ron would most likely too flabbergasted to form a coherent thought, or pitch a fit. It was difficult to predict Ron's reactions on the best of days, and it seemed unlikely that he would react anywhere near well to what had transpired the night before.
Hermione eyed Harry, but she didn't verbally respond. As she turned back to her porridge, a dusky grey owl fluttered down to Harry and landed between the pumpkin juice jug and the near-empty platter of kipper, sticking out its leg. A tightly wound scroll was tied there with thin black cord, and Harry swallowed nervously, having a feeling that he knew who it was from. He removed the letter, his hands shaking a little, and he gave the owl a bit of his bacon in thanks. It hooted appreciatively, and took off.
“What is it?” Hermione asked as she leaned over his shoulder to see, but as Harry unrolled it and recognized the neat handwriting that had adorned many an essay over the past six years, he turned away so that she couldn't see it.
Mr Potter,
Your final detention will be relocated to my private chambers this evening at 8 o'clock. Be punctual.
S. Snape
Harry felt as though he had been hit with the Jelly Legs Jinx, and he was grateful that he was sitting down. He felt certain that had he been standing, he may have fallen over in shock. He read the note several times with wide eyes, to make sure he wasn't misreading it, and his gaze flicked up to the staff table, and his eyes met the Potions Master's. He felt a thrill of excitement run through him as the man inclined his head ever so slightly, and in that moment he knew that he wasn't messing with Harry—he was serious.
He turned back to the table and tried to reign in his emotions, with little success. “Harry?” Hermione's timid voice broke through the veil of shock. He looked up at her, and she appeared as anxious as he felt. He folded up the note and crammed it in his pocket before either she or Ron would have a chance to see what it said, also to give himself a split second to try and regain some sense of composure.
“It's fine,” he said, stopping himself from saying great, which proved more difficult than he had expected. “Snape's just moving my detention to—another classroom.” In an attempt at sounding casual he added, “I suppose he wants me to end the week skinning shrivelfigs or something.”
“Oh if that's all,” Hermione's form relaxed, though the look of worry never left in her eyes. “You looked like the note said somebody had died.”
“Did I?” Harry asked vaguely, his casual tone marred only slightly by his nervousness at the prospect of meeting Snape that evening. “Well, I've just got a lot on my mind, y'know Quidditch and lessons and things...” he trailed off lamely and shifted his gaze back to his breakfast, doing his best to ignore the suspicious stare Hermione was still giving him.
The day felt like one long Quidditch match to Harry, as he spent a good portion of it avoiding interrogative questions from Hermione. She pelted them at him so frequently he felt like he was dodging an endless series of bludgers. It was clear that she hadn't believed his feeble excuse at breakfast, and she only stopped when Ron stepped in. It was clear that he, too, was curious about what the note at breakfast had said, though he seemed content to let Harry tell them in his own time, rather than spend the day pestering him.
By the time Harry sat down for dinner that evening, he felt less like he was partaking in a Quidditch match, and more like he was about to face another Hungarian Horntail. Not that he was complaining exactly, but the prospect of getting fucked by a teacher was much more nerve wracking than sneaking off with someone his own age. What if Snape thought he wasn't any good? Not that he'd ever had any complaints, but this was an older man. He had experience, and if last night's kiss was any indication—a lot of experience. Harry shivered a little.
Next to him, Harry could hear the low murmur of Ron and Hermione bickering over Ron's active disinterest in N.E.W.T revision for the fifteenth time that day. Ron was exasperated and Hermione was vehement, but Harry wasn't listening closely enough to follow their conversation, as he was too preoccupied with the endless stream of excited and nervous thoughts that shot through his mind. He wasn't sure if he was going to throw up or pass out. There was a definite thrill in what his evening would most likely entail, but waiting not-so-patiently for the time to come was maddening.
“I better go,” Harry announced finally, proud that there was no tremor in his voice. “I'll see you guys later,” he lifted a hand to bid his friends farewell, and left his virtually untouched dinner behind. He was too busy trying to act normal to pay much attention to their expressions, which were mirrored looks of worry and suspicion.
Harry had left the Great Hall early on purpose, as he had only been down to Snape's private chambers once before on a dare, an activity he had little desire to repeat—until now. Blinding nervousness and thrilling excitement overwhelmed him and he walked stiffly. He licked his lips, and his mouth felt so dry it was as though it had been filled with cotton.
While he was so nervous it was close to genuine fear, he was also engulfed in an excitement that made him feel a little lightheaded. Harry had no idea that one of his more harebrained fantasies had even the remotest chance of coming true, but here he was, about to experience it. Harry was relieved that he hadn't eaten much at dinner—he still felt as though he might puke.
Harry arrived outside the chamber door more quickly than he had expected. He ran his tongue over the ridge of his front teeth, a nervous reaction, and he took a deep, steadying breath. He raised his fist to the door and knocked twice.
Not a second later the door creaked open, and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Snape stood on the other side of the door, and Harry swallowed thickly in a vain attempt to quell his nervousness. “Mr Potter,” Snape greeted, his smooth velvet tones washing over him as though he had sunk into a hot, relaxing bath. “Do come in,” he stepped aside and allowed Harry to pass. He stepped in stiffly, but was relieved when he managed to avoid stumbling over his robes or doing anything equally as embarrassing. Snape was dressed more casually than he had ever seen him, though he still looked incredible to Harry, in fitted black slacks and a white button-down shirt that clung to his frame every time he moved. He chewed on his bottom lip as he drunk in the sight of him.
Harry took a moment to force his gaze away from the older man and admire the cozy atmosphere of the space. It was fairly similar to what Harry had expected, with plush black rugs, teak bookcases, and antique furniture, while expensive-looking woven tapestries adorned the walls. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and Harry noticed a carafe of some amber liquid sitting out on the coffee table.
He was jarred from his daze by a large hand pressing into the small of his back. He looked up, and he was struck suddenly just how tall Snape seemed to him. In truth he was barely a head above Harry, but in that moment, he looked like a giant. The Potions Master slid his hand up Harry's back, stopping to grip the boy's shoulder. Harry shivered under his touch, and he felt some of his nervousness slip away.
Harry allowed Snape to steer him to a high backed chair that faced the low table, and he sat down heavily. A moment later, he felt a glass being pressed into his hands. He looked down, to see that it had been filled with a small measure of the drink, then back up to Snape, who had joined him in the adjacent chair. “I believe you said something about buying you dinner first,” Snape drawled, to which Harry's faced burned, “will this suffice?” The ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of Snape's mouth as he lifted the glass in a silent toast, then sipped it.
Harry mirrored his movements, feeling like a cretin in the presence of someone who clearly knew a little something about class. The drink burned going down, but not unpleasantly. His enjoyment seemed to show on his face as Snape said, “It's elf-distilled brandy,” a trace of amusement laced the words. “It's not often I feel a compulsion to share my stores; consider yourself fortunate, Potter.” He lifted his glass to his lips again, his eyes roving over Harry in a way that made him feel warm all over.
Harry found that he had absolutely no idea what to say. When he wasn't trading insults with the man, he realized that despite their mutual attraction, they had nothing in common. “Er—thanks,” he mumbled in response to Snape's earlier statement, and he sipped the brandy, liking the way the liqueur rolled over his tongue and down his throat. Snape inclined his head as though to silently say, 'you're welcome,' though the words never actually passed his lips.
They drank in silence. Harry struggled to find something to say that didn't sound completely stupid, but he kept coming up empty. When he drained the last of the drink he had been given, he replaced the glass on the tabletop. The alcohol had calmed him, but he could still feel the faint quiver of his hands shaking a little, though he could no longer tell if it was from excitement or nervousness.
Harry glanced up and saw that Snape was regarding him with a look of hungry desire. It sent shocks of arousal to his groin, and he felt his cock twitch slightly. His own glass had already been replaced on the tabletop, and it was as though he had been waiting for Harry to finish. Harry felt himself flush under the man's intense gaze, and he licked his lips in nervous anticipation.
Snape stood and crossed the distance between them in one stride, cupped Harry's face in his hands and captured his mouth in a kiss. Harry reached up to wrap his arms around his professor's neck, and he allowed Snape to pull him to his feet. He felt his remaining nervousness wash away, and he parted his lips in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Snape groaned softly, and he shifted his hands from Harry's face to slip under his robes and press against his ribs, allowing his hands to slide slowly downwards, before resting on his waist. His fingers slipped under the hem of Harry's jumper to caress the skin stretched over his hipbones. The light contact made him shiver.
Harry tried to inch closer, but Snape's grip held him fast. He groaned softly in slight frustration, but the feeling of the Potions Master's teeth nipping at his lower lip chased the emotion from his mind. His arms clung more securely around his neck, and he extended his thumb to caress the back of the man's neck, eliciting a soft groan from him. He felt the older man apply pressure to his hips, forcing him to step backward and press into the wall of the sitting room, and it took a great effort on Harry's part to stifle a laugh. Coupled with what he knew of the man, it was clear that he demanded full control not just in the classroom, but in the bedroom as well.
Not that Harry was complaining. He found the action of submitting to the whims of the older man to be highly arousing. He attempted to relay this to Snape with a soft groan, though it shifted to a whimper of protest as Snape retracted his hands momentarily, only to slide them up to his shoulders, and push off Harry's outer robes in one smooth movement. They pooled around his feet, and he felt the Potions Master's hands move to his neck, cold fingers brushing against the heat of his skin, a sensation that made him shiver.
Snape pulled back momentarily, causing Harry to whine in protest. The man's eyes, once reminding him so vividly of dark tunnels, were now alight with lust. He felt the same hungry desire in the pit of his stomach, and he stared his professor down, while he allowed the tip of his tongue to run over his upper lip. He grinned a little sheepishly, catching his lower lip in between his teeth.
Snape had watched the entire show of the young man's attempt as seduction, and the obvious inexperience paired with his blatant desire seemed to amuse the older man, watching Harry with a small smirk playing across his lips. Harry did not have to wait long before Snape closed the distance between them, sucking the boy's lower lip into his mouth, pulling another small moan from him. Harry could feel the smirk against his own mouth. He parted his lips, extending his tongue and tasting the brandy upon the older man's tongue, and he shuddered, another moan escaping him before he was able to stifle it. Hot breath tickled his mouth as Snape chuckled.
Reluctant to break apart, Snape manoeuvred Harry towards the bedroom, smirking at the boy's barely contained enthusiasm. While Harry could still feel the smallest bit of nervousness underlying his conglomeration of other emotions, his near-painful erection straining against his trousers did most of the thinking for him, and he allowed himself to be led away.
Harry gasped as Snape abruptly broke the kiss and pushed him sharply. Harry yelped in surprise, losing his balance and landing on the man's bed. He narrowed his eyes a little, but before he could comment on it Snape was on him again, pushing his cool hands underneath Harry's jumper and slowly peeling it away from his skin. He trailed wet, hungry kisses up the boy's abdomen while Harry squirmed beneath him, helping Snape remove the obstructive garment while he blindly kicked off his shoes.
Jumper removed, Harry saw it disappear somewhere over Snape's shoulder. He helped Harry shimmy to the centre of the bed before kissing him again. The sharp movements had knocked Harry's glasses askew, and as he reached up to fix them Snape beat him to it, adjusting them very gently. Harry settled into the kiss, and reached up to fumble with the buttons of Snape's shirt. It was clear the older man was in no rush, smirking as he watched Harry struggle to unclasp them one by one, his fingers seemingly refusing to cooperate with what his mind wanted them to do.
With a huff, Harry reached to fist the fabric he had already opened, when Snape's voice stopped him short. “Don't you dare, Potter. This is a detention, I want you to undress me without damaging my garments.” Harry caught his lower lip between his teeth and looked up at the Potions Master, who was watching his struggle with the buttons, his eyes glimmering with amusement. He huffed a little in frustration, and with fumbling fingers he unclasped the buttons, one by one.
Finally Harry had finished with the damnable buttons, and Snape shrugged out of his shirt. Harry groaned with pleasure at the sight before him: Alabaster skin stretched taut over lean, corded muscle, and a fine dusting of dark hairs trailing down the centre of his stomach before disappearing into his trousers. Harry leaned forward and placed a delicate, open-mouthed kiss upon the hollow of Snape's throat, the man shuddered a little under his inexperienced touch.
Emboldened by the reaction, Harry shifted and Snape allowed himself to be pressed down into the coverlet, with Harry perched lightly upon his waist. He leaned forward again, and trailed slow, wet kisses down the man's chest, pausing to trace the edge of each nipple with the tip of his tongue. Harry smirked when he felt, rather than heard the man's reaction—a hardness pressing into Harry's inner thigh. It took every ounce of his self-control to maintain the slow exploration of the man's chest, and keep from diving mouth-first into his trousers.
Once past the ribs, Harry dragged the tip of his tongue down the centre of the man's abdomen, dipped it into his navel, and paused when the obtrusive fabric of Snape's trousers got in the way of him continuing. In the brief moment that he stopped, Snape lifted his head off of the bed and gave Harry an exceptionally dangerous glare. He merely smirked in response, and took his time unbuttoning the garment, and sliding it off of him, along with his pants.
The older man shuddered slightly when his cock was freed from his confines, and Harry felt his stomach somersault at the sight: Long and thick, with a dewdrop of precome resting upon its tip. Harry licked his lips while Snape sat up and shifted to the edge of the bed. Harry slid off the bed and fell to his knees between the man's legs. Harry looked up briefly into his professor's eyes, and the intense look of desire he saw there made him shiver. He bit down on his own lip for a brief moment to stifle his excited grin, then sat up and swallowed the older man's cock.
Given the Snape's size and Harry's cocksucking experience—or lack thereof—he could only swallow about two-thirds of the man's member before he felt it brush at the back of his throat. Harry coiled his hand around the base, and pumped him as he bobbed his head. Snape groaned above him and he felt a hand run gently through his hair.
Harry maintained his rhythm as best as he could, breathing heavily through his nose as the cock wept into the back of his throat. After several minutes, his effort was rewarded when Snape tangled his long fingers in his hair, and with a sharp gasp he released into the back of Harry's throat.
Harry grimaced a little at the taste, but swallowed it down, suckling until it began to soften, and he reluctantly pulled back. Snape had fallen back onto the bed, his chest heaving. Harry crawled up to join him, grinning at his handiwork as he observed the man, the faintest of a flush in his cheeks, his eyes closed as he basked in the moment. Harry, still painfully hard, could not resist the temptation of Snape's exposed skin, and leaned in to lick and kiss his way across his clavicle and up his neck, before placing a feather-light kiss upon his lips. Snape rested a hand on the back of Harry's neck, and deepened the kiss, just enough to pull another soft moan from the young man.
Snape rose off the bed, turning so that Harry's back was pressed into the cover, and Snape boxed him in with his arms. Harry reached up to wrap his arms around his neck, but Snape seemed to have sensed his intention, and reached out and caught Harry's wrists in his hands, and pinned them above his head. Harry felt a shock of desire shoot to his groin, and he moaned into the older man's mouth. He squirmed a little, and Snape tightened his grip slightly, though nowhere near enough for it to be considered painful.
He broke the kiss after a moment and regarded Harry with an intense, calculating stare. Harry's face was flushed, and he arched his back a little, intending to grind himself into the older man, but Snape smirked and moved, making it impossible for Harry to find the friction he so desired. He groaned in frustration, Snape's hands on his wrists deliciously restricting his movements, but driving him insane with frustration at the same time. “Damn it,” he muttered, staring up at the Potions Master through half-lidded eyes. “Do something.”
“And trust you to behave yourself? I doubt you have the self-control for that.” Snape chuckled and shifted, closing both of Harry's wrists in one hand, and reached for his wand with the other. He flicked it once, and a thin cord sprouted from it, binding Harry's wrists together. The spell almost made Harry laugh—of course Snape would be into bondage.
With both hands free to roam, Snape lowered himself to the hollow of Harry's throat, and lightly raked his teeth across the flesh to his clavicle. The action left faint red marks in their wake, and Harry's breath hitched, moaning as he leaned into the contact. His fingers twitched, longing to reach out and touch, but at the same time, the feigned helplessness was maddeningly erotic to him. He tugged experimentally at the bonds, but they held fast.
Snape did not give Harry much time to dwell on this as he nipped, kissed, and licked his way down his chest, much like Harry had done to him mere moments before, but much more expertly. Every minute touch made Harry's breath hitch, his back arch, and soft, pitiful moans tumbled from his lips. No matter how he arched his hips and squirmed, Snape refused to relieve him, and instead took his time torturing the boy with his sensuous caresses.
By the time Snape had reached the dark thatch of hairs that preceded the top of his jeans, Harry was slicked with sweat, and his chest was heaving as he struggled to get a handle on his reactive body—to little success. A distinctive wet spot had blossomed on the front of his jeans, a sight that made the professor smirk. He rested a large hand lightly over the bulge of Harry's erection, and Harry moaned, certain that it would take very little for the man to bring him to orgasm at that point.
His deft fingers unhooked the button and unzipped the garment, peeling it off at a pace so slow Harry was certain it had to be deliberate. He lifted his buttocks off the bed to help Snape along, but with his bound wrists there was only so much he could do. Snape leaned forward, and Harry shuddered when he felt his long hair tickle his exposed thigh. The contact made the muscle twitch, and he felt, rather than heard the hot breath of a laugh against his skin.
Snape pressed his palms onto Harry's thighs just above his knees, and slid his hands slowly upward. His thumbs brushed the innermost part of the limb, stopping just short of Harry's very obvious and now near-painful erection. He groaned in frustration, arching his hips invitingly, but still Snape did not move. Harry opened and closed his fists, trying to work through the pile of mush his brain had become, struggling to form a coherent sentence to demand that Snape do something before he explodes, but Harry's unspoken desire seemed to be obvious, as Snape leaned forward and sunk his teeth lightly into the tender flesh of Harry's inner thigh, eliciting a gasp from the young man.
Harry parted his legs a little to give the man better access, while Snape curled a hand over the top of his left leg. He leaned in and dragged his tongue over the bite mark. Harry tilted his head back and moaned, while Snape repeated the movement several times, alternating between one thigh and the other. He inched with infuriatingly unhurried movements towards Harry's aching cock, leaving inflamed love bites in his wake. He finally curled his fingertips under the elastic band of Harry's pants, and slid them off.
The rush of cool dungeon air hitting his cock made Harry shiver, and his breath hitched slightly. Finally, he thought, arching his hips invitingly towards the Potions Master, who watched his movements with an amused smirk playing across his lips. “So needy, so deliciously pitiful...do you know the picture you make right now, Potter?” Harry chewed his lip, grinning up at the older man sheepishly, though he had no idea what to say to that. He had a fairly good idea that he probably looked like a cock-starved slut, but at that point, he was too horny to care.
Momentarily ignoring Harry's blatant erection, Snape pulled him up so that he was lying flat in the centre of the bed. He straddled Harry's hips, but deliberately not touching his cock. He braced his arms on either side of Harry's head, and leaned in to kiss him. Harry's mouth opened at once, and their tongues twisted together eliciting soft moans from the youth, while he continued to arch his hips, desperate for a little touch. Snape chuckled into his mouth, and balancing himself on one arm, he pressed his hand into Harry's side, tracing the contours of his youthful, Quidditch-toned physique, before finally curling those long fingers of his around the boy's cock.
Harry gasped into the professor's mouth, and rocked his hips in time with the movements of the hand slicking up and down his length, applying pressure in all the right places. It did not take very long for Harry to find his release, spurting his seed all over their stomachs and the man's hand, tossing his head back with a groan. He relaxed into the bedspread, and Snape moved to lie next to him, his left hand resting flat against Harry's stomach as the youth tried to catch his breath. With a flick of his wand he cleaned up the mess, while Harry awkwardly tried to shift closer to Snape, though the bonds made it difficult to move with any precision.
Snape watched him struggle, smiling with amusement while making no move to aid the boy. After a few moments, Harry felt his face flush before he spoke. “Um, do you think you could...?” he lifted his arms up a little, drawing Snape's attention to the bonds, and tugged at them.
“And why would I do that?” Snape asked in a low purr, moving his hand to Harry's opposite hip, and pulled him into the curve of his body. “Bondage suits you,” he had leaned in and nipped at Harry's earlobe as he spoke. The words and small actions were enough to make Harry shiver with delight. His cock twitched a little. Snape did not fail to notice, and he chuckled.
Snape slid his hand slowly up Harry's chest, cradled his chin between his fingers, and gently urged his head to move, turning him to face his professor. He leaned in and kissed Harry, more tenderly than he had all evening. The kiss felt different, the fire was not as present, though Harry still felt swept away by it. When the man pulled back, his eyes were darting back and forth over Harry's face, as though looking for something. “Are you certain this is what you want, Potter? There are some things that cannot be taken back once they are done.”
“If you don't finish what you've started Professor, I swear to God I will hex you.” Harry smirked a little as he spoke; as if he could hex anyone in his current position.
“Attacking a teacher is a surefire way to land yourself in detention.” He leaned in and kissed Harry again.
“Promises, promises,” Harry murmured against the older man's mouth. Chuckling, he reached for his wand again. With a flick, Harry's wrists sprang apart, and he coiled them at once around older man's neck. He curled one leg around Snape's waist, while he ground his hips upwards into the man's half hard cock. The contact made Snape's breath hitch, and with a near animalistic growl he deepened the kiss with almost violent force.
Harry arched his body upwards, his skin, damp with sweat, clung to Snape's in the most delightful fashion. The movement succeeded in pulling another groan from the older man. He was fully erect, and his cock ground against Harry's, the boy trembling at the sensation. Unable to wait any longer, Snape untangled himself from his young lover, and flipped him over.
At once, Harry eagerly pulled his knees up, lifting his buttocks into the air invitingly. He could have sworn that he heard Snape chuckle at his eagerness. Another murmured spell, and he watched a small jar fly across the room and directly into Snape's hands. One of the man's exquisite fingers, wet with lubricant, tickled the cleft of his bum, making him shiver. Harry braced himself on all fours, his head bowed forward and his glasses dangling precariously from the end of his nose.
The digit moved again, smearing a light coating of the lube upon Harry's puckered entrance, and he gasped softly. He lifted himself higher, a silent urging for the man to continue. The finger breached Harry's anus and he groaned, shuddering in delight. It was leaps and bounds better than his fantasies had ever been.
Snape allowed the finger to rest in place for a moment, before sliding it in and out experimentally, then adding a second. Harry moaned softly, his breath coming out in soft gasps. Of course, this was hardly his first time, but damn the man was good with his hands. Snape slipped in the third finger quickly, thrusting them in and out of Harry much more slowly than was really necessary, but he enjoyed it all the same. He moaned appreciatively with each thrust, moving his hips in time with the older man's movements.
Harry could hear the ragged breathing behind him grow more pronounced, and he felt the bed shift as Snape removed his fingers and positioned himself at Harry's hole. The brief moment of hesitation made Harry groan. Frustrated, he shifted backwards slightly, pressing himself into the tip of Snape's cock, a silent demand for the man to get on with it. That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, as Snape gripped Harry's hips, and slid slowly into him.
Harry threw his head back, his breath caught in his throat. His mind was a garbled mess of sensation, leaving no room for coherent thought. Even though Snape had taken time in adequately preparing him, he was still unprepared for the sheer girth of the man. It seared, but not excruciatingly so, and the man moved so slowly and carefully that Harry was able to ride the crest of the pain easily. He felt a light kiss press into the space between his shoulder blades, and he sighed softly. Snape paused when he was fully inside, giving Harry time to acclimate to him.
When Harry felt ready, he gave a minute nod. Snape slid out, and thrust back in just as slowly, Harry moving his hips in time with the slow movements, small moans escaping him with each thrust. Panting, Harry moved one hand to stroke himself, but Snape stopped him short. His hand gently wrapped around Harry's wrist, effectively stilling his movements. The boy whined in frustration, the vocalization punctuated with short gasps as his professor continued his rhythmic movements, and offered no verbal explanation. The second Harry relented and pressed his palm back down into the coverlet, Snape readjusted his position and brushed Harry's prostate with his next thrust.
Harry's entire body went rigid, and he sucked in a sharp breath. The second hit caused Harry to moan much more loudly, pressing back harder into the older man, who chuckled and took the hint, speeding up his thrusts in time with the boy's jerking hips. With each motion, Harry vocalized his approval, with grunts, moans, and choked words of 'yes,', 'more,' and 'oh, God,'. Harry was only vaguely aware of his body's reactions and the words pouring from his lips, his consciousness drowning in a haze of pleasure.
Snape's movements soon became more erratic, and Harry gasped when he felt the man's hand shift from his hip to coil around his cock. He palmed Harry in time with his own thrusts, and groaning, Harry came for the second time that evening, sputtering over his stomach, the bedspread, and his teacher's hand. His cries seemed to have pushed Snape over the edge, as he released into Harry, before slumping forward, and the pair fell bonelessly onto the duvet.
They lay there, a messy tangle of limbs and bodily fluids, their chests heaving and skin flushed. Harry felt as though the world could have ended around him and he would have died happy. Slowly, Snape slid his softened member out of him, and slid off the boy to rest at his side, with an arm coiling tentatively around his waist. He pulled Harry close, and he eased into the embrace with a contented sigh, grinning a little when he felt a soft kiss press to the back of his neck. He felt a tingle near his groin, and looked down to see the mess his orgasm had left behind gone, and he assumed that Snape had cast a cleaning charm.
“Any regrets?” The deep voice washed over Harry, and he smiled.
“None,” he muttered, rolling over in the embrace so that he could face Snape...Severus. The first name sounded strange in his head, but after spending an evening with the man's cock up his ass, it seemed a bit silly to continue to think of him by his surname. “I do have a question, though.” He lifted a hand, tracing the lines of the man's chest, too focused on his task to bother looking up. The muscle twitched slightly under his light touch, and he smiled. He did not feel jealous or upset by the thought on his mind, more curious than anything else.
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry said, his eyes flicking upward. The lack of surprise he saw in Severus's eyes told him that he had been expecting the question.
“I am not a monogamous man, Mr Potter,” he answered calmly, reaching out with his free hand to caress Harry's face, his fingertips following the curve of his jaw. He shivered. “Mr Malfoy approached me some time after his seventeenth birthday. I daresay that despite his significant character flaws, you can appreciate why I couldn't say no.” Harry laughed a little.
“Yeah. He's a shit, but puberty was good to him.” Harry leaned in after Severus's hand moved further down, absently tweaking at his nipples as he watched Harry's reaction with a mixture of amusement and apprehension. The small touches made him shiver a little.
“Indeed,” he purred the word, and leaned in to capture Harry's mouth in another opened-mouth kiss. It did not last nearly long enough for Harry's taste, and bit back a whine of protest when Severus released him and sat up. “Come, I believe a shower is an order before I send you back to your dormitory. It would not do to have you return from a detention with me stinking of sex.”
Grinning, Harry eagerly followed.

~

An hour later, Harry stepped out of Severus's chambers, his fingers wrinkled and a stupid grin plastered over his face. His hair was still slightly damp and he was too preoccupied reliving his evening of the best sex he ever had to notice that someone had been watching him, not even bothering to conceal his presence. The blond Slytherin pushed off the wall and spoke suddenly, making Harry nearly jump out of his skin.
“So was that a test to see if your silencing charms would hold, or are you really Severus's newest...plaything?” Harry spun on his heel, his hand reaching into his robes for his wand, but he relaxed slightly when he saw who it was. Draco's arms were folded across his chest, and was regarding Harry with a look of amusement, rather than jealousy. Harry did his best to react nonchalantly to the question, but he could feel a flush creeping up his neck. The words were crass, but he could not deny that they had a nice ring to them.
“Yeah, something like that,” he answered vaguely, and Draco reflected his amused smirk. Silence followed his words, neither boy knowing what to say or do next. In the past year, while they would never call each other friends, some of the animosity had faded, and they had begun to regard one another with mutual, though tenuous respect. At that moment however, the door to Severus's chambers swung back open, a dressing gown wrapped securely over his form. His eyes shifting from Harry to Draco with all the body language of Forbidding Potions Master, the sensual lover Harry had been introduced to earlier that evening gone. Despite the older man's obvious attempt at intimidating the pair, Harry was certain that he saw a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Potter, Malfoy. As charming as your little meeting is, I do believe you are both aware that you are out past curfew, as well as out of bounds?” Harry and Draco could not stifle the identical grins that played across their faces. Was Severus going where Harry hoped he was going with this? “I expect both of you to report to my...office Monday evening for detention.” Harry almost laughed. Could the hint be any more obvious? “If I catch the pair of you here again, I will be more than happy to extend your evenings with me. Get back to your dormitories. Now.” The door shut in near silence, and Harry felt a trill of excitement run through him.
Life at Hogwarts was about to get very interesting.

The End
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Putting You In Your Place