Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
Kinky Kristmas Fic: 7 (Snape/Harry) 
14th December 2011 12:00
Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: [info]torino10154
From: [info]centaury_squill

Title: 7
Characters/Pairings: Snape/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: first time, rimming, spanking, messy sex, oral, urgent sex, half-dressed sex
Other Warnings/Content: anal sex
Word Count: ~ 3,700
Summary/Description: Harry discovers Snape's hidden talents.
Author's Notes: Happy Christmas! Your prompts were truly inspiring, I hope you enjoy the result.


~ 7 ~

It was the Christmas after Lord Voldemort's final defeat. Hogwarts, closed for the holidays, was deserted apart from the ubiquitous house-elves – and Harry Potter, doing his best to avoid the rest of wizardkind. Even Hagrid was away, gone to France to visit Madame Maxime. Snow had been falling steadily for days; the castle was completely cut off, but Harry had no desire to get out, by magical means or otherwise. He was glad of the excuse to be quiet, to be alone, to think. The thick blanket of snow, muffling all sound, felt somehow soothing to him after the traumas of the past year.

Harry had been taking Dreamless Sleep ever since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, but on Christmas Eve, for some reason, he forgot his nightly dose. Shortly after midnight he awoke screaming from a confused nightmare in which he'd alternately been attacked by Nagini, and inhabited her as she attacked someone else. He staggered out of bed, sweating, heart thumping, and went over to the window to pour himself some water from the jug standing on the sill. After gulping several glassfuls, he leaned his forehead against the cold pane, breathing deeply, trying to calm his racing heart.

As he stood there, staring out into the dark night, a thin sliver of moon came out from behind a cloud; its light shimmered off the thick carpet of snow which covered the lawn below. There in the snow Harry could see a line of footprints stretching from the Forbidden Forest towards the castle. Harry opened the window, ignoring the cold, and leaned precariously out over the sill. From this angle he could see that whoever had made the footprints had walked up to Gryffindor Tower, where they'd stood directly under his window – for some time, if the depth of the prints was anything to go by – and then walked off in the direction of the Whomping Willow. At this point the moon went back behind a cloud, and Harry could see no more.

By morning the snow had started falling again, and all trace of the footprints had vanished – if, indeed, they'd ever been there: Harry wasn't sure whether the whole thing had just been part of his dream. Feeling muzzy and disorientated, he pulled a thick woollen dressing gown on over his pyjamas and went down to the Gryffindor common room.

The fire was burning brightly and, as always, the house-elves had laid out his breakfast on a low table in front of it. Today they'd added a pile of gaily-wrapped parcels; evidently the Christmas post had managed to reach Hogwarts in spite of the weather. Harry hoped that the house-elves had rewarded the owls with extra treats.

He sank down into an armchair beside the fire and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. Remembering the footprints in the night, he looked suspiciously at the parcels, even drawing his wand and casting a spell to check them for Dark Magic. They appeared innocuous, however, and he pulled the closest towards him and ripped off the paper.

Half an hour later, Harry had finished his breakfast and unwrapped his Christmas presents: a Foe Glass from Ron; a book of spells for repelling unwanted admirers from Hermione; a singing photograph of herself from Ginny, which he promptly shut up in Hermione's book, where it gave an indignant squeak and fell silent. There was also a box of Belgian chocolates with a note from Hagrid, Harry, hope you have a good Christmas, I wanted to send you some of my rock cakes but Olympe thought you might like these instead. Smiling, Harry finished his coffee and popped one of the chocolates into his mouth.

There was only one parcel left now, the biggest of all. Harry turned it around in his hands, feeling it through the paper. The bottom half felt hard and box-like, the top half soft and squashy. He pulled the paper off to reveal a knitted sweater and a radio, with a note from Mr and Mrs Weasley, To keep you warm and give you some company in the long winter evenings, dear.

Harry swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat that was nothing to do with Hagrid's chocolate.

*

That night Harry removed the bottle of Dreamless Sleep from his bedside table, replacing it with the Weasleys' radio, and fell asleep to the strains of Celestina Warbeck singing A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.

Some hours later he woke suddenly. The radio was silent, the room glowing with the eerie light of the moon reflecting off snow. Harry had no idea what had wakened him. He got out of bed, went over to the window, looked out. Again, a line of footprints led from the Forbidden Forest. Again, he opened the window and leaned over the sill.

Harry caught his breath with wonder. There, on the snowy ground below, was an intricate sculpture made out of ice. Delicate branches rose from a slender trunk, reaching almost to his window. As he watched, entranced, the branches parted with a tinkle of ice and a shower of snow, to reveal the effigy of a bird. It was so lifelike he almost expected it to open its beak and sing, to lift its wings and fly away.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed at the window, drinking in this wonderful sight. At last, he returned to his bed, feeling more at peace than he had for months, and slept soundly, without dreams.

When he went to the window in the morning, the ice sculpture had gone.

*

The following night, however, Harry was delighted to see that the ice sculpture had returned – and this time the bird was joined on its branch by two more. These appeared to be doves, in the act of touching their beaks together affectionately. Harry frowned. He was sure he'd come across something similar before, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pin the elusive memory down.

As night followed night, the moon grew steadily larger and the scene revealed by its light grew ever more intricate: more birds appeared, and one night five interlinked rings, also made of ice, dangled from one of the tree's crystalline branches. And every morning, when Harry looked out, the elaborate ice sculpture had vanished once more.

On the morning after a gaggle of ice geese perched on a pile of snowballs had joined the midnight tableau under his window, Harry lay idly in bed leafing through an old copy of Quidditch Quarterly. The Wizarding Wireless Network was playing in the background, tunes old and new, wizard and Muggle, as requested by our listeners. Only half listening, Harry's attention was suddenly caught by the dedication for the next song.

"And now, an old Muggle carol, with the following message: To Harry, one of the bravest young men I've ever known."

As the song started Harry was musing on this. It couldn't be for him, of course. He envied the unknown Harry, who was brave, who didn't hide away from the world, who had a song dedicated to him by someone who obviously loved him. He shook his head, furious with himself. When had he become such a self-pitying wimp?

Then something about the words of the carol caught his attention; he leaned forward, pointed his wand at the radio and raised the volume.

...On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me:
three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree
...

Harry snapped his fingers. Of course! That was the elusive memory which had been nagging at him ever since the ice sculptures started appearing in the snowy grounds outside his window.

...four calling birds, three French hens...

He was back at primary school, sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Miss – what was her name? – thumping away on a piano decorated with tinsel, and all the kids singing at the tops of their voices.

...five g-o-o-ld rings...

Harry racked his brains, trying to remember the song. He'd had the five rings, and the six geese had been last night – so what could he expect to appear on the snowy moonlit lawn tonight?

The radio answered him.

...On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me:
seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five g-o-o-ld rings!


He'd have to lie in wait tonight...

four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves...

he had to know who was creating these magical works of art...

...and a partridge in a pear tree!

*

Midnight saw Harry sitting by his open window, dressed in his warmest clothes, doing his best to stay awake. His Firebolt was propped up nearby, ready for a quick swoop down to surprise the unknown sculptor. But he must have dozed off; a tinkling like fairy bells woke him to the sight of moonlight glinting off the familiar tree, its slender trunk already nearly full grown.

It was the first time Harry had seen the ice sculpture in the process of being formed. Momentarily forgetting his desire to catch its creator, he gazed enraptured at the tree. Crystalline branches were stretching out in all directions, the end of each one dividing again and again to form a more and more complex and beautiful structure. Soon the new branches were so minute they no longer looked like ice, but like frost rimed leaves, like delicate feathers of snow.

The tree complete, the ice birds began to appear, and Harry leaned out of the window. He could see the footprints leading up to the tree, where they stopped abruptly, but there was no sign of the mystery sculptor: they must be using a Disillusionment charm. Frustrated, Harry slowly drew back from the window. Then a sudden thought struck him; he dragged his old school trunk out from under his bed and began to rummage feverishly through it. At last, at the very bottom of the trunk, he found what he was looking for – the Marauder's Map.

Tapping it with his wand, Harry ran back to the window, afraid he'd be too late.

"I solemnly swear –"

He leaned over the sill again. The sculpture was complete: seven very lifelike swans had joined the group, and a new trail of footprints led away. They had nearly reached the Forbidden Forest...

"– I am up to no good."

And there on the Map, mirroring the footprints in the snow outside, was a trail of black dots, labelled:

Severus Snape.

Harry stared at the name for a long moment, torn by conflicting emotions. His schoolboy hatred and mistrust of Snape warred with his later admiration for the man's bravery, and, underlying both, were his secret feelings for the Half-Blood Prince. A tiny ink figure appeared on the map at the end of the trail of dots; to Harry's confused mind it seemed to be waiting for his decision. He gave it a brisk nod, his mind made up. The figure lifted a minuscule wand, a flash of light momentarily illuminated the parchment, the figure disappeared. Harry looked up from the Map, hoping to see the real Snape on the outskirts of the moonlit Forest.

The distant trees stood silent and deserted. Harry's disappointment was short-lived, however, soon replaced by wonder as he saw that the swans had come to life and taken to the air. They flew in formation towards the Forbidden Forest, their long necks outstretched, following the arrow-straight line of Snape's footprints. Harry dropped the Map, grabbed his Firebolt and launched himself out of the window in pursuit.

An exhilarating moonlit ride ended with Harry following the swans down into a clearing in the Forest. He hovered, watching, as they landed on a frozen pool and skidded to a halt in its centre. They looked so ungainly sliding about on the ice that Harry burst out laughing. He landed beside the pool, dismounted from his Firebolt, looked around. There was something familiar about his surroundings, though he knew he'd never been to this particular part of the Forest before.

Then a man stepped out from behind an oak tree, and Harry recognised Severus Snape at the same moment as he realised that the frozen pool was almost exactly like the one in the Forest of Dean.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry stared at Snape for a long moment, trying to work out what had changed. He finally decided that, unlike himself, Snape had found the aftermath of the war an immense relief. His thin face was no longer tense and suspicious, his black eyes showed warmth, not emptiness.

Confirming his suspicions, Snape said, "At last I can look into your eyes without having to employ Occlumency to hide my feelings."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Finally he stammered, "So - uh - it was you? The ice sculptures, I mean?"

Snape nodded. The ghost of a smirk hovered over his lips.

"Thank you!" Harry said. To his annoyance, he felt himself turning red. This was ridiculous, he wasn't fourteen anymore. "Er, why, though?"

"Didn't you hear the dedication on the radio?"

Again, Harry was lost for words. That Snape should think that Harry was one of the bravest young men he'd ever known – that he would, if the song were to be believed, consider himself Harry's true love – he didn't know which was more... ludicrous? scary? exciting?

"Um," he blurted out suddenly, pointing to the swans, "all these – the swans, the geese, everything – it's not some sort of weird wizarding courtship ritual I've never heard of, is it?"

Now Snape really was smirking. "Not as far as I know. I don't consider myself the marrying kind."

"Oh," Harry said, looking down at his feet. Why was he suddenly so disappointed?

He felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked up. Snape was eyeing him hungrily. "I do want to shag you, though," he said softly. "I've wanted to ever since... oh, ever since I saw you stripping off to dive for Gryffindor's sword." A half-guilty look in his eyes told Harry it had probably been much longer ago than that.

Snape's nearness, the intensity of his gaze, awoke an answering spark in Harry; he pressed closer. This was all the encouragement Snape needed. He pushed Harry towards the oak, putting his hands flat on the tree trunk either side of Harry to keep him there, and began to frot against him. Even through their layers of clothing, Harry could feel how hard Snape's cock was. He moaned, and thrust back. Any more of this, and he'd be coming in his pants. As if aware of this danger, Snape drew back.

"Harry," he whispered. "Would you – could you possibly –"

He broke off. Something – whether it was what Snape had said earlier, or the way he was looking from Harry to the frozen pool – gave Harry a clue what Snape was asking.

"You want me to strip off? Like – in the Forest of Dean?"

Snape's face told Harry all he wanted to know. Obviously Snape had been fantasising over this scenario for some time. But –

"It's bloody cold!" Harry exclaimed, eyeing the swans huddled disconsolately together in the middle of the ice. "I'm not getting my kit off in this."

"We-ell," said Snape slowly, considering, "if it'll encourage you to strip..."

He drew his wand. "Calefacto."

The results were immediate. Harry felt a breath of warm air caress his cheek, like a gentle summer breeze. Around the margins of the pond he could see snow melting away to nothing, revealing spiky reeds. The ice on the pond cracked, shrank, disappeared. With surprised hisses, the swans sank into the water. They stretched out their necks, half-raised their wings, and paddled frantically with their feet for a moment, before accepting their new element and gliding majestically around the pond.

Harry took a deep breath, looked almost shyly at Snape.

"Do you want me to hide behind the tree?" inquired Snape, raising an eyebrow.

Harry grinned and shook his head. "Were you really watching me, in the Forest of Dean?" he asked, beginning to unbutton his winter jacket.

"Of course," said Snape, regarding him hungrily.

Harry continued to strip, glad of the surrounding warmth. "Even when that damn locket tried to strangle me?"

Snape licked his thin lips. "I was all ready to jump in and save you myself, when your friend Mr Weasley arrived." His eyes were fixed on Harry's nipples.

Harry turned away, bent over, began unlacing his boots. He heard a groan behind him and glanced over his shoulder. Snape had thrown off his outer garments and was standing there in shirt and trousers, flies unbuttoned, hand clutching his proudly jutting cock. Blushing, Harry removed boots and socks together, pulled off his jeans, and turned back to face Snape, wearing just his boxers, the thin cloth straining over his erection.

"You don't want me to actually dive into the pool, do you?" He glanced uneasily over at the swans; they stretched their necks and hissed menacingly back.

"No..." Snape seemed almost at a loss for words. "I want... I want..." He trembled slightly. "So much."

Excited, Harry whispered, "What do you most want to do to me? What've you wanted ever since I was in your class?"

Snape gave a sudden bark of laughter. "To spank you, you impertinent brat."

Not wanting to admit – or at least not yet – that this had sometimes been his fantasy too, Harry turned his back on Snape and bent over, gripping his calves to keep himself in position. He glanced teasingly over his shoulder. "Well go on, then."

He staggered forward as Snape's hand met his boxer-clad arse in a stinging slap, then took a fresh grip on his legs and braced himself. This time Snape's slaps were gentler, lingering, almost caresses. Harry moaned. Then he felt Snape slip his hand inside his boxers and drag them down at the back, while keeping Harry's straining cock still imprisoned at the front. Harry wriggled, shamelessly trying to rub his cock on the cloth.

"Stop that!" Snape hissed, with a sharp slap to Harry's bare arse. "I don't want you to come until –" his voice dropped seductively – "I'm... inside you."

Harry almost came there and then, especially when Snape's hand on his arse was replaced by a warm tongue. Snape licked a wet stripe across Harry's arse cheek, and down into his cleft. Harry gripped his legs more tightly, feeling he was about to explode.

Snape explored Harry's pucker thoroughly with this tongue, then thrust a finger inside.

"So tight," he murmured, adding another finger. "You've not done this before, have you?"

Harry shook his head, tried to pull away from the intrusion. "Will it hurt?"

Snape held him still, plunging his fingers in deeper and twisting them ruthlessly.

"At first, maybe. But it'll be – ah" – his gasp was echoed by Harry as his fingers found Harry's prostate – "oh so worth it." He took away his fingers, straightened up.

Harry looked over his bare shoulder, wondering what was happening. Snape's exposed cock poked him rudely in the face. Harry's eyes widened.

"But it's HUGE!" he said, apprehensively.

Snape gave a dark chuckle. "Come now, what happened to your Gryffindor bravery?" he murmured, and nudged his cock suggestively against Harry's lips.

Harry tentatively poked out his tongue at it, then scooted round to get a better angle. Kneeling in front of Snape, he reached up his hand and guided Snape's cock into his mouth. He hadn't done this before, either, but he wasn't going to admit that. And judging by the gasps and moans, Snape had no complaints about the enthusiastic licking, slurping and sucking which Harry was bestowing on him. In fact, he was jerking his hips, trying to plunge deeper into Harry's mouth. Harry blissfully took in Snape's musky scent of arousal; his hand stole down towards his own cock.

But Snape wasn't having any of that. "I told you, you're not to come until I'm inside you," he growled, lifting his foot and nudging Harry's hand away. "And I don't mean inside your mouth."

He grabbed Harry's messy hair and rapidly fucked his face for a few more seconds before pulling out and backing away, his cock now glistening with Harry's saliva.

Harry rolled over and thrust his arse in the air. Snape leaped astride him, ripping off Harry's boxers and throwing them into the lake. He seized Harry's arse cheeks and pulled them apart, nudging his thick blunt cock against Harry's opening.

"Why are you so fucking tight," he groaned, groping urgently for his wand. "Where the – ah, here it is."

He tapped it impatiently against Harry's arse, gasping a quick crude sex spell, which left Harry looser and oozing lubrication. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Snape thrust into him.

"Aaaahhh, yesssssss...."

He pulled almost fully out, slammed in again.

"My Harry," he whispered hotly in Harry's ear, "Mine."

Harry wriggled under him, alternately humping his cock against the thick tussocks of grass where they lay and pushing back against Snape's determined plundering of his arse.

"Oh," he sobbed, "Oh. Oh. OH."

His belly suddenly wet with his spunk, he almost skidded across the grass beneath the force of Snape's rhythmic thrusts. And then Snape came with a loud, triumphant cry, and collapsed across Harry's sweaty back, breathing heavily.

They lay together for a while, recovering, then Snape peeled himself away from Harry – somewhere in his exertions his shirt buttons had flown off, and his bare chest was stuck to Harry's back – and sat up. Harry wriggled round and leaned his head on Snape's lap.

"That was brilliant," he said happily. Then a little tone of doubt came into his voice. "But will you want to keep doing it?"

"Always," Snape said, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice.

"Tha's good," Harry mumbled.

He was starting to doze off, but before sleep claimed him completely, he heard Snape say:

"But you needn't expect any more Christmas presents – I think we can do without maids a-milking, lords a-leaping, and all the rest of the malarkey..."

Smiling to himself, Harry slept.

The End
Comments 
14th December 2011 17:29
OMG YAY!!!!! Could Severus be any sexier?! I think not.

Poor Harry, secluded and alone at the start, the gifts were beautiful--I loved that at first he thought it might be a dream. And Severus, recreating the Forest of Dean is so hot and just a bit pervy. LOL I LOVE THAT! I suspect he revisited that many a time at night. Heh.

LOVE the outdoor sex, rimming FTW always, how Severus is possessive GUH!, also I adore that Severus is totally not interested in finishing out the song. ROFL! Who needs that stuff? He's got Harry now. ;)

Oh, I know I'll be re-reading this, it's so lovely and sexy and perfect. Thank you so much! ♥
9th January 2012 12:01
Thank you for such a lovely comment! I'm so glad you enjoyed it - as I said in my A/N, your prompts were truly inspiring. (And I had a sneaking suspicion I was writing for you, some of them did seem kinda familiar, heh.)

*hugs*
15th December 2011 00:20
Mmmm, yay for sweet, sexy Snarry!
Nice job with it!
And I love that Severus decided that the rest of the 'malarky' wasn't needed. *giggles*
9th January 2012 12:04
Yeah, why spend any more effort when he's got what he wants sleeping right there in his arms. *g*

Thanks, hon!
15th December 2011 04:50
OMG PORN!

Seriously, Severus is kind of a perv here. Not that that's a bad thing, but seriously he's totally perving on Harry.

I love his romantic gesture though, and how it's obviously more than just sex to him. The images of the beautiful sculptures is so lovely. And of course the sex was amazing.
9th January 2012 12:06
He's been thinking about Harry for a long time... but yes, it is more than just sex to him. Glad you liked the ice sculptures, I had a lot of fun imagining them.

Thank you for commenting!
17th December 2011 11:51
Oh WOW! I really, really love the idea of the ice sculpture. That was very cunning (and romantic!) of Severus. :) I also adore how Harry seems almost disappointed until Severus tells him he wants to shag, hehe. Oh, and what a HOT shag that was! I imagine after a while of that Harry might actually convince Severus to be the marrying kind.
9th January 2012 12:08
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the ice sculptures, I had a lot of fun imagining them. And I think you're right about Harry's powers of persuasion, heh.
18th December 2011 21:43
Mmm, yummy Snarry! <3
I love the ice sculptures (how romantic, coming from Severus), and teh magic of Snarry melting ice and snow. *lol*
And all the hot shagging, too!
9th January 2012 12:10
Thank you so much! Glad you liked the ice sculptures, I had a lot of fun imagining them.
1st January 2012 07:06
The ice sculpture is a touch of brilliance. I love the imagery of that. And sex in a replica Forest of Dean - so hot and good.
9th January 2012 12:12
Thank you! I was originally going to have the swans landing on the Hogwarts lake, but then the idea of Severus recreating the Forest of Dean's pool in the Forbidden Forest just grabbed hold of me. ;)
3rd January 2012 00:23
Now that's one of doing "Twelve days of Christmas"
I rather like it...now I'll think of Severus buggering Harry in front of lake *grins* Thanks for sharing!
9th January 2012 12:14
Hope I haven't ruined a perfectly good song for you. ;)

Thanks for commenting!
3rd January 2012 14:08
It is mixed with romance and fluffiness! :D I like it's hotness, but Severus' gift to Harry just melt my heart! Thank you so much~~ <3
9th January 2012 12:16
Awww, that's so sweet! Thank you! ♥
4th January 2012 20:37
Love the ice sculpture, and the recreation of the White Doe scene (in every sense). Poor, desperate Severus.
9th January 2012 12:18
Thank you! I was originally going to make the swans land on Hogwarts lake, then had the idea of Severus recreating the White Doe scene in the Forbidden Forest.
5th January 2012 17:15
*GAH*

Sex and romance and the 12 days of Xmas? On Snarry overload! Thank you very much!
9th January 2012 12:19
Thank you, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!
8th January 2012 16:04
Oh, wow ... first-time Snarry with virgin!Harry, so soon after the War... and the gifts! The ice sculptures sound so gorgeous, I just want you to have some fabulous artist create accompanying illustrations for the whole thing. <3 I love the little touches of humour you inserted - Hermione's and Hagrid's gifts, the ice-geese skidding on the frozen pond, Harry's indignant "I'm not getting my kit off in this cold" - as well as the melancholy you've imbued Harry with. Your writing is so gorgeously visual, and then with the sex, too.... <3 <3 <3 *bookmarks*
9th January 2012 12:21
Thanks so much for your lovely comment, you've picked out many of my own favourite things in the story. :)
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