Title: Touch me, take me, fuck me hard, Professor
Author: millieweasley
Characters: Percy, Percy/Severus (Severus Snape, Barty Crouch, Cornelius Fudge, Rufus Scrimgeour)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Wanking, sort of chan, humiliation, D/s, bondage
Word Count: 1030
Summary: The first time he'd been ashamed
Author's notes: Prompt number 24: Percy/Hand. Percy imagines all the older men he would have loved to fuck, or to fuck him.

The first time he'd thought about it he'd been thirteen and though it weird and odd and probably due to a fever. The second and third and fourth he'd convinced himself the dreams had nothing to do with wishes as surely they were nightmares? The sixth was in the middle of class in fourth year and the hard on was a bit harder to explain. The seventh and eight and ninth were in the shower with his hand, he'd been ashamed, mortified, freaked out – and he'd moaned Snape's name when he came.

Touch me, take me, fuck me hard, Professor.

He could not sit through another lesson without a hard-on after that. Nor could he ever look Professor Snape in the eye again. He was sure Snape knew somehow, that his perverted thoughts showed through. A part of him almost wished they did, that professor Snape would give him detention so he could have more fuel for his fantasies.

Professor Snape never gave him detention – and he never bent him over his desk and spanked him before fucking him hard either. It was all in Percy's mind when he touched himself at night, after convincing Penelope they really ought to wait until after marriage before they did things like that.

He was not sad to see her go when she got tired of waiting.

That summer was odd and strange and left him empty as he realised there would be no new potions lessons. No more chance of detention – no more looking at Professor Snape and wondering if he would be as rough as he looked. Nothing – until the day he stepped into Mr Crouch's office and saw the desk. It was large, and dark and his mind was filled with images of himself, draped across it as Mr Crouch used him, spanked him, abused him.

Touch me, take me, fuck me harder, Sir.

The sound of his own moans rolling off the tiled walls of the bathroom left him in shame, but he did not stop, his cock aching for the touch, his mind for the thoughts, even as it meant never sitting comfortably at work ever again. Even as it meant staring at Mr Crouch's hands trying to envision what his cock would be like. Hands – or rather fingers – were similar to cocks, he'd heard. His own were – long and lean. Mr Crouch's were thicker, rougher – they looked big. He hoped it was true. Every day there would be cauldron thickness and regulations and Percy's mind would be on Mr Crouch's hands and cock as he listened to his voice as he spoke to him. Authoritative, commanding, demanding to be obeyed. Percy wanted to obey – but then Mr Crouch was taken from him and the dream fizzled and died.

As did his erection.

He would have been worried, though he strangely enough never was. It was a relief. It was a salvation, to be able to work, and function and sit down and not constantly think of punishment and cocks and someone telling him what to do.

He should have known it would only last until he saw the minister's office. Fudge was small and strange and not at all a Crouch or a Snape. He was not a natural authority, and his hands were small and did not lead to any nice thoughts at all. But he was minister and there was a desk. A large desk – large enough that Percy would easily fit under it, spending his days on his knees, ready to serve his master whenever his master wanted to. His mouth serving daily, his face covered in come.

His erection came back.

Touch me, take me, fuck me hard, Minister.

The minister never did, the minister went away – and in his place someone new. Someone older, terser, more stern and firm. Someone whose hands were rough and large and thick, and Percy lost himself completely in the dreams and fantasies and lunch time wanks when nights in bed and mornings in the shower were no longer enough.

Dreams turned into waking nightmares – a never dying need. Himself in a collar - in a leash. Himself on his knees with come on his face. Constantly naked, constantly hard, constantly ready for his master. His almost constant erection turned painful, his work only fulfilled with threats of imaginative punishments, one more perverted than the next. He bought a cock ring to keep in check, blushing scarlet the entire time but not able to function without it. Every morning he put it on, thinking it was the Minister. It was his punishment, and he nearly came from that thought alone.

Take me, spank me, fuck me harder, Minister!

He knew the war couldn't last, knew it would be over and the Minister would be gone and the light would win. He almost wished it wouldn't end. And somehow it didn't – the war went on and the dark took over. A new minister, a new ministry, new laws and he could not pretend he hated what was happening – which was why he found himself kneeling on the floors of Hogwarts, the new Headmaster standing before him with a wicked smirk on his face.

He was cursed, captured, humiliated, ashamed, beaten and naked. He felt exposed, scrutinised and aroused beyond his wildest desires as Headmaster Snape chuckled coldly at his predicament.

'And here I thought you would be cured from such fantasies by now, Weasley,' he said with contempt and the loathing in his voice had Percy panting with an even greater need. He could almost feel the smirk on Professor Snape's lips as he was pulled to his feet and bent over the cold hard desk.

'Always the pervert, weren't you,' he heard Professor Snape say, ropes tying him hard to the desk. He groaned with pain – humiliation – utter desire and pleasure. He wished he could have stopped himself from jerking against the desk, from moaning as he felt Professor Snape's hand come down hard on his arse. From crying out in need and want as Professor Snape called him names and spanked him harder.

"Take me, spank me, fuck me hard, Professor."

This time it wasn't a dream.