|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2007-12-07 09:00:00
|Entry tags:||fic, post-dh: ewe, rated: nc-17|
An Appetite For Submission, for stepmnster
Title: An Appetite For Submission
Word Count: 6,884
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Author's Notes: Dear stepmnster, I found it hard to write such a confident Harry pre-DH, so this is set just after. Also, I tried to include as many of the kinks as I could at short notice. I hope you enjoy it, and Happy Holidays Snarry-style!
Written for snarry_holidays. Thank you again to faynia and chiralove for running this wonderful feast of Snarry goodness, it's been a blast.
An Appetite For Submission
Harry Potter had returned for his seventh year at Hogwarts, having missed a whole year fighting and destroying Voldemort. Now he was back in the place he loved, which was still being restored, but was gradually and surely getting back to where it had been. Hogwarts' traditions and practices were unchanged by the minor inconvenience of battling a Dark Lord.
Another person had also returned to this place he'd always felt safe, and like Harry he felt Hogwarts was more of a home to him than his real home. Now fully recovered, Severus Snape had been appointed as the DADA teacher; his beloved subject was now his for as long as he wished. Voldemort's curse on the job had died with its caster, and Snape, now acknowledged as an Order member rather than a Death Eater, was secure in the post. Minerva McGonagall had taken on the headship, and Snape had been glad of it, not wanting the role. He was appointed deputy head instead, with the implicit promise of being headmaster again when Minerva stepped down. Filius Flitwick had announced his retirement at the end of this year and had happily passed the role of deputy to Severus.
And so, although so much – nearly everything – had changed, so much seemed the same; and Harry was glaring up at his DADA master. It was not the first time that he'd glared at Snape by any means, but this time the glare was for a rather different reason than before. Severus Snape, damn him, had invaded Harry's dreams, and Harry didn't know what to make of it, nor quite how to respond.
If they had been normal dreams, even normal erotic dreams, he wouldn't have minded – or not so much. But they weren't. In Harry's dreams he was kneeling, looking up at the man looming above him. Harry was naked, but Snape was not; the man looked down at him with his patented sneer and Harry knew Snape could do whatever he wanted to him, that he was quite helpless before him. And worse, Harry knew that was just what he wanted.
The first time he had woken up from a dream like that Harry had squirmed with embarrassment and fierce denial. The second time he'd been more worried than embarrassed, because he didn't feel so bad about it, not at all. And the last time – the third time's the charm – Harry had just plain loved it. So now, sitting here looking up at the man who was suddenly looming over him in real life just as he had in the dreams, Harry was hard. Snape's voice, his sneer, his iron control over the class, was all making it happen just like it did in the dream. "Sir?" Harry asked, his voice a first year's squeak.
"Not listening again, Potter? No wonder you cannot turn in a decent essay. And here was I attributing your failure to your woeful genes or illiteracy, and all along it has been simple inattention on your part. Well, I know a way to hold your...attention, boy. Detention tonight, eight o'clock in my office! And do not be late. No excuses – Granger can tell you the time if you have not learned to do that yet." Snape whirled away in a familiar billowing cloud of black robes, and Harry watched him go feeling like something very significant had just happened. And yet it was all much the same as before: detention with Snape. Nothing had changed at Hogwarts; and yet everything had changed.
And had Snape really paused after saying 'a way to hold your...' before he had added 'attention'? Or was that simply Harry's dream-fuddled brain imagining things?
What worried Harry most as he approached Snape's office at five minutes to eight that evening was that he had a good idea what had triggered those dreams. It was George's BDSM mag that had done it: all blokes in leather with their 'pets' kneeling in front of them, the masters holding their subs on leather or chain leashes. Those doms were all dressed in black and were tall, scary-looking blokes that had reminded Harry instantly of Snape. But why had his brain put him into the sub's position so readily? He had no desire to kneel in front of a master; he'd always resisted complying with Snape's dominant act in class. He certainly did not want to accede to his dominance in the bedroom. And anyway, Snape would not be interested in taking Harry to his bed. The whole thing was absurd, as surreal as all dreams, and just as unfounded in reality. Harry's face flamed as he remembered these things and approached the dungeons, wishing he was anywhere else but in the realm of Slytherin, where he would be mocked for his obvious embarrassment.
Harry hurried down the dungeon steps, along the corridor and quickly knocked on the closed office door. That voice – the voice he had heard in his dreams telling him to suck him off, just before he always awakened hot and bothered – now told him to enter.
"Potter," Snape said, glancing up from his desk then returning to his work again. "Close the door, you idiot boy. I have no wish to work in a barn."
Harry pushed the door shut, grinding his teeth. It was to be the 'idiot boy' act tonight then. He walked up to Snape's desk and stood in front of it. Snape ignored him.
After what seemed like ten minutes but might have been two, Harry gave up. So Snape didn't like him standing here and was obviously intent on ignoring him. Maybe he'd like it better if...
Harry sank to his knees on the floor beside Snape's desk, and then Snape looked at him.
"Potter," Snape said again, but this time his voice was softer. "That is… somewhat better."
Harry bowed his head and looked down at the floor, as many of the 'pets' in the mag had been doing.
"Yes, that is much better," Snape said in a very satisfied tone.
Out of the side of his eye Harry saw the man put down his quill and take out his wand. Harry tensed, but he discovered the spells Snape had just spoken were locking and warding spells. The door behind him echoed with the sounds of grinding metal and the background sounds made by the Slytherin students were suddenly cut off.
"I wondered when you would have the sense to acknowledge me as your master, Potter," Snape said, getting to his feet. "I am pleased you have done so before we both died of old age, or such activities ceased to become of interest, which I freely admit is just as bad."
Harry didn't reply; he'd read in the article in George's mag that the pet could do nothing without his master's permission. That had seemed horrendous when he first read it – a fate worse than death to Harry's mind. Until in his dreams he'd been silent, acquiescent, and Snape had spoken kindly to him then and run his hands through Harry's messy hair, looking down at him with those glittering, black eyes that were really fixed on him now, making him tremble.
"Mr Potter, I can read your silence in one of two ways: either you are being ignorant and not replying in order to annoy me, or you are being a good little pet. Now which is it, I wonder? If I give you permission to speak, will you answer me? You may speak, Potter."
"Thank you, master," Harry said, and his heart was thudding inside his chest with excitement; he'd read this right, and Snape knew all about being a dominant. After all, Snape dominated his class, ruling it with a rod of iron. It had only been Harry who had resisted his overlordship so far. Now Harry offered his submission and hoped it would be sweet to Snape. He waited with bated breath to see what would happen next.
Snape stood in front of him. Harry looked down at the man's boots, the toes just visible beneath the sweep of long, black robes.
"You may look up, boy."
Harry tilted his head back and looked up into Snape's face, and had to gasp. Snape was smiling at him, his lips curled in a smile that was not a sneer, nor a smirk, but a smile that Harry had never seen on those sharp features before. It was a smile of pleasure that Harry had put there.
"Yes, Potter, you have pleased me, and possibly for the first time in your life. It took you woefully long to realise that what I wanted from you – at least as a start – was your submission. While you were a small boy, your verbal acknowledgment of my mastery was all I required. And yet you would not do it; you fought it all these years. Now, I require a great deal more from you in recompense. Are you willing to give it?"
Harry's throat was dry as he looked up at Snape. In his dreams, he had wanted it, all of it. But if he said 'yes' now, just what was he agreeing to? His sense of adventure kicked in and told him that he had to find out – that if he said 'no' he would go away and regret it, because somehow Harry knew Snape would only ask him once.
Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry licked his lips, swallowed, and spoke clearly: "Yes, master."
Snape smiled again, and waved his wand as he whispered words Harry couldn't catch. A leather collar appeared in his hand, its silver studs winking in the candlelight. Another flick, and with the whispered words a leash appeared, long and black, its leather supple, it draped easily over Snape's palm. "Do you know what you are doing, Mr Potter?"
"Not really, but I'm willing to bet you do," Harry replied, his eyes glinting as he defied Snape to make fun of his ignorance.
Snape's expression darkened at these words. "You will call me 'master', Potter. Always."
Harry's frown eased; of course, he'd forgotten one of the first rules. "I'm sorry, master," he said, lowering his eyes submissively.
"Better. Now, you will come to me every evening at eight. You are of age; the choice is yours. But once you wear my collar, whenever you come to me you are mine to do with as I will. I master you, you submit. While you wish for that to continue, the collar remains. Should you wish to end the agreement, the collar will disappear. Do you understand all this?"
"I do. And more besides," Harry said. "I know I am safe with you, master. I discovered after the final battle that I have always been safe with you. And yet I fought that knowledge for the longest time; I fought you. Those days are gone, just as Voldemort is gone, and there is no need to behave that way any more. I will submit to you in class as well, if that would please you."
"It would. Your words please me, Harry. I wish you to stay… as long as you will."
Snape stroked a finger over Harry's reddened lips, the gesture seemed tender. There was no doubt Snape felt protective towards him, and Harry remembered the past and saw it had always been that way, though he had resisted it at the time.
"I will stay for as long as I can foresee," Harry said quietly. "As always, master, you give me what I need. The difference is that now I recognise it."
"To ensure the safety you are already aware of, Harry, you need to choose a safe word for our time together."
Harry remembered reading about safe words in the article in George's mag. After he'd looked at the pictures about a hundred times he'd decided to see what the article was about; it had been surprisingly informative and interesting. He knew the sub's safe word should be something random that he'd never usually say during sex. Harry frowned. "Um…FredandGeorge?"
Snape sneered at that, but he nodded. "That would work; it would certainly make me halt any sexual activity. Now, if you are happy with our arrangement, we shall proceed."
Harry swallowed, feeling like he was on the edge of a cliff as far as his life was concerned. Take that final step, and everything would change. Did he want this? It didn't take much thought before he said, "Yes. I am happy."
Snape moved a little and pushed back his robes so the full material draped behind him. Harry could now see the whole of the foot of Snape's boots, the black leather which elegantly encased his feet. Snape had long, narrow feet, mirrors of his long, elegant hands. Harry stared at them, lost in contemplation and wondering just what the hell was happening to him that he should be so fascinated by Snape's boots. Maybe it was because he was so close to them, maybe it was as simple as that. The smell of warm leather encasing a warm body assailed his nostrils, and Harry breathed deep of it. When Snape's fingers touched his face, Harry jumped a little, startled from his reverie, before controlling himself. The cool fingers slipped lower and Harry watched from his downcast eyes as the black leather collar was slipped around his neck, Snape's fingers moving gracefully as they buckled it. It fitted perfectly, magically, as Snape clipped the leash to the silver ring with a little 'snick'. Snape held the end of the leash in his hands, his long-fingered, elegant hands that were nevertheless strong; Harry knew that without testing it. He was held now, captive and willingly so.
Snape spoke again. He was in total control of this 'detention', which Harry realised was not a detention any more, except in the sense that Snape was detaining him, keeping him here in his locked and warded rooms, holding him captive by his leash, which was clipped on the collar that encircled him, surrounding him with Snape's power and protection. "If you offer yourself, Harry, will you accept whatever I wish to do to you?"
A yank of the leash and Harry nearly pitched forward onto the floor. He was closer to Snape's legs now, leaning at an uncomfortable angle. He knew he'd made another mistake, given the wrong answer. He wasn't very good at this, or not naturally so. He had a lot to learn. The feeling of being on his knees, held so close to Snape who was towering over him and making him feel powerless, Snape dominating him just as he had always done in class, was making him hard. Harry wondered at it, then didn't care as his cock throbbed with real and urgent need. Snape would give him what he needed; that was all that mattered. "Yes, master, yes I do. I accept whatever you wish to do to me."
"Look at me." The voice was deep, full of desire and command.
Snape was smirking down at him now, his face full of satisfaction. "Open my robes, Harry."
This stopped Harry in his tracks for a moment or two. Open Snape's robes... so much would follow from that. And Harry. He shivered with a mixture of anticipation and pleasure, and lifted trembling fingers to the front of the black, woollen armour that Snape surrounded himself with.
The buttons only went down to Snape's hips. Harry opened them, working upwards. When his fingers reached Snape's waist, the man said, "Enough. Open my trousers. I am sure you know what to do."
Harry knew. He knew what Snape wanted, and at that thought his mouth filled with saliva, just as if he had been presented with a feast. The straining placket of Snape's trousers was closely fastened and it took Harry a while to undo it, revealing a tented pair of underpants. He pushed the trousers down a little and out of the way, and pulled the pants down. Snape's cock – large and flushed – almost hit him in the face. Harry leaned closer automatically, inhaling the musky scent of the man's arousal. He wanted it, wanted it so much that he licked his lips and began licking the large, tempting cock, swirling his tongue around the purple head and flicking little caresses against the foreskin.
"Good, that's good, Harry," said Snape, the voice coming from what seemed like miles above him. The man's legs were braced apart and he stood as solid as a rock. Harry wondered if he could make Snape lose control, but he really doubted it. This man was so much the dominant that Harry could not imagine him giving anything away, not even in this.
Harry became fixated on earning more praise as he worked; he wanted to hear more of Snape using his name, to make it more like his dream when Snape had caressed him with his fingers in his hair. Because then it had felt like real affection, and not like this, where Harry didn't believe he meant anything to Snape. Tonight, for the first time, he had just done something that made Snape tolerate him instead of kicking him out; and so he must mean next to nothing to his master. He didn't ask himself why Snape would do something as hugely significant as collaring him and telling him to call him 'master' without having any kind of regard for him, for he was truly overwhelmed at the moment. Harry was flying by the seat of his pants with this. He knew how to suck cock, but all he knew of being a sub was what he'd read in that kinky article. Admittedly he'd read it several times, but still...
He began to suck in earnest now. Dropping his mouth open, his lips caressing the cock as he pulled it inside, creating a suction-grip on Snape's engorged flesh. Harry explored the shape, the lines of the veins and the play of the foreskin under his tongue as he slipped his head forward and back, closer to the black nest of hair at the base of the delicious cock with each pass. He was stretching his mouth until his jaw ached, trying not to gag on the large mouthful or choke on his saliva. His efforts were appreciated, because Snape let out a deep moan. The sound sent a jolt down Harry's spine, and he moaned back in reply.
His mouth was full of saliva. He could taste Snape's cock; taste the pre-come forming at the slit. He could smell the musk at the base all around him, the heady aroma of sex was making him a bit mad. He sucked hard; pulling at Snape's cock with his mouth just as his hand would do, moaning with pleasure as he did it.
And then it happened: Snape slipped his fingers into Harry's hair, and the movement was a caress, surely.
And Snape came; a rush of semen, bitter and sudden in Harry's mouth. He swallowed, and again, as quickly as he could for Snape was flooding his mouth, threatening to choke him on his release. Harry couldn't escape for the caressing hand had tensed, holding him there; the other grasping the leash had him tight too, on a short rein. Harry coped, and eventually he swallowed it all, and Snape's softening cock was licked clean before he let it slip out, opening his mouth and pulling back as Snape released his head.
"Yes, very good." And Snape touched Harry's hair again. "Look at me, Harry."
Harry looked up. He was still as hard as a rock and wanted to touch himself, but he knew he must not until his master said he could. Now he remembered clearly how he should behave, and quickly ran over what he had done in his mind; he thought he had done all right.
"Come back tomorrow at the end of my office hours. Eight o'clock, Harry. And do not be late." Snape unclipped Harry's leash and stepped back, draping his black robes around him, appearing academically strait-laced once again. "Now go."
Harry stood up carefully; his legs were feeling far from steady. He was hard and it was difficult to move without wanting to moan as the fabric of his clothes rubbed over his erection. "Please, master," he begged.
Snape looked down at Harry's obvious erection. He smirked. "Ah, so you enjoyed it too?"
"Yes, very much, master. But please, I need-"
Before he finished the sentence Snape waved his wand. Wordless it might have been, but the spell hit and Harry felt a great pulse and gush of fluid as he came in his pants. He was embarrassed and relieved in equal measure.
"Now go. Until tomorrow." Snape whirled and left his office, disappearing down the steps that led to his rooms. Harry just stood by Snape's desk awhile, watching the space where Snape had been and feeling like an idiot. He looked down at the wet patch on his jeans and winced. He took out his wand and cast cleaning and drying spells, which would be enough to get him back to his common room unnoticed. But he was still wearing the leather collar, which was a problem unless he could hide it. He put up his hand and felt it: it was warm and comfortable around his neck, a snug reminder that he was wanted. He smiled at the feel of it. Snape had given it to him, fastened it around Harry's neck himself. Snape had clipped the leash to it and controlled Harry just as he wanted; he could do so in future, whenever he wanted. Snape; Harry's master.
Harry did up his shirt collar. It didn't cover the leather; he could still feel it under his fingers clear of the cloth. He decided he'd have to take it off or everyone in the Gryffindor rooms would see it, and there was no disguising what it meant. The questions would be unbearable. Harry put his fingers to the buckle, but it would not move. He tugged, but it did not give. Harry began to panic, and looked around. A mirror... he needed a mirror. There was a boys' toilet on the way back, there was a mirror in there... Harry left Snape's rooms, the wards falling as he touched the door latch, and resetting as he fastened it again. He hurried out of Snape's office as if the devil was after him.
Crabbe and Goyle, returning from the library, watched him go. Snape had obviously been hard on Potter, so what else was new?
Upstairs in the boys' toilet, Harry stood and looked into the mirror, hardly believing what he saw. Or rather, did not see. The collar was invisible. But he could feel it; it was still there around his neck, the leather fitting close and holding him tight just as Snape had bound Harry to him. Tight.
Shaking his head, he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He could still taste Snape's emission, the bitter taste of a bitter man. Would such a man ever offer him more than the impersonal release he'd received tonight?