fic: good clean fun Title: Good Clean Fun Author:the_con_cept Giftee:gorgeousbowneye Word Count: 2,576 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Pure Snarry Warnings: Crossdressing, light BDSM, object insertion. Disclaimer: Belongs to J.K. Rowling. Beta: The Appealing A, who shall be revealed later, and all further mistakes are my own. Summary: Harry is expected to entertain Snape every Friday night.
Good Clean Fun
Harry stared at himself in the mirror. Utterly outrageous, he thought. He tried to turn so that he could get a good look at his profile, but he nearly fell over.
“I’m going to break an ankle,” he muttered.
Plus, the whole outfit wasn’t nearly enough to keep him warm; not with the temperature Snape kept the dungeons at, at any rate. The man didn’t believe in wasting magic on warming charms. Harry gave a violent shiver, feeling his nipples stiffen embarrassingly beneath the silk of the dress. Okay, this was ridiculous. He had to get out of this getup before Snape got back.
In the other room, he distinctly heard the creak of a door open. No footsteps followed, because Snape could walk like a cat, but several moments later there was a clink and a glug glug glug of something being poured.
Probably firewhisky. Harry wasn’t fond of firewhisky—it made his eyes water and seemed to tear a path of fire down his throat—but Snape always indulged in the evenings while he graded papers.
Licking dry lips, Harry decided he’d have to go through with it after all. It was Friday, and Snape expected to be entertained. He would not be pleased if Harry didn’t make an effort. Besides, they’d been together almost three years and Harry wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if the man got bored.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the study door and clicked into the room. Harry wobbled a little on his towering heels; they forced him to be exceedingly careful and to take tiny steps. Snape glanced up from his desk, setting his firewhisky aside. For just a moment his eyes widened, before becoming narrow and greedy and dark with the unspoken promise of sin. Harry felt a trickle of heat low in his stomach.
“What are you up to now, boy?” Snape purred.
Harry lowered his eyes shyly. “I was just going to dust, sir,” he murmured, brandishing the feather duster as proof.
Snape ran a finger over the seam of his mouth. “I see,” he said, arching a brow. He sat back, crossing his feet at the ankles and watching Harry expectantly. “You’d best get to it, then.”
Harry nodded and hurried to a shelf—as fast as his shoes would permit, anyway. He felt Snape’s eyes dragged down to them. He could almost feel Snape’s gaze roving over snug straps that encircled his ankles.
Harry sauntered from shelf to shelf, duster flicking from side to side. The heels caused his hips to sway as he walked as he tried to keep his balance. He really wasn’t doing it on purpose, but if it lit a fire in Snape’s belly . . . and as much as he disliked the shoes, he was beginning to warm to the overall effects of the outfit. The stockings felt strangely exciting; each time he took a step, he was hyperaware of his thighs and the silken shiff as they brushed against each other.
He could feel his face warming as he went. He could also feel Snape’s too-intense gaze, never leaving his body.
When Harry reached a side table, he daintily bent over.
“Little tease,” Snape growled.
“Whoops.” An ugly little figurine toppled over, fragmenting in glittering bits on the dungeon stones.
“How clumsy of you, Mr. Potter,” Snape observed. “I shall have to punish you thoroughly.”
Harry looked over his shoulder at the man, feeling fluttery anticipation. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Come here. Now.”
Harry went. He watched as Snape looked him slowly up and down, from the frill perched on his head to the tall heels, seeming to strip the pretty little maids’ costume from his body.
“You don’t seem to be very graceful in those shoes,” the man remarked. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable on your knees.”
Harry smiled, awkwardly kneeling at the man’s feet. Snape sneered, looming over him even while sitting. Harry stifled a quiver of delight. When Snape was especially remote it always boded an excellent night.
“Aren’t you a nasty little boy, breaking the belongings of others?” Snape intoned.
“Yes, sir,” Harry said quietly.
Snape drove a hand through Harry’s thick, dark locks, making a fist and pulling Harry’s head back, Harry’s eyes streaming. “But you will offer recompense, will you not?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry gasped.
Snape watched with apparent disinterest as Harry struggled to quickly undo his buttons, but his prick seemed to leap into Harry’s palm, warm despite its hard marble appearance. Snape made a small noise, and Harry petted the monstrous thing, then did his best to fit it all in his mouth. As Harry sucked the man, the hand clenching his hair slowly relaxed, curling to cup the back of Harry’s neck.
“You suck cock far more proficiently than you clean house,” the man said dryly.
Harry hummed in agreement, pleasure thrumming in his veins.
Harry licked the underside of the man’s prick, pausing to flick and flutter at the head, pleased when Snape forced him down again, making him take the man’s cock deeper into his throat.
Finally the man pulled him off, quite roughly again, by his hair. “It’s hardly a punishment when you enjoy it so obviously,” he hissed. Harry gulped. “My lap,” the man ordered, and Harry clambered up astride him to be nearly suffocated by a searching tongue exploring his mouth and dipping into his throat, tickly where Snape’s cock had been heavy and thick.
Snape grabbed Harry’s arse with both hands, clasping down so tightly that Harry moaned. One hand loosened to explore, long fingers probing the little diamond gaps in the fishnets. “I could tear this with hardly a thought,” Snape gasped, pulling away.
Harry nodded eagerly, eyes wide.
“But not yet.” Snape gestured, and Harry flushed. It was a little humiliating, this old and still being tossed across the potion master’s lap for a spanking, but it was exhilarating as well. When Harry was comfortably across his knees, Snape reached under Harry’s skirt and flipped the many petticoats up, letting a cool breeze waft across Harry’s bum. Harry shuddered a little. “Bit of a chill?” the man queried. “Don’t worry; we’ll soon have you warmed up.”
The first smack made Harry squirm; the second caused his cock to throb with delight. He knew, from long experience, that it wouldn’t be until well into the spanking that it truly began to burn. He was surprised he hadn’t developed calluses on his arse, all things considered.
Harry couldn’t stay still. He could feel his prick trapped against his body, the heat of Snape, so close, the hiss of the potion master’s breath as he slapped Harry’s arse; it was too much. Harry writhed, trying to press himself closer, attempting to rut against Snape’s firm thigh.
“Impatient young whelp,” Snape snarled. He muttered something and Harry was suddenly trussed, immobilized by thick leather straps wound round hands and feet and chest.
“Oh, please,” Harry groaned.
“Perhaps a gag as well?” Snape suggested, but his voice was coloured by amusement and Harry knew he wouldn’t; he loved it when Harry begged.
“Please, oh, sir!” Harry was trying his best to move, but the way the straps were knotted afforded barely a wiggle.
Snape sniffed. “Please what, my dainty, tasty bedwarmer?”
“Please more,” Harry spat. “Please, more, Snape—harder!”
Snape laughed then, a man’s laugh, rich and rolling and baritone. “You do know you’re an utter pervert?”
Harry let out a long, shivery breath. “Oh, yes.”
“Let’s try something new,” Snape said, his voice low and contemplative. His long fingers danced up Harry’s legs, playing briefly over the tops of his stockings, dipping in between Harry’s skin and the lacy, elastic garters, high on Harry’s coltish legs. “Such a pretty little maid you make,” the man purred. “But it would have been smarter not to catch the master’s eye.”
Harry was wearing a tiny pair of lace underpants, which Snape made quick work of. After a minute or two Harry felt a slippery finger circling his pucker, zeroing in and getting closer and closer. He cried out as it breached him, basking in Snape’s satisfied sigh.
Harry felt something stroke his cheek, soft as thistledown, and looked up to see Snape wielding the feather duster. Harry couldn’t help himself. He giggled. There were many objects he’d seen the man flourish over the years—everything from whips to hefty lengths of chain—but one object he did not associate with Snape was a feather duster.
Snape’s eyes were hot with fury, and Harry stopped laughing at once. “I’m sorry, sir.” He tried to sound appropriately coy, intimidated and overwhelmed, but Snape saw through this at once.
“Hardly sorry enough,” Snape answered, smacking his arse so hard that Harry’s entire body jolted with it.
Harry looked piteously up at the man. His whole body was a riot of need. “Sex—now—please?” he begged. “Want you so bad.”
This seemed to calm the potions master, who gently carded his fingers through Harry’s locks, petting him, while he thought. Harry noticed the man’s other hand had found a way to sneak beneath his petticoats and even the little white apron covering his lap, and the man was much-too-gently fondling his prick.
Wiggling the little bit he could, Harry begged for more, knowing Snape’s smirk curled with ever greater smugness at Harry’s need and helplessness. “I want it,” Harry groaned. “Sir, oh, God—please, I want it!”
“But you haven’t been sufficiently prepared yet,” Snape countered in a dark voice. One of his fingers played over the shell of Harry’s ear, drawing little circles. The touch was maddeningly light and, despite not being anywhere near a sex organ, extremely erotic.
“Prepared?” Harry echoed.
“You think you can take the full width of me just like that?” Snape said. “Oh, no. I shouldn’t like to hurt you,” he said, tongue heavy with ironic amusement. Snape waved his wand and suddenly most of Harry’s dress was gone—or it had shrunk or something. The silk fabric of his outfit hardly covered him at all anymore. With a hum of satisfaction, Snape trailed the whispery feathers over Harry’s body. He riffled them over Harry’s nipples, and Harry arched and gasped.
Snape continued his onslaught of tender molestation; soon Harry was completely overstimulated; the feathers that had danced intimately over his body had done their work.
“The handle of the duster is very smooth,” Snape remarked innocently. “Not a splinter to be seen.” Harry saw him pluck up the vial of lubricant and expected to be breached—well, sort of expected.
He let out a little wail as the handle slipped inside of him. At least, as Snape pointed out, there were no splinters. “I—don’t—Snape, please—not that,” Harry groaned.
“You’re certainly not being very pliable this evening,” Snape murmured, his hand gently pressuring the duster so that the handle wiggled back and forth, slipping deeper into Harry’s channel.
“But, sir—” Harry began, then broke off as the handle was driven deeper. It didn’t hurt; it certainly wasn’t as large as Snape, and it was very well polished. On the other hand, it felt really dirty and wrong.
“Servants—and young men—should do as they’re told,” Snape said, drawing the handle out only to shove it in again. Harry mewled. Snape chuckled. “You look like a little pheasant,” the man observed, flicking a finger against the wood and causing an odd vibration in Harry’s body.
“Not funny,” Harry protested.
Snape drove the wood in harder, and Harry felt himself parting, opening to allow access. Baring his teeth, Harry tried to bury his face in Snape’s robes, but Snape yanked him back up by the hair again. “Time, I think, for more fruitful activities.”
He pulled the duster out and tossed it aside, then set Harry across his desk, the straps forcing him to stay in the same position, still bent over. Then Snape pulled Harry’s cheeks apart with his thumbs, prodding Harry’s pucker with the blunt head of his prick. Without warning, Snape jammed his cock into Harry, eliciting a small cry.
“You’re very tight,” Snape purred.
“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “I took the potion you gave me.”
Snape leaned over Harry’s back, smiling a little as he slid out and pushed forward in short bursts until fully sheathed in Harry’s body. “Ready, pet?” he asked.
Harry groaned shakily as the man began to thrust, immediately setting a brutal pace. Harry was jarred against the desk as the man pounded into him. Harry couldn’t move; he just tried to take it the best he could, little whimpers of pleasure being forced through his tightly clenched teeth.
Finally Snape’s hips snapped one last time, and Harry felt the man come in him.
“Sir,” he murmured.
Snape sank back down in his seat and undid Harry’s bindings, pulling him onto Snape’s lap again. “A bit rough for you?” the man asked, running a hand over Harry’s face. Harry realized a few tears had escaped; Harry had no idea if they were tears of pain or tears of bliss. As much as he enjoyed a good rough fuck, that had hurt.
Snape tilted Harry’s chin back and kissed him lightly, tongue teasing. Now that the bonds were removed, Harry was able to gratefully wrap his arms around Snape’s shoulders.
Snape touched Harry’s lips, slowly pushing a finger into Harry’s hot mouth and allowing Harry to suckle the long digit.
His other hand crept up under Harry’s skirt and apron, tugging Harry’s prick. Harry whined, and Snape gave him a half smile. “Not sated yet?”
Harry shook his head wordlessly, eyes wide and filled with frustration.
“Up, then,” Snape whispered.
Heart slamming in his chest, Harry quickly got up, balancing carefully on the arms of Snape’s chair.
“The skirt is in my way,” Snape growled, and Harry hurried to pin it up, tucking the ruffled hem under his chin. “Better.” Then Snape bent his head, taking Harry’s prick into his mouth, sucking hard. Harry gave a hoarse shout, scrambling to keep his skirts up despite his agitation and arousal. Snape reached beneath him to slip a finger into Harry’s still-loosened hole, humming in delight when this caused a torrent of pleading and cursing to pour out of Harry’s mouth.
Harry clutched Snape’s shoulders, then managed to work one leg over, trying desperately to thrust harder into Snape’s mouth.
Snape was not gentle. As the tip of his finger found Harry’s prostate, his teeth skittered over the tender surface of Harry’s cock. Then the man bobbed his head, sucking so hard flashes of light went off behind Harry’s eyelids. Snape rolled Harry’s balls in one hand, and Harry tried to push Snape away as he felt orgasm threaten.
He did manage not to spray his seed in Snape’s face, anyway, but the man’s robes were spattered with it. “I’m sorry,” Harry gasped.
Snape was boneless in his chair, his hair limp in his face, his eyes half-shut in bliss. “Pardon?” he croaked.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry repeated. “About your robes.”
Snape looked down at himself in surprise, then up at Harry, his eyes calculating. Slowly, he smiled. “Well, you’re the cleaning crew,” he said. “Get to work.”
Harry grinned back. “Yes, sir,” he said enthusiastically, still trying to catch his breath. He loved Friday nights.