snarryswapmod (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} snarryswapmod) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} snarry_swap,@ 2008-01-10 12:00:00 |
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| Entry tags: | creation: fic, rated: nc-17, the_minx_17 |
Happy Daft Day, draconic_girl!
Recipient: draconic_girl
Title: Welcome to Reality
Author: the_minx_17
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, cross dressing, under 18 (Harry is 17), toys, hints of D/s, rimming, spanking.
Prompt/Summary: Following the war, Harry's dreams take on an erotic flair. Things only improve once Snape finds out.
Author's Note: Thank you, kinwad for the ultra fast beta. You rock, my lovely! I do hope you enjoy this, draconic_girl! The original prompt can be found here.
"You're such a slut for me." Snape leaned in closer and licked the shell of Harry's ear. "You can be whatever you want out there, but here, in our rooms, when you leave your false bravado at the door, you're just a wanton little thing with your lacy knickers and silk camisoles. Always begging for my cock up your arse." Harry shuddered and whined pitifully in the back of his throat, his hips jacking uncontrollably against the air. "In here, you are mine…"
Harry woke with a grunt, his prick twitching sporadically as he spent himself on his sheets. Again. The third time in just as many days. "Gods," he groaned. "Why him? Of every single man out there, why Snape?"
It was the question that had plagued Harry for months now, since the nighttime dreaming started just days after the war ended. The scenes had shifted over time, had become more graphic as Harry's self-pleasure had taken on new dimensions. It had, however, always been Snape.
Snape calling him pretty. (Pretty? Honestly, manly!)
Snape sucking his cock. (And hadn't that been a dream to remember?)
Snape licking his arse. (Did people really do that?)
Snape fucking him through the floor. (Always good for a quick wank in the showers.)
Snape.
Snape.
Snape.
Harry was damn near sick of Snape. Right up until the man yelled at him in class and then his hormones weighed in and Harry found Snape to be rather compelling again. Only in that drop-trou-Potter-so-I-can-fuck-you kind of way, of course.
And now the man, uh, dream, had him wearing knickers. Knickers! Silk and lace that was too small to hold his package in properly, always leaving the head of his cock out above the elastic…
Harry buried his head under the pillow and moaned as his prick jerked, prodding him to give the knickers idea a second chance. There was only one thing for it – Harry just knew he was losing his mind.
He was late for breakfast that morning – the third time in as many days. An unsurprising event really, especially if one took his dream into account. Ron and Hermione, however, didn't have benefit of that knowledge. "Everything okay, mate?"
Harry looked at Ron with wide eyes. Had he shouted Snape's name out in the middle of the night? "Um, I think so. Why?"
"You're late and I heard you moan a couple of time last night." Ron leaned in and dropped his voice low. "I thought you were over dreaming about You- Kn… Voldemort."
"Just remembering," Harry replied, a light blush stealing over his face.
Hermione's brow wrinkled in concern. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey, Harry. I'm sure she has something that would stop the nightmares."
There was no way, none at all, not even if someone managed to work Imperio on him was he going to tell Madam Pomfrey that he wanted to fuck Snape. Well, actually wanted Snape to fuck him. Harry shook his head, his eyes going even wider, and shouted, "No!"
"Whoa! Calm down, Harry," Ron chided. "It's not like she said you should go snog Snape, you know?"
Harry let his head thump against the table and growled. There it was again, sneaking up on him like it did in his dreams…
Snape.
After another week of dreaming, seven more nights of silk and lace, Harry handled it the only way he could think of. He nicked a catalogue from Hermione's room and ordered a pair of lacy knickers with a matching camisole in the exact pale peach that Snape had… that always showed up in his dreams. The company promised discretion. But all the same, Harry used a different name and demanded the owl wait for the package. It was the same way he'd ordered his vibrator and lube and that had panned out well enough. Despite his precautions, Harry fidgeted nervously until he saw the big barn owl swoop into the Great Hall with a brown box hanging from their talons.
"What is that, Harry?"
He glanced at Hermione and blushed, shrinking the box down and stuffing it in his school bag. "Just something that caught my eye."
Ron looked over and elbowed Harry in the ribs. Waggling his eyebrows crudely, he asked, "Like that other thing that caught your eye?"
Harry fought the darker blush and kicked himself again for forgetting to hide the vibrator away that first night. "Kind of, in a way, yeah."
Hermione harrumphed loudly. "I still don't know why you won't tell me what this is all about. It's not like I don't have a clue as to what you boys get up to in your rooms, you know."
Ron shook his head and went back to his breakfast. "Leave off, Hermione. A man has to have his secrets and all. It's like those girly catalogues you and Gin have. There ain't nothing in there we would want. Isn't that right, Harry?"
Harry choked on his orange juice and tried to shake his head. "N… no, not a thing," he gasped out, Ron thumping him madly on his back.
"If you say so." Hermione didn't sound too convinced.
"I'm off, need the toilet before class starts." Harry pulled his bag onto his shoulder and wondered if he had time to don the knickers before he was due in the dungeons. He was going to damn well try. He figured it was only fair that the first time he should wear them was in potions, seeing as this was Snape's fault and all.
It took him longer than he'd thought it would. All because the minute the lace scratched along his penis, his prick filled and pulled the material taut and then his latest dream came rushing back and he had to take the time to wank. Images of Snape whispering in his ear –"Do they know, Potter? Do your sidekicks know that you like wearing silk and lace? That you love having my cock buried in you? Down your throat, up your arse… it really doesn't matter where, just as long I'm in you, controlling you, owning you…" – always did this to his body. By the time he rushed into class he was fifteen minutes late, hard again, and flushed with arousal from the damnable silk rubbing his across his chest with every step.
"Is there a reason you're late, Potter?"
Harry blushed tomato red and weakly replied, "Yes, sir."
"Let's hear it then. Tell me just what was so important that you felt the need to miss the class discussion."
Harry groaned as Snape swooped in, the tone, the heat, the breath wheezing along his jaw… he'd come right here, in his new lacy knickers, if the man didn't back off. "It's personal, sir."
"Personal enough to warrant a detention, Potter?"
If anything, Harry's prick perked up even more. Detention, the desk, Snape bending Harry over his knee…
"Potter!"
Harry snapped back to his surroundings and stammered, "Ye… yes, sir. It's worth a detention." And boy was it! The wank material from this alone would wear out the batteries in the vibrator.
"Tonight, eight o'clock." Snape ran a critical eye over and then, as if he knew about Harry's dreams, he pitched his voice lower and leaned in closer to Harry's ear. "Do know, boy, that I will accept no lies from you. I will have the truth, even if I have to use a paddle on you."
It was a near miss with the moan that wanted to gurgle up and out of Harry's throat. "Yes, sir," he managed to squeak instead.
Harry wanked twice before heading to the dungeons after supper. Part of it may have been because he finally put in the order for that butt plug that had piqued his interest. The point was, though, despite his supreme wank session after lunch, his dick was swelling again and he was so screwed once Snape started asking his questions. Unfortunately, he doubted it would be in the way he wanted.
And, really, what was with all this wanting of Snape? Surely his subconscious had better taste than that surly git. Obviously, he snorted as his prick twitched again, it didn't.
"Shut the door behind you, boy," Snape barked from behind his desk.
For the first time ever, Harry rushed to do the man's bidding. If that surprised Snape he didn't show it. He only pointed at the straight-backed chair across from his desk and fairly snarled, "Sit."
Harry sat. He looked at his shoes and then the cracks in the floor. He let his eyes wander over the potions ingredients and then on to the desk. He looked everywhere but at Snape. "Potter," Snape hissed. "Look at me."
Slowly Harry raised his face until beetle black eyes bored into him. "Sir?" He blushed at the girly sounding squawk and then blushed harder as he remembered the fact that he was wearing knickers and a camisole.
Snape's eyes narrowed and too late Harry remembered the fact that this man, the star of his wank sessions and nightly dreams, could very literally read his mind. Then, as if that gave the memories permission, every thought that had invaded Harry's dreams over the past two weeks flooded into his brain. In color. With sound. And, from the way Snape's eyes went wide, right into the Potions master's head. Lovely.
"Get out, Potter!" Snape slammed his chair back and roared out the words, spittle flying onto his desk and his wand flicking the door open with a resounding smack of wood against stone. "I've no idea what game you are playing at, boy, but I. Will. Not. Be a part of it. GET OUT!"
Harry fled the dungeons at a full run and didn't stop until he was locked safely in the Gryffindor bath. Not, as Snape hoped, because he was afraid but because he had come in trousers when Snape stared at him so intently. How embarrassing.
Harry spent two weeks avoiding Snape's direct gaze. In the Great Hall he refused to even look at the Head table. In class he sat towards the back of the room and, miracles of miracles, managed to brew the assignments correctly. And at night he thrashed about in his bed and woke more than once with Snape's name… Severus …falling from his lips.
"This has got to stop," he moaned as, twisting this way and that, he watched his reflection in the mirror. "He either needs to fuck me or leave me the hell alone."
"Who are you talking to, Harry?"
Harry blanched and pulled his robe hastily over his head. The last thing he needed was for anyone to see him modeling his newest acquisition. Even if the filmy silver material did look kinda nice against his skin. "No one, Neville. I was just talking to myself."
"Does…" Neville's timid voice carried softly over the tiles of the bath. "Does it have anything to do with your dreams?"
Oh shit. He waited until Neville turned the corner and he could look him in the face. "My dreams?"
"TheothernightyoucalledoutforSnape." Neville squeezed his eyes shut and let the blush consume him.
"I what?" Surely he hadn't.
"You called out for Snape."
Well, fuck. He had. "Um, yeah, about that. Who all heard?" Harry figured his stomach had dropped all the way to his toes.
"Just me," Neville replied. "I came up early and… and I guess you forgot the silencing spell." He shrugged and looked sideways at Harry in the mirror. "So I cast one and tried to forget I 'd heard it. Are you…" He waved his hand around in the air as words suddenly seemed beyond his reach.
"Not for lack of wanting," Harry blurted out and then slapped a hand over his mouth in mortification. Really. Wanting the man in your own mind was one thing; to tell your dorm mates was whole different, horrible issue.
"Oh."
"Look," Harry started, "just pretend I didn't say that, yeah? We don't need everyone to know I've gone round the twist."
"No, no," Neville tried to reassure. "It's not that bad, really, Harry. Not as long as that's what you want. I mean it isn't like its Malfoy or anything."
Harry sniggered and then snorted and then doubled over in laughter. "Oh Gods," he rasped out. "Better than Malfoy? That's not saying much, is it now?"
Neville chuckled a little. "No, I suppose not. But, honestly, I mean it. If that's what you want, though I can't fathom why, I'll stand behind your choices."
Harry sobered up quickly "I doubt that it will ever be more than Snape invading my dreams." And my clothing choices, Harry added to himself.
"The offer stands, no matter what."
With a shy smile, Harry thanked him. He still wasn't going to tell anyone about his knickers. Or the new butt plug that he was going to wear this Saturday.
He followed Neville to breakfast, sitting next to the Herbology expert rather than Ron and Hermione. He gave into instinct and looked to the Head table, his eyes moving to and landing on Snape. It was time to change his approach. "Hey, Neville, I think I'm going to need that help you offered after all."
Neville shifted his head around, looking between Snape and Harry as if the tennis match of the century was in the final moments. "Yeah?"
Harry nodded and then, calling last night's dream to the forefront, settled in to wait Snape out. The man would look at him eventually and since he knew Snape couldn't resist using Legilimency, Harry planned on being ready.
"Potter!"
Harry stopped packing his bag and looked at Snape. "Sir?"
"Stay after class."
Harry dropped his eyes back to his rucksack and smirked. His plan was working. "Yes, sir." He waited until the door shut behind the last student before looking up, his eyes flashing with arousal, and pushed another of his dreams towards Snape just as their eyes met.
Harry sat naked at Snape's feet, his long fingers carding through his hair while Harry toyed with himself under Snape's direction. "Add another finger, boy, and twist them, spread them out to open that tight little hole for me."
Harry moaned, canted his hips slightly, and slipped a third finger into his arse. "Please…"
"Please, what, pet?" Snape dropped his hand to Harry chest and tugged at his nipple, scratching across the tightened bud with his nails. "What do you want, boy?"
"You… know… what…" Harry panted his reply, his hips riding his fingers faster, harder, just scant seconds away from being enough to make himself come.
"That, I do," Snape murmured, pulling Harry from the floor and into his lap, dislodging the fingers suddenly enough to make Harry cry in frustration. "If you come tonight it will be on my cock, not on your fingers."
"Yes," Harry hissed as Snape's length steadily pushed into him.
"You are playing a dangerous game, boy." Snape had moved from his desk to stand directly in front of Harry.
Harry looked at Snape indignantly. "Game? I'm not playing any type of game, Snape. I…" Harry took a deep, calming breath and finished. "Those are my dreams. Ever since the war ended…"
Snape scoffed, the disbelief written plainly on his face. "You've been dreaming about kneeling at my feet? Unlikely, at best, Potter."
"I've been showing you, sir. All of it, everything you've seen, has been real."
Harry stood under Snape's calculating gaze, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves and gnawing on his bottom lip. His plan, confronting Snape with the dreams and the knickers, had sounded so much easier than it turned out to be. What if Snape still told him to get lost? What if he had to go through the rest of his life waking up with sticky knickers all because his brain and his prick both were fixated on this one prat?
"Friday night," Snape finally snapped out. "Meet me in the Room of Requirement at ten. It will be spelled to only allow you in, Potter, so any ideas you have of a prank…"
"No prank, sir."
Snape scrutinized Harry some more. "Then wear the peach, boy, and we'll see just how much of this is real."
Harry damn near creamed his knickers again.
Harry stood looking into the bathroom mirror. His towel was wrapped around his waist and water dripped from his hair as he reread the charm and practiced the hand motion one more time. He'd always looked so soft, so creamy, so smooth, and less hairy in his dreams. That was what he wanted for tonight. And he wanted it enough that he'd actually gone to the library and checked out a book. Merlin save him if any of his friends checked his record. There would be no way to explain his need for a book titled Magic for Today's Woman: Staying Beautiful With a Flick of the Wand.
With a hint of trepidation, Harry waved his wand and muttered the string of Latin, sighing happily when the coarse hairs on his leg fluttered to the floor. He ran his hand over his calf and squeaked. "Merlin," he huffed, annoyed to see the rest of his body take interest. "That feels… different."
When he had finished, his arms, legs, underarms, and groin were bare. (And good heavens above – all that magic swirling around his cock had been an experience of its own!) He followed up with the oil the book said to use, supposedly so the skin wouldn't dry out and become flaky but Harry was more inclined to believe it was because it just so damned good, and then he shimmied into his knickers and camisole. With all of the hair gone, the color of the fabric blended with his skin and it almost seemed as if he was naked. No wonder Snape liked this one.
In a fit of daring, Harry simply wrapped himself in his Invisibility cloak and slipped out of his dorm, forgoing anything more than Snape's precious peach knickers.
He could see the door as soon as he rounded the corridor's corner, and he felt Snape's magical securities as he twisted the knob. He stepped inside the room and could only gasp and, as the pressure in cock increased, pray that he didn't embarrass himself by coming before Snape even touched him. The man was a romantic, who'd have thought it? The high four-poster bed was teeming with pillows, some small, some longer and wider than Harry himself, all dancing with shadows from the roaring fire.
And there, in the center of it all, sat Snape in an exact replica of the chair Harry had in his dreams. Harry could only gurgle as he let the cloak fall from his shoulders.
Snape quickly blanked the shock that flared in his eyes. The arousal, however, called out like a beacon. "I told you," Harry whispered, stepping across the plush carpet to kneel at Snape's feet. "I tried to tell you."
"That you did," Snape replied, his voice harsh and grating as he fought against the bevy of emotions flooding through him.
Harry leaned in and rested his head against Snape's knee, relaxing even more when fingers carded through his hair. The real thing was so much better than his dream. "You shaved."
Harry looked up at Snape through his fringe. The man's voice, the deep rolling cadence, skated over Harry's strung out nerves. "A spell."
Snape nodded and then tugged on one lock of hair he asked, directed, and finally demanded Harry to sit in his lap. "Are you sure?" The feeling of Harry's prick jerking excitedly brought a twitch of Snape's lips. "I suppose that answer is as good as any."
"Git," Harry whispered as he floated between reality and dream and back again. "You're not much nicer in my dreams, you know."
"I noticed that," Snape replied, working a hand under the silk camisole as the other cupped a globe of Harry's arse, one finger wriggling between the cheeks and pressing at his hole. "That is why I thought you were attempting a prank."
"Because you were a mean bastard?"
"No," and he punctuated the word with a smack to Harry's arse. "I couldn't fathom why you would possibly desire something, someone so controlling."
Harry snorted softly. "Yeah, well, I think I've proven otherwise, yeah?"
"How far are…"
"All the way," Harry interrupted.
"Are you…"
"More than. I've been," and Harry blushed deep red, made ever more noticeable by the flesh colored camisole, "I've been practicing since the dreams started." Snape raised an eyebrow in silent question. "Um, fingers, vibrators, that kinda thing."
"Why, Mr. Potter, you really are a little slut."
Harry dropped his head to Snape's shoulder and moaned. "Oh, Gods."
"Tell me what you've dreamed," Snape requested, pushing to stand and carrying his burden over to the bed. "All of it. Tell me what you dreamed and which of those you want to make a reality."
Harry's eyes rolled back and he started rutting against the duvet. A sharp smack on his rear only made him rut even harder. "Stop right now, boy," Snape leaned in and growled. He waited until Harry's hips slowed and then he added, "Now, tell me."
"You talk… you call me pretty," Harry whimpered.
"You are pretty, all dressed in lace," Snape agreed. "I'd keep you like this twenty-four hours a day if I could. Knowing that you'd be there waiting for me, that the minute I walked through the door I'd see your cock covered by noting more than a filigree pattern. Oh, yes, you are indeed very pretty."
Harry earned another slap to his arse, his hips having a mind of their own. "Ahhhh," he cried out. "You… you sucked my prick, made me suck yours."
"Fellatio, Potter, is a very satisfying thing." Severus stripped out of his clothes and, slinking up from the foot of the bed, covered Harry's body with his own. "Perhaps another night, yes?"
"Oh, yeah," Harry said blissfully. Another night. Snape had agreed to another night. "Another night," he murmured.
"Is that all? I'm sure you still have many dreams to tell me."
"You… you… you licked me." Harry's blush ran all the way down his chest. "There," he added, wiggling his arse in the air.
Severus banished Harry's knickers with his wand and then, using both of his hands, spread Harry's cheeks apart. "Here?" And he swooped in and licked a straight path from tailbone to balls and back again, swirling his tongue around the tight pucker and relishing the keening erupting from Harry's throat.
"Ah, Merlin, fuck," Harry rambled. "Yes, yes," and he pushed his hips back towards that insistent tongue as spots of color exploded behind his eyes and he finally knew why someone would want a tongue in his arse "There. Right there. I… didn't…"
Snape pulled back, his deep breaths blowing across the moist hole, and he chuckled. "You didn't, what?"
Harry's hands were balled into the duvet, his face covered with sweat and, to his absolute horror, tears. "I didn't think people actually did that."
"Yet you dreamed of having my tongue in your arse."
"I didn't dream it on purpose." Harry whimpered when a Snape ran a finger over the rim of his entrance and then pushed in to the first knuckle, teasing the guardian muscle into spasming and then relaxing.
"No, I'm sure you did not," Snape conceded, holding a hand out to summon the lube to the bed. "It's called rimming, my Harry," and didn't that make Harry see stars – my Harry – so much better than the 'Potter' in his dreams. "It is an intimate act not meant to be shared with just anyone, but reserved instead as a quite pleasurable way to begin preparing your lover."
Lover. Harry's mind got hung up on that one word. Lover. He was Snape's lover. "And then in my dreams…" Harry let the words fall off. He didn't want a dream, didn't want Snape to replay his nighttime fantasies.
"Well, tell me, Harry," Snape prompted, sliding two slicked fingers into Harry's arse. "Then what?"
Harry moaned and shook his head, refusing to say anything more about the fantasy his mind had created. "No more dreams. You never call me Harry in the dreams and here… here…"
Snape added a third finger and flexed them wide before pulling them out completely. Covering his aching length in oil, he pushed into Harry and sighed. Draping himself over Harry's smaller form, he said, "Welcome to reality, Harry."
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