Hate!Sex for Love!Lee :-D
Lee, you're a phenomenal writer and I know the folks at DD will miss you modly talents, but anything that gives you a bit more time to write (or read, or whatever you want to do) is OK by me. Enjoy yourself.
This was dropped on my head in the shower this morning, possibly via Invisible Owl Post. When I looked at it, I thought "Ah, this must be for Lee!" Hope you like it! (And I hope you don't mind me using it for the BBTP challenge either. ;-))
Title: If I Never See His Face Author: Nehalenia Rating: NC-17 Pairing: James/Severus Warning: hate!sex, dub-con, non-con Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR. Only the smut is mine. Word Count: 2300 or so Author’s Notes: Written for and dedicated to snegurochka_lee in honor of her incredible talent and many contributions to the glorious cause of smut. That I just happened to write on the day of the BBTP challenge is mere serendipity.
If I Never See His Face
~~
I know his face better than his own mirror does.
I know there are flecks of green and gold in the hazel eyes. I know there is a faint dusting of freckles across his nose. I know that the shadow of stubble on his jaw appears at three – not five – o’clock.
I have counted his eyelashes and measured the centimeters between his eyebrows and his unruly fringe of hair. I know that his glasses slip slowly down his nose as he fucks me, and I know exactly the way his white teeth grit together when he comes.
It is really quite a beautiful face.
I hate it even more than I hate my own, and I truly did not think that was possible.
~~
“Stop doing that,” he tells me. The hazel eyes are fierce today. A drop of sweat slides down the side of his nose and pools behind the metal rim of his foolish, round glasses. Doesn’t the man know any vision spells? He’s supposed to be a wizard, after all.
That’s why it’s called a Wizard’s Debt, isn’t it?
“Doing what?” I ask, my voice as cool as I can make it with a cock rammed up my arse. I’ve been practicing. I’ve had several occasions to do so of late.
“Clenching,” he hisses through his own clenched teeth. He’s stopped thrusting but I can feel the tremor in this thighs. I am squeezed tight between the dank stone wall and the orgasm he’s trying to hold off as long as possible.
“Stop it,” he orders, “or you’ll make me come.”
“I thought that was the whole point of this?” I say mildly.
We both know it isn’t.
That isn’t the point at all.
“I mean it,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.
I can feel the throb of the needy prick that’s stretching me. We are pulse against pulse, the gait of our blood as perfectly matched as a pair of carriage thestrals.
I have never felt anything as intimate as this hatred.
“I’m not doing anything,” I tell him with in a bored tone that I stole straight from Lucius Malfoy’s lips. “If you weren’t pressing my right knee practically to the wall, it wouldn’t be so tight.”
He says nothing, but shrugs my cramping thigh from off his shoulder, catching it behind the knee in the crook of his arm. I bite back my grunt of relief at the same moment he muffles his own sigh of pleasure.
“See, Potter?” I smirk. “Simple physics.”
He slams into me so hard that I gasp. A hot, fresh rush of hatred fills me – that he made me notice, that he forced me to respond – and he grins at the twisted expression I know is on my face. His steady thrusts resume – his smug smile as mechanical as his hips – and I school my features back to neutral loathing.
I recite potion ingredients and alchemical tables in my head as his thrusts speed up, as his own features contort in a grimace of need, but the words and numbers are slapped out of my head when he grabs my cock and pulls.
It’s war now – a battle to see who’ll make who come first – and I do clamp down on him this time, squeezing his prick as hard as he’s squeezing mine. I can feel the climax building low in my gut, thrumming into my groin, into my balls, and I know it will be sweet and cold and sharp – as sweet as it is bitter – and I want it, Merlin, yes, I want it.
I hold it back. I know what Potter’s never known, and never will. I know how to deny, to delay, to restrain myself, and I hold it back – because this also I have been practicing – and it’s Potter whose hips are wild between my legs, pumping like he wants to split me open and crawl inside. It’s Potter who gasps and freezes; Potter whose features clench as tight as my arse; Potter who finally swears and yanks his prick out so it can sputter his filthy come all over my front.
He is breathing hard and fast, staring at me as if he doesn’t believe what has happened. His fist is still wrapped around my swollen cock. I glance down at it slowly, then raise my face and smile at him.
He makes sure I come; and come hard. My cock is as sore as my arse for the next two days, but it’s worth it.
~~
Next time, he brings lube. I’m pressed against the wall again, my robes pushed up around my waist, the side of my face shoved against the rough stone of a deserted dungeon corridor.
“No,” I tell him when I hear him open the jar. I can smell it, I can hear his fingers delving into it, and I try to jerk away when one hand spreads my cheeks.
“Shut up,” he tells me, quite agreeably. “It’ll feel good.”
Bastard. I can hear the smug smile in his words.
I don’t want it to feel good. I don’t want any pleasure from this. Not from him. Not ever.
He knows that. It’s the only reason he’s doing it.
This time I fight. I never fight – there’s no point in it, we both know who’s going to win – but now I can’t help myself. I shudder as his fingers smear the cool gel around my hole. I tense my muscles, desperately trying to keep him out, but his slick finger breaches me easily, slides right in.
Merlin help me, it feels good. His finger skates over my prostate, pressing and stroking around and over it, as if surveying it for future reference. He hums to himself when he hears the hitch in my breath.
No! my brain is chanting. No, no, fucking no! It isn’t happening. He isn’t going to make me like it. No. I can only hope I’m not saying it out loud.
Two fingers in me now, and when he curls them over my prostate and strokes it hard – just the way you scratch a cat under its chin – I lose it.
The feeling that surges inside me isn’t pleasure, it’s desperation. I go quite wild – so uncontrolled, I’m almost ashamed to own it – snarling, twisting, bucking him out of me, off of me. I shove him away with a strength I didn’t know I had, break and start to run, but I’m caught up short when he grabs me by my hair and the back of my robes.
He hauls me back, cursing and calling me names, but I can hear the mocking laughter just behind his voice; hear the enjoyment he takes from it as he snaps out a binding spell and sticks my wrists to the wall above my head.
“Stupid slimy git!” he taunts, but there’s something in his voice that makes it almost an endearment. “Greasy, ugly, nasty little slut.” He is panting as he throws my robe up over my back and jerks my hips toward him, and I don’t think it’s from the effort of catching me. “You like it, don’t you?”
“No!”
“You do. Admit it.”
“Fuck off, Potter!” I snarl, trying to spit over my shoulder.
“Fine, Snivellus,” he laughs. “I will. Now where was I? Oh yes.”
I arch back as his fingers breach me – three this time – and press down hard on that sensitive gland.
“Fuck!” I groan – I can’t help it, it’s too much to feel – then “Fuck! again, louder, sharper, when his fingers spread me open and he pushes his cock through on top of them.
“God!” I gasp as he wraps his other arm around my stomach and starts fucking me, far too slowly, his cock stretching me like it never has before, his fingers pressing that spot at every stroke. “No, no, no – God! – stop it! Please! Please stop! Please!”
Yes, I’m begging. Begging him to stop. This is what he’s reduced me to. Even though he’s laughing in a low growl as he fucks me. Even though I know he never will.
I’m so full of his fingers and cock, it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. It’s like an anchor. Like a spell. I can’t move, I can’t run. I can’t resist, and what’s worse, I’m not sure I want to.
“Yes, oh yes!” he’s hissing in my ear, his chin digging into my shoulder, the metal frame of his glasses sharp and cold against my cheek. “Yes, fuck! Just like that! That’s what I want to hear!”
I don’t understand just what he’s talking about until I realize that I’m whimpering as he fucks me. The shame of it burns me, my face so hot I think my skin might blister, but I can’t seem to stop, and when his slick fingers wrap around my cock and bring me off in three smooth pulls, I’m so beyond shame that I howl and sob and arch back against him as my cock spurts and splatters the dank wall.
I am so stupidly thankful when he pulls out of me and releases the binding that I don’t resist when he presses me down. My legs won’t hold me anyway, and when I’m slumped before him -- still dazed with my release, still feeling so filled, so weighted down and oh Merlin oh Circe so owned -- he holds out his cock and I open my mouth like an obedient child.
His prick slides in and owns my mouth as well. No doubt he thinks it’s funny. He can take his own pleasure now, and he does, holding my head and gripping my hair as he fucks my mouth. I press my hands against his hips, just enough to keep him from choking me, and I try to close my eyes, to forget whose cock is battering my tongue, but he won’t let me.
“Snape,” he hisses my name. “Look at me! Fucking look at me!” He wrenches my face up even as his cock is gagging me, and I can’t pretend it’s anyone else but him; not anything else but sharp hazel eyes, black hair that won’t lie down, stupid spectacles fogged with lust and a taunting mouth. Even with his eyes full of hatred, scorn and need, even with his mouth leering and his breath gulping and the sweat pouring off of him, it is still a beautiful face and it shatters like glass when he jerks his cock out of my mouth, gives it two fast strokes and comes all over my face.
I try to jerk away, gagging, to wipe my eyes, but he holds me by the hair, panting hard, not saying anything. He holds my head until he can get his breath and look at me – study me, really – with a critical eye.
“Oh yeah, Snively,” he smiles through gritted teeth, still breathing hard. “That’s good. Ugliest git I’ve ever seen, but even you’re a beautiful sight with my spunk all over your face.”
He finally lets me go and I scramble up, scrubbing at my face and hair with the hem of my robe until I can find my wand and cast a cleaning spell. He leans against the wall, running a hand through his hair and chuckling, watching me.
“No,” he says when I raise my wand to clean the evidence of my own climax from the wall. “Leave it.”
I stare at him. He grins. Impishly.
“Nice little memorial, don’t you think?”
If I stand there a moment longer staring at his mocking face, I will cast a curse that will surely kill him. Merlin knows I want to.
I turn on my heel and sweep off down the hall. His low, taunting laughter follows me.
My hatred is hot and white and pure. It bears me up. It magnifies me. Even his cock and his fingers could not fill me as full as this.
I hate him so much, I think my heart will break with it.
~~
He leaves me alone before and during our NEWT exams. Even arrogant swots like him are too busy revising to think about anything else.
I see him staring at me from the Gryffindor table on the last day of school. The Leaving Feast will be held this evening. Tomorrow, after seven years, we will board the Hogwarts Express for our last journey home. We will arrive at King’s Cross Station and go our separate ways. He will take a position, marry a girl and spawn a brood of myopic little bullies just like himself. He will forget about me.
But that is for tomorrow, and ever after. There is still today, the last day, and I can tell from the look in his eyes that we are not quite done with each other. Today, at some hour, in some lonely classroom or hallway, there will be one last time.
I raise an eyebrow at him, sneer and turn away. So be it. I am finding it hard to care.
In my own mind, I have already left Hogwarts. I know where I am going and what I’m going to do. My decision was made for me some time ago, and perhaps, someday, I will be able to thank James Potter for his help in my choice of direction.
But really, it hardly matters to me now.
I may be sitting at the Slytherin table with my half-eaten breakfast before me, but I’m not really here. Severus Snape is already gone. Body to follow by rail.
He can’t really touch me anymore. Not the part that matters, anyway. I can bear whatever happens today – ignore it, even – because of tomorrow.