unbroken_halo (unbroken_halo) wrote in pornicators, @ 2005-03-14 00:08:00 |
|
|||
Original poster: ravenrosebud
Title: Caught
Author: RavenRosebud
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: R
Summary: Severus catches Harry in his personal chambers and things take a turn he was never expecting.
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me; they belong to that nice British lady.
Word count: 2,220
I watched silently as he tried desperately to find the words to explain himself. His eyes darted around the room as though the perfect explanation would be carved into the stone walls. I watched as he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, watched as a flash of pink tongue snuck out to wet his lips.
He could be expelled for this, thrown out on his pretty little ass. I can not even recall how long I have longed for such an opportunity, to have him shamed with such a punishment. To see that fear shining in those emerald eyes, a constant reminder of his mother. Lily, that foolish Gryffindor who had pathetically attempted to protect me, to gain my friendship.
Over the years his resemblance to his wretched father had faded. I was grateful for the softness in his features, for the way his body had refused to grow, to develop into a clone of James. His voice still held a child like quality when he would speak though the stubble on his jaw proved him to be older in years.
He carried himself like an old man rather than the seventeen year old he truly was. His body still tried in vain to heel from his battle wounds, scars that would never completely fade a visible reminder of what he had faced.
The thin scar that curved around his right eye a gift from Draco, I can remember the look on his face when his hand touched the warm blood flowing from the wound. The permanent twitch in his hands a left over symptom from being exposed to too much cruciatus.
He no longer flew, didn’t chase the elusive snitch as the crowd roared. His hands were no longer strong enough to grip the broom, to secure him from falling to his death. It had taken him weeks to be able to hold his wand properly.
I, myself did not walk away unscathed from the final battle. Though his scars gave him a more dignified sort of look, mine made me look more grotesque. A thick jagged scar that went from brow to the edge of my mouth did not do much for my appearance. I was not worried about the effect it would have on my love life since I did not have one before.
I remember the absolute hatred I felt when my eyes landed on him at the Sorting Ceremony. I felt sick that I could despise a child so much just for existing, for carrying the surname of Potter. How my fingers itched to wrap around his fragile neck and seek my long awaited revenge for years of torment.
My acceptance of him was a gradual process. There would be days that I found myself lacking my usual wrath toward him, until he went and did something deserving of the name Gryffindor. I will admit that I miss watching him fly, soaring above the ground, fearless. I miss the way he would clutch the snitch close to his chest, savoring the moment before holding it high for all to see.
He was standing perfectly still now, the twitching in his hands had calmed slightly and some color was coming back to his cheeks. He didn’t know what to make of my silence, of the fact that I had yet to charge at him my face flushed in anger.
I spoke to him calmly and clearly, asked him why he had dared enter my personal chambers. I narrowed my eyes at the blush on his cheeks, the way he bit down on his lower lip.
He stuttered as he attempted to lie, to hide the truth in his sudden appearance in my world. My eyes finally caught sight of a small square of material that was sticking out of his trouser pocket. The black silk seemed familiar and my cheeks flushed but not in anger.
Had I become so wrapped up in my own version of reality that I had missed the subtle hints in his change of attitude? Was Harry Potter really standing in my bedroom with a pair of my underpants stuffed into his pocket?
I stepped closer to him, slowly pulled them from the confines of his school uniform. My eyes met his and the question was left unspoken. I knew when I saw the horror in those eyes that I would not take him to the Headmaster and turn him in like some filthy perverted stalker.
A new emotion began to show on his face, hope. I knew not what to do; I had never been faced with such a situation as this. No student had ever fancied themselves in love with me, and I was in awe that the first one to do so would be him.
I took the moment to review my own feelings for this young man; always knowing deep down that my obsession with him over the years had morphed into something unhealthy and immoral. Would he run from me if I were to touch his face now, cup his cheek and place a kiss on his silent lips?
I was torn; I was of two minds, one urging me to act on this new information, the other screaming for me to turn him away. I inhaled sharply when his hand brushed against mine and noticed that I was still holding the article of clothing in my hand.
He stood up on the tips of his toes and cocked his head to one side as if he was asking my permission, I remained silent. I was frozen in place as both of his hands landed on my shoulders and found myself thawing enough to lean down toward his mouth, meeting him part way.
Though I can not recall ever imagining this scenario it is exactly what I wanted. The touch of his lips was so sweet that I found myself wanting to lock him in this room for eternity so that I may kiss him whenever I desired.
His tongue skimmed across my lips and I found myself opening up to him. My mind could not stop, thoughts raced through my head as he claimed my mouth with his overly eager tongue, the taste of pumpkin juice and licorice fast becoming my favorite flavor.
I wanted to touch every inch of skin he possessed, to mark his flesh with my nails and my slightly crooked teeth. To kiss him, lick the sweat from his body, the precum from the tip of his hard cock. I wanted to rub my hips against him, to have him thrust up against my body as I covered him, my weight pressing down on his thin frame. I wanted to slide into him, to feel his bare flesh against mine, to hear him whisper my name in a moment of passion.
My hands gripped his hair and I tugged his head back exposing his neck to my mouth. He made the most beautiful noises as I licked and sucked on his flesh. I admired the bruise I had left, the way it contrasted against his skin.
I wanted to possess him at that moment, to take him and make him mine, and at the same time I wanted to savor the sweetness of his kisses, his sighs, the way his eyes had darkened with desire. I felt a hand on my hip and welcomed the touch, welcomed his hesitant interaction.
He was frightened, of his inexperience, of the hungry look on my face, of the lust that had taken over the rational part of his brain. I softly whispered his name, “Harry,” and felt him give in. He clung to me as though I was a life raft and he was floating in the deep blue sea and in danger of drowning.
My hands slid down his back and cupped his rear bringing him closer to me, pressing him against me. I whimpered at the feel of his arousal, thankful that he was responding to my touch. I initiated the kiss this time, sucked his tongue into my mouth and dug my nails into the flesh of his backside.
His hips attempted to move against me, to seek friction. I walked him toward my large bed and pushed him back onto the velvet coverlet. My eyes traveled over him, admiring the way he was so gracefully sprawled out across the Slytherin green of my bed.
A flash of guilt slowed me for a moment; the thought of his youth stopped me from lowering myself onto him. He saw the change in my demeanor, my hesitation. He rose up so that he was leaning back on his elbows and smiled at me. I could not recall a warmer smile being directed at me.
I sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, our legs touching; I could feel the heat pouring off of him through both of our trousers. My eyes closed when I felt him press a kiss to my cheek, his lips felt cool on my heated flesh.
I turned to him and blindly sought his mouth, my hand clenching his knee when he bit down softly on my lower lip. I knew when I felt his hand on my thigh, the way it trembled causing a shiver to run through me, that this was a moment that I would replay over and over in the years to come. I knew as he pulled me down to cover him that I would dream of him, of his soft touch that seemed capable of forgiving me for all the sins I had committed.
My hands undid the buttons of his white dress shirt as he continued to decorate my face with chaste kisses. I knew I would not last long once I was able to touch his naked flesh. My mouth worshiped his chest, licked the small nipples, and made a trail down to his navel where I proceeded to slowly thrust my tongue in and out, loving the taste of his sweat.
My stained fingers trembled slightly as I pulled his zipper down, the sound mixing with our heavy breathing. I removed his gray trousers and exposed him to my hungry gaze, exposed the secret of his lack of underpants. His body was flushed with arousal, his skin shining in the light of the fire that heated my dungeon room.
I sucked his hard flesh into my mouth, fore going all attempts at teasing him. His hips thrust up off the bed and I gagged momentarily as he touched the back of my throat. I moved my tongue against him, my hand squeezing his thigh in rhythm with my mouth that made love to him.
He came quietly, years of self pleasure in a boys’ dormitory having trained him to do so. My tongue moved down found his puckered opening and begin to circle it. I slid my tongue inside of him, breached the tight ring, prepared him.
My body was over eager, my hips ground against the bed as I continued to taste him, to stretch him. I added a finger, pushed it inside and reveled at the tightness. A second finger joined in and I hurried my preparation afraid that I would lose control and stain my sheets.
I looked down into those emerald eyes that were so like his mother’s, touched a strand of the unruly hair that was so like his father’s, and saw Harry. His name slipped from my lips as I eased into him, as I took what was left of his innocence.
I could not take my eyes away from his face as I staked my claim on him, as I took something I had not been aware I always wanted. He shut his eyes, unable to hold my gaze as I began to lose control and plunge into him almost violently.
My hands clenched the velvet material as my hips moved of their own freewill. I filled him, came with a shout of his name, making it sound as if I was calling for God. I slipped from him, lay down next to him, threw my arm over his chest, and pressed my face into his hair.
The artificial sunlight from the charmed window gave my skin the illusion of a color besides the palest white. My hand moved across the empty bed, I could feel the indent his body had left. A strand of short brown hair was visible on my white pillow case, and I felt something in me harden and die. One night of him was not enough; one taste of his flesh was not enough for me to live on. Regret, a word I knew so well, I could not bring myself to face reality. He had forced me to open my eyes, to face my veiled desire and then teased me with it, taken it from me.
A muffled sound drew my attention to the door on the far side of the room. I was silent, unable to voice the feeling that I was suddenly overcome with at the sight of him there, standing just outside my door, his body wrapped in a faded teaching robe. He looked apologetic, thinking that his quiet cough had disturbed me, when in reality it had saved me from myself.