unbroken_halo (unbroken_halo) wrote in pornicators, @ 2005-06-25 18:15:00 |
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Current mood: | hungry |
Current music: | Don't Tread On Me - Metallica |
FQF Story
Original poster: djin7
Oh, yeah. And I have an offering in it. *nods* So, like, um...you can read it if you wanna. *g*
Title: Spellbound
Author: DJIN7
Rating: Over 18 only
Pairing: HP/SS
Disclaimer: They are all mine. All characters, all scenarios, all locations. Mine, mine, mine. * nods * Oh, look! Time for my medication!
Feedback: That is always appreciated
Beta: the lovely and talented and gorgeous and sexy ella_bane and montana_dan. All mistakes were mine to begin with, so logically…
Archive: Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest at http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS/storyin
Challenge: 'La Petite Mort - Sex and Sensuality' challenge.
************
Do you have him, Massster? My faithful Nagini hisses at me.
I smile indulgently at her, before responding in our secret language, "Oh, yesss, my dear. Him and that traitor both. If they survive the next few days, perhaps I will allow you some playtime." She hisses her pleasure at this news, coiling her beautiful body at my feet. I am content in my smugness, and feel like I can conquer the world.
But in the next minute, my head starts to pound, and I feel dizzy with pain. My vision blurs and I reach for Nagini, who has taken up position around my shoulders, and is shaking me, and I hear someone calling me, but it is a male voice, not my sweet familiar, and...
"POTTER! Wake up!"
Potter? What the hell? I am the Dark Lord, infidel!
"Potter! You are having a nightmare. Wake up, you damned imbecile!"
Ow. Fuck. Snape.
As my consciousness comes to the fore, so does the pain in my forehead, and I clap my hand against it tightly, groaning.
"About bloody time," he mutters in his usual tone.
"Ssshut it, Sssnape," I retort, noticing how dry my throat is, and how harsh my voice sounds, even to me. What in the name of Merlin is going on? I cautiously open my eyes, blink the dryness away, and my hand automatically feels around for my glasses. I see a sudden movement, and it occurs to me at the same time that I must have spoken Parseltongue, because Snape jumped away from me as if he had just been burnt. I sigh.
"They're gone, Potter," he says from a safe distance away, his voice betraying none of the surprise of a moment before.
"Gone? Who are gone?"
"Your glasses, you dimwit. Gone!" He is angry with me. How unusual. I start fishing for my wand. He snorts. Ah. Wand gone as well. Suddenly my earlier dream vision comes back to me and I realize Voldemort was gloating about capturing me and his traitor, Snape. I struggle to sit up, as the pain slowly dims from my scar. It feels like I've been locked in my old cupboard under the stairs with twenty Quidditch bludgers let loose, and every single part of me is aching and bruised. The pins and needles poke in those places that were numbed, and I begin to feel things. Such as how bloody cold it is.
I appear to be lying on wet stone, my head hurts, my wand is gone, I am practically blind, I've been captured by Voldemort, and I am stuck with Snape. Best day ever, apparently.
"Where are we?" I manage to croak out; I'm fairly certain it was the Queens English. I try an experimental stretching of all my limbs, slowly. I am not crippled, at least. Score one for Gryffindor.
Snape sighs. He seems tired. I guess he woke up on the cold, wet stone as well. And at 41, he's got twenty years on me. That's got to hurt. "I believe we are in Malfoy's ancestral stronghold in Cornwall." He sounds more than tired. He sounds defeated. This does not bode well for us.
"Is that bad?" I try for levity, as disturbed as I am by his not-angry-with-me tone. He snorts, and I smirk.
"This is the place where all the bad Death Eaters go."
"The 'bad' Death Eaters? And do the good little Death Eaters go to Heaven?" Witty sarcasm is really quite easy to accomplish when one is tired, sore and thirsty.
He growls. Apparently he doesn't think so. Fuck him.
"We are not leaving here alive, Potter. This place has thousands of years of wards placed on it by generations of dark wizards to keep anyone from leaving it, or finding it uninvited. I have seen the results myself---" He does not continue.
I guess he figures I don't need the details. He is most likely right.
I stretch my limbs again, managing now to sit up properly. Struggling to get my legs underneath me, I stagger up, swaying dangerously. I am much weaker than I had previously assessed. Snape moves quickly, though, and has me leaning up against him while I try to get my bearings.
"Save your strength, boy," he murmurs, and lets me go when I am steady.
"What for?" I snarl, wanting to get a rise out of him, wanting for him to be his usual, brutal self. I don't much like this 'resigned with death' version. I wonder if it’s a trick. Polyjuice, maybe?
"You arrogant child! Do you have no idea how important it is to the cause that you survive? Just like your father--selfish, bloody Gryffindors!" Oh yeah, it's Snape.
"You just told me we are about to die here, Sir. What would you have me do? Lie around and wait for it?" I sneer, trying to light a fire under---someone. Maybe me.
"Yes, well. There are other...options I am considering, Potter." Snape slumps against the wall again. I say nothing while I process that. I know of nothing that can be done without my wand, and weakened as I am, a physical assault would be out of the question. I decide I am temporarily out of options in the thinking department, so I stumble over to the wall opposite him, and put my hands up to touch it. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on feeling the magic. It is a skill Albus has been trying to teach me ever since my Seventh year, three years ago. I have some limited ability, mostly due to the Occlumency lessons Snape has been forced to teach me these past four years, and it requires a great deal of concentration and focus to master. I can feel the wards almost immediately, and they are ancient, just as Snape told me. I hang my head.
Snape chortles again, and instantly I feel like killing him. My rage must be apparent, as I turn around very quickly and yell at him, probably in Parseltongue. It has become a bad habit, brought on by too much idiocy in the Ministry, and the long toll of the war so far. I find it shuts people right the fuck up. I lean back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. There is barely any light in here; I notice a blurry blob of light coming from way up, but it feels like natural light. I assume it is some kind of turret with a window carved high in the stone. I set my sights on it, and wonder what it will be like in here when night falls.
I decide not to apologize for my outburst, and instead ask, "How long have we been here, and what happened?" I hear him shuffling over on his side of the cell, swishing his robes, perhaps wrapping them around himself. I am damn cold in my jeans and jumper. I guess wizarding robes are handy for something.
"You don't recall, then?" he asks snidely. He doesn't wait for me to answer, because he knows I learned a long time ago not to fall for each bit of bait he offered. "We were sent to check that source for a new spy when we were attacked by the usual suspects. Bella, Lucius, Draco, a few more." Their names roll off his tongue with familiarity, and I suddenly realize the depth of his treachery. They were all his friends. It doesn't make me feel any better. "You were stunned quickly, and we were taken before the Dark Lord. We were tortured for some time. I am surprised you don't remember it." I can sense his eyebrow rising, even if I can't see his face, as he is across the cell from me, and I can’t see more than a foot in front of mine.
"My body remembers," I supply unhelpfully. "I was concentrating too much on Occluding, I suppose." I say this mostly to myself, as bits and pieces of the evening come back to me, and I recall some of the...sport.
He hums noncommittally. I don't expect any praise. I am not disappointed. "Yes, well, at some point during the proceedings, we were brought here, while unconscious, and I awoke several hours ago. I've deduced that we have been in their custody for approximately 28 hours." He sighs again. "With no water, and likely none forthcoming."
I process this information. I am familiar with the three-three-three rule. Hermione pounded it into my head enough times. "You can survive three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food." Day one is now gone. This explains my dry mouth and throat, and the dizziness. Well, that and the hours of intermittent hexes, curses, and beatings thrown at me by various evil people. Suddenly I am too tired to stand, and I slide down the moist wall, slumping, stretching my legs out in front of me. "You said something earlier about options?" I inquire, trying to make myself not sound desperate. This could really be it. The end of Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived to Die. I snort quietly. I crack myself up sometimes.
Snape doesn't think I am funny. Well, fuck him.
"There may possibly be more primeval, ancient ways to get around this magic. Enough disturbance, and Albus may be able to pinpoint us on that Order Map of his."
Oh, right. That map is brilliant. They took the magic from the Marauders Map, and the Weasley Clock, and with Remus' help, were able to make it work like a cross between the two. Every Order member has his or her own symbol, and the map shows where in the country we are at any given moment. Unless, of course, the magical dampening wards around you are tighter than Snape's grip on the grudge he still holds against my father.
I feel slightly hopeful at this news. I am a Gryffindor, after all.
"What do you mean, primeval magic?"
He tells me.
If I get out of this alive, I must remember to never, ever ask Snape this question again. I am so screwed.
*************
"SEX magic!" I can't believe my ears. "Are you fucking insane?" My heart has suddenly decided that my throat is its new home. There is no bloody way in Hell that sex is going to happen. I open my mouth to yell again, but Snape is not having any of it, and plunges forth. I DID NOT just think of plunges. Oh, fuck me.
"Potter, unless you wish for one of us to drain the other completely of blood, and perform a Dark magic ritual by painting runes on the floors and walls, this is the only other alternative!" He raises his voice, and I notice that it is as roughened as my own.
"That sounds good, Snape. Why don't you take one for the team? I promise it will be quick." I am not doing this. There is no fucking way I am doing this.
I'd rather die.
"Well, Potter, if you insist. You are familiar with the ritual in question? Have faith in your ability to be able to even read what you have written, myopia-boy?"
"Fuck you!" I shout. "Fuck you. Fuck you! I am not doing it!"
"Then, we die," Snape says matter-of-factly, sucking the winds right out of my enraged sails. I lay my head in my hands, and I'm completely unable to stop the shaking rage that wracks my body. Save my energy, indeed. Bastard.
We sit silently like that for a very long time. The light dims and finally disappears entirely. Night has fallen, and I can't see fucking anything anymore. I am still cold, wet and thirsty. I hurt all over, and now I have the added bonus of being completely terrified.
Apparently, my only chance of surviving this is to perform some kind of sexual act with Snape in order to try to break the wards, so that Albus can possibly find us, and mount a rescue. Brilliant.
I love my life, have I mentioned that? Bloody, fucking hell. The silence is deafening. I can't take it anymore.
"I'm a virgin." I have to force the words out, and it feels like I have swallowed rocks. I hear a shuffle and a grunt, and a mumbled, "What?" from across the blackened cell. Great. Here I was, struggling for hours to convince myself to tell Snape, of all people, my greatest shame, horrified and sickened of this plan of his, and what was he doing? Sleeping like a baby. Bastard. I am seething now, and I push myself up the wall, and walk slowly forward. I want to run over there and kick him while he's down, but I would probably just run into the wall and knock myself out. Which, in retrospect, sounds like a good plan. I pick up speed as I get my land legs back. I can hear him shuffling again; he must be standing up. I zone in on him, and just as I can feel him near me, I strike.
"Bastard! How can you sleep at a time like this?" I am so not screeching. I'm not. I make contact with his chest, I think, and feel him hit the wall behind. He growls in frustration, and grabs for me as blindly as I had him. At least we're even in that respect now. He manages to get a hold of my shoulders, and he's surprisingly strong for someone so skinny. I grapple violently with him, but it is futile; he is so much taller than me. I can’t do much more than shove against him, trapping him against the wall. I start to slow my assault as his fingers grip me even tighter, bruising my already damaged shoulders. I scream at him, telling him how much I hate him, when I suddenly realize that he has been talking the whole time.
"Potter! Calm down! Don't worry, we will think of something!"
What? Is he trying to comfort me? Much to my dismay I realize I am trembling. When the fuck did that start? I am so very tired. I want out of here. I want to go home. Fuck. My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I let go of him to press my palms against them. He, however, does not let go of me, but he does lessen the iron grip on my shoulders. I am only slightly comforted by the fact that neither of us can see the other in this pitch. That way, he can't see my shame and weakness, and I can't see his fucking pity.
"Potter, breathe," he says quietly. He speaks to me gently for the first time ever, and I am undone. I collapse against him, grabbing fistfuls of his robes, and I bury my head in the crook of his arm. I feel hysterical. I probably am. I may be hyperventilating as well. Sometimes, when I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, I crack. Usually, there is no one around to see it. Hermione saw it once, not long after Sirius was killed, and she told me it was a perfectly normal reaction to my loss, grief and the stress of finding out the prophecy. I am grieving now, I guess. I am going to lose my virginity to a greasy git I hate, and he hates me back even more. And then I’ll probably die anyway. Painfully.
I want to be normal. More than anything right at this moment.
Disgusted with myself, I push away from Snape, and he lets me go. I feel oddly bereft. He was so warm. Even though he can't see me, I turn away, and wipe my face and nose with my sleeve. I take several deep breaths, and try some Occlumency methods to calm down. He is silent, obviously waiting for me.
"I need to sleep," I say with as even a voice as I can muster. There is silence for a moment, and then he steps up behind me, laying his hand on my back. I jerk away.
"Potter," he says with a bit more of his usual bite, having run out of patience with me. "If we sleep together, we have a better chance at not freezing to death." I pull in a sharp breath. "I said sleep, boy, not sex. Not tonight." I close my eyes, and sigh, because I know he is right. I know it because I have Hermione's voice still drilling it into my ears from our many survival lessons. Fuck. "Okay. But no improper touching, are we clear?" I think I'm screeching again.
"Yes, Potter." He chuckles at my expense. Here is the Snape I know and hate. We say nothing more and settle down on his wall, because I don't think I could walk across the cell again. It's uncomfortable, and embarrassing, and he's all bony, but we finally settle down in a sort of spooning position, with him at my back, and his robes opened under me, so I don't have to lie on the wet stone. It feels good. Safe. I am exhausted, and after I Occlude against Voldemort, now a nightly habit (when I am not unconscious), I only barely hear his whisper from behind me.
"Being a virgin will help our cause greatly, Potter. And it is nothing to be ashamed of."
I pretend to not hear him. I welcome the abyss.
*********
When I wake up, I feel strange. Peaceful. My brain fights through the haze and I remember last night, and I know I am curled up in Snape arms. So this is what it feels like to have that. I understand some of what I have been missing now, Snape or no. Not wanting to make anyone a target for being with me has made me cautious about getting involved. It's also very hard to find love when you are a marked man stalking a psychotic killer in order to murder him before he gets you. Moot point now, I surmise. I shift a little, and hear Snape in my ear, "Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?"
Count on Snape to ruin my mood. Such as it is. "Fuck you." It comes out sounding like "fug ru."
I struggle to move. My body hurts even more today, if that’s possible. I am so fucking thirsty now and my tongue feels like it is twice its normal size, and my eyes are hurting. Great. I try to produce tears and saliva. Eventually I get some results as I attempt to sit up. Snape helps me a little. As I get my bearings, he starts in about his plan. Bloody hell. Last night comes rushing back to me, but my panic attack has passed, it would seem. But I am still angry and mutinous, and I want nothing to do with this so-called sex magic. But my logical, Slytherin side is now telling me that Snape must have thought of every other possible avenue, because clearly he does not want to do it either. But he wants to live, and get me out of here alive. His modus operandi. I find myself half listening to the details, and half cursing him, and Voldemort, and Dumbledore, and Trelawney and her stupid fucking prophecy, and…
"Potter! Are you listening to me, boy?"
"Sorry," I mumble. "You said something about—er, passion? Sir?" I turn to look at him, more resigned than ever and the look in his eyes is hard. I cringe involuntarily. I close my eyes and take a cleansing breath. "I was listening, Professor. Sorry, please continue."
He heaves a much suffering sigh. "As I was saying, the ritual requires passion and conviction. If you cannot muster those feelings, then it will be for naught. Do you hear me?" Oh, I hear him. The sex has to be true. No being an automaton or sacrificing martyr. I have to feel it and mean it. Just like using an Unforgivable. Stupid magic.
Snape explains in some more detail, telling me the incantation and its meaning, and spewing words like, "penetration", and "mutual ejaculation". I wonder if there is going to be a N.E.W.T. on this later. I chuckle at myself again, hoping he takes it for a grunt of acceptance. I attempt to engage him in conversation, in an effort to repel the negative thoughts and self-pitying anxiety, and stall for time. "When do you want to start the ritual, sir? It seems rather…complicated."
Snape does not answer me right away. He rises, and walks away from me. He must be heading to the hole in the floor by the alcove for his morning necessities. I need it as well. For someone as dehydrated as I am, it’s amazing how much liquid the body can produce. I wait for him to finish, as I get up on unsteady legs, ignoring the pain in my body, and make my way over.
When we are both done, I ask him my question again. This time, he actually answers me, arrogant bastard.
"I should think it would be obvious, Mr. Potter. We are dehydrated and injured both, and the Dark Lord and his faithful could happen by at any time to fetch us."
Oh. He wants to do it, like, right now. Fuck. I feel the panic crawling up my throat again as I take a deep breath to try and tamp it down. "May I have a short while to, er…compose myself, Sir?"
I expect him to laugh at me, but all he says is, "Do try to expedite matters, Potter. I will give you another half hour. Then we absolutely must begin. "
"Yes, sir," I mumble, feeling my way across the walls to get to my side of the cell again. I slide down the wall with the minute light shining directly on me. I don’t care. I need the sunlight. Closing my eyes, I begin my Occlumency exercises.
Deep breath. Focus. Exhale slowly. Deep breath. Focus. Exhale slowly.
I am soon soothed, and begin to lose the reality around me as I imagine myself in a nameless beautiful green park on a sunny warm day, where I am safe, and Voldemort cannot get me, and I am free. I go to this same place every night. I start to integrate the needed components into my dream state as explained by Snape.
I need to feel lustful and passionate, and have a strong will to live. I need to really want to destroy the wards.
I need to feel lustful and passionate, and have a strong will to li—what the bloody hell? I open my eyes in surprise to find Snape cuddling up beside me on my spot on the wall, and his hand, oh dear Merlin, his hand is running up and down my leg. I force myself to stay calm, and not jerk my leg away from him. Deep breath, focus…the feel of his hand is so unwelcome, like a thousand fire ants crawling across my skin…focus, exhale.
He continues his ministrations, and I slowly accept the touch of his hand on my leg. Then he decides to move his hand upwards, and now he's stroking my arm and shoulder. My eyes are closed. I know if I open them now, my courage will fail. Soon he has both hands in motion, and they map my body’s extremities slowly but surely, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
Snape finally speaks. "Potter." Quietly, and his breath is warm on my ear. I shudder. "Let me get in behind you." Keeping my eyes tightly shut, I scoot forward so he can sit behind me. He stretches his long legs out around me. "Relax," he says again in my ear. I try. It’s getting easier. He is quite warm, after all. His hands begin their explorations again, but his position gives him more access to my neck and torso. My hands are clasped together. Snape runs his hands down my arms and pulls them apart. He pulls my right one up toward us, and starts to massage it. He kneads my palm slowly and gently, and strokes in between each of my fingers; his long arms are stretched around my smaller frame. I feel a corresponding twitch in my groin.
It feels exceptionally good.
I calm a bit, letting myself lean against him. He stops, and then starts again, this time on my left hand. I relax even more, and start to listen to my body instead of my mind and heart. It seems to quite like the heat Snape is generating, and his touch. My body and I will be having words, later.
Snape changes the game again, and starts speaking to me, low and silky. "You have the most amazing hands, Harry."
Harry? I shiver. I don’t know if I like him using my given name or not.
"Such spectacular skills in these hands. Snitch hands. Magic hands."
I can’t believe he just said that to me. If we get out of here, I am so putting that into a pensieve.
He finishes with my left hand and his legs tighten slightly around me, as he whispers again in my ear. "Such a wonderful, youthful body as well." And with that, his evil hands make their way to my chest and neck. This time I jump slightly. "Just enjoy, Harry. Loosen up, and let me take care of you for a while."
I shiver again, although this time I am not entirely sure it is with fear and disgust. He wiggles a little, adjusting us both, until I’m completely trapped against his chest, and his legs have now crossed the boundary and are entangled with mine. I realize my eyes have opened, and I’m staring at his long legs, rubbing themselves up and down my shorter ones. It seems surreal, but soon I forget about it as one of his hands ventures under my jumper, and rubs along my stomach. I inhale sharply, and again he uses his voice to soothe me. "I am not going to hurt you. We are going to get out of this, and you will be stronger for it. Trust me, please, Harry."
My eyes flutter shut at this, because I do. Trust him, I mean. Utter bastard that he is. I force myself to relax again. His other hand gets under the jumper as well, but it is up around my neck, and his long fingers run circles around my clavicle, and up my neck to my ears, and back again. My cock perks up at this new development, and I sense that my hand has now moved to his thigh, where it is rubbing ever so slowly in tandem with his. When the fuck did I start doing that?
"That’s it, Harry. Just feel it. Do not think until it is required." Snape sounds impressed with my actions, however unconscious they were. It suddenly occurs to me that he wanted this as little as I did, and I should honestly reciprocate in some way.
Eh. I’m a Gryffindor, what can I say? Fair is fair, and all that.
I snuggle a little closer to him, and lean my head back to give him better access to my neck. No harm in that, is there? I feel my legs loosen up and spread a little, allowing his to get more comfortable. My free hand finds its way up to his arm, and I gently stroke it. He sighs, obviously pleased. I sink a little more into him. My cock is very interested now, and I’m at ease enough that when he makes a move to remove my jumper, I sit up straight and lift my arms to let him. He takes a moment to undo the buttons on his robe and shirt, and pulls me back towards his chest again.
Skin on skin. I blink.
He is so very warm. Or is that me? My breath hitches. I am so close to him now and I realize I’m not the only one enjoying this. His cock is pressed against my lower back, and it feels like a rock. For some reason it doesn’t frighten me. I decide not to care why. I gaze down to his hands on my belly, and watch them, mesmerized. He has such long fingers. I wonder if he can play the piano. His fingertips often graze past the waistband of my jeans, dipping slightly under on every other pass. My own hand has left the thigh it was rubbing and is now running down his forearm towards his. I cover it with mine and guide it to my jean-covered crotch, suddenly tired of the teasing. I am not disappointed when he rolls his palm down my bulge and I buck up slightly to meet him halfway. He sighs in my ear again, and I wiggle against his cock in appreciation. I think I may be able to do this. This is easy.
I am a twenty-year-old man after all. What the bloody hell was I thinking? I can’t have sex? I must be a nutter. I chuckle. I can’t believe I was terrified of this…feeling.
He decides to change the game again. I’m just along for the ride, anyway, so I let him. The hand that was pleasantly massaging my neck clasps my chin, and pulls my head all the way back so I am now looking directly up into his face as he looks down. His eyes are full of lust, and his other hand squeezes my cock again as he swoops down and takes my mouth in a kiss.
Sweet Merlin. Snape is kissing me. Bloody Fucking Hell.
My eyes roll back in my head as he works his hand under my waistband and his fingers graze the head of my cock directly. I jump up like I have been jolted with electricity. I think I even yelped a little. How embarrassing. Snape does not laugh, and continues to devour my mouth like a starved man. I have no idea what to do, and because we are so dehydrated, there is not much to work with, but it still feels good. Like he is ravaging me. His legs clamp around me, his arms hold mine mostly hostage, and one hand is on my cock, the other locked on my face.
I sense I need to yield in some way, so I do. I relax even more, and he takes my cue, adjusting us. Without letting go of my face, Snape maneuvers me into a supine position, hooking his leg over mine. He reclines beside me, his head propped up on one arm.
He stops kissing me for a moment and straightens up. He pushes himself up into a kneeling position, and removes his robes and shirt. He throws his robes on the floor beneath us, and I lift up to allow him to spread them out. His shirt he rolls up and gently lifts my head to put it under. I am oddly touched and wonder if I have ever really known this man. Still kneeling, he straddles my hips, and puts his arms down on either side of my head. Then he slowly lowers himself on to me. I brace my hands against his chest, and I'm surprised at the erratic heartbeat I feel. Snape lowers his head to my left and starts to suck and nibble on my earlobe.
Oh my fuck. Instantly, I buck up again, because that goes straight to my groin. Bloody hell. If he does that again, I will so be his bitch.
He does it again. Then he goes for my other ear. Over and over, taking turns to nip at my neck and jaw, and it's driving me bloody insane. I think I'm clawing at him, and I’ve only just realized my legs are wrapped around his and I am grinding our groins together like an animal in heat. He chuckles, and I am pretty certain I'm blushing.
He is still such a bastard.
"Are you almost ready, Harry?" he blows into my ear in that deep voice of his.
"Unh." Is about all I can muster at this time, and I only know that if he stops whatever it is he's doing, I will die. No doubt about it. He kneels back up, and unbuttons his trousers with one hand as he fumbles with my zipper with the other. Ambidextrous. Of course he is. No wonder he's so good at potions. Chop and stir at the same time. He grabs at my hips now; he wants me to lift them. I hesitate slightly, and his response is to drag his palm across my crotch again. I concede, and lift my hips. He removes my jeans and pants. I'm completely naked now, and he stares at me hungrily.
It looks like he’s going to eat me alive.
And then he does. He takes my cock in his mouth so quickly, I barely have time to register what he is doing, and then all rational thought flies out of my head. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He takes me down all the way, and I feel my cock hit the back of his throat. Then he sucks. Oh, Merlin.
He is eating me alive.
He is using his tongue in a way I never thought possible. I grasp his hair, and try to yank him off me; I cannot possibly take another second of this. I'm going to come if he doesn’t stop. I am going to---AHHHH! Fuck me! My body wants to shoot up off the ground, and it can’t. It's being held down. I think I'm screaming, and my head is whipping back and forth uncontrollably. My body tenses from the top of my neck to the soles of my feet, and spots dance beneath my eyelids.
And then all at once, my entire being sags, as if I am a rag doll full of sand.
I have never come so hard before in my life.
I am panting, and covered in sweat. Fucking shite. I’ve screwed up the ritual. I cautiously peel one eye open, and I see Snape. He is busy getting his trousers off. He doesn’t seem angry. He peers down at me, and his face looks…odd. His lips are pursed together in a strange way, but my brain is still not operating on its higher functions, so I do the only thing I know how.
I apologize.
"M’sorry."
Snape raises his eyebrow and holds his hands out in front of him, cup-like. Then he opens his mouth and spits. Spits out my come. Ugh. Very attractive. I grimace.
"Come now, Harry. You did not expect me to breach you with no lubricant? Hmmm?" With a Cheshire cat smile, he finishes with, "now, turn over."
I grumble as I comply. "I thought you said mutual ejaculation, Sir." I manage to turn myself over, fairly ungracefully. I am rather rubbery. I lie on my stomach, head turned away, and wait.
"You were listening to me. What are the chances? Yes, Potter, we have to achieve mutual completion when we say the words. This was all just—foreplay." He reclines beside me again.
And again, I can feel his smirk, even though I can’t see it. Git.
"Get on with it, then," I say shortly. I am tired, and I feel like passing out. The foreplay, as he put it, was nearly the death of me. My little death, as it were. Hah!
I crack myself up, have I mentioned that?
Snickering, I am unprepared as he pours my come across the crack of my arse. I jump a little, but he presses down to keep me still.
"Relax, Harry. I will do all I can here to not cause you too much pain."
I know he is right, so I rest my head against my folded arms, and spread my legs slightly. He hums appreciatively, and starts to run his finger around my arsehole. I begin my relaxation techniques again, because I know this is more important than my modesty. He breaches me quickly, with only one finger; the so-called lubrication we have available to us will surely not last long. I tense involuntarily, and he starts to run the leg he has thrown over me from his flanking position soothingly over the backs of mine. Soon, another finger follows, and I'm sweating again. Perspiration is popping up along my forehead and back, as I feel the lower muscles there cramping from the invasion. After a minute or so with two fingers, I relax again, but it's still very uncomfortable.
The fullness and burning, I mean; not that my acerbic former teacher has his fingers up my arse. That kind of uncomfortable can certainly wait for later.
I let my eyes close and continue my deep breathing, thinking positive thoughts about getting out of here. A third finger, and he is repositioning himself from my side to my back, kneeling as he straddles my legs. The third finger hurts, but he moves them in such a way that he manages to touch a nerve that makes me forget to breathe. I jerk up again, but not away from him. He chuckles darkly.
"Feel good, Harry? Bear down on my fingers, and it will feel even better." I feel him swipe at my lower back with his hand. He must be gathering up any wetness left there to oil his own cock. I do as he says, and the burning does ease a bit, and he hits that place again. I yelp. Fuck.
That feels wicked good.
I continue to bear down as he shifts a little more behind me. He slowly releases his fingers. Damn, I was just starting to get used to that. His hands grab my hips, and pull me up, while he forces my legs further apart with his knees. I push myself up on all fours.
"That’s good, Harry." Snape is leaning over my back now, his warmth permeating, our skins slicked with sweat. He grabs my head and turns it up towards him, and I stretch my neck and allow it. I'm rewarded with more of that delicious sucking on my ear. My cock is definitely twitching again now, and I feel so exposed and wanton, and somehow so right. I respond to his attentions by pushing my arse up and rubbing against his cock.
He chuckles lowly in my ear again. "Patience, Gryffindor." He straightens back up and grabs my hips again to line us up. Then he pulls apart my cheeks, and I feel him spit down and rub it around my hole with his thumb. "Please relax, and remember to bear down as I am going in." And that is all the notice I get as he slowly starts to push in me.
Oh, fuckity fuck! Bloody hell, that hurts!
I wobble a little, and cry out. "Shhhh," he says gently, as he goes further in, now moving his hands to my hips again. He grips them tightly, and I can hear him take a long, slow, breath. I wonder if it hurts him as well. "Bear down, now!"
"Agggh! Sssnape!" I hiss, and I don’t care if it's in English or not. I bear down, and I feel the shift as he breaks past my sphincter and then buries himself to the hilt.
"Merlin," he breathes, very heavily. I am panting too. We stay like that for long moments, each trying to get control of our bodies in different ways.
"You all right, Potter?" I consider that question carefully. I have been captured, tortured, am imprisoned in one of Voldemort’s death cells, possibly dying of dehydration, and I have my most hated Potions Professor’s cock up my arse. My teeth clench. "Yeah, I’m okay. Do it."
Well, you know what they say, when in Rome…
"Yes," Is all Snape says and he starts to slowly pump in and out of me. It feels as if his cock is the size of a Quidditch bat, but I remember to stay relaxed, and I just hope that it ends soon. A few plunges in, and he changes his angle, goes back on his haunches, and pulls me with him, so that I am practically sitting on his cock; my back on his chest, and his folded legs spread mine even further apart. He wraps his arm around my chest, running his hand up and down, intermittently tweaking a nipple. My cock responds happily. Then Snape finds that spot again, and my eyes roll back into my head, and I hit full mast.
I may possibly be whimpering, as well.
He hits it again and again, all the while running his hands over my body, setting it afire. My arms find themselves up and over my head, and I try to grab any part of him, and expose my body to him further. I try to join in his rhythm; pain is no longer a factor, and I use my broomstick-toned thighs to rise up and down to meet his every thrust. Snape finally touches my cock, and I can barely think at all anymore.
Of course, he chooses this moment to invoke the fucking ritual. I hate him, have I mentioned that?
"Potter," his voice rumbles breathlessly behind me, "repeat everything I say, and don’t come until I tell you to do so."
"Ungh." Best I got, really, while he is doing that thing to my cock. He takes it as a yes, and starts to intone the Latin incantation. I remember that my heart and mind have to be in sync with this ritual, so I let myself truly enjoy it for the first time. I blank my mind to all except for the sound of his panting voice and the slapping of his skin on mine, the feel of his chest against my back, the steady rhythmic burn of his cock, the heady smell of sex, and the erotic sight of his long fingers on my cock. I repeat everything he says, to the letter.
It doesn’t feel like it has been very long when he whispers seductively in my ear, "Harry, I want to see you come for me." And then he squeezes. Sweet fucking Merlin.
My eyes flutter shut, and I do as he asks. Like I have a choice. His arms hold me close and immobile as he empties himself into me; my orgasm is ripping through me like a Cruciatus curse, and every muscle is being strained. I feel like I am combusting, and the ancient magic pulses out of us, so very powerful. It is intoxicating, and I never want it to end. I feel complete, and fierce, like I can take on the world. I am giddy with laughter while my orgasm is being wrung out of me. It doesn’t take long before I notice Snape is doing the same. When the bliss finally ends, we both collapse in a heap of limbs, panting hard.
Holy fuck, that was intense.
My breathing starts to even out, as does his, and I notice his weight on me. I shrug him off. He grunts and rolls off to my side. I lay on my back, amazed at this feeling that fills me. I have never felt so at peace and content than I am at this moment. It’s astounding. I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I can’t see Snape’s face, but I suspect he may have the same problem. Hah. I’d like that memory for the pensieve also. I start to giggle. I hear him chuckling.
"I think we did it, Potter."
"What do we do now? Wait for the Order?" I am not entirely sure I can move yet, I am so relaxed.
"Let’s dress, and check the wards. We will proceed from there." Snape sighs, as he obviously wants to move as much as I do. He sits up, I do the same. I hear him take a sharp breath.
"What?"
"My arm…it’s gone!" He sounds like he is terrified.
"Your arm is gone?" I grab at it. It is obviously not gone. I giggle again.
"No, you idiot. My mark! It’s gone!" I pull his arm up to inspect it. No marks of any kind. I feel my grin growing wider. That’s fucking great! While I process this development, he brushes my sweaty fringe back from my forehead.
"Yours is gone, as well." He says it quietly. My eyes grow wider as I drop his arm, and I bring my hand up to my forehead.
Fuck me. It is gone. My scar is gone! What does that mean? Does it mean…
I start to giggle.
I gaze at Snape. We are naked and sitting on the floor, and our ‘dark marks’ are gone. He stares back at me, and then he also laughs, first a chuckle followed by a full-bellied howl.
This is so surreal. Voldemort must be dead. He must be! Ding, dong, the witch is dead! The wicked witch is dead! I laugh even harder.
It takes some time before we calm enough to form coherent sentences.
"The ritual. It must have--," Snape sounds contemplative, as he passes me my jeans and jumper. I get dressed and he does the same. He continues speculating. "Somehow, you must have…overwhelmed him…through your mark, and perhaps mine, and---"
"A power the Dark Lord knows not!" I interrupt him. He stops buttoning up his shirt and waits for me to continue. "The prophecy! Trelawney’s prophecy said that I would be able to defeat him with a power that he knows not! That must be it!" I pull my jumper over my head. I am practically jumping with excitement. "The beautiful feeling of—" I stop myself because I feel embarrassed. He gives me a little smile, encouraging me. He felt it, too. "…Whatever that was, must have been too much for him!" I can’t say the word ‘bliss’ because as much as it felt like it, overwhelmingly so, it really could not have been.
This is Snape, for fucks sake.
"It does appear so, Mr. Potter," he laughs. "I do believe he is gone for good, this time." We finish getting dressed, both silently musing on the repercussions of our sex rite. Freedom. At last. But we are not completely out of danger, yet. Snape seems to know instinctively what I am thinking, and goes about the room, checking the wards, listening for signs of arrival. Soon enough, we begin to hear the faint pops of Apparition, and we take positions on either side of the cell door expecting the worst.
"Severus! Harry! Are you here?"
Oh, thank Merlin. My body sags with relief. Hermione’s urgent voice is like a soothing balm on all of my hurts. We’re safe.
Safe, and free.
I look over at Snape, and see that his eyes are closed and he’s relaxed against the wall as well.
"In here! Hermione! We’re in here!" I use the last of my strength to call out to her, and I hear her forceful, "Alohamora!" at the door, before I finally let go, and crumble to the ground. I'm going to fucking sleep for a week.
Snape looks down at me, still leaning up against the wall, his head tilted back. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter," he says softly, so that only I can hear.
I smile at him, responding in kind, "Thank you, sir. For everything." For not making it a fate worse than death, I add silently.
"It was truly my pleasure, Harry." Closing his eyes, he awaits the cavalry.
My last thought before I see Hermione’s sweet face and Dumbledore’s pleased twinkling is that I really hope I can find a pensieve as soon as I wake up. There is no bloody way I’m ever going to forget this experience.
Besides, how am I ever going to get Snape to agree to do it to me again, if I don’t have evidence of how fucking brilliant it was?
-fin-