Fic: Those Who Dream Title: Those Who Dream Author:suemonroe Giftee:loupgarou1750 Word Count: 4753 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: HP/SS Warnings: *Dub Con, mild bondage , Infidelity* Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Summary: The consequences of dreams are often unexpected. Author's Notes: I tried to hit your kinks, hope it worked.
”Life is never easy for those who dream.” Robert James Waller
From the first one he could remember, Harry’s dreams had always set him apart.
Talking about them was impossible. At the Dursleys’ he’d been cuffed into silence, lest his freakishness become evident to the neighbors. At Hogwarts he didn’t dare. Having access to Voldemort’s most blissful moments wasn’t something he wanted to discuss.
These new dreams were about neither the Killing Curse nor Voldemort, but Harry still couldn’t talk about them. Not to Hermione, though she would no doubt find the meaning in a book. Not to Ron, who would likely recommend he visit St. Mungo’s, or Hermione.
He most definitely could not discuss them with Ginny. Not that he saw her that often. Between planning their wedding with her mother and Quidditch practice, Harry was lucky to spend an evening alone with her twice a month. Besides, he might not know that much about women, but he was positive Ginny would be less than pleased to know Harry dreamt about being shagged by Severus Snape.
Well, they hadn’t started quite that way, but after six months they had evolved. Years ago, when his visions had been the worst, Hermione had quietly slipped him a book on dreams. It had been useless at the time, but since these new dreams started he’d read it cover to cover.
According to the book, a person could only dream of things they had knowledge of. Which in no way explained why Harry was suddenly having detailed dreams of sex because Harry had never had sex. With anyone.
Ginny felt it best to wait till after they were married. Harry didn’t necessarily agree but wasn’t about to pressure her. In one way it was a relief he’d slipped into Muggle London and found a bookstore. It worked for Hermione, so he thought he’d give it a try. He’d been overwhelmed by the all the information and descriptions. All the books said sex was central to a successful marriage, and Harry was sure he’d screw it up.
So his only experience was from what was in a book, and that still didn’t explain why he was dreaming of sex with a man. He hadn’t looked at those books. Until the dreams had started, he’d never given any thought to his sexuality. For several weeks, he’d tried to deny any attraction to men, but eventually, after spending time with Charlie, he’d realized perhaps it wasn’t the end of the world.
Not that it really mattered - he was marrying Ginny - but he did feel more comfortable with himself. For a week after that, the dreams had stopped, and Harry had decided it was his subconscious’s way of making him face an uncomfortable personal truth. Then they’d come back, more detailed than ever.
That was when Harry realized the man in the dreams with him was Snape. For a month afterwards, Harry had dosed himself with Dreamless Sleep every night. It made no difference. No matter how strong a dose he took, he still woke up in the morning languidly relaxed with a wet spot on his bed.
Snape’s body had never been found. Harry tried for months to find some trace of him. Every Death Eater they picked up he questioned, trying to discover if they’d moved the body. No one from the battle had remembered seeing him. Eventually Harry ran out of lines to pull and had to admit defeat. He’d commissioned a small memorial stone and fought Hogwarts' Board of Governors to have it erected.
There had been a small ceremony and the Board had reluctantly allowed the students to attend. That night, flush with victory over the Board, was when the first dream came to him. Harry often wondered if he was going insane. Not because of the dreams, but because he didn’t truly want them to stop.
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Grinning sloppily, Harry watched his friends argue over Seamus’ throw. He was too drunk and too happy to move. Holding a tray of drinks, Ron wobbled back to the table. The dart players gave up their argument and converged on the ale.
“Brilliant idea, Ron,” Seamus said as he slapped Harry on the back. “One last night of freedom with the blokes before you tie the knot.”
Harry laughed. “The wedding’s not for a month.” It had been a good idea though. Life had scattered them far and wide. Harry was happy to see them again.
His glass threatening to spill when he plopped down opposite Harry, Ron grinned. “Three weeks, mate.”
With a shrug, Harry picked up a full tankard. Three weeks, a month, it didn’t matter. He was marrying his school sweetheart; he should be the happiest man in the room. He wasn’t.
No matter how hard he tried, Harry could never quiet recall asking Ginny to marry him. One day she and Molly started discussing dates, and it was decided. He loved her, he truly did, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to be married.
Dean said something and the table laughed, Neville so hard he shot ale out of his nose. Even Harry had to chuckle at that. Pushing away his depressing thoughts, Harry tried to join in the cheer. It wasn’t fair to Ginny to dwell on petty details; maybe after they were married he’d feel better.
For the next hour, he was determinedly cheerful, finally getting up and playing a game of darts against Ron. He lost spectacularly, and as he sat down, Seamus and Dean argued who would play the winner. Neville had his head down on the table. Leaning to the side, Harry was relieved to see Neville’s fringe move with his breathing; just passed out then.
Harry looked out over the crowd at the Muggle pub Seamus had suggested. Most of the crowd was hovering around the bar yelling at the telly. Harry tried to see what was on, but couldn’t see over all the people. A few couples sat in booths along the wall leaning across the table to be heard over the cheering.
In the back corner a man sat alone. The hair on the back of Harry’s neck rose. He squinted to see through the shadows and gasped. Out of a curtain of dark hair there was a familiar hawkish profile. As Harry watched, the man stood, dropped something on the table and walked into a hallway in the back.
Without a thought to his friends, Harry got up and followed. He looked down as he passed the table and saw a pile of Muggle pounds. The hallway was narrow, the loos were side by side, both doors open revealing empty rooms. Around the corner was a flight of steps. Peering up into the darkness, Harry hesitantly made his way up, carefully keeping his hand on the wall.
He reached to top of the steps and paused, listening for any hint of the man he’d followed. Absolute silence greeted him, not even the noise from the bar below could be heard. It almost felt like he was in a different world. Slowly making his way down the upstairs hall, Harry drew his wand and murmured, “Lumos.”
Feeling more confident with a circle of light surrounding him, Harry counted four doors, three open. Peeking into the first, Harry saw a bed, dresser, and a small sofa. He moved on, the next two held the same in slightly different colors. He stood before the final door, the only one that was closed.
Lifting his hand to knock, Harry hesitated. It couldn’t have been Snape. The man was dead, Harry had watched him die. He was drunk, that was the only explanation for what he thought he saw. He should just walk away, go back to his friends and put this particular ghost to rest.
With a sigh, Harry turned around; hopefully his friends hadn’t even noticed his absence yet. The door behind him opened and banged into Harry’s back. He stumbled forward dropping his wand. The instant it left his hand, the light died and the hallway was plunged into darkness again.
A warm body pressed against his back and strong hands pinned his arms to his side. He was dragged backwards into the equally dark room. Just as he opened his mouth to yell, he was shoved against the wall, trapped between his assailant and unforgiving wood. His breath whooshed out, temporarily rendering him mute. He heard the door shut and a whispered spell.
“Stupid boy,” the words were whispered, but Harry recognized the voice. It was the one haunting his dreams.
“Is there no end to your naiveté? Every night you allow me into your mind, and now you’ve left the safety of your friends to seek me out.”
Shoving back against Snape, Harry tried to get enough room to breathe. The body behind him eased back a fraction, but before Harry could draw a breath, the hands holding him roughly spun him around. The bare inch of space between them was suddenly filled by Snape’s body. In the pitch black, Harry couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel Snape’s breath on his face, smell a subtle smoky scent.
“Snape?” Harry questioned. His mind was having a hard time accepting what was before him; the sheer amount of alcohol in his system wasn’t helping.
The chest against his shook briefly. “Yes, Mr. Potter.”
Snape’s hands loosened their grip and began to slowly stroke from his shoulders to his wrists. A shiver went through Harry. Long fingers threaded through his and Snape slowly brought Harry’s hands to his mouth. Warm breath tickled the back of his hands for a moment, and then first the right, then the left was graced with a brief press of Snape’s lips, almost too soft to be called a kiss.
Raising Harry’s hands above his head and holding them firmly against the wall, Snape shifted, and Harry felt his hot breath on his face. “I trust you have no doubts as to what will occur here tonight,” Snape breathed against his cheek. Hot lips trailed from his cheek bone to his ear. Snape’s nose nuzzled against the shell of Harry’s ear as he spoke again. “Do you want me to fulfill your dreams, Harry?”
Confused, drunk, overwhelmed and painfully aroused, Harry wasn’t capable of speech. Somehow he managed to get the message to the muscles in his neck and nodded. Thankfully that seemed to be all the permission Snape needed. With bruising strength, Snape’s lips were crushed against his. His tongue surged into Harry’s mouth.
The wall behind Harry was pressing into the back of his head, but Harry hardly noticed. His mind whirling, he strained against Snape’s hold and fought to participate. He felt as much as heard Snape’s growl. “No, Potter, I intend to savor your surrender.”
Frustrated at being held down, Harry snarled, “Let me go, Snape.”
A dark chuckle was his only response. Snape’s lips descended on his again, gently this time, coaxingly. He nibbled lightly at Harry’s bottom lip, licking along the seam of his lips. Harry’s defenses crumbled and he parted his lips. He expected Snape to immediately claim his reward, and was surprised when the older man’s tongue withdrew, inviting Harry’s to follow.
Dipping his tongue into Snape’s mouth for the first time, Harry reveled in the taste. Bittersweet, and smoky, Harry imagined it could easily become addictive. His cock throbbed as if in reminder and Harry moaned. Snape shifted slightly and suddenly a hard thigh was pressing into Harry’s groin.
Shamelessly, Harry thrust against it, practically writhing against Snape. Snape rocked his thigh in a frantic rhythm, finally retaking control of the kiss, thrusting his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Despite his instincts, Harry gave in. It felt so good. A hot body pressed against him, a scalding tongue tangling with his; the sensation was quickly becoming overwhelming.
In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Harry felt his balls draw up. He didn’t want it to be over; he tried again to shove Snape away, to slow this down. But Snape wouldn’t allow it. He redoubled his attack, rocking harder and somehow the kiss turned even more passionate, an almost desperate urgency fueling it.
It was too much for Harry. He jerked his mouth free, threw his head back and moaned as his orgasm ripped through him. Snape released his hands to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist and hold him close. Sagging against Snape, Harry nearly sobbed with the sensation. Wanking had never made him feel like this. As if he was floating, barely tied to his body.
Snape tugged his hand and led him across the room. Pressing on his shoulders, Snape urged him down on a soft surface. Blindly patting his hands all around him, Harry discovered it was a bed. He heard Snape’s footsteps move away, pause, and then come back. There was a series of noises, like Snape was setting things on a hard surface.
“Incendio,” Snape murmured.
A small candelabrum sprang to life, illuminating the bed. Snape still stood in the shadows, a dark figure barely discernable from the blackness around him. Harry swallowed hard. It was different now that Snape wasn’t touching him. Before, Snape had seized control and Harry only had to follow.
But Harry wanted more. Some part of his brain, or perhaps it was his hormones, insisted there was much more Snape could offer him. If he had the courage to ask. Wetting his lips nervously, Harry silently extended his hand, palm up, towards Snape.
Head bent, Snape glided forward and reverently slipped his hand in Harry’s. They stayed like that for a long moment. A million questions darted through Harry’s mind. Why? How had Snape survived? Where had he been all this time?
He didn’t ask any of them. Snape gracefully kneeled before Harry. With a squeeze to Harry’s hand, he released him and calmly removed Harry’s shoes and socks. His long, strong hands slipped over Harry’s trousers up the outside of his leg. Harry shivered; he could feel the heat of Snape’s hands through his clothing.
Snape continued running his hands up, over Harry’s thighs, until they reached Harry’s hips. Sitting completely still, Harry waited to see what Snape would do next. The tension in the air was so thick Harry was afraid to breathe much less talk. Snape looked up then and the heat in his eyes was so hot, Harry was surprised it didn’t burn him alive.
Uncomfortable with the continued silence, Harry cleared his throat. He had to say something. Snape must have read the intention in his eyes. Shaking his head, Snape lifted his left hand and pressed his forefinger to Harry’s lips. “It’s alright, Harry,” he whispered.
Harry nodded, though he wasn’t sure Snape was right. It seemed to be what Snape was looking for though. The corner of his mouth turned up in an almost smile and he lifted his finger. Both hands went to the buttons at Harry’s neck and deftly began slipping them loose.
Snape made quick work of Harry’s shirt. Once it was gone, he urged Harry to lie down, climbing up beside him. Pressing his still fully clothed body against Harry, Snape traced a line from Harry’s chin, down the center of his chest to his stomach. The muscles in Harry’s belly tightened, the touch was just shy of ticklish.
Harry couldn’t think of a single person who’d ever touched him this way. Like he was precious. Snape’s undivided regard was both welcome and discomforting. Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do; he had the feeling he wasn’t supposed to lie there like a statue. He lifted his hand and tentatively reached out for Snape’s face. He grazed the sharp cheek bones, trailed a finger down Snape’s hawkish nose. The thin lips were surprisingly soft; Harry started a bit when the lips suddenly closed around his finger, drawing it into Snape’s mouth.
A strong hand grabbed his wrist and kept him from pulling back. Snape teasingly nipped at the soft pad of Harry’s finger and ran his tongue around the nail. Pulling Harry’s hand back, he released the finger with a soft pop.
“You’re thinking too much,” Snape said softly. He looked off into the distance for a moment before turning his attention back to Harry. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand. With a lithe movement, he was suddenly straddling Harry. He took the wrist he was still holding and pulled Harry’s arm over his head. Wrapping Harry’s hand around the cool metal headboard, he gave Harry a stern look before letting go.
Guessing Snape wanted him to leave his hand where it was, Harry waited to see what Snape would do next. He simply did the exact same thing with the other.
With an approving look, Snape touched his wand to Harry’s wrists. “You’ll have to trust me, Harry,” he said as thick, flexible cords suddenly bound Harry’s wrists to the headboard.
His first response was to scream at Snape to let him go. But as Snape’s words sank in, Harry realized he did trust Snape. Still not sure if he was okay with being tied down, Harry nevertheless tried to relax. Snape watched him carefully, and when he saw Harry give in, he nodded.
A sudden sense of urgency seemed to sweep over Snape. He flicked his wand impatiently and Harry’s trouser and pants vanished. Grunting at the suddenness, Harry watched wide-eyed as Snape did the same to his own clothes.
Harry didn’t know where to look first. Miles and miles of pale flesh were there for his eyes to feast on. Several scars bisect Snape’s chest and abdomen, but did nothing to detract from the strange beauty Harry saw. Snape was thin, but in no way weak looking.
Abruptly feeling shy, Harry half closed his eyes. It didn’t stop him from looking down. Snape’s erection was like the rest of him, long, pale and unyielding. Harry swallowed nervously. The precariousness of his situation hit him. He was wandless, bound and helpless. He wondered if it made him a freak that the trace of fear he felt turned him on even more.
As Snape crawled back beside Harry, all of Harry’s thoughts fled in favor of sensation. If he thought Snape pressed against him clothed felt good, it was nothing to that naked expanse of skin aligned with his own. His recently sated cock surged back to full-mast in a matter of heartbeats.
Then Snape began to touch him, and Harry was soon lost in a state of bliss. Strong hands skimmed his body, pausing to tweak a nipple or to twist it. Fingers combed through the patch of hair surrounding his navel, occasionally dipping inside.
After what felt like an hour, Snape finally wrapped his hand around Harry’s cock. Harry wailed. A dim corner of his brain chided him, saying he should be ashamed. It was easily silenced when Snape began stroking.
Lips followed the trail the hands had taken, and Harry shuddered under the onslaught. One hand holding Harry’s cock still and the other cupping his balls, Snape flicked his tongue over the head of Harry’s cock, licking up the drop of precome. Oh, Harry had read about fellatio, but he’d never imagined it would feel this good.
So wrapped up in the sensation of Snape’s mouth beginning to bob up and down on his cock, sucking softly, Harry barely noticed Snape’s hand slip between his thighs. When a long finger began to tease and circle his arsehole, Harry pulled at his restraints. It wasn’t painful in the least, but he’d never really thought about anyone touching him there.
Snape’s head lifted, and his mouth was gleaming. “A sudden case of reservations?” Snape asked quietly. Harry swore he saw a glimpse of distress in Snape’s dark eyes.
“I…" Harry couldn’t think of what to say. It had to be painfully clear he was completely inexperienced, but he couldn’t simply admit it. He’d had too much to drink to give a coherent answer, so he just shook his head, and said, “No.”
Expression softening, Snape stroked his finger over Harry’s hole again. Harry arched his back as this time the touch sent a bolt of sensation straight to his cock. “I assure you, Harry, the pleasure will more than compensate for any momentary pain.”
As Snape continued to tease softly, Harry began to believe him. Words weren’t capable of describing what he felt, fleeting feelings and sensations collided and shattered in his mind leaving him staggering.
The first time Snape’s finger breached him; Harry clenched involuntarily and swallowed hard. With patience Harry never knew he possessed, Snape coaxed him with passionate kisses. He relaxed and soon the movement inside him sparked a yearning he didn’t quite understand but was desperate to have satisfied.
Snape’s lips moved from his mouth to his neck, then onto his shoulder as he continued his meticulous preparation. Content to drift on the waves of pleasure, Harry let go of the last of his doubts.
“That’s it, Harry,” Snape murmured against his chest.
Another finger joined the first, and Harry quickly relaxed around them. Steadily moving in and out, in and out, the fingers suddenly brushed against something inside him and Harry yelped.
Warm puffs of breath tickled against his neck and it took a moment for Harry to realize Snape was laughing.
“I did promise you pleasure,” Snape said smugly.
Then the bastard did it again. And again. Over and over until Harry couldn’t remember his own name. He pulled at the ropes holding him and arched his back. His balls were drawing up and his cock throbbed mercilessly. Snape’s hand flew to his cock and cruelly closed around the base, cutting off Harry’s orgasm.
Harry gave a frustrated groan, but Snape was pitiless.
“Not yet, boy,” he growled. “Not until I’m inside you. So deep you can’t tell your heartbeat from mine.”
The words added another layer of sensation - heated words, scalding hands, the touch of another person, his need to come - they all piled up until Harry felt couldn’t hold anything else. He didn’t know how a man could feel this much without shattering into a million pieces.
Pulling his fingers free, Snape quickly shove a pillow under Harry’s hips and crawled between his legs. Crushing his mouth to Harry’s, he pulled Harry’s knees open and pushed them up. Harry could feel Snape’s cock nudging at his entrance and strained to meet him. There wasn’t enough slack in his bindings to allow it.
Snarling, Harry bit Snape’s lip. Snape drew back and stared incredulously at Harry for a long moment. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and Harry saw a smear of blood.
“You might not have a care for your virgin arse, Potter,” Snape said warningly. “But I won’t be rushed.”
Harry didn’t have a chance to tell Snape what he thought about that. Snape silenced him with a rough kiss. Slowly, oh so slowly, Snape began to push forward. Harry’s body easily adjusted to the invasion and molded around Snape’s cock.
Quickly learning that flexing around Snape’s cock made the man hiss and thrust harder, Harry ruthlessly used it to his advantage. Sooner than Snape had probably intended, but still too slow for Harry, Snape was fully sheathed. Sweat beaded on Snape’s brow as he tried to hold still. But Harry didn’t want Snape’s mercy, not now.
His arms were bound, but his legs were free. Harry wrapped them high around Snape’s waist and pulled him closer. Arching his back, Harry successfully goaded Snape into moving. With a low growl, Snape pulled nearly all the way out and then drove forward, hard. His thrust jolted that spot that gave Harry such pleasure.
Crying out, Harry tightened his legs and held on as best he could. Snape repeated the move, and Harry met him halfway. Wanting, needing something to hold on to, Harry fought the restraints. Seeming to understand his distress, Snape got to his knees and laced his fingers tightly in Harry’s.
The new position was even better as far as Harry was concerned. Each time Snape lunged forward, a spark of pleasure lit Harry’s nerves. All too soon, he was on the edge again. This time Snape didn’t stop him.
Looking up into Snape’s eyes, Harry was shocked to see Snape watching him avidly, looking nearly as overwhelmed as Harry felt. It was all Harry needed to push him over the edge. Holding Snape’s eyes as long as he could, Harry let his release rush through him. Coming hard enough to send streaks of white across his chest, Harry’s vision faded. But he’d never forget the look of awe on Snape’s face.
Limp as a ragdoll, Harry felt his legs slipping. Loosing one hand from Harry’s grip, Snape caught his left leg and held it up. His thrusts picked up speed, and soon he was lost in his own bliss. Head thrown back, Snape came silently. He ground against Harry’s arse, and then collapsed across Harry’s chest.
Exhaustion began to force Harry’s eyes closed. Snape rolled to the side and with a whispered word released Harry’s hands at long last. Pulling Harry against his chest, Snape stroked his hair. Trying to fight sleep, Harry laid his palm flat on Snape’s chest and absorbed the man’s warmth. Between the slowing heartbeat and the warmth, Harry lost the battle and as sleep took him, he felt Snape press a kiss to the top of his head.
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Trolls were dancing in his head, with tap shoes and drums; it was possible they were doing the cancan. Opening one bleary eye, Harry was relieved to see he’d found his way home. How he’d done that, he had no idea. His bedroom door opened with a tiny creak, and Harry winced.
Kreacher’s head poked around the doorframe. When he saw Harry was awake, he cautiously entered the room. Slowly approaching the bed, he held out a small vial of golden liquid. “Kreacher has a potion for Master Harry’s headache.”
Sitting up caused his stomach to threaten revolt. And what in the bloody hell had happened to his arse? It was throbbing in time with his head, sending random shocks of pain up his spine. He took the potion from Kreacher and, pinching his nose closed, swallowed it in a single gulp. Kreacher nodded, took back the empty vial and left Harry alone again.
The potion worked quickly. His headache faded, leaving Harry with fractured memories of the night before. Neville passed out on the table, Seamus and Dean arguing, Ron sloshing ale onto whoever was unfortunate enough to sit next to him. And he’d dreamed again. Even the alcohol hadn’t stopped him from having his most vivid dream to date.
It must have been a dream? He hadn’t really gotten drunk, found Snape at last and then had sex with the man. The state of his bum suggested otherwise, but Harry was fully dressed, in his own bed. He even had his shoes on. He wracked his mind for proof one way or the other, but most of the night was lost in a drunken haze.
Slowly he got out of bed; his wand was on the bedside table where it always was, but Harry had the distinct impression that was wrong. He roughly rubbed his hands over his face, trying to clear his mind. Not bothering to change his clothes, Harry went to the loo and brushed his teeth.
He made his way to the kitchen where he knew Kreacher would have a fresh pot of tea waiting. Pulling out a chair, Harry sat down. Something in his pocket crinkled. Frowning Harry reached into his pocket and found a folded slip of paper. He unfolded it and stared in shock at the utterly familiar scrawl.
It hadn’t been a dream. As that realization sunk in, Harry slowly read the short note.
There is nothing like a dream to create the future. The choice has always been yours. Choose wisely.
There was an address in Wales at the bottom.
Running down the hall, Harry snatched up his broom. As he flew over the London sky, Harry wondered if Ginny would ever forgive him. He might not know much about women, but he was positive she would be less than pleased to be jilted by owl.
There is nothing like a dream to create the future. Victor Hugo