Happy Daft Day centaury_squill! Recipient:centaury_squill Title: An Open Fire Author:allika Rating: NC-17 Warnings: rimming, over use of polysyndeton Prompt/Summary: Kinks: first time, possessive!Snape Squicks: AU, major character death Scenario: Snape has been watching Harry with increasing lust for some time, at last he gets him. Author's Note: Merry Christmas! Thanks for this great prompt. Hope you like your gift (and I hope everyone else does too). It’s not quite a flat screen television. Perhaps a gift certificate?
An Open Fire
Harry stared determinedly into the flames from where he sat cross-legged on the hearth, letting the heat soak through his skin, hoping it could somehow warm the cold feeling in the center of his chest. He froze when he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway, but forced himself to be still as Snape took as seat in the chair right behind him, so close, Harry could almost feel him through the inches of air separating them, though he tried to ignore that.
Snape always sat too close, stood to close, watched him so very closely, always with that same burning look in his black eyes. Hate, Harry was sure.
He closed his eyes and tried to simply breathe.
“It was necessary, Potter,” Snape said in that same low voice that he always used. Harry supposed that it was because Grimmauld Place seemed to emit a library-like aura, albeit a rather dark, dusty, and evil library.
Snape was referring to the dead rabbit in the next room, its eyes glassy, its ear limp; it would no longer quiver in fear.
“I know,” Harry said, starting at how lifeless his voice sounded. He did know, but he hated this knowledge. He hated himself really, because he had killed a fluffy little bunny for practice, which was probably something Lucius Malfoy had done when he was a toddler but it was still wrong, wrong because the bunny had a fluffy tail and it had been so frightened and it had to pay for Tom Riddle’s innumerable sins.
Harry choked back a sob, trying to simply not feel, so the guilt wouldn’t swallow him. ‘It’s just a rabbit, Potter, Christ.’
He could imagine those words coming from Snape’s mouth, but instead the Potions Master simply placed a hand on the top of his head, and Harry relaxed back against his legs with a sigh.
He knew that Snape must abhor giving him comfort like this, but Harry hadn’t seen anyone other than Snape in a week, because he just had to learn fucking Avada Kedavra, the upcoming Christmas aside.
The holiday was in three days, and he had yet to buy any gifts, and he’d thought he’d be missing Christmas at the Burrow on top of that, because the bunny simply refused to die, and he thought about Christmas being yet another miserable day, like it had been at the Dursley’s, and then he had wanted a harmless animal to die.
Harry blinked a few times. No time for tears.
“Potter,” Snape began, his voice strangely gentle, “You know that this is only the first step. This is something you must do. You know this.”
Harry nodded, turning his head to look at his former Professor, who was now just his teacher. The older man’s hand fell away, lightly brushing the side of his face, and he shivered just as he met those coal dark eyes.
“I wish I didn’t have to do this, sir,” knowing he must sound and look so pathetic and weak, but Snape was used to that look on him, anyway, so it didn’t really matter.
“But you must.”
Harry nodded again, and then because he thought it would be rather distracting to appall Snape and then get into an argument with him, he slowly turned, so that he was sitting at the feet of a man he had once hated, and then even more slowly rested his cheek against Snape’s thigh, keeping his eyes focused on the dusty red velvet upholstery rather than the older man’s face.
Harry realized he wasn’t quite breathing, and opened his mouth to do so when he felt a cool hand caress his cheek, and he inhaled on a gasp, his eyes shooting to his Snape’s face.
Those eyes were burning. Not hate, then.
Hesitantly, Harry raised his hand and put it on Snape’s other knee.
“Potter,” Snape growled, and it was so different from Snape’s voice for the past three months that he felt a slice of fear jolt through his chest, and he did not feel at all cold now, just wonderfully warm, and he could feel that his cheeks were bright red from his childish blush.
This was the Half Blood Prince, Harry realized with a jolt, and his face was taught with desire, and Harry was so glad that he now realized what had been going on between them, that he had thought was his teenage hormones Snape’s dislike, but was really some emotion of a rather different breed.
He rose up onto his knees, and now he was kneeling at a man’s feet, and his hands were on another man’s thighs, and he was harder than he’d ever been with Cho or Ginny or just himself.
“Professor,” he breathed, moving closer, between Snape’s legs, and his crotch was pressed against the chair and he realized he was already panting.
Snape surged forward, his eyes burning more brightly than any flame, and Harry moaned just from the look on his face, and Harry thought he heard him whisper, “Not anymore,” before their lips met.
Oh. Snape’s lips were so warm, unlike his hands, that were now clutching Harry’s face in a fierce grip. Snape’s tongue pried his mouth open relentlessly, then swept inside, instantly claiming his tongue, before it swept lightly over his hard palate, and Harry moaned again from the strange and wonderful sensation zinging along his nerves endings.
Then Snape abruptly released his mouth and stood, and Harry fell back, catching himself on his hands, and for an instant Harry’s nerve entire body thrilled with being on the floor before the intimidating man in front of him, who was throwing off some kind of furious energy that made Harry crave to just wrap himself around the man’s legs and never let go.
And then his biceps were seized, and he was hauled up onto his feet and held a foot away.
“Potter,” Snape said, again, in a grave voice that held an edge of that growl, “You have no idea what you’re doing.” That wasn’t a question, but Harry shook his head, trembling with desire and a fear that this was the end of all of this.
“Good.” And that was a real growl, and Snape’s eyes were more feral than Lupin’s right before the full moon, and Harry was tugged harshly forward into the other man’s body, and he groaned at the feeling of someone else’s erection digging into his stomach, and his own burrowing into his former Professor’s thigh and he was blushing and trembling and he had never felt better and Snape was kissing him again.
Harry gasped as a hand seized his hair and cruelly brought his head back, exposing his throat to Snape’s warm mouth and sharp teeth.
“I think,” Snape murmured between nips and sucks that had Harry furiously wriggling his hips, searching for satisfaction, “I’ll take you up to my bedroom, and fuck you until you scream. Is that agreeable to you, Mr. Potter?”
Harry moaned and made a garbled sound in his throat that vaguely resembled a yes, and then he managed to groan out a “please” for good measure.
He was abruptly released, and Harry stood blinking at his teacher as those eyes devoured him and the other man said, “Come along then,” and turned and left the room.
Harry stared at the doorway for a few seconds, so overwhelmed he could barely think, before he reasoned out that nothing was presently being accomplished, and he ran after the man he had most wanted to be in that dead rabbit’s place.
Snape’s door was open, and bright lamplight spilled out into the darkened hallway. Harry hesitated on the threshold momentarily, staring as the Half Blood Prince stripped off his robes and shirt, and then took off his boots and socks and belt and trousers until he was standing in his bedroom, nude and pale as snow, except for black eyes and hair and his cock, which was a dark red and rather large, and Harry felt a bit of terror sing through his gut.
“Get in here, shut the door, and take off your clothes, Harry,” Snape commanded in his Professor voice, as if he was standing in the Potions classroom in full black regalia rather than in just his skin with only one student in front of him.
Harry was so shocked by the use of his name, and a but indignant about being ordered around now that he was a bit more coherent, that it took him several seconds to respond to the order, and not until Snape gave him that impatient look that was so very effective.
Everything seemed to be too loud. His breathing, the snick of the door as it shut, the wind whipping the world outside, and he felt awkward and ugly and 11 years old again as he reluctantly pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing his skinniness and his faded tan line and his thin arms.
He kept his eyes on the floor as he undid his belt and let his trousers fall around his ankles, covered by a pair of snitch socks knit by Dobby, revealing his much-smaller-than-Snape’s cock that strained against his underwear.
Harry was sure he looked like he had a sunburn, he was blushing so hotly.
“Take those off.” Harry shuddered at the low tone, his hands trembling as he hesitantly complied.
He did not look up as Snape approached. His chin was seized in a harsh grip and jerked up, and triumphant dark eyes clashed with fearful green ones.
“You’re magnificent,” Snape said, his voice matter-of-fact, and Harry didn’t have time to blush harder before his mouth was taken again, and Snape’s tongue was sliding against his own.
He moaned, wrapping his arms around the Potions Master’s neck, giving a sharp cry deep in his throat as Snape grabbed his hips and brought their bodies sharply together.
The other man’s mouth wandered away from Harry’s to trail light kisses across his jaw and cheek, and Harry dug his fingernails into his shoulders and gasped when Snape’s teeth nipped his earlobe.
Harry was maneuvered across the room with insistent hands and he groaned in protest as he was pushed back onto a firm mattress, but it was cut off as Snape climbed on top of him and took his mouth again, and Harry yelped in pleasure as he was blanketed, skin on skin, and his cock met the hot skin of Snape’s abdomen.
“Please,” he cried, writhing, his hands clutching Snape’s shoulders tightly.
“Please what, Harry. Would you like me to fuck you now?” Harry moaned at the words, nodding insistently, shoving his hips up, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Look at me.”
Harry complied, meeting his teacher’s eyes wildly, feeling frantic with need. Then Snape smiled, actually smiled at him, and leaned down to lightly brush his lips over Harry’s scar. Harry gasped because no one had ever done that, had never dared, not even Ginny, and he had not expected this wonderful tenderness at all. He blinked back a few silly tears and murmured again, “Please.”
Snape smirked, and the moment was over, but it had been there, and Harry was hoping it would be again, and Snape kissed him again and muttered, “turn over” against his lips.
Harry did as he was told, raising up onto his hands and knees as Snape’s hands commanded him to do, his breath coming fast and his heart pounding.
He was totally unprepared for the feeling of something wet and hot against his hole, and he cried out as he realized it was -- oh god-- Snape’s tongue, and his fingers clenched in the sheets.
The muscles in his arms gave out and he was distantly aware that he must look like a complete slut at this point, but he couldn’t really care as he felt Snape’s tongue delicately trace outside of his hole, before probing firmly at his entrance with the tip and then it was inside of him and lightly thrusting and Harry nearly screamed.
He could hear himself begging, shouting out humiliating things like “please, sir” and he just wanted…more.
“More,” Harry moaned, and then made a disappointed noise when Snape’s pulled his mouth away.
Harry shuddered as the other man’s body molded itself against his back, and Snape whispered in his ear, “Do you want me, Harry.”
Harry whispered a yes in reply, and he moaned again as he felt the blunt tip of Snape’s cock against his entrance, fear and desire and terror and want burning inside of his chest as he felt the first thrust.
All the air was knocked out of his lungs as Snape entered him. It burned, because Snape’s cock was so hot it was as if it was on fire and it hurt but none of that mattered because Snape was inside of him. He sighed.
He yelped when Snape’s cock hit what Harry knew to be his prostate (according to the Weasley twins) and any hesitation he might have still been feeling was swept away by the absolute intoxicating pleasure of it.
And then it all stopped. Snape was motionless, just resting there, letting his heat spread through Harry, and Harry squirmed slightly. Snape remained still.
“Please,” Harry moaned, wanting that pleasure and pain again. He thought he heard Snape chuckle, and then the man slowly slid out, and Harry panted at the slight tearing feeling, tears coming to his eyes. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…
And then Snape thrust forward again, sharply hitting his prostate, and Harry threw his head back with a moan, hearing Snape echoing him and reveling in the sound.
Another withdraw, and another thrust, and the pain and pleasure swirled together exquisitely, thrilling his nerves and his skin and his mind…
Harry lost himself in the sensation, shoving his ass back as Snape shoved forward, crying out every time his prostate was even lightly grazed, every breath ending in a moan as Snape’s caught split open his insides, and then Snape’s hand was on his cock and his blood split fire as he came all over the sheets below him, clenching down around the cock inside of him, yelling and shuddering as it went on and on…
He thought he felt warmth flooding his insides, and heard Snape letting loose an unfamiliar sound above him, but he was drifting, and basking in the wonderful feeling of being well-fucked.
Harry opened his eyes, smiling sleepily as he felt a cool hand on his naked hip. Snape rarely stayed in bed as long as he did. He carefully turned over, wanting to see what the man looked like in repose. They’d been fucking like rabbits for the past three nights, and killing bunnies during the days, and Harry had yet to see the man sleeping.
He found he was yet again thwarted as he met those black eyes, that were warm rather than hot.
“Merry Christmas,” Harry whispered.
“Indeed,” Snape replied sardonically, sliding his arm around Harry’s back. Harry gave a mock frown and leaned in for a kiss.
“You don’t like Christmas?” he asked against the man’s lips, before devoting his attention to the long white throat.
“Hm. Depends on the presents.”
Harry snorted. Typical Slytherin.
“Well,” he attempted to drawl, “the presents are all downstairs.”
Snape gently took Harry’s chin and brought his face up, a smirk gracing his lips, his eyes slowly kindling.