Masters' Call
folder
Harry Potter AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
13,402
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
13,402
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Masters' Call
This will get nasty quickly. Just let me know if this is something you are interested in. If so, the others will be a lot longer. Thanks.
Severus gritted his teeth and cast his eyes downward. It wouldn’t do to display his disgust and defiance. It only made things worse.
“Quickly,” Dumbledore added coldly, his back to Snape as he gathered items from a cupboard.
Snape took one last deep breath and rose from his chair, his gaze still on Dumbledore’s desk before him, and began unbuttoning his robe. Yes, he could have opened all the buttons at once, but he chose not too. All the layers and all the buttons at once, but he chose not to. All the layers and the buttons made him feel covered, protected almost, and he didn’t want to destroy that illusion with a simple spell.
Once upon a time, the headmaster’s office was a safe haven from the Dark Lord and his own gruesome past, but now it was just another prison, except this one was circular and lined with portraits that watched him, some with glee.
Taking off his robe was always the easy part. It was years since his hands shook while undressing for his boss, but the nervous flutter never left, and now it was accompanied by dread because he knew what to expect.
He shed his shirt and laid it on his robes over the chair. Next was his belt, then shoes, and after, his pants. Dumbledore preferred his to not have his socks on, so off they went. He stood, arms crossed over his bare chest, and waited.
Albus approached from the side, moving around his desk , to stand next to him. He did this every time. Snape turned towards him and dropped his arms so the man could see.
“Why are you not undressed?” Dumbledore asked him coldly.
With a difficult swallow, Snape removed his grey boxers and pushed them aside with his foot. Without hesitation, Albus reached up and pressed his fingertips to Snape’s chest, nails scraping over the soft flesh, blossoming red lines in Snape’s pale skin. Dumbledore’s fingers continued down Snape’s torse, dug into the base of his penis, and scratched down to the end. Severus’ face remained impassive, staring over the old man’s shoulder at nothing.
“You should work on building muscle,” Dumbledore told him, removing his hand and turning away.
Abus always appraised him before, but he never took into notice the scars above Snape’s right ankle, short horizontal lines half a centimeter apart, one for every time Dumbledore made him do this, one for every time Dumbledore required him to do this for someone else, 31 of them. As Dumbledore led him, naked, through a door and into the headmaster’s bedchamber, Severus was already needing to shower down in his own chambers, to scrub his skin raw, and make his scar count 32.
Severus gritted his teeth and cast his eyes downward. It wouldn’t do to display his disgust and defiance. It only made things worse.
“Quickly,” Dumbledore added coldly, his back to Snape as he gathered items from a cupboard.
Snape took one last deep breath and rose from his chair, his gaze still on Dumbledore’s desk before him, and began unbuttoning his robe. Yes, he could have opened all the buttons at once, but he chose not too. All the layers and all the buttons at once, but he chose not to. All the layers and the buttons made him feel covered, protected almost, and he didn’t want to destroy that illusion with a simple spell.
Once upon a time, the headmaster’s office was a safe haven from the Dark Lord and his own gruesome past, but now it was just another prison, except this one was circular and lined with portraits that watched him, some with glee.
Taking off his robe was always the easy part. It was years since his hands shook while undressing for his boss, but the nervous flutter never left, and now it was accompanied by dread because he knew what to expect.
He shed his shirt and laid it on his robes over the chair. Next was his belt, then shoes, and after, his pants. Dumbledore preferred his to not have his socks on, so off they went. He stood, arms crossed over his bare chest, and waited.
Albus approached from the side, moving around his desk , to stand next to him. He did this every time. Snape turned towards him and dropped his arms so the man could see.
“Why are you not undressed?” Dumbledore asked him coldly.
With a difficult swallow, Snape removed his grey boxers and pushed them aside with his foot. Without hesitation, Albus reached up and pressed his fingertips to Snape’s chest, nails scraping over the soft flesh, blossoming red lines in Snape’s pale skin. Dumbledore’s fingers continued down Snape’s torse, dug into the base of his penis, and scratched down to the end. Severus’ face remained impassive, staring over the old man’s shoulder at nothing.
“You should work on building muscle,” Dumbledore told him, removing his hand and turning away.
Abus always appraised him before, but he never took into notice the scars above Snape’s right ankle, short horizontal lines half a centimeter apart, one for every time Dumbledore made him do this, one for every time Dumbledore required him to do this for someone else, 31 of them. As Dumbledore led him, naked, through a door and into the headmaster’s bedchamber, Severus was already needing to shower down in his own chambers, to scrub his skin raw, and make his scar count 32.