A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,051
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,051
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Bedded
A/N This chapter is dedicated to Jadzia, as her review turned me on. Spot on.
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Yet still, he tried.
“I can’t do this. Not again. I won’t.” Even as he made this protest, though, Harry dropped his eyes. “I only came to tell you that.” Then, he forced himself to square his shoulders against the wall, and lift his chin. Look convincing. Look strong. Look like you mean it. He steeled himself.
“Oh, is that what you came to say?” Snape asked, and for one insane moment Harry thought he was free to go. However, when he moved to push past the Potions Master, he knew a fraction of a second before it happened that he was about to make hard contact with the wall once more.
“How noble of you,” Snape added, lip curled, as he trapped Harry’s wrists on either side of his head. Harry blinked his eyes to clear them of impact-conjured stars. His head had soundly struck the stones once again. Not hard enough to cause damage, of course, as Snape well knew.
The hands around his wrists relaxed, and fingers splayed across Harry’s skin. There was nothing restraining him for the moment, only the suggestion of Severus’ quickness and unrivaled ability to incapacitate.
“I shouldn’t have to hold you down.” Severus’ tone was almost musing, but Harry couldn’t be sure – couldn’t be sure of anything, anymore. “I shouldn’t even have to…” the Potions Master trailed off and Harry felt a soft probe in his mind, no less violating or malicious for all its gentleness. The images trickled in at first, and it took Harry a moment or two to realize that they were no longer Snape’s experiences – his dreams – alone. There was much more fodder now.
There was Harry, lifted up onto the worktable, Snape’s sharp mouth at his throat. Harry, making his choice. Harry, crying out as Snape manipulated his body – played him like an instrument. Harry closed his eyes, knowing even as he did it that there was no way to block the visions. He felt breath on his neck.
“Not when you were begging for it.” At once the rivulet of images turned to a flood. And Harry was powerless, if it were possible to become more so, under the hot weight of his own arousal. He barely managed, then, a soft,
“No-“ as he realized that he was being pulled, manhandled really, away from the wall and across the room.
Severus searched hastily through his pockets for the appropriate key, intensely irritated that it was taking him more than a moment to find it. Knowing Potter, fickle little denial-monger that he was, every moment not spent in manipulation (mental or otherwise) was a moment that could send the brat into a shame spiral. Yet Harry was close by his side still, occupied by the steady flood of erotica Severus was supplying, young body radiating heat, calling out to be used. Where was that key?!
At last, he retrieved it, and, closing the door to a storage space, inserted it into the lock and turned. Then, when he reopened the door, it revealed the entrance to his personal flat. A useful security measure, but a potential point for delay. Harry was, after all, an infuriatingly curious soul.
Momentarily grateful that Potter was, in fact, too distracted to inquire after the enchanted lock, Severus pulled the boy into his foyer. Not that he would have given the time for, or the answers to such questions.
In fact, the moment the door had clicked shut behind them, Severus gave the Gryffindor no time to even get his bearings.
“Where - ?” Harry started, but was cut short as he was pushed hard in the chest.
“Quiet!” The word rent the air like a curse.
Harry had flung his arms out behind him to break his fall, but soon found that he hadn’t needed to. He’d landed on something soft. A bed. Snape’s bed.
Suddenly the realness of the situation doubled in Harry’s mind, and again, Snape saw the flash of fear across those green eyes, indicating nothing to him but that the boy was still paying attention. It was proper that he should be afraid. It was right, and it made Snape’s head swim with pleasure and the rush that only total dominance can provide. And this was dominance of the purest kind.
Harry stayed quiet and lay where he had fallen, propped up on his hands, as Severus undid the silver clasps holding his black robes together. And the Potions Master was everything Harry wasn’t as he worked: He was methodical, calm, in control, hands steady as he shrugged almost casually out of the robes and hung them over the back of an armchair. His eyes were focused and intense and they pinned Harry to the bed like a moth to a specimen board, squirming and terrified but unable to help himself – unable to move at all.
Severus was rolling up his sleeves, then, like the alchemist he was, as if he were simply preparing for a long night of work. And, Harry thought, he would be just as thorough here as he ever had been before the cauldron. And if there was one thing Severus Snape was known for, it was his thoroughness; his attention to detail. Harry’s skin broke out in gooseflesh at the thought – Snape would miss no opportunity, leave no nerve untouched, no inch of Harry unspoken for.
Severus watched Potter coolly as he pulled back his sleeves, watching for the moment alarm would reinsert itself into the green hooded gaze. An inch or two more, a turn of the wrist… there it was. It moved like a ripple across the Gryffindor’s face, and to Severus there was nothing more pleasing.
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Harry’s breath faltered unexpectedly as his eyes caught on something dark and sinister on Snape’s pallid skin. The tattoo, clear as day, seemed to look directly at him from its cold, skeletal eyes. Harry found he couldn’t look away from the gaze. It was inanimate, he knew, but still so piercing. He realized for a moment that he had never really looked at a Dark Mark before. Whenever he’d seen one in the past it had always been for only a flash in the heat of battle or a glimpse tucked away in the dark. And here it was, the brand of Snape’s past, fully exposed for him.
Something in Harry wanted to touch it very much, even as his scar tingled in warning. This man was dangerous. This man, that Harry couldn’t help but crumble beneath, was a murderer, a Deatheater, a threat.
Severus ran his fingertips thoughtfully over the mark, knowing Potter’s eyes were locked onto it, before unbuttoning his collar.
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tbc
I keep jumping ahead of myself. More soon.
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Yet still, he tried.
“I can’t do this. Not again. I won’t.” Even as he made this protest, though, Harry dropped his eyes. “I only came to tell you that.” Then, he forced himself to square his shoulders against the wall, and lift his chin. Look convincing. Look strong. Look like you mean it. He steeled himself.
“Oh, is that what you came to say?” Snape asked, and for one insane moment Harry thought he was free to go. However, when he moved to push past the Potions Master, he knew a fraction of a second before it happened that he was about to make hard contact with the wall once more.
“How noble of you,” Snape added, lip curled, as he trapped Harry’s wrists on either side of his head. Harry blinked his eyes to clear them of impact-conjured stars. His head had soundly struck the stones once again. Not hard enough to cause damage, of course, as Snape well knew.
The hands around his wrists relaxed, and fingers splayed across Harry’s skin. There was nothing restraining him for the moment, only the suggestion of Severus’ quickness and unrivaled ability to incapacitate.
“I shouldn’t have to hold you down.” Severus’ tone was almost musing, but Harry couldn’t be sure – couldn’t be sure of anything, anymore. “I shouldn’t even have to…” the Potions Master trailed off and Harry felt a soft probe in his mind, no less violating or malicious for all its gentleness. The images trickled in at first, and it took Harry a moment or two to realize that they were no longer Snape’s experiences – his dreams – alone. There was much more fodder now.
There was Harry, lifted up onto the worktable, Snape’s sharp mouth at his throat. Harry, making his choice. Harry, crying out as Snape manipulated his body – played him like an instrument. Harry closed his eyes, knowing even as he did it that there was no way to block the visions. He felt breath on his neck.
“Not when you were begging for it.” At once the rivulet of images turned to a flood. And Harry was powerless, if it were possible to become more so, under the hot weight of his own arousal. He barely managed, then, a soft,
“No-“ as he realized that he was being pulled, manhandled really, away from the wall and across the room.
Severus searched hastily through his pockets for the appropriate key, intensely irritated that it was taking him more than a moment to find it. Knowing Potter, fickle little denial-monger that he was, every moment not spent in manipulation (mental or otherwise) was a moment that could send the brat into a shame spiral. Yet Harry was close by his side still, occupied by the steady flood of erotica Severus was supplying, young body radiating heat, calling out to be used. Where was that key?!
At last, he retrieved it, and, closing the door to a storage space, inserted it into the lock and turned. Then, when he reopened the door, it revealed the entrance to his personal flat. A useful security measure, but a potential point for delay. Harry was, after all, an infuriatingly curious soul.
Momentarily grateful that Potter was, in fact, too distracted to inquire after the enchanted lock, Severus pulled the boy into his foyer. Not that he would have given the time for, or the answers to such questions.
In fact, the moment the door had clicked shut behind them, Severus gave the Gryffindor no time to even get his bearings.
“Where - ?” Harry started, but was cut short as he was pushed hard in the chest.
“Quiet!” The word rent the air like a curse.
Harry had flung his arms out behind him to break his fall, but soon found that he hadn’t needed to. He’d landed on something soft. A bed. Snape’s bed.
Suddenly the realness of the situation doubled in Harry’s mind, and again, Snape saw the flash of fear across those green eyes, indicating nothing to him but that the boy was still paying attention. It was proper that he should be afraid. It was right, and it made Snape’s head swim with pleasure and the rush that only total dominance can provide. And this was dominance of the purest kind.
Harry stayed quiet and lay where he had fallen, propped up on his hands, as Severus undid the silver clasps holding his black robes together. And the Potions Master was everything Harry wasn’t as he worked: He was methodical, calm, in control, hands steady as he shrugged almost casually out of the robes and hung them over the back of an armchair. His eyes were focused and intense and they pinned Harry to the bed like a moth to a specimen board, squirming and terrified but unable to help himself – unable to move at all.
Severus was rolling up his sleeves, then, like the alchemist he was, as if he were simply preparing for a long night of work. And, Harry thought, he would be just as thorough here as he ever had been before the cauldron. And if there was one thing Severus Snape was known for, it was his thoroughness; his attention to detail. Harry’s skin broke out in gooseflesh at the thought – Snape would miss no opportunity, leave no nerve untouched, no inch of Harry unspoken for.
Severus watched Potter coolly as he pulled back his sleeves, watching for the moment alarm would reinsert itself into the green hooded gaze. An inch or two more, a turn of the wrist… there it was. It moved like a ripple across the Gryffindor’s face, and to Severus there was nothing more pleasing.
****
Harry’s breath faltered unexpectedly as his eyes caught on something dark and sinister on Snape’s pallid skin. The tattoo, clear as day, seemed to look directly at him from its cold, skeletal eyes. Harry found he couldn’t look away from the gaze. It was inanimate, he knew, but still so piercing. He realized for a moment that he had never really looked at a Dark Mark before. Whenever he’d seen one in the past it had always been for only a flash in the heat of battle or a glimpse tucked away in the dark. And here it was, the brand of Snape’s past, fully exposed for him.
Something in Harry wanted to touch it very much, even as his scar tingled in warning. This man was dangerous. This man, that Harry couldn’t help but crumble beneath, was a murderer, a Deatheater, a threat.
Severus ran his fingertips thoughtfully over the mark, knowing Potter’s eyes were locked onto it, before unbuttoning his collar.
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tbc
I keep jumping ahead of myself. More soon.