A Man Cannot Control His Dreams

A/N: See, i love you guys! I wouldn't keep you waiting too long. This chapter and the next were so much fun to right. They are also the scene that came to me in the shower months ago, which spurred me to write this.
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From a lesser man, the noise Severus made as he was yanked forward may have been called a yelp. As it stood, it was an unclassifiable, surprised, throaty noise that was muffled against Harry’s mouth almost before it could take form.

The kiss that Severus had so purposefully denied the Gryffindor had just been taken. So shocked was he by this sudden forwardness, Harry’s lips warm and demanding under his, that it took Severus a moment to regain his grip on the situation. When he did, it was to twist a hand into the Gryffindor’s unruly hair and fist it, jerking Harry’s head to the side. Control returned, and he kept it.

Harry’s mouth yielded to him with a throaty mewl, and Severus raked his teeth across the soft lower lip, urging the sound louder, higher. He dragged Harry’s head further to the side, deepening the kiss still more as the boy’s hands clutched at his robefront, his shoulders, the back of his neck. Severus’ leg slid sinuously between Harry’s, eliciting a moan that the Potions Master could feel more than hear, and he chose that particular moment of response to jerk Harry’s head back. The kiss broke, exposing the Gryffindor’s white, vulnerable throat to the cold moonlight and the still dimmer illumination of the greenhouse. Harry gasped at the sharp pain in his scalp and then again as Severus’ teeth bit at his Adams apple.

“Did I say you could kiss me, whelp?” Snape demanded, lip curled up in a snarl. Harry’s nails dug into the back of his neck as the boy panted out the only response he could muster:

“No, Sir.” The submissive answer was exquisitely punctuated by an involuntary shudder, starting up where Severus’ fist clutched his hair and traveling all the way through him to his toes, which curled. He was undeniably, humiliatingly hard, and there was little chance Snape couldn’t feel it, pressed together as they were.

“You have yet to learn your lesson in humility, I see.” This pronouncement, whispered sensually into Harry’s ear, hardly registered as having any meaning at all to the Gryffindor, who could do nothing but stare blindly up at the night sky, desperately willing his body to control itself or – or Snape to just touch him or something.

“Professor,” Harry whimpered, “please.” And, Severus noted with pleasure, it was a whimper, undoubtedly. He relaxed his death-grip on the wild black hair just slightly, and leaned over the boy, far enough away to affirm his control over the situation, but close enough to tease. Harry’s lips parted expectantly, like a parched man presented with a goblet of the finest wine, but Severus did not take the invitation.

“You,” he murmured, lips just ghosting over Harry’s, “will retrieve your cloak. You will come to my chambers. You. Will not. Be seen. Are we clear, Mr. Potter?” Harry’s throat worked, Adams apple bobbing, and licked his lips.

“Crystal,” he replied hoarsely, and Severus nearly caught those flushed lips again, but decided instead to let the boy wait, and whirled away, back towards the castle and into the night.

Harry, lips tingling with unfulfilled promises and the lingering, belated first kiss, leaned heavily on the panes of glass behind him for a moment. He would have liked to compose himself before risking a dash up to his dormitory, but knew it would be a futile effort. He would simply have to rely on speed and the fact that nearly everyone would still be at dinner. Yes, he shouldn’t dally. With a deep, steadying breath, he left the dim glow of the greenhouse window, through which Neville Longbottom could just be seen behind the curving tendrils of a Flitterbloom, mouth agape, a pair of bulbs clutched forgotten in his hands.

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The dungeon door creaked as it swung open, and through his invisibility cloak Harry saw Snape leaning causally against his desk, dressed in his shirtsleeves, waiting. Harry swallowed. Snape seemed to look right at him, and drawled.

“Don’t be frightened, Potter.” Harry took a steadying breath, approached the desk, and pulled the cloak from his shoulders. Severus pushed himself up from his desk, looked Harry up and down, and raised a hand to his face. Trailing his fingers down Harry’s still-flushed cheek, he searched the clear eyes. The little whelp had kissed him – in all but public. Had Severus somewhere fallen short of the necessary amount of dominance? He hadn’t thought so. But then, he had certainly not anticipated the kiss either. And Severus did not like surprises.

Harry shivered at the soft touch. It was a gesture almost… tender in its gentleness, and that made him nervous. He averted his eyes.

“Come,” Severus said, removing his hand, and moved toward the hidden entrance to his chamber. Harry lagged, a lingering thought returning to him. When he’d asked before, Snape had said ‘another time.’ Now was another time.

“What were you whispering?” Harry asked Snape’s back. The Potions Master paused, and half turned with a questioning look. “In- in your dream,” Harry clarified, and Snape smirked, remembering the earlier instance of the same question. Now was as good an opportunity as ever, he thought, and withdrew the wand from his sleeve in one subtle, fluid movement. To Harry it seemed as if it had simply appeared there, and he felt a thrill at the prospect of the curiosity being solved.

“Ah, Mr. Potter… an incantation or two of my own design, I believe.” Severus turned fully, and moved to stand before Harry. Gracefully, he drew the tip of his wand across Harry’s jaw, as if it were an extension of his own fingertips, and vaguely echoed the fantasy he knew the boy was recounting in his head. “Feeling… curious?” Severus’ voice rumbled sensuously from his throat.

Goosebumps fleshed out on Harry’s skin at the tone, and his voice fled. So he settled for a shaky, uncertain nod. Curious was one word for it, he supposed. Severus’ mouth quirked up at the corner, he himself rather curious as to the reaction he was about to create.

“Very well.” The Potions Master leveled his wand at Harry’s chest, and the Gryffindor had to resist the impulse to back away, or otherwise protect himself. But not for long. Snape’s magical murmuring was unintelligible through the sudden rush of blood in Harry’s ears. And with the noise, came a feeling. Like a hand reaching inside him... manipulating something.

“God.” Snape caught him under the arms.

“Wait for it, Potter,” he said, and let the Gryffindor fall against the wall for support. “Wait…” Harry’s chest heaved. His vision danced with spots. He couldn’t possibly comprehend what else could happen – but just then, something did.

“O-oh – Merlin – “ Harry’s hands clutched the stone masonry frantically. Suddenly, like a flipped switch, everything was hyper-intense. The air in each breath set his nerves alight, the uneven stones against his back hurt so exquisitely… His flesh was on fire, every sense overwhelmingly focused on the sexual. And Snape’s hand where it was braced on his arm was like a locus for it all.
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TBC!!