A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,064
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,064
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.
Pushing
A/N: My laptop is having some issues, and will be in the shop for the next few days. Sorry!
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In the stairwell connecting the Headmaster’s office to the rest of the school, Harry took his ear from the door. Talk inside had turned to his performance in Occlumency, and he didn’t particularly care to hear what Snape had to say about that particular subject. What he did want to hear more about was Snape’s agreement to torture. His stomach turned over at the thought and an image flashed unbidden into his mind: The Potions Master, on his knees before a cloaked figure, refusing to cry out though his body shook with the force of a Cruciatus cast by the Dark Lord himself. His chest ached in sympathy – but why should it? It was Snape’s lot in life. He was an evil, manipulative, possible Deatheater spy. Maybe he deserved it.
But somehow that didn’t quite ring true for Harry anymore. He thought of how the Dark Mark looked on Snape’s skin: stark and sinister, yes, but tragic too. The brand of a disturbing, painful past that could never be wiped clean. Before Harry could dwell too much, however, he heard the scrape of a chair pushing back, and retreated at once down the stairs, unwilling to be caught eavesdropping.
****
Severus took all of three steps past where Harry had ducked behind a suit of armor, before stopping, sighing.
“Want something, Potter?” he asked, without turning around. Sheepishly, Harry stepped from the alcove.
“Nothing in particular, Sir,” he replied, shuffling his feet. Severus did turn, then, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the Gryffindor.
“No?”
****
Five minutes time found Harry half-naked and on the floor in Severus’ bedroom. He’d tripped over the heath rug as Snape pushed him backwards, falling right on his arse.
“Clumsy,” Severus murmured, and stood over him. “Still growing in to you paws, Potter?” Harry flushed scarlet.
“You pushed me!” he accused, standing, and Severus trailed his fingers thoughtfully down Harry’s bare chest, eyes glittering.
“I seem to recall already having had this conversation.” Harry swallowed, and dropped his eyes. Yes, he recalled that as well. He’d never been cut down so quickly in all his life. ‘You need it this way so that somewhere in that tiny, puerile mind of yours, you can tell yourself that you had no choice.’ He didn’t want to hear it again: once had been more than enough.
“Sorry, Sir,” he amended, and Severus cocked his head.
“Speaking of which,” he continued, taking Harry’s jaw in hand and turning it to the side, inspecting him. “You seem rather more… pristine,” Severus ran his knuckles down Harry’s throat, “than I left you.” The fine hairs on Harry’s arms and neck stood at attention.
“I… ah… healed them,” he replied, and felt his skin go hot where Snape’s hand passed.
“I can see that,” Severus replied, and pushed Harry the rest of the way to the bed, then down onto his back. “Mmm…” he murmured in appreciation, casting his eyes down at the expanse of flawless skin below him. Then, almost to himself: “One hates to see a blank canvas.” Harry let his head drop back to the mattress at that, eyes dropping closed. Sometimes things came out of Snape’s mouth that were just too much to handle.
****
A simple twist, and the button on Harry’s slacks popped free, and Severus hooked his fingers under the waistband. “Always so eager to close your eyes against me,” the Potions Master mused, and wasted no time in pulling all remaining clothing down past Harry’s ankles. He, along with them, slid to his knees beside the bed. Harry’s legs spread willingly under his touch, and he settled between them, presented with an eager, adolescent erection. He, pressing a kiss to the inside of Harry’s thigh, brushed a fingertip down its length, and the boy’s eyes snapped open at last. But they didn’t meet his, oh no: they couldn’t.
Harry was staring at the ceiling, overwhelmed, trying not to think about, let alone look at what Snape was doing. Even when Severus rested his hands on Harry’s hips, and let his breath feather across over-heated flesh, Harry didn’t look. If the Potions Master was that close to him, and he looked down – saw that wicked mouth curl up into a sneer before… before…. He was sure he’d lose it.
****
The Gryffindor jerked at Severus’ slightest touch, trembled at the mere passage of breath, but Snape held him firmly in place, wanting to taunt, not gratify. And when Harry’s hands clenched in the bedspread, he knew it was to tamp down the desire to grab his hair – force him into action.
“Potter,” Severus murmured, and Harry recognized the command in it, but shook his head no. “Potter…” that ever-deepening voice held a hint of amusement the second time, and Harry felt himself go red. Snape was mocking him. “Tsk, tsk, haven’t learned to control ourselves yet, have we?” Severus asked, and Harry could feel the words against his skin as he shook his head again, fervently, no. How could he possibly control himself in this situation? Though he desperately wanted to press his hips up toward that infuriating voice, they could hardly raise a millimeter under the iron grip. Frustrated, he threw his head to the side.
“Professor!”
And then Snape nuzzled against him, and Harry nearly jumped right out of his skin. Would have, had it not been for the Potion Master’s implacable hands. And when Severus leaned in yet closer, inhaling his scent, Harry felt stripped of every defense and every bit of armor, not just clothes.
Hot, deliberate breath again, a tiny sound from the Potions Master, and Harry did it – he looked. And, as he’d predicted, the sight nearly undid him, shooting such a powerful surge of arousal through him that it sent his toes curling against the floor.
Severus Snape was on his knees at Harry’s feet. On his knees.
“Sir,” Harry whimpered, and Snape’s eyes snapped hotly up to meet his, half obscured by ink-black hair and Harry himself.
“Mmm?” Severus answered, and the vibrations from his voice went straight into Harry’s cock, making him shudder and press against the elegant, vice-like hands holding him unwaveringly down.
“Please – Merlin – stop, stop teasing me.” It came out less coherently than Harry would have liked, but at least he’d managed to form recognizable words. However, as Severus’ expression slid smoothly into something so dark and decadent that it bordered on threatening, Harry had to close his eyes again, or risk coming all over them both.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” came the rough reply, and Harry’d swear to the slightest brush of lips against him. “Get right down to business, hmm, Potter? What a whore you’ve become.” Harry opened his mouth to reply, but his intended denial degenerated into nothing as one of Snape’s hands gripped him intimately.
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tbc
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In the stairwell connecting the Headmaster’s office to the rest of the school, Harry took his ear from the door. Talk inside had turned to his performance in Occlumency, and he didn’t particularly care to hear what Snape had to say about that particular subject. What he did want to hear more about was Snape’s agreement to torture. His stomach turned over at the thought and an image flashed unbidden into his mind: The Potions Master, on his knees before a cloaked figure, refusing to cry out though his body shook with the force of a Cruciatus cast by the Dark Lord himself. His chest ached in sympathy – but why should it? It was Snape’s lot in life. He was an evil, manipulative, possible Deatheater spy. Maybe he deserved it.
But somehow that didn’t quite ring true for Harry anymore. He thought of how the Dark Mark looked on Snape’s skin: stark and sinister, yes, but tragic too. The brand of a disturbing, painful past that could never be wiped clean. Before Harry could dwell too much, however, he heard the scrape of a chair pushing back, and retreated at once down the stairs, unwilling to be caught eavesdropping.
****
Severus took all of three steps past where Harry had ducked behind a suit of armor, before stopping, sighing.
“Want something, Potter?” he asked, without turning around. Sheepishly, Harry stepped from the alcove.
“Nothing in particular, Sir,” he replied, shuffling his feet. Severus did turn, then, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the Gryffindor.
“No?”
****
Five minutes time found Harry half-naked and on the floor in Severus’ bedroom. He’d tripped over the heath rug as Snape pushed him backwards, falling right on his arse.
“Clumsy,” Severus murmured, and stood over him. “Still growing in to you paws, Potter?” Harry flushed scarlet.
“You pushed me!” he accused, standing, and Severus trailed his fingers thoughtfully down Harry’s bare chest, eyes glittering.
“I seem to recall already having had this conversation.” Harry swallowed, and dropped his eyes. Yes, he recalled that as well. He’d never been cut down so quickly in all his life. ‘You need it this way so that somewhere in that tiny, puerile mind of yours, you can tell yourself that you had no choice.’ He didn’t want to hear it again: once had been more than enough.
“Sorry, Sir,” he amended, and Severus cocked his head.
“Speaking of which,” he continued, taking Harry’s jaw in hand and turning it to the side, inspecting him. “You seem rather more… pristine,” Severus ran his knuckles down Harry’s throat, “than I left you.” The fine hairs on Harry’s arms and neck stood at attention.
“I… ah… healed them,” he replied, and felt his skin go hot where Snape’s hand passed.
“I can see that,” Severus replied, and pushed Harry the rest of the way to the bed, then down onto his back. “Mmm…” he murmured in appreciation, casting his eyes down at the expanse of flawless skin below him. Then, almost to himself: “One hates to see a blank canvas.” Harry let his head drop back to the mattress at that, eyes dropping closed. Sometimes things came out of Snape’s mouth that were just too much to handle.
****
A simple twist, and the button on Harry’s slacks popped free, and Severus hooked his fingers under the waistband. “Always so eager to close your eyes against me,” the Potions Master mused, and wasted no time in pulling all remaining clothing down past Harry’s ankles. He, along with them, slid to his knees beside the bed. Harry’s legs spread willingly under his touch, and he settled between them, presented with an eager, adolescent erection. He, pressing a kiss to the inside of Harry’s thigh, brushed a fingertip down its length, and the boy’s eyes snapped open at last. But they didn’t meet his, oh no: they couldn’t.
Harry was staring at the ceiling, overwhelmed, trying not to think about, let alone look at what Snape was doing. Even when Severus rested his hands on Harry’s hips, and let his breath feather across over-heated flesh, Harry didn’t look. If the Potions Master was that close to him, and he looked down – saw that wicked mouth curl up into a sneer before… before…. He was sure he’d lose it.
****
The Gryffindor jerked at Severus’ slightest touch, trembled at the mere passage of breath, but Snape held him firmly in place, wanting to taunt, not gratify. And when Harry’s hands clenched in the bedspread, he knew it was to tamp down the desire to grab his hair – force him into action.
“Potter,” Severus murmured, and Harry recognized the command in it, but shook his head no. “Potter…” that ever-deepening voice held a hint of amusement the second time, and Harry felt himself go red. Snape was mocking him. “Tsk, tsk, haven’t learned to control ourselves yet, have we?” Severus asked, and Harry could feel the words against his skin as he shook his head again, fervently, no. How could he possibly control himself in this situation? Though he desperately wanted to press his hips up toward that infuriating voice, they could hardly raise a millimeter under the iron grip. Frustrated, he threw his head to the side.
“Professor!”
And then Snape nuzzled against him, and Harry nearly jumped right out of his skin. Would have, had it not been for the Potion Master’s implacable hands. And when Severus leaned in yet closer, inhaling his scent, Harry felt stripped of every defense and every bit of armor, not just clothes.
Hot, deliberate breath again, a tiny sound from the Potions Master, and Harry did it – he looked. And, as he’d predicted, the sight nearly undid him, shooting such a powerful surge of arousal through him that it sent his toes curling against the floor.
Severus Snape was on his knees at Harry’s feet. On his knees.
“Sir,” Harry whimpered, and Snape’s eyes snapped hotly up to meet his, half obscured by ink-black hair and Harry himself.
“Mmm?” Severus answered, and the vibrations from his voice went straight into Harry’s cock, making him shudder and press against the elegant, vice-like hands holding him unwaveringly down.
“Please – Merlin – stop, stop teasing me.” It came out less coherently than Harry would have liked, but at least he’d managed to form recognizable words. However, as Severus’ expression slid smoothly into something so dark and decadent that it bordered on threatening, Harry had to close his eyes again, or risk coming all over them both.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” came the rough reply, and Harry’d swear to the slightest brush of lips against him. “Get right down to business, hmm, Potter? What a whore you’ve become.” Harry opened his mouth to reply, but his intended denial degenerated into nothing as one of Snape’s hands gripped him intimately.
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tbc