Potter-Boy
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
11,609
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
11,609
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
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.
Potter-Boy (Taking) Part 3/3
Sorry for the delay, but here is the last chappie :)
Beta: sor_bet. Thank you so much!
Potter-Boy (Taking)
He sat unmoving, his hands clenched into fists, his fingernails poking into his skin, leaving tiny half-moon dents. He showed no fear, his teeth slated tightly together in effort to stop gnawing at his lip. His green eyes were devoid of light, his thoughts sheltered, but they continued to rush through his mind beneath that stare; he had mastered emotionless faces, yet his heart never stopped its frantic pounding.
Snape sneered at him, telling him he could hear the fear no matter how skilled he was at hiding it from his face. Potter knew Snape could hear the frenzied beats when he closed in: the beats torn with trepidation and lust. He wanted to reach out and let his fingers wrap around greasy locks, digging them into Snape's skull, but the rest of him begged Snape's looming form to edge back and disappear into the bleak background of the dungeon; the Potter-boy never reached for the hair, Snape always moving in.
He swept in like a bat, his hooked nose pressing into Potter's cheek bones, his teeth biting frozen lips. Snape tested his boy, seeing how long he could last -- he never lasted long enough.
Fury blazed in Snape's dark eyes, his toy never learning patience. The Potter-boy was always hungry for more, licking Snape like a kitten pining for affection. It disgusted Snape the way the boy begged for more, but he always supplied Potter's needs in the end. His fury mingled with hate and came out ugly and brutal, slamming the Potter-boy into a wall or taking him in the chair, the terror in Potter’s verdant eyes causing Snape to lose himself once again.
He pounded into the boy, almost splitting him in half; he could barely hear the boy’s whimpers through his own laboured breathing. He made certain now to never look Potter in the face as he fucked him -- or all he would see was cloaked love, veiled behind the fear.
Snape knew Potter spread his legs hoping to catch a glimpse of something more within his torturous black eyes, that he took the thrusts as a sign Snape still noticed him; the older man never stopped noticing him. He tried to forget the boy and his body, but his hands always came back to the same cock and shaggy dark hair. He took from Potter until there was no more to take, breaking him into pieces.
Snape knew he owned a shattered doll: he took so much, Potter had started believing that his Professor gave him what he wanted. He cracked the perfect shell Dumbledore had tried to create for the boy and caused him to weep, tears falling from those endless green eyes. How ashamed the Headmaster would have been if he had known what his trusted spy was and had been doing to his prized Wizard Saviour. “Why, Severus?” the old man would ask, his wrinkled face showing sorrow and his blue eyes hurt like a child’s.
Snape would bark at those futile words, his only answer, “Because the boy let me.” And it was the truth. The blasted boy let him.
He craved the taking, the utter smallness he could cause Potter to feel, but now only fury could make him take the boy, his cheeks flushed in rage; a part of him pitied his own existence.
If only he could stop now, the thinking done, touching leaving him empty -- if only he could leave the world he created.
The Potter-boy was shattered, his begging now only faint pleas for love. Snape was never taught how to love. He had been taught the ways to torture a victim, to slaughter parents and children, but never to love.
Green eyes looked at him, trying to sort out his Professor's thoughts, hoping that he’d snarl and tell him how pathetic his patience was and how dreadful his skills in bed were. Yet Snape continued to stare through him; Potter felt wrapped within his invisibility cloak.
The Potter-boy closed his eyes, afraid to reach for the man who seemed suddenly so lost -- Snape shut his eyes too, trying to capture the feeling he once held: the anger.
The anger hid behind the loneliness, Snape destroying himself and the one thing that could have saved him. He was going insane with his sudden rush of thoughts riddled with guilt he should never have felt; he had taught himself too well to succumb to these trivial feelings -- he should have never started thinking of the boy or that blasted old man.
Snape felt weak, his body falling down, his head resting on Potter’s chest -- they had never touched like his before. Darkness enveloped Snape, Potter's green eyes fluttering open; he would never change, these thoughts only minor hindrances, the darkness never leaving. He was too far gone and the Potter-boy relied too much on him; it was funny and Snape felt the urge to laugh. He could have been saved, he could have been a better man. Even now he could reach out and stroke Potter's hair and fuck him slowly, almost passionately; maybe the boy he tore could be taped back together again.
“Would you like to be fixed?” Snape asked, opening his eyes and meeting muddled green. Potter tilted his head and reached out, his hand falling on a sunken cheek.
“No.” The boy was broken beyond repair.
Defeated, he fucked Potter into the chair, his strokes harsh and calculated. Feeling the body beneath him beg for more, Snape realised the source of the darkness that kept him encased: the boy, the boy. He led Snape into the darkness.
They thought, they touched, they took, the darkness pulling them in.
Beta: sor_bet. Thank you so much!
Potter-Boy (Taking)
He sat unmoving, his hands clenched into fists, his fingernails poking into his skin, leaving tiny half-moon dents. He showed no fear, his teeth slated tightly together in effort to stop gnawing at his lip. His green eyes were devoid of light, his thoughts sheltered, but they continued to rush through his mind beneath that stare; he had mastered emotionless faces, yet his heart never stopped its frantic pounding.
Snape sneered at him, telling him he could hear the fear no matter how skilled he was at hiding it from his face. Potter knew Snape could hear the frenzied beats when he closed in: the beats torn with trepidation and lust. He wanted to reach out and let his fingers wrap around greasy locks, digging them into Snape's skull, but the rest of him begged Snape's looming form to edge back and disappear into the bleak background of the dungeon; the Potter-boy never reached for the hair, Snape always moving in.
He swept in like a bat, his hooked nose pressing into Potter's cheek bones, his teeth biting frozen lips. Snape tested his boy, seeing how long he could last -- he never lasted long enough.
Fury blazed in Snape's dark eyes, his toy never learning patience. The Potter-boy was always hungry for more, licking Snape like a kitten pining for affection. It disgusted Snape the way the boy begged for more, but he always supplied Potter's needs in the end. His fury mingled with hate and came out ugly and brutal, slamming the Potter-boy into a wall or taking him in the chair, the terror in Potter’s verdant eyes causing Snape to lose himself once again.
He pounded into the boy, almost splitting him in half; he could barely hear the boy’s whimpers through his own laboured breathing. He made certain now to never look Potter in the face as he fucked him -- or all he would see was cloaked love, veiled behind the fear.
Snape knew Potter spread his legs hoping to catch a glimpse of something more within his torturous black eyes, that he took the thrusts as a sign Snape still noticed him; the older man never stopped noticing him. He tried to forget the boy and his body, but his hands always came back to the same cock and shaggy dark hair. He took from Potter until there was no more to take, breaking him into pieces.
Snape knew he owned a shattered doll: he took so much, Potter had started believing that his Professor gave him what he wanted. He cracked the perfect shell Dumbledore had tried to create for the boy and caused him to weep, tears falling from those endless green eyes. How ashamed the Headmaster would have been if he had known what his trusted spy was and had been doing to his prized Wizard Saviour. “Why, Severus?” the old man would ask, his wrinkled face showing sorrow and his blue eyes hurt like a child’s.
Snape would bark at those futile words, his only answer, “Because the boy let me.” And it was the truth. The blasted boy let him.
He craved the taking, the utter smallness he could cause Potter to feel, but now only fury could make him take the boy, his cheeks flushed in rage; a part of him pitied his own existence.
If only he could stop now, the thinking done, touching leaving him empty -- if only he could leave the world he created.
The Potter-boy was shattered, his begging now only faint pleas for love. Snape was never taught how to love. He had been taught the ways to torture a victim, to slaughter parents and children, but never to love.
Green eyes looked at him, trying to sort out his Professor's thoughts, hoping that he’d snarl and tell him how pathetic his patience was and how dreadful his skills in bed were. Yet Snape continued to stare through him; Potter felt wrapped within his invisibility cloak.
The Potter-boy closed his eyes, afraid to reach for the man who seemed suddenly so lost -- Snape shut his eyes too, trying to capture the feeling he once held: the anger.
The anger hid behind the loneliness, Snape destroying himself and the one thing that could have saved him. He was going insane with his sudden rush of thoughts riddled with guilt he should never have felt; he had taught himself too well to succumb to these trivial feelings -- he should have never started thinking of the boy or that blasted old man.
Snape felt weak, his body falling down, his head resting on Potter’s chest -- they had never touched like his before. Darkness enveloped Snape, Potter's green eyes fluttering open; he would never change, these thoughts only minor hindrances, the darkness never leaving. He was too far gone and the Potter-boy relied too much on him; it was funny and Snape felt the urge to laugh. He could have been saved, he could have been a better man. Even now he could reach out and stroke Potter's hair and fuck him slowly, almost passionately; maybe the boy he tore could be taped back together again.
“Would you like to be fixed?” Snape asked, opening his eyes and meeting muddled green. Potter tilted his head and reached out, his hand falling on a sunken cheek.
“No.” The boy was broken beyond repair.
Defeated, he fucked Potter into the chair, his strokes harsh and calculated. Feeling the body beneath him beg for more, Snape realised the source of the darkness that kept him encased: the boy, the boy. He led Snape into the darkness.
They thought, they touched, they took, the darkness pulling them in.