A Very Good Occlumens
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Lily
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
21,172
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Lily
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
21,172
Reviews:
22
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.
Trying Something New
"Then what do you want?" Lily asked.
“Well,” he admitted without much pretense at embarrassment, “sex was part of it.”
“You--!”
“You didn’t think I was in this for purely unselfish reasons, did you?” he said, letting her feel just how swollen and thick those particular reasons were just now.
“No, but—“
“Lily, really, just pretend I’m as bad as James and Sirius and company always thought, and things will go much better. You can even excuse yourself if you happen to climax. Remind yourself how I forced you into this marriage—“
“I had choices!”
“Did you now?” he said silkily. “I thought I made certain they were few and unattractive.”
At that, Lily couldn’t speak. He made sure?
“I thought it might be enough if you were happy in bed and happy that Harry was safe,” he continued.
She found herself staring at those cold, black eyes. Suddenly, she remembered what a good Legilimens he was—“eye contact is usually necessary,” she remembered someone—him?—saying—and looked away, fixing her gaze on the lamp, the grate, one of the bedposts… She hated the Dark Arts, but maybe a session or two in Occlumency wouldn’t have hurt… A traitorous thought bubbled into her mind: What if she asked Snape to teach her? No, no, he’d never agree, at least not now, for certain, when he had that strange, searching look in his eyes. He was still lying on top of her, though thankfully holding some of his weight on his forearms, which were planted on either side of her head, his hands lightly but firmly holding her wrists. The feeling was oddly stimulating. She had never thought she might enjoy testing her considerable strength against someone else’s and finding herself overpowered, at least for the moment. James certainly had never done that to her. He had been cheerful and at times, forceful, and of course, they had agreed on most subjects, which eased their relations. In bed he had been—-here she quelled her thoughts and glanced anxiously at the man hovering over her, his longish hair somewhat less greasy than she remembered, his eyes boring into her.
Provoked and unwillingly curious, he decided to lay a card on the table. “By all means, continue,” he said.
“What?!”
He didn’t answer, just let the silence thicken between them.
“You’ve been reading my mind?” He didn’t reply. “For how long?” He didn’t reply.
“I hate you, Severus! Get off me! Get off!”
“No.” He tightened his grip on her, but not painfully so, as she tried to buck him off with her hips. After several minutes of this, twisting and turning, she felt desperation overwhelm her. She stopped struggling and just looked at him with what she hoped was loathing, though a small ember of hope inside her made her wish he wasn’t just using her.
“Why are you being so cruel? What have I ever done to you? Oh, I know! I married James Potter. That’s my crime!” To her shame, her vision blurred. She knew if she blinked, the tears would run down her cheeks, so doggedly, she just stared at him.
He watched her for a second, then an unreadable look passed over his face, and he lowered his lips to hers. She struggled, but he had her pinned tight, and his lips were only just touching hers, light, surprisingly soft. He moved to the side of her face and lightly probed her ear with the tip of his tongue. Lily heard a noise and realized it was herself. She turned her head—to get away? to allow for more? She wasn’t sure. Distractedly, she felt her tears sliding hotly down her cheeks into her hair. The light, wet, probing tip came back to her ear, her cheek. She arched an infinitesimal fraction under his hips.
“I’ve had more Death Eaters than I can count, more ways than I can count,” he muttered harshly in her ear. She felt his hand twining in her hair. “And I want you more than any of them. I’ve waited for you—“ Here he broke off. But Lily almost didn’t notice. He had her head between his hands now, his thumbs moving over her cheekbones, his fingers combing through her hair, as he kissed her. His tongue was probing the sensitive corner of her mouth now, and she let her lips part. His tongue slipped inside. In that moment, as she melted under that penetration, he pulled one of her thighs around his narrow hips and pressed against her.
Why, she wondered disjointedly, did she feel so wet when he did that? She was melting, dying. She wrapped her leg around his waist. He raised his head.
“Ever do this another way?”
“W-what?” she stammered, almost past speech.
“Has it always been missionary position for you?”
Would he always be this prickly, even in bed, where they seemed to be getting along best? she wondered. “You know it hasn’t,” she said tartly. “I was riding you just last night.”
“Quite,” he drawled. “But I mean,” here he let go of one of her wrists so that his now free hand could move under one buttock cheek and knead it, “have you done it any other ways?”
“Like what?” she said with audible dread.
He chuckled. “What I’d pay to know what you’re thinking—no, don’t look so enraged, dear Lily. It only inflames me further, and I don’t think we need that at the moment.”
If the pressure between the lips of her sex were anything to go by, she didn’t think they’d be needing it at all. “Well, er, what did you have in mind?” she said, struggling for nonchalance, if one could be nonchalant with a man’s thick cock spreading one’s sex open even through a layer of jeans and knickers, his hand on one’s arse, and his tongue now delicately probing that inside corner of one’s mouth, which was going to drive her—er, one—mad very, very soon.
He brought his weight back on his knees and then used one knee to prod her over until she was prone, a most vulnerable position. Lily was grateful for the protection of her clothes. Until she felt those long, clever fingers slip under her sweater and pull it up.
“Well,” he admitted without much pretense at embarrassment, “sex was part of it.”
“You--!”
“You didn’t think I was in this for purely unselfish reasons, did you?” he said, letting her feel just how swollen and thick those particular reasons were just now.
“No, but—“
“Lily, really, just pretend I’m as bad as James and Sirius and company always thought, and things will go much better. You can even excuse yourself if you happen to climax. Remind yourself how I forced you into this marriage—“
“I had choices!”
“Did you now?” he said silkily. “I thought I made certain they were few and unattractive.”
At that, Lily couldn’t speak. He made sure?
“I thought it might be enough if you were happy in bed and happy that Harry was safe,” he continued.
She found herself staring at those cold, black eyes. Suddenly, she remembered what a good Legilimens he was—“eye contact is usually necessary,” she remembered someone—him?—saying—and looked away, fixing her gaze on the lamp, the grate, one of the bedposts… She hated the Dark Arts, but maybe a session or two in Occlumency wouldn’t have hurt… A traitorous thought bubbled into her mind: What if she asked Snape to teach her? No, no, he’d never agree, at least not now, for certain, when he had that strange, searching look in his eyes. He was still lying on top of her, though thankfully holding some of his weight on his forearms, which were planted on either side of her head, his hands lightly but firmly holding her wrists. The feeling was oddly stimulating. She had never thought she might enjoy testing her considerable strength against someone else’s and finding herself overpowered, at least for the moment. James certainly had never done that to her. He had been cheerful and at times, forceful, and of course, they had agreed on most subjects, which eased their relations. In bed he had been—-here she quelled her thoughts and glanced anxiously at the man hovering over her, his longish hair somewhat less greasy than she remembered, his eyes boring into her.
Provoked and unwillingly curious, he decided to lay a card on the table. “By all means, continue,” he said.
“What?!”
He didn’t answer, just let the silence thicken between them.
“You’ve been reading my mind?” He didn’t reply. “For how long?” He didn’t reply.
“I hate you, Severus! Get off me! Get off!”
“No.” He tightened his grip on her, but not painfully so, as she tried to buck him off with her hips. After several minutes of this, twisting and turning, she felt desperation overwhelm her. She stopped struggling and just looked at him with what she hoped was loathing, though a small ember of hope inside her made her wish he wasn’t just using her.
“Why are you being so cruel? What have I ever done to you? Oh, I know! I married James Potter. That’s my crime!” To her shame, her vision blurred. She knew if she blinked, the tears would run down her cheeks, so doggedly, she just stared at him.
He watched her for a second, then an unreadable look passed over his face, and he lowered his lips to hers. She struggled, but he had her pinned tight, and his lips were only just touching hers, light, surprisingly soft. He moved to the side of her face and lightly probed her ear with the tip of his tongue. Lily heard a noise and realized it was herself. She turned her head—to get away? to allow for more? She wasn’t sure. Distractedly, she felt her tears sliding hotly down her cheeks into her hair. The light, wet, probing tip came back to her ear, her cheek. She arched an infinitesimal fraction under his hips.
“I’ve had more Death Eaters than I can count, more ways than I can count,” he muttered harshly in her ear. She felt his hand twining in her hair. “And I want you more than any of them. I’ve waited for you—“ Here he broke off. But Lily almost didn’t notice. He had her head between his hands now, his thumbs moving over her cheekbones, his fingers combing through her hair, as he kissed her. His tongue was probing the sensitive corner of her mouth now, and she let her lips part. His tongue slipped inside. In that moment, as she melted under that penetration, he pulled one of her thighs around his narrow hips and pressed against her.
Why, she wondered disjointedly, did she feel so wet when he did that? She was melting, dying. She wrapped her leg around his waist. He raised his head.
“Ever do this another way?”
“W-what?” she stammered, almost past speech.
“Has it always been missionary position for you?”
Would he always be this prickly, even in bed, where they seemed to be getting along best? she wondered. “You know it hasn’t,” she said tartly. “I was riding you just last night.”
“Quite,” he drawled. “But I mean,” here he let go of one of her wrists so that his now free hand could move under one buttock cheek and knead it, “have you done it any other ways?”
“Like what?” she said with audible dread.
He chuckled. “What I’d pay to know what you’re thinking—no, don’t look so enraged, dear Lily. It only inflames me further, and I don’t think we need that at the moment.”
If the pressure between the lips of her sex were anything to go by, she didn’t think they’d be needing it at all. “Well, er, what did you have in mind?” she said, struggling for nonchalance, if one could be nonchalant with a man’s thick cock spreading one’s sex open even through a layer of jeans and knickers, his hand on one’s arse, and his tongue now delicately probing that inside corner of one’s mouth, which was going to drive her—er, one—mad very, very soon.
He brought his weight back on his knees and then used one knee to prod her over until she was prone, a most vulnerable position. Lily was grateful for the protection of her clothes. Until she felt those long, clever fingers slip under her sweater and pull it up.