Seven Sins of Severus Snape
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
10,790
Reviews:
44
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
10,790
Reviews:
44
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.
Lust
A/N I know it's been a while, and this one's been sitting finished for a little while so I thought I'd update it. Hope it lives up to expectations. Cheers.
Chapter 6 – Lust
The weather has turned cold and the fire in his room does little to dissuade the draughts creeping around him. He sits in his armchair in his bedroom, staring out of the window watching the pure white snowflakes cling to the glass. He know’s his time draws nearer, as day becomes night and summer to winter. The end is brewing beneath the surface, the thin fabric of calm barely containing the chaos that will soon be unleashed upon the world. He tightens the blankets over his shoulders as an icy tendril of cold air snakes down his back.
He hears him before he sees him. The patter of feet on the floor boards outside his closed door. He knows he’s staring at the handle as if those green eyes are staring at him with just as much intensity. He can feel the ripple in his wards as the boy reaches up to tentatively knock. Were he not intrigued to what has drawn the boy out of his bed at this time of night, he might not have given his ascent to enter. Such as it is, he mutters ‘come’, knowing he is unable to deny the boy anything he so desires.
He doesn’t shift in his position by the window, simply watches in the reflection of the glass as the boy pads into the room. He turns to close the door behind him and he takes a moment to appraise his dress. The boy stands up in his winter pyjama’s, royal blue with shooting stars, winking moons and spinning planets. He smiles grimly at the picture he makes, a man in a 14 year-olds-body. The boy turns back around from the door and takes two tentative steps towards him before pausing. He watches as he twists his fingers in his lap, nervous as if he isn’t sure he should be standing here. Another icy draught springs from a darkened corner of the room and he watches as the boy shudders before boldly crossing what’s left of the space between them. Still he doesn’t acknowledge the boy, merely staring at his reflection in the glass as the boy comes to stand beside his chair.
“I,” His voice wavers as he opens his mouth to speak, before hastily slamming it closed again when the sound he makes comes out all wrong. He smiles inwardly to himself, as he stares into those emerald green eyes in the reflection of the glass, as if seeing them through a filter might lesson their effect on him. He is not spared such luck and the boy changes his glance to stare back at his own onyx eyes in the reflection. Silence hangs thick in the chilled air, neither willing to break the others gaze as secrets pass between them, that no one else will ever understand. He sees his own pain reflected back at him in those emerald eyes, he sees the end just as he has predicted it. He watches as the boy blinks and the spell cast is broken. Automatically he closes his eyes, feeling the slight change in air as the boy leans down over him.
The kiss is tentative; the boy’s chapped, cold lips pressing against his own unresponsive ones. It is a first and a last kiss. A first for the boy, and a last for him. He can feel every ounce of tension caught in the boy’s body as the kiss ends, soft warm breath brushing against his own cool lips and a pair of emerald eyes gazing at him in such close proximity.
He has promised himself from the very beginning he will not respond when the time comes, but under the scrutiny of that gaze, of his own guilt he is powerless to stop himself. His eyes flicker open exposing himself to the final torturous gaze that will seal his fate. The boy understands what’s to come, it is written in the painful creases of his face, in the defiant sparkles in his irises and the determined pull of his breath. He knows already he will fight for him, take risks, take others lives but ultimately their time together is already at an end, even when something so new has just begun between them.
The boy leans forward again this time without hesitation. The kiss is powerful, demanding and determined. His traitorous body responds and he opens his mouth skillfully meeting the boy’s tongue with his own in a passionate play of dominance and ownership. His hands remain rooted to the carved wooden arms of the chair as the boy moans into the kiss his hands tugging at his own clothing in a desperate, fumbling attempt to undress. The kiss breaks and he watches as the boy pants breathlessly at his side, himself only slightly awaken by the boy’s youthful pawing. With a nod, he watches as the boy undresses, his fingers gripping into the wooden arms as each expanse of creamy white flesh is exposed to him. The boy stands up in just his small cotton briefs, the fabric tented and stretched already around the growing damp patch. He stares at the boy in silence, his gaze appreciating each curve, each dimple, each scar and scratch on the boy’s alabaster skin. He is beautiful, like his mother once was. A tremor runs up his spine at the thought, and in his silent appreciation of the boy standing before him his guilt comes crushing down upon him. This moment has been hanging over him since the boy was born, predicted in the ramblings of his own dying mother.
His tired thoughts are driven away, as he watches the boy move between his knees tentative, sinewy young fingers reaching down to part his own robe. He watches in the flicker of the firelight as the fingers smooth up his knees and over his thighs touching flesh that hasn’t known the touch of another for years. He knows, what those searching fingers will find and he inhales sharply as the cold digits gently circle his groin, deftly outlining the triangle of hair, the tight sack and the slowly filling length. In truth he’s surprised it still works, that it still twitches with nervous energy beneath the warm exploring hands coaxing him into hardness. Years of curses can leave such lasting effects, but it seems for him he has been spared such a final humiliation. With his fingers still gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles white and nails picking at splinters he watches as the boy pushes open the rest of the robe before kneeling between his knees. His thighs go tight as he watches the boy lick his lips, moistening them with a flick of his sinfully pink tongue. His eyes never leave his, as he watches the trail of kisses the boy laps up his thighs. When the warm wet lips encircle his head what little control he’s held onto all these years slips through his fingers likes sand.
He’s lost in the sensation, his tight grip on the arms of the chair forgotten as he slips a hand into the unruly mess of hair on the boy’s head, while the other gently fingers a hollowed cheek as the boy’s sucks his cock in long fluid strokes. His breathing’s labored now as he watches the fan of lashes across the boy’s sculptured cheeks, a look of reverence and intense concentration passing over the boy’s face as he opens his eyes to stare up at him.
The boy pulls back a little, a glistening trail of spit connecting them until the last moment went it breaks like a stream of magic flicking in the air. He’s breathless as he stares into those emerald eyes, an emotion shining back at him that he knows he is totally unable to stop himself returning. With a hand still cupping his cheek he coaxes the boy to stand, watching as he tugs the last remaining clothing from the boy’s body to reveal the slender curved tool that springs up against the boy’s lower stomach.
He lost now. Damned for forever just as he’d foreseen.
He crooks his finger at the boy beckoning him to him. With ungraceful, adolescent limbs the boy crawls up onto his lap the blanket still thrown about his own shoulders providing little protection against the draughts swirling up around the room. His hands work in perfect, skilled unison dragging the boy to him, confidently exploring every inch of the boy’s frame as they share another of their last kisses. His potion stained fingers follow each fresh, and old scar on the boy’s back, each one mapping the pain the boy has tried to forget. He knows the red head is one of many who have tried to help but it will only be by his own hand that the pain is finally lifted, and whole new level of pain begins. That knowledge is a bitter pill that sticks in his throat as he parts the boy’s cheeks and guides his throbbing rod inside him. The movement’s raw, tight and burns even with the meager fluid that leaks from him to try and ease the way. It may not be a first for either of them, but it will be the only one that lives on in the darkest parts of their memories. He thrusts forward and upward, tight hands gripping the boy’s waist. The boy cries out, his head thrown back in a mixed show of pleasure and pain. This is what they need, what has been building between them for years. He trusts again with a primal grunt, feeling the need to mark the boy as his own.
Together they shift as one, brutal yet liquid smooth movements accentuated by the flicker of the orange firelight on their bodies. Even in the icy cold room they perspire, and he leans forward to lick the trail of passion from the boy’s hairless chest, drawing a choked scream from the boy who’s wildly bucking above him.
It all lasts little more than 15minutes but to him it may as well have been a lifetime. They climax together, his name a reverent whisper on the boy’s lips as he shoots his creamy, essence all over his chest. The boy collapses atop of him, his face pressed into the hollow of his neck and shoulder, and his hand pressed shakingly over his heart. Together they lie in each other’s arms, the chill of the room nothing compared to the chill of their hearts as love is created, lust lingers, and fear entraps them.
He knows it is over; he is powerless to stop what will transpire between them. He will die with the bitter memories of those emerald green eyes that for only a second, belonged to him…
TBC>>
Chapter 6 – Lust
The weather has turned cold and the fire in his room does little to dissuade the draughts creeping around him. He sits in his armchair in his bedroom, staring out of the window watching the pure white snowflakes cling to the glass. He know’s his time draws nearer, as day becomes night and summer to winter. The end is brewing beneath the surface, the thin fabric of calm barely containing the chaos that will soon be unleashed upon the world. He tightens the blankets over his shoulders as an icy tendril of cold air snakes down his back.
He hears him before he sees him. The patter of feet on the floor boards outside his closed door. He knows he’s staring at the handle as if those green eyes are staring at him with just as much intensity. He can feel the ripple in his wards as the boy reaches up to tentatively knock. Were he not intrigued to what has drawn the boy out of his bed at this time of night, he might not have given his ascent to enter. Such as it is, he mutters ‘come’, knowing he is unable to deny the boy anything he so desires.
He doesn’t shift in his position by the window, simply watches in the reflection of the glass as the boy pads into the room. He turns to close the door behind him and he takes a moment to appraise his dress. The boy stands up in his winter pyjama’s, royal blue with shooting stars, winking moons and spinning planets. He smiles grimly at the picture he makes, a man in a 14 year-olds-body. The boy turns back around from the door and takes two tentative steps towards him before pausing. He watches as he twists his fingers in his lap, nervous as if he isn’t sure he should be standing here. Another icy draught springs from a darkened corner of the room and he watches as the boy shudders before boldly crossing what’s left of the space between them. Still he doesn’t acknowledge the boy, merely staring at his reflection in the glass as the boy comes to stand beside his chair.
“I,” His voice wavers as he opens his mouth to speak, before hastily slamming it closed again when the sound he makes comes out all wrong. He smiles inwardly to himself, as he stares into those emerald green eyes in the reflection of the glass, as if seeing them through a filter might lesson their effect on him. He is not spared such luck and the boy changes his glance to stare back at his own onyx eyes in the reflection. Silence hangs thick in the chilled air, neither willing to break the others gaze as secrets pass between them, that no one else will ever understand. He sees his own pain reflected back at him in those emerald eyes, he sees the end just as he has predicted it. He watches as the boy blinks and the spell cast is broken. Automatically he closes his eyes, feeling the slight change in air as the boy leans down over him.
The kiss is tentative; the boy’s chapped, cold lips pressing against his own unresponsive ones. It is a first and a last kiss. A first for the boy, and a last for him. He can feel every ounce of tension caught in the boy’s body as the kiss ends, soft warm breath brushing against his own cool lips and a pair of emerald eyes gazing at him in such close proximity.
He has promised himself from the very beginning he will not respond when the time comes, but under the scrutiny of that gaze, of his own guilt he is powerless to stop himself. His eyes flicker open exposing himself to the final torturous gaze that will seal his fate. The boy understands what’s to come, it is written in the painful creases of his face, in the defiant sparkles in his irises and the determined pull of his breath. He knows already he will fight for him, take risks, take others lives but ultimately their time together is already at an end, even when something so new has just begun between them.
The boy leans forward again this time without hesitation. The kiss is powerful, demanding and determined. His traitorous body responds and he opens his mouth skillfully meeting the boy’s tongue with his own in a passionate play of dominance and ownership. His hands remain rooted to the carved wooden arms of the chair as the boy moans into the kiss his hands tugging at his own clothing in a desperate, fumbling attempt to undress. The kiss breaks and he watches as the boy pants breathlessly at his side, himself only slightly awaken by the boy’s youthful pawing. With a nod, he watches as the boy undresses, his fingers gripping into the wooden arms as each expanse of creamy white flesh is exposed to him. The boy stands up in just his small cotton briefs, the fabric tented and stretched already around the growing damp patch. He stares at the boy in silence, his gaze appreciating each curve, each dimple, each scar and scratch on the boy’s alabaster skin. He is beautiful, like his mother once was. A tremor runs up his spine at the thought, and in his silent appreciation of the boy standing before him his guilt comes crushing down upon him. This moment has been hanging over him since the boy was born, predicted in the ramblings of his own dying mother.
His tired thoughts are driven away, as he watches the boy move between his knees tentative, sinewy young fingers reaching down to part his own robe. He watches in the flicker of the firelight as the fingers smooth up his knees and over his thighs touching flesh that hasn’t known the touch of another for years. He knows, what those searching fingers will find and he inhales sharply as the cold digits gently circle his groin, deftly outlining the triangle of hair, the tight sack and the slowly filling length. In truth he’s surprised it still works, that it still twitches with nervous energy beneath the warm exploring hands coaxing him into hardness. Years of curses can leave such lasting effects, but it seems for him he has been spared such a final humiliation. With his fingers still gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles white and nails picking at splinters he watches as the boy pushes open the rest of the robe before kneeling between his knees. His thighs go tight as he watches the boy lick his lips, moistening them with a flick of his sinfully pink tongue. His eyes never leave his, as he watches the trail of kisses the boy laps up his thighs. When the warm wet lips encircle his head what little control he’s held onto all these years slips through his fingers likes sand.
He’s lost in the sensation, his tight grip on the arms of the chair forgotten as he slips a hand into the unruly mess of hair on the boy’s head, while the other gently fingers a hollowed cheek as the boy’s sucks his cock in long fluid strokes. His breathing’s labored now as he watches the fan of lashes across the boy’s sculptured cheeks, a look of reverence and intense concentration passing over the boy’s face as he opens his eyes to stare up at him.
The boy pulls back a little, a glistening trail of spit connecting them until the last moment went it breaks like a stream of magic flicking in the air. He’s breathless as he stares into those emerald eyes, an emotion shining back at him that he knows he is totally unable to stop himself returning. With a hand still cupping his cheek he coaxes the boy to stand, watching as he tugs the last remaining clothing from the boy’s body to reveal the slender curved tool that springs up against the boy’s lower stomach.
He lost now. Damned for forever just as he’d foreseen.
He crooks his finger at the boy beckoning him to him. With ungraceful, adolescent limbs the boy crawls up onto his lap the blanket still thrown about his own shoulders providing little protection against the draughts swirling up around the room. His hands work in perfect, skilled unison dragging the boy to him, confidently exploring every inch of the boy’s frame as they share another of their last kisses. His potion stained fingers follow each fresh, and old scar on the boy’s back, each one mapping the pain the boy has tried to forget. He knows the red head is one of many who have tried to help but it will only be by his own hand that the pain is finally lifted, and whole new level of pain begins. That knowledge is a bitter pill that sticks in his throat as he parts the boy’s cheeks and guides his throbbing rod inside him. The movement’s raw, tight and burns even with the meager fluid that leaks from him to try and ease the way. It may not be a first for either of them, but it will be the only one that lives on in the darkest parts of their memories. He thrusts forward and upward, tight hands gripping the boy’s waist. The boy cries out, his head thrown back in a mixed show of pleasure and pain. This is what they need, what has been building between them for years. He trusts again with a primal grunt, feeling the need to mark the boy as his own.
Together they shift as one, brutal yet liquid smooth movements accentuated by the flicker of the orange firelight on their bodies. Even in the icy cold room they perspire, and he leans forward to lick the trail of passion from the boy’s hairless chest, drawing a choked scream from the boy who’s wildly bucking above him.
It all lasts little more than 15minutes but to him it may as well have been a lifetime. They climax together, his name a reverent whisper on the boy’s lips as he shoots his creamy, essence all over his chest. The boy collapses atop of him, his face pressed into the hollow of his neck and shoulder, and his hand pressed shakingly over his heart. Together they lie in each other’s arms, the chill of the room nothing compared to the chill of their hearts as love is created, lust lingers, and fear entraps them.
He knows it is over; he is powerless to stop what will transpire between them. He will die with the bitter memories of those emerald green eyes that for only a second, belonged to him…
TBC>>