A Man Cannot Control His Dreams

A/N to my readers: your wish is my command. More to come soon.

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“I believe that one can wait,” Snape said.

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Harry’s eyes were wide with fear when they darted up from his hand, and Snape noted with satisfaction the distinct dilation to his pupils that could only signify desire. Nevertheless, the boy tried to free himself, twisting and pulling, but failing.

“Don’t – don’t touch me - ” he managed, backing up the mere inches between his back and the edge of the work surface. Snape merely tightened his grip and twisted, forcing the boy around, and pressing him up against the edge of the table. Pinning Harry’s arm he felt the trapped fingers twitch ineffectually. Itching for the wand stowed in his pocket, no doubt. “Stop,” Harry insisted, voice lacking conviction, though hoarse and clearly terrified. Snape pushed hotly up against the boy’s back, breath ghosting over the back of his neck.

“Frightened, Potter?” he asked, voice purposefully gravelly and low. Oh yes, he was familiar with Potter’s recent reactions to his voice. He teased a brief flash of fantasy into Harry’s mind, and the breath shuddered out of the body beneath him with a throaty whine. Snape nuzzled into the hair behind Harry’s ear, just daring to bite at the skin there. “You needn’t be,” he continued, to the satisfying sound of shallow, gasped breathing. “I won’t hurt you.” Harry’s trapped arm and shoulder flexed, and a tortured, rasped word escaped him:

“Liar.”

Snape couldn’t have suppressed his smirk if he’d wanted to. With his free hand, he glided his fingers into Harry’s hair and fisted them, jerking the raven head back and baring the pale throat. Harry gasped. He’d never felt so vulnerable – never been so hard.

“Talking back to me, whelp?” Snape growled, and twisted Harry’s trapped arm a little further, forcing a knee up between the boy’s legs. He was scorched raw with arousal as Harry choked and moaned. “Insolent to the last, mmm?”

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The low, brutal tones of Snape’s voice rumbled right into Harry’s skin, making his hips jerk and the small of his back shift against something hard and hot and totally unmistakable.

“Pro- professor,” Harry keened, throat working, frustrated by his absolute incapacitation at Snape’s hands. “You’re -“

“I’m what?” Snape interjected harshly and released Harry’s arm and hair to take hold of his hips. “Hard for you?” He pulled Harry back against him, firmly, forcing him to feel it. Harry, beset, braced his hands on the edge of the table, trying to find some sort of anchor. “Could you be… so… dense…?” Snape punctuated this last bit of provocation with a trio of not-quite-hard-enough bites up the Gryffindor’s throat, eliciting a quiver- a stuttered heartbeat.

Harry’s breathing hitched and faltered and he had to look back at his tormentor. Had to know what the hated Professor Snape looked like when he was doing such things- when his voice and hands burned.

Over his shoulder, their eyes locked. Harry almost had to look away at what he saw there, afraid of somehow being burned by it. Severus’ narrow eyes were dark and inscrutably cruel as ever, but somehow hotter, deeper. Penetrating him.

Turning hesitantly, wary of the speed at which he’d been trapped before, Harry faced his Potions Master. Snape’s hands, hot, bruising his hips, slid just enough to allow him the movement. Reaching out, Severus drew a calloused hand down from Harry’s jaw, past his chest, ribs. Harry followed it with his eyes, fascinated, almost deliriously aroused, and found he couldn’t surpress his body’s reactions any more than he could stop from breathing. As the ever so dexterous fingers trailed past his navel, he was wracked with a shudder of anticipation, but, maddeningly, they paused there. Harry couldn’t help but arch into the touch: desperate, wanting, frustrated beyond reason. Severus raised an eyebrow and slid his hand lower, both giving in and taking control, rolling his fingers with knowing sensuality.

“Impatient,” he hissed, over an anguished whine. Harry grabbed the back of his neck – not overlooked by Snape as the first entirely voluntary act of participation – and held on like it was his last link to reality.

Letting himself be pulled in closer, and confronted with a notion too attractive to pass up, Snape attached himself to the side of Harry’s neck, and lifted the boy up onto the table for better access. Harry’s nails dug into Snape’s skin and the boy moaned: hooked his legs around the Potions Master’s waist, arched maddeningly into his touch.

Severus sucked harder on Potter’s skin and marked him, wanting it darker, more defined, more painful, fueled by the young body pressed close, so easily manipulated, and sheer animal desire. The nails that cut deep into the back of his neck stuttered and dug in at his every action, galvanizing him, as his manhood stood like stone within his robes. All at once, though, he felt Harry stiffen and shudder and he bit sharply down on the mark he’d made, removing his hand from its task. No, no, he couldn’t let Potter come already.

“Nnnh,” Harry protested, “Don’t-“ he was cut off as Snape raised his head and looked him right in the eye. Harry felt his already unbearable arousal spike.

“If you’re going to tell me to stop, tell me now,” Snape husked, and pulled Harry towards him until they were pressed flush. “I won’t ask you again.” Harry blinked, too aware of each inch of unbearably frustrating contact to concentrate.

“I, Merlin, I can’t think-” he said, flexing his legs where they were hooked around the dark figure. Snape paused, before separating himself, removing every point of contact. Harry was left sitting on the table, legs spread, chest heaving, cock aching.

“Make a choice, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, almost succeeding in sounding imperious and unaffected. Of course, his not-so-subtly tented robes did little to aid in that endeavor. Harry gazed at him intently for three seconds, five… Snape swallowed, almost nervous. Ten seconds. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he took his loose tie in hand and yanked it free, and, before the scrap of cloth could hit the floor, had popped his second shirt button open. Severus watched for a mere moment or two before deciding that that was damn well enough of a decision for him.
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tbc