A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,048
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,048
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.
Aftermath
A/N: this is coming out of me way too fast. R&R and maybe the magic will last a little longer. Oh, and thank you for all the *nosebleed* reviews. They made me lol.
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They breathed.
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“Professor…” Harry slurred, hands still buried in Snape’s hair, legs still locked around him, back still torn by the wooden molding.
“What, Potter?” Snape replied, voice muffled by Harry’s neck, but still clearly irritated by his speaking.
“I… I’m seeing spots.” Harry felt the lips at his throat curve. Snape was obviously quite pleased with himself.
“Give it a moment,” he said, and pulled from Harry’s pliant body. Letting the boy’s legs down slowly, he tucked himself back into his trousers, and Harry, unsupported, slid heavily to his knees. Or more, attempted to. In actual fact Severus managed to catch him just before he landed. “Do try to stay upright,” The Potions Master drawled, pulling Harry back upright and setting him on his feet. Harry kept his balance this time, but when Severus pulled his hands back he found them wet with blood.
He sighed. Fragile.
“Turn around, please, Potter,” Snape said. But Harry didn’t seem to understand. “You’re bleeding.” Harry looked sharply back over his shoulder at that and indeed, he was bleeding. Quite a lot. “Turn.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly very aware of himself.
“Could I, ah, have my trousers first… Sir?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose with two blood-free fingers.
“Yes,” he hissed. Harry practically scurried to retrieve them. As he bent to put them on, however, Snape stopped him. “Wait, wait, Scourgify,” he incanted, clearing Harry of the various fluids which lingered, beginning to dry, on his skin.
Harry cleared his throat with a soft,
“Thanks,” and finished pulling on his slacks with a new flush in his cheeks. When Harry turned, baring his lacerated back to Snape’s hands, it took little thought for Severus to connect the damaged flesh to the molding on the cabinet beside them. Snape rolled his eyes.
“Skin like paper, Potter?” he said, contemptuous, and opened the offending storage closet, rummaging for a moment. Harry stood silently by, thoughts not organized enough to retort, as Snape pulled a vial from within. “Drink this,” he said, handing it over. “And sleep on your stomach tonight.” Harry took the bottle without question, still very much in a daze. “Now get dressed.”
Sweeping down to pick up his own discarded robes, Severus flicked his wand to clear them of debris before shrugging back into them. Looking up after refastening each silver clasp, he saw Harry too had redressed himself, undone tie hanging loose around his neck on either side of an open collar, which revealed a deep, purple, bite-ringed bruise.
“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, only just able to hide the pleasure from his voice. “I suggest you button your collar.”
“Why?”
Snape took a few steps toward the Gryffindor, who shifted back nervously. Snape’s mouth twitched.
“Take my word for it,” he said, and pressed on the mark with his thumb. Harry inhaled sharply, and jerked back further. Those green, green eyes flicked up to meet his, first with confusion, then realization, disbelief. Harry opened his mouth, no doubt to condemn him for the mark, but again seemed to think better of it. Instead, The Gryffindor simply buttoned up his collar, tied his tie, and stuck his hands in his pockets.
Snape, satisfied that Potter had made an intelligent decision for once, leaned in very, very close. Almost close enough to kiss.
“I feel that you may be even more incompetent than usual at shielding yourself from me at the moment,” he said, and Harry’s lips parted expectantly as the pad of Severus’ thumb skimmed his bottom lip, reacting solely to the proximity, and not the words. “So I suggest we reschedule your tutoring for another day.” Snape straightened up. “Ah, and I’d rather you be elsewhere when you realize just exactly what you’ve done and have some sort of breakdown.” And then he had turned away, billowing robes and cruel stoicism firmly in place, and Harry realized with a vacant tingle that he hadn’t actually been kissed yet.
So, he left.
****
With Potter gone, Severus sat heavily at his desk, and scrubbed his face with his palms. That… that had certainly gone to plan. But he wasn’t sure if it had been the smart plan to make. He was putting himself in multi-faceted danger by being so thoroughly hedonistic, and he knew it. But Harry Potter had never been anything but a horrible temptation from day one. Whether that temptation was to exact revenge for his father’s cruelty, or to have him writhing under Snape’s hands, it made no difference. The boy was a lure in every way. His foolhardiness provoked Snape to punish it. His surprising purity and inncoence begged to be owned and used and violated. His body, so pale and fragile, called out to be taught what a man’s hands could create in it. And that’s what Snape would do. He would punish and own and use and violate and teach. And Potter would beg for every second. And it would last for as long as Severus willed it.
At least, that’s what the Potions Master told himself.
****
After showering, gritting his teeth as the normally comfortable water scalded the wounds on his back, Harry took the potion Snape had offered. Despite the fairly early hour, within minutes he was so deeply asleep that he dreamt not at all, though he slept for nearly half a day.
When he awoke the next morning, clear shafts of Saturday sunlight falling across his face, Harry thought for one bleary moment that the previous night’s events had been a dream. Then, he tried to move.
“Gods.” He felt like he’d been beaten with a rod. Every muscle he was aware of was excruciatingly sore. Rolling groggily from his bed, groaning at the effort, Harry grabbed his glasses and made his way stiffly to the washroom. Rubbing his eyes as he went to brush his teeth, it took him a moment to register his reflection in the mirror.
His toothbrush clattered to the sink. Horrified, Harry was awake at once. The mark on his neck stood out like an ink stain, and the sharp imprints of teeth were clearly visible around the outer edges. Everything came back in a flood and before Harry could think he was on his knees, vomiting into the toilet.
He stayed there, kneeling on the cold tiles, for a long while, shaking and aching and unable to summon the will to rise.
What was he doing?
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tbc
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They breathed.
*
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*
“Professor…” Harry slurred, hands still buried in Snape’s hair, legs still locked around him, back still torn by the wooden molding.
“What, Potter?” Snape replied, voice muffled by Harry’s neck, but still clearly irritated by his speaking.
“I… I’m seeing spots.” Harry felt the lips at his throat curve. Snape was obviously quite pleased with himself.
“Give it a moment,” he said, and pulled from Harry’s pliant body. Letting the boy’s legs down slowly, he tucked himself back into his trousers, and Harry, unsupported, slid heavily to his knees. Or more, attempted to. In actual fact Severus managed to catch him just before he landed. “Do try to stay upright,” The Potions Master drawled, pulling Harry back upright and setting him on his feet. Harry kept his balance this time, but when Severus pulled his hands back he found them wet with blood.
He sighed. Fragile.
“Turn around, please, Potter,” Snape said. But Harry didn’t seem to understand. “You’re bleeding.” Harry looked sharply back over his shoulder at that and indeed, he was bleeding. Quite a lot. “Turn.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly very aware of himself.
“Could I, ah, have my trousers first… Sir?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose with two blood-free fingers.
“Yes,” he hissed. Harry practically scurried to retrieve them. As he bent to put them on, however, Snape stopped him. “Wait, wait, Scourgify,” he incanted, clearing Harry of the various fluids which lingered, beginning to dry, on his skin.
Harry cleared his throat with a soft,
“Thanks,” and finished pulling on his slacks with a new flush in his cheeks. When Harry turned, baring his lacerated back to Snape’s hands, it took little thought for Severus to connect the damaged flesh to the molding on the cabinet beside them. Snape rolled his eyes.
“Skin like paper, Potter?” he said, contemptuous, and opened the offending storage closet, rummaging for a moment. Harry stood silently by, thoughts not organized enough to retort, as Snape pulled a vial from within. “Drink this,” he said, handing it over. “And sleep on your stomach tonight.” Harry took the bottle without question, still very much in a daze. “Now get dressed.”
Sweeping down to pick up his own discarded robes, Severus flicked his wand to clear them of debris before shrugging back into them. Looking up after refastening each silver clasp, he saw Harry too had redressed himself, undone tie hanging loose around his neck on either side of an open collar, which revealed a deep, purple, bite-ringed bruise.
“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, only just able to hide the pleasure from his voice. “I suggest you button your collar.”
“Why?”
Snape took a few steps toward the Gryffindor, who shifted back nervously. Snape’s mouth twitched.
“Take my word for it,” he said, and pressed on the mark with his thumb. Harry inhaled sharply, and jerked back further. Those green, green eyes flicked up to meet his, first with confusion, then realization, disbelief. Harry opened his mouth, no doubt to condemn him for the mark, but again seemed to think better of it. Instead, The Gryffindor simply buttoned up his collar, tied his tie, and stuck his hands in his pockets.
Snape, satisfied that Potter had made an intelligent decision for once, leaned in very, very close. Almost close enough to kiss.
“I feel that you may be even more incompetent than usual at shielding yourself from me at the moment,” he said, and Harry’s lips parted expectantly as the pad of Severus’ thumb skimmed his bottom lip, reacting solely to the proximity, and not the words. “So I suggest we reschedule your tutoring for another day.” Snape straightened up. “Ah, and I’d rather you be elsewhere when you realize just exactly what you’ve done and have some sort of breakdown.” And then he had turned away, billowing robes and cruel stoicism firmly in place, and Harry realized with a vacant tingle that he hadn’t actually been kissed yet.
So, he left.
****
With Potter gone, Severus sat heavily at his desk, and scrubbed his face with his palms. That… that had certainly gone to plan. But he wasn’t sure if it had been the smart plan to make. He was putting himself in multi-faceted danger by being so thoroughly hedonistic, and he knew it. But Harry Potter had never been anything but a horrible temptation from day one. Whether that temptation was to exact revenge for his father’s cruelty, or to have him writhing under Snape’s hands, it made no difference. The boy was a lure in every way. His foolhardiness provoked Snape to punish it. His surprising purity and inncoence begged to be owned and used and violated. His body, so pale and fragile, called out to be taught what a man’s hands could create in it. And that’s what Snape would do. He would punish and own and use and violate and teach. And Potter would beg for every second. And it would last for as long as Severus willed it.
At least, that’s what the Potions Master told himself.
****
After showering, gritting his teeth as the normally comfortable water scalded the wounds on his back, Harry took the potion Snape had offered. Despite the fairly early hour, within minutes he was so deeply asleep that he dreamt not at all, though he slept for nearly half a day.
When he awoke the next morning, clear shafts of Saturday sunlight falling across his face, Harry thought for one bleary moment that the previous night’s events had been a dream. Then, he tried to move.
“Gods.” He felt like he’d been beaten with a rod. Every muscle he was aware of was excruciatingly sore. Rolling groggily from his bed, groaning at the effort, Harry grabbed his glasses and made his way stiffly to the washroom. Rubbing his eyes as he went to brush his teeth, it took him a moment to register his reflection in the mirror.
His toothbrush clattered to the sink. Horrified, Harry was awake at once. The mark on his neck stood out like an ink stain, and the sharp imprints of teeth were clearly visible around the outer edges. Everything came back in a flood and before Harry could think he was on his knees, vomiting into the toilet.
He stayed there, kneeling on the cold tiles, for a long while, shaking and aching and unable to summon the will to rise.
What was he doing?
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*
*
tbc