Hedonist

Title: Hedonist
Author: Electricandroid
A/N: Many thanks to ellensmithee and florahart for the beta

NC-17 - You have been warned


Hedonist
----------

Snape had spent many, many years learning how to avoid the pitfalls of Veritaserum. A spy like himself, trained in every form of equivocation and misrepresentation, he knew how to skirt the very bounds of truth. It was how he managed to stay alive. That and avoiding people and situations where the truth might out. And people. And beverages. Snape was not the most approachable of beings.

So when he saw the ruffled edge of silken lingerie poking out of the edge of Potter’s schoolbag, he was man enough to keep a straight face. Even though the thought of the young, nubile flesh, encased in silk and lace was enough to drive him wild. Even though he worked himself into a frenzy every night at the thought of young Potter wrapped up like a carnival present, all softly perfumed skin, trussed and tied by the softest satins, velvet virgin flesh melting into fabrics. No, it must belong to some girl, and as such Severus Snape would put it from his mind.

The next week Harry pranced out of the closet. With Finch-Fletchley. Severus spent the first few hours knocking himself into a senseless stupor with twenty-year-old single malt, and then imagining those two nubile bodies moaning in pleasure on his black silk sheets. The pale white contortionists, writhing in a sea of ink, with the emaciated form of a scarred potions master between them, a nip here, a suck there, hands on youthful cock and acres of young flesh for his tired body to explore. Sandwiched in a taintain of youth and beauty. He brought himself off in no time. The next day Gryffindor lost fifty points in half an hour. He was forced to give Potter detention.

Detention. A whiff of perfume and a subtle dark line kohling the bottom of those luminous green eyes. The motion of a well well-manicured hand against a stirring rod, up and down and round and round, mesmerizing. The deft motions of the carving knife, and the repetitive patterns in the slicing of flobberworms, dand and chop. The arch of a neck as Potter stretched backwards, exposing a crack of hairless stomach. The brush of hand on hand as Potter offered to make him a drink as the potion simmered.

The bitter taste of Veritaserum in his mouth.

Severus shifted in his seat; he longed, longing to know what was coming. It did not do to be caught unawares, but this, this Golden Boy - anyone would have thought that they were safe with one of Albus’s chosen! His robes were closing in on him, the delis frs friction combined the the sight and scent of Potter and combined with the lack of control, were all bringing him closer to the edge. He just hoped Potter would ask about his father and be done with it. Severus shifted again.

Harry sauntered up to him, eyes half lidded, and in the flickering dungeon light, Severus could almost make believe that Potter wanted him, that Potter would bed him . An oh-so-delicate hand on his shoulder. Severus closed his eyes.


\"What\'s wrong?\"
\"Do you want the socially acceptable answer or the truth?\"
\"The truth.\"
\"I haven\'t had sex in a very long time, and you\'re really turning me on.\"

Damn him! Damn him to the farthest pits of hell and back – why did he ask which answer Potter wanted? Why didn’t he just give him one of the myriad of socially acceptable ones… that he was tired, that he was bored, that had better things to do with his time? Any of those would have sufficed. But no, Severus had to expose himself to ridicule. He opened his eyes, fully expecting to see a green glint of mischief, or a horrified glare.

He saw a back, grey robe half slipping off the shoulder, pale flesh uninterrupted except for a thin satin strap. The wild locks proved it was Potter, no doubt about it, but the androgynous, almost effeminate motions, the flowing striptease of grey flannel, titillating the silk beneath it, exposing creamy flesh, inch by tortured inch. Severus’s moan, and the entire ensemble falling to the floor, exposing sculpted ankles, calves, thighs. And the mostfectfect arse, encased in green silk knickers. Coupled with the camisole top, the wicked eyes now peering over Harry\'s shoulder were almost enough to make Snape lose his load right there.

“Do you want this?”

The silent nod of assent, his way of showing that he was in control of his motions, that he wanted it of choice, not because he was forced to admit it. The lusty lissome impression of Harry’s cock, pressed up against the silk, darkening where the tip of his penis touched it. The whine of pleasure as Harry saw where Severus’s eyes lay, and the complementing sound as Harry sank to his knees and buried his face in the folds of Severus’s robe.

A scarred and twisted hand grasped unruly hair, pulling him off, and then dragging him to the bed. Black silk. They sank into the twisted pool together.

Severus could not tell where Harry’s costume ended and his skin began, and the frantic flight of hands nibbling at his buttons, the impatient flutter where a simple spell would have sufficed. The exposure of more and more of his flesh as nubile fingers traced his scars, learnt his outline, pressed fevered lips to every inch of flesh exposed. Except for his Mark.

A sunken gasp as a hot wet mouth wrapped around his aching cock, and the velvet swirl of tongue around the head, with hands fondling his balls, and the repeated pressure of soft warm hands up and down his length. The eyes rimmed in black, limpid and luminous in the moonlight. Hand in strands of black silk, and suddenly he was fucking Harry, fucking his mouth like in so many of his fantasies, and Harry was licking and sucking, going deeper and deeper and the silk of his knickers was so damp as Severus trailed a hand down it, and Harry arched back into him, more pressure, most suction, and the gentle form of teeth, and suddenly Severus could not hold it any longer, and he was bending backwards onto himself as his orgasm hit, pumping, twisting thrashing.

Severus stilled, and looked into the insatiate face of the boy before him, smudged makeup and a whore’s mouth, debauched and needy, and pleading for satisfaction.

A gnarled hand running across green silk, caressing a valley made by knees and thighs, lackadaisically stroking up and down, the slightest of pressure, and reducing the boy to a mewling mess. A hitch and a gasp, and the boy came.

Severus smiled.

“Next time we will have to work on your stamina, Mrttertter. I did not even have to touch you.”

The boy rolled over and pressed a kiss to his arm.

“Tomorrow night around eight?”