Essence of Life

“Come again?” Harry couldn’t have heard right, it was impossible Snape had said what he’d just said. And the man could NOT have possibly asked what he’d just asked.

The professor calmly steeped his fingers and rested his chin on them. With the patience he’d never displayed in classes, Snape repeated what he’d said.

“I am a vampire.”

Severus continued ignoring Harry’s mutterings and continued. “I come from a very rare clan. We are not turned into vampires; rather, we are born as such.

“We are so rare because we don’t feed from blood, rather a different kind of life force—semen.”

Again, Harry understood that, thought he was more than a little squicked at the idea of having to survive from drinking someone’s spunk. Severus’ continued talking brought Harry’s attention back to the man.

“You are a powerful wizard, Harry. The purity and power in your ejaculate would sustain me for far longer than another wizard.”

Okay so, Harry now knew why Snape was asking him to be a donor. He knew his relationship with the Potions professor wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t necessarily as hostile and volatile as before. But he hadn’t realized that they somehow crossed that line between ‘Let’s have dinner at a pub once a week’ friends to ‘Oh, by the way, I’m some freaky vamp and I want to drink your semen’ friends. Where the hell was that meme? Any why the hell was Snape so calm? Harry immediately decided that he needed a bunch more information than he presently had.

“What exactly does this entail?” Harry didn’t think he could stand being someone’s protein source, as it were. Then again, he didn’t think he could let any harm befall Snape. And yet again, Harry didn’t think he could do anything sexual with the other man either. They may get along in some weird way, but that didn’t include a daily sperm meal for the man.

An amused smirk danced at the edges of Snape’s mouth.

“It entails, Mr. Potter, me acquiring your sperm. There are a few ways to do this. One is directly, and the other is a more indirect way. In essence, I could either perform fellatio upon your person, or you could ejaculate into a cup, and I feed that way.”

Harry felt his cheeks warm in embarrassment. There was just something so wrong with hearing Snape say fellatio in that dark velvet voice. Harry actually shuddered.

“Does it have to be me?”

Snape sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, his head still resting on his fingers.

“No it does not have to be you; it would just be more economic. I would have to feed less frequently. Besides, I came to you because I knew you’d help, it is part of your very nature.” The last was said a little too smug, as if Harry’s aid was a forgone conclusion. Thoughts of having Snape suck him off for his meal flitted through his mind until Harry realized Snape’s assumptions were true, especially if Harry subconsciously believed it to be a forgone conclusion.

Harry sighed and his shoulders slumped, and he gritted his teeth at Snape’s look of triumph at the oh-so-obvious capitulation

“Out of a morbid sort of curiosity, what would happen if you didn’t feed?”

Snape looked seriously at Harry before answering. “My internal organs would slowly start to decay. I would suffocate because my lungs would be useless, because my heart would stop pumping my blood. It would be very painful.”

Harry took a deep breath and said, “I’ll do it.”

Every question Harry asked, Snape answered with thoroughness and patience Harry wished the man had done as a teacher. At first, Harry would need to supply the…meal…every other day, then it would taper off to every three days, then once a week, and finally once a month. Harry would provide Snape with a specimen bottle of the sperm in the evening, after they both finished teaching their classes. And that ended the most bizarre and uncomfortable conversation Harry had ever engaged in.

And that included that included the talk with Mr. Weasley about sex between two wizards after Mrs. Weasley found a gay porn magazine and a vibrator in his bed when he’d been staying with them one summer. Only after the man had blushed and stuttered through the lesson—and Harry was never, ever going to ask how the man knew so much on the subject—did the twins and Ron turn up to laugh at the joke; admitting to stashing the stuff under Harry’s pillow.

Harry looked at Snape before leaving the professor’s chambers feeling that Snape wasn’t telling him something. Ignoring the feeling, Harry smiled brightly and said, “I believe that under the circumstances, you should call me Harry. Don’t you agree?”

Snape looked up and replied dryly, “Indeed…Harry.”

The next evening, Harry was sitting in his office grading papers. He didn’t become the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor as everybody expected. Instead, Harry trained as a healer, then persuaded the school Governing Board members into offering a class about healing. The idea was whole heartedly endorsed by Madame Pomfrey, Professor Sprout as well as Professor Snape.

Harry taught basic first aid, the medicinal properties of herbs and plants as well as potions. It was a difficult and detailed class, so it was only opened to fifth years and above.

A knock interrupted his grading of a sixth year Ravenclaw’s essay, “Phoenix Tears in a Potion.” Without waiting for an invitation, Snape walked in.

“Good evening, Professor.”

“Mr. Potter.” Harry ignored the use of “Mr.” as well as his surname. Instead he asked, “What may I do for you?”

Snape raised an eyebrow and answered, “Follow me to my chambers.”

Harry must have looked confused at the invitation because Snape explained, “Unless you wish to carry a cupful of sperm across the castle, my chambers are more prudent. Would you like to explain that you one of your students?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he vigorously shook his head.

“Very well then. Follow me to my chambers.”

Snape’s chambers weren’t cold and foreboding; but neither were they warm and welcoming. They were rather like the man himself. The chambers suitably served their purpose without any extraneous adornments or frivolity. The chairs in front of the fire looked economical, but comfortable; a bookcase full of well-used books was settled against a wall. A tapestry detailing the Hogwarts crest decorated another wall, and a small dining table with two chairs was settled in a corner.

“Here is the container, there is the bathroom.”

Oddly enough, Harry was thankful for the clinical detachment Snape was displaying. He took the container and walked into the bathroom. He set the container on the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection.

Was he really doing this? Could he honestly wank, then present the results to Snape to drink? This was just too strange for even Harry, whose life was dictated and defined by one strange even after another, to wrap his mind around it.

Gods, how was he going to do this? Well, he knew how, but not how! Oh man, his mind blanked and his hands began to tremble. Harry laughed ruefully, muttering about performance anxiety.

A banging on the door startled Harry, causing him to whip out his…er…wand. Harry snorted at that.

“Is everything alright in there, Potter? You are…fully functional, right?”

Harry snorted at the insinuation, surprised when he felt eased by Snape’s remarks.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine and things are functioning normally under the circumstances. And didn’t I ask you to call me Harry?”

“Then what seems to be the problem…Harry? You are a reasonably young and healthy male, correct? It shouldn’t take you so long.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the door and upon deeming that inefficient, he swung open the door and leveled the glare on a smirking Potions Master.

“Well excuse me for feeling the pressure of having to wank so you may feed. I apologize if I’m not adapting as quickly as you’d like to jerking it in my former professor’s private loo, in said former professor’s private chambers; especially when said former professor has expressed, on more than one occasion, an extreme dislike of me.”

With that, Harry slammed the door, and fueled by anger, brought forth one of his edgier fantasies which included a gag, a candle and a glass dildo; then came harder than he had in a great while.

He cleaned himself up, neatened his clothes, grabbed the cup and opened the door. Snape was standing some distance away, arms crossed, staring at Harry. The man was wearing a peculiar expression, one Harry hadn’t seen before.

It was still stern, but more contemplative than anything. He was looking at Harry as if he was some mystery that needed solving, which Harry supposed, was better than hostility, loathing, disgust…etc…etc…etc….

Harry cleared his throat and said with false bravado, “Well, here you go. Um, bon appetite.” Then he thrust the cup at Snape and hurriedly left the room.

At breakfast the next morning, Harry could barely look at Snape. Merlin’s beard, had he really masturbated in Snape’s bathroom so the snarky man could drink his semen? From the heat in his cheeks, yes, it did indeed happen. When Flitwick asked if he was feeling unwell as he looked rather flushed, Harry choked on his drink.

Three days later, Harry once again found himself with his cock grasped firmly in his hand while inside Snape’s bathroom. Merlin’s balls, Snape could be outside the door, listening—why hadn’t he thought of a silencing charm?

Harry sped up, wanting to get out of there, needing to return to the safety of his own rooms.

Eventually, every three days became twice a week, which became once a week, until that became once every two weeks, until, finally, Harry only frequented Snape’s chambers once a month.

It was going well; Harry was even able to acknowledge that Snape existed without turning Weasley red. He still tended to avoid the Potions Master like the plague, which seemed to amuse the man. In fact, Snape seemed to derive some sort of sick, macabre pleasure from the situation, if Harry’s Christmas gift from the man was any indication.

That Snape had gotten Harry a present was worrying all on its own; and the note that went with it was puzzling. It read, “Potter, for Practice.” Inside the box were a porn magazine and a tube sock. Gods, he sometimes hated that man.

Harry couldn’t believe it, but he was actually sick and tired to death of wanking. It was a thought he never believed he’d entertain, but there it was. If he never held his own dick again for anything other than taking a piss, he’d be happy.

It was coming up to the end of March and Harry was doing his monthly donation when things got even wonkier than usual.

Harry had given Snape the ejaculate and left the man’s chambers only to realize he’d left his wand in Snape’s loo. It worried Harry that he’d do that as it bespoke of a certain level of trust and safeness he felt in the man’s chambers, or at least his bathroom.

He walked back to Snape’s door and knocked, waiting for Snape to open the door. How could he have been so reckless as to leave his wand behind?

The door swung open, causing Harry to jump.

“Yes?” That one word was infused with so much innuendo and invitation that Harry’s mind short-circuited. Was Snape’s voice always that…velvety? He didn’t recall it ever reaching out and caressing him in potions class. Considering his current mental state, that was probably a good thing.

What’s more, Snape had a pearlescent drop of liquid glistening on the side of his mouth. Harry’s complete attention was zeroed in on that drop. He wanted to reach out and wipe it off Snape’s mouth, then lick it off his own finger. Or better yet, he wanted to lick it directly off Snape’s mouth. He wasn’t that much shorter than the other man, all it would take would be a lift of Harry’s head and a small rise on his toes; no trouble at all.

“Harry…is there something I can do for you?”

“Uh, wand…I need my wand.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, that corner of his mouth lifting in a little half-smirk. Without conscious thought, Harry found his hand reaching up, touching the corner of Snape’s mouth. Harry then brought that finger to his own mouth and flicked his tongue out; tasting that drop, knowing it came from him.

Harry’s eyes flicked up to meet Snape’s. He watched in fascination as the man’s obsidian eyes, impossibly got darker. A sound, much like a growl, came from Snape, and Harry snapped out of whatever trance he was in. Appalled with his behavior and lack of control, he took a step back from Snape and tried to regain his senses.

Clearing his throat, Harry said, “I left my wand in your bathroom, I came to get it back.”

Snape also took a step back to gain control of himself. He nodded at Harry, then left to retrieve that missing wand.

That night, Harry was in his shower, berating himself for his actions. When he recalled the allure from Snape, he was appalled to feel a stirring in his groin. Gods, he did NOT want a hard on, especially when he didn’t have someone else to take care of it. Harry muttered a word and the warm water instantly turned cold, and Harry watched with dark glee as his erection shriveled to non-existence.

His dreams, however, were not as easy to expel. They all featured Snape and that lovely mouth feeding directly from the source.

Harry was back to avoiding Snape. He would nod at the man, but only if Snape acknowledged him first, but Harry wouldn’t look at the man. He’d sit as far from Snape as he could at the head table. Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t as readily avoid his dreams.

All too soon, it was the end of April and Harry was walking down to Snape’s chambers like a man walking to his death. He hadn’t been this nervous all those months ago. Without any recollections of having done so, Harry knocked on Snape’s door.

When the man answered, all Harry could do was blink. Snape wasn’t wearing his usual teaching robes. Instead, he was wearing loose black trousers, creased smoothly down the center of each leg. His shirt was tucked into his trousers; sleeves rolled to mid-forearm, top few buttons undone. And it was, of course, black. But the man could wear black as if the color was made solely for him. Harry shook his head. He needed to get laid, badly.

Snape narrowed his eyes, but stepped aside from the door to let Harry in. Harry noticed the glitter in the Potion’s Master’s eye that was disturbingly reminiscent to a certain Headmaster. He stepped into the room with much trepidation; in fact, he’d stepped into a dragon’s nest very much the same way. The skin on the back of his neck prickled, and that sixth sense that told him of impending danger was going haywire, letting Harry know that something was Not Right. He just couldn’t tell what it was.

There was a fire on in the fireplace, and a decanter of wine was set out next to an arm chair. There was also a book that Harry was curious to see. What would a man like Severus Snape like to read for leisure? Harry stopped any thoughts that led to anything personal about the man and made a bee line for the loo.

After he closed the door, he leaned against it, closed his eyes and just sighed. He thought that he was crazy by agreeing to this. He was tired, and this new development between him and Snape was uncomfortable. He hated it. As he stood there, Harry realized something else. He wasn’t feeling uncomfortable for the reasons he thought. It was because he sensed something was going to happen. Something between him and Snape wasn’t right and it was going to change. He just hoped it was for the better.

“Are you quite alright, Potter?”

Harry let out a sort of whimpering laugh. No, things were decidedly not okay. He was a jumbled mess of emotions and he had a decided lack of an erection. He opened the door and looked at the man.

“No, things are most definitely NOT alright.”

Snape crossed his arms and stood waiting with such an air of expectancy that Harry shook his head in semi-amusement. Harry took a deep breath, not sure what he was going to say.

“I…can’t.”

“Can’t what, Mr. Potter. Please, be specific, since the list of things you can’t do is rather long and varied.”

“You are such a dick!” He immediately groaned at the choice of that word. He continued on, ignoring its use. “You go out of your way to make me uncomfortable, to berate or belittle me, and really, this isn’t easy for me. No offense, but a bloke does get tired of jerking off. I absolutely don’t want to see another erection on my own person for a great long while. What’s worse, there isn’t any positive pay off. Have you actually said thank-you for this? Or anything else I’ve ever done for you? Because I have most definitely said thanks for the things you’ve done for me.”

Snape stood passively and let Harry finish. He went and poured a glass of wine and handed it to Harry.

“You need to drink this before you hurt yourself.”

Harry did, wondering if Snape had heard anything he’d said. He took a few sips and the room started to spin and heat up. This was, of course, very odd. Harry knew he had more of a tolerance than a few sips of wine. Then he remembered who gave him the drink.

“Is this drink laced?” His words were slurred, and he reached out a hand to steady himself.

“Yes it is, Harry.”

Snape grabbed onto Harry and led him to the chair, gently pushing him down into it. He took the glass away and set it back on the table. Then he un-buttoned Harry’s shirt, which was a very good thing considering how hot Harry was. Wait, was that a good thing?

“What’r y’doin’?”

“Those black eyes looked up at him, and they did that damned sparkly thing again.

“Why, thanking you, of course, Mr. Potter.”

Oh, that was okay then. Harry looked down through fuzzy eyes as Snape traced around one of his nipples. That felt, nice. Why did it feel nice? Those hands were cool and tender.

Suddenly, a warm, wetness flicked across that nipple, and the other was squeezed. That fuzziness from the wine seemed to be wearing off, at least a little, but a different kind of fuzziness was taking its place. And to top it off, that little problem he had before, well, it was a non-issue now. Harry was sure that soon, he would bust through his zipper. But, Snape was a smart man, and he seemed to know what Harry was feeling.

Those graceful hands traveled down Harry’s torso and cupped him through his trousers. Harry’s hips bucked, and that vicious mouth didn’t stop its torture of his nipple; alternating between the two. Snape was very good with his mouth, but then, the man was a vampire.

Those elegant hands went from merely cupping him to undoing the zip on Harry’s trousers, and snaking inside his pants, creating a lovely, warm flesh on flesh feeling.

Harry tried to lift a hand, but thought better of it. That act seemed to take up too much concentration, and he wanted all of that on the beautiful sensations Snape was creating in his body. Snape was truly a master; having managed to find every spot on Harry’s chest that made him arch and moan in pleasure.

“Do you think this is sufficient enough thanks?”

Harry was sure that noise he made indicated a negative response. Surely the man wasn’t so cruel as to stop now? Again, Snape proved to Harry just how intelligent he was, and continued. What was Harry saying earlier about not wanting to have or see another erection on his person? That thought was decidedly squashed when Snape proved what wonderful things he could do with Harry’s erection. And he proved just how much more fun the direct way of obtaining the semen was compared to Harry having to wank in the bathroom.


After a very wonderful time, that did include hands on Harry’s cock that thankfully weren’t his own, Harry was sitting in the chair, watching Snape drink an un-spiked glass of wine.

“You didn’t have to lace the wine, you know. All you had to do was ask.” Harry wasn’t really feeling that put out at being given a type of aphrodisiac. But, he did feel the need to say something about it.

Snape just raised an eyebrow and said, “It did help with that pesky problem you seemed to be having. Besides, I had to have a little fun with the whole thing as well.”

Of course, Harry thought; then decides to say it out loud. He stops and debates saying what his next thoughts are. He finally knows that feeling from before.

“I don’t…I can’t go back to the way it was before.”

“I suppose we go do it the direct way. You were right; I haven’t expressed any gratitude for what you’ve done for me.”
Harry quickly disagrees. “I won’t have anything like that between us be about thanking or owing anything. It should be because we both want it. If you want to continue it, I don’t want it to be like tonight, and I don’t want it to be only once a month, when you need to feed. But I do want this.”

Harry hoped that made sense, but then, remembered to whom he was speaking. He sat and waited for Snape to make a decision one way or another. Either way, things could never go back to the way they were before. Either, Snape would say yes, or he would say no. Either they would be lovers in the real sense, no longer merely a donor; or they would be nothing, not even comrades in teaching. Harry wouldn’t be able to speak with the other man, and every meeting would be awkward.

Snape took a long drink of his wine, set the goblet down and got up. Harry waited. Snape walked to the door next to the loo door, and still Harry refused to assume any answer, one way or the other. Snape opened the door, revealing a bedroom beyond. He paused and looked at Harry, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t plan on staying the night in the chair, do you?”

Harry smiled and walked up to Severus, following him into the bedroom. Yes, everything would change. But then, Harry loved change.

This was written over the course of a year because I've been busy. I wrote some of it in my chemistry class over a year ago, saved, it, moved, then recently opened it again and finished it. That's why the mood and way it was written seems so different about half-way through.
This was based on a manga I read called, Acid Flower. I took the general vamp who needs to drink semen thing, then did my own thing. I hope you enjoy, and please review.