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Home for Christmas
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
10,513
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
10,513
Reviews:
12
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.
Home for Christmas
This piece invaded my head in the middle of my fluffy Christmas fic. In order to keep the fluffy one fluffy I had to put the angst somewhere. Poof! Here it is. This fic includes an unusual use of candy canes. You are warned.
Thanks always to Marcy. I wrote this story in three hours, typed it, and email it to her at 1:20am. She was up and done in no time.
NOW RE-WRITTEN. 11/26/07.
Shame infuses your reddened skin as he pursues the costume. The green felt outfit is poorly made- a one piece smock with red buttons up the front. Cheap brass bells hang from the jagged hemline that just barely covers your bottom. He’s added white stockings and heels- turning you into the perfect parody of a Christmas elf.
“Elves like toys, don’t they?” he asks the question with a sneer that is colder than the winter storm roaring outside, reminding you of his anger. His fury is icy- nothing less than what you deserve. You can only be thankful he is here. He is still with you, even if he is doling out punishments you rightly earned. He hasn’t left, and you are eternally grateful.
“What about candy, hmmm? Bet all the pretty little girl elves spend their time sucking on candy canes, distracting all the hardworking shop elves, would you agree?” You ignore him as he further strips you of your prized masculinity and tears apart your character. Nothing he says can hurt you more than you have hurt him. He throws out insult after insult about how pretty you are as a girl and you find yourself biting your tongue until you taste blood. You've brought this upon yourself.
“Would you like a candy cane?” He has pulled a peppermint stick from the bedside table. The hard candy must be an inch thick, its red stripe twirling up at least a foot. You can’t imagine how he plans to use it, but you know he is a creative man. A vindictive man.
“Well…? Lick it.” He barks the order out, pressing the candy to your lips insistently, brooking no arguments. Not that you had planned to offer any. You open you mouth, and wrapping your lips around the end of the mint stick. He slaps you and you pull back, surprised.
“I said lick it! Did I ask you to suck on it like a whore?” His expression is forbidding, his tone just as sharp. You quickly shake your head. “Do you even listen? Lick it properly, boy.”
You gingerly lean your head back toward the candy, wearily glancing between his outstretched hand and his blank eyes.
“Get to it, my pretty elf,” he throws out snidely and you bow your head and make little laps at the peppermint.
He stares at you intently, his frozen, empty stare keeping you self conscious and hyperaware. You cover the stick in saliva with nothing more than tiny licks until your mouth is dry and you can’t continue. You daren’t ask for a glass of water.
“Is there a problem?” He doesn’t care if there is and you know it. You don’t answer. You just wait.
“Tell me Harry." He waits as though expecting you to offer up som epoor excuse. You know better. "Or am I just not good enough for your words anymore? You won’t even look at me, will you? How I must disgust you.” You want to protest but nothing you could say would make this any better. It would only add fuel to his fire. This isn’t fair. He is everything to you. If anything it is you who are unworthy of him! If he can forgive you, if he can work through this with you, then you are selfish enough to keep him.
“Well pet, do you not have anything to say? Any words of wisdom? Anything that will make this all go away?” Now isn’t the time for 'I’m sorry.' “You sicken me elf. Undress.”
He gets off on your humiliation. Before he would have done anything to spare you and make you comfortable. That was before… You begin undoing the poorly sewn buttons. Though you hated wearing the degrading costume you hate even more being forced to strip down under his dispassionate stare. He stops you when you attempt to roll down the stockings. “We don’t want the pretty little girl to become an ugly boy once more, now do we?”
You flush and know that he has associated boy to what you did. He can’t seem to put the girl and you together and that sends fissures of worry through you. Gritting your teeth you leave the shear material and heels, giving into him, giving yourself to him the only way he’ll accept you. You present yourself to him, almost insolently, but he just gives you a quick once over before gesturing toward the bed with a wave of the candy in his hand.
“On your stomach, whore.”
Once you settle he changes his mind. “Hands and knees.” He leaves you in that position for long drawn out moments, nerves and tension making you sweat as he lets the promised retribution hang.
A faint whirl through the air is all the warning you get as he brings the peppermint stick down onto your vulnerable flesh. You cry out at the impact and then hiss as he peels the sticky candy from your abused skin. Chips from the peppermint have broken off and stay embedded in your skin like mint glass.
“What do you say?”
You know the answer even though you haven’t played this game often and you choke out a brief “Thank you, Master.” That seems to be enough for him to award you another smack of the stick- more pain, more candy shards. The pace picks up, until your soft yielding flesh has broken apart the peppermint. You feel a moment of relief until he picks up another stick from the bedside table, spells it just as sticky, and then continues reigning blows; each strike driving the broken pieces deeper into your skin.
He keeps going until you are a puddle or tears and mint and even through the pain you know you are growing hard. You collapse from you hand and knees-resting instead on your flat stomach. You don’t know what stick he is on, nor how many he intend to go through. You can only enjoy the cool silk sheets against your erection.
He slows down, the blows softening until finally, finally it’s over. He pants from exertion. You whimper from the pain. Outside Christmas carolers hum Jingle Bells. On the bedside there are still five candy canes…
* * * * * * * * * *
You wake up to the soft singing of a chorus- the carolers outside your window, filling the winter air with the sound of Jingle Bells. For a moment you can pretend the dream is real.
It isn’t.
He isn’t here. You feel the emptiness that hangs heavy in the air. He hasn't come home for Christmas. He never will. And though you know you drove him away, that he is justified in staying as far from you as possible after all you've put him through, the tears still come as fast and furious as the flurries falling outside. He was all you wanted for Christmas.
Even Santa can’t bring Severus Snape back to you.
The greatest Christmas present I could possible recieve is a review. There will be a happier Christmas piece out in under two weeks if this, as Marcy put it "made you want to kill yourself."
Thanks for reading! Happy Holidays!
Thanks always to Marcy. I wrote this story in three hours, typed it, and email it to her at 1:20am. She was up and done in no time.
NOW RE-WRITTEN. 11/26/07.
Shame infuses your reddened skin as he pursues the costume. The green felt outfit is poorly made- a one piece smock with red buttons up the front. Cheap brass bells hang from the jagged hemline that just barely covers your bottom. He’s added white stockings and heels- turning you into the perfect parody of a Christmas elf.
“Elves like toys, don’t they?” he asks the question with a sneer that is colder than the winter storm roaring outside, reminding you of his anger. His fury is icy- nothing less than what you deserve. You can only be thankful he is here. He is still with you, even if he is doling out punishments you rightly earned. He hasn’t left, and you are eternally grateful.
“What about candy, hmmm? Bet all the pretty little girl elves spend their time sucking on candy canes, distracting all the hardworking shop elves, would you agree?” You ignore him as he further strips you of your prized masculinity and tears apart your character. Nothing he says can hurt you more than you have hurt him. He throws out insult after insult about how pretty you are as a girl and you find yourself biting your tongue until you taste blood. You've brought this upon yourself.
“Would you like a candy cane?” He has pulled a peppermint stick from the bedside table. The hard candy must be an inch thick, its red stripe twirling up at least a foot. You can’t imagine how he plans to use it, but you know he is a creative man. A vindictive man.
“Well…? Lick it.” He barks the order out, pressing the candy to your lips insistently, brooking no arguments. Not that you had planned to offer any. You open you mouth, and wrapping your lips around the end of the mint stick. He slaps you and you pull back, surprised.
“I said lick it! Did I ask you to suck on it like a whore?” His expression is forbidding, his tone just as sharp. You quickly shake your head. “Do you even listen? Lick it properly, boy.”
You gingerly lean your head back toward the candy, wearily glancing between his outstretched hand and his blank eyes.
“Get to it, my pretty elf,” he throws out snidely and you bow your head and make little laps at the peppermint.
He stares at you intently, his frozen, empty stare keeping you self conscious and hyperaware. You cover the stick in saliva with nothing more than tiny licks until your mouth is dry and you can’t continue. You daren’t ask for a glass of water.
“Is there a problem?” He doesn’t care if there is and you know it. You don’t answer. You just wait.
“Tell me Harry." He waits as though expecting you to offer up som epoor excuse. You know better. "Or am I just not good enough for your words anymore? You won’t even look at me, will you? How I must disgust you.” You want to protest but nothing you could say would make this any better. It would only add fuel to his fire. This isn’t fair. He is everything to you. If anything it is you who are unworthy of him! If he can forgive you, if he can work through this with you, then you are selfish enough to keep him.
“Well pet, do you not have anything to say? Any words of wisdom? Anything that will make this all go away?” Now isn’t the time for 'I’m sorry.' “You sicken me elf. Undress.”
He gets off on your humiliation. Before he would have done anything to spare you and make you comfortable. That was before… You begin undoing the poorly sewn buttons. Though you hated wearing the degrading costume you hate even more being forced to strip down under his dispassionate stare. He stops you when you attempt to roll down the stockings. “We don’t want the pretty little girl to become an ugly boy once more, now do we?”
You flush and know that he has associated boy to what you did. He can’t seem to put the girl and you together and that sends fissures of worry through you. Gritting your teeth you leave the shear material and heels, giving into him, giving yourself to him the only way he’ll accept you. You present yourself to him, almost insolently, but he just gives you a quick once over before gesturing toward the bed with a wave of the candy in his hand.
“On your stomach, whore.”
Once you settle he changes his mind. “Hands and knees.” He leaves you in that position for long drawn out moments, nerves and tension making you sweat as he lets the promised retribution hang.
A faint whirl through the air is all the warning you get as he brings the peppermint stick down onto your vulnerable flesh. You cry out at the impact and then hiss as he peels the sticky candy from your abused skin. Chips from the peppermint have broken off and stay embedded in your skin like mint glass.
“What do you say?”
You know the answer even though you haven’t played this game often and you choke out a brief “Thank you, Master.” That seems to be enough for him to award you another smack of the stick- more pain, more candy shards. The pace picks up, until your soft yielding flesh has broken apart the peppermint. You feel a moment of relief until he picks up another stick from the bedside table, spells it just as sticky, and then continues reigning blows; each strike driving the broken pieces deeper into your skin.
He keeps going until you are a puddle or tears and mint and even through the pain you know you are growing hard. You collapse from you hand and knees-resting instead on your flat stomach. You don’t know what stick he is on, nor how many he intend to go through. You can only enjoy the cool silk sheets against your erection.
He slows down, the blows softening until finally, finally it’s over. He pants from exertion. You whimper from the pain. Outside Christmas carolers hum Jingle Bells. On the bedside there are still five candy canes…
* * * * * * * * * *
You wake up to the soft singing of a chorus- the carolers outside your window, filling the winter air with the sound of Jingle Bells. For a moment you can pretend the dream is real.
It isn’t.
He isn’t here. You feel the emptiness that hangs heavy in the air. He hasn't come home for Christmas. He never will. And though you know you drove him away, that he is justified in staying as far from you as possible after all you've put him through, the tears still come as fast and furious as the flurries falling outside. He was all you wanted for Christmas.
Even Santa can’t bring Severus Snape back to you.
The greatest Christmas present I could possible recieve is a review. There will be a happier Christmas piece out in under two weeks if this, as Marcy put it "made you want to kill yourself."
Thanks for reading! Happy Holidays!