Ceasefire

It took more time than Severus had anticipated to find Harry.

Harry showed for work at the Ministry as required, but after work he had a remarkable ability to disappear; no one knew exactly where he disappeared to. No one seemed certain of where he was living either, though owls of course managed to find him without too much trouble. Severus tried that approach, but his request to meet was met with silence.

Infuriating. The lad was still arrogant. Their last encounter had shown that clearly to Severus--the boy needed to be put into his place, once and for all. He'd asked for it, even. And he was bloody well going to get it.

He could still see it, the way Harry had just simply disrobed for him. The look of want in his eyes. His pale, youthful body. It warred with his self-control, so rigidly held over the years. He'd always hidden it so well, he'd thought. But Harry had seen through everything, damn him. He was going to pay for that.

It was only once Severus had looked into Harry's history that he had finally managed to determine where the young man was living. An out of the way place that his uncle had taken him to, before he knew he was a wizard, when he was only eleven years old . . . a certain lighthouse tower. Hagrid had been the key. And it had taken him several pints of grog to get the location out of the stupid half-giant.

It was a cold, windy, barren place, north towards Scotland and looking out into the North Sea, the light tower battered by waves and the salt spray of the ocean, the harsh cry of seagulls the only music in the air. Severus apparated as close as he could, annoyed to find that Harry had managed to create a barrier around his tower to prevent direct access through apparition. His power was growing; it was most irksome.

Severus had brought a bag—his toybag, as he lovingly referred to it. His potions had somewhat healed his cursed hand, but the skin was still blackened and scarred, and he couldn’t use it for long periods without excruciating pain. He carried the bag with his left hand, holding his wand in his right, as he made his way towards the solid oak door to the tower. He sneered. It would be interesting to see if Harry allowed him inside or not. He kicked the door once, and waited, flicking his hair back. It was actually clean for once, and it was flying in the breeze, into his face. Small wonder he preferred it oily.

He waited, and waited, and just as he had set down his toybag and made ready to try his arsenal of spells to blast down the door or eat it away by acid, Harry finally opened it. Emerald eyes met onyx, and Snape smiled, seeing the surprise, the flash of want, the naked look of need before Harry mastered himself. “What do you want from me today?” he spat. So nice to know the boy hadn’t lost that ridiculous bravado.

“What you promised me the last time we saw each other, you little tease. You asked me for a truce. For forgiveness, as I recall, for your pigheadedness. You said you had something to offer me.” Severus sneered, slinking forward so that Harry wouldn’t be able to slam the door. He leaned over, boring into Harry’s eyes with his own dark gaze. “Did you really think a tiny appetizer like that was going to be enough to satisfy me?”

It was gratifying to see the hard swallow, to watch Harry suddenly pale a little, hand clenching on the door frame. The young man took an almost involuntary step backwards. Yes, such a perfect little bratty submissive. Quite a wonder that nobody else had seen it. Quite fortunate that Voldemort never had. Severus allowed himself an indulgent smile, certain in the knowledge that he’d been the first to taste that fruit, though he certainly hadn’t been first to plunge into that pretty body of Harry’s.

Harry’s voice shook a little, though it was obvious he was trying to hide it. “I didn’t invite you here.”

Ah, but no mention of his debt, Snape thought. Intriguing. “Then you admit that you left things unfinished with me. And since you did not deign to invite me,” his lips curled around the word, “I decided that it was time to invite myself.” He took another step forward, crossing the threshold.

Harry took another step back, staring at Severus as if he were a venomous snake poised to strike. “What exactly do you want?” Snape could see a little of bit of perspiration beading his upper lip, and his breathing was fast, and shallow. Whatever bravery he’d exemplified in coming to see Snape had apparently fled him. You can’t run from your desires, Snape thought. He of all people knew that.

Severus reached out his left hand and grabbed hold of a chunk of Harry’s hair with a snakelike quickness, forcing his head back, forcing Harry to look up at him. “I want . . . you. Your pain. Your pleasure. Your screams and your sighs. I want them all. And when I am certain that you have given me everything, then I will be satisfied.”

Harry gave a little whimper, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and Snape knew he had him. He could envision him, just like that, trembling, aching for the touch of a knife, a whip, anything. Just as that pleasant thought was sinking in, however, Harry’s eyes snapped open again, and he glared. “Took you fucking long enough to get here.” Ah, there was the Brat he knew.

Naturally, Snape did what you do with Brats; he slapped Harry hard across the cheek, knocking him back. He took the opportunity to drag his bag the rest of the way inside, and slammed the door shut. “That’s going to cost you, dearly.”

“Nothing can show when I arrive at the Ministry tomorrow,” Harry said in a warning tone, rubbing the reddening spot where Severus had struck him. He moved out of the way so that Severus could set his bag on the table; the place had been magicked into some semblance of a decent living space, certainly much better than what the original structure would have been able to support. There was a large oak table with a few chairs for meals, a basic kitchen, and a spiral staircase to what he presumed must be the bedroom. He also noted with amusement the Muggle style living room with a television and a large black box called “X”. Potter seemed to be doing well enough for himself.

Severus levitated his things up to the bedroom, and grabbed hold of Harry’s arm with his good hand. “Trust me, I am well able to heal any damage I cause. Your workmates won’t know a thing about your twisted kinks.” He chuckled, and suddenly pinned Harry against the railing of the staircase, hips holding him there, feeling just how hard and ready Harry really was. He didn’t kiss Harry yet; looking down at the boy predatorily, he waited to see how he’d react.

Harry squirmed, which was really quite lovely in Snape’s view, because it brought such interesting parts of them against each other. He didn’t try for a kiss, which was also a point in his favour, since initiating that would have been an attempt to take control…and it was so very clear here just who was in control this time. Instead, Harry just glared, breathing hard, waiting. Snape smiled. “Good boy.”

And with that, Severus crushed his mouth to Harry’s, kissing him hard, brutally biting at his lower lip, ripping at his shirt. He caught Harry’s moan in his mouth, savouring it, felt Harry’s weight fall heavily against him, sensed the tremble in the young man’s knees. So very ripe for this, he thought, turning to nip along the edge of that fine jawline, moving to Harry’s ear. He bit harder there, almost hard enough to draw blood, and Harry cried out, bucking against him.

They needed a bed, and quickly, Snape decided. He pushed Harry up the stairs, following behind, yanking Harry back to his feet when he almost stumbled, ungainly and weak-limbed. Harry stepped into the bedroom and pulled the rest of his shirt off, staring hotly at Snape, red marks livid on the pale skin of his jaw. “Get on the bed. Now,” Snape ordered him, in that same tone of voice he’d told him as a student to get his book open and shut the bloody hell up. Harry did so, and there was no hiding the tenting of his trousers. Such a naughty lad.

Severus took his time removing his robes, draping them over a chair. He slowly unfastened the black leather belt holding his trousers, wrapping the leather around his right hand. Nearing the bed, his gaze raked over the slender form of the young man, the pert pink nipples, the almost white skin of his chest, as yet unmarked … “Lie down,” he said in a mild voice, devilishly mild. “Pick a side.” Back, front, it would all bear his mark before he was through.

Harry flashed a look of challenge at him, and lay down on his back, resting up on his elbows. “Watch the glasses,” he said, in that arrogant tone of his.

Snape snarled, and drew back his hand, holding onto the buckle of the belt. A quick sweep of his arm, and the belt lashed across Harry’s chest. Harry cried out, bucking back, elbows collapsing as he twisted to grab hold of the bedsheets. “Fuck almighty! That hurt!” A bright welt crossing his chest confirmed that rather obvious statement.

Severus rolled his eyes. “It was intended to.” And for that remark, he lashed Harry again, directly across one perky nipple.

This time it brought a shriek, which was really quite breathtaking to listen to, and made Severus harder than the stone walls around them. “You will ask permission to speak, you arrogant little prat, and you will thank me for each lash, am I perfectly clear, Potter?”

Harry seemed to be having a little difficulty speaking by now, by the way he was biting his lip and huffing each breath through his teeth. He nodded, swallowing hard, arms trembling. “Yes, Professor. Thank you.” He looked down at the marks, apparently only just realizing how foolhardy it had been to present his front side first. “Permission to speak?”

“No,” Snape drawled.

He lashed Harry across the tops of his thighs this time, with a satisfying crack. Harry whimpered, holding back his scream, tears glistening on his eyelashes. He looked the very picture of pain, hands fisted in the sheets, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in agony. How wonderful. “That’s better,” Snape murmured, reaching over to trail his finger over the welt.

Harry gave a low moan, opening his eyes. The need was burning there, and an unspoken demand for more. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Turn over,” Snape said, and at once Harry did so, baring the unmarked skin of his back and arse as he knelt, knees splayed in front of him. Snape pulled from the bag a wider strap with holes in the leather, which would make even more interesting marks on the almost translucent skin of Harry’s broad back. This one had a wooden handle, and it was almost lazily that he brought the strap up and let gravity do the work, smacking the strap down onto the boy’s warm skin, leaving a blossoming pink stripe. Harry groaned, rubbing himself against the bed. Snape’s eyes narrowed, and he reached under to grab at Harry’s balls, stopping him cold. “Don’t even think of it.”

Harry hissed, but didn’t move. Satisfied, Snape released him, and gave him three more blows to the boy’s back to drive his point home further. Then he climbed onto the bed, straddling Harry’s bare arse, rubbing up against the pinkened skin with a lust that could not be held off one moment longer. “I waited an insufferable amount of time for you to finally grow up, Potter.” Snape leaned over, and bit into Harry’s shoulder hard, leaving a perfect round mark.

Harry groaned. “Me too, Professor.” He sounded drunk on endorphins.

Severus chuckled. He reached under to stroke Harry again, pulling him up onto his hands and knees, and pointed to his bag with his other hand. “Accio ring.” What flew into his hand looked less like a ring and more like a leather strap with many snaps, which he then proceeded to bind tight around Harry’s balls, ensnaring him. “Because you’ve always been likely to go off without anyone’s permission,” he said by way of explanation.

Harry’s arse and thighs were still woefully unmarked. Severus slid his hand to the boy’s neck and shoved, pushing Harry’s face into the mattress roughly. He accio’d another item, a slim cane, and moved so that he could use it on the smooth skin so temptingly presented by the boy’s facedown position. Ten strikes, from where the mounds were fullest, down to just above the backs of Harry’s knees. With each smart crack of the rattan, Harry yelled and bucked in pain, legs trembling…but he never once tried to move from his position. Severus was impressed. “Finally we see your better nature, lad.”

Harry looked like he was in a torment of need. Fortunately for Harry, Severus was feeling rather near to that himself, the sight of so much pretty torment, so many delightful marks on that young pale skin . . . he could not wait any longer. His hand was aching, but it was of little consequence; he pulled down his trousers, rubbing up against the welts on Harry’s arse, making Harry cry out again, rubbing back shamelessly. Snape hissed. “Don’t be arrogant, boy! You don’t move unless I tell you to.” He fumbled in the bag for some lubrication, pouring the unguent on his fingers, then plunging two digits into Harry’s willing body, fucking him hard with them. Harry howled, but held still.

Either Harry’s arse received much more frequent company than Snape would have guessed, or Harry had excellent control, for he was relaxed, greedily taking his fingers. The boy was shuddering, Snape was sure, with more pleasure than pain at this point. Well enough of that, then. He pulled out his fingers, slicked himself up, and then plunged into that hot hole with a loud groan, feeling Harry shake all over with his efforts to keep still.

Amused, Severus considered telling Harry he could move now . . . but he decided not to. More torment for the dark haired boy, and more pleasure for him, seeing the lad just take it, and knowing how difficult it was not to thrust back. Severus pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, snarling with the sweet sensation of it, ignoring the involuntary buck of Harry’s body. He leaned over to turn Harry’s face toward him, wresting a kiss from him, tasting tears. Absolutely perfect.

Apparently Harry thought so too, for he kissed Snape back as if drawing life’s breath from him, as if dying of thirst. Snape fucked him hard, swallowing the sound of Harry’s cries into his mouth. Knowing that his climax would not take long, he reached underneath Harry to roughly fist his cock, biting at Harry’s lower lip. “You’ll come through the ring, or not at all,” he told Harry, pinning him with a dark look. Harry’s glasses were crooked, nearly falling off, but his emerald eyes showed that he understood perfectly.

“Tell me when,” Harry panted.

Severus made an abrupt decision. He pulled out, flipped Harry over, pressing his legs to his chest, and plunged back in, working Harry’s cock with the other hand now, eyes intent on his face. He slapped away the boy’s glasses; he wanted to see that look of submission, exactly what he’d never hoped he’d be able to experience with this lad, or his father. With a few hard thrusts, he was coming hard, glad Harry’s glasses were gone so that the boy couldn’t witness the moment of emotion that came over his face afterwards, the moment of pure pleasure and happiness.

When his orgasm was over, and before things could become too sensitive, Snape continued to fuck Harry slowly, pumping his cock in double time, watching the tendons in Harry’s throat grow taut with the effort of holding back his climax. When he was sure Harry couldn’t hold back another second, he finally gave the command. “Come, you filthy, naughty, wretched thing.”

With a shout, Harry came hard, his seed spurting high, covering Snape’s hand. Snape made a face and wiped his hand on the covers. Let Harry deal with it later. He pulled out roughly, drawing yet another little cry from Harry, and without a backward glance, went to the washroom to recompose himself, taking his clothes with him. He could hear Harry on the bed panting, and smiled. He doubted Harry would be ready to move any time soon.

Finally once his robes were in order and his hair smoothed back (and the rest of him washed of the stench of sex and Harry), Severus returned to the bed. Harry was still lying there, afraid to move, Severus thought with an evil smirk. “You’re free to move now, boy. Get cleaned up. I’ll tend to your marks before I leave.” As much as he would love the thought of Harry trying to conceal signs of their activities, of enduring the slow healing process of the welts, sadly, certain precautions had to be maintained.

Harry was silent in the bathroom, while Snape gathered up his things. It was with a somber face that he emerged, wearing only white trunks and his glasses, the bite marks on his throat and the marks from Snape’s belt livid on his pale skin. Snape sighed. He raised his wand to cast the spell. “Wait,” Harry said. He looked down at himself. “Please, leave the ones on my arse; it’s not like anyone’s going to be seeing them. And one of these.” He touched the belt marks, then looked up at Snape. “Sir.”

Snape smiled. It wouldn’t do to let himself be too thrilled by those words; nevertheless, he allowed just a little grin to show on his face. “Very well.”

A few spells later, and Harry was as good as new—or close, at least. “I expect you to think of tonight when you can’t sit without pain tomorrow, Potter,” he said in his typical condescending tone, as he levitated his bag downstairs.

“You won’t stay?” Harry was obviously trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, but he failed miserably. Snape sneered.

“I have no intentions of cuddling or fraternizing with the likes of you, Potter. But then I hardly think that you expected it.”

Harry nodded, as if he’d known what the answer would be. It would have saved them both time if he’d kept his trap shut. But of course, that was never Potter’s way. “Will I see you again?”

Oh, how to answer that, Snape thought. Something in the correct proportion of cruelty and hope, like a well brewed love potion. He mulled it over, and was gratified to see the tension on Harry’s face.

“Certainly . . . not.” Severus watched as Harry’s face fell.

Snape kept his tone cool. “Unless your arrogance warrants punishment again, that is.”

Harry brightened again, and grinned. Snape rolled his eyes.

Knowing Potter, it most certainly would.

---end---