I own nothing, it all belongs to J.K Rowling.

WARNING: Lemon alert! If slash (male/male) relationships offend you, then read no further!


A shrill screech cut through the air, causing half of Hogwarts to jump in their seats. Somewhere, Dumbledore was grabbing a box of lemon drops and coming to the rescue.

The source of the disturbance was a spectacled young man, standing in the middle of the Potions classroom, gripping a piece of parchment between his shaking hands.


"Mr. Potter, if you are as unable to string together a coherent sentence as you are with completing your appalling excuse for an essay, then kindly refrain from speaking altogether."


"Sit down, you're interrupting my class."

At that, Harry saw red. He could feel the pressure building up, anger ready to explode out of him. How DARE he? Harry stood stock still, staring at Snape who stared right back at him. Oh, he would stand here all day if he had to. Harry glared back at the professor defiantly, and when Snape raised one delicately arched eyebrow, he felt as if he were going to erupt like a volcano.

"ARGH!" Harry shoved his cauldron off the desk. It landed with a resounding crash at Snape's feet. Before Snape so much as opened his mouth to subtract more points from Gryffindor, Harry stormed out of the room, leaving only deadly silence in his wake.

"Well?" Snape barked at the remaining students, who were all still staring at the cauldron rolling on the floor. "Get to work!"

Harry sighed into his bottle of butterbeer as he sat by the fireplace in the vacated common room, mulling over the events of the day. Everything had been just fine until that bat had to be more unfair and vindictive than usual. Well, Harry's day had been slightly strained, what with Ron acting like a pompous sod, parading around with Lavender Brown. That and his own conflicting emotions revolving around his disturbingly erotic recurring dreams involving Malfoy and the Weasley twins.

And that other dream, the one that made him even more confused, the one with a vision of dark, unfathomable eyes and a deep, buttery voice-

No. Nope. Absolutely ridiculous. Of course he had no attraction what-so-ever to him. He could accept his inclinations towards the same sex, but there were some thoughts he just couldn't entertain. Still, his raging hard-on would beg to differ.

'Think Cho. Cho, wait, no, not Cho, Ginny, Ginny in a bikini, yeah.'

But instead of arousing him further, the images caused his erection to wilt.

This was insanity.

And SNAPE. He, of course, was the topping on the proverbial cake. Excluding those dreams…someone must be slipping something in his pumpkin juice. It was the only explanation. He certainly wouldn't put it past Snape, who was capable of pulling a stunt like that. There was no way Harry would EVER be attracted to...

Harry gulped. That was enough of those thoughts.

Now, he might not have been the best student over the years, but he never, NEVER in his life gotten a T on anything, especially not for something as trivial as a blot of ink splattered on his parchment. Ron had accidentally knocked over the bottle of ink that same morning. Harry had left it on the nightstand by the bed, and his essay was unfortunately laying underneath it when Ron, upon waking up, swung his arm into the path of the bottle. Snape, of course, refused to hear any excuses and claimed that since "the concluding paragraph was absent (or rather, flooded with ink) the paper lost all relevance." He then had the nerve to take points off from Gryffindor when Harry tried to reason with him, and for Harry's hair, which he had likened to an "unkempt mop."

And he stated all of this in front of the class.

'He can go sod off, talking about my hair.' He ran his hand through the black strands, some of which were sticking straight up like he had been struck by a lightning bolt. 'As if he can talk, that greasy headed bastard.'

The main reason for his anger was not this, however. Snape assigned him detention on the very day that Gryffindor played against Slytherin.

Snape must have planned this somehow. It was all some big conspiracy.

After pondering for several minutes, Harry stretched lazily and sat up from the chair, his temper cooled off slightly. The bell would ring soon, and the last class of the day would be over. Everyone would rush into the room and want to talk about what happened in the Potions classroom. Criminy, it was the last thing he wanted. No, he had to sort out matters with Snape.

He stepped out from behind the Fat Lady and made his way down to the dungeons again. He was the captain of the Quidditch team! He couldn't be absent during a match, and especially not one against Slytherin. If he had to bargain, then bargain he must.

The bell rang, and Harry waited in an empty hall nearby, avoiding all other students. When the coast was clear, Harry approached the classroom door in the dungeons. His anger flared up again and he took his frustration out on the door, knocking furiously.


Examining his now red and swollen fingers, Harry slipped inside the room. Snape was shuffling through the remaining essays and did not so much as look up to acknowledge his presence. Harry felt his heart leap to his throat as he watched Snape's elegant hand flying across the parchment, and for a brief moment wondered how those hands would feel if they were roaming over his body. A blush crept over his face and he wrung his sore, sweaty hands.

Harry cleared his throat.

After what seemed like hours, Snape slowly raised his head.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Is there something you need?"

Harry met Snape's gaze coolly as the other man regarded him with a mildly amused expression on his sallow face.

"Sir. I was, er, hoping you would maybe allow me to redo my essay."

Snape's lips curled in a sneer. "Now why would I do that?" he asked softly, folding his hands in front of him.

Harry said farewell to his remaining shreds of dignity as he prepared to plead.

"Please, sir, the Quidditch match, I really can't miss it, I'm the captain-"

"And you think just because you are the famous Harry Potter, the Idiot-Who-Lived, you deserver special treatment? I don't think so." The infamous smirk widened as Harry clenched his shaking hands into fists. He inhaled slowly. 'Just stay calm, Harry. Breathe in, breathe out…'

"Please, sir. I'll do anything."

Snape chuckled low in his throat, and Harry felt himself flush. Again. 'Dammit, Harry…'

"Anything, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir. I'll scrub the cauldrons with a toothbrush, I'll dissect a toad's spleen, I'll-"

His voice trailed off when he noticed the look Snape was giving him. He stared at Harry with eyes like burning coal, a hungry expression on his face.

Harry gulped loudly and shifted his legs to conceal his rather healthy erection.

Snape slowly rose from his chair and walked around the desk, his hand sliding over the surface. Harry sat down quickly in the nearest chair. The professor came to a stop directly in front of him, and Harry stared up at him, blinking and feeling a bit like a deer in the path of a trolley.

"You know, Mr. Potter, placing yourself in someone else's hands is very dangerous indeed," he murmured, and Harry shivered as that voice washed over him and through his insides like raw silk.

"I didn't place myself anywhere, sir," he answered defiantly, glaring up at his teacher.

"Ah, but by offering anything…you see, I could have you do many things." He took another step towards Harry. "I could have you clean this entire room on your hands and knees, or, I could have you do something slightly more productive."

More…productive? Harry felt his body getting warmer in the frigid dungeon. 'Oh, stop that, taking his words out of context,' the little voice of reason scolded. Of course Snape wasn't insinuating anything—was he?

"I may even consider letting you make up your essay, and perhaps let you out of detention this Friday."

Harry's eyes widened and he grinned despite himself. "Er, well, what should I clean? Sir," Harry said, rather lamely.

"Will you really do anything I wish of you?" Snape whispered, ignoring Harry's question.



Harry's insides practically thrummed with excitement. "Anything."

Snape regarded him impassively for a moment and then retreated back to sit behind his desk. He resumed grading, dipping his quill in the ink and scratching what was most likely scathing insults on the remaining essays. Harry sat quietly, waiting.

And waiting.

Fifteen minutes had gone by. Had Snape forgotten he was even there? But that thought had barely left Harry's mind when suddenly Snape set down his quill and beckoned silently. Without complaint, Harry approached the desk, feeling Snape's dark gaze burning brands into him.

"Come around the desk," the professor murmured, his voice soft and rich like velvet. Harry obeyed, and as soon as he stepped around to stand by the chair Snape reached out and caught his hand. Harry's breath caught as the pale thumb stroked his skin he pulled Harry towards him gently, then ran his hands up his arms and to his shoulders, and then pushed Harry down until he sank on his knees before him. Harry's heart was a wild hummingbird in his chest, fluttering and pecking and racing…and Snape looked down at him with such hunger it was as if he wished to devour him.

"Get under the desk."

His heart sped up even more, and his mind seemed to shut down. A foot massage. That's it. Nothing more. Certainly not anything sexual…

Harry scuttled under the desk, not even attempting to argue, his knees scraping painfully on the cold stone floor. His glasses were slipping down his sweaty face and he impatiently shoved them in his pocket.

"Ow!" Harry's head hit the desk as Snape pushed his chair closer, and then reached one long fingered hand down to caress his own crotch.

Harry let out a squeak and clapped his hands over his mouth as he watched his teacher fondle himself. He figured he would have to do something like this when Snape had ordered him under the desk, but still…shock and excitement overwhelmed him. This was unbelievable, this was too good to be true, this was really happening…sweet Merlin.

Snape must have heard the squawk, for the next moment he let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

"Even for someone as dimwitted as you, Potter, you are still surprisingly slow on the uptake." One yellowed finger traced the zipper as Harry gaped open mouthed at the obvious bulge that tented Snape's trousers. "I expect you to perform with more diligence than you do with the rest of your work," Snape drawled, "seeing as this will relieve you from your detention. And--" he shifted in his seat, spreading his legs slightly, "if you please me, I may even give you back some of those house points you were so keen to lost today." He undid the fly slowly, and Harry watched transfixed as he guided his engorged erection out of his pants.

He shivered as Snape's hand reached down to stroke the soft flesh of his throat, and cursed himself inwardly at his reaction to the man's touch. He stretched his neck up further as sparks of heat trailed up and down his spine…the blood in his veins seemed like fire whispering to Snape's fingers. Snape's hand lifted back up, and Harry heard the scratching sound of the quill on parchment resume. Harry took Snape's cock in his hands, hot and hard and moist with arousal. The skin was velvety smooth, much like his voice. Harry drew in a sharp breath, feeling dizzy from the emotions colliding inside of him. He should just wait until Slughorn got back from his five day sojourn in Paris to make up the essay…better yet, he should complain to Dumbledore. Snape was nothing but an arse. A manipulative, perverted, slimy, cruel arse. With a silky bedroom voice and a huge cock. Yes, very big, he noted as he stared at the shaft in his hands, slightly intimidated by its girth. 'I guess it's the one good quality of his, and it's not even his doing, it's genes,' Harry thought while a sadistic smile spread over his face as he imagined what would happen to Snape if he told Dumbledore. 'But this is what you really want, isn't it, Harry? Isn't this the very thing you have been dreaming of?'

Harry leaned closer to Snape, taking in a deep breath. This was the first time he had ever done anything sexual. The closest thing he had was that sloppy kiss with Cho Chang in 5th year, and that was hardly anything to brag about. He prepared himself, opening his mouth wide when suddenly Snape thrust his hips forward, missing Harry's mouth completely and poking him in the eye instead.

"Ow!" Merlin, that impatient sod. His eyes watering, he brought his face up to Snape erection and flicked his tongue over the head. He swallowed when he heard the man let out a sigh. Damn. He never wanted Snape to stop making those sensual noises. He inhaled through his nose and his insides heated even more at the musky scent of Snape's desire. He lapped at the tip again, then wrapped his lips around his cock and sucked him inside his mouth. Harry heard him groan, a deep sound that reverberated through every inch of his body. His left hand, which was holding Snape's cock, stroked up and down his length, squeezing gently, then brought it down to fondle his balls.

Snape let out a low moan, softly guttural, and Harry felt an aching, pulsing need course through him. Another low sound emanated from his throat, sounding almost like a purr. Harry closed his eyes as his own cock hardened further.

A part of him was humiliated, forced on his knees before the very man he hated, worshipping him as if he were some king sitting on his throne, and Harry was his slave…Snape stole him away and locked him in another element, one filled with conflicting emotions and raw, animalistic desire.

He purred again, rich and dark like chocolate, and Harry felt his veins flood with heated lust.


Knock knock knock.

Harry froze at the pounding on the dungeon door. Snape set down his quill and pushed the chair back, regarding Harry with heavy lidded eyes. He bent down close so his lips moved against the shell of his ear. "You are not to stop. Keep going, and don't make any noises." That silky voice threaded through Harry's senses again as the man sat back up, staring down at him. Harry nodded, his eyes wide, feeling like a skittish rabbit.

"Good boy," Snape whispered, pushing the chair back in and trapping him under the desk. "Enter."

Harry's thoughts were rushing in a million different directions at once. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-

Snape's hand pushed the back of his head, forcing him back on his cock.


Harry broke into a cold sweat, beads of perspiration running over his heated flesh.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley? What is it you need?" the professor snapped.

"Er, have you seen Harry, sir? No one can find him after he ran out of here, and he's been missing for a while."

"I do not keep tabs on you little friends, Weasley." Snape's tone was indifferent, a remarkable feat considering what Harry was currently performing. Or at least Harry thought so. He sucked harder and grinned around the shaft in his mouth when he heard Snape let out a quiet grunt.

"Ahem. I have not seen your little hero, and if I do, I'll have you know that after that little incident in my class, I will personally see to it that he is punished most severely. If I have to chain him to the wall and paddle him myself, then by Merlin I'll do it," Snape stated calmly as he continued grading papers.

Harry choked at those words. Thankfully the sound was muffled by the member in his mouth. The words must have hit Ron in the same way, for he could hear him spluttering slightly.

"Um, er, well sir, thank you for your time." Harry heard the scampering of a pair of feet and the door slamming shut behind him.

The chair made a scraping sound on the stone as Snape slid back again, grasping Harry's head between his hands and thrusting in, hitting the back of his throat. Harry's heart sped up in time with Snape's violent thrusts, nervousness gripping him firmly. Just a minute ago the professor was so composed, and now he seemed uncontrollable, his head thrown back and growls erupting from his throat.

Yeah, he probably had gotten off on the idea that Harry was sucking him off in front of his best friend.

Snape's grip on his head was like steel, and Harry stopped moving completely as he pounded into him.

"Ah—ah—yes, Potter, you like it, don't you? You—like—sneaking about, right underneath their—noses," he groaned breathlessly, and with one final thrust, he came, shooting his seed down Harry's throat. Harry coughed and then swallowed around Snape, tasting salty bitterness as it flowed down his throat. The man pulled out, spurting a little of his semen on Harry's face.

Snape sighed, leaning back in the chair, his eyes closed and strands of greasy hair sticking to his face. Harry wiped his mouth as the conflicting emotions rushed through him again. In those moments, however brief, Snape owned him, dominated him. Laid claim to him like no one had before. But now it was over, and it would Harry would be forgotten. A thought flitted through his mind and he grabbed the tail of it. How many other students had knelt before the professor, trying to compensate for a good grade? Harry rose and stretched his limbs, his muscles sore and knees raw. He started for the door, but had barely made it three steps of the way when suddenly an arm reached out and pulled him back.

"Do you really think we are done already? We've only just begun." Snape's lips twisted in a sneer, and Harry stared at him, past the smirk and into his eyes. They glittered like a midnight sky filled with hidden stars, speaking to him and piercing into his emerald depths. Snape raised his wand and flicked it at him wordlessly, and the next instant Harry was bent across the table where his cauldron now sat. Oh dear Merlin. Harry was still painfully hard, and he whimpered as he twisted his neck around to look at the professor, who had walked to the black board and picked up the long wooden pointer that sat next to the chalk, running his fingers up and down its length.

"I have always wondered why we have these here," Snape began conversationally, circling the table where Harry was currently positioned. "They use them in Muggle schools to point out words for elementary students, but why have them at Hogwarts?" He was behind him now, his free hand rubbing Harry's bottom through his trousers, then crept around to the front, easily unbuttoned them, and tugged on the boxers. They pooled around Harry's feet as Snape continued to pace around him again. "I've longed to find a use for it, finally…"

And before Harry could question what that use was, Snape rammed the pointer into him.

Harry let out a shriek of shock. It wasn't exactly painful, but the action caught him off guard. Snape ran his tongue along the shell of his ear, his breath caressing him, his body pressing up against his bent form as he twisted the rod around in a circular motion. Suddenly it hit something inside him, and sparks shot through him. Wow, this was amazing, better than any dream. Snape pulled the rod out and set it down on the table, his hand reaching around to stroke Harry. Harry bucked in his hand, panting like a racehorse. Almost…there…so close, ohhh it felt so good…

Then Snape stopped.

Harry let out a little whimper of disappointment. He watched as his teacher picked up the pointer again, this time dragging the tip along the dripping head of his cock. He lifted it off and Harry saw the tip of it glistening with his pre come.

Snape smirked and languidly ran his tongue over the pointer. "Mmmmm."

Harry's body was at war with his mind. He knew what he should do, yet he wanted to find release, wanted more fire. "Please, sir." Harry winced at the sound of his own voice, hoarse from the damage Snape had inflicted to the back of his throat. He was begging, he was weak…

"I wonder," Snape whispered, flush against his back again, nipping and biting the exposed flesh of his neck, "if the rest of you tastes just as delicious." He trailed his hands down his body until he reached Harry's bottom and petted it softly.

Harry whimpered as his hot skin tingled with the contact, then Snape's hands left his arse and inched forward towards his hardness, rubbing his thumb over the slit and beginning to stroke it gently.

"Ah, yes, my little Gryffindor. What would your faithful sidekicks say if they could see you now, bent over a desk with your bum in the air and my come on your face…begging for my touch. Hmmm? Ahhh…"

Harry bucked as the heat spread through his veins and the blood pumped faster…pleasure shooting inside him in every direction…the fire that was slowly burning in the pit of his belly grew and the flames licked higher…his voice—oh! His voice was wood feeding the fire, it was cool water washing over his parched senses, it was soft and silky and beautiful like a rose petal…it was everything. There was nothing in the world but Snape's hands caressing him, his body, pressed up against him, molded to him, his heat seeping into Harry's body and soul…his voice, warm and wet and fire and water all at the same time. Oh yes, Harry was Snape's now, he knew it. The serpent had the lion trapped in his coils and was devouring him.

Harry cried out as the fire consumed him. There would be nothing left of him but ashes strewn across the floor, the pleasure was too much, too intoxicating—he quivered and pulsed and shuddered as the blaze of pleasure dimmed.

Snape stepped back and waved his wand at Harry, and the invisible bonds trapping him on the table dissolved into nothingness. He shivered, his bones and muscles seemed to melt and he fell to the side like a limp doll. He wasn't fast enough to brace himself—but Snape caught him in his arms just before he hit the floor.

Dear merciful Merlin.

Harry tried to shake himself out of his stupor. Shouldn't he feel disgust, or self loathing, or shame? But he only felt content and warm as Snape scooped him up in his arms and carried him over to his desk, clearing off the surface so that he could lay Harry on top. But as soon as Snape let him go, Harry felt cold. The cool air in the dungeons felt refreshing to his skin, yet, to his horror, he found himself longing for the warmth of Snape's body. He slid off the desk, and the professor pulled him onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him in what would have been an embrace—but it wasn't really, was it? This was just a one time thing, and they would go back to hating each other and he would go back to lusting for his teacher from afar. But all this warmth and afterglow…it was something even more unbelievable than the actual act itself. The fire, the passion, the desire, he understood. But the caring and tenderness…was it just a mockery? A farce?

'Oh, you think too much, Harry. Enjoy yourself. How many other chances will you get?'

Harry sighed in defeat, burying his head in the crook of Snape's neck and lifting his arms up around him. He breathed in the scent of Snape's skin, a heady, layered musk with a hint spice…like cinnamon. Oh, he smelled so good…

What a sight they must be. He wondered what would happen if someone like McGonagall barged in to find him curled up like a kitten in Snape's lap.

'Professor?' he mumbled against his neck, and he felt Snape tense slightly.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?' He ran one hand gently down his spine.

"Does this, er, does this mean I get out of detention after all?"

Snape chuckled again. "You've been a very good boy. I believe you deserve a letter raise. And, ten points to Gryffindor," he grumbled slightly when he said it, "for assisting a professor with…a project.'

Harry's lips quirked, betraying him by forming a smile. Smiling in front of Snape-- well, there was a first time for everything.

"Now then, Potter, I believe we are finished here. Dinner is soon, and I have papers to finish grading. But first—"

And he stretched his neck upward; brushing his lips against Harry's his tongue running along the seam of his lips. Harry obliged, opening his mouth against Snape's, delving his tongue into the wet warmth. He relished the taste, and the sounds, and the feel of it…it absorbed his very soul, he melted into the moment and all else faded away.

After several moments, Harry broke away, gasping and staring into Snape's eyes, obsidian jewels holding a glimmer of flame that threatened to spill over and set him on fire. Harry gave him a quick peck, and blushing, slid off of his lap. He reached the door and glanced over to see Snape gazing at him with the barest hint of a smile on his face, but the smile reflected in his dark eyes, and despite his harsh and unlovely features, it was a beautiful sight. Harry almost let out another sigh of contentment.

As he headed for the Great Hall, Harry Potter, one Boy-Who-Lived, mulled over the events of the day. He ran his hand through his hair and grinned. Maybe he could convince Ron to do some extra credit for Snape sometime.

But at that thought, he was filled with jealousy. He didn't want anyone else with Snape. No one but him.

He was screwed.

He entered the Great Hall, his shirt un-tucked and his tie askew, and headed over towards Hermione and Ron.

"Well, where the bloody hell have you been?"

"It's about time you showed up!" Ron and Hermione chorused as Harry sat down in the empty chair beside them.

Harry gave them an innocent smile.

"Why, I was just fulfilling my duties as Quidditch captain, of course."

And with that, he drained his cup of pumpkin juice in one gulp. For some reason, his throat was incredibly sore.

The End