This is a one-shot PWP depicting a detailed fantasy involving male/male intimacy. Please don't read it if that's likely to offend you.
I want something up my arse so badly that I can feel it… and wonder if I can conjure something that looks and feels like Sev's cock… or what I imagine it to look and feel like. I strip, and examine myself in the mirror. His would be longer… I imagine it to be long and thin like he is… and though it makes no sense, I imagine it to be cold… or cool… I imagine his long, thin, cool fingers spreading my buttocks and running down my crack to my aching hole… a whispered spell spreading lube inside me and out… his fingers circling and pressing, examining me dispassionately, as if I am some potion ingredient to be assessed before being used.
Oh, gods… I want him to use me.
Please, Severus, I'd whisper… or groan… or perhaps just think, unable to speak as his index finger breached my thin defense, the one I so want to drop… Merlin, I can feel it inside me as if he's already here, actually behind me, his cool fingers taking their bloody time as they graze my backside, arched to meet them.
He'd punish me for that greed. He'd slow down, or pause, take his hand away entirely, admonishing me with words and silence and a hiss. I'd groan and try to hold still, all the while silently pleading for him to continue… and after a while, he would, but more roughly… or more slowly… or only after pinching my bottom – just to make sure I understood that he was the one calling the shots.
He'd press that finger against me again, without entering, and I'd whine, but hold still – his obedient pet, eager – so eager – to please. Oh, gods! And finally, he'd reward me – with the tip of his finger. I'd moan, and his other hand would slap my bottom in warning, and I'd bite my lip to keep from crying out, and when he was satisfied with my silence, he'd push in further, pressing up against me. I'd feel his robe brush my thighs, the heat of him up against my arse, pushing his finger in with the weight of his hips behind his hand – one finger filling me only enough to make me desperate for More, Severus…
He'd laugh low, and I'd realize I'd spoken the words aloud… would not be able to keep from arching backwards into him, desperate to feel his erection, but he'd pull away, withdrawing his finger, threatening to leave me aching and dissatisfied, only to crook it at the last minute, find that spot inside of me, tap it twice… three times… just enough for me to see stars… and then a second finger would join the first, and he would begin to prepare me in earnest, sliding them in and out, driving me crazy, scissoring them to stretch my hole, making me pant and sweat with the effort of not moving, not coming, not spraying hot cum all over… whatever surface he'd bent me over… his desk… his sofa… the table in his study… the table in his kitchen…
Every third slip of his fingers, he'd find that spot again and tap it, or rub it, and chuckle when I moaned or cried out or gasped, so that his laugh would forevermore be tied to a moment of great arousal for me… so that forever afterwards, when he'd laugh, he'd turn his eyes to me, to see the flush on my neck and face, to see me shift to adjust myself, knowing he'd turned me hard, knowing I wanted him in that moment.
A third finger, and I'd be panting in earnest, begging him, barely coherent in my urgent need. Nnngah! Ungh! More, Severus. Please… Want you… Please, I'd gasp, grabbing at anything to keep myself from moving more than he would allow. My cock would be dripping, aching with need, bumping up against whatever he'd bent me over, jolts of sensation making it harder, fuller, with every thrust of his fingers, my bollocks hot and full, tightening, wanting release, but… He wouldn't allow that. He'd tug them sharply if I got too close, or he'd use a cock-and-ball spell to restrain me, not allowing me to come until he chose… the Master… Dear Merlin!
And then he'd pull out of me altogether, and I'd hear and feel him undoing his robe, kneeing my legs further apart, settling himself behind me… The head of his cock would slide between my buttocks and hold there, a promise, a threat, a question. Please, I'd whisper, and he'd push forward, finally, finally… Finally, Severus Snape would take me, enter me, fill me with the part of him I can only dream about… And it would hurt – a little.
And he'd shush my whimper, and stroke my back until I calmed, and when I pushed back at him, he'd make little approving noises, and say, That's it, Potter… that's it… and push forward until I could feel his bollocks between my thighs, against my own. They'd be hairy, bigger and heavier than mine, and the very thought of his bollocks rocking against, caressing, pressed up against mine would flit through my mind… but he'd be busy then – pushed all the way in, listening for my whimpers to quiet enough… And he'd pull out... against my protests… and laugh again, between clenched teeth, telling me how very careful, how very controlled he was…
And then he'd thrust back in… and somehow, in the next frantic moments, we'd find our rhythm, and he'd allow me to push back against him, and then he'd twist his hips just so, and thetip of his cock would brush that spot and I'd cry out, and he'd laugh again, and pound his way back in… again… and again… and again, until I was crying out his name, and begging a thousand gods, and pleading with him for More, please… oh, god, Severus… yes! And his slick body would slide against my arse and my back and my thighs, his sweat and mine mingling, lubricating, the hair of his torso and legs adding some component of sensation, augmented by his gasps and the feel of his hair trailing down my back as he pressed his lips to my spine, unwillingly, desperately…
And his hands would be pulling my hips back into his, until one slipped around me, started at the crease between hip and thigh and worked up my abdomen, pressing, touching, reaching up to my chest to pinch and twist a nipple, and when I gasped and thrust back at him, he'd pinch again, and drag his hand slowly down to tangle fingers in the hair at the base of my cock, twirl and twist and pull at them until I was nearly collapsing in the need for him to Touch me! GOD, Severus! Please!
And… then he would take my cock into his oil and sweat-slicked hand, pulling yet another yell from my tortured throat – Oh, god! I want to suck him, someday! – and tug and squeeze once… twice… and my bollocks would tighten, and I would gasp out, Sev… I'm going to… and on the third pull, I'd be coming, spurting all over his furnishings, pushing back into him, and crying, and saying things I would never remember – but he would never forget… and then my arse would clench around him, and he'd let go of my cock to grab my hips and pound into me so hard I'd see stars… and then the sweet white heat of his cum would be spreading inside me, and I'd be weak with the force of his magic, welcoming it, welcoming him home, and he would collapse across me, pressing me down into some dark surface, murmuring, Mine, Harry… you're mine.
A knock at the door startled me into awareness, and Hermione's voice came thinly through Sirius' bedroom into the adjoining bath. "Harry? Harry, are you in there? Professor Snape is here… for your lesson?"
Fuck! I scrambled back into my pants, and hopped, one-legged, through the doorway into the bedroom, calling back, "Yeah! Yeah – I'm coming! I'll be right down."
"You'd better hurry, Harry. He doesn't look like he's in a good mood," Hermione said through the door.
"I'm coming!" I shouted at the sound of Hermione's retreating footsteps. I darted back into the bathroom and ran the water to wash the stickiness from my hands. I sniffed them and groaned. I'd just have to keep my distance from the man and his bloody sensitive nose. I grabbed my wand from atop the duvet at the foot of the bed, snatched the door open, and clattered down the stairs.
Snape was waiting in the drawing room, wand out, tapping it impatiently against the thumbnail of his left hand.
Oh, Merlin! The very sight of him, his long, elegant fingers, the lanky length of him, the hint of mystery, mastery had my trousers tightening. I pleaded with all the powers of the universe that my shirt was long enough and loose enough to hide the fact, and tried desperately to think of something else. Umbridge… and Fudge, maybe. Yeah. That would do it. I straightened up and stepped into the room.
He narrowed his eyes at me, as if assessing me and finding me wanting – again… as usual. "I have other, more valuable things to do with my time, Potter," he said. "If we're to continue these blasted lessons, the least you can do is have the courtesy to be prompt!"
"Sorry, Professor. I was… uh… napping."
He frowned, and gestured sharply for me to precede him. Having him behind me did not help my composure any, but we descended the stairs to the kitchen, where Remus, Hermione, and Ron were discussing something over tea, at the far end of the table. Hermione gave me a sympathetic smile, Ron shrugged in support, and Remus greeted Snape with a nod. I swallowed my fear and headed for the door that led to the practice room we'd been using ever since summer began.
"One moment," Snape said, and stepped past me through the door, indicting with a look that I was to wait. I glanced behind me at the other three, and Ron shrugged again. When I turned back, Snape was in the doorway, and motioned me through. I passed him, brushing close enough to hear his breath in my ear. I managed to keep myself from shivering, entered the room, and stopped in surprise. The door shut, and just behind me, Snape murmured the silencing spells that kept sound from intruding… or getting out.
He'd spelled the room to look like his potions classroom. I raised an eyebrow in question, and his lip curled in a sneer. "You must be prepared to invoke Occlumency in any setting, Potter. The Dark Lord may accost you in class… or in Hagrid's hut… or the Great Hall. You may end up facing him in Hogsmeade, or Diagon Alley, or…" His dark eyes bored into mine, widening, and I inhaled sharply as he said, "in your bath…" He smirked, and I gasped.
"Prepare yourself!" he warned, a dangerous, predatory gleam in his eye, but as always, he gave me no time, and before I could raise my wand in my shaking hand, his was pointed directly at me, and I fell into his eyes… or he fell into mine, as he cast the spell, and I knew he would see, and all hope was lost.