Hand Over Fist
headers and warnings
Harry was already starting to strip when the door clicked shut, the wards sealing behind him with a shiver that had nothing to do with temperature or even desire. Snape was impatient today, and Harry only had time to shed his robes and loosen his tie before he was shoved roughly against the stone wall, his trousers around his thighs and the familiar tingle of spells in and on his body. They made him relaxed and slick, his prick hard although of course it had been already, and he would not be able to come until the release word was spoken.
Snape's cock was heavy and thick, the heat always a surprise after the cold clutch of thin fingers on his hips. Snape slid into Harry like he belonged there, and this time, like all their first times, was just quick enough to make him ache, but not quite enough to set him begging before Snape was filling him with hot seed, teeth latched cruelly on the back of his neck. He could've wished it was allowed to mark, but even as Snape pulled out, soft words smoothed the hurt away with another shiver of magic.
Harry begged soon enough, anyway, as Snape knelt behind him, the tongue that was so sharp and cutting in class proving just as cruel here in Snape's quarters as it lapped the seed from his thighs. As those slender, dexterous, sinful fingers parted his cheeks, he felt Snape's tongue rasp over his loosened hole, licking out the come and fucking its way inside with an obscene wriggle. Harry's pleas fell on deaf ears, Snape's entire attention focused, or so Harry supposed, on getting every last drop of himself out of this undeserving boy he was unfortunate enough to be fucking.
Harry was never sure quite how they started, these strange trysts, but the rules were established through the simple expedient of exotic punishments meted out when he didn't do exactly what Snape wanted. Harry was allowed, even encouraged, to beg, but eventually Snape gave up on Harry's self-control and implemented the spell to keep him from coming, a worse torture not only for the denied release but the implied disappointment. Harry couldn't help being fifteen, however, and he resented the unspoken slur on his character.
Right now he wasn't resenting much of anything, awash in pleasure as Snape's tongue reamed him out, a rare enough occurrence to warrant his entire attention. He wanted to come, yes, but more than that he wanted this to go on as long as possible, to be the focus of such intense concentration from the man he'd never quite gotten used to not loathing. Not loathing him did not seem to be a requirement, anyway, and Harry whimpered when the tongue left him, cool air brushing over his hole before Snape rose and abruptly stalked to the bedroom.
Harry swiftly undressed, folding his clothes neatly on the small table by the door that he suspected existed for just that purpose, stuffing socks in shoes and even arranging his tie and glasses neatly atop the pile. He'd learned what lines he could push and what he couldn't, and for some reason Snape was absolutely adamant that he not leave his clothing in a rumpled heap. Task completed, Harry hurried toward the bedroom and whatever awaited him there with eager anticipation.
So different from those first few times, he now understood that crossing the threshold, although it put him in Snape's power, offered rewards well worth the risk. "Lie down on your back, arms overhead, knees bent and spread wide," said Snape from over by the wardrobe. He had removed his outer robe and frock coat, and was even shedding his cravat. For Snape, this was practically nudity, and Harry watched with eager eyes even as he posed carefully on the bed.
Snape rolled up his sleeves, exposing the sparse black hair on his forearms and the Dark Mark nestled in the crook of his elbow. Harry gave a little sigh of disappointment; he'd only seen Snape naked once, and he eagerly wished for a second chance to feast his eyes on the long, lean body. Snape stalked over to the bed, sitting between Harry's legs, opening a small jar and placing it on the duvet next to his foot. Harry tensed up; the last salve Snape had used on him had burned like ice on his nipples and cock, delicious torment that grew quickly unbearable even when Snape's cock filled him with heat.
"Close your eyes," said Snape, and Harry complied unhesitatingly. He was surprised to feel one of those long fingers circling around his entrance -- Snape generally preferred quick lubrication and relaxation spells to this more intimate dance of hand and body. Harry had fallen in love with Snape's hands even before he'd known what pleasure they could give, watching them chop and stir and grind with graceful precision. He arched, now, into the rare and precious touch, sighing with pleasure as the finger slipped smoothly into his loosened opening.
It lingered there for long moments, sliding in and out in easy, practiced strokes before being joined by another. Harry was still relaxed and slick from the spells and subsequent fucking by both tongue and cock, so even these two fingers were more torment than anything else, a tease of pleasures that may or may not be yet to come. A third finger joined them, finally a bit of a stretch and Harry began to urge Snape on with his hips, biting his lip to keep from crying out when they brushed against his prostate.
That small show of need seemed to motivate Snape, and his thrusts became obligingly rougher, deeper. A fourth finger joined them, or so Harry thought, losing track of the individual sensations in the building rush of sensation. His breath caught as suddenly more was pressing in, fingers incredibly deep and he thought maybe that was Snape's thumb nudging just inside, the backs of his knuckles hard and almost painful as they pushed relentlessly against the sensitive opening.
A single brush of tongue over his cock made Harry's body flare with need, and he felt the knuckles slip inside him with a jolt of pain and pleasure. The rest of Snape's hand followed slowly, and Harry gasped again as he realized what was happening to him. Snape's entire hand was inside his body, fingers and thumb, palm and yes, just a small jolt of that intense almost-pain as the first bump of wrist teased at his overstretched hole. It rested there for long moments while Snape's other hand, the one not inside of him, soothed his hip and thigh with gentle caresses.
That hand moved to his cock, and the thumb slid distractingly over the wet head as the other one, the one filling him huge and strange, began to move, fingers curling almost painfully until it made a fist inside his body. It pulled back out until the wrist bones nudged outside his opening again, then pushed impossibly deeper, feeling as though he was reaching for Harry's heart. A whisper of sound, and a twist that slid hard knuckles painfully over his prostate, and Harry was suddenly not thinking at all as he came so hard the world greyed out.
"Look at me." Snape's command drew him back to himself, his body still convulsing in the last echoes of his pleasure, seed spattered from stomach to chin, his ass tight around Snape's wrist. He almost came again just from the sight of it, the strange curl and weight of an entire hand, the knowledge that it was Snape's actual fist, between his legs, in his ass, part of him in a way he'd never even thought possible until it happened. He whimpered in slight disappointment as he felt it uncurl, the motion easier this time in the wake of his orgasm.
Snape slid his hand out, grabbing one of the soft towels he kept on his nightstand for just such a purpose and cleaning himself of the clinging lubricant. Harry concentrated on just breathing through his shivers, suddenly empty and almost cold, even though he'd been sweating fear and lust in the fire-warmed room. He concentrated on the comforting familiarity of holding a pose he'd been ordered into countless times, hands trapped above his head by nothing more than Snape's will, legs spread wide and secrets exposed to Snape's merciless scrutiny and endless creativity.
Harry was pulled up out of his fog of lust and submission by Snape's voice, sharp and annoyed. "Next time you wish to have a change in our bedroom routine, Mr. Potter, I advise you to come to me rather than gossiping with Ms. Granger."
Harry was confused until he remembered his conversation with Hermione in the library, when he'd waxed poetic about Snape's hands and how he didn't use them on Harry nearly enough. "I wouldn't have known to ask for this," said Harry softly, cheeks burning with shame that Snape had overheard, and fervently hoping no one else had. Hermione was the only person who knew about their surreal arrangement, listening with an open mind as Harry talked about the things he experienced in the strange other world that inhabited these rooms. "I didn't know I was allowed."
Snape nodded and stood, opening his trousers. He pulled out his cock, already hard again, and began to stroke himself. Harry sank back into that timeless space in his head, body already tensing to obey whatever Snape might command. "Tell me what you want," Snape growled, his hand pale and graceful against the deep ruddy tones of his prick, the black of his trousers and curling hair. Harry longed to suck Snape's cock, feel the weight of it on his tongue, taste the bitter salt flavour and smell the musk and sex of it, but he knew better than to disobey a direct order.
He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then just let his words flow, starting with the most obvious. "I love your hands," he said softly, shivering a little. This felt like forbidden things, breaking more rules than just letting your teacher use you by telling him that you wanted it, how and how much. "I love that you can't wait to take me, but sometimes I wish you'd touch me more, your fingers are so long and beautiful. I love how they can be cold and hot at the same time, gentle one minute and rough the next, but always precisely what you mean them to be."
Snape moaned, stroking faster, and Harry continued, bolder now. "I love your voice, the low purr when you're being really mean, the snap and bite of it when you're angry, the way it gets all rough when you fuck me, like you can't quite control it anymore."
Snape bit his lip, even white teeth sinking into the thin flesh. Harry went on, fascinated by the effect his words were having on his normally stoic lover. "I love your mouth, especially your tongue, and all the things you know to do with it that make me beg and scream. I love your body, even though you never let me see it or touch you, and I dream about running my own hands and tongue and lips all over every inch of you, tasting all your secret places and seeing if I can make you break apart the same way you do to me just by looking at me."
Snape's hand was moving quickly now, his breathing harsh in the still room, and Harry licked lips gone dry, hungry for the sight of him. "I love your cock, the taste of it, the weight and thickness, how real and hot it is when it's inside of me. I love it when you make me suck you off, the feeling of it in my throat and the taste of it when you come. I love it when you finally let me come, how much more it is than if I'd come on my own or even when I first begged for it, how perfect each moment is when I'm here with you."
"Harry," said Snape in a broken voice, hips jerking as he came. Hot spurts fell on Harry's chest and face, and Harry closed his eyes and opened his mouth, eager to catch the drops on his tongue. He was hard again, his own desire heavy and hot between his legs, a counterpoint to the empty ache of his mouth and ass, each longing to be filled in their own way.
He felt the hot swipe of a tongue on his cheek and his eyes flew open, Snape's face suddenly close enough to see with perfect clarity as he licked the mixed seed methodically from Harry's cheeks and chest, belly and straining cock. Harry bit his lip as that agile tongue worked around the head, mouth sucking away the last drops and even lapping at his slit for more. Snape took Harry's cock deep in his throat, and it was all Harry could do not to come right then. "Please!" he cried, unsure what he was begging for, body aching with the need for whatever Snape would give him.
Snape wrapped a hand around Harry's balls, trailing down to tease at his tender opening, the other crawling up his chest to slide two fingers into his mouth. Snape's lips slid off long enough to whisper, "Come for me," and then lowered again just in time to catch the seed as Harry gratefully fulfilled his order, thrusting up and spilling himself into that wet heat.
This time he stayed lucid, but Snape gentled him down anyway, beautiful hands roaming his body in soothing caresses. A warm, wet towel cleaned the residue off his face and torso, tender where it touched between his legs. Harry wanted to roll over and curl against Snape, to sleep in those safe arms, but he held his pose, heavy-lidded eyes on Snape's face, searching for any hint of his intentions. When Snape gave him a look that could possibly be called inquisitive, Harry bravely asked, "May I stay?"
Snape blinked, surprised. "You wish to sleep with me?"
"Now, please," said Harry carelessly, finally letting out the yawn that had been threatening. His body sang with exhaustion, pain and pleasure, his mind was a pleasant buzz of contentment and comfort, and all he really wanted was to sleep in the arms of the man who had made him feel this way. He usually did, he'd just never been brave enough to ask before, and when Snape didn't respond right away, he began to gather his scattered wits and prepare to go back to the real world and his lonely bed.
He was therefore surprised when, a moment later, a kiss was pressed to his lips. It was their first, and he felt something new and warm curling in his belly next to his sated lust as Snape began to undress, a single word floating on the warm, close air between them.
Title: Hand Over Fist
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Warnings: Slash, felching, chan/underage (15), verbal bondage, fisting, dirty talk, bukkake
Summary: Harry spends a productive evening in Snape's quarters.
Acknowledgements: For the pornish_pixies 3 kinks challenge. Thanks to all my bunnies for encouraging me!
All of the works contained herein are labours of love, unauthorized by those who hold the rights to such things, and no profit is made from them. No harm is meant, and hopefully no offense given.