By Any Means Necessary (SS/HP - NC-17)
Mar. 5th, 2004 02:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
themostepotenteTitle: By Any Means Necessary
Pairing: SS/HP
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry proposes a distraction wager.
Kinks: None
Disclaimer: Oh, so not mine. This market's been cornered.
A/N: My first and worst piece of ficcage written for the HP slash fandom. *cringe* Finally betaed.
Additional comments found here.
Like great rolling stormclouds, Snape loomed over Harry, ever foreboding. Harry likened his temperament to the weather forecast with never the mildness of a spring shower and always the harshness of a torrential downpour. This day, like every other, was growing overcast, Professor Severus Snape's ominous shadow on the dungeon wall.
"Potter!" he snapped, supervising over the boy's shoulder.
Standing over the simmering cauldron, Harry leapt from his skin. His tortoise shell glasses slipped the bridge of his nose, and in a last ditch effort to save them from certain death, his ladle fell victim to the steeping liquid.
"What have I told you about succumbing to distraction while brewing? A true potionscrafter is swayed not by swarms of doxies, by herds of hippogriffs, or by raging hormones. Do you require instruction by way of blackboard and pointer?"
"No, sir," Harry said. "It's just that I've been at this for hours. I need a break."
"Need a rest, do you? I'll have you know, Potter, that come every moon's waxing, I laboriously brew Lupin's bloody wolfsbane elixir without benefit of respite."
"With all due respect, sir, I'm not you," Harry remarked sarcastically.
Professor Snape's nostrils flared in agitation. "No, you most certainly are not, Potter. I would never ask such foolishness of my professor."
"Slave driver," Harry muttered contemptuously.
"Come again, Potter?" Snape demanded.
"You heard me, sir. You are not so perfect. Even you have an Achilles' heel," Harry bitterly declared. "I could distract you."
"Oh? Is that so, Potter? It isn't enough that Professor McGonagall has staked her reputation on asking that I accept you as a pupil in my NEWT-level Potions classes, but that you insult me and make a mockery of this institution with your brazen disregard of the rules begs for a slice of humble pie," Snape spat angrily. "And mark my words, Potter, when I'm through with you, you'll be asking seconds." Snape was practically foaming at the mouth. Harry was used to provoking this kind of response in his Potions Master.
"Very well," Snape agreed. "You'll have your wish, but should you fail in your challenging me, you will receive a less than satisfactory mark in this course. Am I making myself clear, Potter?"
"Crystal, sir. And if I win?" Harry asked immodestly.
"That won't be an issue, Potter, but just to humour you, I will consider any request within reason," Snape countered.
"By any means necessary, sir?" Harry inquired.
"This is a practical exercise, Potter, you may use anything save for your wand. You have precisely fifteen minutes to impress me. You will enter through that door when I give the go ahead. That should give me time to duplicate the scenario," Snape instructed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nearly ten minutes had passed and Snape had seen neither hide nor hair of Harry since his departure. This was unlike him to be so flippant about a challenge.
"Perhaps the boy has seen the error of his ways," Snape murmured.
And then from behind, without warning, Professor Snape felt a pair of invisible arms serpentine around his waist.
"I know what you're up to, Potter. It won't work," Snape replied triumphantly, his tone wintry.
Still, the presence behind him was silent. Normally, Snape would have put an end to Potter's shenanigans, but curiosity got the better of him, and he did nothing to stop the boy's attempting to make good on the bet. Their dislike of one another would not let things progress much further along. Pretending still to be absorbed in brewing, Snape continued to stir the miry concoction left behind by Harry.
Harry, however, had shelved his hatred for Snape and his right hand found its way further south.
Snape would never yield. His reluctance to admit defeat aside, to concede would only feed the boy's ego. And so he continued to stir much to Potter's dismay.
That same hand found its way just under Snape's waistband. Curiously, anger wasn't his initial reaction and Snape's sallow cheeks flushed a most distressing shade of crimson as long-neglected flesh leapt at the attention it suddenly found itself receiving.
Further still and Potter's fingers were ensnared in a mass of wiry curls, the fleshy tips of his fingers just grazing the base of Snape's shaft.
Relent? Snape mused. Never!
Try as he may, Snape could not fight the forces of nature and his cock sprung to life, snaking one-quarter of the way down his thigh. The ladle slipped an inch through slim, elegant fingers.
Mustn't lose, he silently disciplined himself.
The Hiss of the Lion, the trait the Sorting Hat so wilfully repudiated at Harry's insistence was surfacing. Harry's mercy was no mercy at all.
Lovingly, as if gripping his beloved Firebolt, Harry's fingers curled about Snape's shaft, lightly drumming the underside vein. Snape could feel the ladle slipping down his palm, but what he found most troubling was his enjoyment of Potter's touch. His supposed sexual naiveté was a farce. Potter had been down this road before.
Pumping Snape's cock methodically, Harry watched the older man tremble at his urging from underneath his invisibility cloak. Just when Snape tottered on the brink, Harry dug his nails into the pulsing veins to stifle the orgasm.
Faster now, Snape fucked Potter's hand, inclining his head forward at the invisible force, a curtain of sooty locks falling into his eyes. Rocking to and fro on the balls of his feet, Snape seemed to work against the grain of motion, wanting nothing more than to savour the sweetness of release. Briefly, Harry ached to give it to him and because there was no longer a reason not to - he did. The ladle had slipped entirely, splashing Snape's forehead.
"Yesssss..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sir?"
Snape awoke with a start, surprised to see Potter at his desk when -- shouldn't they both be standing? Or on the floor or - he stopped as the last tendrils of the dream giving way before reality and narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Were you never told not to sneak up on anyone?" he snapped, shaking off the false memories and wrapping what dignified menace he had left around himself.
"Well, sir, I..." Harry stumbled over his words.
"Your paper, Potter, give it to me."
Harry handed over his assignment reluctantly, fearing Snape's fury at his premature waking. Harry's eyes widened in disbelief at the grade given to him by Snape. Top marks? This simply couldn't be.
"But, sir, aren't you even going to look it over?" Harry asked, brows furrowed.
"Get out of my dungeons, Potter. OUT! OUT! OUT!"
Harry did not have to be asked twice. He met up with Ron Weasley at the top of the stairs.
"What's with Snape, Harry? The whole of Hogwarts could hear his shouting from down below," Ron asked, puzzled.
"No idea, mate," Harry shrugged, smiling at Ron.
Thinking about his grade, Harry mused that even the most fierce storms sometimes left rainbows in their wake.
Fin
Pairing: SS/HP
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry proposes a distraction wager.
Kinks: None
Disclaimer: Oh, so not mine. This market's been cornered.
A/N: My first and worst piece of ficcage written for the HP slash fandom. *cringe* Finally betaed.
Additional comments found here.
Like great rolling stormclouds, Snape loomed over Harry, ever foreboding. Harry likened his temperament to the weather forecast with never the mildness of a spring shower and always the harshness of a torrential downpour. This day, like every other, was growing overcast, Professor Severus Snape's ominous shadow on the dungeon wall.
"Potter!" he snapped, supervising over the boy's shoulder.
Standing over the simmering cauldron, Harry leapt from his skin. His tortoise shell glasses slipped the bridge of his nose, and in a last ditch effort to save them from certain death, his ladle fell victim to the steeping liquid.
"What have I told you about succumbing to distraction while brewing? A true potionscrafter is swayed not by swarms of doxies, by herds of hippogriffs, or by raging hormones. Do you require instruction by way of blackboard and pointer?"
"No, sir," Harry said. "It's just that I've been at this for hours. I need a break."
"Need a rest, do you? I'll have you know, Potter, that come every moon's waxing, I laboriously brew Lupin's bloody wolfsbane elixir without benefit of respite."
"With all due respect, sir, I'm not you," Harry remarked sarcastically.
Professor Snape's nostrils flared in agitation. "No, you most certainly are not, Potter. I would never ask such foolishness of my professor."
"Slave driver," Harry muttered contemptuously.
"Come again, Potter?" Snape demanded.
"You heard me, sir. You are not so perfect. Even you have an Achilles' heel," Harry bitterly declared. "I could distract you."
"Oh? Is that so, Potter? It isn't enough that Professor McGonagall has staked her reputation on asking that I accept you as a pupil in my NEWT-level Potions classes, but that you insult me and make a mockery of this institution with your brazen disregard of the rules begs for a slice of humble pie," Snape spat angrily. "And mark my words, Potter, when I'm through with you, you'll be asking seconds." Snape was practically foaming at the mouth. Harry was used to provoking this kind of response in his Potions Master.
"Very well," Snape agreed. "You'll have your wish, but should you fail in your challenging me, you will receive a less than satisfactory mark in this course. Am I making myself clear, Potter?"
"Crystal, sir. And if I win?" Harry asked immodestly.
"That won't be an issue, Potter, but just to humour you, I will consider any request within reason," Snape countered.
"By any means necessary, sir?" Harry inquired.
"This is a practical exercise, Potter, you may use anything save for your wand. You have precisely fifteen minutes to impress me. You will enter through that door when I give the go ahead. That should give me time to duplicate the scenario," Snape instructed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nearly ten minutes had passed and Snape had seen neither hide nor hair of Harry since his departure. This was unlike him to be so flippant about a challenge.
"Perhaps the boy has seen the error of his ways," Snape murmured.
And then from behind, without warning, Professor Snape felt a pair of invisible arms serpentine around his waist.
"I know what you're up to, Potter. It won't work," Snape replied triumphantly, his tone wintry.
Still, the presence behind him was silent. Normally, Snape would have put an end to Potter's shenanigans, but curiosity got the better of him, and he did nothing to stop the boy's attempting to make good on the bet. Their dislike of one another would not let things progress much further along. Pretending still to be absorbed in brewing, Snape continued to stir the miry concoction left behind by Harry.
Harry, however, had shelved his hatred for Snape and his right hand found its way further south.
Snape would never yield. His reluctance to admit defeat aside, to concede would only feed the boy's ego. And so he continued to stir much to Potter's dismay.
That same hand found its way just under Snape's waistband. Curiously, anger wasn't his initial reaction and Snape's sallow cheeks flushed a most distressing shade of crimson as long-neglected flesh leapt at the attention it suddenly found itself receiving.
Further still and Potter's fingers were ensnared in a mass of wiry curls, the fleshy tips of his fingers just grazing the base of Snape's shaft.
Relent? Snape mused. Never!
Try as he may, Snape could not fight the forces of nature and his cock sprung to life, snaking one-quarter of the way down his thigh. The ladle slipped an inch through slim, elegant fingers.
Mustn't lose, he silently disciplined himself.
The Hiss of the Lion, the trait the Sorting Hat so wilfully repudiated at Harry's insistence was surfacing. Harry's mercy was no mercy at all.
Lovingly, as if gripping his beloved Firebolt, Harry's fingers curled about Snape's shaft, lightly drumming the underside vein. Snape could feel the ladle slipping down his palm, but what he found most troubling was his enjoyment of Potter's touch. His supposed sexual naiveté was a farce. Potter had been down this road before.
Pumping Snape's cock methodically, Harry watched the older man tremble at his urging from underneath his invisibility cloak. Just when Snape tottered on the brink, Harry dug his nails into the pulsing veins to stifle the orgasm.
Faster now, Snape fucked Potter's hand, inclining his head forward at the invisible force, a curtain of sooty locks falling into his eyes. Rocking to and fro on the balls of his feet, Snape seemed to work against the grain of motion, wanting nothing more than to savour the sweetness of release. Briefly, Harry ached to give it to him and because there was no longer a reason not to - he did. The ladle had slipped entirely, splashing Snape's forehead.
"Yesssss..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sir?"
Snape awoke with a start, surprised to see Potter at his desk when -- shouldn't they both be standing? Or on the floor or - he stopped as the last tendrils of the dream giving way before reality and narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Were you never told not to sneak up on anyone?" he snapped, shaking off the false memories and wrapping what dignified menace he had left around himself.
"Well, sir, I..." Harry stumbled over his words.
"Your paper, Potter, give it to me."
Harry handed over his assignment reluctantly, fearing Snape's fury at his premature waking. Harry's eyes widened in disbelief at the grade given to him by Snape. Top marks? This simply couldn't be.
"But, sir, aren't you even going to look it over?" Harry asked, brows furrowed.
"Get out of my dungeons, Potter. OUT! OUT! OUT!"
Harry did not have to be asked twice. He met up with Ron Weasley at the top of the stairs.
"What's with Snape, Harry? The whole of Hogwarts could hear his shouting from down below," Ron asked, puzzled.
"No idea, mate," Harry shrugged, smiling at Ron.
Thinking about his grade, Harry mused that even the most fierce storms sometimes left rainbows in their wake.
Fin
