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"Potter." One glance, then cold dismissal. "What do you want?"

Several answers flashed through his head at once, and he went with the first one he thought wouldn't get him hexed right through the wall. "What does anyone want?" That drew the beetle-black eyes to him for a longer moment, and he couldn't resist offering a grin while he had their focus, "A little song, a little dance... Voldemort's head on a-"

"Dear Merlin, you cannot possibly be so puerile!" Snape curled his lip, teeth flashing in the firelight. Then he stopped, and made a show of reconsidering. "Then again-"

"When have I ever been anything but puerile?" Harry filled in, relishing the startled flicker in his teacher's gaze.

A moment's weighing silence, then, "What are you doing here, Potter?" The Potions Master asked, "Why are you nattering about in my workroom on a Saturday afternoon? I'm quite certain there must be a pick up game out on the Quidditch pitch, an illicit rampage of Hogsmeade planned, or a hundred other young men's delights in the offing...and... what in Merlin's name are you staring at?"

"What? Oh!" Harry flinched, blushed, and mentally kicked himself in the head. "You, er. That is, you have a smudge of soot on your face. Just by your lips on the right side."

Snape made no move to wipe away the non-existent smudge. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"

Harry sighed. This was it, no other way. Just get it out, and move on. Like pulling off a plaster in one quick go. He made himself look Snape in the eye, but allowed a deep, steadying breath before answering. "I'm making a fool of myself, Sir." The eyebrow went up, and Harry tumbled over himself to fill the gap before Snape could. "Because if I make a fool of myself now, where there's only you, then maybe it'll stop me making an even bigger idiot out of myself later on. When there's more at stake," he glanced up, suspecting he looked pathetic, but not knowing if that would help or hurt his cause, "See?"

Snape put down his glass stirring rod carefully. "No, Mr. Potter. I do not see. Perhaps you ought to take a deep breath and pretend you are not addressing your Divinations Professor, but rather your Potions Master, who has no inclination whatsoever to read your mind in order to make sense of you."

Harry shuddered, distracted by the horrific suggestion that he would ever need to say such things to Trelawney. Then he took the deep breath, and hoped the words would be there when he let it out. "I. That is. What I mean to say..." No use. He let that breath go, and tried for another. "All right, so it's like this; I've been..." No, not that way either. One more breath, this one really deep. Well, perhaps another really deep one after.

"Potter, do you intend to explain yourself, or to hyperventilate?"

That was it. He couldn't explain. Explaining was no good. There was no way to sum it up. A good, old-fashioned invasion of personal space ought to do it. Harry prepared himself to get hexed, and then he crossed the room in two strides, grabbed Severus Snape by the arms, and forcibly kissed him. Snape went rigid, as if Harry had slapped a Petrificus Totalis on him, and he made a noise in the back of his throat -- for a moment, Harry wondered if he'd possibly trodden on the man's foot in his rush. But then his hormones took over, reminding him that he was most likely going to be spending the rest of his life recovering from Snape's reaction once the kiss was over, and so he'd better make the most of those amazingly mobile lips while he had them under his own!

He tilted his face, pushed closer against Snape's chest, and kissed some more -- seducing enough softness out of the tight-pressed lips for him to nibble delicately, to probe with his tongue, for him to slip just the merest little bit inside when Snape's teeth parted. He wasn't going to kiss back, Harry knew that -- in fact, he was more likely to bite, but Harry couldn't resist his first, and possibly only taste of that vicious tongue in its home environment. Oh, God, he tastes like...like...wait, is he opening his mouth wider? Oh no, here comes the tirade...oh blast it all, I'm not finished with you yet!

Harry moaned, pressed closer and deepened the kiss. He knew it was reckless, knew that any moment Snape would send him flying. He also completely did not care. His cock was howling, trapped between his belly and his fly, his balls felt as though they had a direct conduit from his tongue, and every stroke against the inside of Snape's mouth was as good, or better than anything Harry had ever managed to make himself feel alone. And when that amazingly barbless tongue slithered up against his own, Harry was pretty sure he was about to come right then and there.

Wet. Hot. Firm. Wet. Dizzy. Slick. Dizzy? Oh. Breathe, Harry! But then the hands, which he didn't seem to be pinning down, so much anymore, as just clinging to, were up around his back. One pressed into the small of his waist while the other carded strong, nimble fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair. Harry whimpered, thrust his tongue deeper, and was caught completely off guard when those fingers curled mercilessly against his scalp and hauled his face away.

Not far away. An inch, maybe two. Close enough to make Snape's furious face out of focus through his glasses, close enough to still smell a bit of himself on the breath that streamed out of those whitened nostrils. Almost close enough to... Snape shook him.

"Ow," Harry muttered, surprised. Not at the pain, but that he hadn't been hexed senseless yet. It was coming, he knew -- first the cursing, then the Cursing, with probably even some hitting in there somewhere. As soon as Snape worked out where he was going to start. As soon as Snape quit staring fiercely and breathing fire through his nose. As soon as --

Then Snape kissed him. Harry stiffened with shock, but then melted into the man's arms, opening his lips and surrendering to the invasion without any pretense of refusal. His mind, however, was gobsmacked. What is he doing? He's kissing me back! He's not hexing me! Why isn't he beating the tar out of me? He's -- oh God, that's his cock pressing into my hip, isn't it? He's grabbing my arse. Can he do that? Oh God, I hope he can do that! Then, by the hair once more, Snape pulled them apart.

"You don't seem quite so sure of yourself suddenly, Mr. Potter," the cultured voice sent a shiver straight to Harry's balls, "Having second thoughts? Afraid you might have-" a minute thrust ground that impressive erection a little more firmly against Harry's own, "bitten off more than you can chew?"

Oh God I hope not! Harry managed to swallow and give his head a minute shake. "No Sir. Pretty certain I could chew it... If chewing's, you know, your thing." He tried not to notice how the idea made his cock throb with interest.

Snape's lips tried to give that familiar sneering smile, but having recently been kissed till they glowed, the effect was nothing like the same. "Done your research for once, Potter. Points for that." Harry gasped, staggered a little as the hand in his hair abruptly released. "Bed chamber is through there," he nodded at a door which clicked open as if in agreement.

Harry stared at it, feeling the blood that should have been fuelling a fierce blush running to his already straining cock. "Bed chamber?"

Snape gave his shoulder a nudge, "Unless you were hoping for a go on the desk, Mr. Potter."

Harry was pretty sure Boy Heroes weren't supposed to swoon, so he took a deep breath -- and a long look at the desk -- before shaking his head. "No. No, bed chamber's fine, really." He took a step, looked back over his shoulder. Snape had picked up his glass rod again. Wait, he's just going to go back to... Oh hell no! "So I'll just go on in then, shall I?" Harry managed not to sound waspish, but he wasn't sure how. His inner Slytherin was beginning to poke its head up and whisper that this situation had all the makings of a horribly humiliating experience if he let himself walk blindly into a trap. Harry's hormones reminded his inner Slytherin that the situation had been horribly humiliating for months now, and risking a little more would be worth the chance of getting into the Potion Master's robes.

"Of course. Bedside table, first drawer, blue phial."

"Wh. Excuse me?" Harry was suddenly certain he'd been dropped into a completely different universe.

But then Snape turned that fierce scowl on him again, and all was right. "Unless you've had the foresight to prepare yourself ahead of time, that's where you'll find what you need."

"Prepare mys -- oh. Oh!" Snape was looking at him. No, looking at him, in that way that made it plain that whatever Harry did next Snape would have known he was going to do it, and would enjoy gloating about his disaproval. Harry swallowed, heart thudding, and forced himself to remember the feelings that had brought him down here in the first place. "I, uh, hadn't," he admitted, staring pointedly at those long, stained fingers as they steered the rod through the viscous potion, "Rather thought you might, actually." Complete lie, that. He hadn't thought anything of the kind. He hadn't thought beyond getting his lips up against Snape's, and winding up in the hospital wing for his temerity. This was all improvisation now -- script in the fire, no brakes, go with God and damn the torpedoes.

Snape looked back down into his cauldron, made a moue of concentration, then shrugged, extinguished the fire, and dropped the glass rod right in. "Colour was off anyway," he answered Harry's open-mouthed stare, "I'll just give a Gryffindor or two detentions and have them clean it up. What?"

"But that's not fair!" Harry blurted out before he'd managed to think.

Snape all but laughed in his face. "And what about that surprises you, Potter?"

"I --" And then his outraged eye caught on the conspicuous tenting in the front of the Potions Master's black robes as the man stalked toward him, and he didn't much feel like arguing the point anymore. Still, for his House's sake, he gave it a try. "Well, that you'd admit it, I suppose."

"Oh come now, Potter, there is no need to be coy now -- not when you're here offering to trade a bit of your arse for an improved grade."

And that made Harry stop dead in his tracks. But wait! I'm not even in your -- That's not what I'm -- shut up, shut up, SHUT UP, you idiot! Don't say that! He'll kick you out on your arse! Snape, misunderstanding Harry's alarm, laughed again, and grabbed a handful of his behind to steer him toward the green-curtained bed. "But, you don't really --"

Snape laughed. "Oh come now, Potter, surely you don't imagine you're the first firm young creature whose shown up here begging academia's oldest tutoring tradition! There are plenty of NEWTs out there for which the P score stands not for 'passable', but for 'puts out well'! How on earth did you imagine Minister Fudge could hold a diploma otherwise?" Harry winced and wished Snape would quit dropping such off-putting names while steering him into the bed chamber. He was fairly sure the image of Minister Fudge shagging the Divinations Professor was going to be a feature in his nightmares for quite a long while to come.

"Now then, for what are we negotiating today, Potter? Your homework has been typically execrable, but not out of the common way, so I'll wager a guess this is about the Mid-Term examination your class took yesterday?"

Harry gulped, watching the clever, evil smirk dart in and out amongst the words as Snape spoke. I wonder if he bites...I'll bet he does. Teeth like that, he's got to be a... "Er. Mid-term?" Harry tried once he realized the man was staring at him and waiting for a response of some kind.

"You did show up to the test, didn't you, Potter?"

Oh. He nodded, blushing. Most of his friends didn't know Harry could blush on command, but he'd found it a useful trick. And it was really easy to do with Snape staring right at him, and the voices in the back of his head making all sorts of really interesting suggestions. How could someone so... well, so really ugly, turn Harry into a raging ball of hormones with just one eyebrow, anyway?

"Well then," Snape's laugh recaptured his attention, "This will be because you failed it, I suppose. On the bed with you then, if you're going to make this worth my time." And he gave Harry's arse a firm slap.

"Oi!" Harry stumbled.

"Ah, the delicate hypocrisy of Gryffindors! All honour and fair play, until you point out their cheating to them-"

"Sir?" Harry turned on his heel, and glared up into the man's overly smug face, "Shut up."

He'd been expecting that, apparently, because he smiled in that unpleasant way of his, and raised an eyebrow. "That sort of thing won't improve your grade much at all, I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, and what is more, I believe it will lose Gryffindor ten points for your cheek."

"Let me get this straight -- you're about to take me to bed, but you're still taking House Points from me?" Harry was getting angry now, and in the wake of the confusion, it felt really, really good. He leaned well into Snape's personal space, "You're about to unfasten all those buttons-" Harry's hands got started on that project, from the bottom up, "and take down those tight trousers-" very tight, actually -- thank GOD there weren't more buttons on the underpants, "and put this cock," that won a groan, didn't it? Harry dropped to his knees, "into this mouth," taking time for a long, meandering lick here, "and you're still taking House Points away?"

Snape looked down, hands on his hips, homely face almost unbearably smug, and he nodded.

"Give them back." Harry gave the cock in his hand another long lick, and a squeeze.

"Make me."

OH yes! Now that was a challenge Harry was up to! He had never been quite so glad of locker-room gossip before this, but as he ran his tongue around the purple head, inside the foreskin and under the ridge, Harry mentally thanked Angelina, Katie, Fred, George, and Oliver for taking such delight in trying to horrify their shy young seeker, and thereby telling all he needed to know to fake his way through his first blowjob. Not that instinct didn't seem to have a lot to do with it -- in fact, from his first smell of Snape's thick, purple cock, Harry had been almost desperate to get it into his mouth. It slid along his tongue, nudged fiercely against his throat, making him gag, then press deeper despite it.

"Balls..." Snape wheezed, winding both hands in Harry's hair, "take them in hand."

"Give...give the points back." Harry pulled away just long enough to insist. Then he pressed with his tongue along the underside of Snape's cock, nudging deeply at the hollow just under the head, and drinking in the rather desperate sound that dragged out. Snape thrust fiercely into his mouth, but froze when Harry reached further into his opened trousers and lifted out his heavy sac, weighing it in one hand. Holding a Snitch is never going to feel the same after this! Harry mused, rolling the orbs in their loose skin, and slurping down heavily at the same time, Wonder if flying with a hard-on hurts.

But then the sac in his right hand wasn't so loose anymore. It was drawing up, tight and hard, and Snape was making a high, thin whine in the back of his throat, and the smell of him was suddenly sharper, and -- Harry pulled away, looked up with a grin. "Give them back."

Snape, his face stained high and fiercely red across the cheeks, looked like he was ready to curse Harry to death where he knelt. His hands fisted in Harry's hair, but Harry gave Snape's balls a warning squeeze. Good job his wand's in the other room! Harry thought, stretching his tongue suggestively toward the straining member. The hands lifted away from his head, trembling with the effort (Harry imagined) of not boxing his ears, and then they retreated to Snape's hips. "Not until you earn them."

Didn't Oliver say something about... Harry gave the head a wet swipe of the tongue, gathering up and spreading the pearl of precome oozing from the tip. Then he pulled back to blow across the moistened flesh, and gave the balls another roll against his palm. "Give them back, and I'll make it worth your while." He slid his fingers farther back, gambling on something Fred (he thought it had been Fred) once mentioned, and yes -- there was a bump back there, and yes, Snape's eyes did sort of roll back into his head when Harry pressed it. The cockhead bumped his nose, jostled his glasses as Snape thrust helplessly, and Harry leaned back with a grin. Must remember to send the team thank you notes. And chocolate Frogs. And money! "Best hurry up, Sir," Harry said, tightening his left fist around the cockshaft, and pressing two fingers into the fleshy lump hidden behind the balls, "Not sure how much longer you're going to last."

"T...TwentypointstoGryffindornowgetitinyourmouthyouAAAAAHHMERLINYES!"

He had a moment of panic as the cock seemed to come alive in his mouth, and just a bit more when the first blast hit the back of his throat, but then instinct saved Harry again, and he stroked deep, swallowing, and sucking and tonguing softly while he milked the balls with his right hand. A part of him was fascinated with the taste haunting the back of his throat (a little like mushrooms, or champagne, only really completely not fizzy, and not really all that champagne-like when he thought about it, but interesting nonetheless,) fascinated with the spongy texture of the cock as it slowly wilted like a melting toffee against his tongue, with the bellows-heaving of Snape's breath above him. A part of Harry could have stayed there on his knees for a week, just to keep on exploring. But that part was overruled by the part of Harry that was trapped between his belly and his fly buttons -- THAT part of Harry was nothing but outraged at its perceived neglect, and was demanding its comeuppance at once, if not sooner.

Maybe he won't notice if I just use one hand... Harry thought, releasing Snape's balls, which still quivered occasionally, and gripping his fly-tab. The first button came loose with a typical lurch, and Snape's hand came down on Harry's head, stopping him cold.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Mr. Potter?"

Harry cringed, and pulled away to answer, "Cleaning you up, sir?" He gave a hopeful lick.

Snape smirked, and tucked himself back into his trousers. "Abusing yourself without my permission will only lose you more House points, Potter."

Boy Heroes did not whimper either -- Harry was damn sure of that. He was also, however, just about to go blind from lust, and felt certain that if he didn't come soon, the Cruciatus curse would no longer set the bar for his definition of the word 'torment'. He managed not to rip his fly open, but couldn't quite take his hand out of the danger zone while he watched the Potions Master swirl across the room and plop himself into an arm chair. God I hope I don't look too pathetic. But as Snape fixed him with that predatory smile -- the one which always made his knees wobble, and his tongue go all thick and stupid -- pathetic began to not seem so bad.

"However, I believe you'll find that abusing yourself at my direction will yield a far more satisfactory result." Snape crossed his knees and laced his fingers, "You'll also find the bed more comfortable... And those ridiculous Muggle clothes unnecessary."

And with that, Harry learned that his testicles had their own inner voices, could sing, and knew the tenor part to the Hallelujah Chorus.

And over the following half hour, Harry also learned that while Snape was irascible, evil-tempered, and arbitrary when it came to teaching potions, he was no less exacting in directing a good, drawn-out, mind-blowing wank. Every detail had to be just so, from the amount of oil in the palm, to the speed of the strokes, to the position and pressure of the thumb along the underside ridge, and how often it was allowed to sweep over the scarlet head, and smear the thready precome about. Even --

"Fingers, Potter. The other hand, beginning with one."

"Sir?" Harry stopped, listening through his own panting breath as the inner choir enthusiastically seconded the suggestion -- was that a baritone he heard?

"Use the oil. I want to see how many you can take."

Oh, definitely a baritone. Maybe a bass or two as well from the way his balls were vibrating as he reached behind them! And thus Harry, far more motivated than he'd ever been in Potions class, found himself stirred, strained, and brought to a rolling boil while his colours changed. He was never allowed to explode, however close to it he thought he was getting, and before long, he discovered that his inner voices seemed to have quite a range on them. By three fingers, he'd found the alto section and the mezzos, and when Snape finally instructed him to hook his fingers upward, and squeeze himself hard...well there was the soprano solo.

Oh wait. That had been his outside voice, hadn't it? Harry, boneless, panting and spattered, managed to crack an eyelid open as Snape began a particularly sarcastic round of applause. Thank you, thank you. Be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitress... Harry couldn't help but grin as Snape threw him a rag and stalked out of the room.

 

Mr. Potter," Snape looked up from a new cauldron when Harry came out of the bed chamber once more, shoes in hand, and robe over his arm. "Much as it would amuse me to find you making such an overture to me again the next time you fail a mid-term exam, I feel I ought to inform you that your efforts here today have really been all for naught."

Harry froze in the act of pulling on his socks. Here it came -- the moment of truth, after which there would, most likely, be hexing.

Snape read the tension in his shoulders, and his voice went even silkier with pleasure. "My Teaching Assistant reports all test scores directly to the Headmaster, and not through me. Frankly, Potter, I do not even bother to look at the test scores after they've been posted. Therefore, whatever grievous error in practicum you'd hoped to correct by throwing your firm young arse at me, I'm afraid it will go unallayed by my hand." Harry finished tying his trainers, and stood upright to shrug on his robes, carefully keeping his back to Snape, because he just knew he wouldn't be able to control his face. " However it's just now half three," Snape went on, clearly delighted at Harry's silence, "Perhaps if you hurry, you'll just have time to fling yourself at Mr. Malfoy before he turns in his test marks to the Headmaster."

Harry tried. He really did, but he could only make it as far as the door before his willpower completely failed. Perhaps it was that he'd expected a hexing from the start, or perhaps it was nothing more than his poor, affronted Gryffindor sensibilities wanting to stick up for themselves, or more likely still, a chance to wipe a bit of that smug off Snape's ugly face. Whatever the reason, Harry turned on the threshold, and didn't bother to hide the huge, well-satisfied grin that had been haunting his face since he'd walked out of the bedroom. "That's alright, Professor," he said as Snape's eyes instantly went hard and suspicious, "I don't think I'll bother Malfoy. You see, I aced that mid term anyway. Doing quite well in the class too," he leaned in, conspiratorially, "I think your Teaching Assistant's sweet on me, actually."

Then, because there was only so much Gryffindor bravery he could manage to be with the taste of Snape's come in the back of his throat, and the man's black eyes furiously and accurately adding two and two, Harry closed the door and ran for the upper levels. He was going to pay for that. Oh, how he was going to pay, but at least he would always have the memory to cherish -- the taste of his mouth, the smell of his balls, the feel of his voice and the wonderful things it had urged him to do... Oh, and of course, the far-off bang of the potions classroom door flying off its hinges, and Snape's enraged bellow echoing up the stairs.

"POTTER!"