
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11076429.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Slash, snarody, Dirty_Thoughts
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_Epic_of_Porn
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-02 Words: 1275
****** All I Wanted Was a Lousy Glass of Water ******
by abstractconcept
Summary
     Harry can’t get Snape out of his head.
Notes
     BETAS: Much thanks to the Sharp Shaldana, and the Jaunty
     just_juxtaposed for their fabulous assistance!
     NOTES: A follow-up to ‘I Need. . ." as my Master good friend
     requested. But didn’t order. Lieutenant’s offering to her Dark Lords
     Masters Commanders, Stellahobbit and Loupgarou1750. I’m sorry Loup is
     having such a hard time of it. Er. Yeah. So anyway, this is the segue
     of two other dirty stories, the next of which I hope to have done in
     a day or so. In conclusion: EVERYONE on their knees! (Part of 'The
     Epic of Porn' series written way back in 2004)
     And posted here and now for Kaladina. :)
     Also, I fully intended to post this out of order (I mean, set the
     real publication date) but I can't figure out when I originally
     posted it and I'm in a hurry to get home.
            Harry lay awake in his bed, curtains drawn, Silencing Charm up—just
in case, really. Because he wasn’t going to do anything. It wasn’t like he was
making any noise. He was just lying in bed…thinking. About doing things. Filthy
things…sexual things…incredibly arousing things. Damn it. All I wanted was a
lousy glass of water, and I walk away with the worst hard-on I’ve ever had.
             It was Snape’s fault, really. Harry hadn’t done anything wrong.
All he’d done was stand there. All he’d done was get splashed by a little of
Neville’s potion. He hadn’t done it on purpose. All he’d done was get thirsty
and try to ask for a glass of water. He couldn’t help it if the man took two
measly words and leapt to the wrong conclusion. Harry shuddered, acutely aware
of how the blankets were trapping the heat against his skin. You need to be
unclothed, naked, glorying in the flush of your skin being brushed by the cool
dungeon air? He was acutely aware of how the sheets were twisted round him,
irritatingly restrictive, damp with his sweat, and tightening around his body
every time he moved. You need to be touched…? He was acutely aware of how his
underwear felt, as his erection strained to be free of its confines, pressed
urgently against the cotton fabric. To have my skin ghost across the hard
flatness of your muscles, caress the delicate sensitive spots, press forcefully
against the ache, the want, the need?Harry swallowed. How I’d love to straddle
one of those lean, hard thighs right now, to have those hands capture my own
and pin them above my head, to have those avid eyes taking in my every
movement, and…
             “Ooohhh.” Harry rolled over, pulling a pillow down over his head.
This was not fair. He was not supposed to be here, awake in the middle of the
night, thinking of sex, imagining Snape. He was not supposed to be wondering
what the man wore under his robes, if anything, and what he looked like without
any robes at all. He wasn’t supposed to be picturing those long, elegant
fingers sliding up and down his body, up and down his cock, until he was
writhing and undulating and slick with sweat, and begging for more. He was not.
Supposed. To be thinking this way. He should have Snape fired.
             He could. Harry could go to Dumbledore, explain what happened, and
watch the Potions Master pack his bags, leave in disgrace, and never be seen
again. It had been one of Harry’s favourite fantasies for a couple of years,
now. But did he still want that? Harry didn’t really think he did. Actually,
those fantasies had quite suddenly and unexpectedly turned to rather different
ones—of sinful words slipping from a sharp tongue in a deep voice, of eyes that
flashed with something quite different than hatred, of intrusive fingers
slipping into sensual places Harry’d never even much considered in that light
before.
             Taking deep breaths, Harry used his willpower to keep his hands
away from his erection. He was notgoing to wank off to images of Snape. That
would be….wrong. Don’t you think he’s wanking off to images of you? A voice in
his head suggested, and Harry froze, wide eyed. Snape hadlooked at him earlier
as though he’d like to…devour him. Dear God. Poor choice of phrase. How could
he keep his hands away from himself when he insisted on thinking thoughts like
that?
             Did Snape think of Harry that way? Couldhe? Even though he hated
Harry, and Harry hated him? Was pretty sure he hated him. Perhaps not as much
as he had this morning, but still. Harry remembered the way the man’s eyes
raked over his body, and how it felt as though fingernails had followed the
same path, making Harry shiver with anticipation.
             One of Harry’s hands had slid down, and was now cupping his balls.
When he realized what he was doing, he jerked the offending hand away. What was
he doing? He couldn’t masturbate and think of Snape! God, he couldn’t even
imagine how angry the man would be if he found out. Especially because you were
cruel enough to do it when he couldn’t watch, the little voice in the back of
Harry’s head piped up, and he flinched. Not true, he protested to himself.
Snape wouldn’t want that. He’d be angry. He’d think it was dirty. He’d punish
me, and—His hand slipped down again, rubbing his length through his underwear.
Harry could hear Snape’s voice as clearly as though the man had his lips next
to his ear. You need what, Harry? To be turned over my desk and taught a lesson
you’ll not soon forget? Do you wish me to spank you, to hurt you, to punish you
for every perceived imperfection? Why hadn’t he answered back? Why hadn’t he
told Snape to go to hell? Why hadn’t he told Snape what a pervert the man was?
Why hadn’t he told Snape, Oh God, yes please, take me and spank me and touch me
and run those lovely fingers through my hair, and shove my head down over your
cock and make me take and take and take…
             Whimpering, Harry sat up in bed. He was so hard that it ached.What
was he going to do? All he could think about was Professor Snape—with his dark
voice and dark eyes and dark intentions. Harry shuddered, not unpleasantly.
Snape wantedhim. He was sureof it. Harry couldn’t get the memory of that
afternoon out of his head. The man had stood near him—close, so close—running a
finger down Harry’s body—from the pulse in his throat to the throb of his
groin—had whispered lustful, hungrywords—words like embrace and heatand wet—and
his eyes had burned with need.
             Was he burning still, Harry wondered? Was he aflame with need? Was
he in his own bed, right now, running cool fingers over the hot surface of his
cock? Were his hips lifting in passionate rhythm, wanting to get closer to that
imagined heat that lay floors and floors above? Did sweat trickle down his thin
chest, which rose and fell with each pant that escaped those thin lips? Was
that rich, musical voice, right now, groaning, “Harry,” in a way it’d never
been said before?
             Harry threw back his covers and slipped out of bed. He couldn’t
take this anymore. He was going mad. And how darethe man be doing that—jacking
off without Harry? He wasn’t going to stand for it. Snape thought he could
stand there, and fill Harry’s ears with gorgeous dirty smut, and get him all
hard and desperate, and then send him on to his next class as if nothing had
happened? Unacceptable. Harry had had enough. Slipping on his invisibility
cloak, he grabbed his glasses and plunked them on his nose, ready to head for
the dungeons. He was going to teach Snape a lesson, for once. He fumbled for
his wand, his head still filled with echoes of the man’s purring voice. Do you
need me to ride you—hard—taking what I need and thereby giving you the same?
You need to hear my voice, whispering filthy, wanton words into your virgin
ears, while my cock thrusts and drives and fills your equally virgin arse?
Harry squeezed the base of his cock, trying to calm himself down. By God, he’d
show Snape! He was going straight downstairs to demand what was rightfully his!
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