
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1182705.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy/Harry
      Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Draco_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Dark, Dom/sub, Blow_Jobs, Orgasm_Delay/Denial, Ownership
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-13 Words: 2096
****** Half-Birthday ******
by Ladycat
Summary
     "I think," Snape murmurs, low enough that even Hermione next to him
     can't hear, "that it's time we brought a play thing into our games.
     Look at the way Draco's looking at us."
Snape's sneer was a work of art. A perfected masterpiece that lesser artists
could never hope to match, the standard for which all great works would later
be judged by.
Harry stared at it with grumpy dismay. A sneer shouldn't get him hot.
"Harry, stop squirming," Hermione says from the corner of her mouth. She's
gotten very good at moving just the edges of her lips, a skill only Snape can
really match and oh, bugger, that is not what he needs to be thinking about
right now. Really not at all.
From the front of the room, Snape stabs a poisonous glance their way but says
nothing. Everyone is disconcerted by the, right down to Draco who casts a
malicious-free look back towards Harry. Now is usually the time when Snape
sweeps through to find something wrong with Harry's potion, insult him until
Harry gets so furious he wrecks something or stomps out of the room.
It's the daily entertainment.
Except Snape is hovering like a giant, glowering bat over Lavender's shoulder
and Harry is neither furious nor stomping nor breaking something.
He's hard, is what he is, and trying desperately to will it away.
"Harry!"
"'M fine," he hisses back.
"Look, if you have to, um." Hermione turns a dull, ugly shade of red and
glances towards the back corner of the lab, where the toiler resides. "You know
it'll be worse if you, um, hold it."
No, Harry doesn't know that, he thinks, staring at her oddly. She flushes even
more redly and ducks her head to stare at her bubbling cauldron. Harry wants to
ask her just what that is supposed to mean, but Snape is suddenly there,
hovering over them until Harry can catch the faintly spicy scent that's
normally hidden underneath the reek of the potion's room, and asking anybody
anything is completely out of the question. All Harry can do is sit there,
paralyzed with his cock throbbing and his mouth dry, because Snape is right
there, so close, and so adult, leaning over him with that perfect, perfect
sneer pulling at perfect, pink lips...
"I think," Snape murmurs, low enough that even Hermione next to him can't hear,
"that it's time we brought a play thing into our games. Look at the way Draco's
looking at us."
Harry looks and can feel himself going white. Draco looks like Draco: sullen,
and angry, with a white, pointy face that is so full of envy and want and
frustrated heat that it looks almost like constipation.
Harry's seen this expression a lot.
"Nng," he says, articulate as always.
Snape doesn't chuckle, but his eyes crinkle even as his mouth sneers more
fiercely. Harry spends the rest of the class staying rigidly still, getting
absolutely nothing done -- Hermione assumes it's terror and quietly does his
work for him -- until finally, finally Snape dismisses class.
"Not you, Potter. You stay."
Harry swallows back a whimper.
He still doesn't know what's happening. It's been months, now, and he's certain
that Snape still hates him, that he still hates Snape! But too many Occlumency
lessons left him panting and groaning on his knees before Snape, and finally
the two of them had just snapped. Harry can remember the blunt, heavy feel of a
cock down his throat, Snape murmuring that this would make it better, like
chocolate after Dementors, take it, stay down there where you belong...
No clue, really. Harry is no idea.
But he likes it.
Finally, Snape locks the door and turns back to Harry, still vibrating with his
urgency to stay still, and Draco who is smirking as he leans against the desk.
He thinks he's there to witness some sort of detention while he's praised and
petted, as usual.
Harry's palms itch. He wants to pet Draco, too. Along the neck, over naked
shoulders while that pale white body shivers in the cold dungeon air, bent over
and --
"Harry has done very excellently these past few weeks," Snape says. Draco
rounds on him, mouth wide open, so shocked he can't even squeak: not what he
was expecting to hear, obviously. Snape ignores that, sidling up to Harry so he
can brush his palm between Harry's legs, looking down at him -- sneering,
always sneering -- fondly. "Oh, he has. He's become quite good at occulmency.
Even his potions are improving under my... expert tutelage."
Draco's eyes are grey as slate, bugging out as he watches Snape push back
Harry's robe and spell open the jeans below. "Professor -- what -- "
"You've been petitioning me to provide extra-circular services," and Snape
should sell his voice to the sex-numbers Harry vaguely remembers from the
muggle world, because he could come right then. If Snape says it's okay... "You
believe it will afford you protection and I can, of course, do that. If it's
known that you're my pet, the Dark Lord will not try to make you into his own."
Harry's too lost from the sensation of Snape's fingers delicately tracing over
his cock to really understand what's being said. He does see Draco go so pale
he looks bloodless, like a ghost, swaying lightly as he contemplates something
terrifying.
Harry basically ignores him, though. He already knows what terror is, and he's
no room for it when Snape is driving him mad with wanting, flicking a nail over
the head of his cock. "Sna - " he breathes. "Snnnn."
"Sh, Harry. Draco, are you listening? Good. I want you to go kneel down where
you are. Yes, just like that. Good. Are you certain you want to do this?" Snape
sounds coldly clinical, dismissive, but Harry can hear the worry in his voice.
It makes him want to push free, back to where his mind doesn't float and twist
so merrily, but Snape is petting him, settling him, and it's so hard to do
anything but sit there and be played with and trust Snape.
He does trust Snape, now. Really.
Harry makes a rasping noise when Draco settles onto his knees, big eyes locked
on Snape. Harry thinks that's proper, too, but then his mind goes utterly blank
because Snape is telling him to, "Get up, and go lean on the desk behind
Draco," and Harry is a fifteen year old boy. He is thinking things.
Snape laughs as Harry fumbles into position. Walking is a challenge, but Draco
-- Draco helps, surprisingly. He keeps his eyes on the floor but he steadies
Harry when he misses the desk the first time, tugging his denims down so his
arse is exposed -- oh, that is nice, Harry thinks with a soft moan -- making
sure his palms are steady before he looks up and.
And licks his lips.
"I want to," he says in a tiny voice. "I. I do."
"Of course you do," Snape sneers. "You've wanted to since you first met him on
the train and didn't know what it was you were feeling. You Malfoys are always
the same. Your father just hides it better."
Harry has no idea what's going on, and he clings to his trust of Snape because
if this is a trap, a trick, something to make him --
But Snape comes up behind him, warm hands soothing and familiar as they slide
over his stomach to cup him there, steadying him. "Breathe, Harry. We aren't
threatening you, just having a conversation no Gryffyndor could ever
understand."
Harry shivers, because oh, the disdain there...
"Have you done this before?"
Almost, Harry says of course we've done this before, what are you talking
about? But for all Snape is touching Harry, he's looking at Draco, who flushes.
The pink looks very fetching. "A few times."
"And the rest?"
"Th-that too."
"Good. I'll want to try you out, of course, but more importantly, Harry is a
young, growing boy and he'll need his outlets. Now, then. Harry," he says, a
little loudly to reclaim Harry's attention. "Do you remember the spells I
taught you?"
Yes, Harry does. He mutters the words, not quite loud enough for a whisper, and
feels his body go slick and lax, his cock throbbing with anticipation. It's a
little awkward, standing like this over Draco, and Harry should probably be
ashamed since it's clear what he and Snape are about to do.
But he doesn't feel shame. He feels hot, eager and seconds from begging for it.
Oddly, Draco looks the same way.
"Good." Snape squeezes Harry's abs, then lets his hands slide south, lifting
Harry's cock -- Harry whines -- and aims it towards parted pink lips. "Now,
then, Draco. Here's your first audition. Don't let him come until I do."
Harry gaps, finally understanding what's going on -- but as a hot, eager mouth
slides over him, Snape's thick, familiar cock is sliding inside of him, and the
overload of sensation drives him wild. He's sweating already, pricks of heat
that cool his sides while Spike takes him at his normal, steady pace, fucking
him until Harry feels like he'll explode from it, blow off just like a volcano
that doesn't know it is one, and --
And if he does, Draco will be there to moan and swallow it.
Eyes suddenly clear, Harry looks down. Draco is clearly good at this, licking
tongues of fire up Harry's length and sucking on the tip with an expression
that can only be called blissful. "You -- you said a pet?" Harry asks, jerking
between thrusts. Each one is making his dick push deeper into Draco's mouth,
too, which Draco doesn't seem to object to.
"Yours, of course. I'll have him too, but he'll primarily be yours and if,"
nice, hard thrust, "you can prove you have discretion, you'll be allowed to
take him whenever you like."
Harry groans and starts meeting Snape's thrusts, buttocks shaking as his
muscles flex, and if that drives his cock even harder into Draco's mouth, well,
Draco just looks more blissful. "He's mine?"
Snape is sucking on the mark that's permanently on Harry's shoulder, lately,
the one everyone else thinks means a girlfriend and makes Cho and, bizarrely,
Ginny look sad. He bites there, sometimes, and when Harry's forehead hurts, his
shoulder throbs in comforting relief.
Tentative fingers run around the base of Harry's cock, tightening inexorably.
Draco flushes under the look Harry gives him and pulls off enough to say,
"Didn't want you to come first," then hurries back to suck apologies along the
vein.
"That's good," Harry says, the words coming with like Snape's, with that silken
threat underneath and Draco shivers, his own cock very obvious in the front of
his robes. "Can -- Snape, can he be naked?"
"I think that's appropriate. Draco, strip."
And off comes Draco's robes, the boy as whitely pale as Harry had guessed. He
goes back to his kneeling position without a word, sucking sloppy and sweet as
Snape fucks Harry harder, the two of them moaning and biting off curse words
because it feels so good, what Snape does, and now he's got a mouth hot on his
cock and it's his, Harry's, when Harry's never really had anything and the
moment Snape comes with a guttural, choking moan, Draco surges forward so all
of Harry's cock is in his throat, and he swallows, or tightens or something and
Harry is coming so hard he sees stars flying all around him, the only light in
darkness.
Snape conjures soft cushions, tugging Harry down against him so they can
breathe and laze the way they always do afer a fuck. It's one of Harry's
favorite things.
"Did you like your half-birthday gift?"
Is that what this was? Harry smiles, because he cannot sneer, and leans back so
his head is tucked under Snape's chin. Snape gives off heat like a fire, arms
comfortable around him. "Mm. He's lovely, thank you."
Snape kisses his temple, then turns that perfect, perfect sneer on Draco.
"Pleasure yourself. Let Harry see what kind of gift I've given him."
Draco turns a dull red, but he kneels on the hard stone floor and spreads his
legs, tugging on his equally dull red cock. He's trying not to be loud,
swallowing the moans that says he's enjoying this a lot, and Harry cannot
sneer, but he can mock. "Don't be quiet, Draco. I want to hear you enjoying
your performance."
So Draco moans, a low, aching sound that travels up Harry's cock and pulls on
himself even harder.
"A very good present," Harry judges, and when Draco comes, he strokes his fine,
white hair like like a dog's. "Can I fuck him, too?"
"Later, Harry. Later."
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