
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11075397.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      dirtybadwrong, Humor, snarody, Dirty_Talk, lust_potion, Ficlet
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Epic_of_Porn
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-10-17 Words: 1396
****** I Need ******
by abstractconcept
Summary
     Harry is splashed by an ill-concocted potion, and Snape...rises to
     the occasion.
Notes
     BETAS: The Super ShadowPhoenix, the Gutsy Gemsbok
     Written for my commanders, stellahobbit and loupgarou1750 by their
     faithful Lieutenant, to show that I am, indeed, keeping my hand in
     the Snarry pot.
Potter stood before me, his eyes glassy, his face feverish. He licked his lips
once, twice, again, until they were rosy and slick. “I need…”
 I stared. Longbottom had managed to surpass himself today, detonating a
potion, which—under anycircumstances—should not have been possible to explode.
He’d added three handfuls—that’s handfuls—of Love’s Lust to the brew, when
three pinches are advised on the board—capitalized, underlined, and circled for
good measure. I watched the entire thing unfold. Of course I didn’t stop him! I
am a firm advocate of learning from one’s mistakes. Mister Longbottom makes a
great many; I am certain that, considering the sheer volume, he must one day
learn something. Today was not that day.
I could have screamed. I could have cursed. I could have called the Headmaster.
Instead, I merely gave him two months of detention and threw the class out on
their collective arse. That’s when I noticed that Potter had stayed behind.
That’s when I noticed Potter was covered in translucent drops of Mister
Longbottom’s potion. That’s when I noticed that Potter was right before
me…licking his lips—the fool.
He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and tried again. “I need…” he trailed
off once more.
We’d been making a Fealty Draught, which really hardly needs Love’s Lust at
all, but the stewed slugs require a small amount to bind the…but that’s beside
the point. Love’s Lust is strictly regulated, because it is so easily abused.
Mixed with the right amount of dragon’s scales, it creates a
powerfulaphrodisiac. I observed Potter closely.
Rapid breathing, dilated pupils, flushed skin—all symptoms of many,
manypotions. Was he experiencing euphoria? Sudden warmth, prickling skin,
painful arousal? I stared into the depths of those green eyes, and saw the
desperation and hunger written there.
One hand trailed slowly up his body to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple.
Lovely, I thought despite myself. He tugged on the fastening of his cloak,
sending it tumbling loose to gather in folds around his feet. His eyes were
pleading. “I need…”
Oh, but yes. One does need, if one is hit with an overdose of Love’s Lust. It
is foolish to say that climax must be reached with the aid of another, though,
as many seducers try to convince their partners. No, anything of that nature is
more or less unnecessary—more or less. More, because it does not matter how
orgasm is achieved, merely that it is. Sometimes several times, before the
potion that has been absorbed by the skin can be ejected via the semen. Less,
though, because the potion renders the taker even more of a fumbling idiot
than…well. Than Potter would be, I suppose. It is difficult to concentrate, and
the desire running through the body is quite heady. I have also heard that the
potion causes difficulty with neurons and receptors and whatnot, although
studies have not firmly proven this.
He leaned forward, lips trembling ever such a little. Oh yes, I thought. He
needs.
And I reach an unexpected realization; that so do I.
 “You need, Mister Potter? You need what, exactly? Do you have any idea what
potion it is that rests upon your skin like dew, sliding down to bead on your
upper lip, even as we speak?”
His eyes widened, and he shook his dark head just a little.
 “When Love’s Lust is mixed with dragon’s scales, Mister Potter, you get…?”
Even in yearning, one should learn something.
But the youth merely swallowed hard, causing odd things to happen to my own
body. Damn the boy to the nethermost regions of hell. On the other hand, it
might be well to have company on the journey…
“You get one of the five most powerful lust potions known to man. First, you
feel hot. Not just on your skin. No, the potion seems to pool low in your
abdomen, bringing with it every erotic thought you ever had. All there. All
concentrated…” Here I ran a finger down the youth’s skin, giving in to the
temptation to lay my fingertip against that milky throat, following a line
down, down, slowly to his groin. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and I
cannot help if one corner of my mouth was pulled up at the sight. “Right.
There,” I whispered. “And then you need.”
“You need?” I prompted, and he could not speak. He nodded. “You need what,
Mister Potter? You need to be unclothed, naked, glorying in the flush of your
skin being brushed by the cool dungeon air?
 “You need what? You need to be touched, to have my fingers trace every elegant
line of your body? 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…?” I let my words, my dark voice wrap around him like
silk, and the student shivered.
 “You need what, Harry? You need to be taken? To be turned over my desk and
taught a lesson you’ll not soon forget? You need to be stripped of your title
and pretensions and insecurities, and allowed to become just this—just raw and
desperate desire? Do you wish me to spank you, to hurt you, to punishyou for
every perceived imperfection?
 “You need…what? To be fucked softly and slowly? Loved and gathered into the
arms of another? To be kissed as though you are worth a thousand deaths? To
find redemption in embrace and heatand wet? To moan and writhe and squirm
beneath my heavy, solid weight?
 “Or do you need to be thrown down on your hands and knees? 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? Hmm, Mister Potter?
Is that what you need?”
 He stared at me forever, it seemed, his glasses steamed and still decorated by
droplets of the clear potion. His mouth was open wide, and it took him some
time to realize that one of its uses is for making words. Even then, it seemed
he could not recall how to make it work. It opened and shut several times.
 “You. Need?”
 He squeaked, swallowed, shook his head.
 “Harry!” Granger’s voice was at the door, and her head popped in. “You’ll be
late for Charms if you don’t hurry!” With a weak smile and a nod, he waved her
away.
 He turned his round eyes back to me. “I—I need. I—need.” He gestured to the
student’s desk to his side, where Longbottom’s disaster is left as it was, and
still waiting to be cleaned. On it sat an unopened jar of dragon’s scales. “I
don’t think he got that far,” Potter told me somewhat breathlessly. He seemed
to choke a bit, then added, “I—I just wanted—I was going to say—I.”
 I shut my eyes.
 “I need a glass of water.”
 I was silent a long moment before opening my eyes. “Then get yourself one and
get out,” I snarled, and he raced to do so. He gulped down the water so that it
spilled over his chin, down that throat I so recently touched.
 Then he grabbed his pack and ran for the door. He paused there, looking back
at me, as though he was deliberating whether to say something. I put on a
fierce expression, and gave him my blackest look, and he gasped, turned,
scurried away.
 I wandered back to my storeroom, and gathered the ingredients necessary for
absinthe, in order to muster the fortitude required to face the next class. And
fuck the headmaster if he wishes to complain about it,I thought to myself with
ire, as I stomped back to my desk and sank, humiliated, into my seat. Sipping
my concoction slowly, I thought of Potter’s wide eyes, rapid breath, and
steamed glasses. Stupid creature. I gingerly adjusted myself in my seat,
wishing I’d chosen to wear less restrictive undergarments. Damn Potter! I
glared at my lap, telling myself that I would completely forget him.
Infuriating brat that he is. He has no consideration for other people’s needs.
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