
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8035297.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Romance
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-22 Words: 6124
****** School Work ******
by Minx [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     Challenge response: Harry writes something inappropriately sexual in
     his Potions work, since he doesn’t think Snape reads it.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
School Work




  School Work
  "I don't know, Seamus," Ron said doubtfully. They were in the library
  beavering away at their Potions essays. Right, perhaps not beavering. More
  like squabbling over the latest issue of Quidditch Monthly and occasionally
  giving their scrolls exasperated looks.
  "I'm telling you, he doesn't read them!" Seamus leaned over the table to
  whisper when Madam Pince glared at him. Next to Snape, she had the most
  frightening glare at Hogwarts. Of any human, that was. "There are never any
  marks on them, unless you count those rings where he puts down his coffee
  mug."
  "Or the giant red slashes crossing out entire paragraphs," contributed Harry.
  "Right, and those are random, aren't they? So we could just write anything we
  like. Hell, I'm going to do it." Seamus stared at his scroll. "A limerick!"
  "That's appropriate," murmured Ron.
  "I heard that. It's not all leprechauns and four-leaf clovers, you dolts.
  Right, now. There was a man named Snape--There was a greasy bastard named
  Snape--"
  "Seamus!" Ron was shocked. "Are you writing that?"
  "Watch it, Ron, you're sounding like Percy."
  Ouch, thought Harry.
  "There was a greasy bastard named Snape, who appeared rather like an ape. He
  made vile potions--"
  "He'll take that as a compliment, not an insult," Dean commented dryly. He
  was busily writing away on his scroll.
  "What are you writing, then?" Seamus tried to read over Dean's shoulder.
  "An essay on why the Cannons are such effing losers," Dean said, smirking at
  Ron.
  Ron sharpened his quill meaningfully. "Well, that's given me my idea. 'Why
  the Cannons are the greatest team of all time', by Ron Weasley."
  Seamus looked over at Harry. "C'mon, Harry, you too."
  "I don't know." He had reasons for not wanting to piss off Snape too badly.
  "Listen, we've only got a month left of school, then we're out of here.
  You've had a month's worth of detention before." Seamus grinned.
  "Yeah, but I don't want to spend my last month here with Filch." With Snape,
  on the other hand--
  Seamus leaned a little closer. "Just one month, Harry. Think of all the
  things you've wanted to say to Snape over the past seven years. This is your
  chance, and it's safe, because he'll never read it! It'll be like that
  therapy thing Hermione was telling us about."
  Ron's head shot up. "Hermione?"
  "No, she's not here, Ron," Harry said soothingly. Hermione had been pestering
  them about what she called their 'poor study habits'; she was worried that
  they wouldn't earn high enough marks on the NEWTs to take up jobs at the
  Ministry. "And if she does come by, look, we're working." Not on school work
  per se, but what Hermione didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
  "Okay." The red head bent over the essay.
  "Anyway, Harry, it'll be good for you. Venting all those pent-up feelings."
  Oh, they were pent-up, all right. Harry realized he had a death grip on his
  quill. He relaxed his hold slightly. "All right. But I'm not showing it to
  any of you."
  "Mr. Secretive strikes again," Dean said. "Wow, I have a lot of material
  here. This may be my longest Potions essay yet."
  "Oh, good on you, Dean!" Hermione walked up to their table, dragging Neville
  with her. She'd been giving him extra tutoring to bring him up to speed, and
  he was pathetically grateful. "See, Ron? See, Harry? Dean is devoting himself
  to his school work."
  Harry kicked Seamus under the table so that the other boy wouldn't burst into
  laughter. "Yes, Hermione," Harry said obediently. For the life of him he
  couldn't understand why Ron was so attracted to her. But perhaps Ron wanted
  to be bossed around for the rest of his life. Harry rolled up his scroll and
  hid it in his bag. He'd finish it later.
  The next day Severus Snape glared at the Gryffindors as they handed in their
  essays on the theme of "Ethics and Potions". That was par for the course. But
  the way some of them looked back at him, with a hint of challenge, wasn't.
  Finnigan, Thomas, and Weasley all met his eyes, gave him an unusually defiant
  look, and then glanced away. Strange for the three of them to conspire
  without including Potter. He ratcheted up his glare for the Boy Who Kept On
  Living; Potter handed in his essay, looked Snape straight in the eye, and-
  - blushed. Well. That was unexpected. Perhaps he should actually read their
  essays all the way through for once, instead of just standing at the top of
  the dungeon stairs, throwing them down, and assigning grades according to
  their ultimate landing spots.
  So it was that after dinner Snape settled in his favorite armchair with a
  glass of wine and four essays. Finnigan's was an astoundingly pedestrian
  commentary on the supposed immorality of Veritaserum. But smack in the middle
  Snape encountered a limerick.
  'There was a greasy bastard named Snape, Who appeared rather like an ape.
  He made vile potions
  Had very strange notions
  And his robe resembled a drape.'
  How uninspired. Snape sighed heavily. Even Sirius Black had been able to do
  better than that. Snape whipped out his quill and wrote, 'Unoriginal and
  unexciting. Lacks the necessary dramatic flourish that the limerick form
  demands.'
  Thomas was next. The boy had only made it four sentences into his essay on
  illegal uses of bubotuber pus before beginning a lengthy critique of the
  Cannons through the ages. At the end Snape wrote, 'Needs more examples;
  conclusion simply repeats main points of introduction. Weak transitions give
  the all-too-accurate impression that you simply wrote down ideas as they
  occurred to you instead of striving to create a coherent argument.'
  It was Weasley's turn. Snape drank some more wine. He was almost beginning to
  enjoy this. Weasley had interrupted his argument that healing potions with
  severe side-effects should be used in cases of otherwise terminal illness in
  order to pen a spirited, albeit disjointed, defense of the Cannons. Snape
  wrote, 'No evidence whatsoever to support your specious argument. Your
  illogic and emotionality preclude a rational approach to the topic and
  bespeak a writer who has made up his mind before investigating his
  hypothesis.'
  That simply left Potter. Snape's hand trembled as he fortified himself with
  another glass of wine. Potter had managed to produce a full five inches on,
  of all things, the Ministry's rules for allocation of the Wolfsbane Potion.
  Snape found himself nodding in agreement at one point; the rules were
  arbitrary and illogical in the extreme, typical of the documents produced by
  Ministry bureaucrats. But then he read something that made him set his glass
  down before he dropped it.
  'Dear Severus ['Snape' had been crossed out heavily and replaced by
  'Severus']. I'll write this as if it were a letter. And I'll pretend you'll
  read it, even though I'm quite sure you won't. Anyway, Seamus told me to
  write all the things I ever wanted to say to you.'
  Oh, no. Snape braced himself.
  'That would be at least ten scrolls, though, and the things I wanted to say
  in my first year aren't the things I want to say now.'
  Snape's heart started beating a little faster.
  'Do you hate me? Because I don't hate you. And really, I don't think you hate
  me either. Do you know that you look at me sometimes? You don't glare, or
  scowl, or smirk. You just look. Have you noticed me looking back?'
  He had, but hadn't dared to think about what it might mean.
  'I love looking at you.'
  Oh god. His hands started to sweat.
  'I think I might like it best when you're working on something. You're very
  intent and focused. I used to watch you during Order meetings when you were
  listening to the plans. Your eyes would go a little distant and you'd have a
  tiny furrow between your eyebrows. Then you'd snap back into focus. I like to
  watch you making potions, too. You bend slightly over your cauldron and your
  hair falls forward. Is it really as greasy as it looks?'
  Snape reached up and touched a lock of his hair. Yes, it was.
  'It probably is. Oh well. And your hands. I love looking at your hands.
  They're so strong and deft.'
  Snape glanced at his own hands. They were still sweating.
  'I want those hands to touch me.'
  The hands in question gripped the parchment tightly.
  'Do you want to touch me? I think you do. Oh god, I hope you do. I want--'
  The rest of the parchment was blank. Snape carefully set the scroll aside,
  picked up his glass, and drained it. He retrieved the scroll and re-read it.
  The words were still there. Was this some kind of joke? It had to be. He
  picked up his quill and wrote, 'Too elliptical at times. Abrupt ending. Over-
  use of rhetorical questions.' He thought for a moment and added, 'Intriguing
  premise.'
  Harry's knees trembled when Snape walked into the Potions classroom the next
  day. He made himself calm down. The trembling began again when he noticed
  that Snape wasn't looking at him. At all. Not one of those looks he'd
  daringly mentioned in his 'letter'. It was remotely possible that Snape had
  realized of his own accord that he looked at Harry sometimes.
  At the end of class Snape had them come up one by one and collect their
  essays. He didn't look Harry in the eye, simply thrust the scroll into his
  hand. Then he announced, "There will be a short essay due tomorrow. Seven
  inches on the uses of dragonheart."
  Hermione whispered, "But that's so basic! We wrote that essay in second
  year!"
  Snape continued, "Revision is necessary if you are to have any hope
  whatsoever of passing your NEWTs, Miss Granger. Five points from Gryffindor
  for questioning my teaching methods."
  Ron managed to wait until they were out of the classroom before exploding.
  "What bloody teaching methods? Why hasn't anyone ever told him that teaching
  and torture aren't the same thing?" He unrolled his scroll. "Oh shit!"
  Oh shit, thought Harry.
  "What is it?" asked Hermione, trying to look around Ron's arm.
  Harry mumbled an excuse and ducked into the nearest loo. He locked himself
  into a stall and stared at his rolled-up scroll. At least Snape hadn't
  blasted him with an Unforgivable Curse. Or worse--Harry shuddered--read his
  little letter aloud to the Slytherins. He gritted his teeth and unfurled it.
  The splash of red ink drew his eye. Feeling slightly ill, he read the note,
  then sat down abruptly on the toilet. He read it again. He'd had to stop
  writing the night before when the other boys complained about the light and
  then turned it out without consulting him; it had taken Harry longer to write
  the 'letter' than it would have to finish his essay. But: 'intriguing
  premise', Snape had written. As if he were intrigued. 'Abrupt ending.' As if
  he wanted more.
  And Snape had given them an essay to write for the very next day, an essay on
  an extremely simple topic. Harry grinned suddenly. He left the loo and ran up
  to the common room. Seamus, Dean and Ron were there, apparently
  commiserating.
  "What I want to know is, how did he know to read them?" Ron was still staring
  at his scroll in disbelief.
  "Perhaps he does always read them," Dean said gloomily. "Hey, Harry! What did
  he say on yours?"
  "Oh," Harry replied, trying to be casual, "weak conclusion, poor use of
  rhetorical devices."
  "What'd you say?" Seamus' eyes were gleaming. "Can't have been too bad, or
  he'd have set your scroll on fire like he did to Neville's that time."
  A little pause as they remembered the way Neville's scroll had burst into
  spectacular silver and green flames.
  "So, what did you write?"
  "Um..." Harry thought frantically. "Just like you said. The things I've
  wanted to say to him and haven't been able to. Well, some of them. They
  wouldn't all fit." And that was true, as far as it went. "I have to go. I
  have Quidditch practice now." They never argued with that. He ran up to their
  room and popped the scroll into his trunk, applying the strongest locking
  charm he knew, before heading to the pitch.
  Snape locked himself in his classroom the next day after the seventh-years
  left. After Harry left, having handed him his scroll with a faint, very
  faint, hint of a smile. Snape sat at his desk and unrolled Harry's essay.
  'Dear Severus: Thanks for your critique of my previous effort. I found your
  comments illuminating. Just one thing: they weren't rhetorical questions. I
  want answers, your answers. I'll repeat the questions.
  'Do you hate me?' There was a space on the parchment. Snape picked up his
  quill, drew in a deep breath, and set the quill down again. He couldn't take
  the risk.
  'Have you noticed me looking back?'
  Yes, he had.
  'Is your hair really as greasy as it looks?'
  Snape touched his hair again. Perhaps he should mix up some Degreasing
  Potion.
  'Do you want to touch me?'
  Sweet Merlin, yes he did, and he'd hated himself for it all year, ever since
  the moment when he'd looked up during the Start-of-Year Feast and seen Harry,
  laughing. Seen a compellingly attractive young man. Snape had been disgusted
  with himself. Even if the boy weren't Harry Potter, who had loathed Snape
  since their first encounter, he was a student.
  'You might not answer that one because of the whole teacher/student thing.
  I'll ask you again in a month.'
  Snape's eyebrows flew up.
  'I'm sorry about the abrupt ending of the previous [a blotch on the
  parchment, as if Harry had rested his quill there while he thought of the
  next word] communication. I'll try to make it up to you. I left off at: I
  want. I want you to touch me everywhere with those gorgeous hands.'
  Snape looked at his hands, and imagined them on Harry's creamy skin.
  'I want to touch you everywhere. Your face, your hair (even if it is greasy),
  your neck, your shoulders, your arms. Your chest, your back. Your feet. Your
  legs, your arse. Your prick.'
  Snape's face was hot. This might still turn out to be a joke, he thought
  suddenly.
  'I know you're thinking this is a joke. It isn't. I want to wrap my fingers
  around you and stroke you. I want to kiss and lick you everywhere, too. All
  those same places. I want to suck your prick.'
  "Merlin!" Snape shoved the parchment away from him as if it were burning. And
  he was supposed to teach Harry for another month? Look at him in class, when
  he'd barely been able to do so after the first essay? But the lure of the
  scroll was irresistible. Snape could see that there were a few more inches.
  Harry had written much more than the required essay length. He pulled it back
  to him and resumed reading.
  'I've done it before. I know what I'm doing.'
  And Snape had ground his teeth every time he'd seen Creevey give Harry that
  secret, knowing look. Seven weeks of that. Much longer and Snape would have
  had to have a few molars replaced.
  'I want you to come in my mouth. Would you like that?'
  Harry, kneeling in front of him. Snape closed his eyes, then opened them
  again so he could read the next line.
  "I want everything, Severus. I want to shag you and I want you to shag me.'
  Harry, face-down on his bed, arse in the air. Absently Snape noticed that he
  was breathing heavily. He unfastened the top button of his robe; the room had
  become very warm.
  'There's more.'
  More? How could there be more?
  'I want to do everything and then start all over again. Again and again and
  again. I don't hate you. I like you. You annoy the piss out of me sometimes,
  but I like you. Do you like me?'
  Very, very carefully Snape rolled the scroll up and put in the top drawer of
  his desk. He cast the strongest locking charm he knew on the drawer.
  Harry's heart threatened to leap out of his chest the next day in class, and
  he knew he was blushing furiously. Snape looked at him. It was that look.
  "I will return your latest essays--with my comments," Snape added, still
  looking at Harry, "on the last day of class." He didn't give an explanation,
  and they didn't expect one; Snape never explained his apparently capricious
  decisions. But Harry thought he knew the real reason. He hid his smile in his
  textbook.
  Everyone complained about how long the last month felt. Once in a while-- all
  right, every day-- Harry took out the essay that Snape had commented on and
  read the words, 'intriguing premise.' He was sure the month was longer for
  him than for anyone else.
  On the last day, most of the teachers let them relax in class. They had taken
  the NEWTs the week before and the results were to be posted that afternoon.
  Potions, as always, was different. Snape had them prepare an Energizing
  Potion. As he listed the ingredients, Hermione's eyes widened, and she made a
  little squeaking noise.
  "Yes, Miss Granger," Snape said coolly. "This potion will allow you and your
  classmates to consume improbable quantities of alcohol at the Three
  Broomsticks this evening. You will become inebriated, but you will not pass
  out."
  This had the effect of making everyone produce a perfect potion. Even
  Neville, unfortunately partnered with Millicent Bulstrode, succeeded. Snape
  ordered them all to drink their potions. Harry felt a zip of energy surge
  through his veins. Snape ladled a beakerful out of Malfoy's cauldron and,
  when no one except Harry was looking, drank it as well.
  Snape handed back their essays on the uses of dragonheart. He paused,
 riffling through the scrolls, and said, "Mr Potter. I appear to have left
  your essay in my rooms. Should you wish to retrieve your idiosyncratic
  interpretation of the assigned topic, you may stop by later."
  Harry's heart leapt. He'd been invited to visit Snape in his rooms! He got
  his voice under control and replied, "Yes, sir."
  "Good. Now. Some of you--" Snape glared at Lavender and Parvati-- "may be
  expecting a sentimental farewell in which I reveal my true nature as a soft-
  hearted, lovable curmudgeon, tell you that you are the best students I ever
  had, and wish you all the best. Should this be the case, it is my very great
  pleasure to disappoint and thwart you yet again. You were, on the whole,
  indifferent, unmotivated students, and I shan't think of you at all, let
  alone fondly, once you've left. Now get out, the sorry lot of you."
  They stormed out of the room and raced to the Great Hall, where the NEWTs
  results had been posted half an hour previously.
  Hermione's face fell. "Oh, NO!"
  "What is it, Herm?" Ron put his arm around her.
  "I missed six points in Transfiguration! Six points!"
  "That still puts you at the top," Ron pointed out.
  "Six points! It must have been the tiger. I knew something wasn't quite right
  with its tail." She trailed off in a series of sad mutters.
  Next to Harry, Neville was quietly ecstatic. "I passed. I passed everything,"
  he whispered, as if he couldn't quite believe it. Then he shrieked: "I
  passed! I even passed Potions!" He broke into a little victory dance. Harry
  edged away from him slightly.
  "Ron? Can you see my marks?" Harry couldn't make them out past Crabbe and
  Goyle. Ron, six inches taller, probably could.
  "Um... yeah." Ron sounded slightly stunned. "Damn, Harry. You... Damn."
  "What? What is it?" Dammit, he should have listened to Hermione when she
  offered him the Time-Turner so he could study twice as long. "How bad is it?"
  "Oh, it's not bad." Ron laughed suddenly. "Come on. See for yourself." He
  shoved Crabbe and Goyle out of the way and dragged Harry to the front.
  Harry's mouth dropped open. "Oh my god. Oh my god!" He was second in
  Transfiguration. Fifth in Arithmancy, behind Hermione and some Ravenclaws.
  And-- "I'm first in DADA!"
  "Harry, you killed Voldemort. Of course you're tops in DADA. He was the Dark
  Arts!" Ron punched him on the shoulder. "Did you see the Charms marks?"
  "I'm third!" Harry gaped. "Um... Ron? Did I pass Potions?"
  Ron was grinning. "Yes, you git. Look for yourself."
  Harry's jaw hit the floor again. "Shit!" He was eighth, much, much better
  than he thought he'd do. He scanned all the results quickly. "Ron, you did
  amazing!" Not as well as Harry, but very well.
  "Yeah," Ron said with quiet satisfaction. "Hello, Ministry."
  "Wow." It sank in slowly. He'd passed the NEWTs. He had finished school. "I'm
  not a student any longer."
  "Yeah! We're free!" Ron grinned again. "Wanna go to the Three Broomsticks?"
  He wasn't a student any longer. And that meant... "Not just yet." He needed
  to distract Ron. He pulled him out of the mass of students. "Why don't you
  take Hermione? Try to cheer her up?" He elbowed Ron. "You know."
  Light dawned. "Oh, yeah. Good idea. Will you meet us down there?"
  Harry gave Ron a little push. "Probably. But there's something I want to do
  first." Boy, was there ever. He waited until Ron's attention was focused
  completely on Hermione, and slipped away.
  Ten minutes later he knocked on Snape's door. It opened as if Snape had been
  waiting for him. Waiting for him all month... "Hello." He smiled.
  "Ah, Potter. Here for your essay?" Snape's tone was cold, but he was giving
  Harry that look again.
  The essay. Right. "Yes."
  "Come in, then."
  Harry stepped into the sitting room; behind him Snape shut and locked the
  door. Yes! A familiar scroll was lying on the desk. Snape handed it to him,
  then turned away. Harry unrolled it carefully. Red ink caught his eye. Snape
  had answered his questions. His knees started that infernal shaking.
  'Do you hate me?'
  'No.' In a firm hand.
  'Have you noticed me looking back?'
  'Yes.' Harry sat down suddenly on the sofa.
  'Is your hair really as greasy as it looks?'
  'I don't know how greasy it looks to you.' Harry gave a little snort of
  surprise. He looked up at Snape. His hair didn't seem as greasy as it had.
  Perhaps he'd actually washed it.
  'Do you want to touch me?'
  'Yes.' Oh, god. Harry shifted on the sofa. He read on. He couldn't really
  believe he'd had the nerve to write all that.
  'I want you to come in my mouth. Would you like that?'
  'Yes.' The script was a little shaky now.
  'Do you like me?'
  'Ask me yourself.'
  Harry made himself stand. He walked over to where Snape was standing. He said
  to the tall back, "Do you-- do you like me?" It came out in a tiny voice, not
  the confident one he'd practiced.
  A rustle of robes, but Snape didn't turn. "'Like' ... isn't the word I would
  have chosen."
  "Oh." His voice had become even smaller. At least Snape wanted to-- wanted
  him. And didn't hate him. "Okay."
  Snape wheeled about in a swirl of robes and stared at him. "Harry. We've been
  playing this game long enough. Tell me what you want from me. With me."
  Harry tried to keep his voice from cracking. "I want you. All of you. Again
  and again." He hoped that was clear enough. Judging by the heat in the dark
  eyes, it was. "What do you want?"
  Snape leaned forward. "The same," he murmured just before kissing Harry. The
  kiss alone was worth the wait, Harry decided, parting his lips to let Snape's
  tongue in. Snape pulled back abruptly and removed Harry's glasses, placing
  them on the desk, then resumed the long, slow kiss. Harry panted for breath
  when it ended. Snape looked at him with apparent satisfaction. "Mm. You look
  ... edible."
  Harry shivered.
  Snape went on. "Given your results on the NEWTs, I expect you're capable of
  deducing another purpose of the Energizing Potion."
  He was supposed to think about potions now? He ran his hands down Snape's
  back. "Um..." He really was amazingly turned-on just from that one kiss, and
  given the way Snape was pressing against him, he wasn't the only one. Energy
  crackled through him-- "Christ!"
  "Oh, clever boy. You did write me that you wanted to do everything and then
  start all over again. And again and again..." Snape was unbuttoning Harry's
  robe.
  "I didn't mean all in one go!" Harry's head fell back as Snape kissed his
  neck.
  "I doubt you'll have any complaints," Snape whispered. "And this doesn't
  preclude you from coming back for more tomorrow."
  "Oh, sweet Merlin..." In a daze, Harry let Snape lower him to the floor, on
  top of his discarded robe. Suddenly Snape's hands were moving all over him,
  stripping off his remaining clothes, touching Harry seemingly everywhere.
  Harry realized that Snape was still dressed and began undoing the elaborate
  clasps on the man's robe. It was easier than he'd expected to unfasten them;
  only a few were actually done up. Then Snape moved his shoulders, and the
  robe slid off.
  "Christ!" said Harry again. Snape had been naked under his robe. Was naked
  now. Was lying on top of Harry, warm and heavy against him. And hard. Harry
  ran his hand down Snape's torso and took hold of the large prick, squeezing
  it. He felt a drop of hot come fall onto his stomach, and moaned.
  "Harry, I--" Snape kissed him, thrusting into Harry's hand, rubbing his belly
  against Harry's own almost painful erection.
  "I can't wait," Harry gasped. But there was something he'd promised. He
  rolled them over and stared down at Snape, all black hair and pale skin
  against the dark green rug. Harry began kissing the white skin, biting the
  startlingly dark red nipples. He was still holding Snape's prick, and felt it
  twitch in his hand. Then Snape put his hand on Harry's head and pushed down.
  Apparently he'd liked that particular suggestion in Harry's essay. Obediently
  Harry slithered down, rubbing purposefully against Snape, and took the hot
  cock in his mouth. Snape's hand fisted in his hair; the slight pain helped
  distract Harry from his own pressing arousal. He sucked hard, using his hand
  as well as he slid up and down. He flicked his tongue over the head with
  every stroke, tasting Snape's strong flavor.
  Snape was making the most incredible noises and jerking his hips up off the
  floor, fucking Harry's mouth. Harry grabbed his own cock with his free hand
  and started pumping it. He was so excited by what he was doing-- by the fact
  that he was doing it to and with Snape-- that it only took a few touches
  before he was coming, spurting on to Snape's leg. Snape clutched Harry's head
  and came down his throat, shooting so much that Harry couldn't swallow it
  all. He lifted his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
  Snape's chest was heaving, his face flushed, his eyes half-closed. Now Harry
  understood what Snape had meant when he'd called Harry edible. He wanted to
  eat Snape alive. He wanted more, more, more.
  "Yes..." That smoky voice.
  Then Harry realized he'd been saying 'more' aloud. He crawled back up Snape's
  body and kissed him. They were both still hard. Snape put his arms around
  Harry and ran his hands down his back, cupping his arse and stroking long
  fingers down his cleft. Harry squirmed against Snape as a fingertip found his
  entrance and circled it.
  Snape tore his mouth away from Harry's. "Accio lubricant!" He gasped. A small
  jar zoomed through the door to the bedroom and landed delicately next to
  Snape. He opened it hastily, smeared lubricant over his fingers, and touched
  Harry's opening again. He was burning with the desire to shove his cock into
  the boy. Biting Harry's shoulder, he slid one finger partly inside the tight
  hole. Harry reached around, grabbed Snape's wrist, and tried to push the
  finger in deeper.
  Snape felt a hot whisper on his ear. "More. More. Now." Snape let his finger
  enter fully, withdrew it, plunged it back in again. Harry was still
  whispering, driving Snape completely mad with desire. "More. More." Snape put
  in another finger as slowly as he could. He ran his other hand over as much
  of Harry's smooth skin as he could reach, trying to distract himself from the
  tempting arse that was clenching rhythmically on his fingers.
  Harry was wriggling against him, pressing his thigh against Snape's erection,
  pinching Snape's nipples. Snape carefully opened his fingers inside Harry;
  the boy nipped at his earlobe. "Yes!" The constricting hole was relaxing
  around Snape's fingers. "Severus... More. Now."
  Snape pulled out his fingers. Harry sat up, found the jar, and spread
  lubricant over Snape's cock. The light touch made Snape moan. He forced his
  eyes open and saw Harry shift aside and lie down on his stomach. Harry turned
  his head and stared at Snape, then reached back and pulled his cheeks apart
  in invitation.
  Snape exhaled in a rush and rolled on top of Harry. His urgent erection found
  the small opening, nudged it, pressed in slightly. Harry made a little noise,
  and Snape stopped, ready to pull out. But Harry pushed back, trying to take
  more in, and Snape slid forward slowly. Or tried to. The way that Harry was
  moving underneath him was unbearably exciting, and he found himself shoving
  into the clasping heat until he was completely inside. Harry was clutching at
  the rug with white-knuckled fingers. Snape kissed his ear.
  "Harry..." He withdrew halfway and felt Harry's shuddering back relax
  slightly. Putting his hand on Harry's hip, he urged him up slightly, then
  slid his hand around and took hold of Harry's prick, stroking it.
  "Oh."
  The little exhalation made Snape's arousal surge up again, and he thrust back
  in. "Harry, I can't-- can't stop." He withdrew and re-entered, over and over.
  Harry was pressing back to meet his strokes now, then pushing forward into
  Snape's caressing hand.
  "Don't stop." Another little whisper.
  Snape's heart was about to explode, it was beating so hard. He sped up,
  burying his cock in the tight arse again and again, while Harry trembled and
  moaned underneath him. Suddenly Harry froze; the prick in Snape's hand
  jerked, and his own cock was squeezed strongly as Harry clenched around him.
  Snape shoved himself in even harder, fucking Harry relentlessly, until his
  climax struck him forcefully and he came, pulsing deep inside. He collapsed
  on top of Harry, kissing his neck and ear.
  "Mm." A sleepy, sated murmur from below him. Then Harry squirmed. "Damn, this
  rug scratches. Why couldn't we do it in bed like normal people?"
  Snape rolled off, stood up, and pulled Harry to his feet. "We still can."
  A smile spread over Harry's face. "Brilliant!" He pressed against Snape.
  "That Energizing Potion was a super idea, Sev."
  Sev? Sev? No one had ever given Snape a nickname. He didn't count 'greasy
  bastard'. That was more along the lines of a Homeric epithet. Snape was ready
  to blast Harry with invective when he felt warm lips fasten onto his nipple,
  and hands grasped his arse firmly. Perhaps every once in a great while he
  would permit Harry to call him that. The lips traveled back up his chest and
  neck.
  "Bed," said Harry insistently.
  "But the floor is so close," Snape pointed out. Perhaps he shouldn't have
  taken quite so much of the Energizing Potion. He was hard as a rock again.
  "Bed!" Harry bit his neck. "You'll appreciate it when I have you on your
  knees."
  Snape's head fell back. All right, bed. If he could remember where it was,
  with Harry sucking that little spot right above his collarbone.
  The talented mouth pulled away. "Come on." Harry dragged him to the bedroom,
  detouring briefly to the bathroom for a hasty clean-up. Then Snape, as
  promised, found himself on his hands and knees with Harry behind him kissing
  his arse, licking his cleft. The hot tongue stopped, and Snape choked back a
  moan of protest.
  "Do you-- um, do you like that?"
  Harry's sudden shyness was inexplicably exciting. "Merlin, yes!" Snape looked
  over his shoulder. Harry's disheveled hair stuck out in all directions; those
  bright green eyes were glittering; his lips were red and swollen. Snape
  thought he looked gorgeous.
  "Okay. I mean, I read about it, and it seemed-- just as long as you like it."
  The dark head bent down; Snape buried his own head in his pillow as the slick
  tongue stroked over his hole lightly. He was oddly relieved to know that
  there was something Harry hadn't done before, with someone else.
  After a few minutes of delirium-inducing licking, the tongue was replaced
  with an oily finger. The resourceful boy had remembered to bring in the
  lubricant. The finger slid in gently and wriggled about, then withdrew. Harry
  repeated this until Snape lifted his head enough to gasp, "Another."
  Obediently he added a finger. Snape willed himself to relax, a task made much
  easier when Harry found the sensitive gland and touched it delicately.
  "I'm ready," Snape said. That was the understatement of the century. He felt
  Harry's greased prick touching his entrance, and pushed back against it.
  Harry slid in; Snape felt impaled, impossibly full. A slow withdrawal, a slow
  re-entry, repeated over and over. Damn the boy, where had he learned this
  control? Snape squeezed deliberately and heard a gasp. Harry reached around
  and stroked Snape's cock, rubbing his thumb over the leaking tip. They moved
  together, neither one of them wanting this pleasure to end, until Snape
  couldn't resist. He put his hand over Harry's and sped up the caress; Harry
  plunged into him more urgently, nudging his prostate with each thrust and
  biting his neck lightly. Snape felt thrills of pleasure spreading out through
  his body from his arse and cock. Then the storm of delight broke over him and
  he came with a muffled cry. Harry moved even more quickly, pushing Snape flat
  and slamming into him until he too climaxed.
  Harry pulled out carefully and drew Snape into his arms, stroking his hair.
  He'd definitely washed it, Harry thought idly. He found that quite
  endearing...
  Later, much, much later, Harry woke up. He was dimly aware that his bed had
  grown during his sleep, and that the light filtering in through the curtains
  wasn't the right color. He rolled over and came smack up against another
  person, who sighed sleepily and wrapped a long, muscular arm around Harry.
  His eyes flew open. It hadn't just been an incredibly detailed, lengthy wet
  dream. He was in bed with Severus Snape, who had more than fulfilled Harry's
  written wish to 'do everything'. That would explain why almost every part of
  his body ached. Even his throat was sore-- oh. He smiled. Snape had certainly
  enjoyed that.
  The arm around him tightened. "Harry."
  "Morning. It is morning, right?"
  A chuckle. "Yes." Snape ran his hand through Harry's hair. "How do you feel?"
  Harry considered the question. "Like I was attacked by a sex maniac last
  night. Repeatedly." He kissed Snape's cheek. "That's a good thing." Something
  occurred to him. "Oh, I was supposed to meet Ron and Herm last night."
  "Mm." Snape pulled Harry's head to his shoulder. "Your friends won't be
  having such an easy morning of it. The Energizing Potion lets the user drink
  an inordinate amount of alcohol, but does nothing to prevent hangovers."
  Harry smiled. "So you saved me. Selflessly sacrificing your body so that I
  wouldn't have a splitting headache."
  "Exactly," said Snape. "I suffered immensely throughout."
  "I could tell. The groaning was a dead give-away."
  Snape chuckled again. Harry decided that he wanted to make Snape do more of
  that. He yawned. Perhaps after a few more hours of sleep. He pressed closer
  to his lover, and smiled as he felt a kiss brush the top of his head.
  "So what did you think of my essay?" He said drowsily.
  "Oh. Very creative. Inspiring. Top marks." Snape sounded sleepy too. "I'll
  give you the full critique when we wake up again."
  Harry was looking forward to it. Before he fell asleep, it occurred to him
  that he would have to tell Hermione that she was right after all about the
  importance of school work.
  The end.
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