
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/108283.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      AU, Occlumency, Crack
  Collections:
      The_Quidditch_Pitch
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-08-19 Words: 3548
****** Watching Me, Watching You ******
by Cluegirl
Summary
     Games you can play with Occlumency, whether your teacher wants you to
     or not.
Harry hit the door at a run, flung it back and skidded into the dungeon
classroom on his heels. "Sorry-" he panted, dropping his bookbag and reaching
for his wand, "Quidditch practice -- ran late. Had to-"
"Legilimens."
And the day's memories swarmed up over Harry's head like furious wasps. He
ground his teeth, grappling the image back down as if he was swallowing bile.
Ron's shouting face went carefully black as he shouldered the Quaffle back into
play. Ginny dodged under a Bludger and disappeared into shadows. The sun-
streaked pitch went pitch dark. Harry, though annoyed, was fairly certain he
sensed a grudging dollop of respect from his attacker. Who then shoved all the
harder, knocking Harry's careful blankness back into motion.
Harry ground his teeth and scrambled to catch up. Dudley hardly ever had a face
in his mind anymore, so frequently did Harry have to smudge him out -- which
was sort of a relief, actually. Likewise, any memory involving Sirius had a
man- (or dog-) sized hole cut out of it by the time Snape could drag it to the
surface. Voldemort and the Death Eaters came to light wearing clown faces and
huge, floppy bunny slippers, which made Snape snort in amusement, then attack
again twice as hard.
So Harry gave them all squeaky little helium voices, and set them to quoting
Monty Python. All except for Lucius Malfoy, who had to be the dead parrot.
"Do you imagine this is funny, Mr. Potter?" Snape's thought poured like vitriol
over the Death Eaters of the Round Table's chorus line, "Are these lessons some
sort of puerile game to you?"
Which, of course, it was. And far more successful as such than when they had
been a trial of misery and abuse. Harry made his answer by having Snape himself
Silly Walk across the scene, briefcase in hand, with a bowler hat to offset his
robes.
Snape made his answer by crashing into Harry's comedic resistance like an
enraged dragon -- clawing, smashing and crushing the tin-foil ka-nighets,
exploding livestock, and clopping coconuts into so much sparkle. Before the
Potions Master's wrath, even Tim the Enchanter (who looked a bit like
Dumbledore) stood no chance.
"Owfuck!" Harry reeled but managed not to fall. His carefully crafted
deflection, however, collapsed under the onslaught. Before Harry could recover,
Snape had sunk his claws into a fresh scrap of memory and was hauling it into
view. Harry set his teeth as the locker room arose before his eyes -- steam-
clouded and draped with casually flung red and gold practice robes.
Head still throbbing a bit, Harry choked back a surge of rage and took a
steadying breath, reminding himself (rather louder than necessary) that Snape
was only being an arsehole to wind him up because he couldn't win by playing
fair anymore.
As if in reply, the memory snapped into sharp, immediate focus just as Harry's
memory-self tugged off his sweaty undershirt and sat down to haul off his
boots. He could feel once more the sticky chill between his sore shoulders, and
how the damp leather of his trousers chafed where the pad straps had bound. The
bruise on his right knee from the pileup with Ginny and Alicia throbbed, and
the impatient, longing ache that hard exercise always brought on coiled
restlessly in Harry's groin.
"Fine then," Harry thought grimly as his memory-self wriggled out of the buff
leather trousers and pants beneath them in one go, revealing an already half-
hard cock to the steamy air, "you want a peek in the showers, Professor? Then a
peek in the showers you'll have!"
                                      ~*~
Snape did not want a peek in the showers.
He wanted the wretched boy to cease his cheek and take the bloody lesson
seriously, and if that meant hauling Potter's private, naked-time out to light,
then so be it! After the debacle of the previous year, he would not have it
said that any squeamishness of his put the bloody Boy Who Couldn't Be Arsed To
Learn Anything at risk. And if Potter found himself humiliated by what Snape
saw, then so much the better. Perhaps the boy would learn to keep his mental
filing straight. After all, when Snape bothered to bash through a wall, there
bloody well ought to be something worth protecting behind it, not this… this…
Potter stood and stretched like a cat -- hard and thoroughly. He groaned with
pleasure as his muscles twitched and his young joints popped.
How different Potter looked without his student robes.
Taller, for one. He looked taller, or perhaps it was the elegant length of his
spine, rolling like a string of pearls under the velvety skin. How pliant that
skin must be to move so smoothly, so subtly. How like velvet where the light
caught a sheen of sweat along the winging scapulae, the faint-ridged ribs, the
mesmerizing dimples which flanked his sacrum, the flexing curve of his arse…
*How pale he is.* Snape mused as the boy walked into the shower and repeated
his stretch under the sudden downpour of hot water, *Like new milk, but for his
hands and face. I'd not thought but that he'd be bronzed and bulky, like his
father was. James the hedonist -- never a shirt to be found on him, given the
slightest hint of a sunny day…*
A sound, very like a mental snort of laughter, brought Snape back to his
senses.
"Oh, spare me! As if I hadn't already put up with more than my share of Potter
vanity from Golden Boy the Elder!"
Potter rose to the bait.
"What's that about my father?" he asked archly. His naked memory whipped about
on his heel, drenched and gleaming under the spray, eyes narrowed as he
searched the shadows. As if he'd heard a noise in the now-empty locker room. As
if he knew he was not alone.
The heat of the shower had brought the pale skin to bloom, from the dusky, rosy
nipples to the young cock, already half-erect and peeking shyly from under its
hood. The water sheeted over it, slicking the cushion of sparse, dark hair into
long, rippling patterns as without a touch, the cock continued to twitch and
bob up toward the boy's taut belly.
He was looking again. Damn it!
Snape shook himself, then aloud, "Just commenting that you seem to share your
father's rampant-" (not rampant, you fool! Some other word! Something like…Ah!)
"flagrant exhibitionism! I have had enough of this display!" And he cut the
spell.
Or rather, he tried to do so. Except that the spell, once released, refused to
release him. Memory-Harry gave the shower room one final myopic glare, and then
turned back to his work, ghosting frothy hands over his skin while the steam
clouded around him. There was something indecently luxurious in the way his
face went dreamy and slack, upturned to the spray.
"What the devil are you playing at?" Snape demanded, fixing his eyes
determinedly on the dolphin shaped showerhead so he wouldn't notice the boy's
tawny, soap-slicked hands carefully washing his now erect member. There came no
reply beyond a subtle, pervasive smugness, a cloying perfume across Snape's
senses. "ANSWER ME!" he roared, *And for Merlin's sake, rinse that mess off
before you give yourself a rash!* But that last, he managed to keep private.
"Occlumency, Professor, Potter answered. Under the shower, his lips opened to
breathe a trembling moan. His elbow worked in slow, easy flexes -- long strokes
that rippled the muscles up the back of his arm and across his shoulder. The
boy's bollocks were just visible when he leaned forward and braced his free
hand on the wall.
"This…This is not Occlumency, Potter," Snape made himself reply, "this is
shameless self-indulgence. You are wasting my time!"
Then the wretched boy did laugh -- a low, wicked chuckle that made Snape's
belly clench. The figure under the spray shouldered into the wall and delved
his fingers behind, and suddenly Snape could see the cock disappearing and
reappearing into the fist. The long, tight strokes rolled the foreskin back and
forth across that engorged purple head, revealing a glint of…dear Merlin, was
that a ring?
"Then make me stop, why don't you?"
A challenge! Just the thing to clear his head. Snape gathered the core of his
affronted dignity and sharpened it into a point. So the brat had thought of a
trick. Clever enough, but if Potter imagined he could twist Occlumency into a
shape his teacher could not recognize, he had another think coming!
The Memory-Potter groaned again, though it was more like a whimper -- face
knotted in concentration, plump lower lip caught between his teeth as a flush
spread across his cheeks. His wrists corded as he pumped his cock with one hand
and probed his anus with the other. The narrow hips flexed and bucked under the
onslaught.
But Snape was ready for the distraction. No seventeen year old boy took this
long to bring himself off -- Potter was clearly manipulating the memory.
Pierced cock, indeed! Clearly the fabrication of a twisted mind, intended to
shock his straight-laced old Professor. Which meant all Snape had to do was…
"Finite incan-"
A shadow loomed out of the billowing steam, and before Snape could finish his
spell, he felt a terrific yank, as though a portkey had hooked into the root of
his bollocks. Concentration shattered, he could only brace himself as he
suddenly became the boy under the spray -- teetering on the edge of orgasm,
clenched before and prodded behind and close, so achingly close.
"Merlin!" he gasped, spray blinded, spitting water, and quite unable to stop
either hand, "You cannot - AUGH!"
A hand closed over his, pinning it to his cock as his other hand was pulled
away and held in a grip of iron. Snape-Harry jolted and bucked in alarm. A
body, bare and brandingly hot, pressed against him from behind, crowding his
feeble struggles into the wall while stroking his cock. Snape wanted to lash
out, but… the feeling of that thumb rolling his foreskin across the gleaming
gold ring utterly destroyed his concentration. The boy moaned, and Snape
promised himself fiercely that it had not been him.
When Harry did not fight, the form behind slithered low with a liquid chuckle.
"Got started without me, I see," the voice, sultry, male, and heavy with lust,
tickled gooseflesh across his hip, "tsk. That's hardly polite, is it?"
"I wasn't-" Snape heard Harry's voice babble. His erection wilted just a
little. "I didn't expect-"
"Shhh," and Snape could feel the smile against his arse cheeks as his attacker
-- or perhaps his lover -- nuzzled into his cleft with a long, determined, and
very wicked tongue. He leaned forward, thrust his hips shamelessly back onto
that invasion. As though by way of reward, his left hand was released. Snape
splayed it against the tiles, turned his face into the curve of Harry's own
shoulder, and bit down hard.
"Ow! Hey!"
Snape smirked around his mouthful, tasting soap and sex and sunlight on the wet
skin. "Make me stop…" he breathed, shuddering, arching up onto his toes as the
water pounded his back and his unseen lover tongued him toward heaven.
"Don't want to make you stop," his lover replied. Snape stifled a whimper as
the assault ceased, but then a thumb replaced the tongue at his spit-slicked
entrance. His lover rested a raspy cheek against Harry's thigh, and Snape could
feel his jaw shaping those rumbling words
"Want to make you beg." The thumb pressed in, deep, smooth, and sure. Snape
shoved back until he felt the second knuckle slide through the tight ring of
muscle, his mouth frozen open and his eyes rolled shut. The heel of that hand
ground into him for a moment, and his lover nipped a trail across his quivering
flank.
"Want to make you scream." A second thumb, worming in beside the first -
- tight, so tight! Too fast, almost. Snape caught his breath, hovering on the
cusp of pain as his- (No! Harry's! It's Harry's!) anus spasmed and twitched
around the invasion. Unbidden, his right hand resumed the slow, torturous pace
of stroke and pull which the lover had set, only now he made sure to catch the
ring with his thumb on every pass. It helped. The blinding sensation edged
quickly back from the brink of pain.
"Want to make you come," the lover breathed, and inside him -- sweet Merlin! -
- the thumbs began to writhe! He keened and locked his trembling knees to keep
from collapsing as first one then the other nudged his prostate. They tugged
him, they stretched him, they tormented him beyond belief, but somehow Snape
kept his orgasm at bay.
Will. Pure will. The will that kept a hundred deadly secrets safe from the most
vicious prying mind his lifetime had ever known. Severus understood the
unspoken rules; if Harry could make him come before he broke out of this…
(heaven) perversion, then Snape would lose. To a Potter. Again.
The Hell he would!
"My wand is in my hand." Snape offered a very un-Slytherin fair warning.
Which, as he had expected, Harry ignored. "Is it?" the brat hummed, "Looks to
me as though that's my wand, not yours."
The wriggling assault inside him changed angles as his lover/tormentor stood,
muttering a charm which Snape knew quite well indeed. Cool, slippery magic
filled him as the thumbs hooked and the blunt heat of the lover's cock nudged
at his opening. Severus threw back his head and shouted.
"Amalgamate!"
And the smugness around him shattered into panic as Harry Potter found the
tables turned. The spell yanked him into Snape's place -- pinned, panting, and
pierced by a cock of his own imagining. "Oh my GOD!" The cry echoed off the
tiles.
Filled to bursting, Harry's pirated Occlumency could not contain himself and
Snape as well as their building orgasms. Snape felt the seams give just as the
blood began to roar in his ear, as his bollocks clenched tight and hard against
his body, as his arse began to ripple around that merciless, plundering cock.
Another tenor wail split the air. Snape hurled himself headlong through the
gap.
He crashed back into his body one heartbeat before his own very real orgasm
sizzled like lightning up his spine. Teeth locked tight around a groan, Snape
clung to the edge of his desk as his cock pulsed against his belly, and slick,
hot come drenched his trousers from within.
He allowed himself three shaky breaths before forcing his eyes open.
Potter sprawled beside the door, still helpless, torn between spell backlash
and what looked like an astounding orgasm. His back arched away from the
stones, his mouth strained wide and his rolled-back eyes fluttered white. The
boy's sharp, bitter musk filled Snape's senses, a volatile counterpoint to the
smell of his own spend -- antagonistic elements in a descending spiral, wanting
only a single brush to explode.
A whimper escaped through Potter's panting gasps, and the sound of it wrung
another throb from Snape's softening cock. He could see Potter's erection
through his clothes, pulsing like a heart as the wet spot around it grew and
grew and… Oroborous loop, he realized with a shiver, What a moment to get
trapped in! Most wizards could break out of such a memory trap in two, perhaps
three repetitions, but… that had been one hell of an orgasm, even second-hand.
Who could concentrate through that?
He set his teeth and took a very deep breath. "This," he decided aloud, "has
gone far enough!" And then he strode across the room, swooped down on the
helpless boy and indulged in one of his long-denied dearest wishes.
                                      ~*~
Just when Harry had decided that it was possible to die from coming one's
brains out, an angel came to his rescue, stooping from Heaven in a rustle of
wings, seizing him by the shirtfront and slapping him silly.
The never-ending orgasm shattered like a prophecy sphere, leaving Harry
twitching and gasping in the shards. Bet he's wanted to do that for years…
Harry thought as Snape's sallow face swam into focus. Still too dazed to hold
back the grin that invoked, Harry could only hang on as Snape growled and shook
him like a rag doll.
"Ugh," he protested weakly, "Sir-" And the shaking ceased.
"Potter, that was without doubt the most reprehensible and shameless display of
exploitative hedonism I have ever witnessed!" Snape shouted in his face,
kneeling astride Harry's legs, "What possessed you to parade yourself like
that! What, in your self-obsessed little brain made it seem a good idea to
entangle your teacher in such a-"
Harry could see the man struggling against a shiver, as though just speaking of
it had been enough to invoke Harry's fantasy. (Wait. Trap -- that had been a
trap, not a fantasy!) Two spots of colour stained the ivory pallor as Snape
released Harry's shirtfront, and struggled to his feet. He smoothed a hand down
the front of his vest, glaring coldly.
"I decided if you could cheat, then so could I," Harry replied as anger leapt
into his throat. But then he remembered the intensity of Snape's responses, his
pliancy and passion, and found he could not keep a triumphant smile hidden.
"And besides, it worked, didn't it?"
Snape glowered for a moment more, then sheathed his wand in his sleeve with a
swift, practised motion, like sliding a dagger home. "Get up, Potter," he
growled, "get up and get out of my office. I will send a house elf to collect
the books I loaned you in one hour."
Harry scrambled to his feet. "But I'm not through with-"
"Yes you are," Snape smirked, satisfaction curling in his black eyes, "I see no
point in continuing with this charade when you are clearly-"
"No! You can't throw me out again!" Harry cried, "Professor, you promised!"
"CLEARLY incapable of learning anything more from me on the subject." Snape
folded his arms over his breast, "You are finished here."
Harry stumbled across the room, outraged, furious. "No! I won't let you do
this! Not just because I won -- I'll tell Dumbledore-"
"I intend to inform the Headmaster of your…achievement myself," Snape leered,
and his soft, smug voice set Harry's teeth on edge, "and I think you'll find
that he agrees with me this time. You're through here, Potter."
"But Voldemort-" Harry grabbed Snape's arm, ready to beg, ready to fight, ready
to throw up at the terror knotting his guts. The memory of haunting blue flames
tickled at the back of his throat, and Harry hoped Snape couldn't feel him
shaking through the grip. "What if he- He'll try to use-"
Snape prised loose his grip. Strangely hot, the Potions Master's fingers curled
around Harry's, stilling the tremors. "Should the Dark Lord for some reason
determine it worth his effort to mount an assault upon that morass of hormonal
impulses which seems to do service as your brain," Snape's breath gusted across
Harry's fringe, making it tickle his scar, "then it is my studied opinion that
he shall deserve precisely what he finds there!"
Wait. Harry thought, looking up into that furnace black gaze, wait. Did he just
say…?
Snape's thin lips twitched. "Really, Potter, I am surprised at your
protestations. Surely this was the intended purpose of your little
demonstration -- indeed, of the entire tutorship."
He did just say that! Harry blinked. "So you…you're not throwing me out?"
"Oh, I am throwing you out," This time Snape's smirk was different… almost…
reassuring? "but not before your time. You are finished here, Mr. Potter; I
have nothing left to teach you…about Occlumency. Your approach of fabricated
nonsense and sensual assault is, in my considerable experience, a wholly unique
strategy."
Harry felt his cheeks heat, the right one recalling the sting of Snape's palm.
"But what about the…er…" he squirmed, "that feedback thing"
"Feed-back?" Snape eyebrowed.
Harry blushed harder. "That spell you did. The one that…" he nodded down at his
soaked and sticky trousers, "Well, shouldn't you teach me how to defend against
that?"
"That was not Occlumency," Snape replied, "that was fighting dirty, which
cannot be taught. The Dark Lord hasn't the luck for such an accident of timing,
even should he think to use an alchemy spell against you whilst you are
molesting him. You need no further lessons in Occlumency." And giving Harry's
hand a squeeze, Snape let it drop then stepped away.
Harry blinked again, and a slow smile spread across his face. The cool dungeon
air brought gooseflesh in a wave and Harry found himself shivering with it.
Snape opened a side door out of the office, revealing his private rooms beyond
-- clearly leaving, the lesson at an end. "Then… what do you reckon I need,
Sir?" Harry was mortified to hear his own voice asking.
Snape paused on the threshold, cast one arch look over his shoulder, his black
eyes lingering on the sticky spot at Harry's groin. "A shower," came the smooth
reply. And then Snape strode away, his black robes whispering suggestively as
he worked the buttons down.
He did not, Harry noted with a grin, close the door behind him.
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