Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10065146.
  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:
      Explicit_Language, Slash_sex, Sexual_Content, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without
      Plot
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-05-19 Words: 3141
****** A Fitting Punishment ******
by fbowden [archived by HPFandom_archivist]
Summary
     Harry loses a game of Truth or Dare and has to go to Potions in a
     tutu. Desk!sex, blindfold, Skirtporn, rimming.
Notes
     Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally
     archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial
     reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its
     works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I
     e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but
     may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator,
     please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection
     profile.
“Potter!”
Harry tugged nervously at the scrap of material barely covering his arse.
“Sir?”
Snape stalked forward amidst the howls of laughter, barely managing to stop
himself from barrelling into the object of his evident disgust.
“What is that?”
Nostrils flaring, he looked a bit like a bull, Harry thought, affected with an
unnerving inner tremble from Snape’s close proximity. He shot his best mate a
death glare. Make that ex best mate. It was so unfair; Harry bitterly regretted
not thinking faster on his feet during last nights’ game of Truth or Dare; he
should have lied about who occupied his mind when he wanked himself raw at
night instead of choosing the dare. Of all the forfeits Ron could have
chosen...
“Er...it’s a skirt...sir.”
More snickering reverberated around the draughty dungeon. Harry could make out
the shrill cackle of Pansy Parkinson and worse, and the elegant guffaw Malfoy
made no attempt to stifle. Even Hermione, the traitor, failed to suppress her
giggles.
Snape whipped round and roared, “Silence!” at them, before turning his dreadful
sneer on Harry, “I am not optically challenged, Potter. I can see what it is;
why are you wearing it?”
Harry scratched his head and tried to look inconspicuous, but the searing glare
demanded he answer.
“It was a bet, sir.”
“I see.” Snape shifted his weight from one foot to the other and didn’t looked
like he saw at all. “Once again, the Great Harry Potter believes he is entitled
to disrupt the class with an asinine attempt at a juvenile prank, and once
again, it falls to me to disabuse him of such a notion. Very well, Potter. Stay
behind after class.”
Snape whirled on one heel, his flapping cloak missing Harry’s nose by an inch.
Harry furiously tried to smooth down the hideous hot-pink ruffles as he took
his seat, punching Ron none too gently in the back as he passed.
***
“Mr Potter,” Snape said frostily, after the last of the Gryffindors had given
Harry silent, sympathetic support and left, “come here.”
Snape occupied the desk chair, fingers steepled under his chin that made him
look...distinctly predatory. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry grappled
with the bench and pushed himself upright. His hands fumbled uselessly with the
stupid skirt, mortified to feel his cock twitch against the fabric as he began
the long walk to the front of the classroom. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on
the flagstones, and his hands strategically over his groin. Merlin, the last
thing he needed was to have Snape ridicule him further over the fact that he’d
gotten hard from wearing the absurd garment.
The truth was, it did feel good, bloody good. The colour was mortally
embarrassing, but if he tried not to look down at it, and just concentrated on
the feel...
“Potter! Is there a reason for your dithering?” Snape’s harsh bark cut through
the haze of sensation Harry experienced with each agonizing step. The slightest
movement caused the silky lining to glide over his cock. With cheeks flamed
red, Harry arrived in front of the desk with a painfully hard erection and only
the ineffectualness of his hands attempting to conceal it.
Snape narrowed his beady black eyes. “What are you hiding, boy?”
“Nothing, sir!” Harry protested weakly, shuffling his feet in an futile effort
to disengage the material from his stubborn prick. Even the suspicious gaze of
his most hated professor did nothing to quell his arousal; in fact, Harry was
mortified to realise, Snape’s sudden attentiveness to his groin was making
matters far worse.
Snape’s expression softened by a mere degree, the dawning realisation of
Harry’s condition causing one eyebrow to arch thoughtfully, the spiteful lips
curving into a not-quite smile. It was frightening to witness, and Harry
flushed uncomfortably, longing to be subjected to the man’s usual vitriol.
Dismissive loathing aimed at him was a natural state of affairs he had long
been resigned to.
“Potter,” Snape purred, in a timbre as dark and distilled as bourbon, “either
explain what you are attempting to conceal, or expose it. Immediately.”
Harry’s brain flew into a panic; that mellow lilt, the likes of which Harry had
never, ever heard, acted like a sledgehammer to his knees, bringing with it a
fresh injection of blood to his cock.
“Sir, please, its – this is so embarrassing, please don’t make me –“ Harry
squeezed his eyes shut; anything to curtail the ignition of his arousal, which
had already spiralled out of control under the greedy gaze of the man sitting
across from him.
For a few moments, Harry concentrated on the silence thickening the atmosphere,
broken only when Snape’s breathing stuttered. Probably, Harry thought
anxiously, caused by his staring at Harry’s hands, or rather, what they were
trying, and failing miserably to hide. He could feel the inky black stare
burning through the flesh of his knuckles, grazing his fingers as they sought a
way past to that which lay beneath, straining to be seen.
“Open your eyes,” Snape commanded, but Harry couldn’t; couldn’t stand to
subject himself to the intense scrutiny he knew he’d see in the shadowy depths.
Worse, Harry didn’t know if he’d be able to control himself. That voice that
Snape had no right to use, so rich. He couldn’t deny it was directly linked to
his cock.
A sharp intake of breath not his own; annoyance at his disobedience perhaps?
Then the teeth-tingling scrape of a chair, a shiver-inducing rustle of fabric,
probably those damn midnight robes, Harry surmised in an effort to distract
himself, lips unconsciously parting to suck in the chill air, lungs needy after
the sudden constriction caused by the sounds of movement around him.
Hands flat on the desk, Snape prowled around it until Harry could feel erratic
gusts of breath on his cheek.
“Enlighten me, Potter. How does the subtle impression of that soft underneath
feel against your skin? Wouldn’t you prefer to experience the scratch of the
tulle netting that adorns the exterior instead?”
Harry stumbled forward in shock, thighs catching painfully on the sharp edge of
the desk. A strong pair of hands seized his waist, steadying him, and Harry
thought he might hyperventilate just from that simple contact alone.
“It’s – I – I – “
“An outstanding demonstration of articulacy, precisely as one would anticipate
from you, Potter. Shall I assume your present inability to structure whole
sentences forms a direct correlation to your current state of arousal?”
And then the best and worst thing that could have happened, in Harry’s
admittedly distracted opinion, happened. With his fingertips still resting just
below Harry’s hips, Snape bent down and licked a bead of sweat as it tried to
escape his hairline. Taken aback, Harry blurted his first coherent word in five
minutes.
“Fuck!”
“Tut-tut, Mr Potter. You truly are in possession of a most unbecoming oral
cavity. Perhaps I should put it to better use. Open your eyes.”
Harry shook his head mutely, absolutely unwilling to have the fantasy ruined;
if he looked, Snape might revert to contemptuous glares again, that hauntingly
sensual voice would likely become sharp and bitter, something he found he
didn’t want. Indeed, with each passing moment, Harry wanted something that the
very idea of disturbed him beyond articulation. Snape’s hands making minute
circles on his hips weren’t helping, either. Just as Harry was about to
relinquish his senses and thrust his arse backwards, the gentle caress stopped.
Harry whined, startled into silence again when Snape chuckled low in his ear.
“If you will not look at me, Potter, then there is no reason for you to remain
in control of your vision.”
Harry’s nails skritched the desk as Snape tore into the back of his skirt,
ripping the flimsy outer layer to leave only the thinnest underskirt of silk
cotton covering his bottom. Before he could object, the fabric closed across
his face, pulled taut and knotted tightly at the back of his head, suspiciously
quicker than conventional methods could feasibly have been employed.
“What – what are you doing?” Harry managed to get out, fervently wishing he’d
opened his eyes when Snape had told to him to. Having the option to see was
entirely different to enforced darkness.
Snape either didn’t hear, or refused to acknowledge Harry’s feeble protest.
Without sight, his other senses seemed astonishingly heightened. Breathing
deeply through his nose, Harry inhaled the cloying scent of his own desire as
it rose up from the pleated folds of the shredded skirt. Snape’s hand pressed
into the small of his back, feeling heavy and imminent, a caress of warning.
Harry tried again. “Professor, please – what are you – oh Gods!” Snape’s other
hand came from nowhere, suddenly settling on the inside of Harry’s thigh,
barely there a moment before it worked its way up to discover a distinct lack
of underwear.
“Oh my – God! God!” The lightest brush of fingers swept across Harry’s balls,
nudging them forward and back again, rolling one way and then the other.
Lacking conscious thought, Harry bucked into the touch and spread his legs
wider, nonsensical babble pouring from his mouth as he pleaded, each touch
finely tuned to drive him wild. His cock dribbled pre-come, dampening the
fabric that teased the sensitive head into leaking more, an easy movement that
became hindered by the rough drag of damp cotton.
“Verbally illustrate for me, if you will, precisely how good the caress of
fabric feels to you, Potter.”
Snape’s hand left Harry’s back and slid beneath the hem, cupping an arse cheek.
With a firm, circular pressure, he massaged it away from the other, exhaling
heavily when Harry gasped at the rush of cool air assaulting the most intimate
part of his body.
“It – it feels – my – my – “
“Shall I assist you? Perhaps you need something to compare the sensation to?”
Without any warning, Snape released Harry’s balls and dropped to his knees,
prising Harry’s cheeks apart. The cold air of moments before was quickly
replaced by a wet warmth, a long lick down his crack from tailbone to perineum.
Harry jerked forward so violently his knee collided with the wood and he
groaned in equal parts pain and pleasure.
“Careless, Potter,” came the deeply amused voice, hesitating to administer
another searing streak of talented tongue, “if you damage my desk, boy, you
will pay dearly for it.”
Harry felt pathetically grateful when Snape stopped talking and buried his
face, the tip of his tongue circling Harry’s hole. Harry clawed at the desk
edge, crying out and skewering himself onto the slick muscle. The leisurely in
and out pace was infuriating, and he moaned at the cruel tease, shuffling his
legs further apart, anything to add evidence to the laboured pants plainly
indicating he needed more. A longer, deeper slide this time; he could feel the
wet tip dragging over the sensitive inner muscles, testing, tasting, moving
again and again, enticing the tight ring to relax.
Harry hadn’t even noticed his own hand drifting down to stroke his cock through
the two vastly different layers of fabric until the sharp sting of a slap
dislodged it.
“You will not touch yourself,” came the stern reprimand, from a mouth, Harry
realised with another jolt of arousal, that was benevolent in its gift of
overwhelming pleasure in the most unbelievably erotic place. Harry gurgled his
agreement and wiped a sweaty palm on the skirt before returning it to the dark
wood.
“Please, sir, I need – I need to come,” Harry groaned, lowering his forehead to
wipe the perspiration on his already sodden shirtsleeve. A steady weakening in
his legs caused him to lean more of his weight on his forearms, the solid sinew
of his thighs having liquefied the moment Snape had put his mouth between
Harry’s buttocks.
The rustle of robes as Snape stood up seemed monumentally amplified to Harry in
the otherwise quiet dungeon. Despite the jagged barbs of icy air, sweat
prickled his scalp and ran free, rivulets meandering the length of his neck to
soak into his collar.
A tingle of powerful magic; Harry could taste Snape’s signature in the murmured
incantation as his shirt fell to pieces. A finger drew a sharp line down the
bumps of his spine, trailing over the dampened skin. The finger broke contact
for the briefest moment, still long enough for Harry, hyper aware of every
sound and touch, to whine in protest.
“Shh, impatient boy.” The maddening touch returned from where it had left off,
but now it burrowed beneath the skirt, resuming its slow path towards Harry’s
cleft. The slip and slide of a fingertip as it found the saliva coated entrance
cannon-balled Harry towards orgasm, balls drawing up in preparation.
“Can’t – gonna – oh fuck – gonna come!” Harry yelped, thrusting his hips
haphazardly to catch some friction from the silken lining. Snape’s other hand
slid round to grasp his cock and just as Harry felt the first spurt leave his
sac, long, wicked fingers tightened painfully at the base, staving off the
explosive release he desperately craved.
“Oh! Oh please!” Harry begged, the denial of such urgency squeezing tears of
disappointment from his eyes.
“No. You will come when I command it.”
As if to prove his point, Snape jabbed a finger into the wet pucker, and Harry
twisted sharply as it struck an electrifying nerve. Snape continued to work
Harry open, each fractional increase in burn accompanying each added digit
until Harry could have sworn Snape would tear him apart. He wanted to howl in
frustration but his throat had seized up, so he thumped the desk instead, fists
clenched in frustration.
“Oh God, now, you have to – now!”
Snape’s mouth was beside his ear in an instant. “I am not fluent in gibber,
boy. You will have to enunciate clearly what it is you wish me to do.”
“Fuck me!” Harry bellowed before the last word had left Snape’s sinful mouth,
and although he couldn’t see it, he knew it would be warped into a parody of a
smile.
Snape scissored his fingers, then withdrew them to the sound of whimpered
disapproval.
“Needy little slut aren’t you, Potter?” Snape drawled. Harry’s whine quickly
became a growl of apprehension as the blunt head of Snape’s cock rubbed over
his loosened hole.
Out of words, out of breath, Harry barely managed a pathetic, “Please,” before
he felt the pop of the thick shaft, swift in its entry .
“Oh! Oh!” Harry puffed, forgetting the imminent threat of orgasm in favour of
the torturously unhurried slide filling him inch by inch, the sensation alien
and yet entirely perfect. As Snape sheathed himself, Harry felt a tendril of
panic. He was so full, so completely taken and Gods, Snape’s heavy balls were
pressing against his arse.
“Potter, relax,” Snape demanded. The hand on his cock moved, stroking the taut
ridges, rubbing the dampness into them, sliding further until a thumb brushed
his slit. His stilted orgasm rushed back with the intention of devastating him
but yet again, Snape cut it off with a hard circle of thumb and forefinger.
When Harry started to moan low in his throat, Snape eased out and pushed back
in, holding Harry’s hip steady as he penetrated him. Wanting to hear some form
of appreciation from the older man, Harry gritted his teeth and met the careful
thrusts, forcing a grunt. Thrilled at his newfound ability, he began to move
faster until each frenzied slam of Snape’s hips made a delicious squelchy
sound, the sheen of sweat between them growing hotter and becoming slippery.
Harry dropped his chest to the desk, offering himself up for a deeper pounding.
Snape took full advantage, and just as Harry thought he might implode from the
sheer ecstasy of having his prostate repeatedly hammered, Snape tugged his
cock, working the pliant foreskin over and over the rim. With a strangled
shout, Harry torpedoed an endless stream of jerky spurts. Snape’s hand cupped
and caught the warm seed, triumphantly bringing it up to Harry’s mouth and
offering his sticky fingers. Harry sucked them in greedily, prick still
twitching.
His arse felt tighter than ever as his muscles pulled in sharply, clutching the
solid length they surrounded. Harry could feel Snape lengthening inside him,
swelling further as his body stilled. With one final thrust, his hand dropped
from Harry’s eager mouth and clutched at his waist, grinding with furious
abandon until a sudden flooding warmth coated his insides. Later, in his dorm,
Harry would swear he could determine each pulse like a living heartbeat, but at
that moment, Harry could only register the suffocating weight of his Professor
as he slumped across his back, both solely reliant on the impressive sturdiness
of the desk to keep them from overbalancing.
Harry had never heard such wonderful noises from anyone. He resolved to do
everything in his power to elicit them from the usually austere Potions Master
as many times as he could.
It felt very cold when Snape regained his composure and straightened himself.
The gentle wash of magic settled over Harry, cleaning him front and back,
repairing and smoothing the ridiculous skirt. The strip of fabric used for his
makeshift blindfold disappeared, and Harry blinked, intrigued as to how the
dungeon gloom could ever seem too bright.
Harry turned around to a fully clothed Snape staring at him strangely, as if
he’d just walked into his classroom to find Harry Potter naked and bent over
his desk. Blushing, Harry found his shirt and slipped it on, fingers stumbling
over the buttons.
Still Snape said nothing, and Harry began to feel uncomfortable under the
questioning gaze.
“Um, th-thank you, sir,” Harry mumbled, lowering his eyes to the floor,
mentally kicking himself for saying something so ridiculous. It was
extraordinary, to feel so sated and at the hands of a man Harry thought he
hated with a passion to rival that of Voldemort. And yet, that gleam in Snape’s
eye made his knees go weak all over again.
“Your antics in my class will not go unpunished, Potter, do I make myself
clear?”
How different that severe, menacing voice sounded now. Harry’s cock jumped
again.
“Of course, sir. Are you going to give me detention?” he asked, taking the
liberty of making eye contact from beneath his lowered lashes.
Snape ran his gaze the full length of Harry’s body. “You may consider this
detention served, Mr Potter.”
Harry blinked twice. “I – are you sure?”
“You believe I have been too lenient? An admission that Harry Potter indeed
requires supplementary chastisement?” Snape’s raised eyebrow made him appear
shocked and amused at the same time.
“Er, yes, sir, I think I do,” Harry grinned.
Snape nodded curtly and stalked towards his office. “Very well, Potter. You
have detention tomorrow evening at 8pm. My private quarters. Do not be late.”
***
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