Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6146753.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Sirius_Black/Remus_Lupin/James_Potter, Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      Oral, Threesome, Complete, Voyeurism
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-02 Words: 2278
****** Blackboard Romance ******
by riffraff84
Summary
     Memories of the past haunt the potions professor but his green eyed
     student proves that not every son follows in their fathers footsteps.
Notes
     Disclaimer: I don't own it I only use it and put it back on the shelf
     with only some slightly bent corners.
     A/N: This was a challenge I wrote sometime ago. Hope you enjoy :)
Blackboard Romance
‘The soft tickle of their hair against one another’s skin as they lie in shade.
The creamy expanse of skin dappled by sunlight streaming down from between the
leaves of the trees. The gentle rise and fall of their chest against another’s
as their heartbeats slow together after such strenuous activity. He’s watched
them three times now, leaving in the early hours of the morning to frolic like
fillies in the misty morning shallows of the lake. When he closes his eyes he
can identify each of them by their laughter. There is the rich melodious but
not yet broken voice of the boy with spectacles, the deep hoarse growl of the
moonlit beast and the calm collected mellow drawl of the families black duck.
He knows them each by name and face but it’s their voices that he remembers
most. The voices that taunt, tease and cruelly cut into his already painfully
thin skin. When he watches them though he can block out their cruelty and focus
on the envious beauty they can create together. Hidden he is free to see their
true friendship and as he waits for them to catch their breath after swimming
he sits back and observes closely.
As predicted the black duck always makes the first move. It is a show of
dominance he envies and craves to feel. A commanding hand tucked under the chin
of the bespectacled boy dragging him roughly up into the first of many deep
kisses. He can see the boy’s toes curl in response to the kiss, can feel the
air being sucked from his lungs as the elder of the three boys asserts his
position as leader. The kiss ends with a nip of lips that leaves a trail of
spit glistening on the younger boys bottom lip. The wolf is content to sit and
watch as his friends strip off and sit together against the tree trunk, the
younger straddling the black duck and ridding him in a playful dry hump. It is
all a game to them he is sure, as he watches shorts get pushed aside as the
rosy swollen tips of cocks poke out from the waist bands of wet clothes.
Sandwiched together there is little room for movement but enough to build up
friction as they continue to grind against one another. He can hear their twin
groans of pleasure as their lips mold together in an attempt to muffle the
sound from anyone who might dare come looking for them. The activity is short
lived as the dark haired elder looses interest quickly. He has learnt in the
brief moments he has watched that the black duck is the hardest to please, with
a thick solid cock, an insatiable need and a will of iron he is much harder to
break than the other two. Perhaps if they weren’t enemies he’d offer to try and
make the boy scream, as he seems so reluctant to do with his friends.
The morning is moving on quickly and soon the castle they call home will
awaken, so they progress more quickly. Spinning the younger boy around on his
lap the elder ferociously pulls down his sodden shorts. He has seen the pale
backside and thin rod like cock of the messy brown haired boy before. He is
always in the middle without exception, a pawn for the enjoyment of his two
best friends. There is no preparation this morning he observes and watches as
the green eyes wince shut as the elder boy shoves his prick hard into the
younger boy’s backside with a primal grunt. He can feel every inch of the
searing heat inside his own backside, just as if it was he sitting firmly upon
those Quidditch toned thighs. He spreads his legs to mirror that of the impaled
boy, who has now bent forward gasping for breath as his friend thrusts upwards
seeking fulfillment. The freckled pale boy who until recently had been happy to
jerk himself off suddenly joins in. Leaning across the pair, his unkempt wild
hair hanging in his face, as he opens his mouth and devours the younger boy’s
rigid cock in one fluid movement. He watches the bob of the beast’s throat as
he sucks the average length in his mouth, the sunlight catching the reflection
of the saliva that sparkles on his lips and on the boy’s flushed filled skin.
Perfectly they move together, the black duck’s hand carefully guiding both of
the boy’s into oblivion. They groan in unison and he watches the small changes
in each of their faces as orgasm takes over. The boy with the glasses is first
like always, the pinch of his face, his girlish whimper and pathetic gasp for
air the only physical signs that he has cum. The wolf is next. Having swallowed
his best friends load, his own hand becomes a blur of frantic movement down the
front of his shorts as he jerks himself to completion, a fist stuffed in his
mouth to stop himself from howling. The elder is the last, pushing his now
pliable, liquid boned friend onto all fours so that he can pound into him from
behind. He is sure the boy’s tight fingers must leave bruises on the other
boy’s pale creamy slender waist but they’re always gone when he dares peek a
look in the showers after Quidditch practice. His completion is always
spectacular to watch, his face a picture of schooled control as he uses his
friends body to milk every last drop of essence from his cock. He never speaks
as he comes, just presses a chaste kiss to the back of his friends neck before
pulling out spent and exhausted.
He has watched them three times and already he knows he is too addicted to the
show not to come again. He does not know what he will do when the winter comes
but wherever the trio go, he will follow willingly. He is hard himself but in
defiant self-control he’ll never touch. He watches as they get up and dress
themselves, laughing and chatting as if what they’ve just done was nothing more
than a swim with mates. He hates them, hates their beauty, hates their ability
to look at him with disgust when they themselves sully each other with sexual
pleasure. He hates them………’
Harry distantly hears the scream, the angry bitter howl that sounds like a
tortured animal. Pain is the next thing he registers as the knife sharp mental
blocks slam down into place expelling him from the memories and throwing him
several feet across the room to slam into the wall with a sickening crack. He
shakes the curse off and sits in shock for a few minutes trying to gather his
wits. The silence that lingers in the room is terrifyingly heavy. He swallows
thickly trying to expel the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his heart.
That was unexpected.
Dazed he doesn’t dare move as the shaky sounds of whimpering catch at the edges
of the silence. It takes every ounce of courage for him to stand up, his back
protesting with pain as he straightens himself before bending to pick up his
discarded wand. He is not prepared for the sight that greets him. Curled up at
the end of the dueling platform sits the wizard whose memories he’s just
trampled on. The sleek black form Harry had come to fear but also admire was
sat, a wreck on the dusty timber floor. Harry can see the shudders of the
shoulders as the grown man physically shakes. The effort required throwing
Harry from his thoughts undoubtedly draining what little strength the wizard
had left. One foot after another Harry forces himself to move, concern for his
mentor overwhelming the feeling of disgust that had swept through him during
the memories.
“Snape.” His voice mirrors that of the memory and he cringes as he watches the
head of his mentor flinch at the sound. Harry decides he shouldn’t speak at all
and instead drops to his knees in front of the elder wizard, who has yet to
acknowledge him. It is confronting to sit before the empty shell of such a
proud, stubborn man and Harry wonders if all his displays of control aren’t a
show to protect him from people like those in his memories.
“Don’t pity me Potter.” The words are ground out from between clenched teeth
although the wizard doesn’t look up from beneath the curtain of his greasy
black hair hanging in his face. Harry shakes his head silently in reply; pity
the furthest emotion from his mind at present. Leaning forward Harry gently
reaches out to tuck a length of black hair back behind the professors ear
exposing for the first time the single glistening tear that clings to the man’s
pale cheek. Harry has never seen the man express any weakness before and stares
at the salty tear as it rolls down a sallow cheek, dips into the corner of the
man’s thin mouth before rolling on down his chin to fall like a raindrop onto
the wooden floor boards. “You’re finally getting the hang of it Potter.” Harry
knows an awkward moment when he is faced with one and he also clearly spots the
pathetic attempt at diffusing the situation. Snape seems to have recovered
himself and goes to stand up, his gaze still not meeting that of his younger
counterpart. Harry is quicker though and with two firm hands landing on Snape’s
thighs to stop him from moving, Harry leans forward and presses a chaste kiss
against his elder’s warm lips. Snape freezes. His eyes widen and snap up to
stare into Harry’s green pools desperately seeking acceptance.
“I’m not my father Severus. I know love when I feel it.” Harry leans in again
for another kiss, this one firmer more demanding than the first. Snape replies
this time, his tongue snaking into Harry’s mouth to entwine and lap with the
boys own in an erotic dance. Harry pulls away with a gasp his hands reaching up
to tug at the high collar of the elder wizards cloak in an attempt to touch the
pale, silk like skin hidden beneath the layers of black. Snape pulls away
slightly with a serious expression, his own hands gently exploring the smooth
planes of the boy’s face as if reminding himself the differences between the
boy and his father. There is a hesitant moment and Harry leans into Snape’s
cupped hand hoping the elder wizard doesn’t put an end to it.
“Finish my lesson first Potter, then you can have free time.” Harry’s confused
by the comment but instantly realizes it has a hidden agenda as Snape drags one
of Harry’s hands to the front of his robes, where, beneath the layers of black
Harry can feel the hardness created and left over from the memories he’d just
invaded. Harry smiles wickedly to himself as he fumbles with the few necessary
buttons on Snape’s cloak. Frustrated by the layers he has to negotiate his way
through Harry grunts a little as he works. The effort is worth the prize though
as Harry reaches into the warm confines of Snape’s trousers and drags free the
rigid, swollen cock.
Harry has done this before.
Admittedly not to Snape but he has practiced the skill to make up for his
inability to do other things. To Harry it is an art and a performance and with
a glance up to make sure Snape is watching him Harry dives, his tongue poking
obscenely out to flutter across the weeping, ruby red crown. Harry works his
lips up and down the length of Snape’s prick, admiring it as he goes and
wishing he’d had real men to practice on instead of the boys he’d chosen. Snape
is controlled beyond anyone Harry has sucked before. The man does not even
flinch as Harry nips at the taunt foreskin before swallowing the length down
the back of his throat in a single slide. The wizard tastes divine and Harry
doubles his efforts as Snape’s fingers slide through the boy’s unruly brown
locks. The hands snake their way down to the base of his skull where they
encourage greater suction with a gentle push. Harry has had enough practice to
predict when men cum. The slight tense of thighs, the deeper breath in and even
the throb of the cock in his mouth right before they lose control. Snape is no
different in that respect and Harry buries his face into the front of Snape’s
pants as the man explodes down his throat, in a fiery splash of zesty essence.
Greedily Harry swallows as much as he can before he needs to breath and when he
pulls off he makes sure to clean the man’s cock as he goes. A pearly tendril of
spit connects the tip of Snape’s prick with Harry’s swollen glistening lips
when the boy finally lets the cock slip from his mouth. Harry watches through
hooded eyes as Snape uses his thumb to smear the spit onto Harry’s lips before
dragging him up for a kiss. The kiss is passionate but not demanding and when
released Harry stays close to Snape who is gently stroking Harry’s back in
soothing, pleased circles.
“Nothing like my father am I?” Harry whispers as he closes his eyes and inhales
deeply on Snape’s scent.
“No, nothing like him at all…” Snape whispers in reply, his eyes closing as the
last of the memories fade leaving him satisfied for the first time in years.
END
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