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The Merry-Go-Round

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Snape leaned back against the bar, a glass of Firewhisky in hand. It was crowded tonight—as he’d expected, since it was, after all, Friday night. He usually avoided coming here on weekends, as his social phobia tended to cause a rise in blood pressure.  

But if you wanted to find a sweet young boy to spend time with, you’d have more luck in a large crowd on a Friday than on a dead weekday evening. So Snape suffered the press of bodies.

“See anybody you like?” Hyde, the bartender, queried. Hyde had opened “The Gentlemen’s Club,” one of the rougher gay wizards’ clubs in England, almost ten years ago.  

Snape scanned the room. The place was renowned for the lack of inhibitions; if you wanted to try something new, the Club was the place to be. And while it always looked wild, just bordering on out-of-control, there were usually spotters and bouncers discreetly patrolling the place and, of course, the wards.

“No, there’s no one I—”

Snape stopped short as the front door opened just far enough to let a scruffy head pop through and look around.  

Talk about a rise in blood pressure! What the devil was Potter doing at a gay club?

Snape looked around, hoping no one had noticed the boy. There were no age limits here, not if you came in of your own free will, and the wards could tell the difference. This was usually not an issue, because The Club was so very discreet.  

Potter, however, was precocious, prying, and apt to get into anything he wasn’t supposed to get into.

But even if Potter hadn’t been just barely fifteen years old, Snape would have been just as furious to spot him here. Didn’t the boy know there were people after him? Didn’t he understand that Dumbledore had done everything in his power to make the brat safe? But of course, Potter wouldn’t be Potter if he didn’t take idiot risks.

Snape was already snaking his way across the crowded floor. If he could only get to the fool before anyone noticed—

It was too late. A man dressed as a cowboy had been standing by the entrance, and he spotted Harry straight away. “Well then, sugar,” the man said, touching his brim in salutation, “what’s a sweet young thing like you doing here?”

Potter lit up. There was no other way to describe it. It was like someone had cast Lumos behind his eyes.

Leaving,” Snape growled, grabbing the brat by the arm. “He was just leaving,” he said to the strange cowboy and the room at large.

The boy looked at him, completely stunned to see him there. Or maybe it was merely the lack of robes, the fine shirt and the taut black trousers. Then Harry seemed to realise Snape still had hold of his arm. “I’m not leaving,” he said, trying to yank his arm away. He was such a small thing though, and Snape had a grip like a bird of prey.  

“You can’t make him,” the man in the hat said evenly. “It’s against the rules.”

Snape froze. He could feel the watchful eyes of the club on him. Everyone knew the rules; you didn’t get to manhandle, mistreat, or eject anyone. Management could tell someone to leave, but a guest could not. And there were strong wards here; they could sense when someone had gone too far. They had emotional sensors that made safe words virtually unnecessary, though you could still use them if you wished. And Snape knew that if he kept this up, the wards would dump him out on his arse, leaving Potter behind, unattended, vulnerable.

He let go.

Potter smiled, puffing out his chest with triumph. “I heard about the Merry-Go-Round,” he said. “Where do I go for that?”

The cowboy grinned and ruffled his hair. “Right this way, little britches,” he said, leading him to the bar. “Hyde, this here boy wants to go on the Merry-Go-Round.”

Snape felt himself relax a little. The Merry-Go-Round wasn’t that bad. At least it was just looking. And surely by the time he had finished the Merry-Go-Round, Potter would be revolted and ready to leave.

“You have to buy a ticket, young master,” Hyde told the boy. “One Galleon.”

“Two tickets,” Snape interrupted, slapping the money down, enough to pay for them both.

Potter looked up at him, shocked.  

“You won’t enjoy it, I promise you,” Snape said.

Potter tilted his head. “I might. Are you going too, then?”

“You do realise I’m likely to lose my job either way, but it’s twice as likely if I leave you unattended in the wildest gay club in the country?”

Harry shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’m not going to tell anybody about you, so long as you don’t tell anybody about me.”

Drat it, the boy had a point. He wasn’t supposed to be visiting homosexual roughhouses any more than Potter was. Though he doubted he’d actually lose his job over it, he imagined Dumbledore would have unpleasant things to say and—more likely—unpleasant tasks as punishment. Worse, Potter could tell his little friends, and it was not the sort of rumour one wanted floating about a boarding school.

“My lips are sealed,” Snape told him sourly.

Harry merely smiled a cherubic smile. “Where do we go?”

The bartender led them over to a set of black walnut doors, which slid open at his touch to reveal a lift. “Tour guide will be waiting at the bottom,” he said.  

They descended swiftly and the doors opened to a darkened room with a small train car and tracks. A large man with an impassive face gestured them forward. The man was naked except for a black bow tie, which indicated his service to the Club. Snape noticed Potter was baldly staring at the man’s prick, which swung heavily between his legs.  

“This way.”

The car was immaculate—seats of soft, purple velvet, polished brass trim. Snape knew it was the magic that kept it clean; no Muggle sex ride could have managed the upkeep of velvet seats. Snape took the seat facing forward while Potter, after a moment of hesitation, took the seat across from him. The car was open, but they were hardly likely to get cold inside a building. Still, Potter seemed to be shivering.  

The tour guide cleared his throat. “Feel free to touch yourselves and one another, but keep your hands and arms inside the car at all times, and mind the glass on the exhibits.”

Potter looked surprised at the suggestion he might want to touch Snape, let alone that he’d be allowed to do so.

“How does this work, exactly?” Potter asked.  

The guide smiled. “The Merry-Go-Round is a series of exhibits which the car travels past, making a large loop to return to the elevator. Each scene is an alluring sexual adventure in the setting of a diorama. You will see various beautiful men fucking and being fucked, frotting, sucking and engaging in foreplay, all set against a variety of backdrops. The car moves slowly so you may enjoy the voyeuristic delight of watching these steamy scenes roll past as you pleasure yourself. If you’re so inclined,” the guide added.

Harry stared at him, blushing at little. Snape couldn’t tell what the boy was thinking. “But why do they call it the Merry-Go-Round?” Potter persisted.

The guide gave him a crooked grin and a wink. “’Cause you’re free to take a ride on any stud you take the tour with, and you go round in a circle and end up at the door, right where you started.”

Again Harry glanced at Snape before looking away. Snape wondered why the boy hadn’t thought to look at the guide, who couldn’t flirt harder if he tried. Still, it was for the best that the boy was ignorant and oblivious.

“Huh,” was all Harry said.

Snape shook his head. Potter had always been headstrong, but it was still shocking to see someone this young take in sexual terms with so little reaction. Of course, Potter probably would have died before he allowed Snape to see how embarrassed he was . . .

The car slid forward, led by the railway tracks.  

As they approached the first glass case, Snape leaned forward. “Why are you doing this?” he whispered to Harry.

The boy looked furtive, then shrugged. “Fred and George dared me to.”

That explained it. Snape sagged in his seat, heaving a sigh of relief. With any luck, Potter would find each display increasingly abhorrent and they could leave quickly, never speaking of this again.

The first scene was at a park. You’d hardly have known it wasn’t really a park, because the grass was authentic and clouds moved realistically across the painted-blue background.  

“It’s like a museum,” Harry remarked.

“Indeed.” It was like a museum; the small strip where the car track ran was dark and echoing, while everything behind the glass was lit, staged, painted and arranged, quiet and still except—

Except for the playground, where a rather unconventional swing dangled, leather and chains. One man was fucking another; the man in the swing seemed to be having as much fun as any child. He had a rather appealing little half smile on his face. Snape ignored his bobbing feet and sculpted body; muscled men didn’t especially engross him. Anyway, he was more interested in faces, in the plays of expression that ran across them, the pain and the bliss. Severus approved of bliss in small amounts—

“Wow,” Harry said, pushing his glasses up and watching with interest.

Snape had almost forgot about Potter. “Wow?” he repeated scathingly. “Is that all you have to say?”

Harry watched intently as the fuckee’s hand slipped down, pumping his cock furiously. “Definitely wow,” he said faintly.

Snape groaned.  

The car moved on.

They were outside a dim, narrow alley, where a man was buggering a teen boy against a building. It was not the least bit like the last exhibit; it wasn’t bright or happy or playful. There was garbage at their feet, graffiti on the walls, and Snape would have bet the whole place smelled vaguely of urine.  

But there was something arresting about it, just the same. They were both almost fully clothed, the man with his dark trousers undone just enough to let his thick cock escape, the boy with his pants shimmied down his thighs. He was braced against the wall as the man fucked him roughly, hurriedly, like they were worried someone might pass the mouth of the alley and see them.

It was a good likeness of a tryst made in desperation.  

The boy had the side of his face pressed to the wall, and he was biting his lip hard, his face tense, his cheeks red.

Snape found himself growing hard.

Across from him, Potter shifted uncomfortably. Perhaps the boy was disturbed by this. Hopefully he would be shaken and would shortly lose interest in this charade altogether.  

They slid slowly to the next exhibit.  

One man was wearing lace stockings and high heels, a teddy and skirt. Snape was not especially impressed; the tailoring had been subpar, and the man was just a little outsized for the clothes, which didn’t suit him anyway. They would have looked better on someone a year or two younger, someone with a little androgyny to his face, someone who could pout his lips. Someone like Potter.  

Snape stiffened, shocked at the thought. He stole a glance at the boy, who was watching the scene as though he didn’t know what to make of it. Potter had grown rather pretty; Snape hadn’t noticed it until now. He’d always known, in the back of his mind, that the boy would grow up to be handsome enough, but lately his expression was always so sullen it was easy to forget the underlying beauty. In the club, his devil-may-care exhilaration had come out and without the petulance, Potter was attractive once more.

Harry tilted his head as he watched the high-heeled man recline in a bed, his ankle lifted until it rested on his partner’s shoulder.

When the car moved on, the boy looked relieved. Well, that was good. A relief, in fact. If this little exhibition could chase Potter off, so much the better. Snape would hate to take more drastic measures.

Another scene. A man, this time, and a boy. A young boy, perhaps younger than Potter. It was a schoolroom. The teacher stood by a blackboard, looking prim wearing a tweed jacket, a little pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

The boy was making excuses—Snape had seen enough boys make excuses to know that—and the teacher was having none of it, looking at the boy sternly. He gestured to his desk. The boy shook his head, made exaggerated pleading eyes and motions. The man pointed at the desk, stabbed at it, almost, and the boy went, reluctantly.

Well, here was something to take Potter right out of the mood.

The man walked past the desk to the wall, where there were a number of paddles in evidence, gleaming wooden paddles, displayed proudly beside the blackboard. The teacher picked one, and the boy bent over the desk. Snape could almost feel the warm handle against his palm. He’d hefted one, tried its weight, even kept it at hand in his desk, but never did use it at the school. What he wouldn’t give for the opportunity to take Potter and—

Despite the glass that muffled the noises, the first smack was so loud that both Snape and Harry jolted, surprised.  

The teacher raised the paddle again; another strike, a cry from the boy.

Potter had gone bright red.  

The teacher was removing his belt.  

Harry was very nearly hanging out of the car.  

“Ten lashes,” the teacher said.  

“Oh, but sir,” the boy protested. The look he gave the man, on the other hand, was anything but fearful or unwilling. Snape hissed with dissatisfaction.

“Holy shit.” Potter was rubbing himself. Potter was reaching down, rubbing the tented front of his trousers, pressing his palm to his burgeoning erection, massaging his plump little prick.

Potter,” Snape said sharply, and the boy withdrew his hand as if it had been scalded.

Harry gulped.

The exhibits began to blur after that. There were orgies, watersports, blindfolds, handcuffs, machine-pumping dildoes and whips that darted out and licked blood from the backs of subservient young men.

Potter positively writhed with discomfort.  

Snape said nothing. Thank Merlin the boy was finally beginning to grasp the situation; these were dangerous games to play, and unless you had a partner you could trust, you might find yourself playing for very high stakes.  

The cart rolled slowly to a stop back at the lift, Potter quivering in his seat. Snape was gracious enough to open the door for him and led the way up into the lift.

“Well, I hope you’ve got any notions of this sort of sexual play out of your system,” Snape told the boy severely.

Potter looked up at him through glittering, feverish eyes. “Are you mad? I want to have sex. I want to have sex right now. I want to be fucked just like those blokes and I—I want it right now,” the boy moaned.

“Good Gods!” Snape exclaimed. The brat truly was completely incorrigible.  

As the lift doors opened, Harry flung himself out, looking wildly round the dance floor, presumably for a partner for something other than dancing.  

“Don’t you dare,” Snape said, grabbing his arm. “You absolutely will not go whoring yourself out to the population at large. It’s dangerous, you imbecile.”

“But I want to try it.” Potter’s jaw clenched. “You can’t stop me.”

Snape wanted to wring his neck. “Potter, you little sod,” he began, shaking the boy. “You have no comprehension of what you’re doing!”

Potter was breathing heavily when Snape stopped. “You think that scares me?” he asked.  

“Do you know what you need, you rebellious little bastard? You need a good, sound thrashing!”

Snape was pretty sure he’d said nothing about free sweets and pony-rides, but to judge by Potter’s expression, that’s exactly what he’d heard.

“You mean—like a spanking?”

Snape stared at him. The boy was pink and panting and truly willing to try anything, anything at all. Well, perhaps he should just get his wish. That would teach him not to jump in headfirst.  

Still clenching Potter’s arm, Snape hauled the boy off to a private room. He was going to do his best to knock some sense into the boy, and wards be damned.  

Snape yanked the boy into the first empty room he could find; it had a simple bed and chair and a mirror on the ceiling, but it was assumed that anyone visiting could conjure any accessories they might want.  

Snape chose to conjure a paddle.  

Harry gawped, eyes wide. “Are you going to hit me with that?” he breathed.  

Snape threw himself into the chair. “Accio Potter!” he snarled.

The boy was dragged across the room, arms pin-wheeling as he tried to stay upright. For all his effort, he ended up thrown across Snape’s lap, arse in the air.

“You think you like this sort of thing, do you?” Snape hissed.

Harry craned his head so he could see Snape over his shoulder. “You never know until you try.”

“Very well. We’ll do things your way. How many licks does it take to destroy Potter’s illusions of banal taps on the backside as a source of sexual pleasure? One . . .”

Potter yelped and flopped as Snape struck him.

“Two . . .” Another smack to the boy’s bum, quick as the striking of a snake.  

“Three . . .”

“Oh, God, Professor!”  

Snape froze. Harry was squirming all over his lap in the most enticing, unrepentant way.

Snape grasped the young man’s trousers, yanked them down. He was good and red, all right; Snape could feel the heat emanating from the boy’s battered bum. Why, then, was he not in tears? And on top of that, Snape had got an eyeful of Harry Potter’s arse. Small, to be sure, but perky and inviting and deliciously forbidden. Snape hiked the boy’s denims right back up.

Snape raised the paddle again, furious. “Four—five—six!” he snapped, not holding back.  

Harry twitched and twinged, his whole form contorting. Every slip and slide of his warm, greedy body made Snape’s prick give a throb of interest.

“Once more?” Snape snarled.

Harry lay across his lap, panting heavily for several moments. Finally he was able to squeeze out a whisper. “. . .  harder, sir!”

Snape literally recoiled from the words in shock and bafflement. How could this be? He doubted Potter could walk upright after such brutalization. And yet here the boy was, asking for more.

Well, perhaps the physical held no intimidation. Snape would have to up the ante. Snape was angry enough and—after seeing Potter’s pert red bum—he was randy enough.  

“You wanted something more sexual, did you not?”

And young Potter, young, innocent Harry Potter, looking up at Snape and blinking his eyes, nodded eagerly.  

Snape sat back, allowing some of the tension to drain. “Very well. Undo my trousers. Pleasure me,” he ordered, gesturing for Harry to kneel between his legs.

Harry sank onto his knees, but his expression suggested confusion. “Pleasure . . .?”

“Suck my cock,” Snape explained shortly.

Dear God, the lights in those eyes. The boy was like a jack-o-lantern that only turned on at the prospect of performing sexual acts. He hadn’t stumbled across the stick yet, but Snape now knew several varieties of carrot.

Harry’s unsteady fingers struggled with Snape’s fly. Snape was not going to help. This was Potter’s job, damn it, and if he could do nothing else correctly, Snape would see that this feat, at least, was within his ability.  

Snape ached. Ten minutes of Harry’s squirming, fluttering company had certainly left him stiff. He watched as the boy held his cock with both hands, admiring the length and girth, or perhaps just cowed by it. Cowed would be better.  

Theoretically better, anyway.

“Gosh, it’s so big,” the boy breathed.

It was like a gust of wind tearing away the cobwebs from Snape’s rusty old libido. “Then put it where it belongs,” Snape told him in a clipped voice, enunciating each word carefully. “In your mouth,” he prompted when the boy made no move.

Finally Harry seemed to break free from the magnificent spell of Snape’s cock. He lowered his head cautiously, a tentative tongue poking out to skate the surface of Snape’s flesh, only once or twice.

Snape grabbed a fist full of the boy’s hair and forced him down.

Potter learned quickly, because with that sort of force you swallow, gag or choke, or sometimes all three, and then you get a rhythm, which Harry managed after a few moments.

Snape watched as Harry’s dark head bobbed. He couldn’t resist reaching out to cup the boy’s chin, turn his face up. Harry’s eyebrows were twisted, his eyes shut. He blinked a little, gazing up at Snape as if wondering why the man had stopped him. As soon as Snape let go of his chin, the boy returned his attention to the man’s prick, his soft lips stretched around Snape’s cock.

Snape had done many illicit, illegal, insane things in his life, and he was likely going to hell. But really, right now the heat and constriction of Potter’s throat made it almost seem worth it. Heaven only had the dull people, anyway.

Heaving a sigh, the man allowed himself to relax a little, allowing Potter to suck the tension right out of him as he let his head fall back. Merlin, this was fantastic. A blowjob from a pretty young man—and humiliating Potter to boot.  

Snape felt his body unwind, his limbs slackening, and he drew one dreamy finger down the nape of Harry’s neck.

The boy moaned in distinct and undeniable pleasure.

Snape tensed again, anger flowing hot and thick through his blood. Nothing would intimidate Potter, nothing would teach him! And if Snape didn’t stop this right this instant, Potter would be back tomorrow night, and the night after that, until he ran into someone who wasn’t as nice as Snape, or worse—one of the Death Eaters, someone like Fenrir, even.  

Grabbing a fistful of Harry’s hair, Snape pulled him off. “Do you mean to tell me that you’re enjoying this, as well?”

Potter’s eyes were glassy, a slight smile playing at the edges of his mouth. Answer enough.  

Snape used one hand to draw his cock away from Potter’s face, then let go, allowing it to connect with the boy’s cheek. It gave a satisfying little noise, and Potter looked surprised.

“Are we really that much of a slut?” Snape inquired, slapping the boy again with his cock.  

Harry tried to jerk away, but the fist in his hair prevented any great movement. Again, Snape’s cock thumped against his face, this time hitting his chin.

Harry looked stunned. “You—what are you—?”

“It’s called cock slapping,” Snape replied coolly. He jogged his penis so that it tapped the boy’s lips. “Does it meet with your approval?”

Harry’s eyes drifted half shut, his lips pursing. He placed a delicate kiss on the head of Snape’s prick. “Mmm-hmm,” he replied.

There was no humiliating the boy. How could there be? If anything, he viewed each new deviant act an exciting summit to be tried and surmounted.  

On the other hand, it had been a considerable time since Snape last had a partner this malleable, this eager.  

No. Snape had not come here for that. Well, yes, obviously he’d come here for that, but that all changed when Potter waltzed through the door. He hadn’t brought Potter here for that; he intended to humiliate the boy. And if he had to try harder, so be it.  

“Stand,” he barked.  

Harry rose to his feet almost instantly, nearly snapping off an eager salute. Snape could have wept with frustration—why couldn’t the boy be this obedient anywhere but the bedroom?

“Come here,” Snape said, mastering his exasperation. With Harry in front of him, Snape reached out, running his hand down Harry’s chest, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him close. Harry seemed to like this as much as he’d done anything else—he leaned against Snape’s shoulder, practically purring. It did give Snape a moment’s pause. Harry was innocent—could not have been this eager without that innocence. He even welcomed the intimacy of his most-hated teacher groping him.  

Snape tried to ignore this, smoothing trembling hands down Harry’s back, feeling the soft denim against his fingertips. He paused to revel in the sensation of his hands planted firmly on Harry’s arse. It felt just as lovely and springy as it had looked, and it was still hot from the furious paddling.  

Harry whimpered as Snape gripped him. This time, Snape did not even entertain the fancy that the boy was uncomfortable—besides, he was grinding himself against Snape’s leg.

Snape continued to stroke the arse of Harry’s denims as he whispered, “Effeminare!

He both felt and heard Harry give a shivering, sharp intake of breath as his clothes transformed.  

Then the boy pushed him away so he could see what Snape had done. He stared down at himself, taking in the copious lace and silk, then looked back up with a confused expression, as though Snape had just conjured a water buffalo and Harry couldn’t understand where such a thing fit in with sexual play.

Sneering, Snape told him, “You make a better girl than you do a boy.” He had noticed Harry’s disinterest in the cross-dressing scene; surely emasculation would have a potent effect.

But Potter still mostly looked confused. “Do I?”

“Ah? You want to see?” Snape turned the nearest wall into a mirror. “Pretty little Potter in his sweet little teddy.”

Harry stared at himself.  

Snape was not going to admit, not in honesty, that Potter did, in fact, have the body to carry it off. He was young, slender and unblemished save for the scar and, of course, he had those sensual lips . . .  

Lips that were pursed as Harry tried to puzzle out this particular fetish.

“Here,” Snape said, gesturing him over.  

Harry tottered closer, balancing precariously on his heels. Snape pressed his wand to Harry’s mouth. A slick pink gloss trailed in the wake of Snape’s wand tip as he traced the boy’s lips.

Harry rubbed his lips together, an expression of understanding washing over his face. “Wow, that feels good. Really sexy.”

Snape sighed. He knew he shouldn’t have pushed it.  

Harry turned to his reflection once more, trying to see himself from every angle. His little pink cheeks peeked out from beneath his lacy underwear, and Snape had to reach down and squeeze himself harshly through his trousers, trying to get his own prick to behave.  

Harry saw this in the mirror and smiled. “So now we’re doing one of your kinks,” he said triumphantly. “I get it.”

Snape threw his hands in the air and went to sit on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumping. He ought to admit defeat. No man could possibly best Potter at this game.  

Harry came and perched on his lap as lightly as he could.  

As Snape arched an eyebrow him, Harry leaned over to rest his head on Snape’s shoulder and cooed, “Daddy spanked me too hard, so it’s difficult to sit properly.”

Snape’s cock immediately sat up and begged, forming a noticeable bulge in his trousers again. Damn it, who would have thought role-play with Harry Potter would be his downfall?  

Harry seemed to notice and delight in his titillation. He squirmed closer, kissing Snape’s ear. “You should spank me again, harder, Daddy,” he whispered. “I’m awfully bad and I need discipline.”

“Arrrgh,” Snape replied.  

“You know what would set me right?” Harry continued. “A good, rough, fuck. Will you fuck me, Daddy? Pretty please?” The boy wiggled his hips and fluttered his insouciant eyelashes, using feminine wiles he shouldn’t even possess, the little bastard.

Snape could barely wrap his mind around the idea of Harry Potter’s perfect mouth using the word ‘fuck.’ This was why Snape had such difficulty with the concepts of good and evil. Voldemort had never dreamt up anything this insidious, while Potter consistently found ways to put Snape through new and beguiling versions of hell.  

“You want to be fucked?” Snape asked, proud that he was able to keep his voice so expressionless.

Harry gave a great shudder. “Say it again,” he begged.

It seemed Snape wasn’t the only one turned on by dirty words in someone else’s mouth. He was lucky the brat hadn’t come at the mere suggestion. In fact . . .

Snape reached down and tapped Harry’s hip with his wand. The little lace panties instantly ripped and began to transform, turning into a long lacy ribbon, which slithered over Harry’s body, wrapping itself tightly around the base of his prick and tying itself off with a flourish.  

Harry looked at the jaunty bow. “Wow, gift wrapped for your convenience,” he said wryly.  

Snape ground his teeth. “It is functioning as a cock ring,” he spat.

Harry looked blank.

“It will restrict blood flow to my satisfaction. It is very responsive, you see. When you come close, it will pull you back from the brink.” As if to illustrate, the lace constricted; Snape could see the boy’s prick turn a shade darker and suddenly Harry rose up on his tiptoes.

“W—wh—you mean I can’t come?”

“Not unless I remove the lace,” Snape said.

Harry stared down at himself, his engorged cock aching and swollen, likely more so than he’d ever seen it. “You mean . . . I can’t come unless you let me?” he said in a plaintive little voice.

“Indeed. You are entirely at my mercy.” Snape did refrain from adding, ‘Mwahahaha,’ but only because it didn’t have the dignity he was trying for.

“So . . . I come when you tell me,” Harry was mumbling. “Because you’re in charge.” He gave a delicious little shiver. “Holy shit, that’s really hot.”

Again, Snape ground his teeth. They were going to be worn to nubs before the night was through. “Get on the bed,” he snarled, and Harry hurried to obey.

“How do you want me?” the boy asked. “On my back? Like this?”

“No. Roll over.”

“Ah. On my stomach,” Harry said, turning onto his belly and wiggling his butt as he ground himself against the mattress.

No,” Snape insisted, worried the brat might find sufficient friction to come despite all his precautions. After all, the lace was a good trick, but fifteen-year-old boys could be awfully fast. “Get your arse up in the air,” he ordered.

Harry lifted it, quite keen for whatever Snape would do next, and Snape cursed inwardly. What he wouldn’t give to be able to do this sort of thing every night—snap his fingers and have a cute little arse lift into position on cue.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Harry asked breathlessly.

“No,” Snape said.  

Disappointed, Harry wiggled his bum invitingly. Lightning-quick, Snape’s hand shot out to slap the boy. Harry squeaked and held still.

“Don’t provoke me,” Snape warned. He eyed the boy’s bum and gave his wand a shake. It transformed, thickening, developing little ridges all up and down its length.  

Harry watched with wide eyes, still bent nearly double, his hands splayed on the bed. “Wow, what is that? It looks sort of like . . . you know.”

“It’s a toy,” Snape replied. “A dildo. I’d really rather not use it,” and this was true in more ways than Harry needed to know, “but since you think only penetration will do . . .”

“But what about you?”

Indeed. Snape’s cock found the whole situation maddening, but Snape was not going to give in and fuck a student. He was not completely immoral. Bad enough that he would do this

Unlike a real prick, Snape’s wand required no lubrication; the spell was built into the shape. He slid it carefully into the boy, relishing the soft sound of Harry’s body sucking it in.  

“Huh,” Harry said, shifting a little. “That’s . . . kind of weird. Not really all that different than my finger, though.”

“Your what?” 

Harry turned red.

So this hadn’t been all about a dare. The boy had been experimenting on his own. And here Snape had been carefully conservative when crafting the toy, thinking the intrusion would be enough, not wanting to cause any damage. But if even this was child’s play, so to speak, perhaps he should take more drastic measures.

With the wand still inside Harry’s body, Snape whispered, “Engorgio!”  

Harry gasped aloud as the toy swelled to the size of an average man’s prick. “Oh. Oh, fuck,” Harry said.

Snape began to move the toy, pumping it into Harry’s arse. The look of open-mouthed amazement on Harry’s face sent a rush of warmth through Snape. He tilted the toy, pushing it roughly into Harry.

Harry’s eyes shut tightly, his hands now curled into fists. “Oh. Oh. It’s—I like it—” he managed to croak.  

Snape rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Is this what it really feels like? Like . . . with a man doing it?” Harry asked rather shyly.

“A man is doing it, you imbecile.”

“You know what I mean.”

Snape ignored him. He tried increasing the size of the toy a bit more, but an injury could be disastrous, and Potter did not object, merely pushing back as if he wanted more.  

“You really are the most infuriating creature,” Snape remarked.

“It’s not my fault if you refuse to get off,” Harry replied. “Anyway . . . I want more. Why don’t you fuck me?” he begged. “You’d like it. I’m sure you would. Wouldn’t you . . . Daddy?”

Snape grunted, turned his back and squeezed himself again, wishing that of all the deviant things his cock responded to, it wouldn’t respond so keenly to Harry Potter calling him “Daddy”. It really was horribly unfair.  

Potter watched, giggling in a most unbecoming way. “I kind of like getting you randy,” he said. “What happens if I call you Daddy in class?”

“You die a virgin,” Snape replied. “And mark my words, it won’t be a pleasant death.”

“No spanking?”

“The opposite of spanking.”

“What’s the opposite of spanking? Sucking?” Harry asked hopefully.

“I already told you it’s death.”

“I dunno. I don’t think that makes sense, the opposite of spanking being death.”

“Shut up or I’ll gag you.”

Really? With what?”

Growling, Snape removed his wand from Harry’s arse.  

“Don’t do that,” Harry said, disappointed. He sat up as Snape stomped away. “Hey, wait! Come back! I swear I’ll be good!”

Snape got as far as the door, let out a noise of frustration and flicked his wand in Harry’s direction. The boy went popeyed as a red silk handkerchief lodged firmly in his mouth, throwing out tendrils of silk to knot at the back of his head.  

Ignoring Potter’s muffled wails of complaint and anger, Snape strode right out into the general club, where he looked over the dancers, scrutinizing first one, then another. Finally his eye found a rather battered cowboy hat in the crowd. “You!” he shouted over the music.

The man looked at him. He gestured to himself, eyebrows raised.  

“Yes. You, Marlboro. Tex. Whoever you are. You come over here right now.”

The man did so, ambling forward with arrogant leisure. “How do you know where I’m from?” he asked. “How can you be sure I ain’t from Carolina?”

God, another smartarse. “Fine. Upstairs . . . Caroline,” he said scathingly.

The cowboy only laughed.

Snape picked out a couple of others on his way back, demanding they accompany him and allowing them to trail along in his wake, like tails dragged along by a comet. He threw the bedroom door open once more. “This is young Harry—who needs to be fucked,” he announced, gesturing grandly to Harry, who was standing in the centre of the room, nude from the waist down save for the lacy cock ring, still gagged with the red handkerchief.

Potter looked shocked and turned several shades of pink.

“He’s cute, but a bit young,” someone pointed out. “Wouldn’t want to hurt the little thing.”

Harry stiffened and made a noise of objection through the cloth.  

“Oh, I think young Mr. . . . that is, Harry, is up for this.”

“Um-hmm,” Harry affirmed, nodding vigorously.  

“It’s the sweet thing from earlier,” the cowboy observed with surprise. He glanced at Severus. “Niiiiice work. Wouldn’t have expected that, partner,” he added, winking at Snape.

“Stop talking and take that handkerchief out of the boy’s mouth and put your cock in instead,” Snape said coldly.  

The cowboy snorted and threw Snape a lazy salute. “Whatever you say, sir!”  

Harry did not even pretend he wasn’t liking this. He allowed the man to tug him over to the bed and undo the gag. “Hey there, sexy britches,” the man said. “How ‘bout you show me what that pretty little mouth can do?”

Harry looked automatically to Snape, as if for approval. Snape had to sniff. If he hadn’t approved, why on earth would he have brought the man here? But Harry still held very still. “I won’t unless you tell me,” the boy said in a serious voice.

Snape was surprised. “You’ve been nothing but an impending explosion of fuck me since you arrived,” he countered.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, but you put the cock ring on and said I wasn’t to—wasn’t to—you know—until you said so. So I’m just making sure. It’s your choice. You totally own me right now. It’s not as much fun otherwise.”

Snape felt hot rush of pleasure sweep through him. He rarely had such control over Harry. And he had to admit, owning Harry’s libido was a heady proposition. Still, he pulled himself together enough to nod curtly. “The rules haven’t changed. You do not come. However, you fuck, and you fuck to my satisfaction and my direction. Understood?”

Eyes bright, face pink, Harry nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

“It might be frightening or overwhelming,” Snape said hopefully.

“I can take it.”

Snape gave up. “I expect so,” he sighed. “Get on with things, Tex.”

Tex undid his jeans, unveiling a rather enormous cock and Harry gasped a little at the size.

Harry took as much of Tex into his mouth as he could, his eyes locked with Snape’s. The boy needed guidance—would not be interested in this if he didn’t get it. Snape nodded, and Harry relaxed a little, moaning softly.

One man edged forward, reaching for the boy, and Snape frowned. “Well, I suppose there are his hands,” he said reluctantly. “If someone wished to use one I would allow—”

Before he could even finish the sentence there was a man on either side of Harry, grabbing his hands and forcing them to curl around thick, swollen erections.  

Harry made no indication that he objected, but his eyes narrowed in focus as he tried to accomplish all tasks at once. He continued to suck his cowboy friend and jerk off the two newcomers, even though they wanted different speeds. Snape could spot the trouble; Harry was trying to keep up, trying to do everything. He’d do better to just let them do what they wanted, rather than anticipating.  

But Snape said nothing; better to let the boy learn. He couldn’t please everyone.  

Still, he tried. One man tired of Harry’s hand quickly and brushed his prick against the youth’s cheek, rubbing it almost lovingly along his jaw. Harry promptly began alternating between the two cocks in front of him, first sucking the cowboy, then new man, a rough-looking brute with long, shaggy hair. Harry even tried to take the two cocks at once, his reddened lips stretching wide, tongue wriggling over the heads.  

“Greedy boy,” Snape muttered.

Harry looked back at him, eyes beseeching. His mouth was too full to form words, yet Snape could somehow see them in Harry’s eyes: Needs more Snape. He pushed through the men and knelt behind the boy. “Potter, lean back,” he commanded, and the boy did so, instantly letting go of every prick in favour of curling into Snape’s arms. He looked up at Snape with unusual intensity, awaiting further orders.  

Then Harry grinned, spoiling the aura of sensual passion he’d possessed a moment ago. “Okay,” he said agreeably. “What next?”

Snape watched as Tex removed his shirt—his chest sported enough hair to brag on and he was well muscled, but wiry. He proceeded to get naked as Snape and Harry watched. “More cocksucking, I think,” Snape decreed. “I enjoy the way your throat moves when you manage to swallow,” he added.  

Harry’s face flamed red, but his crooked smile showed he was not so terribly embarrassed. The boy eagerly began flicking his tongue against the tip of Tex’s cock.  

Harry shot Snape a look from the corner of his eye. It was an unmistakable challenge, a come hither and a make me all in one pair of smug green eyes.  

“Take more,” Snape ordered.  

Harry obediently did so, taking the length of the man’s prick into his mouth and throat. Mesmerized and more than a little excited, Snape reached out and stroked Harry’s throat ever so gently with his fingertips, feeling Harry’s throat work as he swallowed.

Tex had a tense expression, as if it was taking every inch of willpower not to climax right then.  

“Put your hands out, boy. Let them use you,” Snape suggested.

Harry allowed this, enfolding two cocks in his hands, though he followed Snape’s directions and left them rather slack, allowing them to rut within his grip.  

Snape reached down and began to stroke Harry’s responsive penis. “Good boy,” he whispered, and the prick in his hand gave a throb of appreciation at the praise.

Harry stretched, a sinful sinuous movement. He gave a sort of purr, forcing Tex to halt, panting, as he pulled himself together.

Potter was loving every moment of this. Snape was no longer certain he had the heart to try to traumatize the boy, let alone the ability to do so. Still, one last effort should be made.

“Potter,” he said.

Harry instantly stopped sucking, letting the cowboy’s prick free with a wet pop. He looked up Snape expectantly.  

“Lie back,” Snape ordered.

Harry reclined against Snape’s chest, allowing the man to reach down and guide his legs apart. “Now you’re going to let Tex fuck you,” Snape said.

Harry frowned. “Why not you?”

“Do the words, illegal, immoral, illicit, or imbecilic ring a bell?”


“It’s not going to be me, I promise you.”

To Snape’s secret delight, Harry looked severely let down.  

“If you absolutely must be fucked, you will have to settle for less.”

This at least brought the suggestion of a smile. “But you’ll still be here, right? Watching?”


Harry relaxed in Snape’s arms as Snape reached down, pouring lubricant liberally over everything. Tex began preparing Harry, who groaned and writhed in Snape’s arms.  

Tex mounted the boy, his hips moving with infuriating slowness.  

Harry’s arms reached up to circle around Snape’s shoulders, his head thrown back, an exquisite look on his face. Snape caressed Harry’s chest and shoulders, skimming his torso, occasionally petting his eager cock.

Harry whimpered and bucked. Tex continued to fuck him, but not roughly. Not really. Some people were apparently somewhat more considerate of their young charges, though not considerate enough to prevent them from fucking them. Then again, some people didn’t really know Potter very well.  

“He can take more,” Snape heard himself say. “Do it harder.”

Tex looked surprised, but picked up the pace.  

The men on either side were beginning to look frustrated. Harry was no longer taking much interest in them, and whenever a hand moved away, they’d resort to frotting against whatever bit of Harry they could reach—the side of his neck, his pale stomach, even pushing against his hard little nipples.  

Harry was gasping now. “Too much—” he whispered urgently.  

Snape tilted his head, considering. Too much. But was it really? Was Potter ready to come, or was he simply overwhelmed? Snape began to hold up his hand to forgo further fucking, but Tex suddenly thrust once more, then stilled, balls deep in the boy. His jaw slackened as his semen spurted into what Snape could only ruefully suppose was an irresistibly hot and tight channel.  

Harry had stiffened and was staring up at Snape in shock.  

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He dismissed Tex, who touched the brim of his hat briefly in salutation, then bent to kiss Harry’s cheek in farewell.

“I’m not hurt. It’s just—it’s sort of warm. And. Um. I can feel it leaking out,” Harry explained, his face rather pink.

“You didn’t come yourself, though,” Snape said, hoping against hope the charm had held. After all, who knew if the boy was even capable of emission yet.  

As if reading his thoughts, Harry scowled. “No, I didn’t,” he grated. “You told me not to, remember?”

“And God knows you always listen to me and follow my instructions to the letter,” Snape replied.

Harry stuck his tongue out.  

“Are you tired, yet?”

“Are you kidding? I could do this all night!”

Snape’s temper flared again. He knew it was useless, but everything he’d ever done was probably equally useless, and that fact had never stopped him from doing it. He nodded to the man thrusting into Harry’s fist. “Next!” he barked.  

The man took his place at Harry’s entrance, looking from the boy’s face to Snape and back.  

“On your knees, Potter. Fuck him hard,” Snape commanded.

The man repositioned Harry, then pushed into his body. Harry stiffened; the man was large, even larger than Tex had been, though Snape hadn’t noticed right away.

Snape watched Harry’s face carefully. There was some discomfort, it was obvious, but he couldn’t see any actual pain and, in any case, the wards were not activating. Snape gestured and the man thrust harder.  

“He’s tight,” the man observed.  

Unfair. Snape looked up and gave the man a contemptuous sneer. “I’m not paying you to make painfully obtuse observations.”

The man looked surprised. “I didn’t know you were paying me at all.”

“I’m not. Anyway. Look, just shut up and fuck, all right? Harder, while you’re at it.”

The man was sweating, but nodded and did his best. Now each time he slammed home it jolted Harry.

“Too much?” Snape challenged.

Harry glared up at him. “Not enough.”

“Perhaps another cock would help.”

Harry looked hopeful at this, but less hopeful when Snape directed the longhaired man to fuck Harry’s mouth.

“You need only say stop if it’s too much,” Snape told him.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but the man in front of him used this opportunity to gain access to Harry’s mouth, pushing his cock forward. Harry settled for giving Snape a glare. The other man began to fuck Harry’s arse again, his wide hands planted on Harry’s hips.

Oh, to see Harry Potter spit-roast. It had never been a fantasy of Snape’s, but now he had to wonder why. It was a magnificent sight. He was surely going to see it in his dreams.  

Just to rile the boy, Snape leaned over and murmured, “Is that the best you can do, Potter?” Snape gave him a sour smile. “Fuck yourself on his prick, boy.”

Harry moaned, his eyes rolling back. He was earnestly engaged in the fucking now, rocking in place, eager for both the cock in his mouth and the one in his arse.

Harder,” Snape snarled.

Harry whimpered, then redoubled his efforts, bucking back wildly, the cock in front of him now just brushing his lips. He flicked his tongue against it, and the longhaired man grabbed his head, thrusting his cock down Harry’s throat. The man gave a soft cry. By the time Snape realised what was happening, it was too late.  

Potter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, giving the man a flirtatious smile. For some reason, this was the last straw. Snape might share Potter’s arse with the masses, but this was the first time in the course of the evening the boy had smiled at anyone besides Snape, and it was too much.  

“That’s it! Everyone out!” Snape roared.  

The longhaired man looked sheepish as he buttoned himself up. The other man looked unhappy, but Snape snarled ferociously and brandished his wand. Harry pulled away.  

“Sorry,” he told the second man. “He said stop.”


“No. I’m done,” Harry said firmly.

Snape watched in mild shock as the man dressed and left the room without further argument. Potter had successfully asserted his boundaries. Or Snape’s boundaries, as Harry didn’t actually seem to have any. The recollection of this made Snape sigh.

Harry lay back on the bed, his face pink from the strenuous fucking. “Didn’t work,” he observed with a rather sassy gleam in his eye. He trailed tantalizing fingertips down his body. “I’m sure you could be much rougher and nastier with me, Professor. Maybe you should be the one to teach me a lesson.”

Snape gave up. If he was going to hell, he’d go first class. “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” he said.

Potter was stretched and lubricated and utterly, sinfully perfect, Snape reflected as he mounted the boy. The warmth, the slickness, the clenching as Potter pulled him in—Snape did not know any body could be this welcoming.  

Harry, for his part, moaned quietly, his eyes half shut, his head lolling. “Yes, that’s it,” he managed weakly. “That’s the spot—right there. No one else—no one else touched me quite there,” he whispered.  

Snape lifted Harry’s legs, raising the boy until he had a better angle. Potter was good at this—a regular acrobat who managed to hook one ankle on Snape’s shoulder. Snape began to pump his hips, watching a tantalizing stream of emotions flow across Harry’s face. A little pain at first—tight brow, bitten lip; then excitement—lip let free with a little gasp, eyes flying open; then need, desperate need—Harry’s mouth forming Snape’s name again and again, no sound, Harry’s hands reaching for him, pulling him closer; pleasure, such unexpected pleasure—lips curling, eyes squeezed shut, face flushing redder all the time; and then Harry dragged him down into a kiss, and Snape couldn’t see any more.  

To Snape’s astonishment, the kiss was actually quite good—sweet and dirty with tastes of fluttering tongue-tip. Snape deepened the kiss, eliciting a moan from Harry that seemed to pool in Snape’s stomach.  

When Snape finally ended the kiss, Harry went simply wild. It was all Snape could do to hold him down—he’d latched on to Snape’s shoulders and was trying to thrust up. One hand dropped to clutch at Snape’s backside, pulling him flush against Harry.  

More,” Harry begged.  

Snape arched a brow. “You’re impeding my full range of motion,” he said, gesturing to Harry’s hand, which was still splayed on his arse.  

“Oh. But if I let go, will you do it harder?”

“If only to shut you up.”

Harry, on the other hand, refused to be quiet. As Snape rode him mercilessly, Harry writhed and yelled. On the one hand, his shouts were certainly flattering, but on the other hand, Snape was pretty sure his left eardrum ruptured on the last thrust. Also, it had drawn attention, and now there were several club patrons just outside the door. Snape could see their eyes gleaming.  

God, yes, Snape!” Harry roared, thrashing. Snape narrowly avoided a finger in his eye as the brat flailed.  

He grabbed Harry’s wrists and pinned them. “I should have let Tex have seconds,” he remarked.  

Harry laughed breathlessly, squirmy and smiling with delight at Snape’s firm grip. “You don’t like the rodeo?” he asked.  

“Not if I end up with broken bones,” Snape warned.  

Harry shivered. “Ooooh, you hit that spot again.”

Snape angled himself and thrust harshly. Harry literally screamed—Snape did not credit it as real for one moment—and suddenly he looked down to see Harry’s prick twitch and pulse in spite of the little pink lace ribbon, which was now resting in a puddle of come.

Snape sighed. So much for that idea. He continued to thrust anyway. Even with Potter being aggravating, it still felt absolutely fantastic to fuck the boy.  

Harry was melting beneath him, suddenly boneless as the events of the night began to make themselves felt. He reached up and traced Snape’s jaw. “Oh, Daddy, it felt so gooood,” he purred.

Snape stiffened, rapture suddenly bubbling up inside of him, hot and fierce. “Potter,” he grunted, still grinding into the boy, then— “Harry.”

Harry pulled him close, kissing him softly and allowing him to continue to pump seed into his overused little arse. Good God, the boy’s lips were almost as heavenly as his arse. It didn’t hurt at all that several patrons were still watching, enthralled and impressed. Harry pressed a series of surprisingly gentle kisses over Snape’s face and mouth. Snape kept his eyes shut for a long, long moment, knowing this would end only too soon. Just now, he wanted to savour the taste of Harry’s kisses, feel the boy’s pulse as he stroked his skin, revel in the conquest and the elation of having fucked Harry Potter.  

“I think I learnt my lesson, Professor,” Harry murmured.  

“Club’s closing,” a distant voice announced.

Snape sat back on his heels, surprised. “What time is it?”

Harry, naked and befuddled, only stared.

Snape searched his pockets and brought out his watch. “Four in the fucking morning!

Harry gave him a grin. “Took you a while to satisfy me, didn’t it?”

“You’re supposed to be safe in your bed in Gryffindor Tower!”

“I’m safe in your bed in the Gentlemen’s Club. What difference does that make?”

“And I have a staff meeting in just over an hour. I have to get cleaned up. Get up, boy, get up! Get moving! Do you want to explain your amorous adventures to Albus Dumbledore?”

Harry looked revolted. “Not really.”

Snape grabbed his arm and hauled him out of bed. “Then let’s get back to the castle before it’s too late,” he hissed, then flourished his wand. Harry was suddenly in his school uniform, which made preceding events seem that much more perverse. “Come on!” Snape snarled, dragging him out of the room.

“But I—”

Now, you stupid brat!”

They swept through the club, which was just beginning to wind down, and out onto the front steps, where it was dark and cool. Snape rounded on Harry. “If you ever tell anyone about this—” he threatened.

“I won’t,” Harry said.  

Snape took his arm again and tugged him along; Harry followed slowly, feet dragging.  

Snape furtively checked the boy from the corner of his eye. “Are you . . . sore?” he asked.  

One of Harry’s hands briefly touched his backside. “Yeah, actually.”

Snape was not going to offer to fix it. Perhaps a day of discomfort would at least make the boy think twice about doing this again. Or at least remind him to use plenty of lube.  

Then he noticed Harry was rubbing his eyes. Dear God, was he crying? It was too much to hope for. Snape wasn’t going to say anything. He couldn’t risk jinxing it again. Of course it would take a buggering from Snape to finally impress upon the boy what a horrible thing sex could be. Snape wasn’t sure whether he should feel triumphant or insulted, and settled on a mixture of both.

Harry trudged outside; his head hung low, the picture of defeat. For some reason, this only made Snape’s temper more evil.  

“Can’t you even pretend to do as I say?” Snape demanded. “Keep up!”

“I’m coming,” Harry spat. “You needn’t be such a berk about it,” he added softly.

 “I assume you have your father’s cloak nearby?” Snape said, and added haughtily, “I shouldn’t wish to spend further time in your company if it’s not absolutely necessary.”

Harry stared at him, frowning. “Yeah, I have it. Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”



“If you’re hoping for a parting kiss, you will be sadly disappointed. Most men find that sort of display of clinginess rather disgusting.”

Harry looked at him oddly, then shook his head in a bewildered sort of way. He was dejected; Snape could tell. Every bit of his body seemed to sag, his shoulders slumped, his eyes on the floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he murmured.

Snape let out a huff and spun on his heel, stalking away without answering. He listened carefully and even tried a spell, but he was sure the boy didn’t follow him.  

And somehow, that was the biggest disappointment of the evening.


Snape found himself right back at the club the next night without really knowing why. It wasn’t as though he had the energy for further sexual adventures—he’d gotten a whole hour of sleep the previous day, mostly dozing off between classes. But he couldn’t hang about Hogwarts knowing he could run into Potter at any time. Potter and his damnable lips. Potter and his big, heartbreaking eyes. He was certain he’d hurt the boy, and not in the way he’d intended. He hadn’t wanted to lead the brat on, damn it. He was only trying to save Harry from himself.

And Snape had noticed that he had, only today, started to think of the brat by his first name. He would have to watch that.  

“Fancy a drink?”

“Sure, Hyde,” he said glumly. “Something to wake me up a bit, if you don’t mind.”

“Hah! Can’t blame you, after that wildcat you had last night. I’d still be comatose, myself.”

Snape heaved a wistful sigh. “He was good, wasn’t he? So enthusiastic, so adventurous, so obedient.”

“Cute, too. Young for my tastes, but he’ll grow.”

“Mmmm,” Snape agreed vaguely. The youth was perfect in every particular but one—he had to go and be Harry Potter. Too young, off limits, a magnet for trouble, son of Snape’s sworn enemy, wholly fuckable in every way—wait, no. That last one had crept in unnoticed. Snape had to tend his mind better. Like a neglected garden, it needed weeding. Still, it had been a pleasant surprise. Harry was enormously enjoyable in bed, and showed a softer, sweeter side of himself that Snape hadn’t expected. His kisses, for instance, could be particularly loving, and his impish smiles had lit up the bedroom. It really was a pity. Snape doubted he’d be favoured with such smiles again, not after he cruelly sent the boy away.  

It was for the best, he told himself, drinking the invigorating brew Hyde plunked down on the bar. Harry had to learn sex was a dangerous activity. He had to learn not to throw himself headfirst into the deep end. And he needed to learn how to choose his partners with greater—

Snape’s jaw dropped as the door opened and Harry strutted in. “You little bastard!” he roared.

Harry looked a little embarrassed. “Do you have to scream? Jeez.” He sidled up to Snape at the bar.  

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Harry eyed him as he ordered a drink. “Pretty much the same thing I was doing last night, hopefully.”


“You know, the eye-bulging, flailing arms look is not a good one for you.”

“But I saw you—you were devastated when we left the club. How can you show up here again, after you were so thoroughly used and tortured, then thrown away like a used tissue!? Wasn’t your head bowed in shame? Didn’t your footsteps drag? Weren’t you crying?”

Harry drew himself up, looking affronted. “I was not crying, you stupid git. And of course my footsteps dragged. Of course my head was hanging down. I was fucking EXHAUSTED, you idiot! I spent several hours getting a good rogering last night!”


“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it again at the earliest opportunity,” Harry added with a very smug smile.  

Snape felt the beginnings of a migraine. For all his hard work, they’d gone round in a circle and ended up right where they’d started.

A handsome stranger wandered over and smiled at Harry despite Snape’s venomous glare. “You want to dance?”

Harry returned his smile, and Snape almost had a meltdown. This was too much. Not only had he failed, he’d failed spectacularly. Potter was going to jump right back into the sack with a stranger, and worse, he’d probably never think twice about Snape again.

“No, thanks,” Harry said cheerfully.

The man looked disappointed, but accepted the rejection gracefully enough, moving on to find another partner.

“What just happened there?” Snape asked, sure he’d begun hallucinating.

Harry hopped up on a barstool beside him. “You taught me an important lesson last night.”

“Yes?” Snape said hopefully. “Not to go leaping into sexually risky situations without thinking twice?”


“That you need to be more aware of your surroundings and be vigilant even in bed?”


“Fucking strange men is dangerous?”

“Not really. And those are all variations on the same thing, by the way.”

“What, then?”

Harry reached out and took Snape by the back of his neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads touched. “I learned that sex is the best thing ever invented.”

Snape groaned. “That was not the lesson I intended to teach you.”

“Oh? Is it really such a bad thing?” Harry gave Snape a decidedly coquettish little grin.

Snape gave this some thought. Potter had not learned to be more careful, not really. He’d enjoyed himself and would probably continue to put himself into wild sexual situations. If Snape had thought the boy a nuisance when he was only getting up the Dark Lord’s nose, he was in for a whole new era of exasperation.

On the other hand, he had Harry Potter at hand, safe and eager for cock. It was difficult to see how this could be such a bad thing. And he was so very open to trying new and interesting things.  

He should be monitored closely. After all, he must be kept away from Death Eaters—other Death Eaters—and those who would do him harm. The best way for Snape to do that was to monopolize the boy himself.  

To his surprise, Snape felt a frisson of excitement in bits of his body which shouldn’t have had the energy to give off further frissons of any sort. Perhaps it was the effects of the energy drink. “Potter . . . let’s continue this discussion upstairs,” he said. And if Harry Potter needed occupying, Snape had no choice but to occupy him.  

Harry’s eyes smouldered and his grin grew smug. “Yes, sir,” he replied. He snaked an arm around Snape’s waist as they walked away. “I learnt another lesson, too Professor,” Harry added.


“I learnt that no man could ever satisfy me as much as Severus Snape.”

Snape smiled. “A valuable lesson,” he admitted. “A valuable lesson, indeed.”