Nothing Better
This is nimori's doing. Her challenge was to use all the words gathered in a poll of words folks like in their smut, but which aren't inherently smutty words, in one fic.
I used all the ones through mine, on her list, assuming tense change was all right, and changing the word geek in Gina's multi-word answer because I couldn't see them saying it.
Title: Nothing Better
Rating: NC17, pretty much PWP
Words: ~1050
Pairing: Snape/Harry
A/N: for the curious: Portuguese, German, Japanese, Dutch, Swedish, English, Spanish, and French, in that order.
There was nothing better. Harry lay on his belly, sated, feeling his skin quiver and roughen into gooseflesh under the questing fingers that slid and drew symbols on his back, down his spine and over the curve of his buttocks and onto his bare thighs, listening to the rich dark voice calling him names-the same name, actually, in many languages, after the first time, when the word had slipped out in an unguarded moment. “Gatinho. Kätzchen.” Fortunately, Snape had been too overcome and shudderingly exhausted, in that moment months ago, to take offense when Harry had snickered and chuckled and finally given over to laughing aloud, and had instead simply taken to acquiring the word in any new language he undertook to look at a text in. “Koneko.”
Harry felt his flesh slicken with sweat once again as the fingers continued their inexorable glide, as the voice cracked on the next word. “Katje.” He felt the body next to him begin to heat and opened his eyes to watch the pink flush deepen and spread past the collar, suffusing the skin under the open shirtfront, as Snape muttered “Kattunge.” It was a ridiculous ritual, this, and Harry didn’t understand why listening to his lover calling him a baby animal in any number of languages should lead to moments of dissolute moaning, but as ever, after months of conditioning, by the time the man returned to English, “Kitten,” Harry mewled-the sound that had drawn the name unexpected from Snape’s lips at the first-and rolled into the heat.
Snape moved away, and Harry whimpered and arched, wanton, begging “Please!” as the older man rolled off the bed, removing the rest of his clothing languidly, idly flicking a broken sequin from Harry’s spangled vest to the floor. He smiled wickedly as he ghosted a single finger once more down the boy’s sternum.
“I think not. I think we need to add a bit, to this little game.”
Harry’s eyes glazed over at the thought of adding anything to a pastime that already left him gasping and trembling every time, but he nodded eagerly. “Anything you want. Just…now!”
Snape smirked and sauntered to his desktop to retrieve his wand and a small jar of gel. He transfigured his sweet honeyed tea into sticky ice cubes in a tumbler, and brought them back, shiny-wet and melting, and set them on the nightstand, picking up his own discarded necktie from the floor in one smooth movement. “Much as I love to see you sprawled and waiting for me-“
Harry snorted. “What kind of nutter gets turned on by sprawl?”
Snape ignored the interruption. “-just for this, gatito, I think I’d like you bound. Wouldn’t want you to scratch.” He looped the tie around Harry’s wrists securely and tied a firm knot, tethering him to the headboard. Harry didn’t even try to fight this; he was too busy trying to garner leverage in order to obtain friction for his straining cock.
Snape backed away and watched him squirming for several seconds, his own cock throbbing in empathy, eyes glinting, hungry, attempting to subdue his own rutting urge in order to prolong their play.
When he had regained mastery of himself, he approached the bed again, slowly, and lifted one leg to straddle Harry’s thighs, avoiding contact with the boy’s cock. “And now, chaton, we see what it takes to make you beg.” He reached for one dripping ice cube and drizzled frozen sugar-tacky tea on Harry’s chest and belly, as it dissolved quickly on hot skin drawn tight and shivery at the cold contact, following with his warm tongue, which did nothing to alleviate Harry’s shivering. He reached for a second ice cube, sparkling in the bright candlelight, and went in another direction, growling low as Harry, bound at the wrists but entirely, enviably, free at the lips, let loose a string of phantasmagorical descriptions as to what he’d like Snape to do now, including some things he thought might be anatomically impossible.
The boy got to begging quickly-certainly he was aware how much Snape liked to be begged-and Snape let the ice slide easily into the crease between hip and thigh as he fisted his own cock, listening to him ramble as he writhed and surged up, trying to achieve any touch to his slippery prick. “Please! Take my fucking cock. Your. My. Any. I’ll do anything you want. Fingers. My fingers. Your fingersfuck. Touch. Fuck.”
Snape gave in and picked up the jar of gel from where it had rolled between his kneecap and Harry’s hip and quickly prepared himself before he leaned forward, crawled up to straddle Harry’s hips, and slid smoothly onto the boy’s thick cock, watching as Harry’s ribs jumped up as he arched and hissed and begged even more incoherently now, opening his eyes to watch Snape’s fist on his own cock, echoing Harry’s thrusts into him, running his tongue over his chapped lower lip just as Snape roared and spurted thick come, arcing onto Harry’s chest, a single drop flung far hitting the lip just as the tongue swept across. Harry arched off the mattress and spilled into Snape, still babbling, biting his lip every few words as though to stem the flow of sound only to surrender again immediately. Snape collapsed onto him and rolled to the side, chest heaving, thighs jerking with aftershock.
Harry, still trembling himself, grasped Snape’s discarded wand with flexible toes and kicked it up into his waiting hand to wave it and mumble a charm to free his own hands. Snape stared at him. “How did you…?”
Harry smirked. “Sirius taught me that one. You bound me non-magically. No reason it wouldn’t respond to me. Clarity of thought and purpose, and it’s all right, even with your wand.”
Snape nodded, impressed. “I shall have to remember that. And I cannot believe you mentioned your bloody godfather in my bed.”
“Git. You asked. And I did promise, if I recall, never to be less than honest with you. I’m firmly in your camp in very nearly all matters, anyway. No cause to be jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Of course not. Sirius did always say you were more the hexing type than the jealous type.”
Snape glared. Harry grinned. The ice finished melting.
I used all the ones through mine, on her list, assuming tense change was all right, and changing the word geek in Gina's multi-word answer because I couldn't see them saying it.
Title: Nothing Better
Rating: NC17, pretty much PWP
Words: ~1050
Pairing: Snape/Harry
A/N: for the curious: Portuguese, German, Japanese, Dutch, Swedish, English, Spanish, and French, in that order.
There was nothing better. Harry lay on his belly, sated, feeling his skin quiver and roughen into gooseflesh under the questing fingers that slid and drew symbols on his back, down his spine and over the curve of his buttocks and onto his bare thighs, listening to the rich dark voice calling him names-the same name, actually, in many languages, after the first time, when the word had slipped out in an unguarded moment. “Gatinho. Kätzchen.” Fortunately, Snape had been too overcome and shudderingly exhausted, in that moment months ago, to take offense when Harry had snickered and chuckled and finally given over to laughing aloud, and had instead simply taken to acquiring the word in any new language he undertook to look at a text in. “Koneko.”
Harry felt his flesh slicken with sweat once again as the fingers continued their inexorable glide, as the voice cracked on the next word. “Katje.” He felt the body next to him begin to heat and opened his eyes to watch the pink flush deepen and spread past the collar, suffusing the skin under the open shirtfront, as Snape muttered “Kattunge.” It was a ridiculous ritual, this, and Harry didn’t understand why listening to his lover calling him a baby animal in any number of languages should lead to moments of dissolute moaning, but as ever, after months of conditioning, by the time the man returned to English, “Kitten,” Harry mewled-the sound that had drawn the name unexpected from Snape’s lips at the first-and rolled into the heat.
Snape moved away, and Harry whimpered and arched, wanton, begging “Please!” as the older man rolled off the bed, removing the rest of his clothing languidly, idly flicking a broken sequin from Harry’s spangled vest to the floor. He smiled wickedly as he ghosted a single finger once more down the boy’s sternum.
“I think not. I think we need to add a bit, to this little game.”
Harry’s eyes glazed over at the thought of adding anything to a pastime that already left him gasping and trembling every time, but he nodded eagerly. “Anything you want. Just…now!”
Snape smirked and sauntered to his desktop to retrieve his wand and a small jar of gel. He transfigured his sweet honeyed tea into sticky ice cubes in a tumbler, and brought them back, shiny-wet and melting, and set them on the nightstand, picking up his own discarded necktie from the floor in one smooth movement. “Much as I love to see you sprawled and waiting for me-“
Harry snorted. “What kind of nutter gets turned on by sprawl?”
Snape ignored the interruption. “-just for this, gatito, I think I’d like you bound. Wouldn’t want you to scratch.” He looped the tie around Harry’s wrists securely and tied a firm knot, tethering him to the headboard. Harry didn’t even try to fight this; he was too busy trying to garner leverage in order to obtain friction for his straining cock.
Snape backed away and watched him squirming for several seconds, his own cock throbbing in empathy, eyes glinting, hungry, attempting to subdue his own rutting urge in order to prolong their play.
When he had regained mastery of himself, he approached the bed again, slowly, and lifted one leg to straddle Harry’s thighs, avoiding contact with the boy’s cock. “And now, chaton, we see what it takes to make you beg.” He reached for one dripping ice cube and drizzled frozen sugar-tacky tea on Harry’s chest and belly, as it dissolved quickly on hot skin drawn tight and shivery at the cold contact, following with his warm tongue, which did nothing to alleviate Harry’s shivering. He reached for a second ice cube, sparkling in the bright candlelight, and went in another direction, growling low as Harry, bound at the wrists but entirely, enviably, free at the lips, let loose a string of phantasmagorical descriptions as to what he’d like Snape to do now, including some things he thought might be anatomically impossible.
The boy got to begging quickly-certainly he was aware how much Snape liked to be begged-and Snape let the ice slide easily into the crease between hip and thigh as he fisted his own cock, listening to him ramble as he writhed and surged up, trying to achieve any touch to his slippery prick. “Please! Take my fucking cock. Your. My. Any. I’ll do anything you want. Fingers. My fingers. Your fingersfuck. Touch. Fuck.”
Snape gave in and picked up the jar of gel from where it had rolled between his kneecap and Harry’s hip and quickly prepared himself before he leaned forward, crawled up to straddle Harry’s hips, and slid smoothly onto the boy’s thick cock, watching as Harry’s ribs jumped up as he arched and hissed and begged even more incoherently now, opening his eyes to watch Snape’s fist on his own cock, echoing Harry’s thrusts into him, running his tongue over his chapped lower lip just as Snape roared and spurted thick come, arcing onto Harry’s chest, a single drop flung far hitting the lip just as the tongue swept across. Harry arched off the mattress and spilled into Snape, still babbling, biting his lip every few words as though to stem the flow of sound only to surrender again immediately. Snape collapsed onto him and rolled to the side, chest heaving, thighs jerking with aftershock.
Harry, still trembling himself, grasped Snape’s discarded wand with flexible toes and kicked it up into his waiting hand to wave it and mumble a charm to free his own hands. Snape stared at him. “How did you…?”
Harry smirked. “Sirius taught me that one. You bound me non-magically. No reason it wouldn’t respond to me. Clarity of thought and purpose, and it’s all right, even with your wand.”
Snape nodded, impressed. “I shall have to remember that. And I cannot believe you mentioned your bloody godfather in my bed.”
“Git. You asked. And I did promise, if I recall, never to be less than honest with you. I’m firmly in your camp in very nearly all matters, anyway. No cause to be jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Of course not. Sirius did always say you were more the hexing type than the jealous type.”
Snape glared. Harry grinned. The ice finished melting.