frek & eumenides1
Author: frek
Title: A Sinister Pleasure
Pairing: Snape/Neville
Challenge: In things right true my heart and eyes have erred - Shakespeare, Sonnet 137
Snape slid one long thin finger along Neville's spine, pausing just above the curve of the man's backside. Snape watched, intrigued, as Neville's muscles stiffened at the slightest touch from him. His eyes continued along the man's body, settling on the metal cuffs covering Neville's ankles. Snape's lips twisted into a cruel smirk as ideas of what would soon follow slipped through his mind.
After a moment, Snape leaned near Neville's face, his lips hovering over the man's ear. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Longbottom?" He asked, his voice a scathing whisper.
Snape pulled himself away from Neville. Turning his head to look into Neville's dirty, tear-stained face, Snape watched for his reaction. He was rewarded with the fear and loathing he had been hoping for. Neville's eyes were wide with panic, his mouth working to speak through the cloth covering it.
Snape's lips curved into the same twisted smirk. He was going to enjoy this.
Author: eumenides1
Title: Lessons
Pairing: Snape/Neville
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con, bondage.
Beta'd by underlucius who also supplied the ending.
It started with a cauldron. Melting, cracking, degrading cauldrons had been Longbottom's sigil. Every time he stepped into the dungeons, disaster had followed in his wake.
Why on earth had Snape thought it would be different now, simply because the oaf had the title, 'Professor of Herbology' and sat at the staff table?
Staring at the wreckage of his favourite cauldron which had done nothing, nothing to Longbottom at all, had simply been simmering over a fire as cauldrons ought, minding its own business preparing draught of living death (which fortunately Longbottom couldn't recognise if his life depended on it) when this idiot of a Gryffindor blundered into his office and upended it, causing a huge crack in the bronze bottom.
Longbottom's eyes grew wide and he looked for all the world like a terrified first year called on the carpet for a bad essay. And this is what they're calling 'professor' now? Snape's lips curled in disgust.
"Sorry, P…Professor S...s…Severus," the young man stammered out.
"Do not presume to use my given name, Longbottom. Our headmistress in her dubious wisdom may have confidence in your ability with weeds, but you are not my equal. And you'll pay for this," Snape hissed. "Start by cleaning this up."
The silly fool didn't even get out his wand, Snape noticed, but immediately grabbed a rag and bent down to sop up the mess. And this is why the Dark Lord lost the war, Snape mused as he watched. He placed too much faith in purity of blood. Longbottom's blood was as pure as gold, but look at him.
And Snape did look at him, looked particularly at the rounded curve of his arse as he scrubbed the flagstones clean. Yes, that's how you belong, boy, on your hands and knees.
He'd lost weight during the war, and the chubby boy was a tall, well made young man, and Snape imagined how he'd look without the Muggle trousers, envisioning his prick bobbing back and forth, almost touching the stone as he pushed the rag over the mess. He could vanish Longbottom's clothes without a second thought, could strip off his own robes and come up behind Longbottom, mounting him like the dog he is.
Snape almost felt himself reaching for his wand before he noticed that his 'colleague' was now standing shamefacedly in front of him, the cauldron in his hands.
"I'm so sorry, Professor." He seemed to have gained some composure whilst on his knees. Typical.
Snape raised one eyebrow. "Sorry won't buy me a new cauldron, Longbottom. I expect you back here tonight after dinner to discuss remuneration." And don't bother bringing any gold, you'll be paying me back in a far more precious coin.
The dinner dragged on interminably. Hermione Granger had come up from London on Ministry business and was engaging Flitwick in an animated discussion of some new charms theory right over top of Snape. Unlike Longbottom, Granger seemed completely uncowed by his stares, having greeted him with a cheery, "Hello, Severus," before ignoring him completely to embrace Hagrid and then Longbottom.
He'd heard that Granger was likely to be appointed Deputy Minister for Magic next year, and was sure to be Minister when Dumbledore finally retired. Typical. He spends half his life in the service of the Order, spying on the Dark Lord at a price these fools can't even begin to imagine, and now that the war's won, he rots here at Hogwarts, teaching imbeciles how to make Shrinking Solutions and Vanishing Creams.
Even the werewolf had been recognised for his efforts - given a nice Ministry job with the Department for Magical Creatures. Madness, that was. Like setting a thief to guard the prison. And the creature could hardly speak anymore, not after that incident with Pettigrew's silver hand. Snape had saved his miserable life, and was he thanked? No. Of course not, all in the line of duty, you know.
He picked at the food on his plate. No, of all the former members of the Order of the Phoenix, only Sirius Black had come out worse than Snape, and that was only because Potter hadn't listened to Snape and had insisted on bringing Black back. Now the man sat rotting in St Mungo's with no more awareness than the carrot that Snape speared with his fork and Potter was off making a name in Quidditch. Heartless bastard.
They'd been proclaimed heroes, every one of them, paraded down Diagon Alley with girls flinging flowers from shop windows and brass bands and the rest. But even then, he'd seen the fingers pointed, heard the whispers, 'Death Eater', 'traitor', 'Whose side's he on, anyway?'
And when the rest had been rewarded with Ministry jobs and full page write ups in the Daily Prophet, he'd received a wet-palmed handshake from a nervous bureaucrat and a tarnished Order of Merlin, Second Class. And here he was, back at Hogwarts, staring at Neville Longbottom across the staff table.
Finally, the Headmistress rose and began to make her announcements. Quidditch try outs, club meetings, warnings about the Forbidden Forest that would go mostly ignored. He sometimes half wished he'd been picked as Headmaster when Dumbledore had left to reform the Ministry, but on nights like these, when Minerva had a stack of paperwork and problems awaiting her, he was glad he'd been passed over. The only thing waiting him tonight was Longbottom.
He was waiting, sitting patiently behind his desk marking essays as though he hadn't a care in the world. The door opened tentatively, as though Neville was a student afraid to come to detention with nasty Professor Snape. Snape smiled coldly. He was afraid. That made it better.
"Come in," he said, and the young man entered.
Snape stared coolly into Neville's eyes, waiting. A thing like this had to be played just right. Like a fine wine, it couldn't be rushed.
"Mr Longbottom…Neville," he began, allowing the use of the given name to put the other man at ease. "I feel that I was remiss in your education."
Longbottom stared back at him stupidly. Snape pushed just a tiny bit at the edge of his mind. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
"What I mean, Neville, is that I don't think you ever truly came to appreciate the subtle art of potions as you should have. If you are to be a teacher here, you should value all the subjects we teach at Hogwarts, including my own."
Longbottom nodded thoughtfully, "That makes sense. And no, sir, I never much liked potions."
Snape rose, flicked his wand and the door slammed shut, reverberating in the chamber like a gong. Neville looked nervous, so Snape smiled innocuously. "Let me show you something, Longbottom." He led the young man over to his lab table, the same one he'd presided over every potions lecture he'd given at Hogwarts. "You see this table, yes? Just a plain workaday old table."
Neville nodded. Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a vial of what appeared to be water. "This table is like a potion. Like this potion, to be exact. This," and he swirled the vial so the liquid sloshed up onto the glass sides. "This looks like plain ordinary water. It even tastes like water." And Snape took the tiniest of sips. "Here," he added, handing the vial to Neville. "Drink it down."
The young man hesitated, as Snape had known he would. "You can trust me. We are colleagues now. We fought against the Dark Lord together, after all. Drink it down, it won't hurt you." But I will, he added silently watching the boy drink the clear liquid.
"Back to the table then," Snape said, taking the vial and carefully setting it behind him on a shelf. "Like that potion you just swallowed, it's so much more than it seems."
"Wha… What did I take?"
Snape laughed. "Nothing that will hurt you. It's simply an advanced potion that is used as an aid in the learning process. We don't introduce it to students as frankly, we want them to learn things the old fashioned way. But you've got a lot of catching up to do, Longbottom."
He watched Longbottom's pupils began to dilate, his hands began to shake slightly. Good, it is starting.
"Take off your robes, Longbottom." And as though he were under the Imperius curse, Neville began divesting himself of his clothing, moving slowly in a tantalising strip tease that already had Snape achingly hard.
"Very good. Now sit up on the table." Neville hesitated. "Go on, it's all right." He watched as Neville's arms flexed and the young man pushed up onto the table, noting with satisfaction that he cringed as his arse contacted the cold stone.
"I said this table is more than it seems, and so it is. I've used it on occasion to tutor 'special students', those who merit my close personal attention. Draco Malfoy once sat where you are. Draco was a very, very eager pupil." Snape closed his eyes for a minute, remembering the younger Malfoy's body, tremulous as a young buck so reminiscent of his magnificent father shuddering under his touch. Draco was in Azkaban these days, more's the pity.
Snape tapped his wand against the table, and watched with grim satisfaction as magical chains slid from the corners, ugly metal bracelets seeking Neville's wrists and ankles and pulling him down, leaving him vulnerable to whatever Snape chose to do.
The potion had been brewed with exact precision. Longbottom was compliant, but the fear in his eyes was genuine, and like a spice added to the finest food, it added a rare flavour. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Longbottom? Shall I tell you, or should I let you discover it inch by painful inch?"
Longbottom was taut as a violin string about to break, and Snape reached out one long finger to touch his throat, then traced a light path down the centre of his chest and belly, stopping in the tangle of hair at Longbottom's groin. His young prick was already half hard.
"You like that, do you? Did you ever think about this in potions class, Longbottom, did you sit there behind your cauldron imagining my hands on you? Is that why every single lesson was such a disaster, Longbottom, because you were thinking with this?" He flicked Neville's cock, watching it dangle heavily against his leg.
"I…I…" Neville stuttered.
"Oh, no. Can't have that. Silence is golden." And he slipped a silk scarf from his robe pocket and gagged the helpless young man. "It's not much, but it's magicked to keep you quiet. I don't want us to be interrupted."
"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this, Longbottom. Far more than you will, I'm afraid." He reached onto a shelf and took out two large clamps. "These aren't made for the purpose of course - you'll recognise them, at least I hope you will, as clamps we used to heat vials over fire in class. But like many things, they have multiple uses. All we have to do is get you ready for them."
Snape bent over Longbottom's flat smooth chest and took one nipple into his mouth, suckling and biting with great care and gentleness. Under his deft touch the young man was gasping with pleasure, a sound that went straight to Snape's cock. First one nipple and then the other became hard nubs, so ready, so eager.
When the first clamp went on, Longbottom arched up in agony, struggling to free himself. The second snapped into place, bruising the tender flesh almost as an afterthought.
"Please don't try to fight it. It won't do any good, and in fact, Longbottom, if you're cooperative, there are rewards to be had." He looked down at the man's face, eyes tearing and filled with fear and loathing. He did not need legilimency to know what Longbottom was thinking.
"Let me demonstrate the use of the tongue, Longbottom. Just as a suggestion, when you are teaching, it is always best to demonstrate the task you expect your students to perform." And another tap of his wand and the table transfigured, split down the centre so that Neville's legs were pulled apart and Snape could ease into the space between.
Down on his knees he could smell the musky scent of the young man's prick, nuzzled his nose and mouth into the heavy balls, and he licked up the length of the shaft, twirling his tongue over the tip. Even with the unabated pain of the clamps, Longbottom was still hard, and the groans he was making were half pleasure, half pain.
His mouth closed over the man's prick, taking it all in as deep as he could go, opening his throat to accommodate its length. His hands clamped down on the rounded arse as he played along the shaft, up and down, in and out of his mouth as he felt Longbottom's balls tightening as he thrust up into Snape's mouth. So close.
Not yet. Snape pulled back, and began to strip off his own robes. "And now that you've had the lesson, it's time to practice. And if you do it well, if you show me that you've learned how to use your tongue, Longbottom, I'll take one of the clamps off."
He stood back as the table readjusted, moving Longbottom into position so that his mouth could do its work. "And if you don't please me, we'll add two more clamps, and these will be for your testicles." The boy was dripping with sweat and stinking of terror and Snape drank it in like whiskey.
He closed his eyes, allowing Longbottom's mouth to clumsily engulf him, wet and hot and welcoming, so good, like a jolt through his whole body, he could feel pleasure curling like a snake coiled in his belly, spreading out through him, and he fucked Longbottom's mouth.
No! It wasn't time, and he was going to come buried in that tight arse. He pulled away and looked down at Neville's tear stained face. "Very good, Longbottom, you learn quickly - you may have the makings of a Hogwarts professor yet." Snape smiled fondly. "And I keep my promises." One of the metal clamps clattered to the floor.
And now it was time. The table returned to its original form, Longbottom face down now, spread out for him, and his hands were stroking the young man's back, teasing around his arse, dipping into the potion he had prepared for the purpose.
Neville shuddered when his finger slid past the tight ring of muscle, gliding effortlessly into his body. "And here we see another use for potions. Imagine how this would feel dry, my hands forcing their way into you, violating your most private areas? But this," and he slid his finger completely out and in again and again, while the young professor bucked against him, seeking contact. "This is heaven."
And it was, and not only for the bound man, but for Snape. With every thrust, Longbottom's arse clenched around his finger in velvety tightness, and it was suddenly too much. He had to fuck him, had to have him now.
He pulled the boy up onto his knees and in one swift movement, he plunged deep into the young man's body, so deep, completely wrapped in the quivering boy. Without regard to his unwitting partner's pleasure, he sought for his release, muscles tightening as he rode Longbottom, driving into him with a passion that was fuelled more by hatred than desire.
Longbottom cringing before him as a first year, his first cauldron in ruins. The same young man, older now, attacking Draco Malfoy outside his classroom, the two of them falling to the floor in a tangle of legs and arms and cocks while Snape watched, hand slid into his robes to fondle his leaking prick. And then in a dream, Longbottom and Potter, one on each side of him, fucking and being fucked with excruciating and exquisite torpor.
His whole body, every square inch of his skin was alive with energy, and his climax was upon him, and suddenly it mattered that Neville come as well, so his hand sought the young man's erection, and Snape could no longer tell whose groans were echoing in the empty dungeons, could no longer distinguish between the prick buried in the arse and the prick sliding between potion slicked fingers and his balls emptied in throes of ecstasy. Longbottom's arse tightened and he came in spurts across the table.
He pulled away and noted that Longbottom now lay quiescent on the table on his side. Snape removed the clamp from the last nipple and stroked the young man's shaggy head.
"An adequate performance. Though I see you've managed to soil my table, how typical." He pulled the gag, now soaked through, from the young man's mouth. "Don't try to talk, Longbottom, that potion is still in your system. And that brings me to our final lessons of the night. Charms, and Defence, of a sort."
Even that fool Lockhart could manage a simple Obliviate; it was child's play for Snape and soon Neville was staring quizzically at him, the memories of what had gone before scattered to the winds. The Imperius was a bit trickier, as Potter had taught the fool to resist, but the potion had done its work and soon Longbottom was dressing with stiff, jerky motions, then returning to his quarters where he would sleep dreamlessly, with no memory of what had occurred, no explanation as to the pain he would experience in the morning.
A small triumph, a petty vengeance wrested from the disappointment that his life had become, but as he sits on his bed that night, and thinks of how petty, and how meaningless. Meaningless that the boy would not even remember, this smallest of victories.
At night, his mind betrays him, black thoughts of despair, more bitter than aloe, poison his mind and he stares at his hands. The truth snakes it's way through his mind like an etcher's tool, dripping with acid. He'd like him to remember. He'd like him to remember the damp fear and the heated excitement as the boy had come in his hand, calling his name.
And he looks at his hands and he knows that there will never be a welcoming touch and an eye that lights up when enters a room, for he left that behind when he made his choices, and he wonders if he can accept this second - class life, with passion coerced, not given?
Then he remembers the satiny soft down of the boy's flesh under his sensitive fingers, and the furnace of his arse and the taste of his fear, and he nods in the dark where no-one will ever see, he thinks after all, that he can.
Title: A Sinister Pleasure
Pairing: Snape/Neville
Challenge: In things right true my heart and eyes have erred - Shakespeare, Sonnet 137
Snape slid one long thin finger along Neville's spine, pausing just above the curve of the man's backside. Snape watched, intrigued, as Neville's muscles stiffened at the slightest touch from him. His eyes continued along the man's body, settling on the metal cuffs covering Neville's ankles. Snape's lips twisted into a cruel smirk as ideas of what would soon follow slipped through his mind.
After a moment, Snape leaned near Neville's face, his lips hovering over the man's ear. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Longbottom?" He asked, his voice a scathing whisper.
Snape pulled himself away from Neville. Turning his head to look into Neville's dirty, tear-stained face, Snape watched for his reaction. He was rewarded with the fear and loathing he had been hoping for. Neville's eyes were wide with panic, his mouth working to speak through the cloth covering it.
Snape's lips curved into the same twisted smirk. He was going to enjoy this.
Author: eumenides1
Title: Lessons
Pairing: Snape/Neville
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con, bondage.
Beta'd by underlucius who also supplied the ending.
It started with a cauldron. Melting, cracking, degrading cauldrons had been Longbottom's sigil. Every time he stepped into the dungeons, disaster had followed in his wake.
Why on earth had Snape thought it would be different now, simply because the oaf had the title, 'Professor of Herbology' and sat at the staff table?
Staring at the wreckage of his favourite cauldron which had done nothing, nothing to Longbottom at all, had simply been simmering over a fire as cauldrons ought, minding its own business preparing draught of living death (which fortunately Longbottom couldn't recognise if his life depended on it) when this idiot of a Gryffindor blundered into his office and upended it, causing a huge crack in the bronze bottom.
Longbottom's eyes grew wide and he looked for all the world like a terrified first year called on the carpet for a bad essay. And this is what they're calling 'professor' now? Snape's lips curled in disgust.
"Sorry, P…Professor S...s…Severus," the young man stammered out.
"Do not presume to use my given name, Longbottom. Our headmistress in her dubious wisdom may have confidence in your ability with weeds, but you are not my equal. And you'll pay for this," Snape hissed. "Start by cleaning this up."
The silly fool didn't even get out his wand, Snape noticed, but immediately grabbed a rag and bent down to sop up the mess. And this is why the Dark Lord lost the war, Snape mused as he watched. He placed too much faith in purity of blood. Longbottom's blood was as pure as gold, but look at him.
And Snape did look at him, looked particularly at the rounded curve of his arse as he scrubbed the flagstones clean. Yes, that's how you belong, boy, on your hands and knees.
He'd lost weight during the war, and the chubby boy was a tall, well made young man, and Snape imagined how he'd look without the Muggle trousers, envisioning his prick bobbing back and forth, almost touching the stone as he pushed the rag over the mess. He could vanish Longbottom's clothes without a second thought, could strip off his own robes and come up behind Longbottom, mounting him like the dog he is.
Snape almost felt himself reaching for his wand before he noticed that his 'colleague' was now standing shamefacedly in front of him, the cauldron in his hands.
"I'm so sorry, Professor." He seemed to have gained some composure whilst on his knees. Typical.
Snape raised one eyebrow. "Sorry won't buy me a new cauldron, Longbottom. I expect you back here tonight after dinner to discuss remuneration." And don't bother bringing any gold, you'll be paying me back in a far more precious coin.
The dinner dragged on interminably. Hermione Granger had come up from London on Ministry business and was engaging Flitwick in an animated discussion of some new charms theory right over top of Snape. Unlike Longbottom, Granger seemed completely uncowed by his stares, having greeted him with a cheery, "Hello, Severus," before ignoring him completely to embrace Hagrid and then Longbottom.
He'd heard that Granger was likely to be appointed Deputy Minister for Magic next year, and was sure to be Minister when Dumbledore finally retired. Typical. He spends half his life in the service of the Order, spying on the Dark Lord at a price these fools can't even begin to imagine, and now that the war's won, he rots here at Hogwarts, teaching imbeciles how to make Shrinking Solutions and Vanishing Creams.
Even the werewolf had been recognised for his efforts - given a nice Ministry job with the Department for Magical Creatures. Madness, that was. Like setting a thief to guard the prison. And the creature could hardly speak anymore, not after that incident with Pettigrew's silver hand. Snape had saved his miserable life, and was he thanked? No. Of course not, all in the line of duty, you know.
He picked at the food on his plate. No, of all the former members of the Order of the Phoenix, only Sirius Black had come out worse than Snape, and that was only because Potter hadn't listened to Snape and had insisted on bringing Black back. Now the man sat rotting in St Mungo's with no more awareness than the carrot that Snape speared with his fork and Potter was off making a name in Quidditch. Heartless bastard.
They'd been proclaimed heroes, every one of them, paraded down Diagon Alley with girls flinging flowers from shop windows and brass bands and the rest. But even then, he'd seen the fingers pointed, heard the whispers, 'Death Eater', 'traitor', 'Whose side's he on, anyway?'
And when the rest had been rewarded with Ministry jobs and full page write ups in the Daily Prophet, he'd received a wet-palmed handshake from a nervous bureaucrat and a tarnished Order of Merlin, Second Class. And here he was, back at Hogwarts, staring at Neville Longbottom across the staff table.
Finally, the Headmistress rose and began to make her announcements. Quidditch try outs, club meetings, warnings about the Forbidden Forest that would go mostly ignored. He sometimes half wished he'd been picked as Headmaster when Dumbledore had left to reform the Ministry, but on nights like these, when Minerva had a stack of paperwork and problems awaiting her, he was glad he'd been passed over. The only thing waiting him tonight was Longbottom.
He was waiting, sitting patiently behind his desk marking essays as though he hadn't a care in the world. The door opened tentatively, as though Neville was a student afraid to come to detention with nasty Professor Snape. Snape smiled coldly. He was afraid. That made it better.
"Come in," he said, and the young man entered.
Snape stared coolly into Neville's eyes, waiting. A thing like this had to be played just right. Like a fine wine, it couldn't be rushed.
"Mr Longbottom…Neville," he began, allowing the use of the given name to put the other man at ease. "I feel that I was remiss in your education."
Longbottom stared back at him stupidly. Snape pushed just a tiny bit at the edge of his mind. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
"What I mean, Neville, is that I don't think you ever truly came to appreciate the subtle art of potions as you should have. If you are to be a teacher here, you should value all the subjects we teach at Hogwarts, including my own."
Longbottom nodded thoughtfully, "That makes sense. And no, sir, I never much liked potions."
Snape rose, flicked his wand and the door slammed shut, reverberating in the chamber like a gong. Neville looked nervous, so Snape smiled innocuously. "Let me show you something, Longbottom." He led the young man over to his lab table, the same one he'd presided over every potions lecture he'd given at Hogwarts. "You see this table, yes? Just a plain workaday old table."
Neville nodded. Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a vial of what appeared to be water. "This table is like a potion. Like this potion, to be exact. This," and he swirled the vial so the liquid sloshed up onto the glass sides. "This looks like plain ordinary water. It even tastes like water." And Snape took the tiniest of sips. "Here," he added, handing the vial to Neville. "Drink it down."
The young man hesitated, as Snape had known he would. "You can trust me. We are colleagues now. We fought against the Dark Lord together, after all. Drink it down, it won't hurt you." But I will, he added silently watching the boy drink the clear liquid.
"Back to the table then," Snape said, taking the vial and carefully setting it behind him on a shelf. "Like that potion you just swallowed, it's so much more than it seems."
"Wha… What did I take?"
Snape laughed. "Nothing that will hurt you. It's simply an advanced potion that is used as an aid in the learning process. We don't introduce it to students as frankly, we want them to learn things the old fashioned way. But you've got a lot of catching up to do, Longbottom."
He watched Longbottom's pupils began to dilate, his hands began to shake slightly. Good, it is starting.
"Take off your robes, Longbottom." And as though he were under the Imperius curse, Neville began divesting himself of his clothing, moving slowly in a tantalising strip tease that already had Snape achingly hard.
"Very good. Now sit up on the table." Neville hesitated. "Go on, it's all right." He watched as Neville's arms flexed and the young man pushed up onto the table, noting with satisfaction that he cringed as his arse contacted the cold stone.
"I said this table is more than it seems, and so it is. I've used it on occasion to tutor 'special students', those who merit my close personal attention. Draco Malfoy once sat where you are. Draco was a very, very eager pupil." Snape closed his eyes for a minute, remembering the younger Malfoy's body, tremulous as a young buck so reminiscent of his magnificent father shuddering under his touch. Draco was in Azkaban these days, more's the pity.
Snape tapped his wand against the table, and watched with grim satisfaction as magical chains slid from the corners, ugly metal bracelets seeking Neville's wrists and ankles and pulling him down, leaving him vulnerable to whatever Snape chose to do.
The potion had been brewed with exact precision. Longbottom was compliant, but the fear in his eyes was genuine, and like a spice added to the finest food, it added a rare flavour. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Longbottom? Shall I tell you, or should I let you discover it inch by painful inch?"
Longbottom was taut as a violin string about to break, and Snape reached out one long finger to touch his throat, then traced a light path down the centre of his chest and belly, stopping in the tangle of hair at Longbottom's groin. His young prick was already half hard.
"You like that, do you? Did you ever think about this in potions class, Longbottom, did you sit there behind your cauldron imagining my hands on you? Is that why every single lesson was such a disaster, Longbottom, because you were thinking with this?" He flicked Neville's cock, watching it dangle heavily against his leg.
"I…I…" Neville stuttered.
"Oh, no. Can't have that. Silence is golden." And he slipped a silk scarf from his robe pocket and gagged the helpless young man. "It's not much, but it's magicked to keep you quiet. I don't want us to be interrupted."
"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this, Longbottom. Far more than you will, I'm afraid." He reached onto a shelf and took out two large clamps. "These aren't made for the purpose of course - you'll recognise them, at least I hope you will, as clamps we used to heat vials over fire in class. But like many things, they have multiple uses. All we have to do is get you ready for them."
Snape bent over Longbottom's flat smooth chest and took one nipple into his mouth, suckling and biting with great care and gentleness. Under his deft touch the young man was gasping with pleasure, a sound that went straight to Snape's cock. First one nipple and then the other became hard nubs, so ready, so eager.
When the first clamp went on, Longbottom arched up in agony, struggling to free himself. The second snapped into place, bruising the tender flesh almost as an afterthought.
"Please don't try to fight it. It won't do any good, and in fact, Longbottom, if you're cooperative, there are rewards to be had." He looked down at the man's face, eyes tearing and filled with fear and loathing. He did not need legilimency to know what Longbottom was thinking.
"Let me demonstrate the use of the tongue, Longbottom. Just as a suggestion, when you are teaching, it is always best to demonstrate the task you expect your students to perform." And another tap of his wand and the table transfigured, split down the centre so that Neville's legs were pulled apart and Snape could ease into the space between.
Down on his knees he could smell the musky scent of the young man's prick, nuzzled his nose and mouth into the heavy balls, and he licked up the length of the shaft, twirling his tongue over the tip. Even with the unabated pain of the clamps, Longbottom was still hard, and the groans he was making were half pleasure, half pain.
His mouth closed over the man's prick, taking it all in as deep as he could go, opening his throat to accommodate its length. His hands clamped down on the rounded arse as he played along the shaft, up and down, in and out of his mouth as he felt Longbottom's balls tightening as he thrust up into Snape's mouth. So close.
Not yet. Snape pulled back, and began to strip off his own robes. "And now that you've had the lesson, it's time to practice. And if you do it well, if you show me that you've learned how to use your tongue, Longbottom, I'll take one of the clamps off."
He stood back as the table readjusted, moving Longbottom into position so that his mouth could do its work. "And if you don't please me, we'll add two more clamps, and these will be for your testicles." The boy was dripping with sweat and stinking of terror and Snape drank it in like whiskey.
He closed his eyes, allowing Longbottom's mouth to clumsily engulf him, wet and hot and welcoming, so good, like a jolt through his whole body, he could feel pleasure curling like a snake coiled in his belly, spreading out through him, and he fucked Longbottom's mouth.
No! It wasn't time, and he was going to come buried in that tight arse. He pulled away and looked down at Neville's tear stained face. "Very good, Longbottom, you learn quickly - you may have the makings of a Hogwarts professor yet." Snape smiled fondly. "And I keep my promises." One of the metal clamps clattered to the floor.
And now it was time. The table returned to its original form, Longbottom face down now, spread out for him, and his hands were stroking the young man's back, teasing around his arse, dipping into the potion he had prepared for the purpose.
Neville shuddered when his finger slid past the tight ring of muscle, gliding effortlessly into his body. "And here we see another use for potions. Imagine how this would feel dry, my hands forcing their way into you, violating your most private areas? But this," and he slid his finger completely out and in again and again, while the young professor bucked against him, seeking contact. "This is heaven."
And it was, and not only for the bound man, but for Snape. With every thrust, Longbottom's arse clenched around his finger in velvety tightness, and it was suddenly too much. He had to fuck him, had to have him now.
He pulled the boy up onto his knees and in one swift movement, he plunged deep into the young man's body, so deep, completely wrapped in the quivering boy. Without regard to his unwitting partner's pleasure, he sought for his release, muscles tightening as he rode Longbottom, driving into him with a passion that was fuelled more by hatred than desire.
Longbottom cringing before him as a first year, his first cauldron in ruins. The same young man, older now, attacking Draco Malfoy outside his classroom, the two of them falling to the floor in a tangle of legs and arms and cocks while Snape watched, hand slid into his robes to fondle his leaking prick. And then in a dream, Longbottom and Potter, one on each side of him, fucking and being fucked with excruciating and exquisite torpor.
His whole body, every square inch of his skin was alive with energy, and his climax was upon him, and suddenly it mattered that Neville come as well, so his hand sought the young man's erection, and Snape could no longer tell whose groans were echoing in the empty dungeons, could no longer distinguish between the prick buried in the arse and the prick sliding between potion slicked fingers and his balls emptied in throes of ecstasy. Longbottom's arse tightened and he came in spurts across the table.
He pulled away and noted that Longbottom now lay quiescent on the table on his side. Snape removed the clamp from the last nipple and stroked the young man's shaggy head.
"An adequate performance. Though I see you've managed to soil my table, how typical." He pulled the gag, now soaked through, from the young man's mouth. "Don't try to talk, Longbottom, that potion is still in your system. And that brings me to our final lessons of the night. Charms, and Defence, of a sort."
Even that fool Lockhart could manage a simple Obliviate; it was child's play for Snape and soon Neville was staring quizzically at him, the memories of what had gone before scattered to the winds. The Imperius was a bit trickier, as Potter had taught the fool to resist, but the potion had done its work and soon Longbottom was dressing with stiff, jerky motions, then returning to his quarters where he would sleep dreamlessly, with no memory of what had occurred, no explanation as to the pain he would experience in the morning.
A small triumph, a petty vengeance wrested from the disappointment that his life had become, but as he sits on his bed that night, and thinks of how petty, and how meaningless. Meaningless that the boy would not even remember, this smallest of victories.
At night, his mind betrays him, black thoughts of despair, more bitter than aloe, poison his mind and he stares at his hands. The truth snakes it's way through his mind like an etcher's tool, dripping with acid. He'd like him to remember. He'd like him to remember the damp fear and the heated excitement as the boy had come in his hand, calling his name.
And he looks at his hands and he knows that there will never be a welcoming touch and an eye that lights up when enters a room, for he left that behind when he made his choices, and he wonders if he can accept this second - class life, with passion coerced, not given?
Then he remembers the satiny soft down of the boy's flesh under his sensitive fingers, and the furnace of his arse and the taste of his fear, and he nods in the dark where no-one will ever see, he thinks after all, that he can.