If Snape dies in book 7...
Nefari(zombie)!Snape/Harry
Warnings: braaaaiiins. Adjective Abuse Ahoy! Rough stuff. With a zombie.
Rating: Adult
Word Count 2600
AN One of the more cracked out things I’ve written. Basically creepy zombie smut of no redeeming value. I apologize in advance. Many thanks to ari_o for beta services, and to corvid and kay_wray for holding my hand and convincing me to post this instead of burning it like a sane person would have. Blame them.
Night of The Living Snape
Knockturn Alley isn't quite the seedy destination it was prior to the fall of the Dark Lord. The Ministry closed down most of the drunk bins and flesh pots during the war, but the final blow came from Fred and George Weasley when they bought up most of the north side as part of their relentlessly expanding empire. What was once a glorious expression of sin and violence was now consumed by crass Weasleyisms. There was a Museum of Weasley Wonders, a gift shop featuring plush Weasley dolls and Weasley Hippogriff rides for the children. The whitewalls were washed, the bricks repointed, the chimneys swept, and the now ubiquitous “Weasley Wizard Wheezes” signs dominated the Alley. The once grim little street was transformed into a riot of clashing hues that the Dailey Prophet snidely referred to as "Weasleyfication".
Snape eyed the flashing lights irritably as he shuffled slowly past Weasley World. Even now, in the dead of night, there was no relief from the obnoxious flood of colors and noise. Magical murals showing Fred and George; in Hogwarts playing daring pranks on their Nasty Professors, in the war, battling Voldemort with bogey bombs and treacle-toes; and after, standing shoulder to shoulder with that other Wizarding World icon, the-bloody-brat-who-would-not-die. The intermittent bright flashes made the dull ache in his head worse. Not for the first time he wished he could get his hands on a timeturner, go back 15 years to Hogwarts, and just poison the little bastards.
"Braaaaiinns," Snape groaned.
Another Snape, one whom’s robes billowed as he stalked past cowering snot-filed noses, would have been utterly mortified by the noises coming from his throat. This Snape however, so painfully contorted as he swayed forward, had other things to concern himself with. Every inch of his grey skin was in agony, like it was trying to crawl off his tired bones. His head throbbed in time with the mural depicting Fred and George at Quidditch, and hungerlust had driven him to the bitter end of coherency. He had left it too long. Six months this time, as nothing short desperate instinct can carry drive him back here. Snape tried to move faster, aware that between his ungainly limbs and stuttered movements he was making a spectacle of himself.
"Braaaaaaaaiinns."
The dull blue lantern of the last shop at the bottom of the row acts as Snape’s beacon. Salvation and damnation all locked behind a door the ministry turns a blind eye to and tourists seem to think ‘adds atmosphere’. The door opened just as Snape reaches for it, and a shaggy head with almond green eyes poked out and grinned. Ah yes, this would be why he put off feeding until he was so wretched his body dragged him here despite his mind begging it not to.
“I was wondering if you’d be ‘round tonight.” Potter managed to look both smug and concerned, neither of which Snape has ever found particularly appealing.
“BRAAAAIIINNS.”
“Yes, all right. Best come in then.” Potter held the door wide, far enough that Snape knew he hadn’t a chance. He eyed the scarred forehead of the boy’s cranium hungrily. Potter glared back. Need filled Snape as he neared the brat, and he lunged instinctively, his teeth snapping on soft neck flesh as Potter jerked back. He has it’s blood in his mouth, revolting and warm. Snape spit, thankful at least he isn’t a bloody vampire.
“On the counter, Professor.” Was it possible for the brat-child to put anymore contempt into that voice?
Snape felt something suspiciously like pride before being distracted by the wares displayed. Oh, the rotten creature had outdone himself.
“Braaaiiins?”
“Yes, yes.” Potter answered soothingly. “All top quality, grown from only the best donors. Fresh this morning.”
So the brat really had been expecting him. Snape grimaced. Predictability was a deadly character flaw. But that realization was somehow unimportant right now, with the sensuous glory of the feast before him.
“This one first.” Potter said.
Snape barely waited for Potter to hand him the bowl before diving head first into the jellied flesh. He pushed down, gulping like an animal, waiting for the white cold relief only a fresh human brain could bring him. There it was, the icy sharpness of reason calming the rage. He could feel himself coming back, his mind flickering again, the rush of life through his limbs. Not enough. He needed more. He’d left it too long this time.
“That was acceptable.” Snape said.
Potter seemed to understand. He pushed another bowl towards Snape.
“Try this one. I was saving it for you until you could appreciate it.”
Predictable again. Snape sniffed the brain disdainfully. Truthfully it smelled like heaven and sex, the rich maleness of the brain makes his mouth water, and he just wanted to devour it whole.
“It smells tolerable.” Snape inhaled again, enjoying the rush as half-satiated need coursed through his body. “What did the donor get on his NEWTs?”
Had Potter just rolled his eyes? Snape wasn’t sure, but the monstrous creature seemed polite enough when he answered.
“Three Outstandings, three Exceeds Expectations, and the rest were Acceptables. You know I can’t tell you more than that, but rest assured, I selected these special for you, Professor.”
Snape dearly wanted to glare, but doing so would have required more effort than he could muster. Shrugging off another thread of his tattered dignity he tipped back the bowl and began messily inhaling the contents.
Heavenly. If the last brain had brought him back to human, this one returned his mind to it full acuity. Thoughts and memories flooded in; the exact weight of the pinch of scarab beetle powder needed for Wit-Sharpening, the slippery way Felix Felicis steam wafted when perfectly brewed, the sharp metallic flavor of Potter’s; an over-powering richness of sensation that pulsed through him. His senses were on fire as months of barely experienced life flooded through him. Then something else, another feeling, purely sexual, that flitted through Snape’s conscious too quickly to identify. An ephemeral thread of an idea caught in the steel teeth of Severus’s mind.
This brain was wondrous, incredible, perfect. It fed him in ways he hadn’t know possible, heat throbbed in his limbs and his cock, and he felt more alive than he had felt when actually alive. He was a God, riding a crest of invincibility and sex. It was perfect. It was …familiar? The tease of recognition hit Snape all at once. “three O’s and three E’s” indeed. There would be hell to pay for that deception. But right now, Snape fed. He couldn’t have stopped if he tried. This brain was too irresistible, and he was overfeeding, careless of the inevitable voracious passion such over-indulgence brought.
When at last the bowl was empty he continued to lick it, as if his long tongue could harry another drop from it's glass surface. Potter was watching him, waiting. He looked up into those damned eyes and then glanced around, taking in the room.
Potter’s project had changed since his last "visit". The shelves of the little charity “shop” were still lined with the all the necessities a self-loathing monster could want, but now there was a special potions section. There were all the usual antidotes; bezoars, mandrake and ephilius, but also rarer potions like the row of Wolfsbane vials, and the Emergency Wolfbite Bane, both with expiration dates written in Snape’s meticulous hand. There was black-out cloth of course, with matching umbrellas and sunglasses, self wrapping mummified bandages and Siren ear waxes. Against the back wall was a series of trunks, each labeled with a different horror: Banshee, Ghouls, Nefari, Silkie, and so on. False humanity doled out freely to those who could not afford to pay, traded to those with skills to offer. It was so nobly self-sacrificingly Gryffindorish, Snape wanted to vomit.
If Snape was honest with himself, the brat-child wasn’t unbearable. He wasn’t even a child anymore, and hadn’t been for quite a few years. He’d grown into and average sort of man, his eyes and scar his most distinguished features, but otherwise slim and unremarkable. Just as Snape always knew he would be. Snape stared at Potter through half lidded eyes, amused to see the smugness wiped completely from the insufferable monster’s face. He was painfully aroused, cock tenting his trousers obscenely. Feeding was always sexual for Snape.
“Well, Potter?” Snape leaned forward, every hair on his body screaming to be licked. “I expect you have something you would like to tell me.”
“H-How …?”
“Did you actually think I would not recognize your taste, you rotten child?” Snape sneered.
The boy squeaked, actually squeaked, and Snape felt a flood of vicious satisfaction he hadn’t enjoyed since Hogwarts.
“How many times?”
“T-t-twelve” the little monster stuttered.
No wonder the rush had been so satisfying. The possibility of addiction to a particular donor’s brain was exactly why the ministry kept strict track of who donated brain cells, how many brains were grown and made absolutely certain that no Inferi consumed from the same source twice. That the cretin had done it intentionally was…
“You always run away” The brat was glaring, squaring for a face off. “You feed, we shag, and then you RUN. I never know where you are, if you’re eating, who you’re…” The boy droned on.
Infuriating! Selfish, immature and self indulgent! Of all the thoughtless, idiotic… even as Snape’s mind wanted to storm, the burden of sensuality kept his reaction sluggish. The rotten child was so deliciously tempting when he raged at Snape. Stupid Gryffindor passions and their stupider need to save everyone. Stupid but so forcefully erotic. Snape licked his lips, catching a hint of Potter’s essence on them. He wanted Potter. The high of feeding was enough to drive him into a sexual frenzy, but now? With the brat’s essence woven into his addiction, the compulsion to consume Potter unstoppable. He stood, and stalked towards the boy.
“Do you like me like this?” he hissed. “Unable to control myself.”
Snape yanked Potter’s trousers and pants to his ankles in one harsh movement. The rotten beast was rock hard, and Snape pushed the flat of his palm against it’s cock.
“Did you think you would tie me to you, your own pet Inferi to feed and fuck when you wanted?” Snape rubbed faster against the boy’s erection.
“I…No! That wasn’t…” Potter stumbled helplessly over the words. The boy could never win a fight argued through flesh.
Pressing his advantage, Snape hoisted the him onto the low counter and pulled the knot of bunched clothes from his ankles. The hum from the feeding intensified every scent, every moan to a relentless voice urging him on. Take Take Take it chanted, and Snape did. He pushed his face into a pale thigh, inhaling, then sucking and biting.
“Ickle Potter not get enough of scary monsters during the war? Couldn’t save his widdle werewolf so he had to save everyone?” Snape punctuated each word with his teeth, then his tongue licked where he had bitten, soothing the abraded flesh.
“NO.” Potter’s eyes widened and he shook his useless head.
Snape nibbled along the shaft of the boy-creature’s prick, working his teeth towards the testes nestled between his legs. Take and Devour the voice urged, Swallow and Consume and Digest and Own. The testicles were hard under his tongue. Each one like a miniature medulla, perfect like a drug.
“No” Potter moaned, and Snape sucked the tender flesh into the soft gullet behind his teeth.
Braaainsss murmered the voice, and there was a rush of temptation, to bite and consume and swallow, but Snape pushed it away, for now. Instead he released the temptation from his mouth and shoved the boy back, splitting him open and exposed.
“Really Potter, lets discuss what you’ve done, tying my addiction to your flesh.” Severus bit gently on smooth unmarked skin under Potter's testes, then sucked hard.
“Did you think I would play house with you? Did you think you could domesticate me? Civilize me? Dress me up and take me to Ministry functions?”
Snape licked thoughtfully across the puckered flesh of Potter’s arsehole, then stabbed his tongue inside, earning a whimper. Potter pushed towards him, the pucker twitching to be fed. Snape watched it, fascinated, then paused then to rub the bridge of his not inconsiderable nose against that deliciously hungry hole.
“Perhaps it was never made clear to you, Potter,” Snape continued, speaking directly into the spot that held his absolute attention. “But using addiction to trap your lovers is generally regarded as poor form.” He pushed a finger into the boy and was rewarded by a moan. He added another, trying to wedge a space to push his tongue. The muscles were uncooperative, and finally he sat back and watched his fingers move in and out, watching the brat’s flesh grasp them, as if unable to let go.
“Thoughtless, selfish, monster.” Snape rubbed his cheek against the boy’s knee. “More’s the pity to you that once again you ran ahead with your idiotic scheme without considering the trap you set.” Snape’s voice was softer now. Potter’s moaning was maddening and demanding.
Snape looked around the room, but the only things within reach were a half used bottle of brain-e-grow and the empty bowls. He eyed the bottle speculatively but decided right now probably wasn’t the best time to run an internal application field study. Instead he spit into his palm then slicked his cock with the saliva. It would be barely sufficient, for either of them.
“Maddening, awful creature” he murmured, forcing his cock into Harry. He stopped, waiting until the boy opened his eyes to look at him.
“Do you even grasp what you’ve done?” Snape whispered. “You’ll never be free of me. I’ll need to continue to feed, and with each meal this compulsion will grow.” Snape began to move in agonizingly slow circles. Harry whimpered, his hips following. “I’ll need you Harry” Snape bent his head to lick one rosy nipple.
“I’ll need you” he said again and Harry leaned up to stare at Snape. “I'll need you until I can’t take it anymore.” Snape spit on his hand again then wrapped his fingers forcefully around Harry’s impertinent erection. “Then one night when you’re sleeping...”
Deep, harsh sounds were coming from Harry now, and Snape pushed the boy’s legs over his shoulders and thrust in, throwing his weight into it. He grabbed the boy’s narrow hips and yanked down, hard.
“You. Are. Mine. Now.” Snape punctuated each word with a violent push, the cock in his fist pulled brutally tight.
The sounds from Potter’s swollen lips grew deeper, more animal. Snape watched Potter’s eyelashes flutter, his eyes close, and he felt the warm fluid of his orgasm spurt over his fist. He leaned forward, thrusting again and again, until a small broken voice cried, “Severus… hurts…” and he came hard, ejaculating into Potter’s suffering cries.
*
“Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”
Snape was dressed in one of the stiff buttoned robes Potter kept for him. His hair was tied neatly back, almost combed and clean looking. His skin had lost some of it’s pallor, or at least, two bright flushed red spots stained his cheeks. His fingers danced lightly across the spines of the books Harry had purchased since his last visit, settling upon Potions or Poison? The Inferi of the Last War.
“Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?” Snape asked again.
Harry inclined his head slightly and poured two fingers of the brandy Snape loved into a snifter before handing it to him.
“I was a monster. Even before this.” Snape said, gesturing vaguely at himself.
Snape sat in the chair Harry kept for him by the fire, and waited for the boy to settle himself at his feet. He opened his book while the boy snuggled his head against his lap. A set of long fingers reached tentatively for the dark mop of hair, tracing his nails almost reverently against the delicate skull.
“Welcome home, Severus” Harry whispered.
Warnings: braaaaiiins. Adjective Abuse Ahoy! Rough stuff. With a zombie.
Rating: Adult
Word Count 2600
AN One of the more cracked out things I’ve written. Basically creepy zombie smut of no redeeming value. I apologize in advance. Many thanks to ari_o for beta services, and to corvid and kay_wray for holding my hand and convincing me to post this instead of burning it like a sane person would have. Blame them.
Night of The Living Snape
Knockturn Alley isn't quite the seedy destination it was prior to the fall of the Dark Lord. The Ministry closed down most of the drunk bins and flesh pots during the war, but the final blow came from Fred and George Weasley when they bought up most of the north side as part of their relentlessly expanding empire. What was once a glorious expression of sin and violence was now consumed by crass Weasleyisms. There was a Museum of Weasley Wonders, a gift shop featuring plush Weasley dolls and Weasley Hippogriff rides for the children. The whitewalls were washed, the bricks repointed, the chimneys swept, and the now ubiquitous “Weasley Wizard Wheezes” signs dominated the Alley. The once grim little street was transformed into a riot of clashing hues that the Dailey Prophet snidely referred to as "Weasleyfication".
Snape eyed the flashing lights irritably as he shuffled slowly past Weasley World. Even now, in the dead of night, there was no relief from the obnoxious flood of colors and noise. Magical murals showing Fred and George; in Hogwarts playing daring pranks on their Nasty Professors, in the war, battling Voldemort with bogey bombs and treacle-toes; and after, standing shoulder to shoulder with that other Wizarding World icon, the-bloody-brat-who-would-not-die. The intermittent bright flashes made the dull ache in his head worse. Not for the first time he wished he could get his hands on a timeturner, go back 15 years to Hogwarts, and just poison the little bastards.
"Braaaaiinns," Snape groaned.
Another Snape, one whom’s robes billowed as he stalked past cowering snot-filed noses, would have been utterly mortified by the noises coming from his throat. This Snape however, so painfully contorted as he swayed forward, had other things to concern himself with. Every inch of his grey skin was in agony, like it was trying to crawl off his tired bones. His head throbbed in time with the mural depicting Fred and George at Quidditch, and hungerlust had driven him to the bitter end of coherency. He had left it too long. Six months this time, as nothing short desperate instinct can carry drive him back here. Snape tried to move faster, aware that between his ungainly limbs and stuttered movements he was making a spectacle of himself.
"Braaaaaaaaiinns."
The dull blue lantern of the last shop at the bottom of the row acts as Snape’s beacon. Salvation and damnation all locked behind a door the ministry turns a blind eye to and tourists seem to think ‘adds atmosphere’. The door opened just as Snape reaches for it, and a shaggy head with almond green eyes poked out and grinned. Ah yes, this would be why he put off feeding until he was so wretched his body dragged him here despite his mind begging it not to.
“I was wondering if you’d be ‘round tonight.” Potter managed to look both smug and concerned, neither of which Snape has ever found particularly appealing.
“BRAAAAIIINNS.”
“Yes, all right. Best come in then.” Potter held the door wide, far enough that Snape knew he hadn’t a chance. He eyed the scarred forehead of the boy’s cranium hungrily. Potter glared back. Need filled Snape as he neared the brat, and he lunged instinctively, his teeth snapping on soft neck flesh as Potter jerked back. He has it’s blood in his mouth, revolting and warm. Snape spit, thankful at least he isn’t a bloody vampire.
“On the counter, Professor.” Was it possible for the brat-child to put anymore contempt into that voice?
Snape felt something suspiciously like pride before being distracted by the wares displayed. Oh, the rotten creature had outdone himself.
“Braaaiiins?”
“Yes, yes.” Potter answered soothingly. “All top quality, grown from only the best donors. Fresh this morning.”
So the brat really had been expecting him. Snape grimaced. Predictability was a deadly character flaw. But that realization was somehow unimportant right now, with the sensuous glory of the feast before him.
“This one first.” Potter said.
Snape barely waited for Potter to hand him the bowl before diving head first into the jellied flesh. He pushed down, gulping like an animal, waiting for the white cold relief only a fresh human brain could bring him. There it was, the icy sharpness of reason calming the rage. He could feel himself coming back, his mind flickering again, the rush of life through his limbs. Not enough. He needed more. He’d left it too long this time.
“That was acceptable.” Snape said.
Potter seemed to understand. He pushed another bowl towards Snape.
“Try this one. I was saving it for you until you could appreciate it.”
Predictable again. Snape sniffed the brain disdainfully. Truthfully it smelled like heaven and sex, the rich maleness of the brain makes his mouth water, and he just wanted to devour it whole.
“It smells tolerable.” Snape inhaled again, enjoying the rush as half-satiated need coursed through his body. “What did the donor get on his NEWTs?”
Had Potter just rolled his eyes? Snape wasn’t sure, but the monstrous creature seemed polite enough when he answered.
“Three Outstandings, three Exceeds Expectations, and the rest were Acceptables. You know I can’t tell you more than that, but rest assured, I selected these special for you, Professor.”
Snape dearly wanted to glare, but doing so would have required more effort than he could muster. Shrugging off another thread of his tattered dignity he tipped back the bowl and began messily inhaling the contents.
Heavenly. If the last brain had brought him back to human, this one returned his mind to it full acuity. Thoughts and memories flooded in; the exact weight of the pinch of scarab beetle powder needed for Wit-Sharpening, the slippery way Felix Felicis steam wafted when perfectly brewed, the sharp metallic flavor of Potter’s; an over-powering richness of sensation that pulsed through him. His senses were on fire as months of barely experienced life flooded through him. Then something else, another feeling, purely sexual, that flitted through Snape’s conscious too quickly to identify. An ephemeral thread of an idea caught in the steel teeth of Severus’s mind.
This brain was wondrous, incredible, perfect. It fed him in ways he hadn’t know possible, heat throbbed in his limbs and his cock, and he felt more alive than he had felt when actually alive. He was a God, riding a crest of invincibility and sex. It was perfect. It was …familiar? The tease of recognition hit Snape all at once. “three O’s and three E’s” indeed. There would be hell to pay for that deception. But right now, Snape fed. He couldn’t have stopped if he tried. This brain was too irresistible, and he was overfeeding, careless of the inevitable voracious passion such over-indulgence brought.
When at last the bowl was empty he continued to lick it, as if his long tongue could harry another drop from it's glass surface. Potter was watching him, waiting. He looked up into those damned eyes and then glanced around, taking in the room.
Potter’s project had changed since his last "visit". The shelves of the little charity “shop” were still lined with the all the necessities a self-loathing monster could want, but now there was a special potions section. There were all the usual antidotes; bezoars, mandrake and ephilius, but also rarer potions like the row of Wolfsbane vials, and the Emergency Wolfbite Bane, both with expiration dates written in Snape’s meticulous hand. There was black-out cloth of course, with matching umbrellas and sunglasses, self wrapping mummified bandages and Siren ear waxes. Against the back wall was a series of trunks, each labeled with a different horror: Banshee, Ghouls, Nefari, Silkie, and so on. False humanity doled out freely to those who could not afford to pay, traded to those with skills to offer. It was so nobly self-sacrificingly Gryffindorish, Snape wanted to vomit.
If Snape was honest with himself, the brat-child wasn’t unbearable. He wasn’t even a child anymore, and hadn’t been for quite a few years. He’d grown into and average sort of man, his eyes and scar his most distinguished features, but otherwise slim and unremarkable. Just as Snape always knew he would be. Snape stared at Potter through half lidded eyes, amused to see the smugness wiped completely from the insufferable monster’s face. He was painfully aroused, cock tenting his trousers obscenely. Feeding was always sexual for Snape.
“Well, Potter?” Snape leaned forward, every hair on his body screaming to be licked. “I expect you have something you would like to tell me.”
“H-How …?”
“Did you actually think I would not recognize your taste, you rotten child?” Snape sneered.
The boy squeaked, actually squeaked, and Snape felt a flood of vicious satisfaction he hadn’t enjoyed since Hogwarts.
“How many times?”
“T-t-twelve” the little monster stuttered.
No wonder the rush had been so satisfying. The possibility of addiction to a particular donor’s brain was exactly why the ministry kept strict track of who donated brain cells, how many brains were grown and made absolutely certain that no Inferi consumed from the same source twice. That the cretin had done it intentionally was…
“You always run away” The brat was glaring, squaring for a face off. “You feed, we shag, and then you RUN. I never know where you are, if you’re eating, who you’re…” The boy droned on.
Infuriating! Selfish, immature and self indulgent! Of all the thoughtless, idiotic… even as Snape’s mind wanted to storm, the burden of sensuality kept his reaction sluggish. The rotten child was so deliciously tempting when he raged at Snape. Stupid Gryffindor passions and their stupider need to save everyone. Stupid but so forcefully erotic. Snape licked his lips, catching a hint of Potter’s essence on them. He wanted Potter. The high of feeding was enough to drive him into a sexual frenzy, but now? With the brat’s essence woven into his addiction, the compulsion to consume Potter unstoppable. He stood, and stalked towards the boy.
“Do you like me like this?” he hissed. “Unable to control myself.”
Snape yanked Potter’s trousers and pants to his ankles in one harsh movement. The rotten beast was rock hard, and Snape pushed the flat of his palm against it’s cock.
“Did you think you would tie me to you, your own pet Inferi to feed and fuck when you wanted?” Snape rubbed faster against the boy’s erection.
“I…No! That wasn’t…” Potter stumbled helplessly over the words. The boy could never win a fight argued through flesh.
Pressing his advantage, Snape hoisted the him onto the low counter and pulled the knot of bunched clothes from his ankles. The hum from the feeding intensified every scent, every moan to a relentless voice urging him on. Take Take Take it chanted, and Snape did. He pushed his face into a pale thigh, inhaling, then sucking and biting.
“Ickle Potter not get enough of scary monsters during the war? Couldn’t save his widdle werewolf so he had to save everyone?” Snape punctuated each word with his teeth, then his tongue licked where he had bitten, soothing the abraded flesh.
“NO.” Potter’s eyes widened and he shook his useless head.
Snape nibbled along the shaft of the boy-creature’s prick, working his teeth towards the testes nestled between his legs. Take and Devour the voice urged, Swallow and Consume and Digest and Own. The testicles were hard under his tongue. Each one like a miniature medulla, perfect like a drug.
“No” Potter moaned, and Snape sucked the tender flesh into the soft gullet behind his teeth.
Braaainsss murmered the voice, and there was a rush of temptation, to bite and consume and swallow, but Snape pushed it away, for now. Instead he released the temptation from his mouth and shoved the boy back, splitting him open and exposed.
“Really Potter, lets discuss what you’ve done, tying my addiction to your flesh.” Severus bit gently on smooth unmarked skin under Potter's testes, then sucked hard.
“Did you think I would play house with you? Did you think you could domesticate me? Civilize me? Dress me up and take me to Ministry functions?”
Snape licked thoughtfully across the puckered flesh of Potter’s arsehole, then stabbed his tongue inside, earning a whimper. Potter pushed towards him, the pucker twitching to be fed. Snape watched it, fascinated, then paused then to rub the bridge of his not inconsiderable nose against that deliciously hungry hole.
“Perhaps it was never made clear to you, Potter,” Snape continued, speaking directly into the spot that held his absolute attention. “But using addiction to trap your lovers is generally regarded as poor form.” He pushed a finger into the boy and was rewarded by a moan. He added another, trying to wedge a space to push his tongue. The muscles were uncooperative, and finally he sat back and watched his fingers move in and out, watching the brat’s flesh grasp them, as if unable to let go.
“Thoughtless, selfish, monster.” Snape rubbed his cheek against the boy’s knee. “More’s the pity to you that once again you ran ahead with your idiotic scheme without considering the trap you set.” Snape’s voice was softer now. Potter’s moaning was maddening and demanding.
Snape looked around the room, but the only things within reach were a half used bottle of brain-e-grow and the empty bowls. He eyed the bottle speculatively but decided right now probably wasn’t the best time to run an internal application field study. Instead he spit into his palm then slicked his cock with the saliva. It would be barely sufficient, for either of them.
“Maddening, awful creature” he murmured, forcing his cock into Harry. He stopped, waiting until the boy opened his eyes to look at him.
“Do you even grasp what you’ve done?” Snape whispered. “You’ll never be free of me. I’ll need to continue to feed, and with each meal this compulsion will grow.” Snape began to move in agonizingly slow circles. Harry whimpered, his hips following. “I’ll need you Harry” Snape bent his head to lick one rosy nipple.
“I’ll need you” he said again and Harry leaned up to stare at Snape. “I'll need you until I can’t take it anymore.” Snape spit on his hand again then wrapped his fingers forcefully around Harry’s impertinent erection. “Then one night when you’re sleeping...”
Deep, harsh sounds were coming from Harry now, and Snape pushed the boy’s legs over his shoulders and thrust in, throwing his weight into it. He grabbed the boy’s narrow hips and yanked down, hard.
“You. Are. Mine. Now.” Snape punctuated each word with a violent push, the cock in his fist pulled brutally tight.
The sounds from Potter’s swollen lips grew deeper, more animal. Snape watched Potter’s eyelashes flutter, his eyes close, and he felt the warm fluid of his orgasm spurt over his fist. He leaned forward, thrusting again and again, until a small broken voice cried, “Severus… hurts…” and he came hard, ejaculating into Potter’s suffering cries.
*
“Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”
Snape was dressed in one of the stiff buttoned robes Potter kept for him. His hair was tied neatly back, almost combed and clean looking. His skin had lost some of it’s pallor, or at least, two bright flushed red spots stained his cheeks. His fingers danced lightly across the spines of the books Harry had purchased since his last visit, settling upon Potions or Poison? The Inferi of the Last War.
“Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?” Snape asked again.
Harry inclined his head slightly and poured two fingers of the brandy Snape loved into a snifter before handing it to him.
“I was a monster. Even before this.” Snape said, gesturing vaguely at himself.
Snape sat in the chair Harry kept for him by the fire, and waited for the boy to settle himself at his feet. He opened his book while the boy snuggled his head against his lap. A set of long fingers reached tentatively for the dark mop of hair, tracing his nails almost reverently against the delicate skull.
“Welcome home, Severus” Harry whispered.