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hpkinkfest2012-02-09 04:37 pm
fluffyllama.livejournal.com) wrote in hpkinkfest2012-02-09 04:37 pm
FIC: On the Lip of a Lion (Snape/Harry)
Title: On the Lip of a Lion
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fluffyllama
Prompt Number: 277 submitted byprayer_at_night
Kink Showcased: Watersports
Rating: Adult
Pairing(s): Snape/Harry, with minor assorted OC Dark Wizards/Harry
Summary: Serving the Dark Lord is no job for a coward.
Content Notes/Warnings: Watersports, humiliation, non-con, slavery, dark AU, violence and OC character death with reference to more violence and death off screen. For those in countries where this is an issue, all characters involved are over the age of 18.
Word Count: 2340
Author's Notes: So, I was all set for a bit of frantic territory-marking Marauder fic when I was ambushed by this instead. Thank you to the lovely Rachel for both encouraging the ambush and looking over the results. Any mistakes that remain are entirely my own fault.
"Don't dawdle, Potter," Snape snaps, and tugs on Harry's leash. "You know what will happen if you make me late for breakfast."
Harry's bare knees scrape on the dungeon floors as he scrambles after Snape. Musty robes flap in his face, sending dust up his nose and making him sneeze, and he almost takes a heel to the face every time they turn a corner.
The wizards who make up the Dark Lord's inner circle are already eating amidst the clatter of plates and a low rumble of conversation, but a hush falls when Snape enters the room with his hand wrapped around Harry's leash. Harry feels Snape hesitate, and that almost raises a smile. Snape is not usually permitted to play with the Dark Lord's pets, and he is certainly never permitted to lead Harry around this way.
Nor is he normally permitted to sit in the Dark Lord's chair, but that's where he heads this morning.
"Sit, Potter." Snape barks out the order so abruptly that Harry jumps. He'd been so busy wondering what everyone was thinking that he'd forgotten about the bastard holding the leash. He kneels down with his hands behind his back in the required pose, and waits.
He watches as Snape helps himself to a large plate of bacon and eggs, and his mouth waters. Fork halfway to his mouth, Snape pauses and lets one skeletal thin hand drop to his robes. Fumbling with buttons and too many layers, he eventually pushes the black cloth aside to reveal a half-hard cock lying against a wiry-haired thigh.
"Do help yourself to your meal," Snape says, and lets his mouth close around a portion of chunky, spicy-smelling sausage and rich smoked bacon.
Snape tastes of sweat and salt as well as the grime and dust that cover everything in the castle, and Harry's mouth is dry before he's taken even half of that long skinny cock in it. He listens to the clink of glasses on the table above with a distant envy, but no real rancour. Any punishment this place has to offer lost its initial edge of terror long ago as the Dark Lord's minions had settled into power. He'd said as much to Snape only yesterday, which is one reason why he is here now, sucking the greasy bastard's cock.
It's obviously a while since anyone has done this for Snape, because it only takes a few minutes under Harry's clumsy tongue before he is coming hard down Harry's throat.
"Swallow it all, Potter," Snape says, and his voice is a little strained. "If you don't I shall have you horse-whipped in the yard."
Harry takes care to lick every drop of Snape's come from around his lips, and bends his head back down to clean his cock thoroughly as well. When he sits back for inspection, Snape gives him a half-hearted sneer.
"I suppose that's good enough," he says grudgingly, and gestures to Randall sitting to his right. "You may move on to the next course."
Randall looks up, almost as startled as Harry is, and opens his mouth as if to object. A few seats further down the table, someone Harry can't see pushes their chair back, and there are mutterings from the far end, the first signs of conversation in the ranks since Harry first knelt next to Snape.
"Sit down!" Snape barks down the table, then looks at Randall, who seems to have frozen in mid-thought. "And shut up."
"But S-Severus," Arkwright starts, and Harry can hear the old fool trying to work out what the hell Snape is playing at. "The Dark Lord—"
"Has given his orders," Snape interrupts, his voice firm and icy. "And I am following them. If anyone would like to object, the horse-whipping is still on offer, gentlemen."
Harry stays still for a moment longer, but nobody else seems to have an objection, or at least not one they are prepared to voice. Nobody else tries to leave the table as Harry crawls under it and reaches for Randall's cock. They wait in silence, and Snape is probably glaring at them the whole time, Harry thinks, daring them to defy him in his assumed role. It might go some way to explaining why Randall, and the one after him too, are so hard to arouse, thighs trembling under Harry's hands, cocks taking an age to harden in his mouth while his jaw aches more with every desperate suck and swallow.
By the time Harry has worked his way around the table his throat is dry and his mouth foul with the taste of too many sweaty wizards. He can almost taste their fear, their uncertainty at Snape's temerity and presumption, but not one of them has the nerve to stand up to him.
"Thirsty, Potter?" Snape asks, and Harry looks up over the edge of the table to see Snape splashing cold, clear water into a goblet. He beckons Harry closer, but when Harry crawls close enough to reach up for the goblet, Snape just sneers and raises it to his own lips.
Harry narrows his eyes, and receives a kick in the ribs for his insolence that almost knocks him off balance. He straightens himself up and stays kneeling in position with only a sharp indrawn breath giving away the pain that just shot through him.
The kick isn't Snape's usual style. Harry has never seen him treat a captive that way before, with direct physical violence. Snape prefers more insidious methods of punishment, and he's well-known for his fondness of humiliation tactics… maybe he is simply making more of an effort than usual.
"Don't give me that look, Potter," Snape says. "There's a drink for you too." He pushes back the heavy chair with a loud scrape on the stone flags, and reaches into his robes once more.
Harry blinks because—again? Already? Has forcing Harry to suck off the whole room turned Snape on so much that he is after another turn at Harry's mouth—
Then Snape twists his fingers in Harry's shaggy hair and forces his head back against the edge of the table, and Harry can see that Snape is limp in his other hand, not remotely ready for Harry's mouth, so what—
The first burst of piss hits Harry's bottom lip before he even realises it's coming, and he jerks in surprise as wet warmth drips down his chin and splatters drops across his bare chest and thighs.
"If I have to make you open your mouth, Potter, I will do," Snape says coolly, and Harry feels a spark of rage deep down in his belly at that disinterested drawl, one that takes him back to a day almost forgotten, but never quite. Harry had thought he was beyond those old feelings after so long here, after so much, but at that moment Snape is Professor Snape once more, verbally shredding a boy who had no idea what he had ever done to deserve such treatment.
Snape is going to pay for reminding Harry of that day. He is going to pay for it soon, just as he is going to pay for the way Harry swallows hard and lets his lips part, open wide under Snape's unwavering gaze.
Snape doesn't move the hand on his cock, so Harry is forced to be the one to adjust when Snape lets another spurt fly. He can't move his head, Snape has it jammed against the table edge so hard that Harry thinks it will bruise later, but he can stretch his jaw down, angle it so that the pale gold stream lands just inside his lower lip; most of it, anyway.
It isn't good enough for Snape.
"Try harder, Potter," Snape snaps at him, and lifts Harry's head away from the table just far enough to hurt when he bangs it back down again. A murmur flies up around the table, and there is a bloody back looming in Harry's near future if he doesn't do exactly what Snape wants.
Harry doesn't need the threat of pain. Wanting to get this over with is more than enough motivation. He tests Snape's grip once more, and finds that after a moment's hesitation Snape lets him lean just a little closer to him, find what he thinks is the right angle. He lifts his eyes to Snape's while he waits for Snape to offer him another drink of piss, and Snape returns his gaze with no discernable flicker of alarm at the outrageous presumption that has the rest of the room so on edge, as if they are waiting for the Dark Lord to pop up and strike them down at any moment.
It's almost funny, how they are so much more afraid, every one of them, than Harry is of anything Snape could do to him. And Snape, as Harry knows, can be very creative when he wants to be.
Of course, he's nowhere near as creative as the Dark Lord.
"Ready. Sir." Harry says, and sees something dark, much darker than usual, flare in Snape's eyes. He only just manages to get his mouth in position again, and it's a good thing he's got it right this time, because Snape is not stopping to let him adjust again. His fingers twist more tightly in Harry's hair to hold him still, and Harry can feel the muscles in his neck stretch and burn as he strains closer to Snape, to his cock, to the stream of amber liquid that arcs strong and steady between them, splashing onto Harry's tongue, coating the inside of his mouth and filling his throat much more quickly than he expects.
Harry has to breathe in deeply through his nose or choke, and inevitably the acrid scent of piss fills his senses, wiping out the smell of the food that was making his stomach ache with hunger, but making it harder to ignore just what it is that is pouring into his mouth. He struggles to swallow and gulp it down, and he can't help wondering how much Snape had to drink with his breakfast, because he seems to be going on forever. Just a second's lapse in concentration and he is sputtering and choking, a mouthful of warm piss spilling over his lips and across his legs, over the floor and catching the edge of Snape's robes.
"Still no good at following orders, I see, Potter," Snape says coldly. Harry waits, because if Snape has anything else in mind—but it seems Snape would prefer not to interrupt the proceedings with a detour to the yard just yet, because all he does is yank Harry's head closer, until his mouth is right in front of Snape's cock. Then it's nudging at Harry's lips, and Harry parts them just enough for Snape to push in, rest the tip on Harry's tongue.
"Let's try again, shall we?" Snape says. He's not asking, and Harry couldn't answer if he was, because Snape adjusts his stance minutely just enough to telegraph that he's seconds away from peeing right inside Harry's mouth, and Harry seals his lips around the shaft just in time. He doesn't even try to swallow now, just focuses on Snape's eyes dark and intent above him and relaxes, stays still and perfectly submissive while Snape's piss flows across his tongue and trickles down his throat.
When the trickle dries up at last, Snape makes to pull away, but Harry holds him in his mouth long enough to suck the tip clean. It seems like the right thing to do, and it's worth it for the faint expression of surprise in Snape's eyes. Accompanied as always by deep suspicion, but still. Things have always been… complicated… between them.
Harry keeps his eyes on Snape as he fastens his robe. "The yard," Snape says, sneering down at him. "Twenty lashes for insubordination, ten for incompetence."
Harry smiles, and pulls himself to his feet. With a gentle hand he pushes Snape aside and sits in the cushioned chair at the head of the table, curling his fingers over the snake carvings on the ornate arms.
"I don't think so, Severus," Harry says, surveying the silent wizards seated around the table. A few pale, greasy strips of bacon and a couple of split, undercooked sausages are all that remains of breakfast among the debris of half-empty glasses and breadcrumbs. He takes the wand Severus holds out to him and the serving dishes shoot along the table until they are close enough for him to pluck one long strip of bacon up and dangle it into his mouth.
Chewing on the cold meat, Harry looks around the table. "Congratulations, Severus," he says. "You passed your test."
Snape inclines his head.
"Unfortunately," Harry says, picking at the innards of the burst sausage in front of him and nibbling bits delicately between his teeth, "you are the only one who did."
"M-my Lord," Randall sputters desperately, "I was only—"
Harry's wand barely flicks in Randall's direction, but the man crumples with a sharp cry and slides sideways from his chair onto the floor. A couple of minions who had opened their mouths almost at the same moment as Randall freeze abruptly, apparently thinking better of it.
"Severus," Harry says. "I think you should clear breakfast away." He smiles and looks Snape right in the eye. "Clear everything away, do you understand? Be very thorough with these… dregs and leftovers."
"Yes, my Lord," Snape says, and bows.
Harry catches a handful of Snape's hair as his head dips close to his chair. He tangles and winds his fingers in it, pulls Snape's head closer, until their faces almost touch.
"And then, Severus," Harry says pleasantly, remembering the deep down flame of old rage Snape had fanned back into life, and just how many ways he can think of to explore it. How many ways he knows to make a man scream. "I think it will be my turn to play, don't you?"
Author:
fluffyllamaPrompt Number: 277 submitted by
prayer_at_nightKink Showcased: Watersports
Rating: Adult
Pairing(s): Snape/Harry, with minor assorted OC Dark Wizards/Harry
Summary: Serving the Dark Lord is no job for a coward.
Content Notes/Warnings: Watersports, humiliation, non-con, slavery, dark AU, violence and OC character death with reference to more violence and death off screen. For those in countries where this is an issue, all characters involved are over the age of 18.
Word Count: 2340
Author's Notes: So, I was all set for a bit of frantic territory-marking Marauder fic when I was ambushed by this instead. Thank you to the lovely Rachel for both encouraging the ambush and looking over the results. Any mistakes that remain are entirely my own fault.
"Don't dawdle, Potter," Snape snaps, and tugs on Harry's leash. "You know what will happen if you make me late for breakfast."
Harry's bare knees scrape on the dungeon floors as he scrambles after Snape. Musty robes flap in his face, sending dust up his nose and making him sneeze, and he almost takes a heel to the face every time they turn a corner.
The wizards who make up the Dark Lord's inner circle are already eating amidst the clatter of plates and a low rumble of conversation, but a hush falls when Snape enters the room with his hand wrapped around Harry's leash. Harry feels Snape hesitate, and that almost raises a smile. Snape is not usually permitted to play with the Dark Lord's pets, and he is certainly never permitted to lead Harry around this way.
Nor is he normally permitted to sit in the Dark Lord's chair, but that's where he heads this morning.
"Sit, Potter." Snape barks out the order so abruptly that Harry jumps. He'd been so busy wondering what everyone was thinking that he'd forgotten about the bastard holding the leash. He kneels down with his hands behind his back in the required pose, and waits.
He watches as Snape helps himself to a large plate of bacon and eggs, and his mouth waters. Fork halfway to his mouth, Snape pauses and lets one skeletal thin hand drop to his robes. Fumbling with buttons and too many layers, he eventually pushes the black cloth aside to reveal a half-hard cock lying against a wiry-haired thigh.
"Do help yourself to your meal," Snape says, and lets his mouth close around a portion of chunky, spicy-smelling sausage and rich smoked bacon.
Snape tastes of sweat and salt as well as the grime and dust that cover everything in the castle, and Harry's mouth is dry before he's taken even half of that long skinny cock in it. He listens to the clink of glasses on the table above with a distant envy, but no real rancour. Any punishment this place has to offer lost its initial edge of terror long ago as the Dark Lord's minions had settled into power. He'd said as much to Snape only yesterday, which is one reason why he is here now, sucking the greasy bastard's cock.
It's obviously a while since anyone has done this for Snape, because it only takes a few minutes under Harry's clumsy tongue before he is coming hard down Harry's throat.
"Swallow it all, Potter," Snape says, and his voice is a little strained. "If you don't I shall have you horse-whipped in the yard."
Harry takes care to lick every drop of Snape's come from around his lips, and bends his head back down to clean his cock thoroughly as well. When he sits back for inspection, Snape gives him a half-hearted sneer.
"I suppose that's good enough," he says grudgingly, and gestures to Randall sitting to his right. "You may move on to the next course."
Randall looks up, almost as startled as Harry is, and opens his mouth as if to object. A few seats further down the table, someone Harry can't see pushes their chair back, and there are mutterings from the far end, the first signs of conversation in the ranks since Harry first knelt next to Snape.
"Sit down!" Snape barks down the table, then looks at Randall, who seems to have frozen in mid-thought. "And shut up."
"But S-Severus," Arkwright starts, and Harry can hear the old fool trying to work out what the hell Snape is playing at. "The Dark Lord—"
"Has given his orders," Snape interrupts, his voice firm and icy. "And I am following them. If anyone would like to object, the horse-whipping is still on offer, gentlemen."
Harry stays still for a moment longer, but nobody else seems to have an objection, or at least not one they are prepared to voice. Nobody else tries to leave the table as Harry crawls under it and reaches for Randall's cock. They wait in silence, and Snape is probably glaring at them the whole time, Harry thinks, daring them to defy him in his assumed role. It might go some way to explaining why Randall, and the one after him too, are so hard to arouse, thighs trembling under Harry's hands, cocks taking an age to harden in his mouth while his jaw aches more with every desperate suck and swallow.
By the time Harry has worked his way around the table his throat is dry and his mouth foul with the taste of too many sweaty wizards. He can almost taste their fear, their uncertainty at Snape's temerity and presumption, but not one of them has the nerve to stand up to him.
"Thirsty, Potter?" Snape asks, and Harry looks up over the edge of the table to see Snape splashing cold, clear water into a goblet. He beckons Harry closer, but when Harry crawls close enough to reach up for the goblet, Snape just sneers and raises it to his own lips.
Harry narrows his eyes, and receives a kick in the ribs for his insolence that almost knocks him off balance. He straightens himself up and stays kneeling in position with only a sharp indrawn breath giving away the pain that just shot through him.
The kick isn't Snape's usual style. Harry has never seen him treat a captive that way before, with direct physical violence. Snape prefers more insidious methods of punishment, and he's well-known for his fondness of humiliation tactics… maybe he is simply making more of an effort than usual.
"Don't give me that look, Potter," Snape says. "There's a drink for you too." He pushes back the heavy chair with a loud scrape on the stone flags, and reaches into his robes once more.
Harry blinks because—again? Already? Has forcing Harry to suck off the whole room turned Snape on so much that he is after another turn at Harry's mouth—
Then Snape twists his fingers in Harry's shaggy hair and forces his head back against the edge of the table, and Harry can see that Snape is limp in his other hand, not remotely ready for Harry's mouth, so what—
The first burst of piss hits Harry's bottom lip before he even realises it's coming, and he jerks in surprise as wet warmth drips down his chin and splatters drops across his bare chest and thighs.
"If I have to make you open your mouth, Potter, I will do," Snape says coolly, and Harry feels a spark of rage deep down in his belly at that disinterested drawl, one that takes him back to a day almost forgotten, but never quite. Harry had thought he was beyond those old feelings after so long here, after so much, but at that moment Snape is Professor Snape once more, verbally shredding a boy who had no idea what he had ever done to deserve such treatment.
Snape is going to pay for reminding Harry of that day. He is going to pay for it soon, just as he is going to pay for the way Harry swallows hard and lets his lips part, open wide under Snape's unwavering gaze.
Snape doesn't move the hand on his cock, so Harry is forced to be the one to adjust when Snape lets another spurt fly. He can't move his head, Snape has it jammed against the table edge so hard that Harry thinks it will bruise later, but he can stretch his jaw down, angle it so that the pale gold stream lands just inside his lower lip; most of it, anyway.
It isn't good enough for Snape.
"Try harder, Potter," Snape snaps at him, and lifts Harry's head away from the table just far enough to hurt when he bangs it back down again. A murmur flies up around the table, and there is a bloody back looming in Harry's near future if he doesn't do exactly what Snape wants.
Harry doesn't need the threat of pain. Wanting to get this over with is more than enough motivation. He tests Snape's grip once more, and finds that after a moment's hesitation Snape lets him lean just a little closer to him, find what he thinks is the right angle. He lifts his eyes to Snape's while he waits for Snape to offer him another drink of piss, and Snape returns his gaze with no discernable flicker of alarm at the outrageous presumption that has the rest of the room so on edge, as if they are waiting for the Dark Lord to pop up and strike them down at any moment.
It's almost funny, how they are so much more afraid, every one of them, than Harry is of anything Snape could do to him. And Snape, as Harry knows, can be very creative when he wants to be.
Of course, he's nowhere near as creative as the Dark Lord.
"Ready. Sir." Harry says, and sees something dark, much darker than usual, flare in Snape's eyes. He only just manages to get his mouth in position again, and it's a good thing he's got it right this time, because Snape is not stopping to let him adjust again. His fingers twist more tightly in Harry's hair to hold him still, and Harry can feel the muscles in his neck stretch and burn as he strains closer to Snape, to his cock, to the stream of amber liquid that arcs strong and steady between them, splashing onto Harry's tongue, coating the inside of his mouth and filling his throat much more quickly than he expects.
Harry has to breathe in deeply through his nose or choke, and inevitably the acrid scent of piss fills his senses, wiping out the smell of the food that was making his stomach ache with hunger, but making it harder to ignore just what it is that is pouring into his mouth. He struggles to swallow and gulp it down, and he can't help wondering how much Snape had to drink with his breakfast, because he seems to be going on forever. Just a second's lapse in concentration and he is sputtering and choking, a mouthful of warm piss spilling over his lips and across his legs, over the floor and catching the edge of Snape's robes.
"Still no good at following orders, I see, Potter," Snape says coldly. Harry waits, because if Snape has anything else in mind—but it seems Snape would prefer not to interrupt the proceedings with a detour to the yard just yet, because all he does is yank Harry's head closer, until his mouth is right in front of Snape's cock. Then it's nudging at Harry's lips, and Harry parts them just enough for Snape to push in, rest the tip on Harry's tongue.
"Let's try again, shall we?" Snape says. He's not asking, and Harry couldn't answer if he was, because Snape adjusts his stance minutely just enough to telegraph that he's seconds away from peeing right inside Harry's mouth, and Harry seals his lips around the shaft just in time. He doesn't even try to swallow now, just focuses on Snape's eyes dark and intent above him and relaxes, stays still and perfectly submissive while Snape's piss flows across his tongue and trickles down his throat.
When the trickle dries up at last, Snape makes to pull away, but Harry holds him in his mouth long enough to suck the tip clean. It seems like the right thing to do, and it's worth it for the faint expression of surprise in Snape's eyes. Accompanied as always by deep suspicion, but still. Things have always been… complicated… between them.
Harry keeps his eyes on Snape as he fastens his robe. "The yard," Snape says, sneering down at him. "Twenty lashes for insubordination, ten for incompetence."
Harry smiles, and pulls himself to his feet. With a gentle hand he pushes Snape aside and sits in the cushioned chair at the head of the table, curling his fingers over the snake carvings on the ornate arms.
"I don't think so, Severus," Harry says, surveying the silent wizards seated around the table. A few pale, greasy strips of bacon and a couple of split, undercooked sausages are all that remains of breakfast among the debris of half-empty glasses and breadcrumbs. He takes the wand Severus holds out to him and the serving dishes shoot along the table until they are close enough for him to pluck one long strip of bacon up and dangle it into his mouth.
Chewing on the cold meat, Harry looks around the table. "Congratulations, Severus," he says. "You passed your test."
Snape inclines his head.
"Unfortunately," Harry says, picking at the innards of the burst sausage in front of him and nibbling bits delicately between his teeth, "you are the only one who did."
"M-my Lord," Randall sputters desperately, "I was only—"
Harry's wand barely flicks in Randall's direction, but the man crumples with a sharp cry and slides sideways from his chair onto the floor. A couple of minions who had opened their mouths almost at the same moment as Randall freeze abruptly, apparently thinking better of it.
"Severus," Harry says. "I think you should clear breakfast away." He smiles and looks Snape right in the eye. "Clear everything away, do you understand? Be very thorough with these… dregs and leftovers."
"Yes, my Lord," Snape says, and bows.
Harry catches a handful of Snape's hair as his head dips close to his chair. He tangles and winds his fingers in it, pulls Snape's head closer, until their faces almost touch.
"And then, Severus," Harry says pleasantly, remembering the deep down flame of old rage Snape had fanned back into life, and just how many ways he can think of to explore it. How many ways he knows to make a man scream. "I think it will be my turn to play, don't you?"
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The watersports was fantastic and there will never be enough of that in fic. Ever. But all of it was so spectacularly done!!
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I've only ever written properly consensual watersports before, and never in HP, so this was an interesting challenge. I'm glad you enjoyed it!
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Thank you! <3
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