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"They have no concept of the truth, do they?"
Outside of yes, Sir and no, Sir, it's the first time Snape has spoken to Harry in six months, since the Wizengamot enslaved him to Harry Potter as penance for deeds done as a Death Eater and spy. Harry doesn't count the way Snape babbles when he's fucking him. The breathy sighs of more and yes and Master he simply takes as proof that he's doing something right. "Who?"
"The Wizengamot, Weasley and Granger. All of them." Snape pins Harry with a hard, assessing stare. "Our entire world believes that you are no different than you were before."
Before. Before he slayed Voldemort. Before Dumbledore was proven so very wrong about Harry's need to willingly die. Before his connection with Voldemort was opened to its fullest and, with Voldemort's death, the feedback loop was overwhelmed with Voldemort's essence.
Before Harry became a Dark wizard. Became the Dark Lord.
Harry can barely remember before.
"People see what they want to see." Rolling his shoulders in an easy shrug, Harry adds, "No one wants to see me as anything other than their savior, the picture perfect Gryffindor and representative of the Light."
"Were you ever truly only of the Light?"
It's a question Harry has asked himself many times. He's no closer to an answer now than he was six months ago. He believes the answer is no. That being tinged by the Dark is explanation for how easily he has accepted who he is now. "Does it really matter? I did what was requested and fulfilled their prophecy."
"I am bound to you for good or for ill. I would like to know the truth of it," Snape replies.
Harry winces at the jagged quality of Snape's voice. Too much time passed between Nagini's attack and proper medical care. His vocal cords are withered, steeped in Nagini's venom. His recovery is as good as it will get. Harry misses the smooth voice that used to deliver drawling sarcasm without remorse.
He misses Snape, the snarky git that made his life hell.
"I am a creation of their making. Soon enough, everyone will know the truth of it." This is not a conversation he wishes to have. Not yet. Pushing the ottoman away, Harry snaps his fingers and points at the now empty space between his legs. "Strip and come here, pet."
With liquid grace, Snape unfurls from the couch and stands up. He rolls his shoulders and the silk robe slides down his arms, pooling inky black on the floor. Shameless in his nudity, Snape drops to his knees and crawls across the floor.
Harry knows it's the enslavement bond at work. Severus Snape would no more willingly crawl for Harry Potter than Harry would crawl for anyone. He doesn't care. It still sends a flare of white-hot desire through him.
His eyes skate over the marks littering Snape's body – the straight lines from the cane and the split and healing skin from the whip – and he bites off a groan. He remembers placing every one of them, remembers the feel of Snape's skin burning hot and the metallic tang of Snape's blood. He wants more of that. He will have more. Today. Right now.
Palming his burgeoning erection, he flicks open the buttons on his denims and frees his cock. As soon as Snape settles between the spread of Harry's feet, Harry twines his fingers in Snape's hair. Canting his hips, he drags Snape's face closer to his crotch. "Suck me. Get me hard and wet."
Hot air from Snape's raspy hiss dances over Harry's cockhead. Then, before Harry can demand his attentions, Snape suckles first the head of Harry's cock and then swallows him to the root.
Dropping his head back, Harry pants through the desire to thrust, to push his cock deeper into Snape's throat. He banks the want – the need – to come with a promise of more and better and just a few minutes.
Saliva wets everything. Harry's cock and his balls, the cheeks of his arse.
"That's it." Harry sinks into the pleasure until his entire focus is on his cock and Snape's mouth. Snape's very warm and wet and perfect mouth. He holds Snape against his groin, knowing he's cutting off Snape's airway as he rocks his hips to and fro. "Get me ready to fuck you, pet."
The vibration of Snape's whimper snaps firework bright over Harry's nerves. His cock jerks, thick and hard and needy.
"So good," Harry murmurs. "So, so good."
And suddenly he is right there, tipping over the edge and about to come. "Stop," he growls, using the hand tangled in Snape's hair to pull Snape away from his dick. His hips thrust up, chasing after the tease of satisfaction.
The startling contrast of cold air after the heat of Snape's mouth pulls a moan from deep within Harry.
Swirling his finger through the air, Harry calls on his wealth of magic. His clothes melt away, slinking off of his body and reappearing as swirling color on the chair beneath him. He preens under the weight of Snape's appreciative gaze.
"Over the ottoman."
Snape moves into position with a gurgle. The sound goes straight to Harry's cock.
He manipulates the atoms of the very air surrounding them, bending basic tenants of physics and nature to his will. Lengths of rope spring from the floor, slithering through the air and wrapping around Snape's ankles and thighs, pulling and pulling and pulling until Snape's legs are spread wide and his slick hole is exposed.
Unceremoniously, Harry pushes a thumb into Snape's arse. Finding it loose and oiled, he hums with pleasure. "Good boy. Always ready and waiting for my cock."
Harry flicks his fingers a second time and solid, heavy cuffs appear around Snape's wrists. No seams, no buckles. No escape. The d-rings are bright and shiny against the muted black of the leather. A whisper of a thought from Harry, and a rope licks out of the ottoman and through the d-rings, stretching Snape taut over the padded top of the hassock.
A visible shudder ripples through Snape. "Master."
Hand out, Harry silently summons his favorite flogger. Short handled with dozens of lashes little more than a third of metre long. Just enough to bite into the skin and raise a flush of red and pink.
"That's right, pet," Harry says. "I'm your Master."
Ignoring his own need, Harry brings the flogger down with a loose roll of his wrist. The tails of the flogger rain down delicately on Snape's arse in a rapid-fire series of tac-tac-tac.
Snape drops his head forward, eyes closed and breaths shortening. "Please. More."
Harry is more than happy to fulfill the plea. He keeps the blows light, teasing and tormenting Snape with the sounds of a flogging but not giving him the taste, the sting of pain and rush of endorphins. He moves the blows from arse to thighs and back again, then higher to Snape's shoulders and back.
"Master," Snape grunts. "Harder. Please."
Snape's need is obvious in the clipped way the words are falling from his lips. It's as close to demanding as the bond will allow.
Tightening his fingers around the grip, Harry snaps the flogger fast and hard. The whips slap Snape's buttocks, a half dozen or more following the curve of Snape's arse and landing hard over his hole. Before Snape can react, Harry pulls back and cracks the flogger forward again, following the same path as before.
"Yes," Snape chokes out. "I need to…"
"Not until I'm in you," Harry snarls, releasing an answering swing of the flogger.
The leather strips fall against the line of Snape's cleft, terrorizing his hole with a barrage of individual hits.
A hoarse whine fills the silence between Harry's panting breaths.
Harry tosses the flogger to the side and – after it vanishes, returning from where it came – he pushes into Snape. One long thrust, balls deep. The heat of Snape's skin flows into the tight grip of his arse and Harry is consumed, lost in the fire of need and now and yes, yes, yes.
He steadies himself with a deep breath and fights back his orgasm through force of will.
Then he has to move.
One hand gripping Snape's shoulder and the other tight around the jut of Snape's hipbone, Harry pulls back and, when more than half of his cock is in view, drives forward again.
Then repeats the circle of motion again. And again. And again.
All too soon – and yet after far too long – Harry's rhythm falters. He waited too long to take his time, to enjoy the slow slide of his skin against skin.
He digs his fingers into Snape's shoulder and, as his magical core blazes with his orgasm, he says, "Come, pet. Come on my cock, now."
Harry drapes himself over Snape's back, barely registering the slick slide of sweat as he works to bring his breathing back under control.
When his skin dimples with the chill of the night air, Harry whispers, "Go."
The ropes and cuffs disappear, bleed away into nothingness. Harry sits back on his haunches and, with his cock still buried in Snape's arse, pulls Snape back, settling them chest against back. "Bedroom," he mumbles, and Apparates them to the goose-down softness of their bed.
Turning, Harry manipulates them until they're both on their sides and he's spooned in behind Snape.
Snape starts to scoot away.
"No, Severus," Harry says, dropping an arm around Snape's waist. He undulates his hips, pushing his cock deeper into Snape's arse. He trails his fingers over Snape's abdomen, scratches through the hair at the base of Snape's dick. "Just like this."
When Snape doesn't respond, Harry pinches his foreskin and tugs it gently in reprimand. "Pet?"
"As you will, Sir." Snape settles immediately.
"Better." Harry releases a contented sigh. Sex tends to relax him beyond measure. Sex with Snape always relaxes him to a near hazy state.
When Harry is teetering on the cusp of sleep, caught in that stage of drowsiness where his breathing slows down and his brain stops swirling with plans, Snape breaks the silence. "When are you making your first move against the Ministry?"
Harry shakes his head. He's too relaxed to actually care that Snape is asking more questions. Perhaps it is time for the man to know the full truth of it; his months of silence seem to have given him most of the answers as it is. Trailing a hand over Snape's chest and lightly pinching a nipple, he murmurs, "I thought that would have been obvious, pet. Acquiring you was my opening salvo."
∴ finite ∴