|
A FALSE DELUDED YOUNG MAN or No Time for the Present Snape was planning on a quiet evening. A bit of reading, perhaps. A warm bath. As he approached his door, he could tell that something was wrong. It was unlocked. Surely he hadn't left it so? He knew he wasn't going to be pleased with whatever lay on the other side of that door. It was worse than he'd expected. Oh, it was a pretty enough sight. Draco Malfoy (damnable whelp that he was, the sight of him sprawled naked on one's bed was certainly a sight to inflame the senses), holding a straight razor. Next to him, equally naked, eyes dazed and unseeing, bloody Harry bloody Potter. Bloody indeed. Apparently Draco had been busy with the razor. A row of parallel lines decorated each of the Potter boy's inner thighs, just deep enough for a narrow trickle of blood to seep from each slight wound. Damn and damn again. Why did these things keep *happening* to him? "Mr. Malfoy, precisely what do you think you're doing?" he said in a low, quiet tone as he shut (and locked) the door behind him. Only one set of clothes was scattered at the foot of the bed. He'd dragged the Potter brat here *naked*? It was too much. The Malfoy brat grinned up at him. "I've brought you a present, of course! Thought I'd get him warmed up a little, but now that you're here-" Snape backhanded him with enough force to knock him off of the bed. "Apart from having no sense of propriety, timing, or dignity, you obviously know bugger-all about anatomy, you little twit. Have you never heard of a little something called the femoral artery? Do you realize how little you've missed his by?" Actually, a good deal, but from the puzzled look on Draco's face, *he* didn't know that. "Do you have any idea how bad it would be if a student was found to have bled to death in my bedroom?" "I only wanted to please you-" "I find that very hard to believe. Now, what imbecilic ruse did you cook up to get him in this condition?" Damage control, he thought frantically, there's got to be a way to work through this. "I tricked him into drinking a Sleepwalker potion." That horrific grin again. Reminiscent of an infant who'd just used the contents of its diaper as fingerpaint, and wanted to show off its artwork. "I brewed it myself," he added. Sleepwalker. Great. He *would* have been paying attention to that one, of course. The stuff put most of the drinker's mind on hold, but they could still respond to simple commands. "Well, at least he won't have any memory of this unfortunate incident," Snape said, "I trust you at least gave it to him *before* bringing him to my rooms?" "Of course!" Draco looked offended. "You'll forgive me if I decide you've abdicated any right to the benefit of the doubt where matters of judgement are concerned. Now, stay there. I have to clean up your little mess. Then I'll deal with *you*," he snarled. "Stand and follow me," he told the drugged Potter boy. He led him into the bathroom, smeared a quick-heal salve on his wounds (shallow as they were, the first one was completely gone before he'd finished the last). He gave the boy as thorough a bathing as he dared...the lad was truly fetching, and he didn't want to get distracted at this point. Leading him back out of the bathroom, he dressed him in one of his own nightshirts, and placed a small vial in his hand; the antidote to the Sleepwalker potion. He silently thanked whatever gods might be listening that it worked as well for the standard version as for the more interesting variant *he* occasionally used. "Now, listen to me, Harry. You're going to walk directly back to your room. When you get there, you will drink the contents of this vial. You will remember none of this. Now, go." The boy stumbled off. Snape re-locked the door behind him. Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed. Oh, some people just never learn! "I believe I told you to stay where you were. You're provoking me deliberately. If you mean that to be charming, I regret to tell you it's not." "But I-" "Deliberately disobeyed me, when you were in enough trouble already." Snape pulled a length of soft, thick rope from a drawer. "Not to mention showing up uninvited in my bedroom, with a so-called gift you'd spent who-knows-how-long toying with yourself, in a manner you obviously have no knowledge of. Even were I inclined to welcome such a gift, and as it happens I am *not*," he shoved Draco off the bed and into a kneeling position, "what would give you the idea that I'd be pleased to see you'd already unwrapped it and started playing with it without me?" With a few practiced motions, he'd bound the boy's wrists behind his back. "I only-" "Only failed to *think*, Malfoy, and that is not an attractive quality in anyone. Now, if you would fail to speak, it would be an improvement." He tied a knot in a bit of rope, pushed it into Draco's mouth, and tied it firmly behind his head. "When you don't learn, it reflects badly on my teaching abilities. Put bluntly, your idiocy makes me look bad. How do you think that makes me feel?" Draco could only blink up at him, an apprehensive expression seeping across his face. This turned to outright fear as Snape reached under his bed and came out with a rattan cane. Pulling the boy roughly into a standing position, Snape pushed his face against the bed, so he stood bent over. "I suppose old traditions must have some merit," he mused, delivering a sharp smack across Draco's buttocks, causing him to yelp behind the improvised gag. Oh, yes. Oh, lovely. Snape brought the cane down at a slow, not-quite-rhythmic pace, each blow slightly harder than the first. The parallel stripes crossed the almost-faded marks from his previous beating. At two blows, Draco was keening, making rather a lot of noise despite the rope in his mouth. At five, Snape was panting, not entirely from exertion. At eight, they were both sweating, despite the slight chill of the room. Nine. Draco had gone from keening to whimpering. Ten, at precisely the spot where Draco's thighs merged into his ass. Snape dropped the cane, and tried to bring his uneven breathing under control. He could all but see Draco's pulse in the marks he'd left, and his cock throbbed in time. He shove the boy back onto the floor (ignoring his muffled moan at the impact on his injured butt) and shoved aside his garments, stroking his cock roughly as Draco gazed at him, wide-eyed and hungry. "You needn't stare at me like that," he grunted. "You think I'm going to reward your antics?" His breathing was ragged as he pleasured himself eagerly, feasting on the sight of Draco cowering at his feet. Too much, too powerful. With a hoarse groan, he spattered the boy's face and hair with his semen. Draco flinched. "Don't pull a stunt like that again, Malfoy." He untied the boy's wrists, opened the door and threw his clothes into the hall, and shoved him out after them. "I mean it." Draco stared as the door was slammed in his face. Stared at it for a long moment, as he untied the gag and gathered up his clothes. "Oh, I don't know about that," he whispered to himself. |