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Warning: Teacher/Student sex, BDSM. BLOOD WITH A LOVER'S ART or The Little Slytherin Who Would Severus Snape tried not to chuckle as he read Hermione Granger's notes on the Amicus Amiablus lesson. The attempt at a coolly detached account of a roomful of teenagers hopped up on happy-juice was easily the funniest thing he'd seen since-- well, since the look on the Weasley boy's face when he'd downed the Aphrodite Elixir. A shame, really, to not have been able to witness the prim little Miss Granger under the influence, but her 'scientific report' of Crabbe trying to braid the hair of every girl in the room, starting with her own (and the attendant speculations on 'primate grooming behavior'-- honestly!) was almost as good. And it wasn't as if he was dissatisfied with the way the class had turned out, after all. A scraping sound outside his locked door caught his attention. Probably Draco Malfoy again. He'd long since learned that Snape's office door was immune to any unlocking spell he'd been able to dig up, but he'd found a set of muggle lockpicks Loki-alone-knows-where, and had been gamely trying his luck with those. Trying Snape's temper, more like. With a muttered spell, he whisked the door open from across the room. Sure enough, Draco tumbled to the floor, the twist of metal still glinting in his grasp. "Mr. Malfoy, I seem to have committed an error in judgement. I *had* credited you with sufficient wit to confine your ambitions of breaking into my office to times when I was not, in fact, present." In a tone he doubtless considered seductive, Draco said, "Without you on the other side of that door, I'd have no reason to want to get through it, Severus," The little wretch actually had the gall to bat his eyelashes, all without getting up from his ungainly sprawl. Snape wanted to laugh. Instead he forced himself to sneer and drawled, "That's Professor Snape to you, you pernicious little imp. It's bad enough to have you incessantly flinging yourself at me like a two-Sickle lightskirt, you could at least show me proper respect while you're at it." Draco kicked the door shut behind him and began to wriggle forward on his belly. "Oh, I respect you, Professor. Won't you let me show you how much I respect you?" "Oh, do give it up, Malfoy. If you could see how foolish you look, grubbing about on the floor like some great bleached worm...." Draco pouted, pulling himself up to sit cross-legged. "Why do you keep refusing me? Is it just because I'm a student? You wouldn't be the first Professor I've had. Gilderoy Lockhart said I had a tongue like an eel." His proud smile was absurdly childlike. "Gilderoy Lockhart's said that to a great many people. A few of them may have actually merited it." Draco parted his lips and moistened them with the tip of his tongue. "Let me prove it to you," he whispered, "One word and I'm yours." "That's your problem, Malfoy. One word and you're anybody's. What makes you think I'd want what everybody else has already used?" "What makes you think I didn't use them?" "What makes you so sure there's a difference? Draco, not everyone is going to tumble into bed with you simply because you arch a pretty eyebrow at them." "So you think I'm pretty?" The wheedling edge to Draco's voice was decidedly unpretty. "Anyone can be pretty. Hell, that insufferable prig Potter's *pretty*." The sullen expression Draco couldn't quite hide gave Snape an idea. "You haven't had *him*." Draco opened his mouth, then promptly shut it as Snape favored him with his third-best withering glare (second-best had been know to give a dragon pause; best he saved for life-or-death situations, or when he was having a *really* bad day). "Don't lie to me, boy, I can see right through you." Niiiiiice cliche, Snape though, giggling inwardly. He kept a straight face, somehow. Draco sniffed. "Could if I wanted to." "Oh?" Some primal instinct for self-preservation led Draco to keep his surly glower directed firmly floorward. "Don't tell me you don't want him," Snape continued. "Why, I was surprised to hear that you didn't crawl into the cuddly little nest you made for him in my class the other day, and grab a quick feel while he slept." Draco flushed; ah, now *that* was pretty. "But how... interesting.... would that have been?" "And if I do get him?" "I should think that would be rather its own reward." "What if I wanted something more... interesting?" Draco tried a breathy purr, but the pleading note in his voice rather spoilt the effect. "I'll make it good, Sev--Professor. I'll be your slave." Snape rose from his chair hand knelt beside Draco, seizing a handful of hair to yank back his head. He gazed fiercely into his eyes. "You're my slave whenever I say, *boy*.," he hissed. Draco quivered, and his breathing became a little ragged. Oh, very nice indeed. Snape stood. "Very well. Bag the Potter brat, and I'll try you out for a night. You are dismissed." It was less than a week later that Severus Snape heard that annoying scraping at his door again. The door of his private chambers-- the sheer effrontery of it! Not bothering with a spell, he strode over and yanked it open. Draco. Draco damn-his-eyes Malfoy, looking sweaty and disheveled and far too smug. It was no point even asking. The boy smelled like an unlaundered bed in a brothel, and plastered in the sweat-sheen on his neck were several black hairs. Damn that Potter boy for being a hormone-mad slut. How was Snape to teach young Malfoy a lesson in patience and perseverance if helium-heels Harry was going to screw him at the first offered opportunity? Well. There were other sorts of lessons. "Gonna let me in?" Oh, the boy was full of himself. Insolent. This was going to be fun. "Speak when you're spoken to," snarled Snape, pulling Draco in by the collar and locking the door behind him. "And drink this," he added, pulling a flask from his nightstand and unstoppering it. "Why? Is it some sort of potion to make me forget our agreement?" Snape slapped Draco, hard. "What did I tell you about when to speak and when to be silent?" he said levelly. "If you're wondering, that's to sweeten your breath. Your mouth smells of Harry Potter's cock." Draco obediently swallowed the concoction, his eyes wide with shock. "Strip. None of your idiot childish notions of what might be alluring, just get your damn clothes off." It seemed that Draco was having a little trouble performing his allotted task with sufficient alacrity. He stumbled out of his clothes, looking puzzled. Snape grabbed Draco casually by the hair, dragging him in his wake to his modest private bathroom. He elbowed him roughly in the direction of the bathtub. "Well, get in," he snapped. "You're filthy. Do you need to be told how to do everything?" He turned on the cold water tap as Draco stepped into the tub. Draco reached for the hot, and Snape grasped his wrist. "Did I tell you to do that?" Draco stared at him dumbly. "Are you dense as well as disobedient? I believe I asked you a question." "No, but..." "No 'buts', a yes or no answer is all that question required." Snape narrowed his eyes slightly. "If I didn't tell you to do it, then you are not to do it. For someone who wheedled so incessantly about becoming my slave, you seem rather willful." He tossed a bar of soap and a stiff-bristled brush into the tub. "Scrub yourself off, and if you make me show you how to do it properly, you'll regret it." Snape smiled coldly. "But I won't." Draco scrubbed himself with the rough brush as hard as he could bring himself to, Snape looking down on him grimly. It was almost a relief when the man stooped down with an exasperated sigh. "Looks like we get to do this the hard way, you vile little savage." Snape took the brush firmly in hand and proceeded to thoroughly scour every inch of Draco's hide, apparently oblivious to the fetching little gasping whimpers the boy was not able to contain. "Now to make sure you're properly rinsed..." he grabbed Draco's feet and abruptly stood, pulling Draco's head underwater. He released his grip and the boy sat up, coughing and spluttering. "Are you mad?" he shrieked. "You could have drowned me!" From the look in his eyes, he obviously knew his words were a mistake before he'd finished saying them, but it was too late. Taking hold of his scalp and shoulder, Snape pushed Draco's head under again. "I know precisely how long it would take to drown you, you little ingrate," he said calmly as Draco thrashed. "You're nowhere near being drowned. I'd have to hold you under a good five minutes or so to do that., and" he yawned "it's been less than half that." He pulled the plug out of the drain and the shivering, spluttering boy out of the tub. Grasping his chin, he raised Draco's eyes to meet his. "Are we a little clearer on the subject of obedient behavior?" "Y-yes." Draco was dripping wet, covered in goosebumps, his hair was a tangled mess, and the vigorous scrubbing had left his skin raw. Snape was sure he'd never been lovelier. "Good." He shoved the boy back into the bedroom, hard enough to make him wobble. Severus lifted a wicked-looking little knife from his dresser, and stroked Draco's neck lightly with the edge. "You fight this too much," he whispered, "You're not suited to it, you know. You should really leave. It's obvious this wasn't what you had in mind." Draco, his slender cock already stiffening, trembled but held his ground as Snape, standing behind him, pushed his head backward, playing the edge of the blade along his bobbing adams-apple. "I really ought to send you away." Draco was plainly struggling to keep silent. Snape pressed his face behind the boy's ear and said softly, "Do you think I should send you away?" Draco shook his head slightly, his lips moving soundlessly. "Last chance..." "No, please..." Draco sounded almost humble, "please don't send me away...." Snape grinned ferally. "I was so hoping you'd say that." He pinched one of the boy's nipples between his thumb and the dull side of the knife. Draco tried, and failed, to stifle a gasp. "Oh, not on my account," the Potions Master breathed, "Don't try and keep yourself from crying out on my account. I *want* to hear you moan." With a grip that looked gentle but wasn't, he steered the boy onto his bed. "I'm planning on it." Draco looked up at him helplessly, uncertain of what to do next. When Snape began to unhurriedly shuck his clothes, he relaxed a little, thinking himself in more familiar territory. He found he was in error when he tried to help pull off his teacher's clothes. Snape elbowed him across the bed so he fell back, coughing. "You continue to defy me. A man of lesser resources would be at a loss with what to do with you." Reaching under his bed, he came up with a black leather quirt. "I'm so glad that I'm more inventive." He flipped Draco onto his bed and delivered four vicious, stinging blows to the boy's shoulders, his arm moving in a fluidly graceful figure-eight. Draco bit his lip, determined not to howl. Snape chuckled darkly. "Oh, beautiful," he sighed. "Go ahead, try and fight it. You're so stubborn, but I'll have you screaming yet." He flicked his wrist to add to the sting as he swung the whippy little quirt in a dancing pattern across Draco's thighs, buttocks, and shoulders, varying the force of his blows to keep the boy off-guard. His fair, unmarked skin welted up almost immediately under each fall of the rod, and the lashes cut little grooves into his flesh. Draco buried his face against the mattress in a vain attempt to stifle the moans he couldn't stop. Despite (or was it because of?) the pain of the caning he was enduring, his prick was rock-hard, and his hips bucked against the bed. His lip bled from biting back the scream he refused to release. Snape seized his tangled hair with his free hand, pulling his face off the bed. "Give it up to me, boy," he panted. "Your pain is your gift to me, and the longer you hold out, the sweeter it will be, but how much do you think you can take? How long do you think you can deny me the music of your screams?" And Draco did scream, scream from the force of the blows hailing down on him, scream from the pleasure of it, thrusting his cock against Snape's bed, screaming and shuddering as he came, came so hard he thought he would black out. Snape's eyes glittered darkly as he rubbed the length of his own cock with almond oil, and penetrated the boy's twitching ass in one smooth motion. Draco moaned again, in unadulterated pleasure this time, as Snape thrust into him repeatedly, seizing the nape of his neck in a fierce bite. He writhed and rose his hips up to meet him, feeling the slap of the man's balls against his abraded thighs. It was a mere instant. It was eternity. Snape growled against the tender skin of Draco's neck, tasting the salt of it, each fine little hair printing its own message against his tongue, and then he was coming, the hot liquid essence bursting out of him in shuddering jets. He sucked air through his teeth, and rolled onto his side, panting. Draco tried to snuggle back against him, and he sat up stiffly. "You should take a bath, and make yourself a bit more presentable," he said, "You're a mess." Draco grinned up at him sleepily. "Can't it wait until morning?" "Do you really want to walk through the hallways back to your dorm room in your current condition?" "I don't believe you're kicking me out of bed." "I'd rather I didn't have to actually kick you to remove you from my bed." Snape was irritated again. Would this pettish creature never be satisfied? But it seemed there would be no further need for argument. Draco rose and, somewhat stiffly, made his way to the bathroom. Snape heard the running taps, the slight gasping sobs as the soapy water splashed against sore flesh... That was the only reason for the sobbing. It had to be. It had to be. |