Unnatural Acts
This is the last time, Percy thinks. Three times is enough. Three is too many, twice was enough, that's what he thought last time. He should just turn and leave, just stand still, not move, not speak, that's easy enough to do.
But no, he's walking over now, crossing Snape's path, opening his mouth, because as difficult as this is to do, not doing it is apparently even more so. "Sir," he says, exactly as he has twice before, and mercifully his voice is steady. "Do you need an assistant? I could help you with marking or clearing up. Or anything." And his voice does waver, just a little, on "anything". "I'd be glad to," he adds and pushes his glasses up his nose.
Snape looks at him, looks down because Snape has half a head on Percy, and Percy drops his eyes. Snape hasn't looked at Percy before. Percy braces for the inevitable ticking off and wishes it didn't have to happen here, in the corridor, where everyone can see.
"Three o'clock, in the dungeon," Snape says and leaves Percy standing with his mouth open and his satchel slipping from his fingers.
Three o'clock, in the dungeon.
Snape has, Percy is sure, all manner of jobs that need doing: tedious marking, monotonous sorting, dreary cleaning. That's why he's accepted Percy's help. But Percy misses lunch to bathe and clean his teeth and use the shaving charm he learned last week. Because perhaps, perhaps.
Perhaps, he says, while the hot water foams white around him. He has a plan: hints to drop, glances to give. He should be revising it. But Percy can hardly form logical thoughts anymore and that frightens him.
It frightens him that Snape has changed so much over the summer -- his lean form become so graceful, his dark eyes so alluring, his voice so caressing and seductive. A list of potions ingredients read aloud is an invitation to unnatural acts and Percy has imagined every one of them.
But most of all, it frightens Percy that he doesn't know why he has been reduced from a rational, intelligent, superior person to a weak-minded fool whose body betrays him day and night.
It's betraying him now. He strokes his cock under the water and thinks about unnatural acts with Snape, at three o'clock, in the dungeon. His head is clearer after he comes, but he knows that that won't last.
2:58 PM finds him in front of Snape's door and he waits until it's three o'clock precisely before he knocks.
Snape gives him a stack of essays to sort through. Percy intends that their fingers will touch but Snape keeps his hands well out of reach. Percy's palms are damp and he frets that the ink will smudge. He tries to keep his eyes on his work, but he can't help but glance over at Snape.
Snape is looking right at him. Percy looks away again, blood rising to his face, like he's been slapped. He doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know what to do. There are no rules, no guidelines. This was a bad idea, a wrong idea, and now he knows that.
The room is close and smells of wormwood. Percy has finished with the essays. He is going to give them to Snape and then he is going to leave and somehow he is going to cure himself of wanting so that he never does this again.
He stands and the lights go out. Then Snape is standing in front of him and Percy knows that the darkness is intentional. "Put down the scrolls," Snape tells him and Percy does what he is told, is glad to.
There is a long, long moment where nothing happens and Percy's heart beats like a trapped bird against a windowpane. What is he to do now? Then Snape puts his hand on Percy's neck. His fingers are cool but under them Percy's skin is hot, sensitive, almost painful. Snape pulls off Percy's glasses, sets his cheek to Percy's.
Percy draws a long breath. He has imagined this a hundred times, but he never imagined how visceral it would be, how real, to feel the rasp of Snape's stubble on his skin, to smell the sour tang of Snape's breath. To have Snape's hand curled around his throat, a threat and a caress at once.
His robes fall open at Snape's touch and now there is no going back, no walking away. Percy pushes the robes off his shoulders. His wand falls to the stone floor and the sudden noise makes him start. His flesh is pricking, his body shaking, and he tries like hell to keep still. Then Snape touches him and Percy has no more chance of keeping still than he does of walking away.
Snape's hands are on Percy's arms, his shoulders, under his vest. Percy grabs Snape's arms, presses his head to Snape's shoulder, muffles his sigh in Snape's robes when fingers brush his nipples. Percy presses close, closer, his whole body against Snape and Snape lets him. Percy kisses Snape's throat, his face, and Snape allows that too, for a while.
"Turn around," Snape says against Percy's ear and Percy is frightened now, frightened still and more. There's something kicking in his stomach, something whispering inside his head and he turns around because anything else would be unthinkable.
"Take them off," Snape says, hands on Percy's waist, and Percy slides his pants down, tries to feel ready for this. But this is no awkward kiss in an empty classroom, no fumbling blowjob in a dusty cupboard. This is Percy bent over a table and Snape's cold hands between his thighs. Slippery fingers push inside him and Percy can't help pushing back. "I'm sorry, sir," he whispers and tries to relax. Which is impossible. But the salve warms and tingles and Percy feels the muscle slacken.
Snape thrusts into him and there is nothing, nothing so real as this, Percy naked in the dark, impaled on his professor's cock, breath hissing out between his teeth. There is no pain, but no pleasure either, no joy in being filled again and again, no ecstasy in the slap of Snape's balls on Percy's buttocks. Percy's cock is softening, his eyes are screwed tight, he gasps with every stroke. He tries to count them, but he never gets past one, one, one.
When Snape comes, his fingers dig into Percy's belly. It's over, Percy thinks, and sags a little. Then Snape pulls Percy back against him, one arm around his chest, and wraps long fingers around Percy's cock. One, one, one, and there is the sweet, messy pleasure.
Percy's head is thrown back on Snape's shoulder. Snape shifts, takes Percy's chin, and kisses him. Snape's tongue touches his and Percy sucks at it, opens his mouth wider, turns to put his arms around Snape. There's a sharp, spicy taste melting on Percy's tongue. It dissolves away and Snape steps back and then it's really over.
Percy wants to say something before the lights go on and he has to act like this didn't happen. Thank you, sir, he tries, but no words come. Nor will they a second time. He's tongue-tied. He wonders what Snape has given him. So long as he can remember this, he doesn't care.
There's a crackle in the air and Percy is as clean as when he came in. Snape walks away and Percy struggles into his clothes, finds his wand and glasses. He doesn't look at Snape when the lights come on.
He passes his hand through his hair once as he stares down at the pile of scrolls on the table. He should take them to Snape, but he doesn't move. Percy still feels stretched, sore, can almost still feel Snape inside him.
"You may go," Snape says and there is nothing unusual in his tone. Percy is glad of this. He makes himself turn and go, but he can't help stopping at the door and looking back. Their eyes meet and Percy shivers. This is not the last time, he thinks, and shuts the door behind him.