Everything is hot. I feel like my skin is on fire. I feel like I have a fever. Sweat sticks to my neck and forehead, and my mouth is uncomfortably dry. Fingertips are digging desperately into my shoulders, and there are legs circled around my hips pulling me down on the person under me. There is a strange pleasure deep in the pit of my stomach, and all I can see is a mop of dark hair. Teeth are biting down at whatever skin they can reach and I realize that I don't actually mind. More so, I enjoy it.
I enjoy having this person wrapped around me.
The sweat from their body and the sweat from mine create a glue between us ensuring that we cannot separate. The punishing peeling of skin from skin is too great a discipline for me or this person to risk separating. The arms hold me as if they need me. I feel like I need this person. We are hungrily rubbing against each other. Any bit of bare skin is fair game and I can feel a familiar hardness against my side. This person is a male.
I don't know if that bother me or not.
I don't know if I even really care.
Because this male under me is whimpering each time we slide together in just the right way. And the deep baritone sounds just erotic enough for me to use the body under me more forcefully. Desperate to reach completion. Both of us. And he's moaning pleasantly in my ear asking for more. Asking me to touch him more. Praising me for how good my touch is making him feel. Pleas for more and mews to not stop.
I have never felt pleasure like this.
It doesn't seem to matter to him that I'm a guy. In fact, he revels at my manhood gliding against his blushing skin. I want to see this person. I want to kiss his lips and know who is ushering me into completion faster than I've ever experienced before. But he seems to hide in my shoulder. This male who is longer than me.
His musk is thick, and I inhale it deeply. My fingers dig into bony hips pulling him burningly against me. I don't mean to be rough with him. My need is just unbearable. He doesn't seem to mind. His own grip on my shoulders and dig down in earnest.
"I'm almost.." The man says in this thick masculine tone. It's not off-putting. It's somehow more arousing. "Please. Don't stop." The arousing voice pleads.
"Am I hurting you?" I don't think to say these words, but they still come out of my mouth. I don't question why. After all, I don't want to hurt this person. I don't want to hurt anyone.
"No. Never you." I can feel the bridge of a nose press into my neck comfortably. "Could never hurt from you."
"I can stop. If you need me too." I don't think it would be possible for me to stop right now. But my tone doesn't reflect my internal uncertainty. The first utter of reluctance is all I need to hear.
"Harry. Please. Don't stop." The warm voice is like honey. I'm sinking into it. He arches his back until are chests are flesh to flesh. "Harry." He moans mutedly.
"I have you." These words alone seem enough to pull this mystery man over the edge. I can feel all of his muscles tensing around me and he screams his orgasm in my ear. Just his pleasure coaxes my own orgasm all over his stomach. My palm strokes his hair soothingly until he falls limply on the bed below me.
Hair the color of tar spills out around him like ink. Dark eyes still lidded with pleasure openly watch my every movement. Snowy skin is flushed with arousal. His stomach is sunken in. Chest heaving.
"Harry. Why are you looking at me like that?" The man squirms under my gaze. I reach out to touch his cheek just to see if he's real.
"Severus?" But just as I touch his cheek, my eyes open.
A dream.
Correction: A wet dream.
The mess in my shorts alerts me to the very real fact that I just had a wet dream about Snape. The dream is still fresh on my mind and I have to fight it back. It's one thing to have an unconscious erection about someone, but to actually become hard over them in real life is different. It doesn't make sense.
Our relationship is still mostly tense. Sometimes he's almost likeable. But I still don't know anything about him. He holds me at arms-length so that I can't get any closer to him. I wonder why that bothers me so much. This bond was only formed out of necessity. I don't believe he hates me. Far from it actually. I think in some ways he might actually like me, but the situation is too confusing to make sense of.
So, I fight the arousal down determined to not become hard over a man that can take or leave me more or less. Besides. I don't know if I could really even consider myself gay. The only man I've ever done anything with is my uncle. And that was mostly just him... touching me. I don't have any experience. Not with a possible attraction to a member of the same sex. I've hardly been able to find even a female that I've been interested in.
But maybe that's as much a sign as anything.
I'm sixteen. Almost seventeen. And there have been very few girls that I was interested in. Or even attracted to for that matter. I think I convinced myself that the threat of the wizarding world was a more pressing matter than figure out who to jerk off too, so it was okay that I didn't notice girls.
But I never really noticed boys either.
I've never had a wet dream about anyone in fact, until now.
I toss my clothes in the dirty clothes hamper... the sheets as well. I get dressed while trying to practice occlumency. No so much for the next lesson but because I can't leave this room with a stupid look on my face. I'd die of humiliation if he knew. So, I can't look guilty, or suspicious.
At least not until I figure all of this out.
I don't want him to think something if it's not true.
I mean. After all. Isn't it normal to get wet dreams about random people even if you aren't... into them like that.
I'm not surprised to see that Snape isn't at breakfast. I'm up a bit earlier than normal, so I just opt to cook something for myself. Snape doesn't normally eat anyways and honestly, I sort of enjoy cooking.
Standing at the stove helps to clear my head a bit.
I'm halfway through when Niffy comes in rubbing her eyes.
"Harry, it is early." She says.
"I couldn't sleep." That's close enough to the truth. "Would you like some pancakes, I'm nearly through. I know it's not customary for a wizard to serve a house elf, but I'm pretty good at cooking." She holds her hand up like a silent refusal.
"Thank you, but no. Niffy is a good house elf, and does not need to be treated differently."
"I know it's important to you to not be looked at differently, but I'm not like a lot of pure blooded wizards. Just because I'm nice doesn't mean that I think less of you." She shakes her small head.
"Niffy is the head elf. House elves are different from wizards. Niffy is more than happy in her role, so never you mind me. Wizards do not serve house elves."
"I don't understand honestly."
"Yes, Harry was raised by muggles. Niffy is a good house elf that will look after her master. A good house elf is loyal and holds her master's estate above all else. An obedient house elf does not mean a cruel master. Sometimes. It means a master worth protecting."
"That still doesn't explain why you have to act subservient." She tilts her head.
"Niffy isn't acting. Niffy does her part and master does his." She pats my arm as if she were talking to a simpleton. I don't understand, but I guess that's okay. I'm nearly done cooking when Snape enters the room. He looks like he hasn't slept at all.
Making his way to the table, he immediately lays his head down.
"Sir, would you like some breakfast." I try to sound casual.
"Hn." He grumbles. His tone makes my neck feel hot, but that's probably because the dream is still fresh on my mind. I wonder if this bond is affecting me. I place a plate of freshly cooked eggs in front of him and then start working on mine. "Did you cook this?" He questions tentatively.
"Yes." I don't turn to him.
"Can I even trust it to be edible. The way you have performed in the classroom leaves me skeptical."
"I can cook." I confirm. "I've done a lot of cooking." I hear him stand. When I turn, I watch him rake the food directly into the trash. "Why did you do that!"
"I have no desire to become sick from your ineptitude." Niffy is looking between us.
"You wouldn't have. Believe it or not, but I'm not useless. I'm a great cook."
"Not likely." He says crossing his arms. "Niffy, see to it that he doesn't waste food in the future with his failed attempts in the culinary arts." She nods her head slightly but says nothing.
"If you weren't going to eat it, then you could have just told me. I would have eaten it." He threw so much food away. It hurts deep inside. It makes me sick to my stomach. He turns and leaves, uninterested in continuing the conversation.