Disclaimer: Just borrowing, don't own them. Hopefully nobody who owns these characters will ever read it. I blame Alan Rickman for being so damned sexy.

Unexpected 4, by Seeker. Rated NC17.

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It took three days and a variety of potions that left him feeling like a flashback to a bad acid trip before Snape had fully recovered from Potter's sensual assault on him in his own classroom. For almost half a second Snape considered reporting the incident to Dumbledore, but two facts stopped him.

Firstly, he'd die of humiliation if he had to admit to Albus that Harry Potter had fisted him on his own work table, making him come harder than he had in his life, which was saying something, considering how often he'd come since getting hit with the age-reversal spell and being jumped by Potter.

Secondly, if he told, Potter might never touch him again, and if that happened, Snape might just have to throw himself off the highest tower of Hogwart's.

The single positive repercussion of his, ahem, illness, was that it gave him some time to practise before he faced his students again. The unabashedly appreciative audience he'd had the one day he'd taught since regaining his youth had, he frankly admitted to himself, scared the holy hell out of him. So, nestled against several pillows when he could finally lie on his back again, he conjured a mirror and set it to float above his bed. Then he scowled at himself.

Hmph. It looked quite as intimidating as it had with lines on his face as it did without. So he tried a full-blown snarl. My! That looked positively frightening. How could the students not be cowed? Still, he practised, in between naps and soft foods that didn't hurt going through and pressing his fingers into the tender places Potter left behind, faint echoes of the pained pleasure he'd given Snape still lingering in the bruised flesh.

It had to happen, of course. The last afternoon of his, ahem, convalescence, he was lying flat on his back with his fingers up his arse and his eyes closed, when a heavy weight tipped the bed. Before he could move, Potter had straddled his shoulders, pressing down with his thighs on Snape's shoulders to trap Snape's hand behind him.

"I knew you were kinky, Severus," Potter purred, "but really. Adding to your decor and not inviting me to the housewarming!" He glanced up at the mirror still hovering above the bed and Snape followed his movement.

Oh, god. Potter was as naked as Snape himself, and there was something unbearably erotic about the sight of them, Snape trapped, Potter holding him down.

"Keep watching, Severus," Potter whispered, then began to slap Snape's lips with the end of his prick, already hard and dripping.

Snape was learning all sorts of things about himself since Potter had taken him up, not least of which was the deep well of obedience he only seemed to find in situations such as this. His mouth opened immediately, and Potter slid his prick all the way into Snape's throat with one thrust. With his thighs clamping around Snape's shoulders, he rocked back and forth, fucking Snape's mouth ruthlessly. The motion caused the bed to shake and rocked Snape's fingers, still in his arse. Unable to resist, he moved them in time to the prick reaming his mouth.

His eyes were wide, staring at the sight of Potter's shoulders, the line of his back and the swell of his buttocks, the slick red meat disappearing into Snape's mouth, the distention of lips and cheek around it. Further down, laid open for his hungry eyes, Snape's own prick jerked as his unseen hand worked his arse, growing harder until it was nearly parallel to his belly, snapping against it, leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum tying the two together.

Potter sped up, until he was fucking Snape's throat brutally and air was impossible to draw. Snape's vision blurred with tears as he struggled, not to escape, but for more, and when Potter drove in as far as he could and came, Snape choked and took it. Prick was replaced with tongue as Potter scooted down to kiss him, and Snape gasped for breath when he was finally allowed to do so.

The shift in placement had caused Potter to discover Snape's hard prick, still as full despite (or perhaps because of) the near suffocation. With a wicked grin, he raised up and slid past the raging erection, eyes gleaming up at Snape, who was busy blinking tears from his own.

"What have we here?" Potter teased. Before Snape could come up with an appropriate snarky comment, Potter drew back and slapped the hard prick full-force. Snape lost his breath as quickly as he'd caught it as his prick bounced smartly against his belly. "Lovely," Potter breathed, following the slap with a backhand, just as hard, a sharper sensation as his knuckles bruised the spongy flesh.

Snape didn't know when he'd started whimpering, but he couldn't seem to stop. Potter shifted again, shoving his knees between Snape's thighs to spread them widely. Then he bent his head, moved his hands, and drove two fingers into Snape's arse, twisted his ballsac, and bit his foreskin simultaneously.

To hell with whimpering, Snape was screaming now.

The hands kept working his balls and arse, squeezing the one hard and twisting deeply into the other. Potter let loose the chewed foreskin to say in a whimsical tone, "Never thought I'd say it, but I do love dungeons! So far away from everyone. Such ..." he swooped down and bit the weeping glans, "thick ..." he muttered around his mouthful, chewing further down as Snape squirmed and bellowed, "walls." The final word was practically unintelligible, given that he had half Snape's prick in his mouth and was slurping and biting enthusiastically.

By this point he had stretched Snape's arse out with three fingers, and the testicles in his fist were mashed to the point that Snape was involuntarily bucking to get his balls away from the vice. Which, of course, simply meant that he thrust up into Potter's mouth, a satisfactory arrangement for them both. Even with the pressure on his balls, or again, perhaps because of it, he was close to coming when Potter suddenly withdrew. Everything. From everywhere.

Snape whined like a bitch in heat. "Come back here!"

Potter laughed at him. "Do you want it?"

If Snape had had any energy whatsoever that wasn't preoccupied with his prick, he would have been throwing off sparks. As it was, he could only wave his neglected prick in the air and shift his arse on the sheets, desperate to scratch the itch Potter had ignited. Snape's hands went to work, as he spread his thighs, one pulling at his own balls, the other at his prick. Potter watched for a moment, hand working at his own prick, then abruptly he grabbed Snape's wrists and, in a quick move, rolled Snape over on his belly.

With a sigh of relief, Snape began to rub his prick against the sheets, but he didn't get the opportunity to do it for long. Potter wrapped his hands around Snape's hips and pulled him back until his arse was high in the air, his chest and face still flat against the bed. Then Potter took Snape's wrists and folded them under his cheek.

"Leave them there," he commanded. Snape moaned, but he didn't move.

More than half expecting to be fucked, hard, Snape was surprised when Potter commenced a lengthy examination of his arse, perineum, balls and prick. Not that he should have been, of course. If there was any way Potter could prolong the torment he would, to their mutual satisfaction. His arse was first, as Potter prodded and pulled, lowering his head to lick and suck at it, ripping another cry from Snape. He worked the tender hole with tongue and fingers until Snape was near coming from that alone, then withdrew completely, his hands wrapping around Snape's hips again, leaving his arse gaping and hungry.

"Please, please, Harry," Snape muttered into the sheets, trying to thrust his arse back, thwarted in the movement by Potter's firm grip.

"Not yet, Severus," Potter replied quietly, then leaned in again, this time bypassing the arsehole to lay a burning strip of tiny bites from the lower edge of the hole all the way to the back of the balls, nudging the heavy sac out of the way with his nose as he went. Then back again, licking and sucking the marks from the bites, then forward, lingering behind the balls, pressing with his tongue, massaging Snape's prostate from the outside until Snape was shuddering against the touch.

By now, actual words being beyond him, Snape was spouting gibberish. Potter ignored him. The stream of sound ended on a gasp as Potter suddenly took one ball in his mouth, sucking hard at it, rolling it on his tongue, pulling it back with his lips then nipping at the captured testicle with his teeth. Snape gave up on noise altogether and concentrated on trying to breathe.

The first ball was abandoned for the other, and the process was repeated until his sac felt twice its normal size, wet and swollen and incredibly tender. Breathing was becoming more difficult, and Snape sobbed for it, hanging on to consciousness fiercely, determined not to pass out and miss any of this. Finally, Potter left his sac and, in a move that Snape could become addicted to, pulled the erect prick back and down, sucking it into his mouth.

Pulling against gravity and natural inclination with a prick that hard gave a delicious ache from the strain, shivering through the shaft, down into balls already screaming, deep into his groin and seeming as if it reached all the way back to his spine. Potter pushed Snape's foreskin, already drawn back, even further with his tongue, then sucked hard and continuously at Snape's prick. In very little time indeed Snape was screaming out all his air again, head dizzy, hands shredding the sheet beneath his face, arse thrusting helplessly as he came.

In the instant that his balls tightened, Potter withdrew his mouth and milked Snape's shaft hard with his fingers. The first spurt escaped his fist, but the next few made it no further than his palm. When Snape was past the initial spasms but still half-hard, Potter coated the flinching prick with the semen and kept pumping it.

By now, Snape was squirming as much to get away as not. Potter, with a firm grip on his prick, wouldn't let him. "Hang on," he breathed, bending forward until Snape could feel the warm air moving over his arse cheek, "you'll like this." Then he pulled Snape's prick back along the heated skin between his thighs until he could work the head into Snape's own arsehole. The sensation was alien and exciting, and had he not come hard enough to practically give himself a nosebleed already he would have come just from the touch of his cockhead in his hole.

As it was, he didn't know which way to move. Frozen in place, panting harshly, he waited to see what Potter would do next. He didn't have long to wait. Smoothing his hand along the length of Snape's prick until it was as flat as humanly possible, Potter managed to get the glans and a good half inch of Snape's prick up into his arse. Holding it there, he inched one finger into the fluttering hole as well, resting it directly below the arched lips of Snape's cockhead.

Then he rubbed.

Several things happened at once. Snape got as hard as physically possible, given the awkward position of his prick. His arsehole, wild by this point, clamped down on his cockhead. The pressure there nearly took the top of his head off, causing his prick to throb, unsettling his balls, squashed to the side by his prick. Before he had the chance to so much as yell he came again, shooting sperm up his own arse. The hot slimy fluid felt like lava against his rectum, baking his quivering cockhead, and he spasmed over and over.

Potter kept rubbing.

When he had nothing left to give, and his prick was still trying its damnedest to give it, Potter relaxed his grip. Snape's prick whipped back to hang, jumping with muscular contractions, down between his widespread thighs. A second later, his still-spasming hole was reamed open as Potter slammed into him in one stroke.

His prick, pathetically hopeful, twitched. Not that it did any good. Had it not been for Potter holding him up and lying over his back, humping into him, Snape would've been a puddle on the bed.

Apparently his exhaustion wasn't satisfactory, because with a growl, Potter leaned up again. Shifted his knees further down the bed, draped Snape's thighs around the outside of his, and commenced thrusting. Every three or four strokes he slapped an arsecheek. The first crack galvanized Snape into active participation, as he jumped back, feeling his hole tighten involuntarily around Potter's delving prick.

"That's more like it!" Potter told him, rewarding him with another smack, to the opposite arsecheek. And so it went, Snape hanging on to the sheets for dear life as Potter fucked and spanked him.

The world had long since narrowed to the bed, the heat of Potter's hand prints branding his arsecheeks, and the prick splitting him open, by the time Potter grunted and thrust in hard. Clenching his fingers on Snape's arsecheeks hard enough to leave bruises over the slap-marks already purpling there, Potter pulled them as far apart as he could and buried himself as deeply as possible as he came. If there'd been a drop of moisture left in Snape's body he'd've given it, too. As it was, he decided he may as well resign himself to coming dry with Potter, since the man kept at him until he was completely drained. Every time.

Finally collapsing atop him, Potter released his grip and allowed Snape to collapse as well. They lay there for some time as Potter caught his breath and Snape tried to remember *how* to breathe. Eventually, Potter leaned down and bit him on the side of the throat, sucking and marking him. Snape protested as much as possible, which meant he moaned. A lot.

Satisfied when there was a mouth-shaped bruise darkening on the pale skin, Potter rolled off Snape and sighed happily up at the mirror. Snape gave him a suspicious look.

"What are you finding so amusing, Potter?" he grumped.

Potter gave him a truly evil smile. "Oh, nothing." Then he leaned over and kissed Snape, pulling his head back by the hair, as usual with him, more ownership than affection. Snape let him. Snape enjoyed it. Not that he was ever going to tell Potter that. "Oh, and Severus?" he asked when he broke the kiss.

Inhaling deeply, feeding his starved lungs, Snape made an interrogatory noise.

"Keep the mirror. I like it." Then he bounced off the bed, more energy than was at all decent, not that decency was any sort of standard for them, grabbed his robes and cheerfully left the room. Snape stared over at the door as it closed behind Potter.

Then he rolled further until he was flat on his back. He looked utterly debauched. Bite marks, finger bruises, semen stains, beard burn, swollen and reddened flesh everywhere he looked from his mouth to his thighs. He sighed. Potter had a point. There was something very erotic about seeing them ...

Seeing them ...

He looked closer. Then he blanched.

Sometime when he'd had his eyes closed, before he'd been thoroughly fucked, Potter had modified the charm on the mirror. It wasn't just a reflecting device now. It was a recording device.

Snape only *thought* he'd been thoroughly fucked. Now, he *knew* he was.

END

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