Mute Appeal

Some fantasies deserve to remain fantasies, their sheer inanity precluding any chance at fulfillment. Some, however, walk the nebulous gray line of possible. In other words, sometimes fate gives them the nod.

Harry didn't believe in fate, as difficult as that was for many to understand, but he did entertain a healthy respect for luck. Not the good kind. In Potions, only one kind of luck existed – bad. Just as only one Professor taught the subject – Snape. Bad. Snape. Now if only Harry could convince his libido of that.

"Harry!" Ron whispered. "He's coming!"

Perfect. More sexual innuendo.

Harry gave Ron a watery smile and bent over his cauldron. He stirred the liquid, counterclockwise as instructed, and tried not to think of Snape's voice in his ear, whispering not about Potions, but instead about the scandalous, wicked, incredible things he was going to do to Harry's—


Bad. Snape. "Yes, Professor?"

"Do I need to remind you of the consequences of inattention in this class?"

"No, sir. That would be a waste of your time. You've already reminded me on several occasions." Now, where did that come from? It was time for a serious talk with his subconscious.

"Detention, Potter. Tonight."

Harry bent even further over his cauldron. The benefits of such a position were twofold. He wouldn't have to see Ron's look of pity, and Ron didn't have a chance in hell of seeing Harry's happy grin. Poor Ron, he just didn't get it. Head hanging over his steamy, glutinous mixture, Harry sighed and smiled.

And that, unfortunately, was when luck stepped in. The bad kind.

Across the room, Neville stumbled against his table and spilled a vial of boomslang parts into his cauldron. Harry moved without thinking – something else to discuss with his subconscious – and knocked Neville out of the way a split second before the potion exploded. As he felt the cauldron's contents splatter across his face, he heard Snape yell. How funny, he thought, to hear concern in Snape's voice.

The world spun away.

When he awoke in the hospital wing, it was to Snape leaning over his bed. Despite the accident, despite the humiliation, despite everything, having Snape in the general vicinity of his bed had the predicted effect on his cock. Harry blushed and Snape straightened into his usual vulture-esque stance. Harry swallowed and licked his lips.

Snape. Bed.

Harry winced at his body's enthusiastic reply and pulled the sheets up over his face. If he didn't have a pesky Dark Lord to vanquish, he'd have Hermione make him a rapid-aging potion. One that made him fifty, perhaps. Approximately thirty-two years past his sexual peak.


Perhaps thirty-two years was too conservative. By all that was holy, didn't that man understand what his voice could do to a sex-starved, adolescent savior?

He pulled the sheets down and looked at Snape. Yes, sir, he said. Then he frowned. Snape frowned too.

"What did you say?" he barked.

Nothing, sir, mouthed Harry. His eyes widened. He was mute. Mute as a…well, mute. The implications were endless – and horrifying. He closed his eyes just as Snape's lit with understanding.

"Cat got your tongue, Mr. Potter?" Snape smirked at his wit.

Harry cracked one eye open and conducted a small experiment. Fuck you, he mouthed.

"Detention, Potter, for profanity directed at a professor. Oh, and Potter," Snape leaned down close to Harry, "I can read lips."

Lips. Snape. Bed. Why was his life so complicated? Harry sighed and closed his eyes again, praying for the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Being mute was temporary, or so he was told. The counter-potion was difficult to brew and everyone agreed to simply let nature take its course. When Dumbledore asked if he could live with that solution, Harry just shrugged. He didn't expect his life would be much altered.

Fate had a ball with that one.


Yes, you gorgeous, greasy prat?


I hate you.

"Detention for failing to respond, Potter. Tonight."

"But, Professor!" Ron interjected. "You know he can't talk. That's not fair."

Shut up, Ron.

"Silence, Mr. Weasley, or you'll be joining him."

Harry sighed. At least he and Snape agreed on something.

"You're late, Potter."

So sue me.

"Scrub out those cauldrons. By hand."

How generous. And here I was planning on licking them clean.

Snape's eyes followed Harry's movements. Harry sighed and walked to the large tubs that lined the wall. He snorted at the mess. As if he could utter a spell even if he was given permission to.

"Potter, I've changed my mind. You can use magic. If you like," Snape drawled.

Damn that clever, evil, sexy man. I hate him.

"On time, Potter? That's a first."

Well, I got my usual pre-detention wank over with earlier than expected.

"Tonight, you'll disinfect and oil the lab tables."

Is that the best you could come up with?

"I, on the other hand, find myself at loose ends this evening."

Uh oh.

"So," Snape said as he sidled up behind Harry, "I will be monitoring your progress."

Harry gulped and stepped away. Snape followed. "Get to work."

Snape shadowed him to and from the sink, to and from the storeroom – where the cleaner was kept – and from table to table as Harry scrubbed. The most frustrating part, for Harry anyway, was that Snape didn't utter a word the entire time. Harry felt as though someone has taken his candy away. He was working hard, wasn't he? He thought he deserved to take a little something home to toss off to.

Speak, you bastard. Hum the Hogwarts anthem. Sing the ABC's. Throw insults around about my family.

"Your father could never stay out of trouble either."

I was kidding about that last one.

"He was useless. A waste of space. Just like you."

Harry clenched his teeth. He finished wiping the last table and went to empty the bucket. Snape followed. "Of course, I do believe he was a bit smarter than you."

Harry found the wood oil and a clean cloth in the storeroom. Ignoring Snape, he moved to the first table in the line. As he squirted oil onto the cloth, Snape spoke again. "Although, it was hard to say if it was he or Black who caused the most trouble. Black was bad to the core, but I do believe James had a spot of good in him."

Harry paused in his wiping. When Snape didn't expand on his statement, he continued rubbing oil into the wood in large sweeping circles.

"Too bad it was overshadowed by that lazy, good-for-nothing mutt," Snape said as soon as Harry resumed his wiping.

Harry took a deep breath and moved on to the next table. He closed his mind to the meaning of Snape's words, refusing to acknowledge the hurtful comments. Oiling the tables suddenly became much more enjoyable. Harry moved from lab table to lab table, a happy smile on his face. Snape followed, spouting insulting comments. Harry ignored the ridicule and lost himself in Snape's voice. After a few minutes of Snape insulting and Harry ignoring, Snape paused. His eyes narrowed into slits.

"Are you listening to me, Potter?"

No, not really.

Harry nodded. Snape took it as an affirmative. A smile tugged at the corners of Harry's mouth as Snape launched into even more derisive comments, this time about Ron and Hermione. Harry let the words butt against his brain and slip harmlessly off. They slithered down his body and settled in a comfortable tangle around his groin. He sighed as he worked.


Keep talking. God, I could come from your voice alone.



Harry glanced over his shoulder. Snape was leaning against the next table, arms crossed over his chest. His look was speculative. "Did you retain a word of what I just said?"

Sorry. No.

Harry nodded once and returned to his oiling. Turning fully around and showing off the physical manifestation of Snape's droning voice was not an option.

As he worked, Snape's eyes followed him around the room. More than once, Harry's circles faltered as he imagined Snape watching him.

By the time his detention was over, Harry was cursing Snape, Neville, luck, fate, and even Dumbledore for good measure. His jeans were strangling his cock. Movement of any kind was agonizing, and he knew the long walk to the tower was going to be hell.

Snape had that same damned look on his face. The speculative one. "Same time tomorrow, Potter."

I can hardly wait.

"And Potter…"

Harry glanced up through the fringe of his hair.

"Casual attire tomorrow evening. We will be working with some very volatile agents. I wouldn't want you to soil your robes."

Sweet Circe save me. Did he just say, soil your robes?

Harry squinted across the classroom at Snape. His professor grinned and Harry went pale.

He knows.

"I'm impressed, Potter. Jeans and a t-shirt. You followed my instructions to the letter. Would you like to tell me what has you so obedient all of a sudden?"

You're a funny, funny man.

"Over here. Get started mixing these potion bases. I need two water-based and two oil-based solutions."

Harry moved toward the table where Snape had set up several cauldrons. Small fires smoldered under all of them. He began the painstaking task of measuring the oil and water for each cauldron. Despite the apparent simplicity of it, the task of mixing a stable base was tricky. As he measured, his tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth. When Snape spoke from directly behind him, he nearly bit it off.

"Excellent, Mr. Potter. Remember to be generous with the oil."

Harry froze, hands trembling in midair, the cask of oil in one, the measuring cup in the other. Snape was there. Right there. Behind him, right there. So close that Harry could feel the man's billowing robes brushing against the denim of his jeans.

"Don't stop, Potter," Snape breathed into his neck.

Harry set the oil and cup down before he dropped them. He rubbed his sweaty, shaking hands down the front of his jeans and tried to adjust himself in the process. No luck. Snape was right there. He would see everything. That thought, of course, only made his predicament more painful.

"Why are you stopping, Harry?"

Oh fuck. Please don't call me Harry.

"Do you require some assistance? I would be more than happy to offer my aid. I assure you, Harry, I can be remarkably gentle when the situation calls for it. Just as I can be equally rough and hard if I feel that is what you require. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, his breath coming in shallow gasps, and clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides.

"Which do you require, Harry? Gentle or rough?"

Both. Preferably several times over. Are you forgetting I'm only seventeen? But certainly you're not talking about what I think you are.

If up until then he had questioned Snape's motives, the man's next move dispelled any doubt in Harry's mind. Snape reached for the nearest cauldron of oil and dipped his fingers inside, submerging them to the knuckles. A moment later, he withdrew them and Harry caught his breath, certain his fantasies were finally reaching fruition.

Snape spoke again. "I can't touch you, you understand. If I am to cling to the slightest thread of decorum, I must insist on that."

It was a statement, not necessitating an answer, but Harry nodded anyway, reeling at the gentle tone. He wondered, though, about the oil until he felt movement at his back while Snape fumbled with his own robes. A sharp hiss at his ear and the unmistakable sound of flesh sliding over flesh thrummed through his head.

Sweet God. Oh God. Snape was touching himself.

Harry scrambled for the snap on his jeans. He groaned in frustration when his hands were pulled away. Deftly, Snape reached around with his free hand, popped the snap and pulled the zipper down.

Harry's legs shook. The cool dungeon air felt frigid against his heated skin and damp pants. Snape hesitated before pulling the bunch of cotton and denim down over Harry's thighs. He circled his arm around Harry's waist, steadying him. "What do you want, Harry?"

Talk to me.

Harry felt a subtle nudge against his mind as Snape probed his thoughts.

"You seem to enjoy my voice. Shall I talk to you?"

Oh, thank God for Legilimency.

Harry nodded and tipped his head back against Snape's shoulder.

"Very well."

Snape took Harry's trembling hand in his and dipped his shaking fingers into the cauldron of warm oil. Harry hissed, finding the liquid almost too hot. But when Snape guided Harry's hand back to his cock and closed Harry's fingers around it, the heated oil made him thrust forward into his hand, moaning and cursing silently.

Snape guided Harry's hand up and down once before letting go and returning his fingers to his own erection. With a strangled groan, Harry dropped his hand back to his side. Snape stilled.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

What the fuck do you think? Look in my head. You'll see.

Snape, however, didn't try to read his thoughts again, opting instead to guess at the problem.

"Too close?"

You're a genius, Professor. A fucking genius.

"I wonder," Snape purred in his ear. "I wonder," he nuzzled Harry's hair where it brushed his cheek, "just how far I can push you with my voice. My words."

Is that a question?

"All the way, do you think?" Snape let his voice drop an octave. It brushed over Harry's cheek and sank, like it had physical weight, until it was vibrating the air around Harry's needy cock.

Oh gods. Is that magic? It has to be.

Harry moaned and arched into the air that throbbed around his straining prick. Snape looked over Harry's shoulder and hummed in approval. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to watch you last night? Seeing you move around the room, rubbing and polishing. Rubbing so hard as you tried to ignore me. Do you know what I did when you left?"

I know what I did. But, sure – go ahead and share.

"I oiled myself, inside and out, imagining your hands on me – rubbing me like you were rubbing these tables. I fucked my fingers and imagined it was your cock."

Me too. Uncanny.

"I came calling your name," Snape groaned. Harry gasped as the sound, the words, rolled into his ear and reverberated through his head. He strained his hips forward, pushing into the air. Into that voice that surrounded and teased him. It tempted every hair on his body to stand on end and raised goose bumps on his arms, thighs, and ass.

"I wanted to rip your clothes off and worship you. Do you know how wrong that is, Harry?"

There is nothing wrong with that. Nothing. I promise.

"I wanted – want – to taste you. Want you to lose control and beg me to fuck you. Want you to beg…Oh, gods, Harry." Snape let out a deep moan and through his haze of arousal, Harry heard and felt Snape's hand speed up, jerking hard and fast.

Harry's hand inched back toward his own cock. He reached out with his index finger and stroked with a feather's touch up and down his prick. His cock felt huge, the skin stretched painfully taut. The tip, purple with blood, oozed precome. Harry ran his finger through it, spreading the slippery liquid over and around the head. More bubbled to the surface and he did it again. Snape, caught up in the movement of Harry's finger, halted his frantic stroking. "Harry," he said. "Harry."

Yes. Just like that. Say my name.


Harry whimpered, but didn't alter the slow, precise movement of his finger.

Talk. Talk. Talk. Please.

"Bend you over my desk. Rip off your pants. Lick you arse. Swallow your cock. Fuck you all night." Snape's words rolled from his tongue in a torrent. Harry strained into the air, positive he could feel Snape's voice surrounding his cock, rubbing, constricting, pulling.

Snape's words trailed off, but Harry was too far gone to care. Behind him, Snape grasped his cock and took up a hard, fast rhythm, moaning freely into Harry's neck. A moment later, he grunted and came, splattering the hem of Harry's t-shirt.

It was all Harry needed. The warm wet on his back, Snape's lips against his neck, his throaty moans vibrating in Harry's chest, stomach, and prick. They all pushed him over the edge. He felt his orgasm, held too long at bay, rushing up on him. He was able to take hold of himself and give three swift, sharp tugs on his cock before the world grew impossibly bright and flew apart.

Snape. Bed.

Harry gave a languid smile. Snape's bed was small and lumpy. The blankets scratched. Harry didn't care.

"What are you flailing about for?" Snape snapped.

For that. Yell at me again.

"Harry…" Snape's voice rose threateningly.

Come on. You can do better than that.

"Potter! Cease your rutting about! Find a position and bloody stay in it. Do you think I want you here?"


"I'd be just as happy to throw you out in the hall, soiled clothes and all. This is not fun. I did not enjoy expelling the remains of my good intentions and morality all over you, despite what you may believe."


Snape harrumphed and rolled over. "I'm going to hell for this," he mumbled.

You worry too much.

Harry grinned, folded his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling. Snape didn't know what Harry knew. Everything would be fine. Luck – the good kind – was on their side.



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