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Slash and Yaoi Fiction
Title: Your Wish is My Command
Author: Juxian Tang
E-mail: juxiantang@hotmail.com
Site: http://juxian.slashcity.net
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Rating: NC-17
Warning: BDSM
Summary-A/N: Written as a part of Fantasy Fest for nancy_dol who requested: Harry/Snape, Adult dominant!harry! finds a new "pet" upon his return to Hogwarts, consensual. Can be romantic or strict master/sub relationship. YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND

He locks the door like there is someone chasing him, and in a way it really feels so to Harry. It seems that noises and smells of the reception follow him and he still isn't sure someone is not going to grab his hand, as it happened so many times today, and start shaking it, all the way asking him for a service or assistance.

"I hate it," he says. "If I knew that killing the son of bitch went along with having to attend nearly every stupid party, I would think twice about it."

There is silence in reply, and the rooms are empty and cold, shelves lined with hundreds of books and familiar jars labeled in a small, clear handwriting. A thin streak of light is breaking from under the bathroom door and there is a sound of water running, and Harry smiles in relief.

He doesn't knock, just pushes the door and enters.

"Potter."

"Yes. That's me. You're happy, aren't you?"

Snape looks anything but happy, standing under the shower, naked, sullen and skinny, jets of water running over his body. And Harry feels that his tiredness is draining out, shed together with his official robes.

"It's been a rough day?" he asks.

He can see it in the deliberate stiffness of Snape's shoulders and his eyes are even darker than always. Snape raises his face to the hitting jets of water.

"Yes," he says, his voice harsh and ironic. "And yours?"

I'll make it better, Harry thinks and answers: "Horrible."

"Yes, it is so difficult to be famous."

"You know it is," he says.

Snape sneers at him.

"No, I don't. My fame is of another kind."

"Why do you read these papers?" Harry asks, for a hundredth time. Two years since Dumbledore testified for him - and there is always some reporter who still asks what Snape's true loyalties are.

"It's none of your business," Snape says. "If you think you can tell me what to do..."

Harry smiles. They both know the truth.

"If you want to get worked up about it, it's your choice," he says.

He stands in front of the tub, his gaze sliding over Snape's body, following jets of water, and Harry imagines that he can feel how slick his skin is under Harry's palms. He wants to push away Snape's wet, long hair plastered to his face.

"Will you cut it for me?" he asks.

"What?"

"Your hair. It is split on the ends."

"No." Snape looks offended. His long fingers go up and shove his hair back, and Harry loves this gesture. He doesn't really want him to cut it.

"It was not a question, Severus," he says quietly. Well, technically, it was, and at any other time Snape would gladly remind him about it. But now there is this small note of metal in Harry's voice - and Snape hears it. "Is it clear?"

He watches Snape avidly. For a moment there is this sullen look that usually goes along so well with the words: 'What do you think you are, Potter?'

But it is not what Snape says - not now.

Harry is never tired of seeing it - how Snape's cold eyes change, getting that dreamy, expectant, unfamiliarly open look in them. And his voice sounds dreamy as well, and subdued, as he answers, not looking at Harry.

"Yes." Not 'Potter'. "Yes. I understand."

And Harry feels blood rush to his cheeks. No matter how many times it happens, it's still seems new to him - and he still isn't sure it'll work next time. Seeing Snape like that - giving in to him, wanting to give in, wanting Harry to dictate him - it's something he can't get used to it. Even though he knows it's exactly what Snape needs from him.

He knows it since that evening on Grimmauld Place, after his sixth year, when he and Snape ran into each other and there was no one around to separate them. They screamed - or Harry screamed, and everything Snape said stung unbearably, was meaner and crueler than anything before. One time Harry thought he would hit Snape - and then he'd expel him for sure but Harry didn't care - and Snape must have felt it because his face changed and he stepped away, his eyes glittering strangely.

And when Harry yelled: "What do you want from me?" - he went very white, as if something horrible was happening - and whispered:

"Make me obey."

Later Harry heard Moody saying something about Veritaserum and still not quite trusting Snape - and knew Snape would do anything to take those words back.

But it was too late.

And Harry didn't know what to do with these words. They were like a sliver under his skin, and he didn't tell anybody about them, even Hermione and Ron - as Snape seemed constantly expect him to, staring at him with hateful eyes and being twice as mean to Harry as before, even though a reasonable course probably would be to try bribing Harry into silence.

Harry didn't know what to do with these words when, because of Harry's imprudence, Snape had to choose whether to save him or to keep his role as a spy. And Voldemort found out everything, and the Aurors got Snape out barely in time. Snape's robes were blood soaked and his eyes rolled up as he convulsed in aftershocks of Cruciatus but his teeth were clenched and he didn't make a sound.

Harry hated to feel guilt over Snape - his guilt over Cedric and Sirius was bad enough. But he couldn't hate Snape any more either.

And it took Harry two more years, and coming back to Hogwarts, as a teacher, before Harry knew what to do with this not-hatred. And those words were constantly in his mind.

I know what you want, he thought even though he couldn't be sure whether Snape meant that he wanted it from Harry - or from anyone else. But since it was nearly impossible to make Snape tell the truth, Harry had to do with what he had.

It wasn't easy in the beginning. And now it still isn't. The moment when Snape seems to hesitate, as if not sure if he really wants it, if Harry is good enough to give away control to him makes Harry think every time that it is all over, now he will be revealed - as an impostor, a fraud - will be pushed away.

But this time Snape accepts - and Harry's breath hastens, his eyes narrow as if he regards his next step.

I'll be everything you want, he thinks. I'll make you obey.

"Get out." His voice is cold, and yet inside he's blazing - and he sees Snape's reaction, no way to hide it, and the sight of his hardening cock is beautiful, obscene yet beautiful.

Snape gets out of the shower and doesn't even try to reach for his bathrobe. Harry can see that his teeth are clenched and his shoulders are rigid - but his cock is erect, and it is what Harry trusts more than anything else.

"Go to the room."

It is cold there, and Snape is dripping on the floor as he stands, perfectly still, his gaze downcast.

"Do you think you can talk back to me?"

There is something in his face that Harry never sees in other times, and it's so different from everything Snape normally is that the sight is intoxicating. He wonders if anyone has seen Snape like that at all; so vulnerable, so hesitant - so... soft.

"No."

He bows his head, replying. He doesn't call Harry in any way, Harry knows that some use words 'master' or 'sir' but he can't imagine Snape doing it - and Snape probably would rather bite off his tongue. But words don't mean much anyway.

He stands there, waiting, naked, as Harry looks at him, his cock hard and his body trembling slightly. It is different, Harry thinks, from what his submission was to Voldemort, to Dumbledore - not only because it's sexual. But because there is always a way to stop. Snape probably thought Harry didn't notice that he kept his wand near, during their first meetings. He doesn't do it any more - and Harry notices it as well.

He can make him turn and put his hands on the edge of the desk. And he can take his belt and... Snape will shiver and bite his lip as leather will snap over his backside but his cock will stay hard. Harry always tells himself it's how he will know that he does it right - because they don't have a safeword, like, as Harry read, others do. Because Snape doesn't want to talk about it and obviously better wouldn't talk to Harry at all than discuss it - and Harry can't feed him Veritaserum just for this purpose, can he?

When he's not naked and aroused, Snape looks as if he condescends to Harry, as if Harry is still a boy or his student - always in public and often even when they are alone, in his or Harry's rooms.

But at times like now - when he is flushed and naked and burning for every word Harry utters, for every order, every touch - Harry thinks he sees Snape as he really is.

Harry remembers the collar he made him wear - a thin silver hoop - and the knowledge that Snape was wearing it through the day, under the high neck of his robe, was maddening, electrifying. He remembers coming up to Snape during the break, with students just behind the corner - and touching the metal, warm of his skin, under his long hair - and how Snape shivered and leaned into his touch.

He remembers whispering to him during lunch: "Forest, at three," and Snape doesn't quirk his mouth sarcastically, as he usually does at almost everything Harry says - but his eyes get this wild, drunk look. I'll have you in plain daylight, just behind a few trees, Harry thinks, I'll have you against every tree - I'll have you everywhere, in the classrooms, on the Quidditch pitch during the summer, under the stands, on the stands - and Hagrid seemed to have seen something, in the locker rooms...

Or he remembers slipping a dildo into him - and leaving it for the whole day - and Harry is afraid Snape will refuse, will find it too much and quit everything. But he just takes it - and Harry walks hard for half a day, thinking about it.

And when after the lessons he pulls that thing out and slides inside the widened passage, Snape is hard as rock and nearly for the first time makes that sound, half-cry, half-moan, as Harry enters him.

Harry wants to hear this sound now, wants to touch him, feel the sharp line of his hip and hot skin, feel Snape's cock silky in his hand.

And this strongest wish prompts Harry an idea.

"Severus."

There is something dizzying in being absorbed in these darkest eyes, looking without mockery or loathing.

"Touch yourself."

His eyebrow nearly quirks, mutinously, like he's going to argue - but he never does.

"You heard me, Severus. Do it. Show me how you stroke yourself, I've never seen it before."

And Snape's throat moves as he swallows, and then he nods, his hair falling over his eyes.

He obeys because he wants to obey, Harry thinks, and it's such an incredible, wonderful feeling, of control that goes through both of them, resounding like an echo, linking them both.

Snape leans back against the desk. He's long and bony and seems all awkward angles - but when his long-fingered hand touches his chest, Harry nearly gasps. Blood is thumping in his temples and he thinks he can't be aroused more than he is now.

Snape's skin is white and the tips of his fingers are stained with potions - and it is such a strange sight, these fingers sliding over his chest and belly - like it's someone else touches him, someone else's fingers pinch and twist his nipples - and Harry wants it to be his hands. Snape's eyes through the tangled hair are dark and focused, not looking at Harry - but whatever Snape does, it is for Harry, and Harry knows it, and it helps him to control himself and wait, just watching.

Snape licks his fingers and the traces of spit on his skin are what Harry wants to taste with his mouth. Sometimes he wonders who's really making whom obey here - as he restricts himself for the sake of their game. But in the end, in the end, he admits, it's worth it.

"More," he says. Snape does more. He does exactly what he is told - he obeys - and his hands slide lower, cup his balls, and Harry feels as if something is going to explode in his head, he wants it all, wants to feel it, wants a kiss, wants release.

"Wank for me," he says, and his voice is harsh and nearly breaking.

Snape's fingers wrap around his cock, and Harry shivers - as if they are wrapped around his.

"Do it for me," he says, and Snape answers, his voice quiet and hoarse:

"Yes. For you."

He spits into his palm, a vulgar gesture that makes Harry's breath hitch - and then his hand returns to his cock, rough, almost brutal, rubbing and jerking - and his other hand works on his nipples, also without finesse. Snape's face is flushed, heated, an expression of total focus on it, his lip slightly bitten, and his cock wet with spit slides in his palm. He's close, Harry knows it, and he is close too - but still too far, and he doesn't think he can bear it any more.

"Stop," he says.

The hand stops moving, as if his order is a snap of a whip. Snape hissed involuntarily but obeys. He shivers, and Harry knows he takes enjoyment in following the order, probably more than he would in continuing. His fingers tremble slightly in the air, not touching his cock.

"Beg for me?" Harry asks. They both are far too excited to keep playing. Snape's voice sounds low and trembling with arousal as he says:

"Please. Please."

Anything you want, Harry thinks. And at the next moment he doesn't think, just steps forward, and everything is so easy and such a relief, and it's so good Snape is naked - and Harry's own zipper is yanked down, his cock freed.

He's been waiting for it for so long, and Snape's skinny body crashes against his, for a moment, and then Snape yields, and Harry pushes him onto the table, his arms softening the impact a little. He jerks Snape's legs up, roughly, but Snape likes it rough, he's just doing what Snape wants... what they both want.

A quick lubrication spell, and he slams in, and Snape opens for him, like he belongs there, his anus tight and yielding around Harry's thrusting cock.

Snape's long skinny legs wrap around Harry's waist, pulling him closer, pressing on the small of his back, and Harry slides in, right to the balls, and sighs in content.

His cock is inside Snape, and Snape's cock lies against his belly, red and hard and wet with pre-come, and Snape moves his head from side to side unconsciously and bucks against Harry a little, wanting it deeper.

One of his hands is clenched on the edge of the table and the other hovers above his cock, and Harry says: "No," and it falls - and he takes his wrist - thin, with the pulse wildly beating there - and pushes it to Snape's chest.

"Keep touching yourself."

Snape's body arches, his throat moves sharply, and Harry can't wait any longer. It's all too much - Snape's fingers running over his nipples, his cock waiting for release - and unbearable tightness of his ass around Harry's shaft.

He pulls out and pushes back, and it makes a perfect cadence with Snape's sharp breath, and it sounds beautiful, Harry wonders how it could be that there was time when he didn't think about Snape like that, when they were not connected so closely. His eyes revel in the thin body thrusting against his, and his hands clench tighter on Snape's hips because he wants to make sure, wants to know that they'll stay close like that as long as he needs it.

"Like that," he says, thrusting deliberately into the place that makes Snape arch and strive back to him, "you want it like that."

And the answer is so important to him. Snape's eyes are glazed, his voice hoarse, and he seems to let his control go as much as he can, answering, in a gasp.

"Yes."

He comes saying that, his semen splashing over his belly and chest and over Harry's shirt - and this sight, the intimacy of it makes something in Harry snap and he comes as well, crying out and pushing as far as he can get, until his balls are pressed against Snape's crack.

His breath stays irregular pants, long after the climax, and it is good to know that Snape breathes just as unevenly, and feel him shiver, through the loose point of connection of their bodies.

Harry reaches and takes Snape's hand again, intertwining their fingers. Snape sighs, and his legs still hold around Harry, and it feels good but Harry knows it won't last. Then Snape shakes his head, tossing his hair away from his face - and Harry can see that something has already changed. He's still content and quiet but no more pliant, no more open for Harry and for Harry's words.

"So what was it about my hair?" Snape mutters and gets up, not quite pushing Harry away but the contact is broken.

"I'll cut it next time," Harry says.

"No, you won't. I hate people touching my hair," Snape says. He's still naked but something in him has snapped in place, and he's again like he always is, composed and gloomy.

But Harry knows that he can be different.

"Accio clothes," Snape says.

We both know what you want, Harry thinks as he watches Snape get dressed, every new item of clothes, every button making his old self and not Harry's pet, Harry's slave as he's been just minutes ago. We both know I can give it to you.

And then Snape adds without looking at Harry:

"You're staying here tonight, aren't you?"

THE END

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