Title: Flip
Rating: R
Word Count: ~550
Pairings: Snape/Harry
Warnings: rough sex, somewhat dub-con
Summary: The fifth time was powerful. They both knew something had changed since the first clumsy fuck to this—this where their fingers twined and the bedsprings squeaked and their bodies sweat through the sheets, soiled the linens.
Notes: Happy holidays, themostepotente! You wanted Snape/Harry "anything goes".
Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.


Flip

Their first time was unkind—Snape was cruel and cold; Harry came too quickly. They were both clumsy, fumbling with robes and ties and vests and clasps, and their fingers bruised while their mouths bit to draw blood. It was rough and hard, and when they were through, Snape's sheets were soaked with sweat. Harry left without a word.

~*~

Their second time was bittersweet, soured whiskey on Harry's breath and a look in Snape's eye that could bring down buildings. They met somewhere in the middle, between guilt and regret, and fucked like two animals released from captivity. Harry grabbed the headboard with both hands, his lithe, muscled body shifting and straining as Snape bucked into him without a sound.

Noiselessly was how Snape fucked, like a snake hiding in the grass awaiting its prey. No grunts, no moans, no begging, no compliments—this was what he deserved, to come and still be left unsatisfied.

~*~

Their third time was complicated. Snape said no; Harry did not listen. Instead of shoving Harry to the bedsheets, Snape was thrown to the floor. Harry was on him instantly, a beast who smelled his mate in heat, rutting against Snape with feral indecency. Snape had never let another man take him; it was different when Snape was in control—he could still pretend it was just about release. On the receiving end, shoved to the filthy floor and thrust into with jerking, clumsy inexperience, Snape made noises that embarrassed him.

"No," Snape said, almost desperately, his bony fingers suddenly weak as they clawed against the floorboards for purchase. "Let me up—don't let me—not like this, Potter, not like this."

"Stay," Harry commanded, his hands both fixed around Snape's throat. For once, Snape listened.

There was nothing else to do but release. When it was over, Harry did the unthinkable—he apologized.

~*~

The fourth time was better. They began to learn each other. Snape learned that Harry liked it rough. As much as Harry claimed to love control, he loved to lose it just as much. And Harry learned that for all Snape's whining, there was nothing like hearing Snape scream and howl in ecstasy when Harry entered him.

Snape liked it best when Harry pulled all the way out, teased the head of his dick in, made Snape wait and yearn and desire it before thrusting in and mounting him like a dog.

Harry liked it best when he could hold Snape down, bruise his hips or wrists—or better, his throat—and fuck as slow or fast as he felt, setting his own speed, taking exactly what he wanted. Harry liked it when Snape was a doll, worthless outside of bodily, physical pleasure.

After they finished, Harry hesitated. When his lips met Snape's, neither of them realized it was their first kiss. The tenderness seethed between them.

~*~

The fifth time was powerful. They both knew something had changed since the first clumsy fuck to this—this where their fingers twined and the bedsprings squeaked and their bodies sweat through the sheets, soiled the linens.

The kissed for endless hours, Harry's body penetrated and then penetrating, Snape's body pliant and undulating and then taut and strong.

They became two sides of a single coin; cautiously, flipped.