DISCLAIMER: Not mine, JKR's. Please don't sue.

SUMMARY: Snape gives in to his baser urges when a troubled young man is referred to him for help.

NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest, scenario #92: Snape makes a fool of someone one too many times, for the second wave. I've always liked Neville, and his appearance in this fic is actually inspired by the movie version of him (most fanfic seems to make him blonde). I thought he was adorable in the movie, and I especially liked the slight Welshy lilt he's got. Also, most of the Snape/Neville pairings I've seen portray the relationship as bringing out the softer side of Snape...not so for me! Ha! Oh, also, I'm not exactly sure who the head of Ravenclaw is, so for the purposes of this fic I've assigned it to Sinistra. Anyone who knows any different, please let me know!

DEDICATED: To Khirsah, for suggesting the story and for the best damn portrayal of Neville I've ever had the pleasure to read.

ARCHIVING: The Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest Archive and anyone else who asks.

THANKS TO: Sarah, whose name I spelled wrong in my last fic. She is the Queen of all beta-readers! Any mistakes herein are mine.


By Rhys


driven by restrained desire
i want what i need
shaking as her sex takes hold
i've lost all control
drowning in a sea of rage
i taste the embrace
helpless as it steals my soul
i've lost all control
it never lets me down
one foot in the ground
you satisfy my soul
i've lost all control
-"Temptation", The Tea Party


Neville Longbottom was growing into a fine figure of a man, Snape noted. Not in the way that is normally meant; the masculine, square-jawed, successful-at-life sort of way. Nor in the handsome, eye-catching, long legs/slender hips/broad shoulders sort of way. But definitely in the sweet -innocence -presented -on -an- imminently-corruptible -body-that-makes- one's -professor- think- terribly- unprofessional -thoughts sort of way.

Of course, Longbottom had no idea. Snape was not exactly sure what he thought, but he seemed to accept the unusually high amount of sarcasm and vitriol from his Potions professor with the same gentle acquiescence that he must have developed somewhere in the summer of his sixth year. Oh, he was still intimidated by Severus. That much was clear. But instead of shaking and stammering when faced with the dour professor's scowling visage, he simply cast his eyes down quietly, carefully folded his hands, and replied in that slow lilt, "Yes, Professor."

It infuriated Snape to no end. Made him feel...impotent somehow, that he couldn't strike fear into the heart of even Longbottom. Disgusting, really. The rest of the classes suffered for his feelings of mid-life inadequacy, and, as a result, he had a more ferocious reputation than ever. None of which seemed to mean a damn thing to dark blue eyes staring at soft, pale hands under the biting tongue of Severus Snape.

It didn't help that the boy had turned out somewhat attractive. Not really good-looking, or Snape supposed he wouldn't be sparing the boy a second glance. Overly pretty men bothered him. But he was attractive in a distinctly old-fashioned sort of way, like he had stepped out of a Pre-Raphealite painting. Alabaster skin, smooth and boyish, still; large, drowning-pool eyes with long, expressive, dark lashes; delicate, eloquent hands; that moonish face set with full lips; dark, brown hair that gleamed with auburn highlights in the light of the torches, chine length on the sides of his face and in the back; a neat fringe trying in vain to counter the soft curves of his face. Longbottom looked like some ancient squire to a knight: pure, sweet, and virtuous.

"Tell me, Longbottom," Snape asked with a long- suffering sigh, "were you born this way, or have you had to work very hard to attain such an astounding level of stupidity?"

"I don't know, sir." He still had those eyes in his lap.

"I'd love to hear what you imagined you were doing when you sprinkled the birch shavings in before the powdered tiger beetle shells. Did you actually intend to obtain that sickly brown color, or was it a happy accident?"

"No, Professor."

"I'm starting to believe you were put on this earth specifically for me, just to make my life a vale of misery. I spend each day counting the moments until I can once again face you in this classroom, and discover what new lows a wizard can sink to in his pursuit of the knowledge of potions. Truly, I have never met a student who is so adept at coming up with a new way to fail spectacularly, each and every session." As Snape continued to wax poetic on the many failings of Longbottom, the Slytherins snickered and whispered amongst themselves. But through it all the boy merely kept his eyes down, nodding, or shaking his head every now and then. It was maddening.

"I wash my hands of it," Snape finally declared, giving up in disgust, and continuing his stalk around the room to peer into other cauldrons. But, by the time the class was over, (the last of the day), he was still brooding about the boy. He took this dark mood with him as he swept along to the staff meeting.

Shortly after Cho Chang's suicide a few years ago, Dumbledore had decided to institute a weekly meeting between all the Heads of houses, in order to share information on students who were possibly at risk. After Cedric Diggory's death, many teachers had been focused on Hufflepuff House, but it was a Ravenclaw that ended up as a casualty of that incident. With reports from other Heads to compare to, it was easier to catch problems before they got out of hand.

As Snape settled into a tall-backed chair to wait, he had to admit that the meetings had been proving useful. There were often issues that some Slytherins were loathe to bring up with their frosty professor, especially the girls. After a few meetings, all the professors had agreed to take referrals from the others to speak with students that weren't of their houses. Snape had noticed that Parkinson had been acting rather oddly last year, but the sixth year wouldn't speak with him about it. He had asked the other Heads, and Sprout had volunteered her services. Turned out the silly girl was pregnant, and opened up in about three minutes to the kindly Herbology professor.

Surprisingly, Snape got his fair share of referrals as well. He supposed it had something to do with being the only male Head of house. So he had found himself counseling Gryffindors on the merits of condoms and not having sex in public places, Hufflepuffs on why it certainly wasn't unmanly to enjoy a nice floral arrangement, and Ravenclaws about how, while a book was often a very satisfying experience, it didn't quite stack up to a nice girl (or boy). Of course, depending on the boy, sometimes he advised just the opposite.

It mostly seemed to be sexual problems the other Heads sent to him. Then again, considering the amount of time the average adolescent boy thought about sex, he wasn't really all that surprised. Though he found himself looking forward to the occasional first year boy that would shuffle into his office, eyes downcast and terrified, and ask in a small voice, "Why do there have to be girls at this school?"

Snape looked up from his amused reverie as McGonagall entered with a snap of her dark robes. She nodded at him as she sat down primly. "Severus."


"You're early," she continued, helping herself to the tea which was set up especially for them at one end of the staff lounge; in the middle of a small, round table.

"My last class was shockingly adequate in their clean-up today. I didn't have to stay late instructing some Gryffindor seventh year in the merits of using a rag to clean their worktable as opposed to their sleeves."

McGonagall snorted, carefully dropping two lumps of sugar into her tea and stirring the result. "I suppose you've personally taught all the Slytherins how to wipe their arses in their first year."

Snape arched one eyebrow before taking a sip of his own tea. McGonagall was prickly, stern, and surprisingly crude when in the company of other adults, at least in reference to her rival house. Of course, she was the model of decorum in the classroom. Snape rather liked her, though he would have never told the woman.

"Better than referring them to you to do it," he replied mildly, startling a small laugh out of her.

"Very true," she agreed, looking beyond him as Sprout and Sinistra wandered in together, talking animatedly. Snape glanced over his shoulder, observing the short, plump Herbology professor fluttering her hands excitedly as she chattered on in low tones to the dark Head of Ravenclaw. Sinistra was nodding serenely, dark brown eyes fixed on the air in front of the pair as though visualizing something. The two seated themselves, and Sprout waved cheerfully.

"Well, it looks like we're all here, ruddy good! We can start early for once." Sprout completed this little greeting as though she weren't the one habitually late to these things, and pulled the entire tea service towards her side. "Did you want some, Zahra?"

Sinistra nodded silently, folding her chocolate hands on the tabletop, her deep blue robes spilling out around her as she pulled her chair forward. //Same color as the sky at twilight. Same as Longbottom's eyes, too,// Snape mused in irritation. //Must everything remind me of that boy?//

Tea dispensed and pleasantries gotten out of the way, the four settled down to discuss their students in earnest. Everything was going quite well; Snape had agreed to talk to two third year Hufflepuffs who had been caught habitually peering into the girl's showers, as well as a seventh year Ravenclaw (girl, for once!) who was having painful menstrual cramps that Pomfrey's concoctions didn't seem to be helping. Sprout had taken on the problem of a Slytherin girl who had been falling over unaccountably in the middle of classes, as well as a first year Gryffindor who had been observed crying for his mother every single night since he had arrived, even though the year was already a month in. Sprout was often recommended when a motherly touch was called for.

Sinistra had been recruited into explaining the facts of life to a gaggle of girls from various houses. Since there was no formal sex education in place at Hogwarts, it was often left up to the Heads of houses to educate the younger students before the older ones got to them and sowed all sorts of troublesome and often humorously inaccurate ideas. Sinistra was quite an old hand at this; she had a knack for explaining sex in such a dry manner that it sounded completely uninteresting, even to thirteen-year-olds. Obviously, this training did not stick, if the number of anti-pregnancy tonics Snape had to brew was any indication, but it worked well enough for the time being.

McGonagall, the lucky woman, was not needed for anything this week. She was often referred the "bad girls;" young women who, for whatever reasons, took to acting out violently. She'd done wonders with Millicent Bulstrode, Snape had to gratefully admit. He'd been completely mystified by her rapport with such troubled girls until Dumbledore had let it slip that she had been quite the hellion in her youth.

"There's just one last student I'd like to talk about," McGonagall addressed the group, her thin lips forming a small frown. "I'm not really sure to whom I should be referring this to ...Let me ask, first: have any of you noticed anything strange about Neville Longbottom?"

//Longbottom, again?// thought Snape in disbelief. He settled back, folding his hands in front of him and hiding his dismay quite admirably.

But Sprout was nodding, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, he has been rather quieter than usual. As you know, he assists me in some of my classes. I'm also providing additional tutoring to him and a few other students for extra Herbology. He's always been excellent with the other students, especially the younger ones; he's such a kind-hearted boy! But this year he's been hesitant with them, almost as though he's afraid of them somehow!"

McGonagall nodded gravely, as though none of this surprised her. "I've been seeing the same thing, Miriam. Though he's never really been a chatty boy, he seems even more withdrawn than usual. Even Ron Weasley commented on it, and you know how oblivious that boy is."

Sinistra didn't have Longbottom in any of her classes, so that left Snape. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he agreed. "Yes, he has been rather quiet."

"I've tried to talk to him," McGonagall continued, eyeing Snape oddly. "But he always says nothing's wrong. I thought maybe if you talked to him, Miriam..."

"Sorry, Minerva, but I've had no luck either," Sprout answered, shrugging her rounded shoulders. "The boy tells me the same thing. Or he says that I wouldn't understand." She rolled her eyes. "Teenagers."

"Ah," replied McGonagall delicately, and she reluctantly turned to Snape. "I suppose he may be having problems of a...masculine nature. Do you think you could see him, Severus?"

"I'm not sure I'm appropriate, Minerva. The boy and I hardly have any sort of...rapport."

"He's terrified of you," she agreed bluntly, rubbing the bridge of her nose tiredly. //Not anymore, the blasted boy,// thought Snape pettily, listening as she continued. "I suppose I could send him to see Albus..."

//Dumbledore?// He didn't want the headmaster to view Longbottom as a problem dumped on him due to Snape's failings. Better to try, and then approach the older man. "I suppose I could attempt to talk to him, however," he interrupted smoothly. "No need to go to the headmaster just yet. I have a free office hour tomorrow evening, after dinner. Send him to see me."

"Thank you, Severus." McGonagall smiled at him with genuine warmth, and he allowed a small smirk to answer her.

"Well, does that conclude our business?" he asked the group, moving to stand. "I have papers to mark."

The three witches nodded, rising, themselves. Snape trailed behind them as they left the staff lounge, deep in thought. //I have to see the foolish boy alone tomorrow night? This is going to be an absolute fucking disaster.//


Snape found it quite impossible to eat dinner the next evening. Oh, it started out decently enough, nibbling delicately on a roasted potato and discussing the merits of research wizards versus those who chose to teach, with Vector. But when he swept his eyes over the students with his habitual glare, he found one cheeky boy staring at him blatantly. Longbottom, of course. He glanced away as soon as he noticed Snape scowling at him, but still...

After that, every time Snape looked up, he caught the boy looking at him. It was quite unnerving, especially after Snape had broken out some of his best menacing looks. They worked fine initially, but then those night-sky eyes would sneak back to him, and he could feel the boy's gaze crawling over his skin. His appetite vanished with nary an excuse or goodbye kiss, and Snape found himself leaving the table rather earlier than he had planned.

He had thought that perhaps the familiar surroundings of the dungeons would set his mind at ease, but the threat of Longbottom's impending visit leeched away whatever comfort he could obtain, quite effectively. He found himself pacing in the confined space of his office, his robes rustling impatiently against the floor. He raked his hand through his hair a few times, wondering idly if he looked all right. //My god, man, you act as though it matters. This is Longbottom we're talking about, never mind that he's a student, it's Longbottom!//

The hesitant knock on his door came far quicker than he would have liked and he forced himself to stop his restless pacing. Moving behind the desk and seating himself carefully, he cleared his throat. "Enter."

The boy poked his head in the door hesitantly, quickly slipping in when he met Snape's irritated frown. Snape couldn't rid himself of his scowl, however, as the boy sat down in the lone chair placed in front of the desk. "Professor McGonagall said I should come speak to you, sir? If it's about the potion yesterday-"

"It isn't about that, Boy," Snape cut him off quickly. While Longbottom's voice had changed from its squeaky soprano, the gentle tenor was hardly any better. Snape shifted a bit, and continued quickly, in order to hide his discomfort. "There are several teachers at this school concerned about you, probably more than is warranted. You, however, ungrateful little cur that you are, have chosen to snub these women and refuse to allow them to help you. What have you got to say for yourself?"

As the boy blinked owlishly at him, Snape cursed himself. He had intended to start out gently, or at least not quite so harshly, but this boy just seemed to drag the very worst out of him. "Sir? I'm not sure what you're talking about..."

"It has been noted," Snape continued frostily, "That you have been quieter than usual in classes. And you have informed Professor Sprout, in no uncertain terms, that she would not 'understand.' Am I incorrect in this?"

Longbottom continued to look confused for a moment, but then sudden understanding came over. Snape could actually watch the realization dawn in his eyes, and a slow crimson flush in his pale cheeks. "Uh...n-no, sir. No, you're correct."

Snape licked his lips suddenly. //The boy's stuttering again...interesting.// "Would you care to inform me why you have chosen to remain quiet on this issue? Or is it that you simply enjoy confounding your elders?"

The boy cast his eyes down, getting even redder, if that was all possible. "I-I'd rather not say, s-sir."

"Well, that's just fine then," Snape purred, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers together. "I suppose I'll have to inform the headmaster that you were uncooperative..."

Longbottom snapped his head up, sudden panic lighting his dark eyes. "No! I mean...no, sir, I'd rather talk to you about it, if you don't mind..." His face was a welter of confusion, and he bit nervously into his lower lip. Snape smiled a predatory, rather nasty smile, and pretended to consider.

"Well, Longbottom, I'm not really sure you should...this is clearly a grave matter, and perhaps the headmaster would be the best person to handle it."

"Please, sir!" Longbottom fixed him with those soulful eyes, and Snape found himself swallowing. Oh, it was so delicious to hear him beg! "I'd really rather the headmaster not hear this." Was that a tear balancing on those thick lashes? "I don't want him t-to think less of me."

"Whereas my opinion of you can hardly sink any lower," Snape finished for him, intrigued, despite himself. "Very well, continue."

"I-I...I told my grandmother..." He took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself and gather his courage. "I told her...I told her I was..." he trailed off into an incoherent mumble.

"Told her that you were what? Speak up, boy!" Snape snapped in irritation.

"ItoldherIwasgay," Longbottom blurted out in one quick breath, and then sat there, his face burning, hands twisting into pretzels in his lap.

Snape stared at the boy in absolute astonishment. This was it? This was his big secret? Snape supposed that the boy's only real family was his grandmother, a rather conservative woman by all accounts. But really, in this day and age...He cleared his throat rather incredulously. "That's it, Longbottom?"

Longbottom nodded, his face a rictus of shame and despair. "And what was her reaction?" the professor asked curiously.

"She...she told me I was an abomination! That if my parents knew, they would have to be put in St. Mungo's all over again!" Suddenly the words poured forth in a torrent of agony, and he looked up, staring at the professor desperately. "She said I would hurt children and that I shouldn't be allowed to help Professor Sprout! But I would never hurt anyone!" His tears were flowing freely now, and he sniffed loudly.

Snape watched the whole thing with some amazement. A part of him wanted to hand the boy a tissue, pat him on the shoulder, and tell him everything would be all right. He remembered his own coming out to his mother with a small wince. But something else inside him was laughing maniacally and rubbing its hands together at the sight of the miserable boy.

After all, Longbottom had a face that was simple made for pain. He was transformed from an ordinary, moonish looking boy into a thing of beauty, with tears sparkling on his glowing cheeks and dark eyes so eloquent in their melancholy. It was this part of Snape that pulled him to his feet, moved him around the desk, and had him lean against it rakishly, his hip canted as he stared down at the sobbing boy.

"And what did you think, Longbottom?" Snape asked silkily.

"Sir?" The boy looked up at him in confusion.

"Did you think the confession of your interest in the lads would actually help anything?"

"Sir, I always t-tell my grandmother the t-truth..."

"Or did you perhaps think that you would get a better reaction from boys than from the girls? That, somehow, they would understand your complete and utter uselessness better than the ladies, hm?"


"Has it helped, Longbottom? Have you drawn in any little buzzing flies with the honey of that stupid face, your obvious lack of experience, or your fumblings and stutterings?" Oh, he was enjoying this, even as a small voice in the back of his head screamed at him, //Stop it right now! He could go to Albus or Minerva with this, and then you'll be out of a job!//

"I-I haven't-"

"I'll bet you're still a virgin, aren't you, Longbottom? With either gender. I bet none of them give you the time of day. I bet you've never even been kissed, not even by a little fourth year boy or girl, never touched, never groped in the Astronomy Tower. Are you? Are you a virgin?"

The boy simply stared up at him in open-mouthed horror, those full working soundlessly, and tinted so delectably with rose. Snape continued mercilessly, a knowing leer twisting his face. "Do you even touch yourself? When all the other boys are asleep, do you slip your hands under your pajamas? Do you think about other boys? About Potter, or Weasley, or your good friend Finnegan? Or do you maybe dream of Malfoy, someone who hates you, because you know you're not worth real love? Hmm? Well? Do you?"

Longbottom exhaled the shocked gasp loudly as he drew to his feet, and Snape knew he'd gone a step too far. Maybe two or three steps too far from the look of fury on the boy's face. Snape noted idly that the boy was almost as tall as himself, and was now able to look into his eyes effortlessly, without having to tip his head back at all. He watched hazily the boy draw back his hand, then felt the sharp sting as Longbottom brought it forward, slapping his teacher soundly. "YES! YES, I DO, YOU SICK BASTARD, AND I THINK ABOUT YOU, ALRIGHT? I THINK ABOUT YOU!"

Snape stared unblinking at the boy, shocked for the second time that night. Longbottom stared back, panting with effort and emotion, as Snape slowly raised long fingers to the burn he could feel on the side of his face. "You slapped me," he murmured, still watching the boy warily with hooded black eyes.

"You...you were being very rude," Longbottom, as though it were the worst possible insult he could think of. "I-I'd rather have done something else." He looked at the floor again, his nostrils flaring as he clenched his fists.

"What else?" Snape asked in a distant sort of voice. He really must not have been thinking, because he could see from the way the boy looked back up at him, with determination shining forth from those twilight eyes, that he was about to get into a whole barrelful of trouble.

"This," the boy breathed, stepping forward and clasping Snape's face in his delicate hands, looking both terrified and exalted. Then Snape saw nothing as Longbottom closed the distance and pressed his lips sloppily against his professor's. //Obviously I was right,// Snape thought distractedly, //The boy has never been kissed.// He attempted to rectify the situation by wrapping long arms around Longbottom's waist, pressing that deliciously chaste body against his and snaking his tongue out to tease past uncharted lips.

Longbottom gasped into his mouth at the unexpected response and positively melted against him as Snape plunged them both into a much deeper kiss, twirling his tongue in the sweet heat of the boy's mouth, which was moving so eagerly under his own. There was something disgustingly attractive about leading an innocent down the path of wicked knowledge. A thrill of power ran through Snape as he kneaded the boy's hips under his hands expertly, felt him respond with a long shudder.

Finally, Snape pulled back, watching in amusement as Longbottom leaned forward, trying to keep contact with his lips. When this proved ineffective, he fluttered his eyes open and stared at his professor with dismay. The longing on that young, round face shocked Snape and he pushed the boy away gently, stepping back. "We can't do this."

"Why not?" Longbottom's voice was pleading, not quite a whine, but almost. "You-you want to, I can feel it."

"It doesn't matter what I want," Snape snapped, glaring at the boy. "You're my student...it would be completely unethical of me to take advantage of that relationship."

"What relationship? All you ever do is treat me like a piece of crap under your shoe!" Longbottom insisted bitterly.

"Nevertheless-" the man began, but the boy cut him off.

"If you don't, I'll...I'll tell Dumbledore!" Longbottom blinked mournfully at his professor, unsure of his own. Snape stared back in consternation. If the boy had shown this much backbone in the classroom...//If he had shown this much backbone, you wouldn't be in this situation as it is, and Longbottom probably would be happily tutored in the more physical side of romance by several willing.//

"That's not very Gryffindor of you, is it?" Snape questioned dryly, arching one brow.

"I like you better when you don't talk," Longbottom replied a bit shyly, moving forward to press his inviting body against Snape once more, and resting his hands on the taller man's shoulders. But the professor couldn't let it go, and stepped back out of the boy's reach.

"If you want a partner that remains silent, why on earth have you been fantasizing about me?" There was genuine curiosity there, in Snape's tone. Longbottom sighed, and let his hands drop, refusing to meet his teacher's eyes.

"Because you're the only one who notices," he said in a small voice.

"Excuse me?"

"You're the only one who notices...well, anything." The boy brought his eyes up now, his face a tentative mask of melancholy. "No one else does. Not my Housemates, not my other professors. Whenever I make a mistake, they just shake their heads and look to someone else. You...you don't."

Snape blinked at him in astonishment. "Longbottom, I don't think I've had one kind word for you during your entire career at this school."

"I know, sir." Longbottom took a step forward again. "I don't care. You see everything. Every little detail. You care."

"What about Sprout?" Snape asked automatically. Longbottom sighed quietly.

"It's just pity, with her, I think. Not the same thing."

Snape's mind whirled. //This boy thinks about me because the only attention he gets is in the form of his snarky Potions professor berating him? My god, how utterly pathetic...// He eyed the boy again, narrowing his eyes. He had to admit; there was something extremely appealing about the boy's youthful crush...Longbottom had the kind of open face that would look so lovely broken in agony, or ecstasy...or both. The child's self-destructive tendencies happened to coincide rather perfectly with Snape's need to break someone.

"Sir? Please say something," Longbottom begged eloquently with his eyes and mouth.

"What is it you want from me, exactly?" Snape tried to buy a little time while he decided what to do with the impertinent child. Longbottom gasped, and turned a charming shade of bright red.

"Sir! I-I don't know the ...erm, details," he stammered, blinking rapidly. Snape watched him with a mixture of amusement and arousal.

"Yes, I had gathered that much," Snape answered with a smirk. "You can be more ...general... Boy."

Longbottom stared at his shoes in utter humiliation. "Well," he began hoarsely, "I was h-hoping you would l-let me ...um...suck your..." He stuttered to a halt, unable to continue. Snape's grin widened, and he moved out from behind the desk, stalking around the boy until he was directly behind him. Longbottom quivered as the professor leaned in and purred into his ear.

"Suck my what, Longbottom?"

"Y-Your cock, sir!" the boy blurted out, standing straight and stiff and trying to hold perfectly still.

"Mmm...yes, and is that all?"

"No, sir!"

"What else, then, Boy?" Snape licked his lips, letting his breath ghost out warm against the back of his student's neck.

"I-I...want you to m-make love to me, sir!"

Snape blinked at this last, then his laughter flowed out, dark and rich and wicked, like some impossibly fattening bit of chocolate. "Make love to you, Longbottom? Make love to you?"

He could tell from the quaver in his voice that the boy was on the verge of tears. But a glance over Longbottom's shoulder told Snape that his pupil was also as hard as a rock, under his prim student's robes. "M-maybe you could just f-fuck me instead, sir?" he suggested. Snape was impressed, and again arousal raised its ugly head at the word 'fuck' from the pristine Gryffindor.

As he felt himself hardening under his robes, Snape realized that the situation was getting a bit out of hand. Alright, a lot out of hand. He could be sacked for even going this far, though he had barely touched the boy. Still, he doubted that even a Gryffindor would go to the headmaster with this story. "I think not," he hissed, stepping back away from the boy.

Longbottom turned, regarding him with eyes shining with moisture and that strange, dark determination. "You need me, sir," he said solemnly.

Snape scowled. "And how exactly do you figure that?"

"Because it's been so long for you," the boy answered breathily, and now that determination blurred into a bright excitement.

"Excuse me?!" Snape growled, stepping forward despite himself and snatching a handful of Longbottom's robes. //How-? Was the boy monitoring his sex life?//

"Since you've been allowed to...to hurt anybody." Again, that sweet bashful glance downwards, the coy flushing of his cheeks. Snape breathed out a sigh of relief, before scowling again.

"Why would you think I would want to hurt anyone?" he said in a low, dangerous voice, releasing the boy abruptly. Longbottom didn't answer, but instead reached out and lightly slid his fingers up under Snape's robe sleeve, brushing them along his shirt, directly over the tattoo on his forearm. Snape drew back violently.

"What are-" He shook his head rapidly. "How did you know?"

Longbottom looked up at him with a patient, innocent smile. "My father is-was an Auror, Professor. Of course I know."

"There's more to you than I had previously thought, Longbottom," Snape admitted grudgingly, mind racing with the implications, the possibilities. The boy glanced down at his shoes again shyly.

"Thank you, sir," he murmured, stepping in closer, his body nearly rubbing against his professor's. "Call me Neville. So will you...?"

"Will I fuck you? Or will I hurt you?"

"Both, sir," Neville responded, running a soft pink tongue over his lips in anticipation.

Snape considered this quite seriously. Or tried to...it was quite difficult to think with the boy standing so close, those lush lips parted in anticipation, dark eyes half lidded and entirely wanton yet at the same time somehow shy. //Really, I have no choice. He's threatening to expose this little bit we've done and I can't risk losing my job now, so it wouldn't hurt, I'm sure, just to do as he wants...//

Rationalization, every bit. But it was sweet, welcome rationalization. "And what will you do for me, Neville?" he asked in a low, rough voice. Neville darted his head forward, placed his lips at his professor's ear, and whispered softly.

"I'll let you do anything you want to me."

And how could anyone resist after that? With a low cry, Snape pulled back, gripping the edge of the desk tightly. "Take off your clothes," he instructed harshly.

"Yes, sir." Neville bit his lip lightly, as though he thought he might have bitten off more than he could chew. But, steeling himself, the boy unfastened the clasps on his robe with fumbling fingers, and let it drop to the floor in a soft hiss of cloth. He neatly undid his tie and it went the way of the robe, his fingers following down to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. One by one they slipped free, exposing more of a long line of almost glowing skin.

Snape watched in fascination as the boy slid out of the white cotton, exposing his upper torso. "Stop," he breathed, and Neville stared fixedly at the floor as he was examined, his hands clasped in front of him nervously. "Hands to your sides," Snape added sharply, and Neville let them fall with a small squeak.

The boy was no athlete, and he did not possess the lean or muscled build of a Quidditch player. No longer fat, but still possessing some of the softness of his earlier years, Neville gave the impression of soft curves, graceful and somehow surreal. But what he lacked in physique he more than made up for in the amazing quality of his skin.

Unblemished, a creamy white expanse that practically begged to be marked, his skin shone softly in the lamplight. He had only the faintest dusting of chest hair, but a soft line began below his navel, darker than his head hair, almost black, leading tantalizingly into his pants. Rose nipples hardened in the chill air of the dungeons, and as Snape paced around his newest acquisition, he saw that the boy's back was equally flawless. Curious, he reached out a hand to stroke along Neville's spine, and it lived up to every promise; it was like pure silk.

Neville let out an involuntary gasp at the professor's touch, and Snape slid his hand down to the boy's lower back, settling his palm there as he leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "What is it, boy?"

"Y-you're so hot, sir! I-I thought-"

"You thought what?"

"I-I thought you'd be cold. Like a snake."

"Mmm," Snape purred, darting his tongue out to trace the shell of Neville's ear. "Does that disappoint you?"

"Not at all, sir. It's very..." he trailed off into an embarrassed mumble. Snape turned his gentle licking into a hard nip, which startled another squeak out of the Gryffindor.

"Very what?"

"Very sexy, sir," Neville groaned, though whether in lust or mortification was unclear.

"It would be best," Snape began, running his hands along Neville's sides and settling them heavily at his hips, "If you were to answer me right away, when I ask you a question. Understand?" The boy nodded nervously, and the older man rewarded him with a long stroke of his tongue up the back of the boy's neck that made him shudder helplessly.

"The trousers, now, I think," Snape commented dryly, moving back and around to the desk to watch once more. Nodding again, Neville fumbled at the clasp, taking several tries before actually managing the thing and getting his trousers undone. He pushed them and his underpants down in a rumpled heap, stepping out of them awkwardly. At this point, he had a fine blush working from his face slowly down the rest of his body, but Snape noticed it didn't deter his prominent erection one bit.

The Slytherin studied the gentle curve of the boy's thighs, so at odds with the furious angle of his cock which was twitching sporadically as it arched upward, as though yearning to touch the small swell of his stomach. Again, he circled the boy, examining him from every angle. //I was right...he has an absolutely luscious arse,// Snape thought happily before returning to the desk again.

Finally returning his gaze to Neville's face, Snape noticed that, along with the burning embarrassment at his exposed state, the boy seemed to want to say something. His mouth worked soundlessly, and his hands clenched uncomfortably.

"Well?" he asked impatiently. "What is it? Spit it out, Boy!"

"Well...u-um, aren't you going to get undressed, sir?" Neville asked haltingly.

"What on earth would I do that for?" Snape asked, feigning surprise and enjoying the sudden confusion blossoming on the boy's face.

"Well, aren't you going to...h-have sex w-with me?"

"I never said that."

"What?" In his shock and outrage the boy lost his stutter, Snape noted clinically.

"You said I could do whatever I liked. Perhaps what I would like to do is have you strip down and then walk back up to the library...it should still have quite a few students there. " Neville gaped; rather fishlike, Snape thought. "And Madam Pince," he added, noting with some surprise the sudden jump of Neville's cock.

"You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?" Snape looked back at Neville blandly.

"I...I...oh please don't, sir!" //Mm, music to my ears...//

"Then I would kindly suggest you remember who's in charge here," Snape hissed, suddenly drawing in close to the boy, his face dark and menacing.

"Yessir!" Neville's spine straightened and he gasped again, blinking rapidly.

"Bend over the desk!" the professor barked, and Neville rushed to comply, bending neatly at the waist and presenting that delectable arse. Snape couldn't restrain a soft moan at the sight of all that inviting white flesh and Neville wriggled a bit, as though trying to get comfortable.

"HOLD STILL!" Snape roared. He wanted to draw this out, and with the boy sashaying like that...it was entirely too tempting just to whip out his cock then and there and plunge right in. He spun away, staring at the wall furiously...he wanted this to last, damn it all!

Spotting something leaning up against the doorframe, his lips curved up in a wicked smirk. A long, thin line of hazel wood...a pointer stick that Binns used (at least when he was alive) to gesture to faraway places on the larger maps that he had in his classroom. It had been left in this office ages ago and Snape had been meaning to remove it for some time, but it wasn't in the way of anything, and so he had forgotten about it time and time again.

He blessed his lapse in memory, now, as he snatched it up and turned back to Neville. It was perfect for his purposes, just the right length and thickness, like a willow switch but a bit more inflexible. The boy picked that moment to look over his shoulder curiously, and his dark eyes got huge and round as they stared at the makeshift switch.

"Eyes front!" Snape commanded. The boy gasped and rapidly spun his head back around, soft walnut curls tickling the line of his neck, but not before his professor saw him lick his lips in anticipation.

The Slytherin slashed experimentally with the pointer, pleased at the dangerous noise it made cutting through the air. He then turned to the perfect canvas of Neville's skin, which was just waiting for the first stroke, muscles tensed delightfully. He waited for a long moment, watching Neville's arse shift this way and that...

Without any warning, he lashed out with the switch. Not too hard, just a preliminary test stroke. Still, the boy jumped nicely, letting out a startled little shriek. Snape watched the line of fire bloom where he had hit the boy, and his cock twitched excitedly. A few more careful, light strokes, and the boy settled into them with a groan. After the first three or four, he began arching his spine, pushing back to meet them with a hungry little yowl.

Another five strokes, delivered a little harder. The next five were harder still, but nowhere near his full strength. He varied where he placed them; some directly across the boy's firm buttocks, some along the line of his thighs. But the criss-cross of red welts forming so beautifully was setting his blood to pounding in his ears, and he felt constrained, too warm somehow...

He paused for a moment to impatiently undo his robes, slinging them over the chair, but he was still too hot. He set down the switch and quickly undid the multitudinous buttons of his long waistcoat, taking it off as well, before finally removing the dress shirt, leaving him only in his neat black trousers and his vest. Satisfied, he took up the pointer again, noticing with amusement and arousal that this time Neville was peeking by hanging his head down and looking through the small space between his upper arm and body.

His hair hung around his face in soft waves, a little bit of sweat was beading at the back of his neck and his face, and the bit Snape could see was flushed a lovely crimson. Grinning wickedly, the professor raised the switch and brought it down much harder along the curve where the boy's arse met his thighs. He let out a full-throated yelp and jerked his head up, looking forward once more.

"I...said...eyes...FRONT...Neville." He punctuated each word with a firm lash, setting the boy's arse to dancing, and causing series of lusty gasps to escape. He panted lightly, and then began again in earnest.

He kept the stokes measured, and light, in the beginning, but the more the boy wriggled and writhed, the harder he was with the switch, cutting it cruelly through the air and bringing it down with a low snap noise. With each successive stroke, his excitement and arousal grew, and his cock jumped within his trousers, angrily demanding to be freed. He ignored it, however, more focused on the task before him.

Soon each stroke bled into the one before it, creating a rich tapestry of welts and groans and writhing agony/ecstasy and panting and strain and hissing, sleety sound of the switch through the air and someone muttering "againagainagain" and the smell of sweat, musky and perfect in the cool air. Snape was extending himself fully now, putting almost all his strength behind each lash, his muscles burning from the effort and exertion. And still the boy arched into the kiss of the switch.

Finally, he drew blood. It was inevitable. It took three or four more strokes for the professor to realize that he'd done it, and he stopped immediately, staring at the thin trickle of darker red on the dense pattern of welts that obscured the fresh cream of Neville's skin. He could even smell it; a yearning, sharp scent that drove him mad, if he wasn't already.

Neville panted, still leaning over the desk, lost in some fine, high place, exalted in his pain. Each exhale let a small whimper escape the boy's lips, and Snape could stand it no longer...he surged forward and grasped a great handful of his hair, damp at the roots, and pulled his head up. Unheeded tears ran down the boy's face and his eyes were wide and distant, the pupils absolutely enormous, black almost swallowing the blue.

//I was right,// Snape thought in the part of his mind that was still capable of coherent thought. //He's made for this, for pain.// Neville had been transformed from a somewhat soft, moonish looking boy into a creature of myth and dream time, beautiful beyond belief. The rest of Snape, however, didn't care a whit and dropped him to his knees on the cold stone, releasing the boy to collapse bonelessly across the desk.

He ran his tongue in an exploratory manner over the broken skin of Neville's thigh, the blood a sweet nectar. He licked it as a cat might; long strokes of his tongue that elicited longer moans from the boy. Sitting back on his haunches, he licked his lips, as though to catch any stray drops.

Carefully, he inserted his hand between the boy's legs, which were hot and moist from his previous exertions. He wedged the boy's legs apart, pulling a protesting whimper from him, but no real struggle. He then prised the battered and abraded flesh of Neville's arse apart, exposing the deceptively small wrinkle of skin underneath. He flicked his tongue over it, lightly at first, allowing himself to savor the mix of salt, mixed with something more bitter, that lingered in his mouth.

He soon became more eager in his efforts, however, as he coaxed an answering renewal of arousal from the boy, who began to move again, pushing his hips back demandingly. Snape responded by pushing at Neville's hole with the tip of his tongue, sliding it in a bit before returning to circling it teasingly.

Neville's incoherent moans formed words in his hour of need. "Oh please, please, please, sir, please, pleasepleaseplease-" This devolved into a snarling yelp as Snape sucked at the puckered opening, but he rapidly returned to his previous pleading as Snape stood once more, running his hands up the as-yet-unmarked skin of Neville's back.

He couldn't resist any longer. The siren call of begging and the sweet sight and taste of abused flesh was too much, and Snape quickly stripped himself of his vest and belt, letting his trousers and boxers fall to the floor, forgotten. He reluctantly pried himself away from the welcoming heat of the boy's body to quickly move to his side of the desk, searching through the drawers almost frantically.

His fingers finally skated across the glass vial of oil, and his eyes rose in triumph to meet Neville's...and he was lost. The boy was staring at him, lips slightly parted, with such a look of wanton longing that he was briefly overwhelmed. This was the shy, stuttering Gryffindor he'd been teaching for the last seven years? This ravished creature in no way resembled the helpless, fat little boy who had disrupted his classes countless times.

Without taking his black eyes from the drowning-blue in front of them, he slowly unstoppered the vial and poured a generous measure of oil into his hand. It was Neville who broke the gaze, moving his eyes down to watch in fascination as Snape slicked himself slowly, lasciviously. He reached out one hand tentatively, ghosting his fingers over the head of his professor's cock, smiling as Snape let his head fall back, ebon hair pasted to the curve of his neck with sweat.

The boy wrapped his fingers around the hard length, and Snape let out a low rumbling growl at the delicious feel of it. He suddenly grabbed the boy's wrist, his own fingers a hard cuff of flesh and bone, and yanked Neville's hand from his cock. He didn't want to come like that.

He stalked around the desk again, setting himself firmly between Neville's legs, feet slightly apart for stability. He placed the tip of his erection at the boy's entrance and began to slowly push forward. At first, the Gryffindor clenched against him, but suddenly he relaxed and Snape slid in a few unexpected inches.

He groaned involuntarily. //My god! He's so hot...so tight...it's been so damn long...// He couldn't hold back any longer and began working himself in deeper and deeper, needing to feel himself wholly engulfed. He fell across the boy's back as he finally pushed in the last half inch, panting hungrily, his tongue tasting the air unconsciously.

For a moment they stayed that way, pressed belly to back, panting and gasping, but Snape had used up the last bit of his restraint long ago. Snarling, he pulled back and then thrust in again, setting a punishing pace that wrung both yelps and moans out of the boy under him, as he slammed into him over and over.

He knew he couldn't last long at this pace, so Snape reached around almost angrily and grabbed the boy's diamond hard cock, yanking at it with his still oil-slicked hand. He pumped it in time with his thrusts and was not surprised to feel a hot gush across his knuckles as Neville called out his name like the sweetest nightingale. He grabbed the boy's hips and swayed wildly, thrusting in and out in desperation.

When his orgasm came, it was simply enormous, shuddering through his entire body like some sort of electrical meltdown. His muscles spasmed wildly as he rode wave after wave of pleasure, so bright and pure it hurt. When he finally collapsed once more atop Neville, he was only half-conscious of the room around him, more concerned with actually remembering how to breathe than anything else.

Finally he pulled out, and looked down at the boy's limp body; back was rising and falling shallowly. He touched Neville's shoulder lightly. Ah, he was still conscious; he rolled over on the desk and smiled brilliantly up at Snape. A shimmering green wave of guilt crashed down onto the professor's shoulders.

"Sir-" he began, but Snape waved his hand peremptorily.

"That can never happen again, Neville," he stated with some finality.

"But, sir-"

"No, that is final. I should have never taken advantage of you in such a way. It's disgraceful."

"But, sir-"

"I should tell Dumbledore. I mean, not only did I have inappropriate relations with a student, but I beat him beforehand! Inexcusable!"

"Sir, would you let me-"

"In fact, you should get dressed right now. I must go to the headmaster straight away-"


Snape blinked at the boy in shock, and Neville took the opportunity to grasp his hand firmly. "What I would like to tell you is that I was a very troubled boy, but after having this nice little...chat...with you, I'm feeling much better. You've gone a rather long way in helping me with some of my issues. So you see, if you should tell Dumbledore anything, it's that I'm doing just fine thanks to you."

"Oh." Snape continued to blink and stare. He didn't actually want to lose his job, come to think of it...

"In fact, I'd say you've worked a real miracle here. There's only one problem," Neville said mournfully.

"What's that?"

"Well, you see, I'm a terrible backslider, so I might need reminders every now then, of what we...talked...about." Neville stared bashfully at the floor, and the combination of timid innocence mixed with the thoroughly ravished look of the boy made Snape's previously abandoned arousal sniff around and poke its head up.

"Oh," he said again, accommodating this new information. "In that case, Longbottom, I think you shall have to look into private tutoring sessions."

"Really, sir?"

"Yes. And you can complain to all your friends how terribly hard I am on you..."

A little breathless, Neville looked up into his professor's depthless eyes. "Really, sir? But it wouldn't do to complain when you're being so generous with your time..."

"Yes, I'm afraid there's little choice. You'll have to tell McGonagall that you are to be here every Thursday from seven to nine..."

"Only Thursday?"

"Oh, very well, Tuesday and Thursday."

"But sir, I'm really, really thick..."

"Fine! Tuesday, Thursday, and for four hours on Saturday."

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

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