Learn Your PlaceAuthors: lokifan
and lavillanuevaWord count:
Draco’s been put in the corner to think about what he did.Warnings:
D/s, gagging (ring-gag), humiliation, orgasm denialDisclaimer:
The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.Author’s Notes:
YONKS ago, lavillanueva
and I had a highly pornographic discussion about the wonders of gags and ended up writing Snape/Draco porn. I finally got round to editing it and fixing it up
and adding an extra 1k because I’m sufferably verbose
for the grand occasion of son_of_darkness
’ birthday. IT IS SOOO LATE I'M SORRY. Happy (horribly belated) birthday, Kye!
Tears stung Draco’s eyes. He tried to hold them in so Snape wouldn’t see: his forbidding teacher would not appreciate the sight. But the emotion overwhelmed him, slow and omnipotent as the tide.
He was kneeling naked in a corner of Snape’s workroom, his hands tied behind his back. Draco’s knees hurt from the hard stone, and his shoulders were sore from the bindings. His jaw ached from the ring gag stretching his mouth open.
Snape’s come was dripping from his lips. Unable to swallow, Draco simply knelt with his mouth stretched open, marked by Snape’s come and utterly undignified. The embarrassment was worsened by his sense of neglect: as soon as Snape had come, he’d gone across the room and begun marking essays while Draco remained in his corner.
Snape had been marking for a long time now, without a glance at Draco. Draco was learning his lesson about coming to Snape without being asked for.
There was nothing to prevent him from standing if he wanted to; only his hands were tied. He could leave his corner. He could fidget, at least; find a new position to rest his aching joints. Snape had his back to Draco, so he’d even escape that freezing black glare.
But Draco knew that if he did so, Snape would know. And then he’d be punished more.
Surely Snape wasn’t planning to leave him here all night? He hadn’t done anything so very terrible. He’d just got sick of waiting for the little notes that told him when to come to Snape’s chambers and what to wear: that dictated the terms of their encounters in ways far more constricting than any dozen of the esoteric bondage devices Snape liked to experiment with. He’d wanted sex, and Snape hadn’t owled him for nearly three weeks. All Draco had done was come down late at night and knock on his door.
All right, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. He should have taken the warning in Snape’s expression when he’d opened his door: the black eyes had flashed with something close to anger. Worse, the harsh lines of Snape’s face hadn’t softened the way they usually did. Draco was used to watching Snape’s eyes warm a little when they landed on him, and they hadn’t tonight.
But he’d thought he could distract Snape – seduce him, even. Prove that he wasn’t a virgin any more, wasn’t an adolescent incompetent where Snape was a practiced, suave adult. Draco had ignored the warning signals. Without waiting for Snape to say anything, he’d pressed forward into Snape’s arms, kissing him, rubbing his body against Snape’s and letting his teacher feel the erection he’d inspired.
He’d thought, when Snape hoarsely ordered him to his knees, that he’d won. He’d opened his mouth docilely for the gag, had smirked to himself as Snape wrapped rope around his wrists. He’d thought it simply meant that Snape was getting into the spirit of things. He’d hoped for reward; Snape’s hissed commands to stay there, stupid boy, presumptuous boy, had made his face burn as if he’d been slapped.
And Draco really wouldn’t put it past him to leave him there all night, even though Draco had already
learnt his lesson and wouldn’t come to Snape without permission again, wouldn’t try to orgasm at his own hand again. (He let me come when I was sucking him off before, sometimes. It’s not so bad, and now he’s just going to make me stay here on my own --
An exasperated snort came from Snape. Draco flinched back in momentary terror, thinking Snape had read his mind. But that wasn’t possible: Legilimency required eye contact. He thought so, anyway. He wasn’t entirely –
Snape was coming towards him, taller and more menacing than ever from Draco’s position near the ground. Draco looked up at him with imploring eyes, making mush-mouthed, pleading sounds around the gag.
Snape regarded him silently for a moment, while Draco stared back through sore eyes. They were probably red-rimmed: his eyes had watered earlier as he’d tried to breathe around Snape’s cock. His imploring sounds got louder, embarrassingly so in the echoing, silent stone room, while Snape kept watching him.
Snape drew his wand. Draco flinched back with an anxious sound as he pointed the wand at him. Snape flicked it, and Draco felt something happen. Snape seemed to have vanished the come inside his mouth. He wasn’t about to choke any more, and Draco breathed in deep with relief.
Snape crouched in front of him, and smiled, finally. Draco stared fervently into his face, hoping for mercy.
Then he felt Snape’s fingers run over his cock. Draco jerked uncontrollably at the feeling, and whined low in his throat as pre-come wetted his cock. Sardonic amusement flashed in Snape’s black eyes, and he removed his hand from Draco’s cock to hold it in front of his face.
“Look at this, Draco.” He wiped his hand against Draco’s chin, covered in come and his own drool. “You’re such a mess. Can’t even control your own mouth. I thought you were all grown up?”
Draco flushed still more. He was aware it wasn’t his fault, but that knowledge was faint behind the humiliation. He was shuddering with it as Snape went on. “What kind of pureblood messes himself like this at the least stimulation?” He was so messy in front of his ever-controlled master – disgusting. “Little slut. All you want is to come, isn’t it? Do you care who I am?” Draco whined. “Do you care what I make you do? What would you do to be allowed to come?”
He brought his face close to Draco’s, whispering in his ear. “If I told you to go back to your dormitory still hard, lie in your bed with your hands outside the bedclothes while you ached for touch, and come back to me tomorrow, would you obey?”
Draco wanted to beg, but was unable to do anything but whine, long and low like a cat in pain.
Snape drew back, looked down at his hand. His upper lip curled up from his teeth in disgust at the sight. His large hand swiped through Draco’s hair, wiping off the mess, and gripped the matted strands. He tugged at Draco’s hair. Draco snapped his head back, instantly obedient. He stared up at Snape, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
Snape’s face twisted. Draco could read the scorn there and his stomach contracted. He knew what Snape was thinking: whiny, pampered little pureblood who never had to face anything like Snape did, existing in his own rarified little world. Frantic tears welled up in Draco’s eyes again. How would he ever prove he was good enough, strong enough for Snape to keep him?
Snape’s hand tightened in his hair. Helplessly, Draco thrust against air, seeking some sort of stimulation. He couldn’t help it. Draco knew he should be ashamed of being so wanton, of being so hard despite the cold and the bruises and the wetness sliding down his neck. But he couldn’t feel the shame; it was swallowed under the rising tide of desperation. Draco had been hard for hours, aching for Snape’s attention; and now Snape’s fingers in his hair might as well have been on his cock, they felt so good.
They were sometimes gentle, fingertips pressing lightly over his matted hair. But now Snape tugged Draco’s head harshly, forcing his neck into a still more painful angle. A hoarse groan rattled in Draco’s throat. Snape’s dark eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in the helpless sounds.
A new touch: Snape was running a finger along Draco’s lower lip, stretched as it was round the unforgiving leather of the gag.
Draco fought not to lose the position. If he did, Snape would be disappointed in him. Draco couldn’t bear to disappoint him now – he’d tried so hard. He didn’t want Snape to tell him off, to scour his soul with withering words – and he didn’t want Snape to decide that Draco needed a night of desperation to learn his lesson. That he shouldn’t be allowed to come until tomorrow.
The tears began to slide down his face from the fear and strain of it, and his lip trembled under Snape’s fingers.
He knew if Snape decided it, he would obey. He would leave and not touch himself, keep his hands tucked under his pillow and charm himself not to come in the night. He’d try to distract himself all day tomorrow, even when his stomach quivered at the sight of Snape sweeping through the Great Hall; he’d keep his hands away from his crotch and resist temptation. He wouldn’t come to Snape until asked, to try to earn his master’s forgiveness.
But the thought of Snape’s disappointment, of having angered Snape enough to be banned from coming tonight, made Draco’s stomach clench, and squeezed a few new tears from his eyes. They slipped down his cheeks, and he shut his eyes in shame. He was so overwrought he was shaking, but Draco wanted to be worthy – wanted to be able to control himself like Snape always did.
The seconds felt like hours under Snape’s hard gaze, and Draco fought for control though it felt like all his strength was pouring out with his tears. He had to hold on. If he failed now –
Snape bent down, his free hand moving. Draco stared blurrily up at him, wondering what that meant; with his head still pulled severely back, he couldn’t see where he was going to be touched. Couldn’t prepare at all, and Snape’s devouring black eyes were roving eagerly over the vulnerable arch of his throat.
Snape’s large-knuckled, warm hand wrapped around the head of his cock. A cry fell from Draco’s lips at the shock of it, the warmth and the pressure: like a golden explosion in his brain. He jerked so hard, arched so much that his hair felt as if it would be torn from the roots by Snape’s immovable hand.
Snape wasn’t working him; there was no constant pressure, none of the workmanlike strokes he gave Draco when he was fucking him over a desk. Instead, he was playing with him. His dark eyes were fixed on Draco’s cock now, and Draco, eyes fixed on Snape’s face, thrust forward harder at the sight: seeking more attention.
Snape played with the head of Draco’s cock: tweaking it, running his fingertips over it, rubbing a finger carelessly across his slit. As if it – as if he – wasn’t worth the effort. Draco still shifted and jerked, reacting to every movement. He moaned round the gag as the ridged callous on Snape’s palm, from years of stirring potions, rubbed coarsely over his sensitive skin. He was helpless under Snape’s negligent, possessive hands, his hips twitching, trying to find and follow a rhythm.
“Be still.” The cool words dropped like stones into the haze of Draco’s mind. It was all he could do not to collapse. He looked up at Snape with imploring eyes, but his teacher’s face was hard.
Somehow, he stopped moving. His thighs quivered, but he made himself still despite the glorious sensation of Snape’s hand on his cock.
The slightest smile flashed over Snape’s face, and Draco’s breath caught. He didn’t compliment Draco for his self-control, but Draco knew Snape was pleased when he felt a gentle caress over his matted hair, and Snape’s hand finally
wrapping itself firmly around his cock.
The strokes came swift and regular now. Snape’s touch was every bit as authoritative as the man himself, and it made Draco want to lie back under him and be touched any way Snape saw fit. To obey him as well as he deserved. And Snape was wanking him still harder, and Draco was moaning, forgetting to control himself, drooling around the gag still more.
He strained, strained, strained not to react to Snape’s touch – he knew Snape wanted to watch him fight not to respond, expected his obedience. Yet he was moaning continuously now, unable to stop the sounds rising from his sore throat.
He was such a mess; the whole lower half of his face felt wet, and he hardly dared wonder what Snape saw. But he reached for control, kept his hips and thighs still, pretended not to feel the pleasure even as he stared into those stripping, exposing black eyes.
And then he saw it: what he’d been looking for, wishing for, all evening. That slight flash of heat in Snape’s gaze; desire for him. It was there, Draco had seen it, even at this low moment – proof that Snape was proud of him, that he was worthy and wanted.
Draco’s whole body flushed with warmth.
And then Snape’s thin lips curled upwards, and Draco tried to defy the gag to attempt some sort of smile. He failed, but he knew Snape understood.
Snape leant a little closer, and Draco’s chilled skin drank in the warmth of his body. “You’ve been very good, Draco. A vast improvement on your usual self.”
The words curled round Draco with almost visible power, setting him whimpering. He’d been good, Snape said so – so please
“Good boy.” Snape’s hand tightened round his cock, stroked faster, faster – “You may come now.”
He leant over, and kissed Draco’s sweaty forehead.
That benediction released him. Draco howled as he came, eyes rolling back in his head. Snape kept stroking him through his orgasm, and over the rush of his pulse in his ears, the only thing Draco could hear was Snape talking, filling all his sore, empty places with the sweet balm of his approval –
“Good boy. You’ve learnt your place, now.”