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It had all come crashing down, Severus reflected, because of Potter. He, of course, should’ve foreseen this. The boy was inevitably at the center of everything, no matter how much Severus projected his complete and utter loathing.
He had long understood his naturally submissive nature, the part of him that yearned to simply fall to his knees and obey. But Slytherin as he was, he recognized this weakness and immediately trampled it down, transforming himself into the snarky, bitter, feared man he was known to be.
The Dark Lord and Albus had been the only ones to see right through him, and oh how he had paid for that.
He had thought it was all finally blissfully over, lying there in the Shack. Until he woke up not in the pits of eternal damnation but in the sterile white of St. Mungos, to news that the boy hero had saved his life and gotten him pardoned in his typical over-righteous Gryffindorish manner.
When Potter came to retrieve him, upon his release, and took him to Grimmauld Place without question, Severus sneered and put up every protest. When he was shown to his room and casually invited along to Sunday dinner at the Burrow he did little to hold back his disdainful vitriol. When Potter came home swaying drunk and in the mood to fight, he ended up on his knees.
“Fuck Snape,” the boy said, words shockingly clear and rough with lust, as he fisted his hand in his hair and all but shoved Severus’s face into the crotch of his muggle jeans.
Severus put up little resistance. The thought that Potter would want him, even just for this, was embarrassingly arousing, and awakened a desire in him to submit that he had long since buried away.
He inhaled Potter’s musky scent and began to mouth his erection from over his jeans.
Potter let out a low moan before yanking his head away, still by the hair. Severus was already hard and desperate, to feel Potter, to taste him, so only let out a needy “yes” when Potter ordered him to take out his cock.
Potter’s cock jutted up thick and proud from his briefs. Severus leaned forwards almost unconsciously, wanting to feel the weight of it on his tongue, down his throat, but was stopped by a sharp tug on his hair.
“Christ Snape, you look so hot, down on your knees for me,” he growled. When Severus looked up at him through his eyelashes, he met Potter’s fierce gaze, his lips quirking up into a cocky smirk.
Potter tapped his cock against Severus’ lips, smearing precum across his face. “Hands behind your back. I’m gonna fuck your face.”
Severus couldn’t have responded if he tried. Instead he just parted his lips and fluttered his eyes shut, hands clasped at the small of his back. Potter’s dominance called to him like a fire. He was on fire.
Potter seemed to take his compliance as a yes, at last sinking his cock deep into Severus’ throat in one smooth thrust.
Severus moaned at the feeling of being so owned. Potter began to fuck his face with abandon, both hands fisted in his hair, forcing him deeper onto his cock. His eyes began to water as he fought against the need for air.
“Fuck Snape, gonna come down your tight throat,” Potter moaned, his thrusts getting faster until he forced his head down and came in hot thick bursts down Severus’ throat.
At last he pulled out and Severus gasped for breath, dizzy, whether from the brutal facefucking or his overwhelming arousal he couldn’t tell.
“C’mon, I know you want to get off,” Potter taunted, looking down meaningfully at his legs, “hump me like the bitch you are or go take care of it yourself.”
The humiliation ate at Severus, it was so good. He shuffled forwards on his knees, thrusting against Potter’s leg. The friction of his pants against Potter's jeans burned deliciously and suddenly he was coming in his pants.
With the haze of arousal gone from his mind, Severus at once became exceedingly aware of the situation he had somehow found himself in. He could not look up, could not face the mocking triumph likely written all over Potter’s face. His greasy ugly old Professor down on his knees, happily choking on his cock.
The silence stretched for miles in the emptiness of Grimmauld Place. At last Potter seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to say anything, or move.
“Severus, come up, that can’t be comfortable for your knees,” Potter said, much too gently.
He hesitantly looked up, looking for any hint of mocking, but all he saw in Potter’s eyes was sincerity, so he took the proffered hand and stood up on shaking knees. He really was getting old.
“Potter… you, I-,” he tried.
“Come to bed?” An order, disguised as a request. Severus wanted so badly to just let go and obey.
He went.