Author�s Note: Oh God. I can't believe I'm putting this up. Had a merry Christmas and imbibed rather too much crack. Written for the Toys Challenge on the LJ community Pornish Pixies.

Plaything

Neville woke up to the insistent beeping of the Absolute Annoyance Alarm. It had been sent by his Gran at the beginning of the term, and so far, had lived up to its name. Seamus grunted.

'That fecking clock!'

Half-asleep, he reached down for something to throw. Yesterday's balled-up socks hit the back of Neville's head.

'Score!'

Neville chucked them back, and checked his bedside calendar.

'It's the twelfth today, right?'

Dean cracked an eye open. 'You're the one with the calendar, mate. Something coming up?'

Neville busied himself with ticking off '12 Dec', and didn't answer.

Only two more days until�*it* came, just in time for Christmas. A flush of elation combined with hot shame rose up in him. He'd really done it. Two more days�

He went down to breakfast with the others and dug into his branflakes. In silent flurries, the owls arrived. He watched a portly bird struggle down the length of the Gryffindor table. With mounting trepidation, he eyed its burden, a conspicuously inconspicuous brown paper parcel tied up with string. It was three times the size of its deliverer. The owl gamely fluttered the last few feet, and dropped the parcel in front of Neville. It ruffled its feathers and pecked hard at his toast.

'Pay it, then, Neville,' said Hermione. 'Did you order something?'

He had a bad feeling about this. 'Can I borrow a few Knuts - I'll pay you back after breakfast, I just didn't expect - um -'

As he tucked the coins into the owl's pouch, and received a sharp talon-scratch in return, the parcel gave an imperceptible twitch. Then small arms and legs sprouted out of the sides. Neville stared.

'Is it supposed to do that?' said Hermione.

The parcel got to its feet, dusted itself off, and began to strut up and down the table. It gave the impression that if it had had a cane, it would have been twirling it. A raucous chord sounded from inside; it started to sing in a cracked falsetto.

'Oh, *thank* you, dear customer,
For purchasing this fine toy!
It's sure to bring you utmost pleasure
Whether you're a girl or boy!
And when you've worn it out
With paroxysms of joy -'

Here the parcel stopped, swayed, and Neville had the strong impression of a roguish wink,

' - just owl us to repeat your order
nothing simpler - so don't be coy!'

The parcel gave a little bow. Neville realised the whole table had fallen silent. Their attention was fixed on a point just to the left of his head. He had a very bad feeling about this.

'Interesting,' said a frigid voice from behind him. 'I think *I'll* take that, Longbottom, to spare us any further edifying displays. If you want it back, see me in my office.'

Thin hands with trailing black sleeves picked up the parcel. It was Snape. *Snape* had his�

The devastating silence continued unbroken as Snape walked away. Then the others began to bombard him with questions. Neville buried his face in his hands, too appalled to speak. There had never been a more terrible situation in the whole of Wizarding history.

*

A week passed. The Slytherins had taken to singing the advertisement at Neville - probably coached by Snape, Neville thought glumly. Dean was working on an equally insulting jingle for the Gryffindors to chant back, but progress was hampered by the lack of suitable rhymes for boy, coy, toy and joy.

Neville hadn't dared go to Snape. He'd resigned himself to cutting his losses - such an embarrassing parcel was bound to contain a less-than-satisfactory product - when Snape stopped by his table in Potions. Neville tried not to blush, and failed miserably.

'Longbottom. Still not plucked up the courage to pick up that piece of - post - from me. Perhaps detention will persuade you. My office, at seven tonight.'

*

The parcel lay on the desk. Snape watched Neville, and Neville watched the parcel, as it gave a spirited rendition of the advertisement ditty at the top of its tinny voice. It finally came to the last, lingering syllable, and fell silent.

'What have you to say about this particular piece of merchandise, Longbottom? Wrapped in unassuming plain covers; advertises its wares using the word 'toy'? Aren't you rather old to be playing with toys?'

Neville really, really hoped that Snape *didn't* know the other meaning of the word 'toy', but it was pretty unlikely, since -

A hand came down on the desk. Neville jumped.

'Answer me!'

'Yes, sir.'

'In that case, I had better verify the contents, and if it is *not* intended for someone of your age -' sarcasm dripped thick from every word, '- we'll take it up with the Headmaster.'

Neville froze. In utter despair, he could only look on as Snape shook the parcel and spoke a few unfamiliar words. The parcel exploded, and disgorged a shower of garish leaflets, along with a fully inflated, life-sized male doll with bulging muscles and removable posing pouch, its O-shaped mouth lending it a perpetual look of fatuous surprise.

Silence.

More silence.

Neville wondered if he took a running jump, he might reach the bottles of caustic cauldron cleaner behind Snape's head and drink one down before Snape could stop him. He'd nearly made up his mind to do it, when Snape spoke.

'Pick that up.'

He indicated a leaflet by Neville's shoe. Neville picked it up.

'Read me the contents.'

Neville opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed. Snape leaned forward.

'Read it, or we'll take it all up to the Headmaster's office.'

'Horny Herbert (Wizmark pending),' Neville read. Snape sat back, and smirked while Neville described the various utterly lifelike features of this most attractive and affordable erotic aid.

'�Horny Herbert (Wizmark pending), your personal buddy, will provide hours of man-on-man erotic fun.'

Silence, again. Neville decided not to cry.

'Of one fact I can assure you, Longbottom. This doll would *not* provide you with hours of erotic fun. And do you know why?'

Neville stared at his shoes, and wondered why he wasn't in front of Professor Dumbledore, being expelled.

'Shoddy workmanship, flimsy material, and -' there was a pause while Snape examined the doll, '- what do you measure when erect, Longbottom?'

Neville stopped breathing. Snape's fist came down on the desk again.

'I asked you a question!'

What was he supposed to say? He mumbled.

'What?'

'E-eight in-inches.'

'You will address me by my correct title.'

'Eight inches, sir.'

Snape's eyes narrowed.

'You? A paltry fifteen years old, and already eight inches? Hardly likely. Take it out.'

Neville stared, mouth open. Snape rose and looked down at him.

'Take it out. Show me!'

When there was no movement to obey, he rounded the desk.

'Either you do it, or I do.'

His hand started towards Neville's waist. Neville watched it approach with a quiet incredulity, then shivered as Snape opened his school robes, button by button. The hand forced its way in, chilly on the warm skin. Neville took a deep breath. Fingers felt his balls, then his cock was drawn out. It lay limp in Snape's palm. Neville didn't believe it possible to go any redder, but somehow he managed to. It looked�

'Rather pathetic, wouldn't you say, Longbottom?'

Snape squeezed. Neville squeaked. His cock reddened.

'Accio oil - unless you'd prefer without, perhaps?'

Neville shook his head, blushed even more, shut his eyes and tried to wish for something normal, while Snape oiled his fingers, and began an alternate hard pull, medium pull. Neville had nowhere else to look, so he watched Snape's hands and gritted his teeth each time the oil caused a break in the rhythm. Then it stopped altogether. A small 'oh!' of disappointment came from Neville before he could prevent it.

'This, Longbottom, is why you have wasted your pocket money.' The doll floated into view. 'Look at me.'

Unwillingly, Neville raised his eyes, and blushed at the sight of Snape's hands holding the doll's buttocks apart. The hole stared out.

'You see the problem?'

Neville was silent. Snape cursed.

'Do I have to spell everything out to you, boy?'

He stood behind Neville, unceremoniously grasped his cock, and pointed it towards the doll's hole.

'Too. Small. There's no way an erect penis would fit inside unless it was of smaller than average size; presumably, a typical attribute of Horny Herbert's clientele.'

Snape tossed the doll aside, not letting go of Neville, and went back to long strokes with a closed fist. I could say something, Neville thought suddenly. It was easier not to, though... He sighed quietly.

'You like this angle, don't you? I suppose since you only do it to yourself -' Snape leaned over him, using both hands. Just as Neville felt the inevitable tension build up, one hand dropped away. The strokes gentled.

'Quite a length. Though not - Accio measuring rod - yes, seven and three-quarter inches, *not* eight. If you're not an accurate judge of something so uncomplicated as your own proportions, how can you expect to be a judge of anything else? The many wonders of sex toys, Longbottom -' Snape palmed the head and slowly rotated. Neville chewed his tongue in an effort not to whimper, '- will remain a closed book to you unless you have some guidance. Why you throw away your money on such rubbish -'

His fingers spiralled up and down. Neville nearly whined.

'You have neither the resources, nor the knowledge, nor the taste to procure quality items, Longbottom. But as soon as you leave this room, you'll be scheming to get more, won't you?'

He squeezed.

'Won't you?'

'Oh�oh, yes.'

'And why is that?' Snape's hand lay motionless. He didn't let Neville speak, which was good since Neville wasn't exactly sure what response he could cobble together. 'Because you're *desperate*, Longbottom, aren't you?'

Neville could hear the smirk. He shut his eyes.

'You're desperate for touch -' Snape's hands slid, '- and taste -' a finger dipped into the slit, then came up and pressed the moisture onto Neville's lips, ' - and no-one will oblige, will they?'

He held back another wave of tears. His cock hurt with the weight of blood stiffening it.

'True, isn't it?'

There was a pause.

'Answer me!'

He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't... He bowed his head.

'Say it.'

'I'm...'

'Say it!'

'Desperate.' The word ended in a sob.

'If you're so desperate -' Snape rolled the word around his tongue, '- then I believe I have a solution. Follow me.'

Implacable hands drew Neville up from the chair and sent him stumbling forward, through a door at the back of Snape's office. He was turned firmly around while a certain sequence was tapped on the blank wall, then followed Snape's narrow back into a small, low-lit bare room. It contained nothing more remarkable than a neatly-made bed, incongruous on its own. A black curtain covered one wall. Snape's lips thinned at Neville's darting, uncertain look between him and the bed.

'Don't jump to conclusions, boy. You don't have the intelligence for it.'

He pulled back the curtain. Neville drew in a breath.

A life-sized statue of a seated man was exposed, its rudimentary features carved out of dark wood. Between the legs a detailed, realistic penis was cupped by both hands at the base.

'Stop gaping, Longbottom, and come here.'

Neville straddled the statue's lap. Its size made it awkward; the cool leather-covered phallus was pressed up against his spine. At a word from Snape, the statue shrunk, until the phallus poked him in an uncomfortably accurate place. He flushed, and Snape spared him a glance.

'Robes off.'

He obeyed.

Snape gestured, and he got off the statue and moved to one side, fidgeting.

'Now the rest.'

Snape was oiling the... Neville looked away, down at his hands, moved them to his trousers, stopped.

'Longbottom, do I need to explain the mechanics of ejaculation? Take them *off*.'

He took it all off, then fixed his gaze on the little heap of clothes, arms around himself. The phallus gleamed with oil in the dim light.

'Get on.'

Somehow he managed it, wobbling a little.

'Now, lean back on me.'

Neville risked a cautious glance behind him.

Snape glared.

'Lean *back*.'

His bare back was against Snape's robes; he was hoisted up half an inch by his armpits; when he was let down, the phallus nestled against his buttocks, sticky and oddly warm. An arm across his chest anchored him. Snape's oiled hand found its way down to his limp cock, and clever twists and strokes brought him slowly to hardness again.

The taunts faded as the oil dripped; from his cock to the floor, from his balls to back *there*�he wriggled at the tickling feel. The phallus slipped down his crack. He flushed.

'Hold still. Lean forward,' he clung to the wooden torso, face against the cool chest, eyes shut. Snape's fingers reached around the phallus to stroke more oil *there*, more and more oil until Neville could feel it running down his thighs. With a slight press, Snape's fingers were in him. He gripped the statue - 'Hold *still*,' - he'd always thought it might hurt when someone else did it, but there was so much oil, so much, and he panted for the feel of it -

Snape's hands were slippery on his sides.

'Hold your buttocks open.'

He reached back and parted them hard, as wide as he could, and felt Snape guide him and pull him and push him down.

'Lean back.'

He was steadied with a hand against his chest. The phallus was at his entrance, and timidly, he pushed himself at it. The head widened him - he gasped - Snape's hand stroked and fisted his cock hard, the oil glistening - he tried a second time, and the cock slid in.

'F-f-fuck�'

'Watch your mouth.'

'Yes, sir - oh, I can't, please -' He arched, but Snape's hands forced him back, pulled him almost off the phallus until he whimpered, then pushed him steadily down, down, down to the base and the statue's grasping hands, wooden and unyielding.

'Sir - sir -'

'You'll take it all, Longbottom. You wanted a quality toy, and you've got one.' The fingers gripped and slid over his cock, faster and faster. He was opened up on the phallus, he couldn't stop it, slick and hard and butter soft. His hips jerked.

'Please�'

'Take it.'

Snape held him, directed his pace, fisted him with a leisurely hand. The feeling of fullness mitigated a little.

'Is this what you wanted?' Snape murmured. Neville knew he was looking at him all exposed and wanton, panting, needy. Something pressed hard against his back, hot through the folds of Snape's robes. He leaned back on Snape's secure, tight hands; pushed himself down; whispered,

'Yes, sir.'

'I have other�toys, Longbottom. Perhaps, if you earned it -' The buzzing strain drowned out the voice. Beads of sweat trickled down his body. All of it in him, unbearable - through the harsh panting and haze of heat, he saw the statue's featureless face, felt himself impaled and Snape's hands on him. He was nearly there - his eyes squeezed shut, body clenched round the phallus - oh, now, now -

Snape's hands gathered his come and spread it on his stomach, on the statue, brought it to his lips, tasted it. The thin hips stayed for a long moment behind him, then withdrew.

*

He followed Snape in sticky, oily, come-smeared clothes, one thought uppermost in his mind. He had to... As soon as the office door shut behind them, and Snape sat down at his desk -

'Sir, I - I want -'

Snape didn't look surprised.

'Come back tomorrow.' He gave a thin smile. 'We have a catalogue to get through.'

*Nd*.

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