Disclaimer: All characters from the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Inc., AOL/Time Warner and associated companies. No offence, legal or otherwise, is intended by the online publication of this story. Neither is profit. Make love, not lawsuits!

Notes: Harry wants what he can't have. Written in honor of Le Kink. Much thanks to Brodie for her feedback, as well as Slytherlynx and Icarus.

Ruminations on Tenderness
by

Snape never fucks him face-to-face. Instead it's always like this--bent over one of the desks, its edge digging into his stomach, Snape's hands grinding his wrists into the wood. Harry's whimpering against the table, anus stretched raw and right, and if he weren't so hard and if he weren't begging so loudly, he might almost call it rape. Almost. Snape's always short of time--between classes or detentions, or meetings with Dumbledore--and it's always fast, always vicious, with Snape's cock stabbing him so hot and sharp and quick, and Snape fucks him as though he's whipping him, as though he enjoys seeing Harry twist as he comes, as though he enjoys the sight of Harry's mouth mashed open, whining, against dark, tear-stained wood.

Snape never talks to him. Not afterwards, not before. It's almost like none of it ever happens--and Harry doesn't mind, not really, swallowing his own saliva and bowing his head. It's not like he needs approval, not when the mere touch of Snape's rough hand against his thighs, pushing them apart, can nearly make him come.

But when he's done, when he's left aching, burning, dizzy with orgasm--when he feels the tingle of Snape's cleaning spell followed by the slam of the door behind him--then, then Harry often wonders what it would be like if Snape took it slow, if he pressed his mouth against the back of Harry's neck and whispered something gentle as he drew in and out, if he took so long that the haze of heat built around their bodies till Harry was moaning, till he was past caring about anything, anything, except when Snape would let him come.

Then he remembers the glitter in Snape's eyes at the opened door, those nails digging into his thighs, and he knows that what he wants is ridiculous.

It's not like he needs tenderness.