Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Seat of Knowledge
Warnings: slashy snarry-ish wanking
A/N: why do the demented and perverted plot bunnies' bite me so?
This was inspired by the lovely ac1d6urn whose comments section of her LJ:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/ac1d6urn/72867.html#comments
started a whole new phenomenon of... I shit-you-not (pun intended): toilet-seat!Snape. :).
The muse was also fed by the_gwyllion who drew this naughty & wickedly funny image of Snape:
http://www.livejournal.com/community/gwyll_junk/13503.html
~()~ ~()~ ~(*)~
DISCLAIMER: This non-profit material is not
intended to infringe upon JK Rowling, Warner Brothers,
Scholastic Books, nor any other holders of Harry Potter
copyrights, in this or any other universe...
~()~ ~()~ ~(*)~
He heard the unkind words. He heard them every day.
'Greasy git'. 'Wanker'. Even 'fucktard' from a young Muggle-born raised in England by American parents. That one seemed to have spread. He heard it now on more than an occasional basis from the younger students. It was worth thirty points from their House.
The one epithet that most annoyed him, though, was the most untrue and, to his mind, the most unjust accusation to make.
'Constipated old carp'.
Well, Severus Snape was neither fish nor fowl. At the ripe old age of 41 he was not old, and one thing he had never been was constipated!
He minded what he ate, much as his mother had taught him. He made sure to eat enough porridge, enough vegetables. Proper nutrition was just like potion making - the right amount of ingredients, added at the right time. Just like a properly prepared potion, the proper nutrition elicited the expected results.
In Severus's case, this meant every morning break would find him in his quarters seated on the fine porcelain throne with the wooden seat Dumbledore had thoughtfully insisted on for all the teachers. It wouldn't do to freeze one's arse in the cold Scottish weather, after all.
He never had to wait long for the expected results, nor did he have to strain to receive them. Porridge and yoghurt were, in his opinion, the best gifts one could give their digestive system. In return, they gave one health and that extra bounce in the step, or in Severus's case - that extra glide. If he was constipated, he could never glide so gracefully, he thought now, irked at yet another overheard comment that very morning.
He had taken twenty points for the comment which had come after he had confiscated some salacious magazine from one of the Gryffindor 5th years who had been sneaking peeks at it when she should have been watching her cauldron.
Recalling the magazine now, he reached into one of his capacious pockets and retrieved it.
The front cover proclaimed it to be 'Skyclad Quidditch Quarterly'.
Ye gads, the magazine was full of trim young Quidditch players all in the buff!
Snape adjusted his position on the toilet and perused the magazine.
My/... some of the players were /quite gifted. He was amazed at some of the manoeuvres they executed whilst speeding about the pitch. They put new meaning to the Quidditch phrase about 'having a responsive piece of wood between the thighs'.
Speaking of that, Severus shifted a little on the toilet as his own wood gently started to push the bottom edge of the magazine he was perusing.
There was a special section in the magazine about a star beater, who had dark spiky hair, piercing blue-green eyes and a pair of spectacles he'd bespelled to fight condensation. He rather resembled a certain Gryffindor seeker that was the bane of Snape's existence, and yet... the image of this toned, trim, tidily tucked beater hardened his wood all the more.
He turned the pages through the interview to get to the meatier centrefold. Oh, my!
Whilst not very long, the beater had a thick sturdy pole to stroke, which he did, over and over in the moving image, until, to Severus's surprise, he reached completion, spurting gleaming white strands all over his broom handle. Then he got a devilish grin and began to polish the handle. A final caption appeared that read: /the Beater always maintains his broom in the finest condition, polishing it faithfully after each practice session/.
Severus groaned. His cock was now stiff as a board, head wet with pre-ejaculate. He'd never be able to concentrate if he went back to class in this condition.
He flipped a few pages back to the start of the interview and began to gaze intently on the moving images of the beater. He found one he particularly liked, showing the image of the beater's fine, tight arse as he executed a looping dive. Snape reached between his legs to fondle his tackle.
Over and over the buttocks on the page and those on the toilet seat quivered. Over and over Snape's talented fingers stroked his needy cock, red wet head revealed with each down stroke. Occasionally he toyed with his long foreskin, flicking a fingertip just under it and circling the head, giving himself an incandescent sort of rush.
He gasped and turned the page to another image of the beater, leaning back against a locker and fondling his own tackle. He could almost feel his fingers touching the muscled athlete; that fine young flesh would be taut, warm, resilient/. The gaze from those blue-green eyes was bewitching. That spiky hair and those glasses /so resembled...
Severus groaned and turned rapidly to the centrefold. His grip tightened and his stroke increased as he watched the beater beating off. He could just imagine a certain dark-haired, bespectacled young hard body nude atop his bed, amidst a tangle of red-gold bedcovers, writhing in pleasure, hand firmly stroking his supple, young wood.
"Oh!"
He shuddered as they both neared climax, then as the beater reached his, Severus groaned as he felt his own cock contract then shoot convulsively, warm pearly strands decorating the rug, the toilet seat, and his hand. A final trickle made him gasp as it dribbled down his knuckles.
To his astonishment he did not get any on the magazine, for which he was grateful; he definitely wanted to keep this issue!
He sat on the toilet a bit longer, catching his breath, and mentally contemplating how this might be a worthy occasional addition to his morning break. He had not indulged in quite some time, as he could attest to by the extreme head rush he'd gotten.
Setting the magazine on his window sill, he began to clean up. He thought now as he got dressed again for his next class, that he would definitely have to attend more Quidditch matches.
He wasn't sure, though, how he would be able to officiate any more at games that included Gryffindor house.
Referees, after all, could not afford to be distracted during a game.
~FINIS~
~()~ ~()~ ~(*)~
Completed 28 November 2005.
A/N: why do the demented and perverted plot bunnies' bite me so?
This was inspired by the lovely ac1d6urn whose comments section of her LJ:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/ac1d6urn/72867.html#comments
started a whole new phenomenon of... I shit-you-not (pun intended): toilet-seat!Snape. :).
The muse was also fed by the_gwyllion who drew this naughty & wickedly funny image of Snape:
http://www.livejournal.com/community/gwyll_junk/13503.html
~()~ ~()~ ~(*)~
DISCLAIMER: This non-profit material is not
intended to infringe upon JK Rowling, Warner Brothers,
Scholastic Books, nor any other holders of Harry Potter
copyrights, in this or any other universe...
~()~ ~()~ ~(*)~
He heard the unkind words. He heard them every day.
'Greasy git'. 'Wanker'. Even 'fucktard' from a young Muggle-born raised in England by American parents. That one seemed to have spread. He heard it now on more than an occasional basis from the younger students. It was worth thirty points from their House.
The one epithet that most annoyed him, though, was the most untrue and, to his mind, the most unjust accusation to make.
'Constipated old carp'.
Well, Severus Snape was neither fish nor fowl. At the ripe old age of 41 he was not old, and one thing he had never been was constipated!
He minded what he ate, much as his mother had taught him. He made sure to eat enough porridge, enough vegetables. Proper nutrition was just like potion making - the right amount of ingredients, added at the right time. Just like a properly prepared potion, the proper nutrition elicited the expected results.
In Severus's case, this meant every morning break would find him in his quarters seated on the fine porcelain throne with the wooden seat Dumbledore had thoughtfully insisted on for all the teachers. It wouldn't do to freeze one's arse in the cold Scottish weather, after all.
He never had to wait long for the expected results, nor did he have to strain to receive them. Porridge and yoghurt were, in his opinion, the best gifts one could give their digestive system. In return, they gave one health and that extra bounce in the step, or in Severus's case - that extra glide. If he was constipated, he could never glide so gracefully, he thought now, irked at yet another overheard comment that very morning.
He had taken twenty points for the comment which had come after he had confiscated some salacious magazine from one of the Gryffindor 5th years who had been sneaking peeks at it when she should have been watching her cauldron.
Recalling the magazine now, he reached into one of his capacious pockets and retrieved it.
The front cover proclaimed it to be 'Skyclad Quidditch Quarterly'.
Ye gads, the magazine was full of trim young Quidditch players all in the buff!
Snape adjusted his position on the toilet and perused the magazine.
My/... some of the players were /quite gifted. He was amazed at some of the manoeuvres they executed whilst speeding about the pitch. They put new meaning to the Quidditch phrase about 'having a responsive piece of wood between the thighs'.
Speaking of that, Severus shifted a little on the toilet as his own wood gently started to push the bottom edge of the magazine he was perusing.
There was a special section in the magazine about a star beater, who had dark spiky hair, piercing blue-green eyes and a pair of spectacles he'd bespelled to fight condensation. He rather resembled a certain Gryffindor seeker that was the bane of Snape's existence, and yet... the image of this toned, trim, tidily tucked beater hardened his wood all the more.
He turned the pages through the interview to get to the meatier centrefold. Oh, my!
Whilst not very long, the beater had a thick sturdy pole to stroke, which he did, over and over in the moving image, until, to Severus's surprise, he reached completion, spurting gleaming white strands all over his broom handle. Then he got a devilish grin and began to polish the handle. A final caption appeared that read: /the Beater always maintains his broom in the finest condition, polishing it faithfully after each practice session/.
Severus groaned. His cock was now stiff as a board, head wet with pre-ejaculate. He'd never be able to concentrate if he went back to class in this condition.
He flipped a few pages back to the start of the interview and began to gaze intently on the moving images of the beater. He found one he particularly liked, showing the image of the beater's fine, tight arse as he executed a looping dive. Snape reached between his legs to fondle his tackle.
Over and over the buttocks on the page and those on the toilet seat quivered. Over and over Snape's talented fingers stroked his needy cock, red wet head revealed with each down stroke. Occasionally he toyed with his long foreskin, flicking a fingertip just under it and circling the head, giving himself an incandescent sort of rush.
He gasped and turned the page to another image of the beater, leaning back against a locker and fondling his own tackle. He could almost feel his fingers touching the muscled athlete; that fine young flesh would be taut, warm, resilient/. The gaze from those blue-green eyes was bewitching. That spiky hair and those glasses /so resembled...
Severus groaned and turned rapidly to the centrefold. His grip tightened and his stroke increased as he watched the beater beating off. He could just imagine a certain dark-haired, bespectacled young hard body nude atop his bed, amidst a tangle of red-gold bedcovers, writhing in pleasure, hand firmly stroking his supple, young wood.
"Oh!"
He shuddered as they both neared climax, then as the beater reached his, Severus groaned as he felt his own cock contract then shoot convulsively, warm pearly strands decorating the rug, the toilet seat, and his hand. A final trickle made him gasp as it dribbled down his knuckles.
To his astonishment he did not get any on the magazine, for which he was grateful; he definitely wanted to keep this issue!
He sat on the toilet a bit longer, catching his breath, and mentally contemplating how this might be a worthy occasional addition to his morning break. He had not indulged in quite some time, as he could attest to by the extreme head rush he'd gotten.
Setting the magazine on his window sill, he began to clean up. He thought now as he got dressed again for his next class, that he would definitely have to attend more Quidditch matches.
He wasn't sure, though, how he would be able to officiate any more at games that included Gryffindor house.
Referees, after all, could not afford to be distracted during a game.
~FINIS~
~()~ ~()~ ~(*)~
Completed 28 November 2005.
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