Punish me, Professor, I dare you.

Chapter 11: Purple Haze

Darkness surrounds me in the potion master's office, subtle light barely coming through the one window with thick glass. The winter afternoon can't be called too bright, even with all the pure white snow outside, usually at this time of year, sundown starts early. I stand awkwardly near the entrance, the wine still not giving clearance to my mind for sobering up, and as I look around in the room, the objects' and furniture's edges are still blurry. I'm leaned onto the wall behind me, I need some kind of stability for my slightly spinning vision, panting softly in the colder dungeon air. Snape lights a bigger candle in the middle of his round desk, and walks over to one of his shelves with vials and bottles, taking a slim one off, containing a purple liquid. Returning to his table, the professor beckons to me with his index finger, a barely noticeable smirk on his mouth; there's something playful but also extremely hot about this gesture of his. I imagine all the places that finger could caress and tease, and I feel my heartbeat picking up the pace. After I manage to push my body away from the wall, I step in front of him with hazy eyes, absolutely enjoying his handsomeness lit by the small flame, the shadow of his hair dancing on his face.

"This will help you sober up in a few seconds. I must warn you, it has quite the horrible taste, so I suggest gulping it down in one go." he informs me softly, handing the bottle to me. I don't take it from his hand, just eye the purple drink suspiciously, then I pull a disgusted grimace as I imagine the unpleasant taste it must have. I don't want to drink this. Professor, I would rather drink two gallons of water in one sitting, thank you very much.

"That wouldn't be too effective." he says with a half-smile. Huh? Oh yeah, he read my mind. "Water is not going to save you from a hangover, however, this will." Snape continues, still holding the bottle in front of my face. I'm still not enthusiastic on drinking the potion, mainly because I'm starting to feel sick after the world's constant spinning, and I feel, the moment that thing touches my tongue, I may vomit. And that is an absolute no-go in front of Snape. I make a whining sound as I contort my face in disgust again. The potioneer tuts, and lowers his hand to his side in defeat.

"Come now, you're not a child anymore. Or would you prefer suffering until your body cleanses itself naturally?" he raises an eyebrow at me like a true professor, and I open my mouth to say something, but change my mind midway, clasping my palm over my mouth as a hiccup forces itself up my throat. Snape lets out a soft chuckle, then his eyes light up for a second.

"I have an idea. Do you trust me?" he asks as he gently encircles his hand around my forearm. I nod, my hand still covering my mouth, looking up to him with an innocent-curious gaze. The potion master pulls me tenderly towards him, then switching our places, he pushes my lower back into the desk's edge, towering over me, trapping my body between the desk and his body. My heart races in my chest as I eye his every move, the proximity making the dizzy feeling worse. My breathing speeds up, as he raises the slim bottle again with a smug face. He takes out the stopper from the bottle, and pours the purple liquid in his mouth, then cupping my face in one hand, he swiftly connects our lips. I'm taken aback by his move, not able to react. Slithering fingers pinch my jaw, making me part my lips, exactly what the bat is waiting for, and he transfers the awful tasting potion into my mouth. I'm forced to swallow the horrid liquid down, squeezing my eyes shut in strong aversion in the process, a shiver running through my body as a response.

He was right, the brew makes its effect in just a few seconds, clearing my head almost immediately. But all of its work is in vain, when I'm overwhelmed yet again by another type of haziness, more specifically the soft and ineffably erotic caresses made by Snape's tongue. As if coming to rescue my poor mouth from the atrocious taste, he blesses me with his heavenly aroma, the kiss sweeter than sugar mixed in honey, his musky scent I so adore filling my nostrils, and in just a few seconds, I forget I ever had to swallow something bad. He explores my mouth excruciatingly slow, while running his hand through my hair in a gentle manner, slightly tilting my head to gain better access. His other hand snakes its way to my back, leaning me back more, as our osculation becomes more heated, the soft squelching sounds and little guttural noises driving me to the brink of madness. Knickers soaked through, I gain a dot of boldness and guide my hands to his chest, feeling him up; I can't believe this moment, as I realize this is the first time, I'm touching him in this way. His muscles are a bit lean but firm, I run my fingers down his stomach, using ghostly touches as I feel out his hip bones, applying pressure on them, then kneading his skin through the cassock as I rub my way up to his back, where I forcefully grasp the cloth with both hands. I press our bodies together more, pulling him closer with my grip, and I moan into the heated tongue-dance melting us.