Title: School Days Revisited II
Author: SassyInkPen & Zane
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Snape/Flint
Rating: [Adult]
Part: 1/1
Summary: Sequel to "School Days Revisited". Marcus 
Flint has returned to Hogwarts as Snape's assistant 
they both get more than they bargained for.

A/N: These two stories were actually written as a role play between Zane and I, and he's so damn brilliant, and brings out the best in me, that I had to polish them up into stories and get them out there. I (Sassy) wrote Snape, and Zane wrote Marcus.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I'm only borrowin' 'em, don't make no money off 'em and don't mean nothin' by it all.

Warning: This story contains graphic depictions of m/m sex as well as cutting and bloodplay.

School Days Revisited II By SassyInkPen & Zane (Fall 2003)


Marcus Flint had edged back into the potions classroom, running far later than he should have been and concerned about Snape's reaction. It occurred to him that the kind of penalty Snape could give to his assistant might be far worse than any detention he'd ever served. But he'd been out watching Oliver Wood give pointers to his first flying class and couldn't resist the chance to flirt and banter. He was counting rather shakily on his status as Snape's most recent bed partner, and the fact that the man had shown a perverse interest in his attraction to Oliver, to keep him safe from Snape's wrath.

As it was, Snape didn't seem to have noticed his absence, yet, since class was well under way, so he took the opportunity to watch Snape drift through the room harassing students.

Marcus had been keeping to himself near the back of the classroom, watching the students with a mix of boredom and amusement. He hadn't bothered correcting any of their mistakes, seeing as that Snape had not told him to do anything of the sort. That damn potion, he could do it with his eyes shut now...having done it eight years in a row, though the first four or five years he'd not gotten it right until the professor had reminded him exactly how it was to be done. Finally having stopped pacing, the former captain had leaned against a rear wall, slightly more tense than the usual lazy, catlike grace he moved with. The well- built body was still thrumming with the excitement of being so intimately close to his old nemesis. Oliver Wood still caused the old emotions of jealousy and frustration within him, but instead of the confused hatred and anger of their early years as classmates, they were all mixed up with feelings of desire and possessiveness and need. Instead of wanting to beat the crap out of the Gryffindor, Marcus had realized exactly what he wanted from the Scotsman, and was finally in the position to go after it.

Snape noticed Flint had returned and was skulking around at the back of the room. The boy seemed a bit edgy and he wondered how he'd got on with Wood. Snape determined to fish for a little information when he had the chance...he was still very interested in the progress of those two.

He began to move around the classroom checking the work of the students. He paused behind one table where the girls had made nearly double the amount of cauldron cleansing potion necessary, "Are we planning quite a few mistakes this year, ladies...or have we simply forgotten how to measure over the summer? You have enough here to clean an army of cauldrons. You will take only the proper amount with you...I'm sure I can put the rest to good use."

He drifted toward the back of the room, passing close by Flint and eyeing him as he did so. "Glad to see you back safe and sound," he murmured before moving on.

The sudden appearance of the older man brought Marcus out of his thoughts rather quickly, as he'd not even heard the professor approach. Snape was eyeing him curiously, so the young man flashed him a wicked grin and remained against the wall. "M-hmm..." he murmured with a slight incline of his head.

Snape merely arched an eyebrow and moved back to the front of the room to instruct the students to finish up and bottle their potions. A nasty grin curled at his lip when he noticed one student in particular, Nathaniel Birch, who had clearly *not* grasped the simplicity of the lesson. He advanced on the boy slowly, who in turn groaned and lowered his gaze to the still bubbling yellowish green mixture, already knowing what to expect. "Sorry, Professor Snape," he sighed heavily, "I reckon I just got detention huh?"

Marcus grinned as he watched. The boy seemed rather upset and flustered, and was botching his potion beyond any usefulness. The professor certainly had a way about him, and it caused Marcus to chuckle quietly. He had to fight back the urge to laugh out loud when he heard Birch's pathetic little apology. Hufflepuffs, bloody hell.

Snape flicked his glance from the useless bubbling goo back to Birch and sneered, "OH. I 'reckon' so...Since you seem to be volunteering so eagerly, you may come back here promptly after dinner this evening and reconstruct this potion in proper fashion, while attempting to explain to me just what exactly went wrong with this...*mess*." He poked a spoon at the contents of the cauldron and then dropped it on the table in disgust. He eyed Flint when he heard the boy snickering...perhaps it made him nostalgic.

Snape was feeling rather edgy himself, after allowing himself to get worked into a state of unpredictable sexual tension, what with the events of the previous night and his recent musings on the subject in general. And it didn't help that Birch was sitting before him blushing the most fetching manner. Suddenly, everything brought sex to mind for him. Perhaps there had been reasons he was unaware of to have avoided the activity for as long as he had before Flint. A little taste of what he'd been missing seemed to be consuming most of his attention, and he wondered which direction he ought to go in to correct that situation. Satisfy the need...or deny it again until it faded as it had before. At least for a time.

He jerked his mind back to the task at hand and stormed to the front of the classroom, bellowing, "Class dismissed!! *Don't* come back without a proper working knowledge of the seven uses of Woodbine!" He sat on the edge of the worktable at the front of the room, brow furrowed and in serious need of a drink.

"Mr. Flint...Kindly begin setting up for the next class..."

Marcus pushed away from the wall and leered at the students filing out of the dungeon classroom. Once the majority of them had passed through the door, the former Slytherin walked up the center aisle to begin cleaning off the front tables, wiping away messes and resetting the burners and cauldron stands. Narrowed blue eyes watched as the Birch kid finally got his shit together and bustled out, leaving only the potions master and himself. Marcus set his jaw and stayed quiet, not really sure at all what type of mood the man was in. He didn't want to provoke him if he was in a bad one, Marcus knew better than that.

Pushing thoughts of Oliver and dinner out of his mind, Marcus moved to the next table, picking up a burner and fiddling with the knob that adjusts the flame. He had a too-aware sense of Snape's position behind him, silent and watchful. Hopefully detention would provide a good distraction for the wizard so that Marcus wouldn't be missed, just in case his planned meeting with the Oliver went as well as he hoped it would. The thought made a blush touch the tips of his ears and he bent his head lower over the equipment.

Snape watched Birch leave and sighed, knowing it was only a small reprieve until the boy showed up for detention. Immediately he stood and started to pace the floor, cursing his sudden lack of control. He needed a distraction...an outlet...anything. He found himself actually wishing he had first-years next that he could actually teach to, but fifth-years were next, and they would work on their own. Leaving him too much time to think.

He passed by Flint and took the opportunity to shift his thoughts. Pausing near him, he said, "I hope your little...'excursion' was a success..." He instantly regretted it, though, only lately realizing he was merely exchanging one temptation for another. Flint alone was temptation enough...they'd already proved that. But when his own devious mind added Wood to the picture, he was once again filled with lust as images of that pairing formed in his imagination. He shook himself when it suddenly occurred to him that he'd been staring at Flint while all this was going on in his head, and wondered what his own expression must have betrayed. He drew himself up irritably and cursed softly. "Bloody *hell*...I need a drink..." he added and turned toward the office door.

A hot wave of blood rushed through his body as Snape addressed him directly, seemingly knowing exactly what had been on his mind. Marcus glanced up over his shoulder as the man walked passed him, setting down the burner with a soft clatter. Snape seemed ill at ease, and his assistant wondered whether something more interesting than lesson plans and class instruction had taken place while he'd been off chasing after Oliver. The thought brought a thin smirk to his lips, and Marcus shifted away from the table as the man mentioned getting himself a drink. It didn't seem to bother either of them that there would be another classroom of students in just a while, in fact, a drink seemed the most logical course of action when preparing for a class which contained both Gryffindors and Slytherins at the same time.

"Looks like you might need more than just one, ~Sir~," The dark haired youth said, deceptively lightly, as he sauntered towards the shelving near the back of the class, catlike grace having found its way back into his movements.

Snape stopped in his tracks at the tone of the boy's voice and turned to make a curt reply, but Flint already had his back to him as he went to retrieve more supplies. He watched Flint reach for a box, muscles flexing under his shirt, legs and backside taut as he stretched. Snape licked his lips, wondering what it was he'd heard in the boy's voice...typical disrespect, or the more recently familiar taunting from the night before. He found himself hoping for the latter, despite his current irritations.

Hefting another small box, Marcus brought it back to the table nearest the older man and dropped it onto the table. Bottles rattled with the impact, but there was another sound when it hit that was more metallic than glass. Curious, the former student slipped his hand in between the jumble of vials and bottles, long, searching fingers touching the cold metal of what seemed to be a blade. Turning his gaze from the professor to the box, Marcus pulled the object out slowly, revealing a long silver knife, simple in design and yet elegant at the same time. It was obviously NOT meant for chopping up caterpillars. With what seemed like an expert hand, the dark haired youth flipped the blade in his fingers so that the handle fell into his open palm, fingers steadying the hilt gently. Whoever had left this in that mess of bottles had lost quite a precious piece. The knife was perfectly weighted, looked to be of some silverish metal, the double-edged blade nearly seven inches long and still honed sharp as a razor. It caught the light as the boy toyed with it, glancing up at Snape.

"Well...I don't believe this is where a beauty like ~this~ belongs. Is it yours?" Marcus lifted his hand, touching the point of the blade to the side of his cheek gently, running the edge down his skin feather- light. Dark eyes slipped half closed as the blade made a tiny white scratch over his jaw, which slowly filled with the red of his blood.

"It's a...." the reply died on Snape's tongue as he watched the boy run the edge of the blade over his skin, drawing blood so easily. He was stunned for a moment, mesmerized by the contrast of pale and vivid...set on the canvas of a very dark individual. He found himself moving closer.

It was a dangerous image, the tip sliding slowly lower over the pulse point of the youth's neck and pausing there. The smirk was back on those lips as Marcus continued to watch the man before him from under thick black lashes, eyes flashing almost as wickedly as the point at his throat.

Snape stiffened and snatched the knife out of the boy's hand, "What are you playing at!" He was mildly unsettled by this behavior, and yet at the same time found that his pulse was beating just a little faster. The look in Flint's eyes gave no illusion as to what kind of fascination he had with the knife. Even as he attempted to stare down Snape, his eyes kept flicking back to it. For his part, Snape found his own gaze fixed on the little red drops of blood beading up on the thin line down Flint's jaw line. He could feel himself hardening and stepped even closer, drawn in by Flint's smirk.

The sudden quick movement of the older man snatching the knife from his loose grip had startled Marcus and caused him to gasp. The tip of the blade had nicked the pale flesh of his throat when the knife had switched hands, and the cut welled slowly with blood, hidden beneath the shadow of his jaw. The lightning flash of pain and slow aching warmth of the gathering blood caused his smirk to widen into a nasty grin. Pain was only the darker side of pleasure after all, it was a lesson he'd learned early in life.

Snape reached up and pressed the flat of the blade against the cut on Flint's face, smoothing it over the drops of blood like a caress. It made him shudder to see it so close to the pale skin once more. His voice was tight as he said, "Now I really need that drink..."

Marcus brought his eyes back up from the knife to the professor as the man pressed the flat of the blade against the scratch on his face. It was cold against his skin, but quickly it seemed to absorb his own heat. The assistant tilted his head and leaned it back just slightly, eyes slipping completely closed and mouth falling open with a low sigh. The movement brought his neck out of the shadow of his jaw and exposed the other slightly deeper cut, which had filled with blood and spilled a small, sluggish trail of crimson over the white flesh towards his collar.

Snape spotted the fat drop of blood oozing down the boy's neck, heavier than the little beads on his face. It gave him a chill when he realized that his own quick action had done that...and another when he realized Flint liked it. It wasn't just a nasty little come on then...the boy was serious...

Snape was close enough for Marcus to feel the warmth from his body and breathe in the dark scent of him, remembered instantly from the night before. It excited him, and slowly he shifted his body closer to the other, eyes opening to narrowed slits to gaze at the one holding the blade against him still. He didn't miss the tightness of the other's voice as he spoke of needing the drink once more, and Marcus realized that this was making the professor nearly as excited as it was himself.

His own long fingers lifted and a moment later the dark robe fell away from his shoulders, exposing the loose, dark sweater beneath. His breath was becoming shallower with the quick rise and fall of his chest, a flush tinting the bridge of his nose. Marcus imagined the tip of the blade trailing down his chest, leaving in its wake a dark line of liquid garnet. A small shiver raced up his body, the supple fingers reaching back up to the collar of his loose-knit sweater and pulling it lower, letting the drop of blood from the second wound travel lazily into the hollow of his neck.

Snape growled low in his throat, almost inaudible, as Flint edged closer to him, breath shallow and eyes narrowed. His body responded in full force when Flint dropped his robes and bared his throat. It was a primal move, and Snape watched the blood pooling up in a tiny circle just above the boy's collarbone, feeling his own primal instincts to prey on and devour that which was being so willingly offered.

Marcus stared. All that pent up tension was pushing him on, he needed an outlet. He needed something to get his mind off of what he couldn't have, at least not yet. Marcus let out a low moan, turning his face slowly so that his lips brushed against the silver edge of the blade. The blood from the scratch at his jaw smeared over his skin, vivid against the paleness. Smoldering eyes canted towards the professor as his lips parted and his tongue snaked out to lick the flat of the blade clean of his own heated blood.

Snape's earlier concerns of temptation and control were utterly forgotten as the lust that he'd denied for so long and then suddenly freed, now made its presence undeniable. He met Flint's heated gaze with one of his own, and took the boy's silent challenge. Then he dipped his head and licked up the little circle of blood from Flint's smooth neck. Holding it on his tongue, he seized the boy's hair and claimed his mouth in a dark kiss, spilling the blood between them. Snape pulled Flint close and crushed his raging erection into the boy's groin, allowing the butt of the knife to dig into Flint's back...a promise and a reminder of what was to come.

Marcus let out a low groan as he felt the hot tip of the other's tongue slide into the hollow of his throat, then hissed as his hair was taken roughly in hand. The kiss was harsh and the taste of his own blood filled his mouth, warm and salty and metallic. He kissed back hard, fingers releasing his own collar and grasping at the front of Snape's robes. Another groan worked its way out of him when he felt the man grinding against his own erection and the hilt of the knife made itself uncomfortably known beneath his left shoulder blade, digging into his back.

Snape heard students chattering in the halls and broke the kiss off sharply, cursing. "Get in my office and *stay* there," he hissed, giving Flint a shove toward the door. He stared purposefully at the boy as he went.

Marcus found himself chasing after the kiss when Snape pulled away, unaware of the approaching students, but was held in place by the older man. Still bleeding, he was turned towards the door to the office and given a shove and an order, which he followed without so much as a blink. His head was swimming with the thought of what Snape was planning, and he still felt the touch of the knife even though it was safe in the older wizard's hand.

As the first students entered the room, Marcus was slipping through the door and closing it with a soft click. He moved towards the opposite wall and leaned against a bottle filled shelf, one hand lifting to touch the slow trickle down his neck. Smearing his fingers through the thick wetness of his blood, the former student closed his eyes and bit his lower lip sharply. Images passed through his mind of the night before, and then of Oliver's face, that fucking smile, those warm, teasing eyes. Marcus moaned to himself, bringing red tipped fingers to his lips. There wasn't anything quite like the taste of blood, hot and vital. Idly he wondered what Oliver's blood tasted like, if it would run as freely as it used to when they were students. The thought made him even harder and he pushed his shoulders against the shelf behind him, resisting the urge to slide his own hands down his body and indulge in the dark fantasies racing through his head.

Snape paced the room fretfully as he waited for the students to file in and take their seats. His groin was tight and aching and he could still taste the blood and the unique flavor of Flint's mouth. Finally they all settled down and he said, "Last year, I gave you the task of making your cleansing potions on your own. This year will be no different, save for the fact that I will make myself unavailable for questions until the final fifteen minutes of class. Rest assured that I *will* be keeping an eye on you, however..." He paused to give the room a sweeping gaze of the darkest and most sinister kind that was often useful in controlling a class all on it's own. Then he pointed at the board on the side wall, "I have given you the formula for your reference, and you will find everything you need on your tables. You have seventy- five minutes."

Waiting for them all to get to work was sheer torture, but finally he felt able to break away to the subject more pressing in his mind at the moment. He stopped in front of the office door and cast a spell strengthening the alarm sounding wards he already had in place to warn him of any trouble in the classroom. He was all too aware that he would be somewhat less attentive than when simply grading scrolls.

Snape passed through the door and was faced with a rather desperate looking Flint leaning against the shelf, eyes closed, face flushed...and fingers clenched. It was a highly arousing sight and as Snape moved closer he noticed a smear of blood on the boy's lower lip. He tossed his robes on the desk and approached Flint, leaning forward to lick the red stain away. He slid a hand around Flint's head, holding him tight as he kissed him harshly. While he had him captive in that way, he reached up and drew the flat of the knife across the back of Flint's neck, grinning at the reaction it caused.

Marcus opened his mouth to the kiss, held in place firmly by the strong hand on the back of his head. The chill of the cold blade sliding across the back of his neck caused the boy to shiver and moan into the man's mouth, nerves jumping under his skin at the threat of harm. Not knowing when the smooth, flat angle of the knife would suddenly turn on it's edge and slice into his yielding flesh caused his adrenaline to surge, heart pumping fast.

"I can't say that I'm very surprised at your fascination for this," Snape said, pulling back and holding up the shining silver blade between them. "You do seem the type..."

He reached down to cup Flint's erection in his hand, kneading it through the cloth of the boy's trousers. He was hard and hot, and Snape grinned wickedly.

Barely even hearing Snape's words, much less recognizing the taunt, Marcus pushed his hips forward as the man touched him, erection straining against the material. In the back of his head he realized he was acting like some kind of desperate animal in heat, but he could really care less. He'd kept his hands to his sides at first, but now he reached back to grab at the edge of the shelves behind him, somehow sensing to keep his hands off of the professor this time around. No pulling and tugging and demanding this time, not when the other was running the tip of a very sharp knife along the tendons in his neck.

"Get your shirt off," Snape said, voice ragged with lust, and then expertly flicked the point of the knife over the side of Flint's neck, leaving a tiny little nick just behind his ear.

The sudden flash of pain as the blade cut into his neck again brought a hiss from his lips, but served the purpose of clearing his mind enough to obey the brief command. Blood trickled from the new wound as the former Slytherin fumbled to get his shirt off, pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor. His chest was as flushed as his face, and his eyes were glinting with a dark fire. Marcus gazed at Snape as he leaned back against the bookcase once again, leaving his chest exposed to whatever tortures the other could devise. Dark streaks of the blood oozing from the cuts on either side of his pale neck marked him like some kind of primitive war paint, and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip slowly as if he could still taste the wetness that the potions master had kissed away. His eyes traveled to the knife in the other's hand, dark, smoky blue reflecting the gleam of the firelight bouncing off its edge. He wanted that chill sting again, he wanted to feel it dragging across the oversensitive nerve endings just beneath his skin.

Snape watched with satisfaction as the boy tore his shirt off. It was pleasing to see the cocky little whelp come so thoroughly undone...and it made him all that much harder knowing he was the cause of it. He moaned out loud in appreciation of Flint's little performance and his eagerness. Then the boy licked his lip and stared so wantonly at the knife, that Snape himself found it difficult to maintain control. He trailed his fingers down the smooth, unmarked chest and stomach, and once again grasped Flint's firm erection.

Pushing his hips towards the professor once more, Marcus begged for it silently, lips parted and panting. The knowledge that this was all somehow wrong...twisted...hadn't even crossed his mind, all he cared about was how dangerous the dark haired man in front of him looked holding that knife ~just~ so...how it felt when it bit into him and caused him to gasp...and the scent and taste of the blood between them, making him needy and so aroused he could hardly think.

"Yes..." hissed Snape, "That's good...show me how much you want it..." He reached up and pushed a lock of sweat-dampened hair from Flint's forehead and caressed his cheek, all with the blade still in his hand, flashing dangerously. A tease designed to keep Flint guessing as to when and where the next real cut would happen. He arched his own hips forward and ground his aching cock against the boy's, groaning desperately as he did so. "Prove to me that you can handle this little game..." he breathed. He kissed Flint and tapped the flat of the blade on his lip.

Marcus grinned, baring his teeth when the flat of the blade tapped against his bottom lip. He could feel how hard the professor was despite the layers of clothing separating them, and he gripped the shelving behind him to keep his balance as the other pushed against him. He didn't bother answering Snape's little challenge, but he did plan on proving he could handle anything that was laid out.

Then Snape stepped back and set the point of the knife at Flint's right shoulder, drawing it along underneath his collarbone...moving slowly enough so that he could enjoy the boy's squirming and still maintain a careful watch over the path of the blade.

Marcus closed his eyes as he felt the cold point touch his shoulder, nerves tingling as it traveled along slowly over his flesh. It only left the faintest of cuts, barely enough to even draw blood. The former student bit at his lower lip, wanting more than the teasing that Snape was giving him. He opened his eyes to narrow slits, jerking his shoulder forward once the blade had gotten beneath his collarbone, driving it deeper into his skin than the professor had intended it to go. Red blossomed over the tip immediately and Marcus laughed, a harsh, wicked sounding noise. Slowly he pressed his body forward, craning his neck to bring his face closer to the older man's.

"If you're going to use it, fucking use it right... Or do you think I really can't handle it?" He growled through his clenched teeth. The pain of the cut was throbbing through him, spreading from the wound slowly in heated waves. The grin was back, cold and manic. Calmly he leaned back against the shelves, dark eyes flicking down to look mildly at the oozing wound and then back up at Snape. There was a smirk where the grin had been, and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes once again, exposing his white neck.

Snape glared at the insolent creature, furious with the boy's tone and lack of patience. He yanked at the buttons of his coat and threw it off, undoing the collar and cuffs of his white shirt, and shoving his sleeves up. Torture was as much an art as sex, and should never be rushed, particularly when the two were combined. His hand shot out and slapped the smirk off the boy's face with unrestrained force, then seized him by the throat and pinned him back against the shelves...squeezing firmly. When he felt he had Flint's attention, he seethed, "Another stunt like that and I'll throw you out on your precious ass...."

The force of the unexpected assault jerked Marcus' head to the side, the pale skin of his cheek flushing a bright red from the impact. He barely had time to cry out before the noise was cut off by the man's long fingers crushing around his neck. Marcus blinked his eyes open, the shelf behind him cutting painfully into the back of his scalp. One hand came up to touch Snape's wrist, he could hardly breathe, gasping with the force it took to pull air into his lungs.

Snape slid the knife down Flint's left shoulder until the point was in line with his heart. Standing it on end, he pressed the point into the soft flesh, his hand wrapped in a fist around the butt of the knife, and his strong arm tensed to apply any amount of pressure he desired.

The muscles along where the blade touched twitched beneath Marcus' skin, then tensed when the point stopped directly over his heart. The boy's dark eyes fluttered with the lack of breath and the too-slow pain as Snape drove the tip into his flesh. The hand he had on the strong wrist tightened as the professor pushed the knife further, his mouth opening with a tiny "Ah!..." The pain was, by far, worse than the quick little slashes he'd already sustained.

Snape locked eyes with Flint and said in a low, nasty voice, "I expect you to exercise a little self control, and trust that I *Know*...how to *Fucking*. Use it. Right. In more ways than you'd perhaps enjoy..." He shoved the knife deeper into the muscle. A halo of blood formed around the blade's point and started to trickle slowly down the pale skin. Snape continued to push it deeper by barely perceptible increments...

Snape let his lips part as his breath grew coarser, and he stroked Flint's neck with loosened fingers, the wounds there had already dried over and Snape leaned forward to kiss one. He wondered idly if the boy's pride would push him to choose death over giving in or crying defeat. It was a moot question...Snape, himself, took no pleasure in killing and wouldn't let it go that far. But he had no qualms about leading a victim to believe he would. Fear made the best aphrodisiac... second only to hatred. He didn't think Flint was gullible enough, however...pity.

Marcus gasped in breath once the grip on his neck had loosened, but it caught in his throat as he felt the knife slip even deeper into his chest. He tried to edge back from it, but the shelving was already biting hard into his shoulders and lower back. He'd made one hell of a mistake in provoking the former deatheater. Marcus could see the Dark Mark on the man's forearm, just under the rolled up sleeve, and it shot a thrill of fear up his spine. He shuddered as Snape's lips brushed against one of the cuts on his neck, something like a whimper falling from his mouth.

Snape gently rocked the knife from side to side just a little, enjoying the sounds Flint made when he did so. He slid his knee up between Flint's legs and lodged it firmly in his crotch, bracing his foot on the one of the low shelves so that he was nearly lifting the boy off his feet...but it cost him no effort to do so. He could feel the heat from Flint's groin and it made him moan softly with anticipation.

Blood spilled out faster when the knife was moved from side to side, sending shocks of pain deep into his chest. Marcus shuddered again and flicked his eyes from the mark on the pale arm up to the professor's face, parting his lips with quiet little pained gasping noises. When the knee lodged itself between his legs he squirmed, practically helpless. "Sir...Please..." he whispered, voice shaking and uneven, fingers petting the wrist of the hand still at his throat. Dark eyes fluttered closed and tightened as the blade caught a new nerve and pain jolted through him.

Snape pulled the knife out, angling it downward so that it made a deep gash as it slid from the skin. More blood seeped from it and ran in a rivulet down over Flint's belly. Snape flipped the knife in his hand, holding it so the blade was now down and out of the way, and he could rub the backs of his fingers through the red streak, pressing them against the cut. "Are you going to behave yourself now, Marcus...?" he said softly.

The sudden downward slash of the knife being pulled from his flesh caused Marcus to jerk and cry out loudly in pain. He whimpered weakly again as the fingers pressed against the bleeding gash, muscles all along his body quivering. The blood trailing down his stomach tickled, and he shifted his hips against Snape's leg with a low, chilled moan. Opening his eyes, Marcus blinked his vision into focus, giving Snape a pleading look. "I'll behave...I promise..." He whispered, voice hoarse. If Snape had been trying to scare him, it had worked.

"That's a good boy..." purred Snape, smiling wickedly into the scared eyes of the boy. He could feel Flint's muscles trembling beneath his hands, and the pleading...the whimpering and the cries...were as arousing to him as if the boy were licking his cock. His breath was shallow and his own eyes were glassy with lust.

He let his gaze fall to the bulge in Flint's pants, sure evidence that all the gasping and commotion had a dual source. Snape reached down to rub the blade of the knife over Flint's clothed erection, balanced there on his knee. He watched the trickles of blood pool up along the waistband of the boy's pants.

Marcus' whole body stiffened when Snape rubbed the blade across his trapped erection, after what he'd done but a moment before there was no telling what he might do next.

Aiming the knife carefully and giving it a sharp twist, Snape neatly sliced off the button holding them closed. He leaned forward to kiss Flint again, slowly, savoring the taste of him. He slid his tongue into Flint's mouth, stroking him and kissing firmly, pausing only to bite at his lips, or catch a breath of air. All the while, he worked Flint's pants loose and pulled out his stiff arousal...fondling it lightly.

The young man gave a small jump when the button was flicked off by the razor sharp knife, his breath ragged and fast. He didn't kiss back at first when Snape's lips covered his, but soon that hot tongue found its way into his mouth and he groaned low in his throat. Tensed muscles quivered as the older man worked at his undone pants and finally extracted his cock, running his fingers over it. Marcus shivered and rocked his hips on the other's leg, which was still wedged between his own.

Flint's cock was hot in his hand, and it made Snape groan, "Fuck, yes...I like to see you this way..." He stroked the boy softly and slowly, enjoying the feel of him, the little gasps of pleasure that earned him.

"Now, where were we...?" Snape arched an eyebrow at Flint, and raised the knife to his shoulder, still stroking with his other hand. He positioned it just below the first scratch and began to draw it across the pale skin once more, applying a bit more pressure to satisfy the boy's tastes. This time the line turned red immediately in the wake of the silver tip, blood beading up slowly along it...enough to be quite striking, but not nearly heavy enough to drip. He moaned appreciatively, "Mmmm, yes...that's very lovely, don't you think?"

Hands once more gripping the edges of the bookshelf behind him, Marcus wet his lips and let out a shuddering moan in response to the other's words, thrusting his prick further into the light circle of the professor's hand. The blade running over his chest right below the previous cut counter-balanced the pleasure with pain, sending his mind into a whirl of conflicting senses. Marcus didn't know whether to moan or whimper, and so the reactions mixed into an odd sound, one he would have laughed at had he not been completely lost in it all.

Snape grinned at the desperate sounds the boy made, each one running right down his spine and into his cock. He was aching for contact now...needing to be touched. But he would make himself wait. There was still more he wanted to do.

Marcus could feel the blood from the deeper gash above his heart still dripping down his chest, now gathering in the exposed dip where his leg connected to his lower abdomen. The movements of Snape's stroking hand smeared the crimson liquid across his belly and into the dark hair, mixing his own scent with the warm tang of his blood. Marcus dropped his head forward slightly, eyes half lidded and lips parted, a flush tinting his normally pale face, brighter on one side from the lingering sting of the slap. Warm waves of pleasure clashed delightfully with the dull ache of pain from where the blade had touched him, and he found a rhythm in his small thrusts against his former professor. "Fuck..." he groaned, rocking his whole body a little with each thrust. Much more of this and it would be over for him, so he checked himself, slowing his movements and lifting his head. Blue eyes stared lustily into Snape's darker ones, glazed over with dilated pupils.

Snape groaned and his blood ran hot as he watched the boy writhe and squirm beneath his touch. He would have enjoyed watching the boy come right then and there, but he was pleased to see him holding back. This scene was far too interesting and intoxicating to have it end so soon. Flint was turning out to be a rare treasure indeed.

Snape pulled his eyes from the red streaks on Flint's torso, and realized that the boy was staring at him with a very singular look in his eyes. He suddenly wished the boy were not nearly so enigmatic, because he would dearly have loved to know what was going on in the unusual mind behind them. Snape lifted the blood covered hand he'd been stroking Flint with and held it to the boy's lips, painting them before Flint opened his mouth to lick. When he did, Snape pressed his first two fingers deep inside, stroking them over Flint's tongue and encouraging the boy to suck.

When the hand left off stroking him, Marcus let out a small sound of disappointment, then lifted his head slightly to accept the bloody touch on his lips. It sent a chill up his spine as he opened his mouth and snaked out his tongue, licking slowly along the offered fingers. It did not surprise him in the least when Snape angled his hand to push those fingers into his mouth, and he closed his lips over them, sucking as he slid his tongue around them. The taste was sharp and coppery, and with a flash of his eyes, he bit down playfully. It was a quick little movement, smoothed over by a swipe of the agile tongue and a soft moan.

Snape hissed when Flint bit him and groaned as that skilled tongue worked over his fingers. He watched the boy through narrowed eyes, his entire body tense with lust and need. Snape pressed his fingers deeper, he liked making the boy work a little. He was panting slightly and was starting to feel the effort of holding back.

Marcus closed his eyes and tilted his head, still moving his mouth over the digits. He let them slide further back into his mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue over the flesh between the second and third finger. Ignoring his own need for the moment, he focused on that hand, bringing his own up once more to touch Snape's wrist lightly.

The long slender fingers felt cool and smooth against his wrist, and Snape grinned as the boy threw himself into his task. It was highly erotic to see him so aroused and Snape wanted nothing so much as to see more.

Playing it up, Marcus made small, wanton noises in the back of his throat, wondering just how much the professor was enjoying this. He hoped the man appreciated it, for Marcus rarely did ~anything~ to please anyone but himself. Not that he wasn't pleased, on the contrary, the former Slytherin had hardly been this aroused since the last time he'd slammed Oliver Wood into the heavy metal lockers of the changing rooms and received a broken nose for his troubles. There was just something about pain and blood letting that sent him into a dazed state of lust. The only difference between the old, heated fights between the two rival captains and this, was that what Snape was doing seemed very much more refined, sadistically so.

Snape pulled his fingers from Flint's mouth and slid his leg free so that he could kneel down in front of him. He reached up, still holding the knife, and tugged Flint's pants lower, exposing his thighs.

Marcus licked at the fingers even as they slid from his mouth, trailing a thin line of red tinted saliva across his lower lip. His body relaxed and shifted a bit as the pressure of Snape's leg moved from between his own. Holding himself still as his pants were tugged further down his legs, Marcus felt himself go weak in the knees when the older man knelt before him.

Clasping his hands over the tightly muscled legs, Snape leaned forward and ran his tongue up the length of the boy's cock. It was quite a sight, smeared with blood and standing rigid and straight. He groaned at the taste of blood mixed with Flint's own arousal...he inhaled deeply, and felt his cock twitch in response.

Marcus had never imagined seeing Snape this way, and he anxiously licked his tongue over the blood smeared bottom lip. The feeling of the professors hot, wet tongue sliding up his prick made his whole body shudder, and he groaned slowly, eyelids fluttering half closed while he watched.

Sitting back on his knees, Snape looked up at Flint with a wicked grin and licked off the blade of the knife. Then he turned his attention to the boy's thigh and pulled the blade across the top of it smoothly, not going overly slow. The blood welled up bright and glittering in a slightly angled stripe. Snape pulled the knife across Flint's thigh again, laying another line below it, and then another below that...making a neat set of gashes that were all starting to trickle threads of crimson.

The blade flashed as the former deatheater ran it over his tongue, causing Marcus' heart to skip a beat. The cold wave of fear returned, making the short hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. But the blade was turned instead against his thigh, slicing across it smoothly. Marcus hissed in pain, muscle quivering beneath the assault. The next cut made him cry out, hands lifting from the shelves and clenching at his sides. At the third cut he almost sobbed, for the pain was wickedly intense along such a sensitive area of his body.

Snape's body trembled with need as he listened to the boy yelp and gasp while he cut him. He had to admit he was rather impressed with Flint's tolerance. But then...he'd seen the boy through school, he knew how many fights and vicious Quidditch matches he'd survived. Snape paused with the knife, allowing the pain to sink in before he continued, letting the cuts burn through the boy's body and giving him a chance to catch his breath.

"Pr..Professor..." Marcus gasped, eyeing the now heavier trickle of blood falling from the stinging gashes with a rapt expression. The blood still dripping from the slash above his heart joined the blood from his thigh, soaking into the rumpled cloth of his pants. Timidly he reached forward, running his fingers into the man's dark hair. His chest was heaving shallowly with his quick little breaths, sweat beginning to bead along his upper lip and forehead. His erection was twitching slightly with each heartbeat, straining into the empty air. He wanted to kneel down with Snape, strip the clothes away from both of them, and then spend himself on the other across the cold, harsh stones of the office floor, staining it with blood.

Snape glanced up at Flint. "Had enough?" he asked quietly. There was no taunt or trace of sarcasm in his voice. It was an honest question. Torture for the sake of sexual gratification had to be on the victim's terms...one move too far and the entire spell was broken. At least...if *both* parties were to be satisfied. The sight of the boy trembling and heaving made his body surge and his lust swell. He was more than ready and it startled him when Flint slid his fingers into his hair so gently. Snape rolled his head slightly, enjoying the touch. But he wondered about it...such a thing was rather uncharacteristic for Flint, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far already. He reached up to caress the unmarked thigh, and looked up at Flint, trying to read the boy once more. He was definitely a challenge.

Marcus let out a small groan and a barely perceptible nod, steadying himself with the hand on Snape's head as he sank to his knees in front of him. Once he'd gotten there (it had been a bit awkward, what with his pants still tangled around his legs and the trembling muscles slick with blood) Marcus used his grip on the dark hair to pull the older man towards him, crushing his lips to the other's with another groan.

Snape tried to hold his head still as Flint used the grip on his hair to get down on his knees, but the boy was putting a lot of weight on him and he inadvertently swayed a bit. It was a slow process, a testament to the pain the boy was in, but Snape let him manage it himself. He was rewarded for his patience with a heated kiss, which he returned hungrily, fisting his hand in the damp hair at the back of Flint's head, and answering with deep sounds of his own.

Marcus' free hand came up to Snape's shoulder, fingers pulling at the loose collar. Pushing Snape back slightly and leaning forward even farther himself, Marcus had to use his grip on the professor to keep himself from sprawling onto the floor. The movement caused his body to stretch, pulling the gashes open wider and encouraging the blood to run faster. The pain of it made him pause, and his breath caught in his throat.

The loss of blood combined with his arousal made the former student light headed, with only one goal for him to focus on. A few droplets of blood splattered to the floor as he shifted, trying to wriggle out of his pants without moving his hands. The tangle of material was making him fiercely frustrated, it was confining and trapping him, triggering his claustrophobia. He seemed in a terrible state, growling low into the other's mouth, fingers pulling at the dark hair and digging hurtfully into Snape's shoulder.

Snape set the knife down, and grasped Flint's waist, helping to hold him steady while he tried to kick out of his clothes. It was somewhat amusing to see him struggle and grouse while he attempted to strip without the use of his hands. Flint's frustration and the painful grip on his shoulder only served to heighten Snape's arousal and he kissed him fiercely, biting at his lips and panting for air. He sat back on the floor and slipped his legs out from under himself so that he could more easily support Flint as he flexed in whatever direction seemed most likely to rid himself of his pants.

Kicking one leg in the twisted fabric, Marcus' foot hit the bottom of the shelves behind him, causing the bottles stacked there to rattle threateningly. Marcus twisted and pulled until the pants had slid lower and he could finally kick them off with his shoes. Letting out a triumphant little sound, the chaser pushed harder against Snape, trying to force him back against the stone floor.

Snape grinned with approval at Flint's show of success and allowed the boy to push him onto his back. The floor was cold and hard, and Flint's fingers were still pulling at his hair and digging into his shoulder. The pain and discomfort caused him to shift his body, letting his lust turn it to pleasure as he moved. Flint's skin was warm under his hands and he flexed his fingers against it, clutching him anxiously. Flint was in a highly intense state and it was incredible to watch. He was curious to see what the boy was after, and gave him free rein, enjoying the exercise as a kind of interactive voyeurism.

Once he had Snape lying back on the floor, Marcus slid his body full length atop the other's, hissing softly as the fabric of Snape's clothing scraped across his abused flesh. He untangled his fingers from the dark strands of the hair, running them down the pale neck, following them with his lips. Shifting his weight, Marcus spread his legs to straddle the professor's hips, smearing blood all across his lap. He ground his aching erection against the one still trapped beneath the cloth, making a noise almost like a purr.

The former student bit at the white skin of Snape's neck, leaving shallow little red marks everywhere his teeth touched. It wasn't enough, though, so he pushed himself up and began pulling at the shirt, tugging it the rest of the way open and flipping it away to expose the pale chest. Leaning down, the boy licked off a drop of blood that had fallen from his chest to Snape's, then trailed his tongue over the collar bone and bit down again.

Snape let his head fall back and moaned appreciatively at the attention he was receiving. He kept his hands loosely perched on the boy's back, sliding them along his body to touch a shoulder or grasp a hip...not caring where so much, but always in contact, feeling the smooth muscles working as Flint writhed on top of him. The boy had the substantial weight that came with strength and it felt good pressed against Snape's body, holding him down beneath the assault of Flint's mouth. Snape's cock was also relishing the attention and strained desperately as it sensed the heat of another body so near. The pressure the boy was exerting on it made him needy and hot, and he shoved himself upwards seeking more.

Thrusting his hips to grind harder against his former instructor, Marcus lifted his face to hover just a few inches above the potion master's, a wicked grin spreading across his flushed lips. "Do you want to fuck me again, you old snake?" There was a playful note in his low voice, deliberately taunting the older man.

He moaned and slithered his body slowly, making sure that he put just the right amount of pressure on Snape's groin. Long fingers worked their way down to the clasp of the professor's pants slowly, feathering over blunt nipples and the ridges of his ribs. Marcus began rocking his hips slowly again, pulling the fly of Snape's pants open.

Snape cuffed him for the insult, but it wasn't meant to seriously harm, just to answer in kind. "Dislike your new nickname for me, Yes, I do want to fuck you..." He groaned and let his eyes drift closed as Flint's fingers made their way along his body, loosening his pants and teasing his cock.

"Take me like this...I want to be on top..." Marcus moaned softly, pushing up into a full sitting position, still straddling the other's lap. Marcus licked his lips and tilted his head back, bringing up one hand to trace over the gash in his chest, smearing the blood slowly with his fingertips.

Snape's eyes shot open at this request and his lips parted a bit as he began to pant shallowly, already imagining the sight of the boy perched on top of him and impaled on his cock. "Yes," he hissed, "Just like this...right now..." He hastily reached down to shove his pants a little further out of the way, making more room for the boy. He licked his lips in heated anticipation, and gripped at the boy's hip greedily.

Snape swiped his palm over the gashes in Flint's leg and turned his hand over, glistening red. He glanced from his bloody fingers to the boy's eyes and gave him a wicked grin as he smeared the thick substance over his own cock. It was not, perhaps, the best lubricating agent, but it was convenient...and appropriate.

He grasped Flint by the waist and pulled him in that general direction, arching his hips to graze his cock against the boy's ass, while Flint situated himself.

Marcus lifted himself onto his knees for the few moments it took the man to push his pants down out of the way, looking hungrily over the exposed flesh. Shivering with anticipation, the boy bit down on his lower lip as he felt Snape's hand wipe over his sore thigh, eyes glinting as he saw the man coat his erection with it. Tilting his hips forward when the other grasped his waist, Marcus let Snape guide him, jumping slightly when he felt the head of his cock brush against him.

With the firm hands still on his skin, the former captain shifted his hips slowly until he felt the tip of Snape's prick nudging slick against the tight ring of muscle. Taking a small breath, Marcus closed his eyes and pushed down, arching his back and spreading his legs a bit farther apart. With a tiny twitch of his body he felt Snape's cock slide in, sticky and hot with blood. He gasped and caught his breath in his throat, body tensing suddenly as pain shot up his spine. Apparently he was still sore from the previous night.

Marcus made himself relax, easing further onto the other's cock and panting haltingly. His eyes began to water, so he closed them tightly and pressed his lips together. Leaning just a little forward, he splayed his hands over the professor's chest, then rocked his hips and groaned. His face was contorted with a mix of pain and desperate desire, but he set his jaw and jerked his hips again, driving Snape deeper and trying to find a rhythm.

Snape groaned as his cock pressed into the boy, arching his hips higher with need. He'd gone all this time barely being touched and his body was thrumming with desire and want. It was all he could do not to shove Flint down hard over his erection. As it turned out, the boy's reaction could hardly have been more pleasing. Snape watched with rapt attention, panting softly, as Flint eased down onto him in obvious discomfort. The expressions of pain mixed with pleasure, and the tensing muscles were exquisite, and Snape moaned his appreciation. He clutched at Flint's skin, holding him tightly. When tears sprang to the boy's eyes, Snape's whole body flushed with pleasure, his lust reaching new peaks. He was deeply excited in this position, being able to see Flint's entire body as he fucked him...every motion, every reaction. Flint looked magnificent with the streaks of red blood glistening down his body in various stages of drying.

Snape groaned with the heat of Flint's body, and the tight grip it had on his cock, and he stroked Flint's arms as the boy leaned on him. Snape grinned up at him and reached for the knife, left lying to the side. He picked it up, and used his other hand to push Flint more upright. A shiver ran through him as the posture caused the boy to settle more firmly onto his cock, and he rolled his hips with pleasure.

Staring into Flint's eyes he purred, "Perhaps I can help take your mind off your discomfort..." Then he flicked his wrist and little red gash appeared in the middle of the boy's chest, just below the breastbone. Warming to the game once more, Snape set the point of the knife at the base of Flint's throat, drawing it slowly down his chest...lightly, just barely a scratch...all the way down his stomach.

Marcus opened his eyes narrowly as Snape pushed him up a little, but they widened when he saw the other pick up the knife once more. The sudden slash of sharp pain did indeed take his mind off of the more aching, sore pain left from the night before. He sat up further as Snape drew the blade from his throat to his belly, it made him hotter, fresh blood beading up from the newest cuts. Marcus licked his lips and began thrusting his hips steadily, sending shivers up his own spine as the movements stretched him.

It took him a few times before he got into a good position, rotating his hips until he angled Snape's cock just right, nudging it against that spot that made him writhe and moan and carry on. Marcus tilted his head down and to the side so that he could watch the professor's reactions as he moved above him, thrusting and moaning and panting.

Snape rolled his hips along with Flint's thrusting, but let him set the pace, finding as always, that a little movement on his part served to intensify his pleasure. He watched as a slow trickle of blood snaked its way down Flint's stomach, moaning with each thrust of the boy's hips. Teasing the boy for so long before getting any attention had made his desire burn deeply and now it was surfacing with a vengeance, making his legs tremble and his breath thready.

Marcus wanted to come, but was afraid to touch himself, because that seemed to be something that Snape didn't like, and he was the one with the knife in his hand. Timidly, Marcus looked down into the black eyes, pleading silently and drifting his fingers over his own aching erection. Maybe if Snape saw what he wanted, but he didn't begin to stroke himself like last time (which had caused the older man to slap his hands away) the professor would oblige him, giving him the relief that he craved.

Snape glanced down at the boy's fingers flitting lightly over the blood stained cock, the sight sending shivers of lust down his spine. Then he looked up into the searching eyes that were upon him, and shook his head with an evil grin. He slid the flat of the knife over Flint's thigh and down between his legs, watching the firelight glint off the silver as he slowly caressed the boy's cock with it...carefully, not wanting to damage such a delicate object, but enjoying the eroticism of the implied threat.

Marcus frowned and narrowed his eyes when he saw the other shake his head to the silent request, then tensed once more as the knife slid so close to the soft, unprotected flesh of his cock. His movements faltered, but as Snape did not make as if to cut him there, Marcus resigned himself to those teasingly dangerous caresses, rolling his hips and glaring down at the man beneath him.

Snape toyed with Flint for quite some time, savoring the boy's irritation and impatience. Finally, he too was close to release. He took Flint's arm by the wrist and placed the handle of the knife in the palm of his hand, curling Flint's fingers around it, freeing his own hands. Grasping the boy's untouched thigh with one hand, he began to stroke Flint's cock gently with the other, groaning loudly at the reaction of Flint's body and the effect it had on his own.

By the time Snape took his arm, the former Slytherin had worked himself into quite a state, body shivering with each thrust, lips parted and small animal noises escaping from his arched throat. When he felt the cold steel of the hilt drop into his palm and the other's fingers wrapping his own around it, Marcus grasped it tightly. He lifted it out of the way, never breaking his rhythm and never opening his eyes to look down. But when Snape's fingers encircled his desperately aching cock and began stroking him, the boy shuddered and groaned, muscles tightening around the other's cock buried deep inside him.

Just a few moments of the professor's stroking was all that it took, and Marcus was coming, thrusting harder and shaking. He cried out haltingly, fingers gripping the knife tightly as he arched his back and lifted his face towards the ceiling. The tendons in his neck and chest stood out as his seed spilled from him, mixing with his blood as it ran over his belly and dripped over Snape's fingers. Marcus moaned with relief, body twitching just a little as his thrusts slowed. He leaned forward and opened his eyes, sneering at his former professor as he brought the knife in his hand against the other's pale cheek. Shifting his body with a low groan, he began to move again, bucking his hips towards Snape's to drive him deeper. His sole intent was to make the older man climax now, his dark eyes glittering with lustful malice, pressing the razor edge of the blade to the pale flesh without cutting into it.

"Now...You come for me, dear Professor..." he hissed, tilting his head closer and running his hot tongue slowly over Snape's lips.

Snape opened his mouth and flicked his tongue out to catch Flint's before pulling him down for a deep kiss, moaning heavily into the boy's mouth. He could feel the cold blade against his face and it made him shiver. But what had really grabbed his attention was the boy's sudden return to his former attitude. It had been very exciting to see him come full circle, especially when Snape was the cause of it. To have been able to reduce such a belligerent and willful creature as Flint, to one who was begging and gasping...very near tears...was a rare treat indeed. And not because he desired to break the boy...but because Flint sought it out, *wanted* it, *that* was what made it so fascinating. And when he'd gotten what he needed, he returned to his natural state. One that Snape also enjoyed.

Snape grasped Flint's hips with tight hands, forcing him downward as he thrust up into the boy's body. He drew his knees up slightly, trying to get a little leverage on the floor, but the angle was wrong for his booted feet to take hold, and instead he managed to brace one against the base of the bookshelves. This allowed him to fuck harder and within only a minute or so, he was coming forcefully, arching against the stone floor with a harsh cry and a growl.

Marcus returned the kiss fiercely, biting at the other's bottom lip and pulling it with his teeth. When Snape gripped his hips and forced him down while thrusting into him he gasped into the older man's mouth. He could feel the professor shifting below him, trying to get a better angle against the cold stone floor. A smirk flashed briefly across his face when he heard the rattle of the bottles on the shelf as Snape braced his foot against it. The smirk turned into a set grimace as Snape pounded harder into him, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips painfully. It didn't take long at all before Snape was coming, and Marcus braced his hand on the other's chest, taking the knife away from the pale cheek. He cried out softly as he felt the heat of the man's cum filling him, biting his lip as the other jerked into him a few more times.

Snape lay there in a pleasant daze for a moment, and then shifted his body, sliding out. He held Flint on top of him a little longer, savoring the warmth of the other's body. They needed to clean up, however, and he finally released him, looking over the many marks and cuts as Flint sat up.

When Snape slid out of his body Marcus groaned, feeling the strange empty soreness again. He stayed atop the other as he caught his breath, his body aching and filthy with drying blood. When Snape released him, Marcus rolled onto the floor beside him, letting the cold of the hard floor seep into his bare back. He hurt now that the adrenaline was leaving him, each gash making itself painfully known.

"Did you want me to heal those for you, or are you still enjoying them?" Snape asked, nodding at the boy's chest.

Marcus shook his head and lifted the hand holding the knife to his forehead, swiping his wrist across his sweat and blood smeared brow. He was a mess, skin too pale beneath the rust of dried and still dripping blood. He needed to get cleaned up, there was no way he could leave the office in his current state, and he couldn't get dressed with his wounds still raw and wet.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Marcus grunted with the effort, then nodded to the professor. "I think you're going to have to. I don't have my wand with me..." He then grinned and looked into the other's dark eyes, lifting his hand to run a finger gingerly over the deepest cut over his heart. "Unless you want the students seeing me leaving like this. Might put a whole new spin on detention, eh?" He chuckled quietly to himself, still sitting on the floor. Snape wasn't too pretty a sight either, covered in his former student's fuck and blood that had dripped down onto him, hair tangled and twisted where Marcus had gripped it.

Snape grinned at the idea, imagining just what effect that might have on the students sitting in the other room. He got to his feet and retrieved his wand, casting a cleaning spell over them. He buttoned up his pants, and straightened his shirt, running a hand through his hair. Walking over to the shelves filled with bottles of all shapes, sizes and colors, he began to scan over them searching for one particular one. When he found what he was looking for, he shifted some others to the side, and came away with a large brown bottle that had a tiny neck. He knelt next to Flint who was still sitting on the floor, "This may sting a little bit, but you're just going to have to bear with it. I don't have time to fuck you again."

Marcus felt much better once the cleaning spell had been cast, freeing his skin of sticky and drying blood, sweat, and cum. He stretched out his legs on the floor, watching the professor straighten himself up before moving to the shelves to search for the bottle. When Snape approached him with the large brown bottle and kneeled, telling him that it could sting, Marcus snorted. Of course it would sting, it'd probably do a lot more than just sting, knowing potions.

Snape pulled the stopper out of the bottle and poured a little over the wounds in the boy's thigh, the narrow opening making it easy to direct the flow where he wanted it. They foamed up a little and the liquid bubbled as the skin mended itself on the spot. Another dribble of the fluid washed away all traces of any injury.

As the liquid poured out onto the slashes on his thigh Marcus hissed, a searing pain burning into him as the wounds mended themselves. The potion actually seemed to be reversing the wound, which meant as it sealed itself back up, the boy relived the pain of the original cutting. He narrowed his eyes and glared silently at the professor as he splashed the potion on each of the slashes in turn, setting his jaw against the curses he wanted to spit at Snape.

Snape carefully healed nearly all the cuts and scratches, and then corked up the bottle and went to put it way. He left the gash over the boy's heart. He liked it and wasn't about to heal it up. If the boy chose to do so later, that was his own business.

When Snape didn't make to heal the last, deepest gash over his heart, the former Slytherin was almost relieved, as he knew that one in particular had hurt the very worst.

Snape kicked Flint's pants over to him and started to button up his own shirt, while still watching the boy.

Marcus grabbed the bloodstained pants, leaning back onto the floor to pull on first his briefs and then the pants. He couldn't fasten them, what with the nicked off button, which had rolled somewhere and hidden itself. He was just going to have to go back to his room and change. After pulling his shoes back on, he reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head as he stood up. It was pleasing to note that the potion had done it's job well, leaving him only with the pain of the one cut on his chest and the soreness of two hard fuckings too close together.

All this time he'd kept the knife quietly in his hand, but now that he was finished dressing, Marcus flipped the blade into the air again and caught it with a deft movement of his wrist. He cocked his hips and grinned at the potions master, the unfastened pants riding low on his hips, fly hanging open slightly.

"A button for a button, then, sir..." He laughed and slid the knife, blade down, into the waist of his briefs, running the flat of it over his abdomen before taking it out again and spinning it between his fingers, making for the door.

Snape watched him go, smirking. He raised his eyes at the button remark, not entirely sure of it's meaning. So he took a moment to search the floor, and there, underneath his desk, he found the button he'd sliced off Flint's pants. He studied it curiously for a moment before slipping it into his pocket and pulling on his coat and robes.

Marcus didn't look back at Snape as he left, not bothering to cover the fact that his pants were opened and a spot of blood was making a wet spot on the front of his sweater. He'd have to bandage that once he was back in his rooms. The door to the office shut behind him as he entered the actual classroom, students busily trying to finish their task before Snape returned to inspect them. He moved hastily through the room, fingers holding the knife slipping into the folds of his robes to hide the weapon. He narrowed his eyes a little as some of the students glanced up. But, not wanting to look guilty, Marcus continued on, making sure to give them a smirk and an incline of his head as he passed, heading to his private quarters.

Snape strode out of his office and into the classroom, surveying the room to see how the students were doing. As usual, three quarters of them were already finished and talking amongst themselves, and a few were sweating over cauldrons that were foaming over, or turning hideously impossible colors. Singling out the most fearful looking ones, Snape squared his shoulders and set in to teach them a thing or two about potion making.

~~The End~~