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Severus had no idea how it even happened. One moment, he was being bullied as usual, and the next, he found himself perched on James Potter’s lap. Strong hands gripped his waist, steadying him as James flashed that insufferable, lopsided grin. Humiliation burned through Severus, only intensifying when James shifted his leg—deliberately. The movement was subtle, but the pressure sent a jolt through Severus in ways he didn’t even want to acknowledge, let alone think about.
He had only wanted to finish a potion he’d been struggling to perfect, alone in the quiet of the empty classroom. But, as always, James Potter had a way of finding him, appearing in the doorway like he had some sixth sense for ruining Severus’s peace. How the boy always knew exactly where to find him was a mystery Severus both despised and cursed.
“Come on, Snape, I can feel you getting hard. Don’t pretend you don’t like this,” James taunted, his voice dripping with amusement, his grip firm and possessive.
Severus clenched his jaw, his entire body rigid with mortification as James’s words settled between them. His breath hitched, and he hated himself for it—hated the way his body betrayed him, the way James knew. He tried to twist away, but James’s grip on his waist tightened, holding him in place.
“You can glare at me all you want, Snape,” James murmured, voice low and infuriatingly smug, “but I know you fancy me.”
Severus’s face burned. “You’re delusional,” he spat, trying to shove at James’s chest, but the bastard only laughed, as if this was all a game to him.
“Am I?” James challenged, his fingers brushing just under Severus’s shirt, ghosting over his skin in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. “Because your body says otherwise.”
Severus hated him. Hated him.
But he hated himself even more for not pushing harder, for letting James hold him there, for the way his stomach twisted—not with anger, but something far more dangerous.
James shifted beneath him, adjusting their position with effortless strength until Severus found himself straddling just one of James’s legs. The sudden movement made him gasp, his hands instinctively clutching at James’s shoulders to steady himself. He could feel the muscle beneath him, solid and deliberate, and it sent a humiliating heat crawling up his neck.
James grinned, that insufferable, lopsided smirk full of mischief and knowing. His hands on Severus’s waist squeezed just slightly, guiding him, teasing.
“Go on, Snape,” James murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Ride my leg.”
Severus went stiff, eyes wide with shock and horror. His throat felt tight, his mind screaming at him to get up, to shove James away, to do anything but sit there, humiliated and burning under the weight of James’s gaze.
“You—” Severus started, voice shaking with rage, but James only chuckled, shifting his thigh beneath him in a slow, purposeful drag. The friction sent a jolt through Severus’s body, shame and something else twisting in his stomach.
“Merlin, you’re already shaking,” James taunted, leaning in just enough that Severus could feel his breath against his skin. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you like it.”
Severus hated him. Hated him with every fiber of his being. Hated how James always won, always had the upper hand, always knew exactly how to push him to the brink.
But most of all, he hated the way his fingers tightened on James’s shirt instead of pushing him away.
Severus felt his breath hitch as James’s hands tightened on his waist, guiding his hips in slow, deliberate movements. The friction—humiliating, unbearable—sent a shudder down his spine, his entire body betraying him in ways he refused to acknowledge. Every drag of fabric against him, every shift of James’s thigh beneath him, burned with unbearable sensation, and yet—Merlin help him—there was something intoxicatingly sweet about it.
“That’s it,” James murmured, his voice low and cruelly amused, fingers pressing just a little harder as he controlled Severus’s movements. “That’s my good boy.”
Severus choked on a gasp, his entire body going rigid. The words sent an unbearable heat straight to his core, shame curling like a vice around his chest. His nails dug into James’s shoulders, torn between pushing away and holding on.
“Shut up,” he hissed, but the tremor in his voice only made James chuckle, smug and victorious.
“Oh, but why?” James teased, shifting beneath him again, making Severus bite down on his lip to hold back any sound. “I think you like hearing it. I think you like this—” his grip tightened, forcing another slow, unbearable movement, ”—even more than you want to admit.”
Severus’s head spun, his breath coming in uneven pants. He hated James—hated him more than anything.
But the worst part, the most humiliating, soul-crushing part—was that James wasn’t wrong.
“Just be a good boy for me and let me watch you get off,” James whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Severus’s ear, his voice drenched in wicked amusement.
Severus wanted to snarl, wanted to shove James away and storm out of the classroom with whatever dignity he had left. But he couldn’t—not when his body was betraying him so horribly, not when the slow, torturous friction sent heat coiling low in his stomach. His breath was ragged, his hands shaking as they clutched desperately at James’s shoulders.
His eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to meet the bastard’s gaze, unwilling to see the triumphant smirk he knew was there. If he didn’t look, if he just ignored the way James held him so securely, the way his fingers pressed bruising into his hips—maybe he could pretend this wasn’t happening. Maybe he could pretend he wasn’t rutting against James Potter’s thigh like he was desperate, like he wanted this.
But James wouldn’t let him ignore it.
“Look at you,” James murmured, tilting his head slightly, his nose brushing against Severus’s jaw. “You’re already falling apart. And all I’m doing is watching.”
Severus squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, his entire body burning with mortification.
“Oh, no,” James tutted, his grip on Severus’s hips tightening, forcing him to roll down just a little harder. Severus sucked in a sharp breath, fingers digging into the fabric of James’s shirt. “Don’t be shy now. I want to see that pretty face while you come apart for me.”
“I hate you,” Severus grit out between clenched teeth, voice shaking, breath stuttering as the sensation built unbearably, coiling hot and tight inside him.
James only laughed, dark and satisfied. “Yeah?” he taunted, pressing his thigh up just a little more. “Then hate me while you come on my leg, Snape.”
James’s hands remained firm on Severus’s hips, guiding him with slow, deliberate movements, dragging out his humiliation in the most unbearable way. His grip was strong, possessive, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises, as if marking Severus as his—as if claiming this moment, this unbearable, mortifying weakness.
Severus didn’t know what sick, twisted game James was playing, didn’t understand why Potter—his rival, his tormentor—was doing this to him, why he was drawing this out, why he was whispering filthy little praises like good boy and just like that, Sev, you’re so pretty like this into his ear, like this was something.
All he knew—all he knew—was that he was so close to the edge he could barely breathe.
Heat coiled inside him, tightening with every drag of fabric against his aching cock, every slow, unbearable grind against James’s thigh. His breath came in ragged pants, his fingers trembling as they clung to James’s shirt, the only thing grounding him in the dizzying haze of pleasure.
“That’s it,” James murmured, his voice low and wicked, his hands squeezing just a little harder, forcing Severus to move exactly how he wanted. “You’re almost there, aren’t you? Fuck, you’re desperate for it.”
Severus wanted to deny it, wanted to snarl something vicious, wanted to fight, push away, run, anything—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but rock helplessly against James’s thigh, chasing that unbearable, consuming pleasure.
“Shut up,” he choked out, his voice shaking, barely more than a breath.
James chuckled, and the sound sent another shudder through Severus’s body.
“Why?” James taunted, tilting his head so his lips brushed against the edge of Severus’s jaw, so unbearably close. “You don’t want me to tell you how fucking hot you look right now? How good you feel against me? How much I like watching you like this?”
Severus’s breath hitched, his entire body trembling. His stomach twisted, the heat in his core burning hotter, sharper—he was so close, he could feel it.
“Go on,” James whispered, his hands tightening on Severus’s hips, forcing him down harder, making him grind that much rougher. “Come for me, Sev. Be a good boy and let go.”
Severus couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t fight it.
With a shuddering gasp, his body tensed, pleasure crashing over him in unbearable waves. His nails dug into James’s shoulders as he came, shaking and breathless, utterly undone—by James fucking Potter.
The mortification hit almost instantly.
He was still trembling, still breathless, still reeling from the overwhelming sensation, when James tilted his chin up with two fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze.
That smug, lopsided grin was there, his hazel eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Told you,” James murmured, “you fancy me.”