Fire Call

Harry nervously ran his fingers through his hair and adjusted his glasses for the umpteenth time as he paced around the room. Unbelievable as it was, he was having to wait for Severus Snape to return his fire-call.

Apparently, the bloody man was in high demand these days. The No-longer-an-allergic-to-pupils Professor of Potions at Hogwarts, he had been hailed as much of a hero as Harry after Voldemort’s spectacular demise. The wizarding world suddenly loved the reclusive, reluctant hero, and the more he hid himself away, the more insistent the demands became for his time, his opinions and particularly his Potions.

He really didn’t begrudge the man his notoriety, not for one second. What pissed him off was having to resort to contacting the greasy git and asking him for help. And not just your average, every day rally round kind of help either.

Harry shuddered as he thought about the undoubted awkwardness he would have to endure when Snape finally called him back. He was going to have to discuss his most embarrassing and personal problem with a man who had delighted in abhorring him for seven years. That they had worked together to conquer the Dark Lord seemed of no great import to the cantankerous ex-Potions Master.

It had been rather a shock, and a bit of an anti-climax that morning, (since he’d had to work up the courage to call in the first place) when Harry had tried to reach the ex Professor and been told by a snooty secretary that Mr. Snape (Order of Merlin 1st Class, thank you very much) was unavailable for general calls. Harry had politely informed her that he was well acquainted with Mr. Snape (he had nearly said Professor) and if she would be so kind as to let him know Harry Potter had called, he would be forever in her debt.

The secretary, upon being enlightened as to the identity of the caller became very helpful indeed, and Harry marvelled once again at the things he could get done just by dropping his name. Her tone had warmed considerably but she repeated her apology that Mr Snape genuinely was very busy and could she ask him to return Harry’s call? Harry had said that would be fine and she had booked him a 9pm slot this evening.

It was now almost 10pm, and the floorboards were starting to show distinct signs of wear. Harry thought that if he had to wait much longer, he might lose his nerve altogether. It wasn’t every day an eighteen-year-old man had to approach someone who passionately loathed him, with a view to discussing the rather devastating effects of a suspected Impotus Curse. Who could have known Death Eaters had a sense of humour?

Harry had certainly not found it funny to be left with a permanently flaccid cock, a rather major side effect, it appeared, of said curse. Harry didn’t know if there actually were any other consequences of the hex he’d been hit with during that final battle, but surely the impotence factor was enough of an inconvenience?
He’d been having a brilliant time at the Ministry-held Victory party with his friends (despite the sombre and heartfelt toast made to the fallen) and rather taken by a handsome young man who had spent the evening flirtatiously wiggling his arse at Harry.

When Harry finally made a move, after a sharp elbow to his ribs courtesy of Hermione, he found himself flat on his back, stark bullock naked and panting in less than ten minutes. But his back wasn’t the only thing that was flat. Harry just could not get an erection. After a prolonged and not inconsiderable effort on his conquest’s part, his would-be lover admitted defeat. He had been terribly understanding and excused himself rather hurriedly, leaving Harry alone to contend with burning cheeks and eternal mortification. Harry had considered following and Obliviating the man, just in case he got any ideas about taking his story to the Daily Prophet. He could just see Rita Skeeter’s eyes light up as she penned the headline:

“Boy Who Lived: Willy or Won’t he?”

It was all so unfair. He should have been allowed to enjoy his carefree teenage years getting his fair share of sexual encounters, rather than learning bloody Occulmency and hunting Horcruxes. He hadn’t had much time to indulge in anything remotely pleasurable, much less a relationship. That was the one thing that really made him determined to beat Voldemort; the fact that he didn’t want to die a virgin. Not that he’d told anyone that; he’d rather, well, die than admit it but now the war was over and Harry and the Light were triumphant but he still couldn’t parry his innocence.

Bloody Snape. Only he could come out of the whole Death Eater-turned-spy thing looking whiter than white. And now he had a secretary! Harry wondered if working in such close proximity to the snarky git had rubbed off on her. Judging by her telephone manner he’d have to say yes; it was undoubtedly Snape-ish.

Harry had just been about to give up waiting and retire to bed for another restless nights’ sleep when the fire spluttered and coughed into life, the blaze producing a fiery presence in the grate. Harry ran over to it and dropped to his knees.

“Professor Snape?”

“Potter. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of our re-acquaintance?”

It was hard to make out the finer features of Snape’s face among the flames but Harry was sure there was a sneer present.
“Well it’s a bit embarrassing actually.” He said, twiddling his thumbs.

Snape snorted, “I would have thought you were familiar with the feeling by now. Well? What dilemma are you currently experiencing? I hope you aren’t planning on having me guess the nature of your vexation. My time is very valuable, you know.”

“Er, yeah, so I hear. Anyway, you remember the final battle, right?” Harry asked plaintively.

“I believe I have a vague recollection of being present at the greatest conflict the Wizarding world has ever seen, yes.”

“Well, I got hit with this hex and at the time it didn’t hurt or seem to affect me, so I didn’t think anything more of it.”

Snape’s tone changed from disdainful to mildly concerned, “Did you not mention it when the medi-wizards ran their diagnostics on you?”

“No, I just assumed it had bounced off me or something.” Harry said honestly, unconsciously shrugging his shoulders.

“Dear Gods, boy! Hexes don’t just bounce off! What are your symptoms and how did you first come to notice them?” Harry could have sworn he heard anticipatory glee in that voice. Drawing in a large breath, he gritted his teeth and continued.
“I can’t get an erection.”

A few moments of silence passed, causing Harry to peer closer and check the connection.

“Snape?”

“Yes, yes Potter I’m still here.” He countered irritably. “And when did you first become aware of this problem?”

He definitely sounded smug, Harry thought to himself. The bastard was enjoying this.

“A few weeks ago. After that big Ministry do, or rather during it. There was this guy and... never mind. That’s not important. The point is, since that hex hit me, I can’t... you know.” Harry swallowed painfully; this was excruciatingly uncomfortable.

“A guy?”

Harry frowned. “Yes, a guy, a man, a bloke, whatever. I just need to know what can be done to break the curse.”

Snape coughed. “Are you entirely certain that ‘men’ are your preferred flavour, Potter? Perhaps a female counterpart would have more success in helping you achieve the state you desire.”

Merlin! Naturally, Snape would have to make this far more difficult than it needed to be.

“Look, I didn’t call you for an analysis of my sexuality. I’m quite comfortable with it thanks very much. Besides, I can’t get an erection when I’m, ah, alone, either.”

Brilliant. Now he was having a conversation with the man about masturbation. Could it possibly get any worse? Apparently, it could.

“Ah. In that case I think it is safe to assume that the hex is indeed responsible for your little problem.” Snape said, blatantly relishing his emphasis of the word ‘little’.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “Do you have to be such a bastard all the time?”

“Do you want my esteemed opinion on your predicament or not?” Snape snapped.

“Yes,” Harry sighed defeatedly, “Please.”

“Very well. I will need to arrange a face-to-face consultation with you. I believe the current waiting list for my services is approximately four months, give or take a week. I will have my secretary contact you in the morning to make the necessary booking.”

“Four months?!” Harry spluttered. “I can’t go four months without...”

“No, I don’t suppose you think you can. You never did have any self control. Do you still expect special treatment for being a celebrity, Potter? I believe I made it quite clear at school that I was not impressed by such notoriety.”

“No! It’s not that it’s just...god this is so bloody unfair!” Harry whined. Understandable, surely, given the circumstances.
“Life...” Snape began.

“...Isn’t fair, yeah, yeah, you’ve told me often enough.” Harry interjected. The phrase was Snape’s bloody mantra.

“Is there some other issue here, Potter? I get the distinct impression there is more to this than you are willing to admit.”

Bloody hell! Snape had actually asked a question that sounded vaguely like he was interested in Harry’s wellbeing.

Harry didn’t want to tell him about being a virgin or how losing that particular label had been number one of his “Things to Do If I Don’t Die,” list, but if he did, perhaps Snape would take pity and move the appointment forward. By three months, three weeks and six days, he hoped.

“The thing is, what with the enormous expectations of the Wizarding World on my shoulders, and having to hunt Horcruxes and stuff, I didn’t actually find time to, uh, get intimate with anyone.” The fire suddenly appeared to burn brighter and Harry’s cheeks blushed a vicious shade of scarlet.

“You are a virgin.” Snape stated plainly, as though nothing could possibly be less interesting to him.

“Yeah, and I promised myself that if I didn’t die, the first thing I was going to do was, uh, lose it. So I’d really appreciate that consultation a bit sooner than Christmas.” Harry sighed deeply. “Please, Snape.”

Another long moment of silence stretched out and Harry stared at the flickering form in the grate, clenching and unclenching his hands in anticipation of the reply.

“Well, I must concede that once again, fate has seen fit to be exceedingly unkind to you, Potter. However, I simply cannot put the needs of my other clients aside on a whim.”
Harry groaned and covered his face.

“However,” Snape continued, “There is one thing that might possibly be of use to you but I don’t expect you’ll be keen to attempt it.”
Harry’s head shot up. “Anything, Snape, I’ll try anything.”

“Very well. Prepare yourself, Potter.” The tone was rather reminiscent of hideous Occulmency lessons and the little flare of optimism Harry had briefly experienced was all but extinguished again.

“Prepare myself for what? How?” he asked nervously.

“Make yourself comfortable, find a relaxing position and close your eyes.” Snape instructed.

Bloody quack, Harry thought. As if he hadn’t spent the last three weeks trying to relax and will his cock to respond to any number of attempts at getting a rise out of it. What did Snape think he could do that Harry himself hadn’t already tried?

Harry got up off the floor and moved to the sofa, letting out a long exaggerated sigh to show what he thought of the idea.

Snape ignored it and waited until he was settled into the cushions.
“You are to disregard everything else around you and listen only to my voice.” He said in a smooth, velvety growl.

A few hairs on Harry’s neck stood upon hearing the vastly changed pitch. “Okay,” he murmured, closing his eyes as directed.

“Now, Imagine I am standing behind you. My hands are resting lightly on your shoulders and I am very gently massaging the knotted flesh with my practised fingers.”

“Mmm,” The word slipped out before he could stop them and Harry was instantly mortified. He had actually thought he could feel those long, bony fingers playing across his skin but he knew it wasn’t possible.

“Shut up, Potter. Your input is not required.” Snape barked, sounding suspiciously pleased at having elicited such a response.

“As I was saying. My fingertips are working the stress from your muscles, easing out all those tensions you are not aware of. They trail along your neck, hesitating awhile to apply firm strokes to the tendons there. Digging my nails a little into the flesh, I drag them up into your hair, lightly scratching your scalp, letting that ridiculously unkempt hair of yours run through my fingers.”

Harry couldn’t hide his smirk. He thought Snape might be smirking too.

“My hands are caressing your head, drawing out every last anxiety. Can you feel it, Potter? The release?”

“Yes!” Harry gasped, a bit too breathlessly, he bloody well could.

“Excellent. Then concentrate on that feeling as my hands leave your head and move to your chest. My palms flatten against your shirt, roughly moving over the fabric until it rubs against your nipples. I want to seize one between my teeth and bite it, hard, before laving away the sting with my hot, wet tongue.”

Harry cracked an eye open. Had the other man just said he wanted...

“Er...Snape?”

“I thought I told you not to interrupt! Ever the impertinent brat!”

“Sorry, it’s just I thought I heard you say...”

A loud sigh cut him off. “If this is to work, you are not to question my methods. You do want this to work, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” Harry said indignantly, still not seeing how that was relevant.

“Then I suggest you refrain from saying anything further.”

Harry shut his eyes and sagged back into the sofa.

“My hands drop to your abdomen, exploring the lattice of defined muscle beneath my palms. It feels cold against my touch so I pull the shirt up to your chest, exposing the pale, creamy skin interspersed with coarse, dark hairs.”

Harry heard a faint noise that might have been Snape clearing his throat.

“Skin to skin now, I massage the bare flesh and rhythmically draw out the hidden tension that lies between the ridges of your taut stomach. Can you feel my hands on you? Can you feel how warm they are, how hot your skin is growing under their touch?”

“Guh” Harry answered, wriggling a little. He could feel it. And not just that, but a familiar twist of arousal too, making its tentative first step towards his groin. He swallowed thickly, elated and horrified at the same time.

“I am leaning forward now, my mouth stops beside your ear and my lips are but an inch from the smooth, lickable skin of your neck. My breath ghosts the nape ... Potter! Put your hands back by your sides.”

Harry’s eyes flew open; he hadn’t moved his hands, at least not physically. In his head, they had roamed down to his navel to join Snape’s. “I...”

“My breath,” Snape ground out before dropping his voice back to the silky purr, “ghosts the nape, inciting small goose bumps. I want to taste your skin, lick you, mark you, bite you. My hand moves lower and accidentally brushes the tip of your clothed cock.”

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, feeling a definite twitch in his trousers. He hadn’t been able to help making the instinctive noise and desperately hoped he wouldn’t be berated for it.

Mercifully, Snape ignored the disruption and continued.

“I’m slipping my fingers inside the waistband of your trousers and my cheek comes to rest alongside yours. Can you feel the roughness of our jawbones touching? If I turn my head, just a fraction, our lips would meet.”

“Mm,” Harry could feel the crackling of energy close to his mouth. He turned his head slightly and pressed his lips together, pouting.

“My finger is circling your nipple, rolling it one way and then the other, pinching it hard until the skin around it begins to bruise.

My other hand is stroking your cock through the cotton pants. I want to curl my fingers around it, hold the warm flesh of your shaft in my hand.”

“Do it!” Harry shouted involuntarily, fighting the urge to rip his trousers off and wank himself raw. He had no idea how, but the curse seemed to be lifting. Blood all over his body was relieved of duty and immediately sent southwards, filling his cock until it strained painfully against the tight jeans. Harry kept still, waiting for the next rumbling wave of sensual descriptions to wash over him but the fire had fallen silent.

“Snape?” he called out, a little hysterically. It would be unbearable if the much-awaited erection started to wilt because the man had stopped talking.

“Calm down, Potter. I’m not going anywhere.” Came the reply. Snape sounded extremely raspy, his voice close to breaking as he wheezed the words out in little huffs.

Harry was immediately suspicious. “What are you...oh God! Are you...”

“Am I what, boy?” Snape snarled, in a tone that clearly said, ‘I dare you to have the balls to finish that sentence.’

“Nothing.” Harry mumbled, returning his concentration to the hardening in his pants.

Snape cleared his throat. “I stop playing with your nipple and reach for my wand, banishing your clothes. I give myself a moment to appreciate the beautiful sight laid out before me. Harry Potter, sprawled on his sofa, naked and wanton and begging me to touch him.”

“God, please touch me,” Harry sighed.

“I move around you, and come to rest between your parted thighs, running my hands up and down the sweaty insides, each time edging a little closer to the delicious, throbbing cock, laying heavily across your stomach. It has smeared a patch of wetness that slicks down the small hairs there.”

“Ungh,”

“Lowering my head, I lick a firm path inside your thigh, leisurely but unfalteringly until I reach the tangle of course curls around your cock. It looks so delicious, so hard and aroused. I want to suck it into my mouth and run my tongue around the fat head of it, tasting more of that leaking slit.”

Harry’s hips jerked off the sofa. “Bloody hell,” he moaned as another lightning bolt of arousal struck his spine and plunged to his groin.

“Merlin!” he heard Snape mutter appreciatively from the fireplace. It did nothing to quell Harry’s fierce arousal; in fact it had the very opposite effect.

“Don’t stop! Keep talking, please! Oh God, Snape, my trousers are so tight!” Harry couldn’t worry about being embarrassed anymore. All that mattered was that after nearly three weeks of hideous frustration and grim, fruitless determination, he was as hard as a rock and bursting out of his trousers.

“You are in your own home, Potter. If you feel it necessary to remove the restrictive item of clothing then by all means, do.”

Ohgodohgodohgod, Harry’s brain babbled. Could he? Could he really take his trousers off in front of Snape? How much ridicule would he receive at his hand when this was all over? Harry decided that for the moment, he couldn’t care less and his fingers flew to his buttons, ripping them apart and wiggling his hips out of the denim. A rush of air escaped his lungs when he felt his cock spring free and he fell back against the cushions in relief.

“Obviously, modesty is not a common trait in Gryffindors.”

“What happens now?” Harry gasped, ignoring the sarcastic comment. “Should I... I mean...”

“What happens now, Potter, is that you will remain seated, with your hands beside you and continue to listen to my voice. We cannot be certain the curse has not had a more significant effect on your bodily functions. Just because you have successfully achieved a state of arousal does not mean you will be victorious in drawing a conclusion should you attempt to do so by yourself. After all, you have already admitted that your previous solo efforts failed.”

“Can’t you just say, ‘perhaps I should talk you to orgasm, Potter, in case the hex was more complicated than we thought.’” Harry said, rather more irritably than was strictly courteous, given the fact that Snape was helping him. He hadn’t meant to sound snappish, but he desperately wanted to be touched.

“Shall we continue?” Snape retorted waspishly, “Only I can assure you I have better things to do than nursemaid you through a wet dream.”

Harry felt a bit miffed by that; he could have sworn Snape had been enjoying himself. Apparently though, that wasn’t the case. He didn’t like the feeling of disappointment that accompanied the realisation.

Without waiting for an answer, Snape carried on. “My hands are gripping the backs of your legs, pushing them up until your knees hit your chest. You are going to hold them in place because I am going to need my hands elsewhere.”

A loud moan escaped Harry’s lips at the implied threat.
“Very good, Potter. Now that you’re taking care of that, I can turn my attention to your arse. Such firm, youthful flesh. I see Quidditch has its uses after all. My hands are roughly grasping the cheeks, spreading them apart until I can see your tight, puckered hole. I wonder what you taste like? I wonder how it would feel to run my tongue along your crack, over that fleshy entrance, perhaps push the tip of it through the ring of muscle. Would you like me to do that, Potter?”

“Fuck, yeah!” Harry shouted, bucking his hips and resisting the urge to draw his knees up to his chest.

“Yes, I thought you might. But first I think I want to taste the glistening beads of come that are leaking from your cock. So much choice, so much temptation.” Snape’s voice cracked over the last few words and Harry heard him moan quietly.

“My mouth is hot and wet around your cock, my tongue is probing your slit, tasting you. Merlin, you taste so good! I’m sucking your heat into mine, working your foreskin up and down, wanking you with my lips. Is it good, Potter? Do you like it when I swallow all of your length, when I let you thrust your hips and fuck my mouth?”

“Yes!” Harry cried out, stealing a look at the rock hard prick twitching and jumping in his pants, a dark wet patch forming.

“And would you like it if I fucked you with my finger at the same time? I think you would. Yes, I’m going to fuck your greedy little hole, Potter. Can you feel that long, bony digit, insistently pressing against it, seeking entrance? How easily it slips inside, snaking along your tight, hot passage. Merlin, so beautifully tight! I want to stretch you, prepare you, make you ready for me, for when I plunge my cock inside your body. I’m going to fill you and fuck you and soil that pretty virgin arse of yours.”

“Oh God, I can feel it, I can feel you! I’m so close!” Harry bellowed, perspiration running in rivulets down the sides of his face. One of his hands gripped the sofa arm, the other scrabbling for purchase on the cushions. He shamelessly alternated between grinding his arse into the sofa and driving his pelvis into the air, desperate to feel even the slightest rub of cotton over his swollen, aching cock.

“Imminent orgasm is a good look on you, Potter. That deep, crimson blush painting your cheeks, the way your lips tightly purse together in concentration, occasionally letting your tongue slip through to wet them. Open your eyes, boy, I wish to see them.”

Harry obeyed immediately though he couldn’t really focus on anything other than the mounting pressure in his balls.

“Such a beautiful colour they are. A man could lose himself in those eyes whilst buried balls deep in that tight, hot arse of yours. Are you ready Potter? I’m going to tip you over the edge.”

Harry whimpered and bit into his lip, his incoherent cries echoing around the room.

“Feel my cock sliding into your hole and thrusting deeply. Feel my fingers wrapped tightly around your stiff shaft, working it in firm strokes. Feel my lips as they brush across your mouth.”
He could feel it; he could feel every maddening sensation that Snape was describing, each thrust and stroke and kiss placing him on a knife’s edge.

“Now, Harry, come for me now.” Snape demanded, and Harry did, screaming; his face contorting painfully as a furious tidal wave of liquid surged through his cock. It fountained above his groin as his hips jerked and twisted, the hot semen raining down across his stomach and thighs, some of it splattering as far as his chest and even his chin.

Harry gulped big lungfuls of air down as the violent aftershocks coursed through his body. He had never, ever experienced anything as intense or as powerful as that. Panting, he wiped the sweaty hair back from his forehead and glanced at the fire.

“You might want to change those underpants, Potter.” Snape said, his incredibly sexy voice disappearing as he reverted back to Professor mode.

“That was incredible,” Harry babbled, unable to stop himself. “How did you do it? How did you know what to do, to break the curse?”

“It is a most intriguing hex, the Impotus. Rather harmless really, despite the frustration element the recipient experiences, there are no dangerous or lasting side effects. The real beauty of it though, is that only the caster can end the spell.” Snape coughed and the fire blazed a bit brighter.

Harry frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Potter, even you aren’t that dim.”

“You?” Harry said, incredulously, “You hit me with that hex?! In the middle of battle with Voldemort, you hit me with a hex?!”

“Yes,” Snape said in a very matter-of-fact tone. “It was far too easy in the midst of all that madness.”

“Of course it would have been bloody easy!” Harry exploded, “There were hexes flying everywhere! You were supposed to be aiming them at your Death Eater mates, not me!”

“Yes, well I managed to hit a fair few of them with the same curse and I can assure you, they will not be receiving the release you did this evening. I must admit that I hadn’t expected you to go three weeks before seeking my help. Perhaps you are capable of some self restraint after all.”

“Why?” Harry implored, shaking his head in disbelief, “Why would you do that?”

“Why do you think?” Snape challenged.

“I don’t bloody know! That’s completely mental! I don’t know why anyone would do something like that!”

“I think you do, Harry.”

He thought he did but he didn’t want to say it. It was too ludicrous to be a real possibility but there really wasn’t another reasonable explanation for the other man’s actions.

“You...me, I mean, you wanted me? You wanted to...” Harry just couldn’t find the words.

“Yes.”

His brain did a 360 as it ran through the mind-blowing dirty talk that Snape had used to make him orgasm. The way his voice had dropped to a gravelly whisper, leaden with desire; desire that Harry hadn’t even noticed when he’d concentrated purely on the words. Not just the words, the feelings too. It had felt so real; he could have sworn Snape’s hands had actually been on him.

“Jesus.” He muttered under his breath, still desperately trying to make sense of everything.

“Not quite, Potter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must go.”

“Go? Go where? You can’t just tell me something like that and then fuck off! We need to talk about it!”

“I’d be more than happy to discuss it with you. Shall I ask my secretary to make you an appointment?” Snape said calmly.

“No! I don’t want a bloody appointment!” Harry shouted, “I want...”

“Yes, Mr Potter?”

“Fuck!” Harry groaned, exasperated.

“Well in that case, perhaps a consultation isn’t the most appropriate course of action.”

“Why do you have to be so damned difficult? You couldn’t have just asked me like a normal person could you?” Harry said, smirking despite himself.

“And if I had? Would you have agreed?”

No, he admitted inwardly, he probably wouldn’t have. Not that he’d have remained conscious long enough to give an answer if Snape had asked him out on a date; he would most likely have fainted from shock. Merlin! He didn’t even know Snape liked men! And he was even more sure Snape didn’t like him.

“Hardly matters now does it? So are you going to ask me then?” Harry eventually sighed.

“Would you say yes if I did?” Snape asked, carefully cloaking his optimism behind the verbal sneer.

Harry left barely a heartbeat before responding. “Yes.”

“Wonderful. Perhaps dinner somewhere, then. Would tomorrow evening suit you?”

Harry flopped back onto the sofa. Did tomorrow suit him! What had happened to the four month bloody waiting list?

“If you think you can squeeze me into your busy schedule.” He quipped. Harry was still shaking his head in disbelief. Actually, he hadn’t stopped shaking it since this bombshell had been dropped on him.

“I believe I might be able to. Tomorrow then. I’ll call you to confirm.” And with that, the fiery outline vanished with a loud crackle.

Harry snorted. Call him indeed. He wasn’t sure he could cope with another fire-call from Severus Snape. One had been enough to fry his brains. ‘Only me,’ Harry thought. ‘Things like this only ever happen to me.’
But for once, he couldn’t quite bring himself to mind.