Fire Call

Harry dunked the tea bag five times before squeezing the water out, and used the spoon to catapult it in the vague direction of the sink. The soft splatter as it hit the lino confirmed his observation - it had not successfully reached its target.

Allowing a self-indulgent sigh, he crossed the length of the kitchen and plucked the steaming soggy mess off the floor, dropping it unceremoniously into the waste bin.

At times like these, only a hot, sweet cup of tea could make Harry feel better. Snape-, no Severus-, hadn’t been joking when he’d said his time was precious; it had been exactly a week since their date; a week since Harry had lost his virginity during the most explosive, mind-blowing sex he could have ever imagined, and the greasy bastard hadn’t so much as sent a sparrow, never mind an owl.

Oh, but his secretary had fire-called Harry four days ago, sounding far less like the Rottweiler of the previous week and ever so slightly more akin to one of those nasty yapping handbag dogs Aunt Petunia always secretly coveted but mercifully never got due to Dudley’s allergy.

Harry could still remember the bizarre conversation with Snape’s employee word-for-word.

“Mr Potter?”

“Er..yeah?”

“Miss Jennings here, Mr Snape’s secretary. He asked me to call and forward apologies for not having contacted you himself. His attendance has been requested rather suddenly at a conference in Dakar and he will not be returning until the weekend.”

“Dakar? In India?” Harry’s voice had rather annoyingly squeaked out the word ‘India’.

“No, Dakar in Senegal, Mr Potter.” The tut was almost audible.

“Oh, right. Well, thanks for letting me know.” Harry scratched his head and wondered why he should feel quite so deflated by the news that Snape was thousands of miles away and that Dakar was in Senegal (wherever that was) and not India.

Miss Jennings cleared her throat and continued. “He also asked me to inform you that he is currently 7% ahead of you in the polls for Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile award.”

“Did he really?” Harry smirked at the unspoken challenge. A little healthy competition couldn’t hurt. He could make good use of the time whilst Snape was away and reduce a little of that percentage deficiency.

“Yes, Mr Potter, he really did,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of pit bull terrier. She hadn’t waited for Harry to respond, merely popped and crackled into the smoky ethereal.

And so in between Quidditch training and herding disgruntled owls from his windows, Harry had done something he usually hated: he courted the press. Not because he enjoyed the notoriety, the fame, the gifts and declarations of undying love, but purely and simply because Severus bloody Snape was far too smug, with 7% over Harry, not to mention the fact that he’d buggered off to Africa when he should have been here, sardonically hinting at his desire for another date as Harry had been sure he would. Well, if not sure, then at least hopeful.

Harry had deliberately given interviews to the teen magazines, knowing that he could conquer a good percentage of that readership; the possibility of them voting for Snape was about as likely as the Weasley twins joining Prankers Anonymous. Lockhart might have some support from this sector but Harry was willing to bet his last Knut that it wouldn’t be too difficult to turn the tide in his favour. He had been promised that photographs of him showing a toothy grin and not much else above the waist would infinitely help his cause.

Harry studied the moist brown ring his mug had left on the countertop and gingerly sipped the scalding beverage. Today was Saturday, he mused a little indignantly; surely that counted as weekend already? He’d been home all day, purely because he’d felt like mooching around his flat and absolutely not because he was waiting for someone to fire call.

Harry startled at the crash as another owl head-butted the kitchen window and rushed over to shoo it away. For a while he felt bad about its repeated attempts at prying the window open with its beak, but he could tell from the weighty package the bird gripped that it was another set of robes, or worse, a hand knitted garment. He had been given enough of those from Molly to last him several lifetimes.

Eventually, the animal gave up and shot Harry a death glare, suspiciously curling all but its middle talon and flicking it at him as it flew off. He made a note to ask Snape when they next spoke, whether owls were mentally capable of making obscene gestures or whether it was just a strange coincidence.

Harry had just gulped another warm mouthful of tea when the fire spluttered to life. Heart suddenly hammering, he slammed down his mug and raced to the fireplace.

“Severus?”

“Urgh! What did you call me, mate?”

Oh shit. Even with the twisting orange and yellow flames blending into the Weasley hair colour, Harry could differentiate the disgusted grimace as one of Ron’s, not Severus’.

“Oh hi, Ron!” Harry said with painfully fake cheerfulness.

“You thought I was Snape!” Ron accused, as if the faux-pas were a mortal insult.

“Sorry, I was just expecting him, that’s all.” Harry vehemently hoped Ron would let it drop but was pretty sure his luck didn’t quite stretch that far.

“Why would Snape be calling you? And why were you calling him Severus?”

“He’s just helping me with something. And he’s not our Professor anymore, Ron, so we don’t have to call him Snape.”

“I can think of a few things to call him! Greasy git. Vindictive bastard. Overgrown bloody bat. Evil sodding...”

“Yeah, okay Ron. I get it. What did you want?” Harry sighed, slumping against the sofa.

“It’s Hermione.”

Harry sat up again, “Is she alright? It’s not the baby, is it?”

“No mate, they’re both fine. It’s just that she wants the nursery decorated and I’d appreciate a hand.”

“Er, Ron, how pregnant is she?” Harry’s scar felt like it was tingling. He rubbed it furtively and for a horrible moment, considered the possibility that the baby might be Voldemort’s second coming. It had been conceived within twenty feet of him, after all. Mentally slapping himself, Harry returned his attention to the fire.

“Six weeks now,” Ron said proudly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Isn’t it a bit early for nurseries? I mean, the baby can’t be that big yet.”

“Size of a pin head,” Ron pronounced in what Harry imagined to be accompanied by a chest puffing motion at the other end of the Floo connection.

“Right. Well, yeah, count me in.” Harry figured that helping out pre-birth might excuse him from being subjected to the more sinister task of changing nappies at a later date.

“We’re going to B&Q tomorrow to choose the wallpaper. Start decorating in the afternoon.”

“B&Q?” Harry asked, puzzled. Wasn’t that a Muggle Do-It-Yourself shop? Uncle Vernon had deliberately made Harry go on those less than pleasurable shopping expeditions, forcing him to shimmy up the high shelves to reach heavy planks of wood rather than asking the friendly sales assistants for help. Harry had never actually seen what his uncle did with the planks when he got them home again.

“Bludgers and Quaffles, mate,” Ron explained.- “Except they don’t just sell Quidditch gear, they sell all kinds of things.

“Like wallpaper,” Harry stated.

“Yeah. Come about four; a couple of hours’ work and then I reckon ‘Mione might let us go to the pub.” Harry suppressed a smirk that Ron would need to ask permission.

“Okay, sounds good. See you tomorrow.”

Harry watched the flames retreat to normalcy and sighed. All his friends were getting on with their lives; they knew what they wanted to do and they were doing it. He still hadn’t decided if pro-Quidditch was really for him and he definitely didn’t know where - if anywhere- he stood with Snape. Severus. Snape. Fuck it. It was still strange to think of the man as anything other than Snape.

An ear-splitting pop and a whoosh of heat so intense he felt his skin blister forced Harry back against the sofa as he’d been about to stand.

“Fuck, my eyes!” he screeched, ripping off his glasses to fist at the stinging tears caused by a nasty puff of ash.

“Really, is that any kind of greeting after a week’s absence?” Snape drawled.

Harry stopped rubbing and rapidly blinked instead, trying to force the soot to the corners.

“Did you have to make such a bloody entrance? I’ve got third degree burns here! Oh god, I can’t see out of my right eye.-”

“Merlin preserve us, Potter! Your occupation may yet lie in the performing arts rather than Quidditch. Why were you sitting so close to the fire anyway?” If Harry hadn’t been temporarily blinded, he would have seen Snape looking at him with an odd mix of amusement and concern. In that order.

“I’d only just finished talking to Ron! I don’t spend my life sitting here waiting for you to call,” Harry retorted as he fingered the last of the ash away.

“Ah, Mr Weasley. I had wondered why the connection was blocked. Is he still as exceedingly tedious as ever?” Snape enquired, though not without hint of humour, Harry noted.

“He’s fine, thanks for asking. How was your conference in Africa?”

“Senegal, Potter. Most satisfactory, thank you. I believe I made a number of valuable contacts there.” Harry felt a small pull in his chest. He didn’t very much like the sound of that.

“What sort of contacts?” he countered carefully.

“Business contacts,” Snape said firmly.

“Oh well, that’s good. For business, I guess.” Harry felt ridiculous for wanting to twiddle a piece of hair round his finger and settled for picking a seam on his jeans instead.

“We may make an economist out of you yet,” Snape sneered, though Harry could see it was rather a pathetic attempt.

“Is everyone just calling to take the piss out of me today?” Harry said wearily and shifted his arse to ease some of the numbness.

“Well, when the opportunity presents itself so magnificently, Potter...” Harry cut him off snappishly.

“It’s not Potter, it’s Harry. Especially so since you’ve had your cock up my arse, and are you ever going to get to the point, because I know you didn’t call to talk about Indi-Senegal!” Harry gulped a lungful of breath and instantly felt much better. It really wasn’t healthy to spend all day in a small flat he suspected might have air circulation issues; something he was even more sure of since the explosive arrival of Snape in his fireplace.

“No, I didn’t call to discuss the conference, and yes, I have had my cock up your arse, as you so delicately put it. Those insignificant matters aside, I had hoped you might be convivial towards another evening out.” The nonchalant tone didn’t fool Harry for one minute. Snape wanted a second date as badly as he did.

“When did you have in mind?”

“Would tomorrow suit you?” Snape cast his fishing rod and waited for the bite.

“Uh, yeah but I can’t meet you until eight o’clock, already made plans for the afternoon.” Harry gave the line a gentle tug. Snape reeled it in so quickly it made Harry feel dizzy.

“Indeed? Anything interesting?” he bit out around gritted teeth.

“No, no, just helping a friend out,” Harry breezed, before a wicked idea formed in his mind. “Um, I’d like to take you somewhere tomorrow. Will you meet me by Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square?”

Snape snorted. “Nelson’s Column? Is that some lewd acronym? I refuse to be taken anywhere seedy.”

“No, it’s not seedy and it’s not an acra...Listen, have you ever seen an owl swear?” Harry inclined his head in anticipation of the answer.

“I must confess that for seven years I had assumed you were deliberately attempting to fail my classes, but on further consideration, it is clear you were far more susceptible to the fumes than most,” Snape purred sarcastically.

“No, Harry, I’ve never heard of an owl swearing,’ would have got the point across just as well.” Harry rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to snatch the Quibbler off the couch and launch it at Snape’s head. Only the threat of another eyeful of ash deterred him.

“No, Mr Potter, I have never heard of an owl swearing,” Snape repeated, monotone. “Eight o’clock, Trafalgar Square.”

“Yeah, and make sure you’re wearing Muggle clothes. I really don’t want to be stared at all evening.” A grunt from the hearth was all Harry received as Snape’s outline began to fade. He had to stop his hand reaching out and running a finger down the fiery cheek.

As the last of the flames hissed away, Harry could have sworn he heard the faintest muttering that sounded like “Snape lives to serve, Master,” before the connection broke altogether.

***

A good pair of jeans were worth their weight in Galleons, Harry decided, as he twisted his hips to admire his arse. Just the thought of his arse, and what it might be doing later electrified his nerve endings.

“Here you go, mate,” Ron encouraged, throwing a nasty looking pair of polyester overalls at him. Harry winced as the static gave him a shock but put them on anyway; it would not be good to turn up to his date covered in Ogre Ochre and Lacewing Lime. Hermione had been insistent on not knowing the sex of the baby despite Ron practically begging (much to the amusement of the MedWife) and had opted for bright yellow and green paint over the rather lacklustre choice of wallpapers. Harry personally thought the baby would suffer migraines trying to sleep in there, but didn’t voice his concerns aloud. After all, what did he know about babies? Nothing, thank Merlin, he thought, fully intent on keeping it that way.

“So what’ve you been up to?” Ron enquired genially, handing Harry a paintbrush.

“Not much really. Trained three days this week with the Cannons. Coach reckons he might put me in for a full game before the end of the month.”

“Wow, that’s really fast! You must be chuffed, mate!” Ron attacked the wall with an overzealous swipe of his brush, spraying Harry with a fine mist of green.

“Ron! Be careful! I’m going out tonight!” Harry wiped the polyester sleeve across the bridge of his nose.

“Oh yeah, big date eh?” he grinned. “Same guy you met last week? Did you, you know...I mean, I don’t want the details or anything...” Ron’s freckles turned a little green.

“Yes and yes. Is that enough information for you?” Harry smiled. Ron was perfectly fine with Harry’s sexuality as long as he didn’t have to know too much. Hermione, by comparison, possessed a grim determination to wheedle the intimate details out of him. The night of the Ministry celebrations, she had been hideously disappointed when he returned an hour later with no gossip to share.

“What’s his name?”

Harry swallowed painfully as his throat constricted. Was this ridiculously too early to tell Ron? Would it be easier to wait and see where, if anywhere, this thing was going, or would it be worse later when Ron found out and went ballistic? Never one to be accused of cowardice, Harry gritted his teeth.

“It’s someone you know, actually. Well, someone we both know,” he said.

“From school? Oh Merlin, it’s not Joey Jenkins is it?” The wide eyed look of adoration was enough to convince Harry that if it was, Ron would probably become a constant visitor to the flat.

“No Ron, it’s not any of the Cannon Beaters. Especially not Joey.” He was a nice enough guy, Harry thought, but short, compact and blond haired was not his cup of tea.

“Well?” Ron chided, tackling a rather tricky piece of edging.

“He’s tall, dark and er...has a nice smile, when he bothers to.” Harry couldn’t help skirting the issue; he knew the explosion would be heard for miles around once Ron knew.

“And?” Ron said exasperatedly as he blobbed the paint onto the glossy white skirting board.

“It’s um...I’m seeing...well, I’m not really seeing him, I mean it’s only been two dates-not even two yet, so I can’t say we’re together or anything, but...”

“Bloody hell, mate, just tell me who it is!”

“Professor Snape.” Harry let it out in a rush before holding his breath and watching Ron nervously.

Ron turned and stared at him, mouth gaping like a fish before collapsing into laughter. “Oh gods, you nearly had me there!” he chuckled, returning his attention to the wall.

Harry kept quiet and didn’t move a muscle. He silently counted to fourteen before Ron’s head turned by degrees, utter shock etched across his face.

“Tell me that was a joke,” he whispered pleadingly.

“Sorry Ron, it isn’t.” Harry could well understand his friend’s horror; he thought he’d probably be having the same reaction if the roles were reversed.

“How?” Ron mouthed silently, the capacity to exhale air currently eluding him.

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to give Ron the details of how Snape had hexed him during the final battle and what it had taken to remove the curse; even best mates had limitations.

“Doesn’t matter now. It’s weird, really weird, I know, but he’s totally different to how he was at school. I mean, not totally different, he’s still a snarky bastard...”

“And a greasy git,” Ron managed to offer.

“Well, yeah, but he treats me...” What? Harry tried to think. Better? Worse? Like I’m the most gorgeously fuckable man on the planet? “It’s just different now,” he finished quietly.

Ron’s eyes were so wide Harry was convinced his eyeballs might fall out at any moment. Determined to get off the subject, he started painting.

“Tell me about Auror training. What am I missing?”

Ron closed his mouth and swallowed before answering. “A serious percentage of your mental faculties, mate?”

Never before had the sound of Mrs Weasley and Hermione shrieking loudly been such a blessed relief. It was uncanny how similar they sounded when screeching up the stairs.

“Tea for the workers!”

Harry carefully laid the brush down and made his escape.

***

Much to his credit, Ron didn’t mention Snape again all afternoon. He did keep glancing at Harry, staring longer than necessary, but they managed a respectable job of decorating the nursery and were packed off to the pub as soon as they had finished. Hermione and Mrs Weasley needed them out of the way so that they could discuss the positioning of important baby furniture.

Hermione had come through big time for Harry, purchasing the two tickets he had asked her to get for him, since he hadn’t yet sorted out any kind of Muggle finances. She had kissed him on the cheek and violently objected when he’d tried to give her the wizarding equivalent of 45 pounds. He knew better than to argue, deciding instead to spend twice as much on baby paraphernalia when he got a chance to go shopping.

Harry left the Leaky on the Muggle side of Charing Cross Road and took his time walking down to Trafalgar Square, revelling in the frantic bustle of the Metropolitan. He left the pub in plenty of time, unwilling to risk being late again. In fact, he was so early, he hadn’t expected Snape to have arrived yet, but there he was, hovering uncomfortably at the foot of a black marble lion and hissing at a Japanese girl who was flailing at him with her camera. Harry stopped in his tracks and clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle the giggles. The girl resumed her position and crouched, angling the camera, once again making imploring hand gestures at Snape when he didn’t move. Harry watched in fascination as Snape snarled at her, “Do not attempt to take a picture of me, or I shall be forced to invoke drastic action!”

Unable to take anymore painfully subdued convulsive laughter, Harry made his way over.

“I don’t think she wants a photo of you, Severus; she wants you to move out of the way so she can take one of the lion.”

Snape whipped round and agitatedly brushed stray hair from his eyes.

“Why in the name of Merlin did she not just say so?” he huffed, moving towards Harry and away from the statue of interest.

Harry hungrily took in every inch of the long, lean figure and felt a blush daub his cheeks as an inordinate amount of desire washed through him. Snape was wearing really bloody nice trousers that hugged his slim waist and legs and a plain white shirt that Harry thought divine in its simplicity.

“Good evening,” Harry started, a little more huskily than he would have liked.

“Only if it improves,” Snape snapped.

“I think it probably will,” Harry smirked.

“Is it a fashionable new wizarding trend to be covered in green...” Snape traced a thumb down Harry’s cheek in search of enlightenment, “ah, paint.”

Bloody Ron, Harry cursed inwardly. He could have reminded him he was still plastered in the stuff. Harry couldn’t even spell it away whilst they were in the middle of Muggle London.

“I was painting.”

“That would explain the paint, then,” Snape countered with a smirk. He leaned his head down next to Harry’s cheek and whispered an incantation that made Harry’s face tingle, as well as some concealed parts of him, though he was pretty sure they weren’t an intended side effect of the spell. Still, with Snape around, you never bloody knew for sure.

“There. Perfectly presentable,” Snape decreed, causing Harry’s stomach to bubble with pride.

“Thanks. We need to go this way, cross the bridge and walk along the river.”

“A walk sounds agreeable. Are we going to dinner somewhere?” Snape asked as they headed in the direction Harry had indicated.

“Er, no, I have something else planned. If you’re hungry we can find somewhere to eat later.” He hadn’t even considered booking a restaurant. Truth be told, food was the last thing on his mind. Harry hoped Snape felt the same, but the man didn’t reply, merely kept up a regular, even stride that forced Harry to pick up his pace.

It was a beautiful evening, and for once, the ominous smog that normally blighted the London skyline was strangely absent, leaving only clear purple skies peppered with thousands of twinkling stars. They reminded him of Dumbledore, and Harry felt a pang of sadness, knowing it was going to be a long time before he saw him again. Dumbledore had seen fit after the demise of Voldemort to trade his lurid headmaster’s robes for psychedelic swimming shorts, heading off to Padfoot’s Paradise in Peru for an extended and very well deserved holiday.

Harry considered it a bizarre coincidence that the place should share a name with his Godfather, but Sirius had assured him there was no connection. Harry wasn’t entirely certain he was telling the truth. There were plenty of other things Sirius omitted to explain sufficiently; such as, who the box of sex toys at Grimmauld Place belonged to. In his sixth year, Harry had stumbled upon it, and as embarrassing as it had been, braved the subject. Sirius had laughed (a little too nervously, Harry remembered) and told him that Kreacher’s personal possessions were not a matter for common discussion.

“For Merlin’s sake boy, are you listening?”

Harry shook his head, clearing Dumbledore, sex toys, Kreacher and swimming shorts from his mind, and gazed up at Snape. The waxing crescent moon cast a gentle glow upon his face; one particularly large shadow across his right cheek borne from the prominence of his nose. He didn’t look sallow or pasty now, Harry thought in amazement, he looked like he had been crafted from fine porcelain. Such sharp, prominent cheekbones underneath smooth skin and his eyes...oh God, his eyes. Snape had such bottomless black eyes. Except right now they weren’t black, because Harry could see tiny crescent moons in place of pupils and felt himself gravitating towards them.

Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Snape’s trousers, Harry tugged them forward and tilted his head up, silently gauging his right to a kiss, which Snape did not hesitate to award unconditionally. Harry didn’t care who saw them kissing on the bridge over the Thames, bathed in glorious moonlight in the warm autumn air. Every last shred of self-consciousness was consumed with an urgent need to taste those lips and wrap himself into the possession of this man.

Harry stood no chance of denying the hardening length in his pants, and he bloody well knew Snape could feel it too because in the next instance the man was breaking the kiss and... Gods, was that a chuckle?

“I would never have taken you for a romantic, Potter,” Snape smirked, casting his eyes to the heavens.

Harry didn’t bother to address the issue of his surname yet again. It was beginning to feel strangely intimate somehow, since it was no longer spat with venom or used as a swear word.

“I’m not. Guess it’s just the company I’m keeping these days.”

Snape snorted and set off again, leaving Harry feeling dazed and disorientated. Not to mention completely unable to walk straight with the raging erection in his trousers. Cursing his over-enthusiastic hormones, he limped to catch up.

They walked the rest of the journey in silence, Harry content to observe the boats that zipped up and down the river whilst Snape seemed more interested in the architecture of the buildings. Eventually, Harry laid a hand on Snape’s arm, motioning for him to stop.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling the two tickets from his back pocket and handing one over. Snape peered at and squinted his eyes in the half light to make out the writing. Harry knew when he’d read it, because his jowls drew back in undisguised repulsion.

“What in seven Hells is this?” he snarled, brandishing the now precariously fated card in Harry’s face.

“It’s a ticket. Admit one to ride on the London Eye. I have another one,” Harry said in quite a careless tone. He was starting to get the impression that dating Snape was going to be one big barrel of laughs.

“Were you not present at dinner when I informed you of my utter dislike for such frivolous contraptions?”

“Just try it, please, I really want to go on it and I think you’ll appreciate the view.” Harry refused to lay a thick sob story about his underprivileged childhood, but he’d always held a fascination with the riverside attraction, and it meant a great deal to him to do something that most people took for granted.

Snape’s glare drilled into Harry, eventually faltering before he gave up altogether with an exasperated sigh.

“Fine, but since you insisted on it, do not expect me to save your sorry hero arse when one of those Muggle bolts works loose and we’re at the bottom of the river.”

Harry grinned and for once, set a faster pace than Snape, fearful the man might change his mind.

As they reached the boarding gates, he wondered if it was always so quiet on a Sunday evening, and if so, what the rest of London’s inhabitants were doing. Snape huffed at the clerk who had the unenviable task of asking to see his ticket and looked positively outraged when the man tore a corner off it, handing the violated piece of card back, and waving them along the gangway.

Harry desperately wanted to feel Snape’s large hand enclosing his own but Snape’s thunderous look warned him well enough away. Two couples in front of them were herded into a packed pod. Harry checked behind to see who they would be sharing with, and was surprised to find no one there.

“You’re the last of the evening, gentleman,” the man said chirpily as they approached the red line and waited for the next one.

“Really? How wonderful. When this abomination of engineering topples us into the murky water the death toll shall be ne’er for concern,” Snape said.

Harry felt a moment’s fleeting panic, both for himself and at the look the other man was giving Snape, but the attendant merely laughed as though he had heard it a thousand times. In fairness, he most likely had, though probably not in quite such a spectacularly derogative way.

“Plenty of people get nervous about riding the Eye. Nothing wrong with that; it’s as sturdy as they come. You’ve got more chance of being eaten by a dragon than seeing that thing fall.”

Harry stifled a squeak, and Severus looked positively maudlin.

“Perhaps it’s not a good idea,” Harry whispered when the man turned away to open the door to their pod. Snape glared down at him and narrowed his eyes.

“I assume you went to some kind of trouble to procure these tickets, did you not?”

“Well, yeah, but...”

“Then we shall ride. I suppose we can always Apparate should the need arise.” And then there was that crooked smile again, the one that stole Harry’s breath away and made his heart pound sideways.

The attendant ushered them into the pod and wished them a pleasant flight, which made Harry snicker and think of his Firebolt.

As they descended from the docking bay, Harry stood with his nose pressed against the glass, hands clutching the safety rail. Severus came up behind him, warm and close. The interior of the pod gave them a 360 degree view in every direction. They floated skyward, mesmerized.

“It doesn’t move very fast does it?” Harry said, his breath misting the pane.

“No, though I must confess that is somewhat of a relief.” The deep, melodious tone murmured in his ear. Rough palms caressed his arse then reached around to cover his hands, gripping the rails. Harry edged backwards and pressed himself into Snape’s groin in appreciation.

Snape muttered something that sounded like ‘impertinent brat,’ but Harry couldn’t have been sure because in the next moment the entire wheel shuddered to a halt, and Harry yelped.

“What the fuck was that?”

The insistent hips pressed against his back, thwarting his attempts to move and investigate the cause of the disruption.

“Stop panicking,” Snape reassured him, ghosting his neck with hot breath. “It is nothing they will be able to fix for at least the next ten minutes.”

Harry tried to twist his head around but only succeeded in cricking his neck. “How would you know?” he demanded, starting to feel genuinely freaked out.

“I know, because I made it so.” Snape growled, catching Harry’s ear between his teeth.

“Bloody hell!” Harry gasped, realising he’d been duped yet again. His was fast losing his senses, but his brain kept pestering him. “What about the other pods, they’ll see us won’t they?”

“Disillusionment charm,” came the murmured answer, as one hand delved beneath the waistband of his jeans and snaked towards his cock even whilst the other fumbled with his fly.

“Oh, my God, you’re going to fuck me?! Up here?”

“Yes. Do you have any objections?” Snape said, licking a fine path from ear to jaw.

It wasn’t really the sort of question Harry felt he could answer honestly, given the heavy influence his body was under.

“No, it’s just...mmph!” Snape whipped his free hand up to roughly grasp Harry’s chin and tilt his head back, far enough to plunder his mouth with scorching insistence. Harry moaned and melted into the hard body supporting him, painfully aware of his sudden need to be fucked at an altitude of a hundred and thirty five feet and in full view of London.

Satisfied that Harry would not attempt any more banal protestations, Snape returned his hand to the task of removing the confining denims. A few buttons popped open under the sheer force of Harry’s erection and the rest relented feebly under Snape’s nimble fingers, pushing and pulling until both trousers and underwear were bunched around his ankles.

Harry had to break the kiss to suck in a lungful of air when Snape’s long, cool fingers slipped around his shaft and held him gently, his own hands still gripping the metal railing. Harry looked out the window, across the night sky, at the billion multi-coloured lights that brought the city to life no matter the time of day. Everything looked so small and so perfect. And right now, with this man, he felt totally invincible in a way that even defeating a Dark Lord hadn’t made him feel.

Snape took seconds to push his own lower garments into a puddle at his feet before forcing a knee between Harry’s legs, urging him apart. Again, that muttered spell that he still hadn’t managed to learn came and the cool, slick feeling spread through his arse. Harry’s head fell forward, and he closed his eyes briefly as the sensation of fingers pushing into him intensified.

“Enjoying the view?” Snape rasped into the nape of his neck.

“Fuck me,” Harry demanded, pushing his heat-seeking arse against the thick shaft that repeatedly prodded the back of his thigh.

“That, Potter?” Snape said, jabbing his cock harder against Harry’s leg even as his fingers sped up their thorough stretching.

“Yesss,” Harry hissed, “That, now,”

“Say it, Harry, tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Severus, inside me, oh God, and I want it so badly.” Harry whined, noticing how bloodless his knuckles were as they held on for dear life. The thought evaporated as soon as he felt the first push of solid flesh between his arse cheeks. Harry bent forward to offer himself up and ease the penetration, which Snape wasted no time in taking advantage of, working firmly until he was fully sheathed, grunting at the feel of being so deeply buried in hot, tight Harry.

“Something like this?”

“God yes, just like that, only you have to move because...” Harry panted, “because I...”

Harry didn’t know what he was trying to say, he just knew he needed to feel Snape moving inside him. Sensing the frustration, Snape withdrew steadily until he was barely still inside, only the clenching ring of muscle gripping the head of his cock. He paused, maddeningly, then drove back in, long and deep. Snape angled his hips to graze Harry’s prostate as often as he could, his knees bending slightly each time. He tightened his grip on Harry’s cock, and fisted the rock hard length in time with his forceful thrusts. Harry panted in rhythm and felt a continuous trickle of sweat from his hairline to the neck of his shirt. Something in his peripheral vision caused him to look out to the horizon, as the brightest star he’d ever seen shot across the sky.

“Oh look Severus, a shooting star!” Harry exclaimed.

Snape grunted in accordance and continued his exertions, making Harry forget all about the phenomena in the sky and concentrate on the stars bursting on the inside of his eyelids. The low pressurised coiling increased exponentially until Harry couldn’t help but shout out loudly, thick spurts of come splattering against the pane of glass in front of him. He felt the muscles in his arse contracting in sympathy and through the haze of his orgasm, Harry sensed Snape stiffen and jerk, impaling him one final, brutal time before falling forward across his back, hands gripping the rail next to Harry’s.

Merlin, how wonderful it was to feel so full and sated, the evidence of Snape’s lust for him coating his insides. Harry emitted a long, blissful sigh and then a quieter regretful one as the softening cock slipped out of him. Snape stayed pressed against his back and kept his arms flush with Harry’s.

“It truly is a most divine view from up here,” he said seriously. Harry couldn’t have put it better himself, though he had a sneaking suspicion Snape wasn’t necessarily talking about the capital’s skyline.

As soon as they were both redressed and had undergone a rudimentary Scourgify, the wheel resumed its slow rotation. Harry passed the rest of the time resolutely not examining his growing feelings for the man sitting quietly beside him.

Eventually the pod reached ground level and the attendant hastily let them out.

“Gentleman, I must apologise for the slight delay during your flight and hope you will accept these complimentary tickets for another ride.”

Snape plucked them from his grasp and pocketed them. “Would you mind telling us precisely what went awry whilst we were suspended hundreds of feet in mid-air?” he barked.

Harry stared at him incredulously and bit his lip to stop the hideously unattractive wracking giggles determined to escape his throat.

“We really don’t know, sir, we have engineers on their way out now, but the Eye started moving again before they got here. We’ve never had a problem in all the years it’s been here.”

Snape merely gave a curt nod and Harry followed him out.

“I can’t believe you took them!” he laughed, finally able to let the emotion out.

“I did not ask him to provide us with complimentary permits,” Snape said sounding offended.

“No, but it was your fault it stopped! You could have refused,”

“And pass up the opportunity of taking advantage of you again in such panoramic surroundings? I think not.”

Harry shook his head as they walked along the river.

“You know, I really do make very nice coffee,” he offered.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Of course you do, Potter. Shall we adjourn then?”

Harry didn’t need asking twice.

***

Laying in bed with a warm body nearby, Harry decided he really didn’t need to feel those strong arms wrapped around him and that he most definitely wasn’t going to ask. Another five minutes filled with soft snores passed and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Severus?”

“Hmm.”

“Can you, you know?” Harry waited for the dead weight to shift against the mattress, which groggily, it did.

Snape shuffled forward and pressed his chest against Harry’s back, throwing one arm across his waist. Harry snuggled against the touch and thanked Merlin he never had been able to keep his mouth shut.

Morning hammered relentlessly at the window, sneaking small rays of sunshine through the curtains. Harry wasn’t ready to acknowledge that once they left his bed, he had no idea how soon they were likely to be back in it. The notion that he would care about such a thing, that he would care about Snape, was deeply concerning.

A bony kneecap snuck between his thighs and drew upwards until it rested against his balls, and Harry smirked into his pillow.

“Severus? Do owls swear? Seriously? Because I think one gave me the finger the other day. Well, not a finger, obviously but you know, its claw. It stuck its claw up at me because I wouldn’t let it deliver a parcel.”

A deep, velvety rumbling laugh gusted hot against Harry’s neck and despite the joke being at his expense, Harry joined in.

“Potter, I fear I must inform you of something far more serious than owling profanities. You are still 4% behind me in the polls, despite the shameless way you prostituted yourself for the titillation of prepubescent teenagers,” Snape said in as relaxed a manner as Harry had ever heard. His sleep caressed voice was sexy as hell.

Snape. Sexy. A month ago Harry would have cut out his own tongue in protest at those two words in the same sentence. Now, he had to wonder if it was only an Impotus Curse Snape had hit him with.

“You did just hit me with the one hex, right?”

“Yes. Why? Did you think I had cast a spell to hinder your ability to dazzle people with your goofy grin? I can assure you I have no need of such a hex. You are losing all on your own merit.”

“Smug bastard,” Harry muttered, squeezing his thighs tightly around Snape’s leg in chastisement.

Snape snorted. “Where is the coffee you promised me? Or do all of your assurances come to nothing?”

The unrelenting leg finally relented as Snape extricated himself from Harry’s back. Harry sighed and threw the covers off, willing, if not ready, to face the day.

***