Young, Hot and Rich

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“You'll never be anything! You waste your time tinkering around with your damned potions, thinking you, an insignificant waste of space, will discover something. You leave me to bring in the money, I, Harry Potter, clothe, feed and make love to you, when I could have ANYONE!” The last word rose to a shout, Harry's eyes blazed as he took a step forward and raised his hand. He brought it down, but before it could land Snape work with a start. Feeling his skin slick with sweat Snape raised a hand to wipe his face, discovering tears. Angrily brushing them away Snape chastised himself, to be afraid of a boy was beneath him. Throwing the covers aside angrily, he made his way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. Still unnerved, he thought a drink might calm him, and made his way to the headmaster's office. The bottle of mead was still uncorked on the desk and, not bothering with a glass, Snape lifted it to his lips.
“Weak men turn to alcohol to solve their problems, Severus.” Startled, Snape slopped the mead down his chin. Wiping the liquid away before it could burn, Snape tried to hide the defeat and shame in his eyes as he turned to the old man.
“And what, tell me, do strong men do then?” His sardonic lilt hid the hurt in his voice.
“They talk to an old friend.” Dumbledore smiled, gesturing to Snape to follow him to his room. Snape did hesitantly, remembering the kiss and the feeling in his stomach afterwards. Dumbledore sat in a cushy armchair next to the bed and flicked a hand towards the bed. Snape perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, not sure what to say.
“Talking doesn't fix anything, Albus.” The blunt tone didn't fool Dumbledore for a second.
“Ah... but it makes us feel so much better, and after all, isn't that a step towards a solution anyway?” Snape dropped his eyes, staring intently at the carpet.
“I can't talk about it, Albus, if you were a true friend, you wouldn't ask.” Dumbledore didn't chuckle as Snape expected but came over and grasped his hands.
“And that is precisely why I don't ask, but merely suggest. Whenever you are ready to talk, you will find me ready to listen.” Snape was horrified as he found himself suppressing tears. He looked up into the blue eyes and a soft, comforting feeling swept through him, this was a man he knew would never hurt him. Dumbledore bent down, though instead of embracing the broken man like a friend, he tucked Snape's head under his chin – like a lover. Snape found himself nuzzling into his friend's shoulder, the soft white beard warm and safe. Albus drew back slowly, and tilted Snape's chin up, searching his eyes. Snape surprised even himself by leaning forward and planting his lips against the elder man's. Dumbledore gently kissed him back, and when Snape opened his mouth in a gesture of consent, Dumbledore slipped his tongue into the other man's mouth, lying him down on the bed. Snape began to undo his own buttons, slipping out of the blue, cotton pajamas and allowing Dumbledore to run his hand's over the young flesh. Snape tugged at Dumbledore's night clothes and catching the young man's hand, Dumbledore pulled back.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You must be sure this is the best thing you can do for yourself, I wouldn't want you waking up tomorrow morning and regretting it.” Snape melted at his friend's concern, and with a crooked smile began tugging the night clothes again.
“Shut up and kiss me, you old fool.” Dumbledore chuckled, and complied happily.