The Producers

Nervous energy caused Snape’s legs to tingle painfully, preventing him from doing what he wanted to do: run away as fast as he could. Away from the comfortable sofa, away from the tantalizing boy who was evidently out of his mind. Perhaps his battle with the Dark Lord had done more damage to his brain than anyone had realised. Certainly it would explain this bizarre development.

But his legs refused to move so he spoke as quietly as he could.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Harry. Whatever it is, I don’t think I am capable of bestowing it upon you. You deserve so much more. Do you know how special you are? How many people would be willing to hex their own grandmothers just to spend time in your company? How can I ask for more than being your friend?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Harry sensed the faintest possibility of coming out of the conversation victorious and seized upon it. “I’m giving it to you willingly. You’ve never let me down, you’ve always looked out for me, cared for me. Being with you is like coming home. This is my home, our home. Please don’t throw me away, I need you.” Harry reached out his hand, and for a sickening moment it seemed as though Snape might recoil from the imminent touch.

“What is it that you need?” Snape couldn’t help the callous tone, but ignored the hand resting on his arm. “Do you need someone who is guarded and suspicious? Cruel and hurtful? Someone whose heart is so blackened and dead that it could never nurture the love of another person? Do you not see? I am not rejecting you because I do not care for you, it is precisely because I do. I am trying to save you! From yourself, from me. I would hurt you Harry, I would do it and I wouldn’t be able to control it. Everything would be lost to us. I cannot bear the thought of losing your friendship. I would rather have that than nothing at all.”

“It wouldn’t be like that, I know it wouldn’t. Just give me a chance, give us a chance, I know how you feel about me. You’re fooling yourself if you think we can hold onto a friendship now, how would you feel if I found someone else?”

Snape closed his eyes. He’d feel like casting Unforgivables on the hapless suitor. Harry registered the flicker of discomfort on his face and continued.

“What about me? Do you think it would be easy for me to sit by and watch you disappearing into the night? Not knowing where you’d gone or who you were with, but knowing damn well what you were doing? I can’t deal with that, I won’t live like that. It’s up to you now. It’s all or nothing.”

Harry’s heart was throwing itself against his ribcage as he waited for Snape to respond.

“You’re so young...”

“Not relevant.”

“I’m so old.”

“Not relevant even if it were true.”

“I was your Professor.”

“True but still irrelevant.”

“My reputation...”

“...As a nasty, greasy Potions Master will not suffer, stop fighting this!” Harry exclaimed, exasperated.

Snape wavered as he made one final check of his mental faculties. He was probably going to end up regretting this, but he could no longer resist Harry’s sweet pleading.

He reopened his eyes and turned to look at him.

“I need to..”

“Take it slow, I know. So do I,” he tried to diffuse the electrified atmosphere with a chuckle but it caught in his throat.

Harry edged along the sofa until his leg was touching Snape’s.

“You’re trembling!” he said in surprise.

“Don’t be ridiculous Potter, I don’t tremble. It is merely a hereditary condition with which I have always been afflicted.”

“Yeah? How come I haven’t noticed it before then?” Harry challenged playfully.

“Because you have never been superglued to my side before.” Snape smirked down at the mop of unruly hair.

“God, that could be a bit annoying, having you twitching next to me all night long!”

Harry tentatively moved his hand around Snape’s waist and laid his head on his chest. He desperately wanted to kiss him but he also wanted to savour this moment for as long as possible. It was the closest thing he had felt to true acceptance in his entire life.

“If you don’t watch that mouth of yours Potter, you won’t get as far as a night next to me.”

“I can think of far better things to do with my mouth than talk,” he commented drily.

Snape shifted to accommodate the new weight resting against him. He gently cupped Harry’s chin and lifted it, eyes gesturing to the ceiling as Harry followed his gaze.

A single piece of mistletoe was suspended above them. Harry gave Snape a sly look.

“Have you been reading my smutty old fiction again?” he grinned lasciviously.

Snape looked confused. “Again? I haven’t had the dubious pleasure of doing it a first time,” he lied blatantly. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just.. the Christmassy ones, there’s always mistletoe!” Harry laughed. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added quietly, bringing his hand up to cover the one still cupping his chin.

Harry promised himself he would make a move to kiss Snape any moment now; he wanted to be absolutely certain that he was doing the right thing, because once this thing was done, he knew everything would change irrevocably.

He let his eyes take in the contours of Snape’s face, strong bones barely sheathed in smooth, translucent skin. Lines and shallow furrows adorned his eyes and his forehead, which met abruptly with long, black hair. Harry scrutinized the hair and felt pained as he remembered how cruel his classmates had been in their scathing ridicule of it. He gently unfurled his fingers from Snape’s, and ran them through the black locks, lightly tugging strands as he raked them through.

‘It’s not really greasy at all,’ he marvelled to himself, “It’s iridescent, like raven feathers.” Harry felt a renewed yearning at discovering another new thing about the man.

His fingers slipped through the shiny hair and he moved them to trace thin lips that were poised and threatening imminent pleasure. Gods, they felt so soft. Harry imagined nibbling them, coaxing a deeper shade of red that would be evidence of his assault.

Unable to contain the swirling emotions of excitement and trepidation any longer, Harry slipped his hands around Snape’s neck and silently urged him closer. He willed his eyes to stay open, to sear the memory of the moment into his conscious forever, but they closed of their own accord. Warm lips tentatively ghosted the corner of his mouth, patiently awaiting permission. Harry delayed responding, revelling in the tingling sensations bestowed upon him.

Snape pulled one arm tighter round Harry’s waist, the other encompassing his shoulder, hand splayed and pressed into the small of his back. He continued to administer tiny, fluttering kisses, working his way from corner to corner across the expanse of tender flesh that was beginning to part. He let his tongue breach his own lips and wetly trailed the tip back and forth, gently increasing pressure until Harry finally yielded with a small moan. He pressed harder against Snape, and released his tongue, letting it collide with the one already tracing the outline of his mouth.

Snape sucked the tip of it gently before allowing it to seek his mouth. Harry relaxed into the warm wetness, his objective of memorising the encounter totally forgotten as he pressed forth, tasting the man he had known for so long and desired for mere weeks.

Lips stroked lips, teasing and tender, but laced with a determination to familiarise themselves intimately.

Harry’s breath came in short gasps; the exquisite sensation of sliding and rolling his tongue over Snape’s excited him more than any other kiss ever had.

They continued to explore and map each other’s mouths until Snape reluctantly pulled away and looked at him.

“We are expected to attend the Christmas luncheon,” he sighed, stroking a flushed cheek.

“How soon?” Harry grumbled, closing his eyes and leaning into the warm touch.

Snape craned his neck to look at the clock. “Five minutes,” he announced grimly.

“That gives us four more minutes to do this...” Harry grinned wickedly and made to descend again.

“Incorrigible brat. I would suggest that unless you are planning on attending in your pyjamas, you might use the remaining four minutes to clothe yourself.” Snape gestured at Harry’s scruffy t-shirt and flimsy pyjama bottoms.

“What would Professor McGonagall have said?” Harry’s eyes widened in mock alarm.

“I shudder to think,” Snape replied, “And Potter, do you not think our broadening of boundaries might constitute a move towards a more frequent addressing of each other by our given names?”

Harry erupted into gales of laughter, resting his head against the other man’s neck as his body heaved with the effort.

“Does my name amuse you?” Snape was taken aback by the sudden mirth and not overly impressed by it.

“No, it’s not that,” Harry managed between giggles, “It’s just, always when we get together in the stories, you start calling me Harry and I start calling you Severus.” He continued to press against Snape’s neck, little puffs of air calling the skin beneath it to attention.

“Is my life to be one long comparison to fiction?” he groaned, “Because I can assure you, I will likely not live up to the expectations.” Harry licked at a particularly aromatic patch of skin on Snape’s neck that sent chills rippling down his spine.

“Wouldn’t that depend on which one you’ve read?” He mumbled into a collarbone.

“Exactly how many have you read?” Snape ruffled the unruly hair resting under his chin.

“Enough to know what follows kissing.”

Snape allowed his face to relax, his lips twisted into a wan smile before he attempted to move again. Forcibly extracting himself from the determined attentions, he propelled the boy into his bedroom to get dressed.

***

“I feel sick.” Harry groaned as he laid on the sofa. Even at full stretch, his feet didn’t come close to reaching the far end of it.

“Well don’t do it on the furniture,” Snape admonished from his place on the floor next to the bookcase, “even if it is revoltingly patterned in Gryffindor colours it is still a most relaxing place to sit.”

“Yeah it’s really comfy isn’t it? God, that other one was awful! You’d have to have been a sadist to enjoy sitting on that!” he started to rub his tummy in an effort to ease some of the cramping.

“Indeed. Might I suggest that if perhaps you had not been so quick to indulge in a third portion of pudding you would not now be experiencing such discomfort?” Harry couldn’t see him sitting on the floor behind the sofa, but he could hear the smugness in his voice.

“How do you know I had three portions of dessert?” he challenged.

Snape couldn’t immediately think of a witty retort; he didn’t want to admit he’d been observing the boy throughout dinner, barely able to drag his eyes away as he watched him bolting down his food as though it might be snatched away from him at any moment. It occurred to him then, that in Harry’s past, that might not have been such a leap of imagination. Merlin alone knew what abuse the boy had suffered at the hands of his supposed guardians. It was an off limits subject. He regained control of his faculties and answered.

“The house elves were running themselves ragged, attending your table. They may as well have formed a chain to continually pass the food along and conserved energy.” Not quite as barbed as he’d have liked, but it would have to do for now.

“You sound like Hermione! Worried about the state of house elves’ feet!” He chuckled as a vision of Snape and Hermione brandishing ‘Free The House Elves’ placards outside the Ministry of Magic impaled itself in his mind.

“Potter, if you ever dare to compare me to your tragic bushy haired cohort again, you really will be looking for somewhere else to live.”

Try as he might, Snape just couldn’t inject any venom into his Potter baiting, and worse, the boy damn well knew it.

“Shut up and come over here. What are you doing down there anyway?” Harry hauled himself up to a sitting position and peered over the sofa.

“I have hundreds of books that have not received adequate attention recently,” he complained, “strangely enough, the disrepair of my library coincided with your moving in.”

Harry poked his tongue out at the back of Snape’s head.

“Careful Mr Potter,” he growled, “I might have to punish you for your insubordination.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “How did you...”

“Know? I’ve known you for seven years, brat. Do you not think by now I would be accustomed to your tardiness?” Snape sighed and replaced the book he was holding. Obviously he wasn’t going to get any work done tonight.

Raising himself off the floor, he procured the whisky bottle and two glasses from his desk.

“Are you going to empty that stocking or shall I return it to Santa Claus for next year?” he said, heading for the unoccupied space on the settee.

“No, I’d like to open my presents now.” Harry retrieved it and accepted a tumbler of scotch from Snape, taking a sip before setting it down on the rug.

He let his hands run over the shape of each present within the stocking, finally choosing one and pulling it out. Examining the intricate wrapping, he brought it up to his ear and rattled it, trying to guess what it might be.

“Good God child, are we to be here all night? Just rip the bloody wrapping paper off!” Snape had no patience left, he had been waiting most of the day to see the reaction to his gifts.

“Alright!” Harry laughed, picking at the corners before tearing off the paper and laughing again.

“A chocolate frog?”

Snape stopped his eyes from rolling. Trust Potter to draw the boring present first.

“Open it,” he commanded. Harry obliged, letting the frog wriggle out of the cardboard box and watched as it hopped onto the back of the sofa. He pulled out the card that was nestled inside and Snape watched his eyes light up.

“Oh! It’s Professor Dumbledore!” he exclaimed, “but not like the other ones, I’ve got hundreds of him, all the same, but I’ve never seen this one before!” he watched the miniature Dumbledore adjust his half moon spectacles before smiling benignly and waving at him.

“That would be because there is only one card of its kind. If you turn it over, you will notice that it is engraved with your name. No one else will ever be able to purchase a copy of this card. It is original. And yours.”

“God, I don’t know what to say. This is just brilliant. Ron will go mad when I tell him! Thank you so much.” Harry leant over and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. Snape felt his face grow warm and fought to maintain his composure.

“You must allow me to be privy to that conversation. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to witness Mr Weasley’s mental breakdown.”

Harry drew another present from the stocking; he was fairly sure this one was a book, from the weight and shape of it. He initially refrained from shaking it since it was unlikely to yield any clues, but seeing the impatient look, he did it anyway.

“Brat.” Snape shook his head in weary resignation. Yes, they would most probably be sat here for the rest of the evening while Potter shook, smelt, licked and touched every inch of the confining wrapping paper.

Despite the acute satisfaction of winding Snape up, Harry’s curiosity soon got the better of him. He tore the paper away and a glossy magazine fell into his lap.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking it up and turning it over to see the cover. A muscled, well oiled, naked man in obscenely sharp focus winked at him and licked his lips seductively.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, cheeks shadowing violently.

Snape’s top lip rounded in amusement. “It is a special Christmas edition of ‘Swish and Flick’. I presume you are familiar with this magazine?” he asked innocently, knowing full well Harry wasn’t.

“Err.. no? It’s a bit... rude,” he said, blushing nervously as he glanced back down at the Adonis now blowing kisses at him and rubbing his groin provocatively.

“If you are serious about finding men attractive, then it should serve you well.” Snape was having difficulty holding back a loud guffaw; Harry’s face was an absolute picture.

Harry put the magazine down and stared resolutely at him, his voice heavy with startling sincerity. “Not men, man. You.”

Snape felt the amusement ebb away, as the intensity of their locked eyes made him uneasy. This was too much like the cosy domesticity that he had purposefully strived to avoid. He lifted the glass out of his lap and took a deep gulp.

“Yes, well get a move on will you? I have books to alphabetically categorise and I’d like to finish before next Christmas.” He casually gestured at the abandoned stocking, still weighty with unopened gifts.

Harry experienced a pang of frustration at the rebuff, but resolved not to let Snape’s prickly retort ruin his evening. He pulled the three remaining presents free and opted for the smallest.

“Wow!” he enthused after unwrapping the next one, “Umm.. what is it?”

Snape sighed dramatically. “Don’t tell me you’ve never used a Revista Servi before? No wonder your potions marks were so awful.” Harry held the small red orb in the palm of his hand and continued to look baffled. Snape took it from him and held it aloft.

“Before you attempt any serious studying, remove the orb from its box and place it alongside your textbook. You will find it far easier to digest what you are reading.”

“But how does it work?” Harry couldn’t imagine how something that looked like a tomato might help him revise.

“You are thinking like a Muggle again,” Snape criticized, “You don’t need to know how it works, only that it does.” He carefully handed the little ball back to Harry, who replaced it in its box before picking up another parcel.

Sense of mischief returning, he resumed shaking the two remaining presents, one held to each ear. One of them emitted a faint tinkling sound, and Harry’s mind was made up.

Snape had rather been hoping the boy would open that one last, but evidently Potter was the wizarding equivalent of a magpie. He watched his face closely as the wrapping was shed, and the slender box lid raised.

Harry pinched the chain between two fingertips and lifted it out of the box, initially failing to get a closer look at the heavy locket attached to it as it began to spin.

Capturing it in his other hand, he stilled the movement and opened the gold catch.

Harry gasped, and Snape was mesmerized by the expression of pure elation and amazement that lit up his youthful face.

“Where did you get this?” he whispered, voice strained with emotion.

“It was something your mother gave me, a very long time ago. We were good friends, you know. Before your father...” Snape didn’t want to ruin the moment by talking about James Potter. “We both had one, we chose them together, and gave them to each other the day we came to Hogwarts.”

Harry stared at the tiny oval picture of his mother, resplendent in miniature robes, so very young and fresh faced, untainted by the fate that was to befall her.

“Where’s the other one?” Harry asked without looking up, one finger tenderly brushing over the gold inlay that framed her.

“It...got lost.”

Snape felt his chest grow heavy. He and Lily had brought the pendants during their first trip to Diagon Alley, and both had put pictures of themselves inside. Then, on the day they arrived at Hogwarts, they swapped lockets, both pledging their eternal friendship. Snape could still remember how special he had felt, how grown up carrying such an item made him feel. His friendship with Lily had never been anything more than platonic; he’d known early in life which way he was inclined, but James Potter hadn’t seen it that way.

As Lily and James became more involved, he started to tease her for carrying another man’s picture around. Lily was determined not to be swayed by the display of envy, firmly insisting the locket was an innocent exchange between friends. James eventually dropped the subject, but the locket with Snape’s picture in had mysteriously vanished less than a month later, and frantic though she searched, Lily never recovered it.

Snape knew exactly where it was, still knew where it lay, even now. He had watched James throw it into the lake and instantly hated him for it; hated him even more for taking away the only true friend he had at school. James couldn’t genuinely have felt threatened by Snape, because as James kept telling him, he was a dirty shit stabbing poof.

Snape wanted to weep at the irony of it all: Harry had accused him of being homophobic, yet his own father had made it his life’s work to break his spirit with his cruel taunts and jibes. He wondered if James would be so quick to use such foul language about his own sexuality-curious son.

Abruptly brought back from his trance, he realised Harry had been talking and he hadn’t heard a word.

“Hey, where’ve you gone?” Harry looked at him with concern.

“Nowhere. What did you ask?” Snape cleared his mind of the hateful slurs that were echoing in his head.

“I asked how it got lost, I’d have liked that one too.” Harry said, smiling shyly.

“I have no idea.” Snape didn’t want to dwell on Harry’s dead bully of a father. When he looked at Harry, he saw Lily, not James. He sensed her spirit in the boy, he glimpsed her temper, her capacity for loyalty, her unfaltering kind and gentle disposition. It had, amongst other things, been those shared qualities that had caused him to take the unusual step of befriending a student.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Harry looked genuinely disappointed. He returned the locket to its protective box and slipped it into his pocket.

“One more left,” he commented, more to himself than Snape. He took his time opening the last package, wanting to savour the moment. Too many years he had been deprived of the joy of presents and love and festive family togetherness, but since Hogwarts, Snape and the Weasley’s had more than made up for it.

Once again, his face lit up. “Cool!” he squeaked, and then laughed as he turned the unwrapped assortment for observing, “how on earth did you get these? Don’t tell me you went to a Muggle shop because I don’t believe it!”

He continued to brandish the CDs at Snape, who smirked at him. “I didn’t get anything, Potter. I keep telling you, it was a clinically obese man in an unsightly red suit. You should thank him.”

Harry gave him a ‘I’m not seven, you know,’ look before gathering up the unwrapped presents and taking them to his bedroom. He stuffed the magazine in his bedside drawer, and inserted one of the new CDs into the player. The locket he spent another minute studying, before hiding it at the bottom of his trunk along with the study aid. The last present, the card, he also re-examined. Dumbledore had handfuls of sherbet lemons and was stuffing them in his mouth as fast as he could. Harry giggled, causing the miniature professor’s eyes to dart up. He shrugged his shoulders and jerked his thumb at the Christmas tree behind him. Harry hadn’t noticed it before.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas,” he said, smiling fondly, “If you can’t pig out on sweets this time of year, when can you?” Dumbledore nodded in vehement agreement and Harry chuckled again, adding the card to a pile of others on the dresser.

He pressed play on the stereo and went back out to join Snape.

“That was the best Christmas ever.” Harry retrieved his glass and gulped down the rest of the flawless liquid. Soft music floated through from the bedroom.

“Merlin, do you have to listen to that sentimental rubbish now?” Snape protested, retrieving the bottle of scotch and topping up both their glasses.

“You’re supposed to play with your presents on Christmas Day!” Harry moaned, stretching his legs out the length of the sofa and lowering his feet into a warm lap.

“Perhaps I should have wrapped myself up then,” Snape drawled, casting a sideways glance in Harry’s direction.

“Ah... well, funny you should say that, because I’m wrapped, in clothes, and I’m your present.” Harry grinned smugly, gently pushing one heel down, excited by the thought of what lay underneath it.

“Ah...well, funny you should say that,” Snape droned, doing his best to ignore the roving foot, “because I rather thought we were sitting on my present.”

“The sofa?” Harry feigned surprise, “I thought you’d brought it!”

For a split second Snape looked puzzled, before recalling the start of the day when the boy had stalked out of his room and rudely gestured at it.

“Very droll, Mr Potter. Would you be so kind as to explain why you are poking my thigh with your foot?”

“Duh,” Harry wriggled his toes against the robes, “Obviously, I’m after a foot massage.”

“I think you’ll find you’ve picked the wrong person for that particular onerous task; however, if you ask very nicely, I expect I may be able to find something infinitely more appealing to rub down.” Snape’s subsequent leer gave Harry goose bumps.

His stomach churned with nervous anticipation; if he really wanted this, then the time had come to prove it. The weight of the invitation hung heavily in the air, and he felt compelled to make a joke to ease the tension that was building.

“Nah, you’re alright, a foot rub will suffice.” He attempted a leer of his own, hoping his own particular brand of humour wouldn’t go flying over Snape’s head.

It didn’t.

Snape effortlessly removed the offending foot from his lap and slid along the sofa, until their thighs touched. He snaked his hands around the lithe waist and gently tugged slight hips forward until their faces were inches apart.

“Are you sure you want do this?” he growled, not absolutely certain he could stop himself even if Harry said no; he’d been thinking about that kiss all afternoon, during dinner, during the present unwrapping ceremony, and particularly since Harry had not very innocently rest his foot in his lap. There was only so much flirting a man could resist. To hell with the consequences.

Harry locked his hands around the back of Snape’s neck, and coiled thin locks of sleek dark hair around his fingers.

“Completely sure.” Harry murmured.

Snape needed no further invitation; he swiftly descended onto the firm mouth so tantalisingly close to his own.

Their first kiss had been enmeshed in tenderness and caution; Snape had needed to be assured that Harry wasn’t going to freak out on him, but now that awkward initial moment had come to pass, he desperately wanted to possess the boy’s mouth with urgent, crushing desire.

Harry whimpered slightly at the changed sensation the forceful kiss invoked. His eyes fluttered open to reassure himself it was still the same man that had so carefully cherished his mouth earlier. His stomach flipped over at the dark brooding with which his gaze was returned.

Snape bit Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth, possessing it firmly before letting it slide wetly away and repeated the assault on his top lip, causing him to whimper again, louder this time.

A warm strong tongue enveloped his own, sucking potently, claiming it with brutal reverence. The intensity of so many sensations made him light headed, and all he could comprehend was the feel of lips on lips, fleshy tongue battering fleshy tongue, strong capable hands roaming his back, tugging at his t-shirt.

Snape abruptly pulled out of the embrace and cupped Harry’s cheeks. His hair fell chaotically about his face, black eyes burning through the carpet of hair to seek out green ones.

“This is not a game,” he panted, “If this isn’t what you want you should inform me right now.”

Harry, breathless himself, brushed back the errant curtain of hair and hoped his eyes would communicate far more than he could manage verbally.

Snape registered the flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, acknowledging the unspoken assent. He leant forward again, nuzzling into Harry’s neck and licking along his collarbone, nipping hard with teeth and smoothing with tongue, over and over and over.

Vaguely aware that his hands had all but stilled, and that he was not actually participating due to the overwhelming attention his neck was receiving, Harry released his surprisingly tight grip on Snape’s head and let his hands trail down until they reached the collar of his robes.

Trying to dually concentrate on the unrelenting mouth and the impossibly tricky buttons caused him no end of frustration.

“Is this meant to be some kind of wizarding chastity belt robe thingy?” he gasped in agitation.

Snape hissed something against his clavicle and without breaking the seal of lips on skin, gently moved Harry’s hands aside to expertly attend the buttons. Long pale fingers flew over the tiny black discs and in seconds he had shrugged the robe off to reveal a white shirt, all without having forsaken the contact between them.

Harry was torn between being seriously impressed and being dismayed that Snape had so obviously done the same thing a thousand times before with other men.

Or, he could just be so well practised at it because, oh I don’t know, perhaps because he has to.. get undressed every night? A part of his brain chastised him for being pathetically dim.

Harry didn’t have time to dwell further on the legacy of Snape’s proficient disrobing skills though, because Snape had started to disrobe him.

They both exhaled together as Harry’s t-shirt was deftly removed; Harry because of the invading chill that assailed his bare skin, and Snape because the first glimpse of creamy unblemished torso had ignited an irrepressible craving. He briefly eyed the startling red patch of neck he had affected, and marvelled at how it stood out against the rest of the pale flesh.

Snape was almost afraid to look Harry in the eye then, fearful the boy might see the raging lust there and be scared by its purity. But look he did, and Harry could not have had time to register anything, so quick was he to bring their mouths crushing together again, small determined fingers making light work of the less tricky shirt buttons.

Harry tugged it off him quickly, breaking the kiss to gaze down at the equally pasty chest, speckled with dark coarse hairs that blazed an uneven trail down the middle of his body and disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. Eyes dropping a little further, Harry was shocked at the bulging persistence contained within them, reality slapping him full force across the face.

Snape. Is. A. Man.
Men. Have. Cocks.
What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?

‘Something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time but didn’t recognize until now.’ he argued, silencing the little voice.

Instantly he became aware of something else; his own cock was achingly hard and he hadn’t even realised, so immersed had he been in the enigma that was this unknown intimacy with Snape.

Harry worried his lip and glanced up.

“Can we... get more comfortable?”

A wide, genuine smile played across Snape’s face; Harry couldn’t remember ever seeing such a look of contentment on the man before. It ripped a hole in his chest.

Without saying a word, Snape stood up and offered Harry his hand. Harry took it, steadying himself as he was lifted off the sofa and silently led to the only room in their quarters he had never been in.

He tried to think about something other than the blazing heat in his pants. He wanted to stop worrying about how woefully inexperienced he was. He felt he should be admiring the ornate bedroom or mapping the position of centuries old furniture in his head. The vision of a colossal four poster stole both his mental competence and breath away.

Snape continued his steady, measured pace until he reached the end of the bed. Still holding Harry’s hand, he brought it up to his mouth and gently prised the clenched fingers open, kissing the sweaty palm within.

Working his way up Harry’s arm, he placed small butterfly kisses along the length of it, tasting the salty skin, his tongue licking at the fine sheen of sweat that coated the supple young body in his grasp.

Harry wasn’t sure how much longer his legs would hold him upright; much to his disgust, his knees had faintly begun to tremble. Snape sensed the imperceptible reaction and placed one last kiss on his shoulder blade. He stepped away from Harry and sat on the bed, pulling him down by his hand. Gently but firmly, he guided the boy until he was laying back against the cool sheets, and Snape slipped an arm under his head, cradling it in the crook of his elbow, letting his other hand card through the wild, damp hair for a long moment.

Harry desperately wanted to speak, but forming words and uttering them coherently was proving difficult.

Snape was painfully conscious of two things. The first was his ferocious desire for the boy in his arms. He had never felt so alive, nor inflamed by the close proximity of another man.

The second was the more grounding knowledge that so named boy in arms was a virgin, and that if Snape didn’t want to put him off sex for life, he had to be painstakingly cautious and careful.

Finally, Harry managed to croak out a few words.

“Get... on with it... please,” he strung out over the gravel in his throat. “Going to...you know... in my pants.”

If there had ever been a more inappropriate time to howl with laughter, Snape didn’t know it. His head fell back and gales of laughter erupted in deep melodious tones. Harry might have been offended if the beautiful velvety sound hadn’t been so unfamiliar or arousing.

Composing himself, Snape returned his concentration to the squirming boy in his arms.

“Very well, Potter,” he growled. His mouth was so close to Harry’s ear that the little breath delivering the words caused a multitude of hairs to stand to attention.

Harry shivered and ran his hands over the strong, scarred chest above him.

Snape pulled away from the touch and copied the movement, but he did not move his hands back up as Harry had done. He let them graze over the stiff tenting of Harry’s jeans, causing his hips to jerk spasmodically off the bed.

“FuckinghellthatswhatIwastalkingabout,” Harry babbled, squeezing his eyes shut to allow the exquisite sensation to wash over him.

Snape smirked at the practically incoherent boy and wondered what it would feel like to hear him shouting his name. He couldn’t imagine Harry would have the presence of mind to shout anything at the crucial moment, least of all his name, but the fantasy was charming nonetheless. Charles never had, he’d always deferred to God in his moments of ecstasy.

Snape berated himself for thinking about his ex at a time like this, busying his hands with the task of unzipping the tight jeans that would not, for much longer, house Harry’s evident excitement.

Harry eagerly lifted his hips off the bed, watching Snape through lidded eyes as he carefully tugged the jeans down, avoiding too much pressure on his cock. He was quite sure he’d never been so hard or so desperate for something, anything; he still wasn’t sure what was going to happen but he was past caring.

Snape stood up briefly and removed his own trousers, painfully aware of the green eyes that were watching him intently. He had never cared what anyone had thought of his pale, skinny frame, or the intricate criss-cross of scars that adorned it. Not until now.

He climbed back onto the bed and crawled over Harry’s body, settling his elbows either side of the boy’s head, continuing to lower himself with considerable control until the air between them was chased away.

Harry thought he might explode right then and there. Snape was laying on top of him, none too gently clutching handfuls of his hair and working his mouth down his chest, hovering above his nipple. Harry relished the unique sensation of their cocks pressed together; could feel the frantic pulsing of veins in his prick, transporting every last drop of blood in his body to it.

Snape started to suck on one nipple and pinched the other between two fingers, gradually promoting the suck to a grazing of teeth, before nipping at it and smoothing its protests with his tongue.

Harry was too besieged to do anything other than thrust his fingers through the long black hair and press his hips upwards in an attempt to seek more delicious contact.

Putting all his weight on one side, Snape rolled slightly and broke the contact. Harry shivered as fresh bursts of cold air snaked between them, rapidly cooling the sweaty film that coated him.

Snape trailed his hand over Harry’s abdomen and finding the waistband of his pants, teased them down. More cold air rushed at him, but the aching sensitivity only heightened as they were pulled free of his legs. Liberated, Harry moaned loudly, incredibly aroused by the vision of Snape wrapping his long fingers around the shaft of Harry’s cock, doing nothing more than stroking it lightly.

Snape had wanted to relish every second of this tryst, to take his time to explore and savour the truly beautiful young man that he couldn’t quite believe had willingly surrendered to him. He continued to fist the swollen length, marvelling at the deep shade of red.

Reluctantly, he dragged his eyes away to look at Harry’s face, fire leaping into his lungs because the boy was still watching his every move with helpless fascination.

Snape felt an unsettling tightening in his balls and squirmed a little. It would not do to come splattering against his pants before Potter had even had a chance to see him fully naked, let alone touch him. He bit the inside of his cheek and concentrated.

Harry watched in unconcealed awe at the way Snape held him, so very tenderly. He didn’t want to close his eyes, because now he had been caught staring, and he was damned if he was going to look away first... but God, the pure lust in those black eyes was truly unnerving.

Snape slid down Harry’s body, holding his gaze, and positioned himself between the muscle defined legs, hands coming to rest on the not quite boy, not quite man hips that jutted and curved beneath skin. Mouth hovering, his hot breaths glanced off the head of Harry’s cock, coaxing thin dribbles of pre-come from the slit with each puff of air. His tongue darted out to catch the escaping drops as they trickled down the engorged tip. His taste buds awakened at the invading liquid as it tangled with saliva, bitter saltiness hitting the back of Snape’s throat as he swallowed reflexively.

Taking the deep guttural groan as a positive sign, Snape licked the silky shaft, tongue tracing a network of veins that threatened to break free from the oppressive skin, eyes still boring into Harry’s.

“Severus,” he managed to choke out, “Please, Severus.”

Harry tasted the word in his mouth, rolling it over his tongue, and found he liked the flavour very much. Snape stopped mid lick, black eyes still firmly fixed on the now half mast green ones that held his gaze from beneath thick black lashes.

“Harry...” Snape moaned, not sure how he could possibly express the induced pleasure hearing his name uttered from those perfectly divine lips. “Harry, you’re so beautiful.” As though attempting to banish any uncertainty his declaration might have provided, he wrapped his warm palm tightly around Harry’s cock and guided it into his mouth.

Still tightly controlling a hip with one hand, he smiled when Harry made ungainly attempts at fucking his mouth, small jerks designed to thrust himself as deep as he could. Snape was still being relatively reserved with the controlled movements, but Harry was insistent. Snape moved his other hand to cover the free hip, and pushed them both down firmly into the mattress. Smaller hands than his own found his head, arms stretching to fulfil the touch which he gladly leant into as he sucked the swollen flesh with a definite loss of style since the arrival of hair tousling hands.

A little deeper each time, a steady pattern emerged, lips dragging the rim of the head as he rose, teeth barely making contact as he fell, again and again, sharp cries and yelps and closed eyes made his heart contract as he took the entire length in his mouth, burying his nose into soft curly hairs, hands still pinning thrusting hips to the bed.

Harry grabbed handfuls of shiny, black hair, some of it slipping through his fingers when he became distracted. Absolutely, undoubtedly this was the best feeling in the world.

No, hang on, the best feeling in the world was slowly but surely creeping up through his balls and along his cock.

“Oh God, Sev...” Harry’s arms dropped to the sheets as though made of stone, his hands seeking it out to ball it up in his fists, “I’m not.. I won’t..” Snape was starting to feel dizzy from the rapid changes in gravity as his head bobbed up and down furiously, hands moving from the slight hips to slide underneath fleshy arse cheeks, kneading them roughly. Granted their freedom, the hips began to jerk upwards again, in conflict with the rest of Harry’s body that appeared to be wriggling furiously in the opposite direction.

Snape moved faster and deeper each time, a few of his own nerve endings shorted out every time a cry or plea or best of all, his name, escaped Harry’s throat.

Harry’s eyes shot open, frantically searching out black ones. Snape, who had not once looked away the entire time, captured them, recognizing the warning that resided there.

“I’m going to...sorry...oh God! Severus!” Harry’s mouth twisted and his teeth dug into his soft swollen lip. Snape very nearly closed his eyes as a deep rolling groan escaped his mouth at the declaration of his name but he forced them to stay open, to watch with fierce desire as Harry’s body jerked one final time, writhing for a split second in mid air before it thrashed back onto the bed and a bitter spray of thick liquid flooded his mouth. He nearly forgot to swallow it down, to milk the throbbing head for every last drop as the striking image of Harry-in-orgasm besieged him.

Snape waited until the last spasms had subsided before crawling back up his trembling body and nestling his cheek in the sweaty crease of his neck. Harry brought a shaky hand up to rest on Snape’s head as his breathing struggled to return to normal.

“Are you alright? You’re not asthmatic or anything are you?” Snape lifted his head and once again took in the wondrous sight of a flushed, post coital Potter.

“I don’t know, my.. my legs..”

“Are still attached to your body.”

Snape smirked and placed a gentle kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth, not sure how the boy might react to a full on snog with a mouth that was still ingesting the last of his come.

Harry sensed his reluctance and smiled widely, the small muscles in his neck tensing with the effort of lifting his head to capture Snape’s lips with his own, his tongue eager to slip inside and taste the traces of himself.

Snape was having no small difficulty controlling his own breathing, especially after the mind blowing sexiness of having the perpetrator lick away evidence of his crime from his own mouth. He became embarrassingly aware of his own indignant cock, straining itself against the fabric of his pants, and, beyond that, Harry’s leg.

Harry noticed it too and smiled into the kiss. One hand trailed down the length of Snape’s bumpy spine, the other falling perilously close to a firm sallow thigh, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin.

Snape broke the kiss and sucked air between his teeth, holding it tight in his chest; releasing it would mean asking Harry if he was sure about continuing, part of him tried to avoid breathing for fear the answer would be no.

“It would be acceptable if you wished to cease this activity, I would not be offended.” Yes you would! Shut up you fool!

Harry tilted his head back to find dark, grounding eyes. Unkempt strands of sweaty hair were plastered across his forehead, though not enough to camouflage the faint silvery scar.

“Severus, why would I want to stop?” Snape shivered with desire when the fingertips found his boxers and traced the line of buttons. “I told you I want this, want you,” Harry said firmly.

Snape made a non committal noise; saying anything else at that precise moment would have damned him but Harry pressed on.

“Tell me what you like doing.”

“I believe I answered that question quite some time ago.”

Harry bit his lip; Snape prayed it was in anticipation and not fright. A long moment passed before the teeth released their grip.

“Ah yes, you like fucking.” A fresh wave of militant hormonal impulse journeyed south and Snape swallowed.

“Yes.” Oh that’s right, go in for the kill! Don’t worry about the small matter of this being his virginity or anything! “But I do not expect you to...”

“Do it. Fuck me.” Oh God, Snape was sure he’d never heard anything so arousing in his entire life.

The casual hand that had strayed onto his pants and inadvertently brushed the rather excited cock it contained, was now idly playing with the elasticated waistband of them.

Rather unexpectedly the hand was snatched away and in Snape’s opinion, put to the far more menial task of clutching ribs as Harry shook, convulsing with laughter.

Snape quirked a not particularly pleased eyebrow. “Is something about my body amusing to you Mr Potter?”

“Oh God.. too funny.. I was...” Harry started coughing through his merriment until the coughs overpowered the humour. Snape pushed him onto his side and slapped his back, harder than was strictly necessary.

“Thanks,” cough “Oww,” cough “too hard,” cough.

Recovered slightly, he rolled back to resume his position.

“Your body is fine, I was going to ask if you had any, you know, lubricant.”

“And that caused you amusement why exactly?” Snape propped himself up on an elbow and flicked a rogue lock of hair from his eye.

“Just that in the.. you know.. stories.. there’s always a bottle of lubricant nearby, even when the timing of the encounters,” cough “is most unexpected.” Cough, cough.

“Really. How fascinating. Did it not occur to you that gay men might use lubricant?” Despite the absurdness of having such a surreal conversation during sex, Snape still attempted his most withering tone.

“Well of course, but, why would you keep it in the classroom?” Harry asked. Why indeed.

“I teach Potions, Potter. It is not entirely improbable that a lubricant might be used in the making of a potion.” Snape knew damn well the stuff was not an ingredient of any potion he had ever made, nor was it likely to become one. He’d made enough lubricants in his time, but never actually added one as a potion component.

“In the herbology greenhouse then?”

“Fertilizer.”

Harry snorted. “The Quidditch showers.”

“Merlin’s balls boy! I don’t know!” Snape flopped onto the bed in exasperation. This really wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted to be having right now.

“So have you then?” Harry brought his face within inches of Snape’s, driving a little of the lost heat back into his cock.

“Have I what?”

“Got any?”

“Any what?”

“Don’t play dumb. Lubricant. Have. You. Got. Any?” Harry snaked a lightening quick hand down to fondle the re-awakening contents of Snape’s pants. Dear Lord, no wonder the boy was a seeker.

“Yes.” Snape reached across and opened the drawer, fingers locating the small bottle and pressing it into Harry’s spare hand.

“What do I do with it?” Harry stared blankly at the bottle.

“For Merlin’s.... Potter, I have various roles at this school. Head of Slytherin, Potions Master, general dogsbody, I could go on. Nevertheless, Sex Education Professor is not one of them.” Harry face fell a little. “However,” Snape continued quickly, “I must profess to being inclined to make an exception just this once.”

Harry grinned at him. “I thought you might.”

Snape retrieved the bottle and flipped the cap, pouring a liberal amount into one hand.
Harry’s hand had surreptitiously snuck past the elastic waistband and for the first time in his life, he found himself touching another man’s cock. He mused that it didn’t feel so very different from his own.

What were you expecting, you donut?

He ignored the voice in his head and tentatively curled his fingers around the thick shaft, once again correcting himself that it was different; this was bigger than he was used to.

He kissed Snape once before turning on hand and knees in the opposite direction and closing the distance between his curious face and the cock in his palm.

Snape was now afforded the rather pleasant sight of an airborne bottom; Potter’s airborne bottom in fact, and he sighed in unabashed contentment. A moment later he was groaning as Harry, eager to test his abilities at pleasing someone other than himself, took a much firmer grip. Snape reapplied a healthy dose of lubricant onto his fingers, and trailed them over Harry’s back, pausing briefly as they came to rest in the cleft of his arse, before swiping one finger down through his cheeks and brushing the tiny, taut hole nestled between them.

Harry froze mid stroke and Snape smiled at the mad mop of hair. “That feels... weird,” he said, hastily adding, “and kind of nice,” as the firm pressure was returned to Snape’s cock.

Snape continued to draw slow lazy circles and occasionally let his finger brush the entrance, causing sharp intakes of breath from the other end of the bed. Gently, he pressed inside, Harry’s low hiss urging him for more, and Snape gladly obliged with small, shallow thrusts until could easily slide his whole finger in and out.

Harry was preoccupied by the alien feeling of having someone inside his body. He wanted to kiss the tip of Snape’s cock; wanted to consume it and taste it and feel it throbbing inside his mouth but he was not sure he could maintain the nurturing it deserved whilst his arse was being thoroughly fucked by Snape’s finger. Oh, god, make that two fingers.

A tiny part of him wanted to break away from the probing, a far larger part wanted to push back hard against the source of it. Snape understood the silent conflict and slowed his hand.

“All right?” he murmured, watching the thin bloodless fingers that tightly gripped his cock, eyes tracing a path up a sinewy arm until he could see who they belonged to.

“Mmm,” Harry managed, “Do you want to...”

“Not yet, when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”

“I think I had best decide that.”

Snape resumed his firm and even pace. Harry cradled the head of Snape’s cock in his palm, gently tugging the foreskin up and down as smoothly as his fractured concentration would allow. Glistening drops formed at the tip of it and without thinking, he bent to clean them away, his tongue catching them up and stealing them into his mouth.

The gesture caused Snape to jerk forward unconsciously, spilling profanities from his lips. Harry grinned and did it again.

“Harry...” he groaned, letting his fingers slip past the ring of muscle. Harry looked back, a thrill coursing through him as he recognised a burning, painful need in the dark, hooded eyes.

On hands and knees he crawled back up the bed and ran his tongue across the other man’s lips.

“I’m ready,” he promised, laying back against the sheets. Snape positioned himself between Harry’s legs and stole one last look to convince himself that it was alright before locating the bottle that lay amongst the rumpled sheets.

He made generous use of the contents, slicking it over his cock as he pushed Harry’s knees towards his chest. One arm fell forward and took the weight of his body, his other hand seeking to guide his cock towards a furnace of soft flesh and strong muscle.

Harry tensed a little as he felt the huge girth that threatened to break him and opened his eyes. He observed the black lashes resting against sharp cheekbones, the prominent nose and cascading black hair, blood red lips that made his apprehension melt away. “Now,” he instructed in a quiet breath.

Snape pushed forward, reining in his fervent desire to fully bury himself. The head of his cock was gripped by assaulted muscle and he stilled as he heard, felt and saw Harry shake. He waited until the first wave of pain passed, remembering his own conflicted sentiments the first time he had received such attention.

Harry unscrewed his face and tried to capture some oxygen in his lungs. Who fucking knew this would hurt so much? Who knew it could be so exquisitely divine? He gripped Snape’s arms and urged him back down for a kiss, the movement causing more of the length to push into him. Electrified, Harry gasped against Snape’s mouth, feeling every tiny movement inside his arse, wanting more and wanting none of it. The first waves of burn diminished into a fuller sense of discomfort and he wriggled his hips a little, permitting inch after inch to sink into him.

After what seemed like an eternity of tentative, blissful sheathing, Snape felt the base of his cock pressing against a thatch of course, dark curls and he emitted a long sigh he hadn’t known he was holding. He tipped his head back to look at Harry, frown lines smoothing, eyes half closed but still a smile playing on his lips. With painstaking slowness, Snape eased himself back out, back in, progressing to short shallow thrusts, each one drawing a quiet grunt from Harry, his own choked throat emitting the same low sound of contentment.

He kept a leisurely, wary speed for as long as he could manage, but he was soon powerless to battle his baser instincts and without regard for Harry’s comfort, Snape unleashed his restrain, pounding furiously against the gripping walls that held him blissfully tight.

The sudden change in pace and pressure caused Harry to shout in surprise, his own cock springing unexpectedly back to life. Snape changed the angle of his hips and hit Harry’s prostrate, once, twice, again and again until Harry thought his head might explode with the sheer intensity of everything he was experiencing, totally new and unprecedented sensations.

Collapsing his elbow against the mattress, Snape brutally possessed Harry’s mouth again, his hand moving to curl around the boy’s cock, pumping it hard with no finesse or style; pure animalistic urge driving his entire body forward.

Harry whimpered softly, a stark contrast to the loud guttural noises Snape was making. He listened to the curt slapping of thighs against thighs and wondered if anything could sound as sexy as that.

Twin beads of sweat drizzled down either side of Snape’s temples and Harry watched fascinated as his face twitched and contorted, lips pulled tight across teeth in lost abandon.

With one final thrust so hard he thought he might very well have rammed the boy against the headboard, Snape came, searing liquid surging though his cock, spilling and coating the dark tight recess of Harry’s arse.

Harry felt the tremors of Snape’s approaching orgasm long before a hot explosion of wetness erupted inside him. Watching him in that brief moment of unrefined, uncontrollable ecstasy caused his own body to yet again surrender it’s seed, spurting it with unparalleled force across his stomach as he shouted Severus into the echoing ether.

Snape collapsed heavily, feeling their sweat slicked torsos slide against each other. Aftershocks triggered by hearing his name made his cock pulse in reply. His forehead pressed sharply into Harry’s shoulder, resting until he had gathered the undone pieces of himself back together. Harry ran his fingers through Snape’s hair and cradled his head there, stroking down wayward strands.

“Wow.” Harry exhaled, chest still heaving with exertion. “That was.. just wow. Is it always that intense?”

What did you say that for?! The man is still firmly entrenched in your virgin arse and you’re asking him about previous conquests!

“I didn’t mean..” he added hastily.

“No.” Snape wheezed against a glowing collarbone. “It has never been that intense.”

A thrill of smug satisfaction accosted Harry’s stomach but was quickly forgotten when the softening flesh inside of him slipped out and the angry muscles in his arse began to object.

Snape pulled himself up on an elbow and stroked Harry’s cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” he protested overzealously as another stabbing pain speared him. “I mean, it’s a bit uncomfortable but I kind of expected that. It’s a good uncomfortable, not bad.” He forced a thin smile as his entrance haughtily pulled the battered muscles together.

Snape smiled in understanding. “I remember the feeling well. If you would prefer it, I can cast a spell to make the unease more bearable.”

Harry really didn’t want to ask anything about the recollection or who it might have featured. He really didn’t want the pain to go away either.

“No it’s okay, I’ll be fine. I kind of like it.” He put his arm around Snape’s waist and hugged him closer. Snape settled his head back into the curve of Harry’s neck, resting his own hand on the rigid stomach muscles that were still drenched in cooling semen.

Both lay peaceful and quiet for a while, resplendent in mutual satisfaction, bodies tightly bound together by possessive arms. It was Harry who broke the silence as another sting assailed his arse.

“Fuck me!” he exclaimed through gritted teeth, jerking slightly at the nasty twinge.

“I already did Mr Potter and kindly watch your language.”

“You’re the one that said ‘I like Fucking’!” Harry said indignantly.

“Quite. Now hush, try reining in your impudence for once in your life.” Snape none too gently nipped Harry’s neck.

“Oww! What was that for?” he cried, flinching at the unprovoked attack whilst simultaneously feeling a stirring in his groin.

Snape smirked into the harassed flesh and swiped his tongue over it in answer.

“Better,” Harry grumbled. He closed his eyes and relaxed back against the pillows. Goose bumps prickled his skin and he shivered minutely.

“Are you cold?” Snape lifted his head to search Harry’s face and wrapped his arms tighter around the cooling form.

“Mmm,” Harry mumbled, “Don’t want to move though, this is so nice.”

Snape disentangled himself and sat upright, causing Harry to groan at the loss of warmth and contact.

“What are you doing?” he whined, cracking an eyelid to observe.

“Attempting to make you more comfortable,” Snape replied tersely, yanking back the heavy covers of the bed and shovelling Harry beneath them with surprising strength. He slipped his own long legs under the blankets and laid down beside him but made no move to reacquaint their bodies.

Harry immediately felt a rising concern and he furrowed his brow. “Hey,” he murmured, rolling onto his side to face Snape, his drowsy voice sharpened by a creeping sense of anxiety. “What’s wrong?”

Snape continued to stare at the ceiling for as long as he thought he could get away with it. Truth be told, he had shocked himself by instinctively engaging in the act of post-coital cuddling. It was totally out of character for him to even consider such a gross display of affection, he had certainly never made a habit of it before now. Ever, in fact.

Liar. Once upon a time you did. You loved cuddling then.

Snape shook his head. Ridiculous. As if he, Professor Snape would find comfort and contentment simply embracing someone after sex. That’s all it was. Sex. No confusing, conflicting emotions to cause problems. Just sex. He’d told Harry that before and made it quite clear.

“Why should anything be wrong?” Merlin, that ceiling is filthy.

“You aren’t holding me anymore.”

“Should I be holding you? Sex, Potter. I believe I made that quite clear to you some time ago.” I really ought to acquiesce and let the house elves in to sanitise.

Harry’s stomach filled with lead as the bitter words taunted him.

“Oh,” he whispered softly, cursing himself for yet again falling prey to his traitorous tear ducts as they dutifully leapt into action. Immediately the pain in his arse became almost unbearable again; a cruel reminder of the irony of its torture. Harry suddenly felt very dirty and very nauseous. He crawled out of the bed and picked his clothes up off the floor, sickeningly aware that his stomach was still covered in his own congealed fluid.

Snape watched out of the corner of an eye that felt gritty, biting his tongue so hard he could taste the sharp metallic liquid seeping from it.

“Harry...” he began, the boy bent over to pick up his clothes, perfect round arse hovering for a second in the air. Oh that arse.

Harry clutched the creased garments to his chest, deliberately letting a trouser leg hang long enough to cover a fraction of his modesty, and glowered morosely.

“I never said I was adverse to it happening again.” Snape said, and then immediately regretted speaking. Even to his own ears the statement sounded sordid and very, very wrong.

Harry supposed that in some way that should make him feel better; after all, he had initially thought Snape was insinuating that it was a one off; now he was conveying his wish that the experience be repeated. But somehow, that didn’t disperse the heaviness in his chest. Did he want it to happen again? Undoubtedly yes. Did he want it to be labelled ‘Just Sex’? Unequivocally no. Did he have a choice? Harry wasn’t sure.

He couldn’t think of an appropriate reply, and to add insult to injury the near arctic conditions in the room were making him tremble uncontrollably; at least, the temperature was what he attributed it to.

He vainly raked his eyes over Snape’s face as though an in depth explanation of the man’s innermost emotions might reveal itself there. When none was forthcoming, nor words enough to explain how utterly miserable and let down he felt, he turned and ran to the safety of his warm, bright bedroom, decidedly ignoring the insistent calling of his name.

***