Peach Colored Walls

Regret, Harry Potter knew that there would be at least a drop of regret after the War. There was blood on his hands, not literally, the killing curse had been clean, but when he glanced at his hands he saw blood just as clearly as he saw “I must not tell lies” etched into his skin.

Harry did not imagine the blood of Tom Riddle, or that of Draco Malfoy, he saw the blood of the innocent wizards and witches who had been slaughtered by the people they had been trying to protect; muggles.

Voldemort had been a twisted and evil man, but it turns out that he had been right. They should have risen up against the muggles and taken control. The downfall of wizard kind had been quick and painful. The War had caused too much destruction to go unnoticed, which meant that the muggles finally sat up and really opened their eyes. They didn’t like what they saw.

Harry dug his nail into the peeling wall and a small peach fleck of paint fell to the white tile floor. He stared at it a moment, and again was grateful that his walls were peach and not green or red. Peach was a color that really had no significant meaning to him, it did not make him long for home.

Hogwarts, pain twisted in his gut at the thought of his former school. He hated muggles, stupid, wretched creatures that they were. Were he to ever get his hands on a wand again, he would make them all pay, right down to the smallest child.

“Inmate 143P, place your chest to the back wall and your hands above you.” Harry allowed his nose to push against the color peach and he stretched his arms as high as he could. It was shower day and he was grateful to be allowed the luxury.

Yes, showering was a luxury for him now. He was almost in awe of the fact that something as mundane as the feel of warm water spraying his body felt like a gift. It was so different now, life so unlike that which he had expected. He couldn’t bear to think of what all had changed, of those who had been killed, of those of them who were kept hidden in governmental buildings. They were freaks, experiments for mad scientists to tinker with.

They paused in front of double doors as the guard spoke with a nurse for a moment. Harry thought it was a dark sort of humor that these women in white were called nurses when in fact they were the ones who hurt the inmates the most. Spells might have been something to fear in his other life, but muggles had their own special forms of cruelty and they weren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty.

Crucio hurt like hell but it wasn’t really a match for what they did. He shivered remembering the feel of leather straps on his wrists, the pain of electricity as it passed through his body, the sound of a knife on whetstone, the coolness of a scalpel blade just before it pressed down too far. There was an added pain to the whole thing when he could look into the eyes of his torturer, feel their hands on his flesh and know that he had killed to save this person, to protect their loved ones from harm.

The large beefy hand of his guard reached around him and pushed the door open. The steam from the showers hit his face and caused his glasses to fog up. “You have half an hour, 143P.” He felt a slight push and stepped forward into the room. “Enjoy.” There was disgust in the man’s voice as he allowed the door to swing shut.

Harry stepped further into the room. He paused at the bench, placed his glasses down and pulled his long hospital gown off. It was filthy, soaked in sweat and dried blood which made it stiff and uncomfortable to wear.

The heavy steam clouded his vision as he followed the sound of water. They bathed in pairs. The guards had discovered that throwing too many wizards into one room was a bad idea after they had worked together to kill three guards and one nurse in an escape attempt.

It was him. It was always him, no one else lasted more than one shower with the man. Harry had survived seven of them now. There was a pink tint to his skin, the water hot enough to give him first degree burns. He was standing facing away from the showerhead, his long fingers smoothing down the small spikes of hair on his scalp. They kept all the inmates practically bald.

Harry followed the water as it tried its best to wash away the dirt and blood that clung to his sallow flesh. Even from where he was standing he could make out the man’s ribs, his stomach curved in on itself, hipbones protruded looking sharp and deadly. A thick patch of black hair surrounded the half-hard cock.

“Potter.” Harry closed his eyes against the sound of that voice. He loved it and hated the sound, it reminded him of home.

When he gave in to the inevitable and opened his eyes again he was staring directly into pools of black. “Severus.”

Forgiveness was something one didn’t even hesitate to give when they were faced with being completely alone. Yes, Severus Snape had murdered Dumbledore, but he was there too, trapped in a hell full of peach walls and endless white, it didn’t matter what he did before.

Their lips met, feet stumbled back into the spray of the water, and they closed their eyes while they tasted one another. Severus’s hands cradled Harry’s head, secured him so that he could not escape. The closely sheared hair kept him in reality, made him unable to forget their situation. He wanted to feel the thick unruly locks that had been his trademark. He had never been allowed to touch his hair before, now he would never know the softness of it.

They pressed the full lengths of their bodies together. Gentle sweet caresses brought them closer to completion. Harry moaned aloud as Severus’s hands slid down his back, touched each bump of his spine, cupped his cheeks and squeezed them.

“Yes, Severus.” Harry pushed back into those hands and licked the yellowed bruise that decorated Snape’s left shoulder.

“Can’t” Severus moved his hands to the young man’s hips and pulled him closer. “Bastard didn’t leave any soap this time.”

“I’ll kill him.” Harry thrust his hips forward and caught the moan that had been about to escape.

“Indeed.”

If time were of no object, suitable lube was available and soft sheets were there to lie on, Severus Snape knew exactly what he would do to the Boy-Who-Lived. He would feast on him.

His tongue and lips would learn each inch of flesh that would be exposed to him. Slowly he would seduce each leg, press his lips against them and feel the flutter and quiver of the muscles, he would nip at each thigh, mark him as his own.

Severus would press his nose into the hairs at his groin and inhale the smell of Harry’s arousal, let it fill him completely, and memorize it. Hot breath would tease the head of his cock, he would hesitate there, torture him with anticipation before darting his tongue out for a taste. Severus would try to resist the temptation, but he would give in, he would suck the organ into his mouth, molest it with his tongue, swallow it down into his throat and savor it. He would pull back when he felt him harden more, when he felt his balls draw in tight against his body. Harry would groan then, thrust his hips up and try to force himself back into the warmth of Severus’s mouth.

He would grab those hips, smooth and soft not sharp like the ones he was currently holding, he would flip him over onto his stomach. Severus would part those exquisite cheeks with his thumbs, hold him open for his tongue, he would lick the crease, long slow swipes of tongue until Harry was pushing eagerly back against his mouth, until he was mewing, gasping for air as he smothered himself in the silk covered pillow.

Severus would relent, breach him and taste the inside of him, burrow deep and seek out the darkest secrets of his lover. He would suck, bite, and lick the opening until tears dampened Harry’s face and his voice grew hoarse from begging. Then he would push into him, slide his cock deep within and fuck him thoroughly.

Harry grasped Severus’s long thin erection in his hand and pumped it fast, Severus growled and bit down hard on Harry’s neck, his hips thrust up into the hand and he came hard, fueled by his fantasy and the look in those green eyes.

They kissed, hungry, sloppy kisses that were all tongue, their lips barely touching, just licking each other, tasting. Severus pushed his hips forward and allowed Harry to grind against him, his breath hitched as his ass was grabbed roughly and he was forced to hold still while Harry climaxed, his mouth moving soundlessly, his eyes squeezing shut.

The water rushed over them, washed away their seed, soothed their tired muscles as they stood still, arms wrapped around one another and relished in the pain of the too hot shower.

Harry placed a kiss just above a small brown nipple, he felt one pressed against the top of his head. “Do you think someday we will use shower day to actually shower?”

Snape grunted and rested his cheek on Harry’s head. “Waste of time.”

“Indeed.” Severus felt Harry smile against him.

“How are you doing, Potter?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, Severus.”

“Someday we will get out of here. We are all growing stronger, practicing wandless magic when we can.”

“Someday....sure.”

Severus stepped back and lifted Harry’s chin with his right index finger. “It will happen, we will escape, we will seek our revenge and everything will be right again.” Harry looked up and gazed into Severus’s eyes. “Don’t worry.”

“I am not worried, Severus,” Harry smiled shyly at him, “I am with you.”