Not So

Not So

Harry stood, his eyes scanning the floor for his trousers. "I guess I'm not going to get a call-back." He tried to smile, even though Snape couldn't see his face.

"No, I don't think so Mr. Potter."

Harry found his trousers lodged between Snape's dresser drawer and the door leading to his bare living room. He scuffled over and picked them up; he hopped on one leg, sticking the other in a pant leg, feeling rather foolish. "Then why'd you take me in?"

"Not all things need a reason, Potter." He could hear the older man move, draw the blankets closer to his body and switch sides; life was easier when you faced a wall.

"Guess not." Harry spotted his shirt next to the bed frame. He shrugged his shirt on, hoping that his socks weren't hiding under the bed.

"I'm believe you recall the way out -- or was your mind elsewhere the whole time you blundered in?"

His socks were beneath the bed. Harry grasped the white material and pulled his toe warmers closer, then proceed to place them on his feet.

"I remember."

Harry knew the door out was to his left, but he stayed for a moment longer, looking at the form huddled in thick white blankets. "Do you regret it?" Sadly, Harry really did want to know.

"I took you into my bed, did I not?" Harry could hear the snarl ebbing it's way into Snape's voice.

Harry wished Snape would look at him.

"Then why won't you look at me?"

"It's not because of my sinful regret Potter. Do you really think that I would be as foolish as you?" Snape turned around then. His lips were curled slightly and his eyes showed nothing. "Do not take me as a idiotic Gryffindor. You asked for this, Potter. You waltzed into my house, drunk and spouting nonsense. How could I refuse the offer that you lay before me?"

Twice. They had sex twice.

Harry wished he could remember the first time.

"If you're old enough to waste your mind, and trot down here, then I take no responsibility Potter."

Why would he? This was only a shag.

Harry wished he was drunk, again.

He could still feel Snape's mouth on his: it was dry comparatively to the other mouths his own had touched. Less kind. More forceful.

"A pity fuck?" Rage simmered in Harry's voice.

Snape's eyes were always dark and un telling. "Take this experiece for what you want, Mr. Potter." He snarled this time, his face pale as sour milk, even with the yellow candle light flickering on his sunken cheek bones.

Harry wanted to laugh, in the strangest way. What had he expected? A cuddle? Snape showing a form of regret?

He looked down at his sock clad feet;he felt rather small in Snape's presence. He always had.

No new tomorrows. No call for the second date. He really was a Gryffindor fool.

He knew Snape was still staring at him. Harry wondered if he suddenly stripped and climbed into bed, if Snape would take pity on the poor hormonal teenage and fuck him one more time?

His socks would come off first, then his pants, then his shirt.

His own toes played with the idea, catching a spare edge of sock, his foot clamping down and tugging on the fabric. He wondered if Snape would push him onto the ground, then huck him onto the streets, still starkers. Snape would be that cruel.

"Leave, Potter." You being here annoys me, he seemed to say.

Harry wanted to leave. But he was foolish.

"Foolish boy." Harry heard Snape say. Or had that been his own mind?

Foolish, foolish, foolish.

Harry's left sock came off. Then his right. He's hands unzipped his zipper, his too big Dudley pants falling to the ground. His shirt came over his head and was tossed to the mark where his pants lay on the ground, his glasses put on the bedside table. "I'm sorry Professor." Harry didn't know why.

The push to the floor never came, Snape's mouth all to eager to attack his. His hands clawing at Harry's body, the man never saying a word.

Harry wondered that if this had been a perfect world -- with endless sunny days -- would a bed like this be warmer, and the body above him softer?

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Harry wondered if Dumbledore had ever told Snape what that word meant.