Friday 26th April

Snape cut cleanly through the water with a sharp efficient stroke. He hated swimming in cold water, and he would much have preferred a hot shower to deal with the inevitable sticky residues of his treat. Still, hot showers weren't that likely outdoors, and considering what he'd just had he wasn't going to complain.

His companion finished swimming first, and towelled down. Both of them could hear footsteps, so his companion ducked out of sight.

As he reached shore, he stood up, shivering slightly, and faced Madam Hooch.

"Xiomora," he said, with a slight nod.

She looked at him coolly and extensively. "You're not my type, Severus, but should anyone ever ask me I would have to admit you don't scrub up too badly. Some of the other teachers are making bets on what you look like under the robes."

"You are, I hope, not going to enlighten them?" He rummaged the recesses of his mind for juvenilia like Hair-Itching Potion and Bronco-Broom Potion.

"I won't tell them. Actually, I just came up to make sure you remembered about not dropping in on the seventh-year Gryffindors."

"I see absolutely no need to do so," Snape replied, with complete and undisguised honesty. "What?" he snapped, as her lips twitched into a grin.

"You've got a love-bite on your neck, Severus. Whoever he is, he's keeping you out of the changing-rooms, evidently. I approve." She turned on her heel and strode away as abruptly as he ever did, before he could say he neither asked for nor wanted her approval.

A chuckle broke out beside him.

He eyed the empty air repressively. "Pass me a towel."

Another chuckle, and the towel flipped across to him. "The mark on my neck is your fault," he said, rubbing briskly at chilly flesh. "Apologise, boy!"

"Oh, as if she didn't know! Everyone knows, Sev. Even Ron guessed. It only took me so long because I was obsessed with the idea you were a Dark wizard, not a perfectly normal pervert. Anyway, I'm not a boy, I'm a man."

Snape rubbed his backside thoughtfully. Definitely a man.

"Give us a cuddle."

"Why should I do such a thing?" Snape raised his eyebrow, which was about all he could raise, by now.

"Because you don't want to displease me: you know what I can do for you. And you know I like a bit of afterglow, Sev." A nose butted playfully against his ear. This wasn't the sort of arrangement involving kisses, thank god. Well, apart from the occasional tongue-fuck mid-shag, just for the feel of it. Absolutely no nonsense, though.

"If I have to," said Snape. An armful of Harry was quite pleasant, he decided, not that he'd ever admit it. He was warmed quite through by the time to go to breakfast. Warm, clean and dry. An oddly clean end to a very dirty story.

Oddly enough, the whole filthy business had been indirectly Hooch's fault, now he remembered.

Snape had led a chaste and blameless life at Hogwarts, right until Harry's final year. Unfortunately, Voldemort's death had to some extent destabilised his life. He'd had a lot more spare time, all of a sudden, and hadn't been under immediate and deadly threat. This made it a lot more difficult to resist certain urges that had been plaguing him lately. He'd determined to make himself as unpleasant as possible, and more unpleasant, if possible, as a safeguard against any of these urges coming to fruition.

Monday 1st February

It had worked very well until Snape had run into Madam Hooch in a hurry. She had to take some bruised child or other to Pomfrey to be patched up, and wouldn't take no for an answer: "You'll do, Severus. Just go and make sure the seventh-year Gryffindor boys have showered after the game, will you?"

"But I--"

"Thanks!" floated down the corridor after him.

Snape cursed under his breath. For once, this wasn't an unwelcome task he didn't want to do. It was an unwelcome task he did want to do. Young men were safe with Hooch, she wouldn't so much as think untoward thoughts about men.

He didn't exactly have paedophile tendencies, and had always looked on himself as a natural paedophobe, in fact. However, he'd always tried not to think about the changing-rooms after a game, when the seventh-years were playing. Warm, sweaty, half-dressed young men were altogether too entertaining for his own peace of mind. This year, the thought bothered him a lot more. Not particularly in connection with his own house: the effete Malfoy and the troll-like Crabbe and Goyle were safe from any desires of his. No, it was the Gryffindors he was actually thinking about. Tight thighs, sculpted bodies, maybe just the odd bead of sweat waiting to be licked off the perfect curve of a hot muscular chest.

Snape hurried along to get the job over as soon as possible.

The changing-room wasn't entrancing in itself, of course. Benches. Bleach. Robes and towels all over the place. To a contemplative type like himself, used to the library and the dungeon, it was altogether raw and unpleasant, an offence to the eye and the nose.

He bit back a moan: he could smell the hormones, or perhaps taste them, and his eyes were glazing over a bit. All he could see was a fresh, hot, cloud of sweaty young manflesh helping each other into towels. No wonder he'd kept clear of this room so far. He wanted to grab handfuls of the atmosphere and massage it over his aching cock. He bit his own lip viciously.

Seamus Finnegan muttered something about, "what awful thing did we do to deserve having Snape visited upon us?", which helped bring Snape to his senses. He doubted they'd have noticed anything: maintaining the mask was second-nature to him by now. He explained that Madam Hooch was busy and he had the unpleasant duty of making sure the seventh-year sweaty brats had showered properly.

To his surprise, they all queued up by the wall, muttering crossly.

"What?"

"She has to sniff us, sir. And feel our hair. Make sure we've washed properly."

Oh god no... protested Snape's mind, already fighting a losing battle against the tide of arousal flooding his veins. He narrowed his eyes. They blurred in front of him. Indistinct. Fresh. Sweaty. Delectable. Would they notice anything amiss if he licked them all over to make sure they'd washed properly? Unfortunately, they probably would, particularly if he happened to get the odd unavoidable orgasm at the time.

Keeping an iron grip on himself (and thinking about keeping an iron grip on himself rather lower down), Snape strode towards them with an even-more-terrible glare than usual.

Since they were seventh-years, nobody actually fainted, but he did hear the occasional helpless squeak and see Longbottom scrabble unavailingly at the wall as though he wished to crawl through it. Good. Terrifying people helped to relax him, particularly considering the state of his nerves at the moment.

He did not say a word: any passing comment would probably come out along the lines of "nice thighs", and they could all do without that.

Finnegan. Finnegan did have nice thighs, although he managed not to say so.

Longbottom. Unexpectedly sweetly-scented. Still plumper than Snape liked. Snape smiled kindly on him for being so usefully unexciting, and heard another muffled squeak.

Weasley. He wondered what that irrepressible red hair would feel like stroked along his thighs. Even now it was wet, he liked the feel of it on his fingers. Damn. The boy had filled out nicely, he decided. Clean, but not too scented. Could he get away with a bit more sniffing? Weasley gave him a cross stare.

Snape tried to unfocus his eyes slightly, and the rest of the queue passed in a blur.

Last along was Potter. He thought that Potter had actually been heading for the shower when he came in, but joined the queue waiting to dress and leave when he came in. Maybe he should let Potter get away with it just this once--no, he never let Potter get away with it.

"Disgustingly sweaty, Potter," he said, lying through half his teeth, because what he really meant was 'deliciously sweaty'. Old sweat wasn't attractive at all, but the fresh sweat of a muscular young man still panting from physical exertions was... Want to rub it all off him. With my prick.

He stroked Potter's hair very thoroughly. "Dry hair, as well," he said, after investigating it. Potter butted towards his fingertips just a little, like a cat being petted; such a delicate gesture he was barely aware of it, and doubted Potter was.

"Go and take your shower. Now." Or I'll rip your robes off and... just for a fraction of a second, as Potter turned, quite an impressive erection showed against his robes ...beg you to fuck me senseless, Snape concluded, changing fantasies in mid-thought.

"May we go now, sir?" came a tiny voice from one of the benches. He'd evidently spent too long sniffing Potter: everyone else had got dressed.

"Off you go." They went.

The shower began to run. He could, indistinctly, see Potter step in, and hear him singing to himself happily.

His hand reached out and grabbed something, just to distract himself. It was a Quidditch robe, still warm and sweaty from the afternoon's play. Well, sometimes it was possible to resist everything except temptation. He'd have just enough time before Potter came out of the shower--a couple of minutes? He removed his clothes with a spell, locked the door with another, and lay down on a pile of old robes. He pushed one end of his prize up to his mouth, for sucking and sniffing, while he rubbed the rest of it back-and-forth between his legs, imagining that all those gorgeous seventh-years had come back in and caught him at it, and that they were teaching him a lesson by ceremonially masturbating on him and rubbing it in--absolute gallons of it, all for me! he thought ecstatically, almost chewing a hole in the mouthful of cloth as he soaked the other end of it with his own spunk.

He got up, wiping himself down with the robe and getting his breath back. His own clothes were clean, but the robe he'd been frotting himself with showed definite signs of use. Damn. He rolled it up, dressed, and tucked the offending item under his own arm, under his robe. He silenced the little voice in his head that said, and how long have you been cleaning up Potions mishaps with a light wave of your wand? After all, not many wizards cleaned all their clothes by magic. It was simply more efficient to use the laundry. Besides, said the little voice nastily, you fancy the use of it again tonight. His cock twitched.

Glancing into the collar, he discovered no name-tag. School clothes were meant to have name-tags. He seemed to remember that Potter had turned up at school with some badly-sewn name-tags that tended to fall out, and a sob-story about his aunt being an inefficient needlewoman, not that that was likely for the spoilt child of the wizarding world. His cock twitched again.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Monday 1st February

Am sure Snape's up to something again. Don't really trust him even after getting rid of Voldemort, and all the times he saved my life. Some intuition has always told me he has his own hidden agenda somehow.

Couldn't really concentrate on working it out as had the hell of a stiffie for no reason at all. Must ask Ron if he's seen anyone hexing me.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Monday 1st February

Must never visit that place again. Far too dangerous. Don't think anyone suspected anything, though. Went to laundry twice. House-elf gave me funny look second time. Stared it down. None of its business.

Bought sports calendar and started marking in 7th-year Gryff practice sessions, from the notice-board outside the changing-room. Seem to be Mondays and Fridays at the moment.

Friday 5th February

On Friday, at least he had a good reason for visiting the changing-room.

"I found this..." he held it up distastefully between finger and thumb "in the Potions dungeon." Perfectly true, as it happened, considering that he'd left it there at the back of a cupboard after its second visit to the laundry.

"No name-tag," she said. "Anyone claim this?"

Snape felt faintly discomfited as Neville Longbottom stepped forward. "Sorry, sir," said Longbottom. Snape had a momentary flashback to when, in sixth-year, he'd discovered that the robe he'd been happily sniffing had belonged to Sirius Black, not James Potter. At least this nasty surprise was merely disconcerting. The concept of sniffing Sirius Black's pheromones had made him feel quite ill.

"I was going to wonder how one of you managed to lose it in the Potions classroom, of all places," said Madam Hooch, "but since it's you, Longbottom, I am no longer surprised."

Snape was a prey to mixed feelings: on the one hand, the robe didn't seem half as enticing now that he knew it belonged to Longbottom; on the other, he'd got away with it. He watched Potter, halfway into his robes, stop and scratch his balls casually, leaving one hand on a perfect thigh for a moment.

Snape stared at him for as long as he could get away with.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Friday 5th February

Has Snape got some sort of plot going involving Neville? He turned up with an item of N's clothing today.

I must suspect something: I had this weird hot itchy feeling when Snape looked at me. Maybe it's connected with the funny feeling I had in the first year when he looked at my scar. Can Voldemort be rising again?

Damn. Got to see to myself again. Obviously adrenaline has strange effect on me. House-elves beginning to bring extra sheets as matter of course.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Friday 5th February

Returned borrowed item to Gryffs. Not worth risk, especially as turned out to be L's, not P's. Must learn to resist impulses.

Monday 8th February

Snape glared appreciatively at the Gryffindor seventh-years again.

Madam Hooch asked him rather pointedly what he was doing there. He hadn't thought ahead, this time, and his mild disturbance at the thought of all those warm sweaty bodies (one in particular) didn't seem to be easing with time. He should really be thinking about work: now there was an idea.

"Madam Hooch, I am working on a Deodorant Potion which may be of benefit to Quidditch players. I need something to use in the Potion."

"Oh? Well, I doubt there's anything deodorising in here," she said, grinning, "but you can try, I suppose."

"A well-known magical principle involves using opposing ingredients," he explained. "I need to use some things that smell in order to counter the smell. Loathsome as the idea is."

"Come on, everyone chuck Snape some socks!" called Weasley cheerfully.

Visions of disappearing beneath a barrage of used socks crossed Snape's mind.

"Obliging as you are, Mr Weasley, I have need of only one token used undergarment. Potter." His hand shot out and seized Potter's shoulder.

"He always picks on me," Potter muttered to Weasley, holding out a sock out of the pair he was about to put on.

"No, something else," said Snape.

Potter held out his right sock.

"Take off your underwear, Potter."

"And he always chooses exactly what's most inconvenient," Potter complained to Weasley. "I had my socks off already."

"Body heat and a fresh smell are convenient," said Snape, "and I can use a spell to lock the sweat in until the item is used." In point of fact, the Deodorant Potion was bubbling away in his cauldron with two of his own lost-cause socks sweating it out. He had no need of the item--at least not for a Potion. "And, of course, it amuses me to inconvenience you, Potter. Very well, one sock and the underpants, just to make sure."

Potter muttered, "Bastard!" as he got up and denuded his lower half. Snape concentrated on trying to behave normally. He was, of course, finding it hard. Potter's thighs were tempting; then there was the inviting curve of his balls; then a gorgeous hard prick... Damn seventeen-year-olds, can't keep their minds off it, he thought. To be fair, neither can I. He glared at Potter's erection, which seemed to raise itself another notch.

Madam Hooch cleared her throat.

"Ah. I'll go and use these now," Snape said, and fled. Not to the dungeons, of course. To the toilets across from the changing-room, where he locked himself into a cubicle. One hand down his trousers under his robe, wrapping his own erection in the sock, the other hand grinding the delectably sweaty underpants against his face. People had always said he must have a good sense of smell, considering how much of his facial area was devoted to Nose, and he hoped it was true. He imagined himself just bending forward as he'd wanted to, and burying his face between those thighs for a good musky whiff of bollocks and thighs and arse, tossing himself off with one frenzied hand because he couldn't wait another second for it, coming and coming as if he'd never stop...

God, that had been a good one. Messy, and undignified, and satisfying.

Eventually, he sighed, wrapped the come-soaked sock in the sweaty underpants, and pocketed his stolen bounty.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Monday 8th February

Acquired an item from P on today's visit. Think I got away with it. Must be discreet in future.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Monday 8th February

Snape definitely up to something. Picking on me. Somehow managed to get stiffie just as took off underpants in front of Snape. Even embarrassment does it--hate being seventeen!

Must start carrying round that Pocket Sneakoscope I got from Ron--try pointing it at S and seeing what he's up to.

Friday 12th February

"Visiting again, Snape?" Madam Hooch glanced at him.

"I took a wrong turning when the staircases changed and found myself here unexpectedly. Now I'm here, I might as well tell you the Deodorant Potion is ready, should any of you wish to use it." He struggled to get as much of an eyeful as he could in a couple of seconds, and left. Hoping none of the seventh-year Gryffindors would try the Deodorant Potion. He liked the way they smelled.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Friday 12th February

Am beginning to run out of excuses. Think I managed to save the situation.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Friday 12th February

Can't seem to get away from Snape at the moment. Seems to be everywhere I go. Eyes that just stare right through me. Ron says he's ugly--well, of course he's ugly--but I can't stop myself looking back. Why would he have hexed me into staring at him? Not as if he's vain. Want to grab him by that long black hair and--not quite sure what to do next. Strangle him with it, probably. That doesn't seem quite right.

Seem to be getting restless--aggression? Try push-ups?

(Later) Push-ups don't help. Time for another quick one off the wrist. Seventeen is hell.

Monday 15th February

Snape knocked on the changing-room door.

"Oh, not again," said Hooch, opening it less-than-welcomingly. "What is it this time, Snape?"

"I was testing the anti-apparating wards, which are so important to the safety of the school. There appears to be a weakness centred on the changing rooms." Again, perfectly true. It had taken him weary hours to wear a little tiny hole in the damn things. He couldn't risk really weakening the wards, or really Apparating (which would have Dumbledore down on him like a ton of bricks, convenient as it might be for picking up sweaty robes to roll around on), so the little pin-prick he'd been working on was the most he could get away with.

Potter whispered something to Weasley about, "D'you think Snape's up to something again?"

Weasley sniggered rudely.

"You, Potter," said Snape, clenching his fist in the concealment of his robe, "have been Up to Something since you were eleven, it's too much to hope for for you to stop now. Turn out your pockets." And take down your trousers, he thought.

"A Pocket Sneakoscope? How long have you had that, Potter? Rather juvenile." He sneered, wishing he could still see Potter as a little boy. His eyes flicked down to Potter's crotch for a fraction of a second. Definitely not little.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Monday 15 February

Confiscated Pocket Sneakoscope: could prove useful.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Monday 15 February

Almost beginning to look forward to Potions lately. The chance to pit my wits against Snape is quite a challenge now I'm older. That glare. As if he can see right through my clothes to me underneath.

Maybe he feels the same way--sneaked into the changing-room again. Definitely up to something.

Went to staff-room hoping to get Snape to give me back the Sneakoscope, which I may need to point at him, but wasn't there. Dumbledore came in, chatted for a while, and offered me a sweet. Told D Snape is dangerous Dark wizard--have been telling people this since I was eleven, but will people listen?--but D chuckled, and said had I considered the possibility that Snape might be a bit lonely.

Remembered that I was told that D is completely barking as well as greatest wizard in Britain. Backed away slowly.

Friday 19th February

"What is it now?"

"Albus asked me to deliver a message." He stared her out successfully enough.

"Well?"

"Which I appear to have forgotten," he admitted. Considering what he was looking at, it was the best he could manage. "Excuse me," he added, and turned tail as steadily as he could.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Friday 19th February

Must stop these little expeditions of mine--am beginning to run out of excuses. This is P's fault--did he have to reach down and adjust his... adjust it right in front of my eyes just as I was about to think of an excuse?

Time to reach for the item I got from P again, methinks. Not the Pocket Sneakoscope, the other thing. I seem to have got more use out of it than he ever did. Or at least more enjoyably.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Friday 19th

Is Snape losing it? Haven't seen him so rattled since Lupin used to wind him up in our third year. Today, he dropped in to make my life hell and hadn't even got an excuse.

Would almost have enjoyed that if my clothes weren't so damn tight. Has somebody hexed me again?

Told Ron about my suspicions that S is Evil Wizard. Ron thought hysterically funny, for some reason.

Ha! Shows what Ron knows! In fact, I've learned a special unlocking spell, more powerful than the usual one. I intend to sneak up on Snape sometime soon. I bet he's got something in his room that'll clear up the mystery!

Monday 22nd February

Madam Hooch opened the door. "What's the excuse this time, Snape?" If I'm not careful, she'll get suspicious, he thought.

"I used the Pocket Sneakoscope I confiscated from Harry," he explained as smoothly as he could. "It seemed to suggest there was wrongdoing emanating from the Gryffindor seventh-years, which is always a good bet anyway."

"Does this look like wrongdoing?" she muttered crossly, with a sweeping gesture.

No, unfortunately. Potter was in the shower, as well. Unfortunately. He usually timed it better than that. Not that he spent a lot of time doing this, or thinking about it.

"Maybe the unit is malfunctioning," he said, pretending not to hear her muttered, "or maybe your head is."

"Why were you in the corridor pointing it this way?"

"Oh, just passing," he said. He could usually do better than that, but just as she spoke, Harry came out of the shower, covered with little beads of water. Harry grabbed a towel, and rubbed it almost suggestively between his legs. Snape couldn't help noticing he was hard. He wondered if the towel felt pleasant, roughly stimulating Harry's cock.

He swallowed.

"Just pass somewhere else."

He nodded, and left rather precipitately.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Monday 22nd February

Tested confiscated Pocket Sneakoscope. Did not find any wrongdoing. Looked quite hard. Very hard, in fact.

Damn. Where did I put the item I got from P?

From the diary of Harry Potter, Monday 22nd February

Snape will go to any lengths to catch me out. Saw him waving the Pocket Sneakoscope--obviously just turned up to make my life a misery. Glared at me as if he was expecting something from Zonko's to fall out from the towel that was all I was wearing at the time.

Got another stiffie. Expected him to take House points off Gryffindor for that, as well, but he didn't mention it.

Maybe he didn't notice.

Friday 26th February

"Filch asked me to check for library books out of bounds."

Harry opened his unbuttoned robes with a flourish. Lovely naked flesh, and nothing else except a small pair of underpants. "Where would I have them?" Harry asked indignantly, "down my knickers?"

Only the fact that his tongue had dried onto the roof of his mouth stopped Snape answering, "Let me look."

Weasley whispered, "Don't encourage him, Harry. You know what he's after."

"Well he seems to have something against me but I've never found out what," said Harry.

"Something against you? He'd just love that!" said Weasley.

From the diary of Severus Snape, 26th February

Filch was chatting about retrieving the many library books that are out of bounds, when I had a sudden beautiful idea. Why not try the seventh-year Gryffindors? Offered smoothly to help Filch--who didn't suspect a thing. Not that there is anything to suspect.

Didn't find any library books.

Don't think anyone suspects anything.

From the diary of Harry Potter, 26th February

Snape came in looking for library books. Managed to convince him I didn't have any on my person. God knows what Ron was wittering about.

Got another stiffie at wrong moment.

Maybe if I wank often enough I'll be able to keep it down. Well, it's a plan.

Monday 29th February

This time, Hooch led him out of the changing room and shut the door. Then she raised her eyebrows and said, "What is it this time."

"A Snitch broke my window, and I'm here to punish whoever's responsible."

"Snape," Hooch said wearily, "everybody knows you don't have a window."

"I've come to fetch Longbottom as he's missing from his class."

"He's in my class, as you well know, and it doesn't clash with Potions."

"Would you believe I was struck on the head by a passing Bludger and the amnesia has given me a misapprehension that I'm a member of the Gryffindor team?"

"Frankly, no."

"Dumbledore sent me to get rid of a colony of Blast-Ended Skrewts which are nesting underneath the changing-room showers?"

"He'd send Hagrid."

Snape sighed. He wondered for a moment if she had some sort of suspicion. No, that was ridiculous, he decided. Although, now he thought about it, some women's intuition about other people's secrets was supposed to approach an almost psychic level.

He looked at Hooch assessingly. She was far from that sort of woman: one would expect a somewhat fey creature like Trelawney, trailing scarves and smoke and tranced expressions, to have that reaction. Hooch was downright downright, and downright butch, with less imagination than a broomstick.

Madam Hooch looked at him with an expression unnervingly like sympathy. "Give it up, Severus. I'd be hypocritical to go into a fit of moral indignation, but there is such a thing as professionalism."

"Hypocritical?" asked Snape, seizing on the minor point.

"Several years ago. Older Hufflepuff girl--tits you could bounce rocks off and thighs like tree-trunks. Discreet--don't think anyone found out. So whatever you want to do with a boy, if he's old enough and consents, I'm not bothered. But you can't keep dropping in here, it makes you look ridiculous."

"You may have some sort of suspicion about my behaviour, feminine intuition or something," he admitted grudgingly.

Madam Hooch snorted. "Everyone's beginning to notice. Have some pride in yourself, man!" That last comment came out in her usual full-throated Quidditch-pitch bellow. "Stop letting it show that you're letching after them," she added more quietly.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Friday 26th February

I'm getting to the point where I almost look forward to Snape's latest Machiavellian Plot or whatever, but didn't see him today.

Hooch went out in the corridor and had private word with him. Don't know what about, but she says she's seen him off and there won't be any more visits.

Saw him later. He almost looks...crestfallen. Managed to glare at me, so can't be too bad.

Asked Ron what Snape was up to, but he says Snape is sad old perv. As if that's likely! Determined to find out the truth.

(Later) Who'd believe it, but Ron was right. A bit. I mean, Snape's a perv, but he's actually quite attractive. If I hadn't nipped in in my Invisibility Cloak at dead of night, I'd never have found out.

He was touching himself and thinking of me--well, he had my old pants rubbing against himself and was moaning my name.

Sexiest thing I've ever seen. Or heard.

He had a big smile on his face just after he'd come. Who'd have guessed he knows how to do either! Wanted to approach him, but he fell asleep. Looked as if he needed the sleep, poor sod.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Friday 26th February

Hooch found out. Not so much of a disaster as it might have been, but bad enough.

What am I going to do without the occasional self-indulgence?

Well, I can have another session with the item I acquired, that's something.

(Later) Damn. Cleaning spell too forceful--this time the item disintegrated. What have I got to look forward to now? Feel rather low.

Monday 28th February

Snape stayed out of his bedroom, working on a Potion.

When he came back, the air stirred strangely as he came in. He'd just decided he was imagining that, when he found a pair of freshly-semen-soaked underpants beside the bed. Surprisingly, they weren't his.

There was a note attached to them. It said, "Dropped in Friday night, but you were busy. Tried waiting for you, naked on your bed, but got impatient. Thought you might like these. H

PS. Lie down and have a good lick at these. No, I didn't get my words wrong. I meant 'lick'.

So he lay down on the bed. This is certainly the first time a student has ever thought to treat me to anything, he decided, slightly bemused, as he laid his treat on the pillow for a good sniff. Still fresh as well--mmm! He groaned softly. He'd never have imagined Potter might actually accept his appalling behaviour without turning a hair. Let alone join in.

He imagined that now. Potter naked on his bed, wriggling restlessly and impatiently. Potter greedily stuffing cock into fist because he couldn't wait a minute longer. Wanking himself silly--the way Snape was, just thinking of it. Potter taking the trouble to catch his own semen on his own underpants just in case it was to Snape's taste. It was. Snape handled his cock and balls roughly, getting himself very nearly to the point of orgasm just before licking and sucking. At the first rich, sour-salt tongue-swipe, he erupted; kept spurting and licking for what felt like endless seconds; finally spent a few happy moments writhing through his aftershocks and suckling reminiscently at the crotch once he'd gobbled the lot down.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Monday 28th February

Detumescing Potion (note: first sixteen steps are similar to Deflating Draught) proceeding apace.

P must have managed to figure out how to get into my room, and apparently did so on Friday night when I was using the item I collected from him three weeks ago.

This could have been embarrassing. Think I got away with it.

P left me a charmingly thoughtful gift.

Memo to self: take gift to the house-elves for laundry every so often. Cleansing spell may be unnecessarily destructive.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Monday 28th February

Went to visit Snape, but he was out. Tried to be a good boy and wait patiently, but just thinking about what Snape likes got me worked up, so stopped waiting. Somehow I don't think he'll mind.

Tuesday 1st March

He wasn't particularly prepared for a knock at the door at six in the morning.

He opened his mouth, and opened the door to blast whoever it was with a perfectly forgivable curse, considering what time of day it was.

Potter strode perkily past, and shut the door behind him.

Snape sat upright in bed, and said, "You'd better have a very good explanation for this."

"We had an early practice. Thought I'd come and see you instead of showering."

Snape's prick, somewhat more awake than the rest of him, saw the implications of that before his brain did.

Harry shrugged out of his Quidditch robe and let it fall carelessly to the floor. Then he removed his underpants and tossed them carelessly to Snape. His prick bounced tight and proud against his belly.

"Have a sniff at those. All sweaty, just the way you like 'em. Shove those blankets off and let me have another look at you."

Snape threw off the blankets, still half-thinking he was dreaming, and took a good sniff at the warm underwear. His hand went automatically to his erection. Rather embarrassed, he hastily converted the move into a quasi-absent-minded scratch on his thigh.

"Go ahead," said Harry. "I saw you doing it and sniffing my knickers on Friday. I like watching you come. I'd have told you so at the time, if you hadn't gone to sleep."

Snape began to stroke himself slowly.

"Let me sit on your face a bit." Potter said innocently, scrambling across him and only managing to kick him about twice. "There. Now you can have a good sniff and I can get a good look."

I'd always imagined facing the other way, he thought dizzily. Then he took a deep breath and dived in. Moaning all sorts of muffled nonsense about what a ripe lovely... (suck, lick, nibble) ...how rich and salty and... (finger, sniff, taste) ...he'd always longed to do this with somebody, and he was prepared to... (inhale, moan) ...forgive Potter for every annoying thing he'd done since the age of eleven.

Since this was a handsome and extremely rare offer (some of his grudges had been in the family for generations), Snape was annoyed when Potter laughed and said, "I'll consider forgiving you for every annoying thing you've done since I was eleven. If you're good. Take that look off your face."

"You can't see it."

"I know it's there."

Snape rubbed the look on his face against the soft curve of Potter's arse until Potter forgot to object. Then he pulled Potter open and stuck his tongue in. Licked and licked and twisted, and wanked himself, and came, and kept his tongue going.

"Is that--what are you--that's disgusting!" said Potter, and climaxed violently.

Potter collapsed, luckily not quite smothering Snape.

Snape tried to say something.

Potter said, "Sorry!" and got off his face.

He sat down on the bed. "I didn't know people could do that."

"I wouldn't necessarily recommend it. It may cause a number of irritating health problems to the person on the licking side of the event."

Potter looked worried, surprisingly.

"Madam Pomfrey could easily give me something for that, if necessary. And it's worth some minor discomfort."

"I need a cuddle," said Potter.

Snape looked at him mistrustfully. "I do not want to be part of a seventeen-year-old's romantic delusions."

"I'm not in love with you, sir. I've always wanted to have someone to hold after I've had a good come, and I'm not going to stop that just because it's you."

"Well...all right, if you must." Snape opened his arms.

It wasn't too bad. Potter was a nice warm armful, and he didn't seem inclined to spout nauseating sentimentalities. After dozing off for about half-an-hour, they got up and went to breakfast.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Tuesday 1st March

Unusually early start.

Not bad day.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Tuesday 1st March

Gosh. Cuddly. Who'd have thought it?

Thursday 3rd March

The last lesson of the day, Snape couldn't help remembering, was the Gryffindor seventh-years' Quidditch practice.

He went and brewed something complicated to take his mind off it, chopping the ingredients into even more minuscule pieces than usual. The Potion had just turned green, which was in this case a good sign, when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in." Snape said, and continued decanting the Potion into bottles.

Potter came in, dressed in his Quidditch robe and still panting a bit.

Snape's prick leapt straight upright. Actually, this Potion didn't suffer from being left, as long as no flies or dust got into it. He pulled the cover across the cauldron, and stoppered the last bottle he'd filled, then led the way to the bedroom.

"God, Quidditch makes me randy!" said Potter cheerfully. "Something about having a good sweaty ride."

"Now you mention it..." said Snape.

"You want to play Quidditch?" Potter asked incredulously.

"No, I just want a good sweaty ride. Not up in the air above a crowd of cheering supporters, since you ask."

Potter blushed. "I'm a virgin, sir."

"I'm astonished, Potter. Somehow I thought you were surrounded by worshipping adolescents panting for a bit of glamour."

"That's why."

"Ah. And why exactly should I care about this datum?"

"Well, if you want 'a good sweaty ride'..." Potter said. The blush intensified.

"I'm sure you can manage to fuck me if I explain the procedure in simple enough terms." Even Potter can manage that, he decided.

"Oh. I thought you meant..."

Snape, who had little patience with Potter's unjustified assumptions anyway (and less so now), merely put a certain discreet jar of salve within easy reach on the bedside table, stripped (using a spell because it was faster), and arranged himself on his back, legs up.

Potter sighed, and reached for the jar.

"Let me check your nails first. Considering where they're going, they ought to be properly kept."

Potter showed him. Short and clean. "Good enough."

Potter opened the jar.

"Warm it between your hands before putting it on me."

"You like ordering me about," Potter said, slightly accusing, as he did so.

"Oh yes."

"Well, I suppose it's nice not to have to worry about what I'm doing because you'll tell me," Potter said rather doubtfully, and slid a finger in.

"Stretch me, and spread it about evenly," said Snape. "Right in, damn it!" he snapped, and groaned loudly as Potter complied.

Potter, of course, went quite still. "Did I hurt you?"

"You must be blind if you think that was pain," Snape snapped crossly. "Two fingers, please. And don't be too gentle." He growled a little. Two fingers felt very good, especially when Potter stopped being too cautious. Mmm. The fingers stretched him wonderfully. Stroking and stroking, until he felt half-inclined to come with no more stimulation than that, although he knew he couldn't, not without some pressure in front.

"Now put it on yourself. On your cock," he added, not entirely trusting Potter not to get confused.

Potter did, making a bit of a show of it.

Snape watched him greedily. "All right, put it in me."

"You want me to fuck you, sir?"

"Yes, Harry, I want you to fuck me. And I don't want you to call me sir while you're doing it."

"How is it that you're giving me even more orders than usual and you want me not to think of being in lessons?"

"Get it in me now, Harry!" God, he was dying for a fuck, and Harry chose now to try being reasonable.

Harry didn't say anything, just shoved in. Hard. "Big enough for you, Sev?" Young men, Snape thought, there's only one thing they worry about. Not that he needs to worry.

"Yes!" he hissed, and began to suck violently between Harry's neck and shoulder. Lovely strong sweaty taste, and he was ready, just needed to rub his cock against something and he'd be well away.

"Mind if I snog you, Sev?"

"Of course I mind," snapped Snape, coming up for air. "This isn't that sort of... it's just casual..."

"Not for that, you silly bastard!" Harry snapped right back at him. "I just want the feel of your tongue when I'm coming."

"All right." Tongue straight in, for that, and no it wasn't sentiment, just exquisite physical pleasure.

Everyone says Harry has occasional flashes of genius--this is the first time I've noticed one! Snape thought. Harry was coming, and sucking his tongue, and it felt so good. Tongue against tongue, cock and balls rubbing frantically against Harry's body, and then he was there, felt as if he was coming in his mouth and arse and cock at once. He collapsed, as he finished.

"Might I have my legs back, Potter?" he said, after five minutes of slowly-receding ecstasy.

"Oh, sorry, sir." Potter scrambled off, massaged Snape's legs, and pulled the covers up over him. Snape closed his eyes.

To his amazement, Potter crawled right into bed with him.

"What do you think you're playing at, Potter?" he said, wishing he could manage something more dignified and unpleasant than a satiated mumble.

"No funny business, sir. I just like afterglow, so you'll have to put up with it. Have a sleep and you can ignore it."

Well, he did feel sleepy, now Potter mentioned it. He just couldn't get a good hex up when he'd just come his brains out, either. He'd just have to put up with it.

From the diary of Severus Snape, Thursday 3rd March

Practiced sport. Not Quidditch, of course. More of a contact sport.

From the diary of Harry Potter, Thursday 3rd March

Wow. That was good. Who'd have guessed.

Think he got the point eventually--I'm not in love, but he's a top shag. I'll just have to keep servicing him until he gets the message, not that it's a sacrifice. Funnily enough, think I like him now. Difficult not to like someone who goes into such raptures about sex with me, I suppose. But he's quite human.

Later, maybe outside straight after an early game--have to think of somewhere he can have a wash afterwards.

This time, I woke up two hours later with him wrapped around me--doesn't mind cuddling in his sleep.

Thought D was out of his mind when he suggested S lonely.

Not so sure.

The End