Snape was hot. He crooked a finger and used it to lift the damp hair that had fallen into his face. This was a wizarding bookstore, so where was the cooling charm? He looked up idly at the only other patron seated at the reading table in the center of the room. The man sat with his back to Snape, hunched over whatever he was reading. He didn't appear to be bothered by the heat, although Snape could see that the hair at his nape was lying in wet tendrils on his neck.
Closing his book with a snap, Snape stood and circumvented the table to replace the volume on the shelf. On the way back, he'd just rounded the table again, when a casual glance over the shoulder of the seated figure made him stop in his tracks.
It was an animated textbook of some sort, judging from the size of it. Despite his natural inclination to remain disinterested, Snape took a step closer, then found himself almost mesmerized by the pantomime of the wizards coupling on the page, along with the slow, deliberate motion of the man's fingers as he traced a lazy circle around their silhouette.
He followed the line of the fingers up the arm to the shoulder, noticing suddenly that the man had sat back in his chair, his long legs stretched out underneath the table, his hand posed on the open book in a gesture of nonchalance. Snape was suddenly curious about what the reader's other hand might be doing, and a slight sideways motion of his head enabled him to catch the subtle movement the hand in his lap.
Without premeditation, Snape's lip curled upward at the same time as he reached backward for a chair. Sliding it soundlessly forward, he sat on the edge, placing him only inches away from the stranger. He considered what he could see of the man: the fine cloth and cut of his robes, the dark hair that fell forward, obscuring his face, the relaxed set of his posture, the placement of the slender fingers on the page as they continued to trace the animated figures as they fucked. Far from seeming seedy, Snape found the whole scenario rather seductive and alluring. It was this conclusion that prompted what he did when the hand drifted up to the corner of the book to turn the page.
Leaning forward, Snape reached around and used a finger to hold the page in place. "Moving on so quickly? If I may…" he murmured, watching with amusement as the man's hand froze and he shifted slightly in his chair. "The stag position is tempting, I agree. But it requires a strength and endurance of the dominant partner that is difficult to sustain. Still…a tempting proposition." He watched in satisfaction as the man relaxed visibly, but made no move to extricate himself from their now almost intimate proximity. "Might I suggest instead…." Snape slid his hand to the corner of the page, then leafed through the several that followed, finally stopping when he found what he was looking for. "The black bee…is a much more equable position. Both wizards must be fit, to be sure. But the sitting position provides for maximum penetration with a minimum of effort," he finished, so close to the man's ear that his breath disturbed the lock of hair curling there.
The mystery wizard cocked his head slightly, bringing it even closer to the face at his ear. He moved his hand to touch the figure on the page, his fingers lightly brushing Snape's as he did so. Snape felt a frisson of arousal, and moved slightly closer in his chair. Then the man spoke.
"Hmmm, if it's maximum penetration you're going for…" He hesitated as he gently pushed against Snape's hand in order to turn the page, "…then I suggest the reclining positions." Snape felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of his voice: low, melodious, and remarkably confident, given that it had been Snape who'd caught him at…what? For the first time, Snape was struck by the position in which he'd placed both of them. He himself, after all, had been the one who'd invaded the man's personal space.
"The conch is rather pleasurable," the wizard went on, but then turned the page before continuing, smoothing it out flat. "But I find it too elementary and unchallenging. No, I think of all of them, this is my favorite." Snape moved infinitesimally nearer, to both hear and see better. On the periphery of his senses, he was aware that he was now fully hard. He was so close that he could feel the heat radiating off of the man, or was that…himself? He wasn't certain. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the new position.
"Churning…isn't that a lovely description?" the dark-haired wizard continued. "It looks deceptively easy. But the bottom must be very flexible…and trusting, while the top, of necessity, must possess both superior restraint and lower body strength." He moved his finger and ran it seductively along the edge of Snape's, still poised there on the page beside his. Snape felt a streak of heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
"You've tried this one yourself?" Snape asked softly, unable to pull his hand away, not that he actually wanted to.
There was a slight shake of the head in reply, then the man angled it so that Snape saw a portion of his face for the very first time, but still in minimal profile. The corner of a lip turned upward. "No, but I'd like to. A matter of finding the right partner."
Snape couldn't help himself, entranced by the game. "And which would you possess, then? Trust or restraint? I think both the bottom and the top would need flexibility and strength." Snape leant in and blew an intentional breath of hot air on the supple neck, fascinated by the increasing distention of the prominent vein that throbbed a little more quickly at his words. He felt his own pulse quicken when he saw the tip of a tongue breach the lips, moisten them once, before withdrawing.
"Oh, I'd definitely be the one exercising the restraint. I've never done well with trust—a personal problem, you see. I prefer an attitude of…control." The voice radiated confidence without apology, with just the hint of suggestion.
Swallowing against the dryness of his throat, Snape felt a flush of anticipation as he replied softly, "Flexibility, of the physical variety, has always been one of my strong suits. Perhaps…" He paused, then the incredible words seemed to flow from his lips with an ease and stupidity he would later find astonishing. "Perhaps a mutual exploration of this particular position might afford us both a pleasant distraction…on such a sultry afternoon." He punctuated the offer with the barest flick of his tongue against the slightly flushed and salty earlobe.
The wizard in the chair stiffened almost imperceptibly, then straightened slowly as he closed the book, the fingers of both hands lingering for a moment on the animated duo of wizards cavorting on the leather-bound cover. Snape reflexively sat back as the man swiveled in his seat at the same time plastering a neutral expression on his face—one which wasn't destined to last more than a moment, he discovered.
Snape's eyes widened in shock as he took in the familiar face—the cheeks a little fuller, the squaring of the jaw more clearly defined than Snape recalled, but then Potter had barely left adolescence the last time Snape had seen him, almost ten years ago. The eyes, however, were unmistakable. They glittered as they took in Snape's surprise, then a slow smile split the man's face.
Potter stood, taller than Snape remembered him. The smile faded as he asked soberly, "Want to change your mind?" When Snape shook his head, he gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"
***
By the time Snape's brain caught up with his libido, Potter was naked, and actively engaged in reducing Snape to a similar state. After a whirlwind Apparation and a minimum of conversation, they'd got directly to it. Or rather Potter had got them directly to it, as Snape had still been mentally stunned by the bizarre turn of events.
Potter hadn't misrepresented his preference for 'control'—Snape had been firmly pushed against the wall of the bedchamber, fixed in place as Potter methodically took his time to undo every last one of the buttons of Snape's shirt. Divested of that item, Snape stood flush against the hard wood of the wall, while Potter deftly undid the placket of his trousers, all the while assaulting the skin of Snape's neck with his mouth. Snape found he was keeping his feet with difficulty, due to a surprising wobbliness in his knees, compounded by a breathlessness that was worsening with each touch of Potter's body against his own.
Potter took a step backward when Snape was finally nude. He was obviously comfortable with his own nakedness, as he took a moment to eye Snape from head to toe. Raising his eyes at last, he licked his lips, curved them in a smile, then gestured with his head. "On the bed."
Those three little words connected with Snape's cock, causing a sympathetic streak of heat that shot to his balls. Relieved that his legs actually worked, Snape obeyed, and lay flat on his back, watching as Potter Summoned a small jar of lube before resting back on his heels to liberally apply it to both his cock and hands. Snape let out a hiss when those warm, steady hands took hold of his own cock and balls to fastidiously massage the warm oil over them.
Potter smiled at Snape's reaction, then rested his hands atop his thighs as he asked, "You remember the position?"
Snape eyed him for a moment, then decided that if Potter wasn't ill at ease, then he certainly had no reason to be either. "Refresh my memory, if you will. I do recall I bragged of flexibility."
A soft laugh from Potter as he rose to his knees beside him. "So you did. I don't expect you were bragging, though. Only being truthful." He made a flipping motion with his hands. "Legs up and backward, so your knees are on either side of your head." He sat watching, a faint blush on his cheeks.
Taking a deep breath, Snape closed his eyes, raised his legs, then blew out the breath as he relaxed, allowing his knees to touch the bed beside each of his ears. He opened his eyes again as he felt the bed shift. Potter had assumed a squatting position over him—not touching him yet, but his face directly in line with his own. The eyes flashed in barely concealed lust as he lightly placed the palm of his hand on Snape's chest.
"The beauty of churning—the sensuousness of it, really, is that there are only two points of contact. Only two points of focus…two points of pleasure." Removing his hand, Potter tensed his thighs and lifted slightly. "Ready?"
Snape's arms were angled out to the sides, and now he knew he wasn't to use them. Two points of contact—he felt his heart begin to race, but he replied in an even tone, "Ready as I'll ever be."
Potter rolled his head from side to side and flexed his shoulders, then, without warning, took hold of Snape's cock with both hands. He smiled at Snape's involuntary gasp, gave a subtle cant of his hips backward, then penetrated him quickly and skillfully in a single thrust. He stopped, buried to the balls, then used his hands to double pump Snape's cock.
Flexible as he was, there was little response that Snape could make, save for a slight push upwards and a groan that he didn't even think to try to restrain. Potter repeated the move over and over, slowly and expertly, until Snape had to admit that the position was indeed pure genius—all of their energy, every single bit of sensation, each movement that was made was focused in their cocks. Although, Snape had to admit that the sight of Potter as he moved…the way his eyes were closed, how his mouth was slightly slack, the play of the afternoon light on the sweaty sheen of his skin…only added to Snape's own building desire. He almost reached out to touch the man, but caught himself just in time. Potter's eyes drifted open as if he'd sensed the almost contact, then in response, he picked up the pace, his hair falling into his face as he plunged over and over. Snape couldn't help but admire what Potter had rightly claimed he possessed: amazing physical strength and control, and an utter lack of tension.
Snape felt the definite change in Potter's rhythm that catapulted them both over the edge at the very same time. He arched his back, pushing into those merciless hands, as Potter let out a guttural grunt, emptying himself in a few rapid-fires spurts. The position dissolved as Potter fell forward onto Snape's chest, his arms on either side of Snape's head, his face buried in the crook of Snape's neck as he panted uncontrollably.
Snape carefully lowered his legs, then brought first one, then the other arm up to wrap around the man, smoothing along the firm and muscled planes of his back. He felt Potter rearrange himself as he slid his legs out behind him
They lay that way for a moment, regaining their breath, until Potter finally mumbled into the skin of his neck, "The book doesn't say how to end it gracefully."
Snape sensed a definite but subtle shift in the dynamics of the encounter, so he laughed softly as he said, "That part of it you can't orchestrate or control, Potter."
Potter didn't answer right away, but seemed content to lie as they were, Snape now tracing lazy circles on his arse. After a while, he let out a sigh as he slid off Snape to the side, then came up on an elbow. Snape turned his head to look at him.
"Well, what do you think?" Potter asked as he reached out a finger to move some stray strands of hair from Snape's face.
"I'd say you're in better physical shape than I am," Snape told him truthfully.
Potter smirked. "No, not that. I meant the position."
Snape smirked back. "I'd say, thanks to your strength and my flexibility, it was exquisite."
***
There was finally awkwardness for the first time that afternoon, as they stood at the door when Snape was about to leave. Nothing in Snape's extensive repertoire even remotely fitted the occasion of… That was the quandary, of course. Snape wasn't entirely certain what it was that they'd just done. Oh, he knew the what, but the why still boggled his mind. Potter rescued them both.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a speculative gleam in his eyes, Potter asked, him, "May I ask you a question? You don't have to answer."
Hand on the latch, Snape pursed his lips. "Go on."
Potter pushed away from the wall and dropped his hands. He seemed suddenly vulnerable, although Snape couldn't say for certain why. "If you'd known it was me, would you've offered? Just curious," he added, bringing a hand up to stroke at his lower lip, a gesture that Snape for some unknowable reason found seductive.
Snape refused to lie. "I don't know. Probably not." He paused, then added, "Surely you understand why?"
Cocking his head to the side, Potter asked, "So…you regret it?"
Sighing, Snape dropped his hand from the latch. "That's a second question, but I'll answer." Holding the man's eyes, he said shortly, "No." When Potter's eyes glinted with what Snape surmised to be satisfaction, he asked a question of his own, intrigued now to know the answer.
"Might I ask you the same question—would've you have, had you known?"
Potter smiled as he nonchalantly shoved his hands in his pockets. "Two questions, remember? No, I don't regret it either. How could I?" He took a step closer, then leant in, his face close to Snape's, his eyes snapping with merriment. "I knew who you were from the moment you opened your mouth."
***
Snape spent the rest of his week, then the weekend, as he usually did. He made the round of the gay wizarding bars, hooking up with his favorite partners, drinking too much, needing a Hangover Potion to set him to rights on Monday morning. He had ample time, too, to think over his unlikely encounter with Potter. He'd made his peace with what they'd done, and even believed he'd managed to halfway understand it.
He lasted until midweek, then resignedly found himself at Potter's door. When it opened to Snape's knock, Potter grinned immediately.
"Severus." Ah, well, Snape supposed that was inevitable.
"Harry," he conceded with a nod, as he stepped past him into the house.
They stood in the sitting room, eyeing one another for a moment, then Harry said with a tentative smile, "I was hoping you'd come back. I wanted to ask before you left, but I wasn't certain…." He trailed off, his eyes searching Severus' face.
"Yes, well, I've had some time to think things over," Severus told him succinctly, looking over Harry's shoulder towards the bedchamber, a furtive glance that Harry must've seen, given his next words.
Glancing at the room in question, Harry looked back, then smiled slightly. "So…you thought things over and…."
Removing his coat, Severus laid it over the back of a chair, then straightened. "If you're amenable, and have the afternoon free, I thought perhaps we might explore one of the sitting positions?"
If Harry were surprised he hid it well, except for a new intensity in his eyes. "Oh, I'm amenable, and I have all day," he murmured as he started to unbutton his shirt right there in the sitting room. Severus watched, fascinated, until Harry's voice drew his eyes back to his face. "Any particular one you'd like to try?"
Severus shook his head, then replied, "No, I'll defer to your expertise." He took a step closer and batted Harry's hands away so he could finish for him. Their faces were just inches apart, and Severus felt the blood rush to his cock when Harry softly answered, close to his ear.
"The sparrow then. Do you know it?"
Severus shivered involuntarily. "Yes, an excellent choice. Are you certain you're up to it? You'll have to support my entire weight with your arms," he whispered, pulling Harry flush against him, sucking in a breath as their cocks pressed together.
Harry pulled away and gave him a look of mock gravity, then held out a hand in invitation. "Not to worry. I'm stronger than I look, especially when I'm motivated."
***
Over the weeks that followed, Severus had more than one occasion to remark to himself that Harry was very resourceful, as well as strong as a partner, and patient as a teacher. That didn't mean that the increasing time they spent together afterwards was always pleasant or without disagreement. It had started with a simple drink after sex, then the interval lengthened as they became more comfortable with conversation. Severus was now presenting himself twice a week, but never on the weekend, and he'd not once stayed for supper, although Harry had asked him every time since that second week.
He found it strange, however, that of all the topics they'd explored as they talked—Hogwarts alumni, Ministry politics, earning a living, mutual and non-mutual acquaintances, and finally, that dread taboo, the war itself and the 'final solution', they'd not once discussed the fragile yet complicated foundation that under-girded their relationship—namely, sex between the two of them. Not that Severus had any scruples or sensitivities about the discussion of what attracted them to each other; in reality, he was waiting for Harry to breach the subject himself. The fact that he hadn't spoke volumes to Severus; either Harry didn't know or he wasn't comfortable talking about it.
When the discussion did occur, it was precipitated by something as innocuous as a kiss. Harry had leant in to kiss Severus at the door as he was about to leave, and had been gently but firmly rebuffed.
Harry took an uncertain step backward, his eyes hurt and puzzled. "You've never refused me anything before," he said reproachfully.
Severus led Harry back to the sitting room, then motioned him to a seat, while he went for the sideboard. "Sit. It's time we talked about this."
Handing Harry the glass, Severus took a seat opposite, crossed his legs, then narrowed his eyes before beginning. "No, it's true. I've never refused you anything," he paused, then added softly but emphatically, "in the bedchamber." He watched as Harry's eyes grew wider, then to prove his point further, he growled, "Don't slouch; sit up straight, Potter."
Harry obeyed instantly, as a look of pure shock spread across his face, then he gave Severus a sardonic smile. "All right. I see what you're getting at."
"Do you?" Severus pushed, sitting forward in his chair. "Because it's important that you understand." When Harry stared at him, then shook his head slightly, Severus sighed.
"All my life, I've been in control, or at least striven to be. I've made my own choices, rarely allowing myself to be influenced by others, except when their ends suited my own. Master of my fate, if you will. I tend to be dictatorial in my relationships, as you no doubt know from our long acquaintance, and I'm sure you'll agree that I easily inspire obedience." He lowered his voice, then continued intensely, "Except in the bedchamber. Sex is the one area of my existence where I've chosen to be submissive—it allows me to shed the compulsion to dominate—and it's freeing. The only times when I let go and let someone else take command, I find liberating, if only for the space of hours."
Harry was listening, his face sober. "So…you like partners who take the lead."
Severus nodded, then told him softly, "Yes, just as you seek out sexual partners willing to be led." When Harry started to protest, Severus held up his hand, then couldn't help but smile when Harry immediately acquiesced.
"You, on the other hand, have never been at home with the fact that you're powerful—more powerful, in fact, than any other wizard alive. You've never been comfortable with it—in your everyday life, you shun the use of it; indeed, it's almost second nature for you to defer to others, as you have to me, three times in the last several minutes.
"Sex, however, gives you the opportunity to let yourself go and be who you really are. You allow yourself to be aggressive and dominant, and at those times, it’s the only time you feel truly free. Not unlike my own experience, just the other end of the spectrum."
Harry struggled with his words. "It's…it's neurotic, then," he finally muttered, then gave Severus a wan smile. "At least it sounds like it is."
Shaking his head, Severus corrected him, "No, not neurotic at all. It's therapeutic, I think. Don't you sense that? Isn't that why you feel so calm and completed after sex?"
Harry smiled outright. "That'd be one possible explanation, I guess. The other would be the easiest one—fucking makes you feel good."
Severus smiled in return. "Tell me, then, truthfully; is what the two of us do any more satisfying than what you've done with your other partners?"
That wiped the smile completely from Harry's face. "Yes…somehow it's different with you."
"And why would that be?" Severus persisted. When Harry only stared at him, Severus finished for him, "It's because I've been a strong adversary in the past—one which you longed to control and dominate—for the wrong reasons, of course—but even now, it's rewarding to live out that fantasy."
Harry thought for a moment, looking off into space, then refocused his eyes on Severus' face. "If this is true…about me…" He took a deep breath. "Don't you mind? It'd almost be as if I were using you…" He trailed off uncertainly.
Severus made a noise of disagreement. "No more that I'm using you. Sex, and what drives it, is a complicated matter for most people. As long as both of us are content with the outcome, I don't think either of us need agonize over motivations. Remember, though, what brought up this entire conversation." When Harry looked perplexed, Severus rolled his eyes. "The kiss, Harry. Don't muddle what goes on in there," he paused as he jerked his head toward the bedchamber, "with what happens out here. Not the kiss itself, just your assumption that I'd immediately comply and give you whatever you asked for."
He stood, then motioned for Harry to follow him to the door. Stopping just short of it, he turned, then leant back against it. Harry stopped and raised an eyebrow.
"A demonstration is in order, I believe," Severus said in his professorial tone, then lowered the timbre, as he crooked a finger at Harry. "Come here."
Harry's eyes widened, but he didn't hesitate, and stepped willingly forward for Severus to encircle him in his arms. Pulling back just a bit, Severus tipped Harry's chin, then brought their mouths together. There was a brief groping of lips and touching of tongues, then Severus pulled away and rested his forehead against Harry's.
"I've wondered, you know," Severus murmured against his skin, "why you've never kissed me in the bedchamber."
Harry brought up his hands to frame Severus' face, forcing him to look at him. "Funny you should ask, but it makes perfect sense to me now. In there, it's just sex…but…a kiss is so personal." The green eyes shimmered, and Severus felt a peak of disturbing arousal. He kissed Harry again, then…more deeply…and longer….
***
In the weeks that followed, Severus and Harry continued their afternoon delights, working their way through the wizarding Kama Sutra; they'd moved on to the more complicated and difficult positions. On one memorable occasion, Severus dissolved into laughter several times, before Harry managed to glare him into silence.
This Thursday was memorable, in and of itself, as Severus had finally agreed to stay for supper. They'd passed a pleasant meal, and were finishing up the last of the wine, when Harry dropped his eyes as he said, "I wanted to tell you—if you ever want to come on the weekend, it's all right. I know we're usually on during the week, but I'm free anytime, really."
Severus studied him for a moment, then wiped his mouth with his napkin as he sat back in his chair. "I've a weekend routine, of sorts—several establishments I enjoy patronizing, regular partners that I meet up with. I've done it for some time, so…my weekends aren't actually free. That's why I come during the week." As he watched Harry's expression tighten, an alarm sounded in his head.
"Oh. Well, that's all right, like I said. Just thought I'd offer—I didn't know what you did, so…." He fidgeted with the stem of his glass, refusing to meet Severus' eyes.
"What do you do with yourself on the weekends, then?" Severus asked him.
Harry glanced up, then ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, I read, listen to music, go to the bookstore. Eat out sometimes. I keep busy," he finished casually, but Severus knew him well enough by now to know that the nonchalance was forced.
"You spend the weekends alone? By yourself—"
Harry cut him off, "I didn't say that." He gave Severus a withering look, then sighed heavily, "Yes, by myself. My choice."
Severus disagreed. "Why by yourself? I'd imagine there'd be any number of wizards queuing up at your doorstep. You're attractive, and personable, and…." Severus trailed off as the thought struck him. "You see other men besides me, don't you?" But even before the question was out, he already knew the answer.
Harry shook his head, meeting his eyes fearlessly. "No."
Aghast, Severus demanded, "Why ever not?"
Giving him a dour smile, Harry responded, "I only fuck one person at a time, Severus. And that's been you for the last several months."
Severus was flummoxed. "You've never said a word. I never told you not to—"
Harry interrupted impatiently, "This is me. I know you didn't ask me. It's just the way I am."
"But why? Why would you deprive yourself this way?" Severus wanted desperately to understand.
"Because it's too confusing otherwise," Harry told him flatly. "I've always been this way, so I'm not about to change now."
Severus leant across the table and caught his wrist. "It's only sex, Harry."
Harry circled Severus' hand with his fingers. "It's always sex at the beginning, Severus, but I always hope…."
"Hope what?" Severus asked.
Withdrawing his hand, Harry sat back, then looked him straight in the eye. "That it'll turn into something more."
***
The weeks flew by as summer, then autumn passed. Severus now wore a cloak on his visits to see Harry. They continued as they had been, but had of necessity moved on to repeating positions, trying variations that Harry had contrived, having long ago depleted the material in the textbook. Severus still made his usual rounds on the weekends, but had found lately that he was strangely distracted.
Not that his partners weren't as superb as they'd always been, but Severus found his mind wandering as they fucked, imagining how what they were doing would feel if it were Harry…despite the more 'classic' positions. What would it be like, he wondered, to feel the length of himself pressed against Harry, instead of the minimal 'points of contact'? How would it feel to have Harry draped over his back as he pounded into him? Where would intimate foreplay lead the two of them?
Just this past weekend, for the very fist time, he'd been brought up short, when he realized that he'd been fantasizing that his partner actually was Harry. He'd stopped the encounter, muttering his apologies, then left to return home, where he passed the remainder of the evening sitting moodily in front of his fire.
He'd only visited Harry once this week, on Wednesday, but he found no comfort there either. He'd given some excuse not to stay for a drink, and then felt regret at the bewilderment on Harry's face as he was curt with him just before leaving.
It was Saturday night. Severus sat at his table, pushing the food around on his plate with his fork. He finally sat back and looked at the unappetizing mess he'd made of it. He was irritated; he was restless; he was desperate for something to stop this damnable preoccupation that'd left him unable to sleep or concentrate or fuck like he used to. He needed Harry out of his head.
He resolutely pushed the plate away, strode purposefully to the bathroom to shower, then stood in front of his mirror, gazing at his reflection as he buttoned his best navy silk shirt. He was determined to make a night of it—return to his senses by following his usual routine. He'd go to the bar, toss back a few drinks, then bury his sorrows by leaving with one of several favorites—that was his plan, and it seemed like a reasonable and good one until his own thoughts brought him up short.
Bury my sorrows…what sorrows? He scowled at the dark-haired man scowling back at him. You know precisely what sorrows, you imbecile. For someone who's bragged of being 'master of his fate', you're acting incredibly stupid. It's as clear as the sizeable nose on your face—why are you refusing to acknowledge it? Is it pride? A likely possibility, as you've an abundance of that. Or is it fear? He dropped his hands and stared at the somber face. Yes, you know that's what it is…fear…fear of the unknown…fear of being vulnerable…fear of feeling something you've never felt before.
He slowly raised his hands and finished the buttons. He gave his reflection a grim smile of defeat, then was about to turn away, when he turned back to do something he rarely did. Refusing to look at himself, he shook the cologne out onto a hand, then smoothed it over his face.
***
He pounded twice on the door, waited barely a second, then pounded again. When Harry opened the door, Severus registered the surprise on his face as he brushed past him into the room.
"Severus," he heard Harry say as he was removing his cloak. "I wasn't expecting you. Is something wrong? It's Saturday," he helpfully pointed out as Severus turned to him.
Severus halved the distance between them, which put him within grabbing range. Severus pulled the startled man to him by reaching out and propelling Harry toward him with a hand at the back of his neck. He pulled their faces close together, so that when he spoke, their lips almost touched.
"Yes, it's Saturday. Good for you—you're oriented as to time. And yes, something's wrong." He cinched the other arm around Harry's waist and pulled him snug against him. "In fact, everything's wrong. But we're about to remedy that." Having had his say, Severus plunged. He kissed Harry hard, insistently, roughly; he kissed him relentlessly, allowing no time for breath; he kissed him at length, pushing in with his tongue, claiming the responsive mouth as his property; he kissed him passionately, no holding back; he kissed him with intent, with no tenderness or sentimentality; he kissed him hungrily, like a man who's been deprived of sustenance…as well he had been. He kissed him in welcome and in farewell…one relationship ending, but another one just beginning.
When he finally pulled away, he wasted no time, pivoting so that he was walking Harry backwards towards the bedchamber. His heart was pounding in his chest as he placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, the better to maneuver him. His breath hitched momentarily at the expression of shock on Harry's face, the blush of his cheeks, the cherry color of his thoroughly kissed lips, and the glittering of…yes, he decided, it was definitely hope he saw in the green eyes. He leant forward and murmured with authority in Harry's ear as they clumsily navigated towards the doorway.
"No textbook, no prescribed positions, no minimal 'points of contact'. Understood?" He saw the beginnings of a smile. "There's going to be sex, of course, but there's going to be rubbing and grinding and touching, lips and teeth and fingernails." They were at the door to the room, and Severus gave Harry a gentle push over the threshold. He continued his litany of conditions as he began to remove Harry's shirt.
"There will be licking, sucking, and god knows what other manner of oral stimulation. I'm certain we'll think of…everything." He paused long enough to lean in and trace Harry's lips with the tip of his tongue, then had to reach out and steady his partner, who was swaying unsteadily with his eyes shut. He snagged the waistband of Harry's trousers and gave a tug downwards. Kicking them away, Severus stepped back, raised his arms out to the side and shot Harry a suggestive look. He closed his eyes as Harry undressed him with trembling fingers, the heat of his hands causing Severus to shiver involuntarily.
When the last piece of clothing dropped to the floor, Severus opened his eyes to find Harry staring at him, his eyes sparkling but still with a trace of amazement. "Severus, what's happened? I know what you said—"
Severus reached out and used two fingers to gently pinch Harry's lips closed. "Shut up, and take me to bed," he whispered close to Harry's face. "We've done thirty-five bloody fucking positions. What I'd like now," he paused as he trailed a hand along Harry's chest, ending in the line of hair that dipped down into the dark thatch at his groin, "is for you to make me your lover."
Harry's eyes smoldered in response, as he gave Severus a gentle shove, then, in a blur of moments, they were laid out on the bed. There was rolling and thrashing in a frenzy of long denied touching, expansive intervals of tasting and sucking as they discovered each other for the very first time. And although Harry was master of this domain, Severus gave as good as he got.
When Harry lay flat on his back, reduced to begging, Severus straddled him and moved slowly down the length of the lithe body, pinning the hips to the bed while he swallowed him whole. The scream that this elicited filled Severus with glee, so he tongued and sucked for all he was worth, until at last, Harry arched off the bed as Severus gulped down the bitter and the salty and smiled around his mouthful.
Crawling up beside him, Severus held Harry in his arms while he recovered, smoothing the sweaty hair from his face as he studied the dark lashes lying on the flushed face of his lover. He experienced a sudden, unexpected satisfaction that he'd reduced Harry to such a state.
Still holding him, Severus was almost asleep, when he felt Harry shift against him; he smiled without opening his eyes when Harry's voice, murmuring arousing obscenities at his ear, made him groan out an entirely insincere expletive.
"Fuck…" Severus moaned thickly, when Harry thumbed over the head of his cock.
"I intend to. Roll over," Harry directed him as he nudged Severus onto his stomach.
Severus had just a moment to marvel at the resilience of youth, when an insistent thigh pushed his legs apart. He was vaguely aware of Harry's Accio-ing something, then felt warm slippery fingers slide into the crack of his arse. A single wet finger intruded and stroked his insides so that Severus was fully awake and ready. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he struggled to his knees, then felt the comforting weight of a body draped over him, as Harry pushed home with his cock in one expert thrust.
They both groaned out loud; as usual, Harry took his time, penetrating so deeply with each thrust that Severus was breathless. He pushed back against the almost leisurely pace, then swore aloud again when Harry reached around to slide his hand around his cock. Severus let his head fall forward, lost in the rhythm and pounding and sensation, then suddenly threw it back again when Harry began suckling at his neck.
There were words, too; groans of pleasure, grunts of encouragement, then finally whispered entreaties from Severus for Harry to just finish me! Harry laughed into his neck, but then wrapped an arm around Severus' chest while he continued to pump both his cock and his arse. With a growl, Harry came, with Severus right behind him. What they both screamed, Severus couldn't say, but then at that point, neither of them cared.
They collapsed to the bed, sliding off one another, a trembling jumble of arms and legs and sweat and the smell of sex, the only sound now that of their gasping as they both struggled to regain their breath. Severus cracked open an eye when he felt the dip in the bed, then watched as Harry lay back down beside him, pulling the coverlet up.
Severus waited for the question that he was sure was to come. Harry lay on his side, facing him, running his fingertips up and down the length of Severus' arm.
"So…I'd still like to know why…."
Severus reached up and caught his hand, intentionally squeezing the fingers hard to bring home his point. Without the trace of a smile, Severus told him, in a strangely husky voice, "From this night forward, all of my nights are your nights. I'm yours," he said, then slowly smiled as he squeezed the hand even harder, "but you're mine."
He watched through half-closed eyes as Harry smiled outright. "A fair trade," Harry said, coming up on his elbow, then poked and prodded Severus until he rolled to his side. Throwing an arm and leg over him, Harry pulled him snug against his chest, then breathed at his ear, "Just so you know, I've been yours for a long time."
Severus smiled as he tucked Harry's hand against his chest. "It took me a while longer. You shouldn't be surprised—I'm always fashionably late."
FIN
