Harry Potter re-read the note in his hand, still not sure if it was a joke or not. "Dear Mr. Potter," it began, though it looked like the "Mr." had been wedged in as an afterthought. "I would like to speak to you on a matter that I do not trust to owl post. At your convenience, of course." Signed Severus Snape, in handwriting familiar enough to make Harry think he was about to have to write a Potions essay though he'd been out of school now longer than he'd been in it.
He tucked the note in his back pocket and Apparated one block over from the pub where they'd agreed to meet. Harry had offered, by return owl, to come up to Hogwarts. Snape had countered, with language that had the undertone of a command, with someplace neutral, though the wording hadn't been quite that blunt.
If it had been anybody else, Harry would have thought they were just being paranoid. He swung around the corner that led to the Quill & Feather in Featherhoughton and spotted Snape just outside the entrance, looking as awkward and out of place as Harry would have been at a meeting of the Blokes In Black club. Snape nodded but said nothing as he led them inside.
They settled at a table in the back. Neither had worn robes, but neither exactly blended in, though oddly enough it was Harry who looked more out of place among the older crowd in the pub.
"I'll, er, just get the drinks, shall I?" he said, a scant second after sitting down, half-rising to make his way over to the bar.
"This is hardly a social occasion, Potter," Snape snapped, and Harry plopped back onto the wooden chair.
"What sort of occasion is it?" he asked, his hackles already going up. His tension surprised him, since he'd become used to working with Snape in his last year as a student.
"This sort," Snape said, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of an inner waistcoat pocket and handing it to Harry. There were a series of ten symbols on it, all in a row straight up and down. Harry shrugged and looked up. Snape was studying him carefully.
"It was worth a try," Snape said, reaching for the paper, but Harry snatched it back, wondering again if this were some sort of bizarre joke.
He stared at the paper again, but could make no sense out of any of the symbols. "What are they?"
"Alchemical symbols," Snape said, his hand dropping to the table, where he drummed his fingers impatiently. "I'll have that back now."
"Why show them to me?" Harry asked, thinking that if the parchment were cursed, it was a dead stupid way to kill someone, and why on earth was Snape trying to kill him *now* after so many years of amicable avoidance?
Another drum of fingers against the worn tabletop. "I have reason to believe the symbols are in Parseltongue."
Harry laughed. "Parseltongue isn't a written language." He started to hand the paper back, then noticed Snape was looking at him like a first year.
"I *know* that, Potter, but from all accounts, if presented with the proper motivation, your language skills in that tongue can accomplish the near impossible." He grabbed the paper from Harry's fingers.
Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know what 'all accounts' Snape had heard of, but his curiosity was involved now. "Why do you think the symbols are in Parseltongue?" he asked, wishing he'd fetched that drink.
"I've eliminated everything else. And the alchemist who wrote these down was a Slytherin, and, I'm presuming, a Parselmouth." Snape replied.
"Why don't you ask him, then?" Harry countered.
"He's been dead three hundred years," Snape said.
"Still," Harry pointed out, "that's hardly an inconvenience to wizards. Was his portrait ever painted?"
"He left no record of his name," Snape said, as if reluctant to keep talking to Harry.
"Then how do you know he was a Slytherin?" Harry asked, not unreasonably, he thought.
"I won't trouble you any further, Potter," Snape said, making as if to rise.
"Wait," Harry said, not sure why, but figuring he might as well not have wasted the trip without at least trying once more. "Let me see the symbols again. Sometimes if I think of things in snake terms, it comes easier."
That remark got him a strange look, but also the parchment back, and Harry stared at the row of ten strange markings. One of them, with a circle around it, did have a sort of snake-ish shape in the middle. He focused on the snake shape. "As-koth, k-koth, I think," he said, moving his finger over the symbol. "Does that mean anything to you?" He felt a bit sweaty from his effort and looked up. Snape had that pleased expression on his face that used to mean he was going to fetch Professor McGonagall to expel him, but probably meant Harry had done okay.
Two hours and two pints apiece later Harry realized he was having a good time. If it had been anybody else but Snape, he'd have known it an hour ago. Of course if it were anybody else but Snape he'd have been flirting by then, but still the evening hadn't been a total waste.
"Look, I'm telling you, you've copied this one down wrong," Harry said. They'd translated another of the symbols, though both words meant nothing to Harry as he revealed them, but Snape was looking more and more--well, not happy--but less peptic than he usually did.
"Of course I haven't," Snape snapped back.
"Then it says 'shiss-koth' plain as day," Harry said, frustrated but challenged by his frustration.
"That makes no sense in context," Snape said, peering at the much scribbled upon paper, though he'd used, to Harry's surprise, a fountain pen and not a quill to make the notes. He reached for it at the exact moment that Harry did, and their hands brushed. Just fingers ghosting over one another, but it was enough to send a frisson of awareness down Harry's spine. He looked up and saw an answering flare of surprise in Snape's dark eyes. It was such a weird moment that they both reached for their tankards and drained the last of their stout at the exact same moment.
The evening, clearly, was over.
If it had been anybody but Snape, Harry would have been sorry the evening had ended in such a weird way. Snape stood up, disguising a stretch, and took the paper from where it lay on the table.
"Oh, hey, if you want to leave that with me, I'll give it another go," Harry said, but Snape folded up the paper and tucked it back in his waistcoat pocket.
"That won't be necessary," Snape said, "I shan't trouble you any further."
Harry stood up quickly, feeling almost like a date had gone wrong, but not sure how. Of course this wasn't a date, not any sort of the thing, but he still felt weird, and restless. "It wasn't any trouble. I was happy to help." He smiled.
"No need to ruin a productive evening with a lie," Snape said, the familiar growl back in his voice and Harry flinched.
"If you'd like to give me a copy of the rest of those symbols, I'd be happy to take a look. Bit of a professional blow that I can't get more of them," Harry said, stretching a bit himself.
"You are not a professional Parselmouth," Snape said, his voice more normal now, letting Harry know he had smoothed the moment over.
Harry rebutted in the spirit of their earlier debate. "Well, if you'd like to copy the rest down correctly--" He gifted Snape with a beatific smile, perfectly aware that the other man was probably resisting the urge to take non-existent house points. "I'll give the rest a try."
When the owl arrived the next day there were all ten symbols, including the ones he'd already translated, but no note. As Harry studied it he thought again of that flare of awareness that had passed between them, thinking that if it had been anybody else--
He had to stop saying that.
It was starting to get on his nerves.
He thought he got one additional symbol by putting the piece of parchment by his bed, then looking at it as soon as he fumbled for his glasses one morning. The other seven remained stubbornly elusive, but he wrote a note to Snape telling him what he thought the new one was.
He got a brief note back. "Are you sure?" Harry snorted when he read it. Of course he wasn't bloody sure--Parseltongue had no written language; he was going on what the symbols felt like when he tried to say them aloud, going by contour and line, rather than meaning.
His own reply was equally terse. "If you copied the symbol down right, yes." He didn't expect a reply, so he wasn't disappointed. He took the paper into his living room, absently pushing the lounge back down to the floor. It tended to hover six centimeters or so off the floor, and Harry suspected it had been upholstered from an old flying carpet.
He tried to let his mind go blank, to let the curves remind him of words, the same way he could look at a snake and understand what it was saying. Look at a snake. That gave Harry an idea. He couldn't find a flaw in it, but double checked with Snape first, via owl.
"How secret are these symbols? I'd like to show them to a friend in Brazil. My friend doesn't speak English, so it should be all right."
*That* got him a Floo visit, prefaced by the briefest of fire calls--more of a fire glare, really. "Absolutely not," Snape said, holding Harry's note. "Of all the imbecilic, immature--"
It continued in this vein for several more moments, while Harry thought how much smaller his living room looked with Snape in it. Weren't adults supposed to get smaller when a person got to his age? But Snape loomed as large as he ever did, still worked up, the crumpled bit of parchment ruined now by being waved in various directions to make points Harry wasn't listening to.
"Really, you're making too much of this," Harry said, when Snape paused to take a breath.
"Too--" He didn't even bother to tear any more flesh off Harry, just whipped around and started back for the Floo, robes trailing.
"My friend speaks Parseltongue," Harry said, figuring it was about the only thing that could stop Snape in his tracks.
Snape stopped in his tracks. Turning slowly he eyed Harry suspiciously. "You are the only living Parselmouth."
"The only human Parselmouth," Harry said, with a lazy grin. Slowly Snape crossed round the sofa, pushing it down before realizing what he had done. But he spared it only a cursory glance.
"Your friend is a snake? Why on earth do you need to go all the way to Brazil? British snakes aren't good enough for you?"
Behind Snape, the lounge had drifted back up its customary few centimeters. "This is an unusually wise snake," Harry said, and Snape nodded.
"Don't make any copies but the one I gave you," he warned, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Have--" He hesitated. "Have a good trip." Then he was back into the Floo and gone.
Harry wrote as soon as he got back from the tropics of Brazil. "One more, though not sure it will help. Third one in the line reads Pfshash-grish--means something like make into something different. Exhausted all my ideas. Fergus sends his regards."
And that should have been the end of it. He'd got four of the ten, traveled halfway across the world to meet with the boa constrictor he'd released from the zoo so many years ago.
Except he kept studying the line of symbols at odd moments. Maybe he could stop if he got just one more, make it an even half.
Harry propped the note up on his pillow one night, lying on his stomach, trying to think of ways to trick his brain into revealing more of the symbols. One finger traced the outline of the symbol he was concentrating on, following the sloping curves, letting his mind drift, not to force anything, following the outline slowly over and over again.
Idly his mind drifted back to the evening with Snape, of pouring over the symbols in their darkened corner of the pub. Snape's hands had been as potion-stained as ever, as they brushed over his…
Harry shook his head. That was no good. Snape was still as prickly as ever, even here in Harry's mind, in his own home. Harry remembered Snape's hands then, too, because he'd smiled to see red ink staining the depression of his longest finger. He'd never really thought about it before, but Snape had really elegant hands--long-fingered and graceful, the kind Harry liked. He found himself visualizing one of those fingers tracing over the curve of his arse at the exact moment he realized he was slowly rubbing his hips into the mattress, his cock slowly filling. With a gasp of horror, Harry jammed the note into the nightstand drawer and didn't look at it for a week.
If it had been anybody else, he could justify it as a weird sort of fantasy, harmless as all fantasies were. After all, Harry had had fantasies about nearly every man he'd come into contact with when he was coming to grips with his own preferences.
But not Snape. He'd have been mad to run that risk, even if he'd harbored some weird sort of fascination back then, of fantasizing about someone who could root around in his brain.
Four untranslatable symbols translated. That ought to be enough for anybody.
Until he received an owl post that said simply, "Well?"
Harry, never the most even-tempered of young men, balled up the parchment and nearly threw it into the fire. Only he changed his mind mid-throw and Accio'd it back. He smoothed it open and grabbed the hollowed out crumpled snorkack horn he kept his Floo powder in from the mantle. The wards at Hogwarts ought to still admit him--
They did, and Snape looked up from his Evening Prophet and scowled. "Have you made any progress?" he said, as if Harry arrived in his parlor looking sooty every day. Every night, Harry amended, as he realized it was gone ten, and Snape was in some sort of dressing gown, the gray edge of his nightshirt pooled on the floor. Slippers on what must be cold feet, and a tantalizing bit of leg and ankle, pale, just the way Harry--
"I bloody well gave you four of the symbols," Harry said, brandishing the wrinkled parchment.
Snape folded up the paper and stared at him. "Are you here to tell me you're giving up?" he said, his tone making it clear it was no less than he expected.
So, of course, Harry did exactly the opposite of what he expected.
"No!" he said, then blinked at his own vehemence. "Well, yeah, unless you have more to go on." Wait, that hadn't been what he meant to say at all. He swallowed down the diatribe that had been half-formed in his brain, with phrases like 'traveled halfway round the globe' and 'unmitigated bastard'.
"What more would you like, Potter?" Snape asked, the silk in his voice just above the danger level that would have made Harry shiver as a child.
Only Harry was used to danger, having seen nearly as much as Snape, and in a shorter time. "I would *like* for people who have bloody known me for nearly fifteen years to be able to call me 'Harry'," he said, dropping the symbol-covered paper on top of Snape's Evening Prophet and stalking over to the Floo.
The note arrived two days later, which told Harry Snape had probably stewed on it a day before sending it. There was no salutation at all, not even a squeezed in 'Mr.'.
"I understand," it read, "that one's given name is reserved, in your case, for friends, and in my case, colleagues. Since we are neither, I do not comprehend your sudden desire for it.
"You would prefer, perhaps, one of your usual appellations, instead? The Boy Who Lived sounds quaint and outmoded for the young man you've become. Would you prefer Auror Potter, which is frankly difficult to say aloud.
"When you've had your fill of the sulks, and wish to discuss the project, I will entertain other options."
Harry sent his reply by return owl, just to let Snape know he wasn't sulking. They set up a meeting for a week hence, and though Harry offered again to come to Hogwarts, Snape countered with another pub, a different one, and arrived with the text of the document, thankfully not the one Harry had deposited on his lap. This one was more than the symbols Harry had seen, text now interspersed with the symbols still arranged in their up and down lines. Shown this way, they wove in and out of the text in a zigzag.
It had been copied over painstakingly in Snape's loopy writing, the symbols forming a chain in the text--text that was simple, if archaic, English.
"This isn't a potion," Harry said, squinting at it.
"It's an alchemical formula," Snape said.
"What's it do?"
Snape merely shrugged, a spare, almost elegant gesture. Then he ran his stained finger down the zigzag formed by the symbols. "This is some sort of sequence though I'm not sure if it's part of the formula or something else altogether." The words Harry had translated had been written in the margin beside their symbol. Even so, it made no sense.
They spent the evening pouring over every word, heads bent together, sleeves rolled up, the remains of a single round of stout leaving rings on the old wooden table. Harry knew the evening was over when Snape pulled out a pocket watch, gave it a quick glance and shut it before Harry could see what was on the face. It wasn't a Muggle watch, he was sure, since he doubted Snape even owned anything that hadn't been made by witches or wizards, save the odd fountain pen.
"I've an early class," Snape said, making one last note on the parchment, which was already covered in scribbles in both his and Harry's handwriting, Harry having grabbed the pen several times when the fever of a thought was upon him.
"Right," Harry said, looking at the ordinary clock over the bar, surprised at how late it had got. They hadn't translated any more of the symbols, but Harry had some ideas of how to try, and a clearer idea of what they were looking for. "Some other time then, to, er--" he began, but stuttered to a halt when he saw the disbelieving look on Snape's face.
They both reached for their nearly empty tankards of stout, realized they were both out, and each looked away, until Snape said, "Next weekend, then?"
"I'm on assignment," Harry said, reviewing his schedule. Why was he possessed of the ongoing need to crack this puzzle? "Week after next?" Snape nodded. "Maybe I'll have something for you by then." With anybody else it would have been a prelude to a come on, but of course it wasn't. Because this wasn't anybody else; it was Snape, who was looking at him as though he'd picked up on the slight double entendre.
Then Snape looked away and started rolling down his sleeves. Though probably not his intention, the action drew Harry's eyes to the exposed forearm. No mark there, not since Harry's final dust up-with Voldemort, but a person could see where the mark had been if they knew where to look. Beneath the slight ripple of damaged skin were muscles, sleek sinew and wiry black hair. It was easier not to think of such things, things that showed Snape as human, but staring just now, he could not help thinking of the strength of those arms, in those hands.
"Do you mind if I have a copy of this?" Harry said, when Snape had put his coat on and he could think again. "I'd like to show Fergus."
A mix of emotions scrolled across the severe features. None of them pleasant. Before Snape could say anything Harry figured out the nature of at least one of those emotions. "My, er, friend, in Brazil," he said, dropping his voice since it gave him an excuse to lean closer, despite the nearly zero chance of being overheard.
"Your friend can read?" Snape asked skeptically.
"Well, no, but I can read it to him and maybe the context will help with some of the symbols." Since Parseltongue had never been written down they were fumbling along for whatever sentiments the author of the parchment had in mind when creating this version of the written language.
Harry had his copy of the text and the symbols a few days later. It occurred to him that he didn't even know if Snape was gay, though if it had been anybody else Harry would already know. Spending time with other gay men, he'd learnt the signals. But Snape played everything very close to the chest. It wasn't as if Harry was interested anyway. It was more in the nature of an academic problem, like the one of the alchemical symbols.
He let Snape know he was back via owl, then made a copy of the notes he'd made on Fergus' suggestions. They met a week later, at still another pub, then several weeks after that. Snape looked a bit haggard and Harry commented, earning him a glare.
"Seven upset stomachs after the Halloween Hogsmeade visit," Snape said. "A bet between the seventh years and sixth years to see if the lower classes could be bribed to eat blood lollies." He shook his head, but Harry was amused at the thought of the prim head of Slytherin house attending to upchucking children. Snape pulled out his own copy of the formula. "Now, what do you think of this, if we assume the transmute symbol actually means transubstantiate?"
Harry tried several tricks later on his own to get his brain to unlock the missing six symbols. He took to making random hissing noises, rolling them around on his tongue then staring at the line of symbols to see if they formed letters or words in his head, the way the language itself did. He thought he got one more, then asked Snape about it at one of their meetings and got a roll of the eyes for his trouble.
"You've done that one," Snape told him and Harry frowned at it. He'd had to copy the symbols down several times since he tended to scribble little notes in the margins. He couldn't help noticing that Snape did too. Harry's handwriting was small and messy; Snape's was loopy but very tidy.
"Have I?" he asked, peering at it. They were in still another bar, and Harry had given up trying to offer to come to Hogwarts for their meetings. Then he sighed. "Yes, you're right. I tried mixing the symbols up this time, to see if anything different suggested itself." He yawned and stretched. "I think I'll just put it away until after the holidays. Take a fresh look at it in the new year."
He wondered briefly, as he was packing for his holiday at the Burrow, whether he should have got Snape anything for Christmas. Then he had a vivid mental picture of himself walking into the Cauldron Shop and asking for some little knick-knack for the Potions master who had everything. He snapped his traveling bag shut. Then he opened it again and added both pieces of parchment, the row of symbols, and the complete text, and closed his bag again.
It wouldn't hurt to just have them, in case he got an idea.
He got an idea, but not the sort he expected, when he was recounting some story at dinner around the Burrow table, and nearly every Weasley, ones by birth and by marriage, stopped eating and stared at him.
"Did you say Snape, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking at his wife, then back to Harry.
"Snape, the one you nearly did a dance over once you finished your Potions NEWT--that Snape?" said Ginny.
"Hush, now, Harry's got a right to, er, see whomever he likes," Mrs. Weasley said, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.
"I'm not seeing him!" Harry protested, looking around the table, "I mean, not like *that*. We're working on a project." Reactions ranged from openly skeptical to horrified.
It wasn't until later that he realized that if everyone thought he was seeing Snape, including Ron's parents, it probably meant Snape was gay. Harry buried the two pieces of parchment in the bottom of his bag, not wanting to face that idea. Not wanting to think of Snape as ever having sucked a cock between those thin lips, or trailed his fingers over the curve of another man's arse--
Harry snapped his bag shut and organized a bit of pick-up Quidditch in the paddock behind the Burrow, waving away everyone's objections to the frigid temperature with a hearty "Come on, it'll be fun."
It wasn't until several days after the holiday that Harry got the parchments out again. He smoothed them both out, thinking guiltily he was glad Snape didn't see him just now taking them out of his bag. He thought of the approving look Snape had had the last time Harry had given him got another of the symbols, and concentrated.
Nothing. Harry knew by now concentrating on them wasn't enough anyway. He'd tried that endlessly and came up short unless his mind was unprepared. What he needed was some activity that engaged part of his brain, but left him free to let part of it wander.
He spotted a crossword puzzle book on the end table and flipped it open. The trouble with wizarding crossword puzzles was that if you didn't finish it all in one go, which Harry hardly ever did, the letters rearranged themselves when you closed the book. He must have been horny the last time he'd done one, because the letters had rearranged into forty-seven synonyms for the word 'arse'.
Or maybe forty-eight. He wasn't sure what one of them meant.
But it gave him an idea. He sauntered into his bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the quilt that covered his bed. He didn't like the quilt at all--it had been a gift from the Sheffield Witches Quilting Society, upon the completion of his education at Hogwarts--that much was embroidered along one border. It showed scenes of his life in appliquéd squares. He suspected it was charmed, because every time he thought about getting rid of it, he felt very sleepy and just wanted to lie down, which had led to a very awkward scene when the quilt had first been presented to him. Now, whenever he was having trouble getting to sleep, he visualized auctioning it off for charity, and he went right off.
Yeah, he decided, laying just the symbol parchment on his bedside table. He shucked out of his trousers and shirt, and lay back in just his boxers. With the holidays and being in a house stuffed full of people, it had been longer than he usually went between wanks, and it didn't take Harry long to get nice and hard. Yes, this was just the ticket, he thought, pulling his shorts over his erection. He didn't have anything in particular in mind, just seeking pleasure, stroke by stroke, letting his mind wander.
He pulled his tube of lube out of the drawer in the nightstand, and put the parchment on his chest while he spread the cool stuff on his cock. Yes, nice, adding a bit of his own pre-come into the mix. No particular image in mind, no fantasy, just stroking, then slowing down, lest he come too quickly. Do this more often, Harry, he thought, saving a grimace for the state of his love life.
Once he was sure he had control he picked up the parchment with his free hand, letting his eyes just trace the curves. There were four done but he let his eyes roam over the entire line of them. Ten symbols, ten words in a language that could never be written down. A slow slide of his hand. Then he looked at each of them individually, not ascribing the words they'd translated so far, just letting his mouth make the sounds. Really, when he thought about it, Parseltongue was a pretty sexy language, with all those soft hisses.
Harry had to slow down, giving his balls a quick but fierce tug before he could look at the parchment again. He slitted his eyes, as snake-like and he could manage with human eyes, and looked at them, letting the idea of the words he knew form on his tongue, before it cascaded over onto his lips. He thought of how he had to work his mouth to make some of the unfamiliar sounds to wrap around the hissed syllables, how he'd seen Snape making those same noises.
Harry found himself visualizing Snape's mouth, how Harry had smiled when Snape had tried to repeat the symbols in Parseltongue, and Harry had just written them out phonetically, along with their translations. All the insults and belittlements that had come out of those perfectly shaped lips, Harry thought, then backed up, but didn't stop the slow squeezes on his pulsing cock. Now that he thought about it, Snape did have nice lips, now that Harry had got close to them, had seen him lick them when he was concentrating on something.
A noise, not quite a groan, but not entirely pleasurable, slipped out of Harry's throat. What was he doing, wanking to thoughts of Snape? As if the delicious wrongness of it unlocked some portion of his brain, other images surged out. A lock of the sleek black hair falling over his face while Harry had been watching, and Harry had had to suppress the desire to push the lock back over one ear. The rolled up sleeves, revealing lean, white wrists.
What harm could it do, his fevered mind argued. Snape wasn't likely to use Legilimency on him any time soon--there was no danger as there had been when he'd been a student. No harm in thinking of Snape without his robes, his long slender body just taller than Harry's, just the way Harry liked--
It was no use, no use at *all* now. He was thinking of Snape's body, pale but with enough dark hair on it to contrast the paleness below, thin but with enough muscle to be fierce in bed. The parchment fell forgotten from his fingertips as he slid his other hand down, raising his legs, needing more contact, stroking into his cleft, fingering his entrance, wondering what Snape's hand--no, strike that--Snape's cock would feel like right there.
He was hissing; he was coming, but before he finished, he realized he knew another of the symbols. Just knew it, just like that, as if it actually meant the snake word for 'thinking about sex with someone inappropriate', though of course it didn't. Fumbling for the list, Harry scratched down the sound of it before he lost it; realizing his hand was still, slick. He wiped it off on his discarded shirt, then finished the translation, tongue between his lips in concentration.
It had worked. That fact pleased him more than wanking to the idea of Snape's naked body *displeased* him. Only it hadn't just been Snape's body, there toward the end, had it, Harry thought, doing a better clean up. Now that the fever of getting the word right had dissipated, he replayed some of the images his mind had conjured up and couldn't decide whether to be horrified or aroused again.
At the next pub meeting with Snape, Harry proudly showed him the results, without specifying how he'd achieved them. Harry found himself staring at that pleased little smile too long, the one Snape used that didn't show very much of his crooked bottom teeth, and got caught at it.
Snape frowned at him and said, "What?"
"You've got something, just there," Harry lied quickly, and reached out to wipe away a pretend speck just below Snape's bottom lip. Snape's skin was warm but Harry didn't linger. Snape nodded, a sort of appreciation, Harry supposed, then they bent their heads over the parchment again. At one point Harry realized Snape was rubbing one finger along the thumbprint Harry had made on it with the lube. At least he hoped it was the lube. Harry swallowed hard and offered to get them another round.
Snape pulled out the ornate silver pocket watch again and snapped it open. "I've got to get back for a detention," he said and Harry let off a short laugh.
"At this hour?" That earned him a heavy stare.
"I find the late hour increases their…anxiety," Snape said and Harry gave a mock shiver.
"Prick," he said, then his eyes widened as he realized exactly who he was talking to.
"Just so," Snape said, closing the pocket watch before Harry could see the face. At least Snape hadn't taken offense at the gibe. "I suppose that the long time between translations means that your skills are near their limit," Snape went on, and it took Harry a moment for the import to sink in.
"No," he said, a little too vehemently, drawing several heads their way. Harry lowered his voice and went on. "I mean, I've got a new, er, technique," he explained, hoping Snape would think it was some sort of meditative trance, rather than the best wank he'd had in ages.
Snape studied him, then nodded, folding up the parchment and handing it back to Harry. "This isn't your research project. When I consulted with you initially, I didn't expect you to undertake it as your life's work."
Harry smiled. Trust Snape to weave subtle praise in with subtle insult. "I like a challenge," Harry said, with the realization that he wasn't just thinking of the parchment symbols anymore. And of course, anybody else would have picked up on the not so subtle undercurrent. Snape simply nodded and tucked his watch away.
"Very well, Mr. Potter," he said, "As long as I am keeping you amused."
For the next translation attempt, Harry didn't even pretend he didn't want to think about Snape. He supposed it was still the luscious forbiddenness of it that excited him. And he was not stupid enough to deny that he was excited as he stripped off. Much later he had another thumbprint on the parchment, another bone-deep orgasm, and one more symbol translated. He tried to keep the mood and work on the remaining symbols but he was too sleepy and sated to concentrate. When he woke up, the symbols looked like they always did, jumbled scratchings on paper, though the curve of them looked more sinuous than he remembered.
He thought briefly about wanking again, and had a vivid mental picture of meeting Snape and presenting him with the last few symbols all in one go. He'd act mysterious--this Harry of his fantasy--and hint at methods of translation available only to Parselmouths, and then Snape would-- Harry clawed out of his fantasy. Then Snape would go away, back to his research. No more pub meetings. No more curt owl messages.
That was what Harry wanted, wasn't it? It wasn't as if he couldn't fantasize about the man on his own, now that he'd found such fertile grounds. Images from the last, extremely vivid fantasy, of their two bodies entwined, replayed in Harry's mind. Surely Snape would never-- And it didn't matter, anyway, did it, because Harry *would* never--
He had no luck at all the next time he tried what he thought of as his secret method. The wank was just as good, better, really now that he was able to slip more easily into the fantasy of he and Snape, but the symbols remained stubbornly untranslated.
The next pub they met in was decidedly different from all the others. Harry knew why immediately, but it took Snape a few moments. He looked around, uneasy, though obviously unsure why, and did not sit down. Harry was in his own chair before he realized Snape was still standing. It was a weekend night, and the place was nearly full, but they'd found a table near the back. The bar was lined with an assortment of men, and Harry enjoyed looking at the arses--most in very tight trousers--while Snape's hand was still hesitating over the clasp of his jacket.
"We should reconvene somewhere else," Snape said finally, his voice tense.
"Why on earth should we do that?" he said, grinning, and looking up. But the grin faded quickly when he saw the true unease on Snape's face. "Sit down; you're causing a scene."
Snape complied but he kept on his heavy jacket. "This isn't the sort of establishment suitable for our discussion," Snape said, still not looking at Harry.
Harry studied the wan face, the way the black eyes darted around, his unease palpable. "It's got a nice view though," Harry pointed out, inclining his head toward the bar. Snape's gaze followed his, and a sort of comprehension dawned. He looked back at Harry as if he'd just admitted he was a Muggle.
"You're familiar with such establishments?" Snape said, a low, dangerous edge in his voice.
"Enough to know we can have a private conversation, undisturbed, if we choose," Harry said firmly.
"Your good name means so little to you then?" Snape said, the sneer lurking just under the words.
"My name's just as good as yours," Harry said, perplexed, defensive, and trying not to get angry.
"Quite a bit better, if you don't muck it up," Snape said, his voice almost too low for Harry to hear, but when he did, he sat back in his chair and stared at the other man.
"Is that what all this has been about then, you dragging me to all these out of the way pubs, all over England, because you don't want me to be seen with--" He waited for Snape to interrupt him, to say something scornful like 'don't be absurd', but he didn't.
"We could have just met at Hogwarts," Harry said, feeling the need to understand, but knowing, if it involved Snape, he probably never would.
Snape rolled his eyes and began taking off his jacket. "I'm certain there'd have been no gossip ascribed to *that*."
"My place then," Harry tried next, never taking his eyes off Snape.
"Was never suggested," Snape said, gaze going inscrutable again.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry began, but Snape waved his apology away.
"It's of no consequence. We're only working together on sufferance," Snape said.
It wasn't the first time Snape had made similar statements, but tonight it bothered Harry. "I'll get the drinks," he said, popping out of his chair. He avoided being groped once at the bar, hoisting the tankards in the direction of his table with a rueful smile. Under cover of setting down the drinks, Harry took the opportunity to move his chair a bit closer to Snape's, their arms nearly touching as they looked over Harry's latest effort.
If Snape noticed the new fingerprint--an index finger this time, Harry thought--he made no mention of it. Indeed it seemed Snape's attention was not on the parchment at all tonight. His gaze kept wandering, and he scowled more than Harry had seen in a long time.
Harry followed the restless gaze a few times, to see if some bloke had caught Snape's fancy, but there were no lingering, specific looks. Striving for a suaveness he did not possess, Harry laid his hand over Snape's, tracing the symbol he'd just translated, then didn't remove his hand. Snape tried to tug it away, but Harry slid his fingers in between Snape's.
"What are you doing?" Snape asked, looking around again, more desperately this time. "Stop it at once."
Harry stroked down his arm, trailing his finger down the pale wrist. "Do you really think this is all sufferance?" Harry asked, his voice low.
"Stop it, Harry, please," Snape said, obviously reluctant to make a larger scene by forcing him to remove his hand. "People will think we're together."
Harry lifted his hand, but slowly, and left it near Snape's arm. "Is that such a horrible idea?"
Snape's eyes narrowed. "This isn't about that," he said, but his eyes darted down to Harry's mouth.
Harry tried to be the Harry of his fantasy. Worldly. Desirable. "Will it ever be about that?" he asked.
He could see the anger sparking in Snape's eyes, see it rivet his posture straight up. For a moment Harry put his hand near his wand pocket. Then the anger leached away, but Harry felt no safer. He'd seen Snape so angry he looked mad. He'd never seen him with this slowly calculating look, one that raked over Harry, then the parchment between them.
"I am not one of your challenges. A series of pretty puzzles to solve," Snape said.
Harry hadn't been expecting that, and had no reply. The Snape of his fantasy had been a construct, one who wanted Harry, maybe even had wanted him before Harry had suggested it. Did he really just think of the living, breathing Snape as linked to the challenge of cracking the symbols?
"If you aren't attracted to me, you could just say so," Harry said glumly, sliding his hand back into his lap. If this had been anybody else, Harry would be leaving now. He'd been turned down before, though never quite so elegantly. He darted a glance at Snape.
Who looked momentarily confused. "Your attraction is not even remotely the issue," Snape hissed, leaning closer so that his breath tickled Harry's ear. "I don't--" he began, but stopped and sat back when he saw Harry looking at him.
"Don't find me attractive, okay, I've *got* it," Harry said, thinking he should have left at 'we should reconvene elsewhere'.
"Don't…indulge," Snape said, then looked like he wished he hadn't.
"What do you--" Harry said, putting his hand back on Snape's arm. It was always a surprise to find out how warm Snape's skin was, as though the icy porcelain wouldn't hold heat but somehow did. "Indulge in what?"
Snape didn't pull out his watch, but he looked like he wanted to. "Obviously the atmosphere in this establishment has somewhat clouded your judgment," he said. "I suggest you look elsewhere for a more suitable partner to discuss your attractiveness with."
In Harry's fantasies, they were usually naked about now, not both getting angry and embarrassed. "Not the issue," he said. "You said so yourself." Why couldn't Snape even turn him down like a normal person? A rueful shake of the head, a pat on the shoulder, no hard feelings?
"Our business is obviously concluded," Snape said, as though carrying on Harry's thought. He looked like he wanted to take back Harry's copy of the parchment, though he didn't. Merely stood up and without looking at Harry again, left the bar. Harry watched him go, then left himself, not even looking at the other men in the bar who might have been more than willing to discuss his attractiveness.
If it had been anybody else, Harry wouldn't have wasted another thought on the rejection. That bloke was a no; move onto the next. Despite what Snape had said, though, they did still have unfinished business between them.
The fantasy was different this time. Slower. Harry's hand dragged along the white forearm, covered by one sallow hand. An inclination of a head, a knowing smile. A slow walk outside. Apparating together. Falling into bed. No words. Words always got them into hot cauldrons. And as if his mind had been holding back, not translating the final symbols, it coughed them up on successive nights.
After he had the last one, and still naked and gleaming, Harry penned a note to Snape. "Frankly I have put hours into this project with no thought save to enjoy the challenge, as well as your company. I have translated the remaining symbols. When you have got over your own sulks, do tell me if you'd like me to owl them to you if you find yourself unwilling to face me."
In a bit of inspiration he signed it simply, "Harry".
Snape appeared in his Floo the next night, still clutching the note Harry had written as though he'd just got it.
"I do not sulk," he informed Harry. Harry was in his armchair, thankfully the one that didn't match the couch, so it was stationary most nights. He had a book in front of him, but he'd been brooding, not reading. When he'd heard the roar of the Floo he'd known it could only be Snape--any of his friends would fire call or owl before just barging in.
Snape was in his teaching clothes--though it had been so long time since Harry had seen him in them, he looked out of place for a moment.
"You could sulk for England," Harry said, as though they were having an actual conversation.
Snape sulked at him. "We loathe each other. Why are you pretending otherwise?"
Harry stood up, not liking the feeling of being loomed over, but Snape was still taller than he was. "I don't, you arrogant prick. Why on earth would I have worked so hard on this for you--" He leaned over and rooted around on his end table and scooped up the parchment and waved it under Snape's nose. "--if I was still stupid enough to loathe you on general principle." He thrust the parchment into Snape's hand, the one still holding Harry's note. "Take it and get out."
Snape's fingers wrapped around the parchment, though he barely glanced at it. "Very well, then," he said, and turned to go back into the fireplace. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and watched until Snape was putting one hand up to the mantle.
"Don't I even get a thank you?" Harry asked, wondering why he was astonished at Snape's basic lack of manners.
The look Snape shot him would have withered any first year. Luckily Harry had endured enough of them be immune. "I knew it," Snape said, halting. "Very well, Mr. Potter," and again Harry had the feeling the 'Mr.' was begrudged. "Name your terms."
Harry got the oddest impression Snape was expecting him to ask for sexual favors, to suck him off or something, though he couldn't have said where the idea came from, and for one wild moment he thought about asking for them. His temper spiked too hotly for that, and he crossed the tiny room in a few short steps. "Get out!" he said, making pushing motions with his hands, though not touching the other man. He no longer wanted to, and knew his fantasies wouldn't include the tantalizing images they had until now.
"Get out!" he repeated, only to his horror, a sob heaved out, of tension and anger rather than tears.
Snape had lifted his own hands defensively, though when Harry didn't touch him, wrapped strong hands around each of Harry's wrists as the horrible noise came out. They stood there until the force of the grip started to pinch, and Harry realized it had been too long for simple defense. He lifted his head, starting to say something, though his mouth was moving before his brain had settled on just what.
Only instead of the stream of invective his brain was demanding, his body had taken over, lifting his face, knowing Snape was about to kiss him, knowing perhaps at the exact same moment Snape realized it himself. The hands on his wrists tightened, but Harry no longer felt even the tiny pain.
Snape tugged Harry into his chest with hard jerk, closing the space between them with his hands, with his body, with his mouth. The hands on his wrists slid down his arms, wrapped around his head, fingers clenching against his scalp. Lips ground against his, softer than Harry would have thought, but moving over his fiercely, swallowing any noises he might have made. He felt the hard bump of Snape's teeth, opened his mouth wider to coax more of the other man inside him, mind already reeling with erotic possibilities.
And then, just as suddenly, the kiss was over. Snape was pushing him away, face ashen as he stepped into the Floo, and with a roar he was gone.
Frustration and anger surged through Harry. He grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and followed Snape back through it. He stumbled, as he nearly always did, as he stepped into Snape's study. Snape had his back to him, head down in his hands as though he had a headache, but he straightened at the sound of Harry's arrival.
"You can't just leave it like that!" Harry said, dusting off the slight soot from the fireplace. It left a gray smear on his shirt.
Slowly Snape turned, face still pale. "My apologies, Mr. Potter," he said, and Harry got the impression that the title was sincerely meant this time.
Harry wasn't angry now, but he was frustrated on several levels, and raked a hand through his hair. "You kissed me!"
Snape's mouth opened then shut again. Finally he said. "I should not have done."
"Are you mad? Kiss me again." He took a step closer, since Snape hadn't got very far inside the room, lifting his face for a kiss. Snape turned his head away, and Harry's mouth just brushed across his cheek, which now felt cool. Harry looked up, but Snape's face was still averted.
"I don't indulge," Snape said, as if that explained it any more than it had the other night.
Harry frowned. "Indulge in what?" That had been no virgin's kiss a moment ago, but the skilled touch of one who knows how to elicit passion.
"Those--sorts of activities," Snape said, and he finally looked over at Harry, eyes fathomless.
Harry was as confused as ever. "What--what do you do?" He struggled to find an answer. "Never tell me you take a potion?"
Snape rolled his eyes at him. "Of course I don't take a potion, you idiot. I've explained things perfectly well, and you're deliberately being thick."
Feeling justly put out, Harry said, "You haven't explained a bloody thing. You can't kiss me like--like you *mean* it, then just--just--"
But of course Snape could. Could just-- If this had been anybody else, Harry would already be back in the Floo, maybe even back to the promising gay bar where they'd last met. But it was Snape. Who had always affected Harry, who'd always been affected by Harry, and who was looking at him now with equal parts loathing and longing.
He ran another hand through his probably ruined hair. "Look, we don't have to--to do anything." He looked to see how this was going down, and was only slightly heartened to see that Snape's expression had bumped closer to longing than loathing.
"Look, why don't we just sit down and--" He sidled them both over to the sofa before inspiration struck. "We can pretend we're in a pub, just talking." He sat down on the closest end and nearly held his breath before Snape sat, back stiff, beside him. Their legs were just touching, Harry's in jeans, Snape's in his black trousers, but even with the additional layer of the long coat he wore, Harry could feel the warmth he radiated.
He reached across Snape's lap and tugged the abused parchment out of his fingers. Straightening it, he spread it across the two legs that were touching. "And I've just told you the translation for these last symbols." He ran his finger over one, outlining the shape of it. "Skrrysos," he said, voice shifting naturally to Parseltongue. "Which means, near as I can figure out, the liquid form of something, though I don't know why snakes would have cause to even have a word like that." He looked over tentatively to see if his babbling had put Snape more at ease.
He took a soft breath and went on, finger sliding over to the last figure. "This is Yash-kathos, which means eggling or, er, a sort of unformed egg. Not sure what that means, really." It was working. Snape had that intense look of concentration he got when his interest was piqued. Or when he was kissing someone, Harry's brain whispered.
His finger went back to the first one. Whoever had created this language had been very elegant in its design. "Skrrysos," he said again, and as he hoped, Snape had relaxed enough to repeat it, as he used to in the pub. Harry watched his mouth shape the syllables and he smiled. "Your accent's terrible!"
Snape looked slightly affronted, until Harry reached over, as he'd wanted to do when they'd been in the pub, and cupped his chin. "Yash-kathos," he said, moving his mouth close to Snape's so he could see how it was done, guiding his mouth as they formed the alien syllables, then, as if he'd planned it, and of course, he could have without realizing it, let his mouth close the few inches between them.
His hand slid down the column of Snape's neck, felt the pulse speed up. He let his fingers rest there, draped suddenly by hair as Snape moved his head, leaning into the couch, pushing them both back into the thick cushion of the sofa.
If it had been anybody else, Harry would have been comparing this kiss to the ones in his fantasies. But the sheer bliss of it sucked all thought out of his head. He heard a thick sound, as of breath, then felt his own heart nearly stop as a heavy hand slid onto his arm, then down, between arm and body to wrap around his waist.
They were moving closer, with mouths and hands and bodies nearly straining and Harry groaned. Snape lifted his head, panting, eyes wide with horror or fear--only Harry was ready this time, guiding his head back down, opening his mouth to any objection Snape had been about to make, swallowing it, fingers tangling in the thick hair at the back of Snape's neck.
He felt the heavy rasp of tongue moving over his, tasting, coaxing, seeking his own seduction. Snape's hand slid down, over Harry's hip, along his thigh. Harry shifted and the hand slipped over the bulge in his trousers. Snape jerked away as if burnt, but Harry wrapped one hand around Snape's and guided it back down.
"Please," he said, needy and aroused.
"Shh," Snape said, their mouths very close. He lifted his hand off Harry's erection and smoothed it over his cheek. It was a breathless sort of moment, in a series of moments. Harry looked at Snape's face, enjoying the sensual transformation. Features normally so severe softened by desire, flushed, glistening. Harry didn't have time to wonder what Snape saw in his own face, for Snape was kissing him again.
The hand on his face slid away again, back down to his erection, clearly outlined in his trousers. Fingers slid over him, outlining his arousal before Snape's palm pressed into him. Harry felt like groaning again, but his breath had been sucked away. His mind spun with the images from his fantasies, of their two bodies writhing against each other.
Hips moving against Snape's hand, Harry held onto his shoulders, nearly flat against the back of the couch now, feeding his mouth to the hot, hungry kisses. The hand moving over his groin, and Harry felt swept up in the urgency of it. Once the edge was off, he'd be able to think, to reciprocate, to make love rather than this quick, inelegant thing. The idea of making love with Snape urged his hips harder into the stroking hand, Harry's hands clawing furrows into Snape's robes as he arched and shuddered into Snape's body.
When Harry opened his eyes, Snape was looking at him, hand was still heavy over the damp place on his trousers. "You should go," Snape said, voice low, roughened.
Harry frowned, his sensual lassitude skittering away. "No, I want to--" He pulled himself out of the thick cushions, hand reaching for Snape, for the obvious bulge in the black trousers. "Only fair," he said, smiling a little shyly, now that the immediate passion had dissipated.
"Another time, perhaps," Snape said, his voice resuming its usual tone, cutting through the fog of Harry's languid brain.
"But--" Harry began, as Snape moved away so that their legs were no longer touching. "Look, I *want* to," Harry said, in case Snape had some ridiculous idea about Harry's willingness. Harry was in fact not just much more than willing, but enthusiastically anxious. Snape rearranged the long frockcoat over his lap, as though hiding his own arousal.
"Not necessary, I assure you," Snape said, and Harry was really frowning now. He grabbed Snape's hand, the one that was slightly damp from Harry's trousers.
"It's necessary for me," Harry said, closing his fingers over the longer ones. He already knew it wouldn't happen tonight. "I want to see you again." He let that sink in, saw the surprise and suspicion in Snape's eyes, and Harry used his only available weapon. He grabbed the sorry-looking parchment from where it had slid off Snape's leg.
"We still need to discuss the whole sequence now we've got the lot translated," he said, letting his tone slip over into business-like. "Why don't you come by my place and we'll go over it?" He looked at Snape but got the feeling his words weren't penetrating at all. "Dinner, like normal people," Harry said, "Then we can check over this thing for you." He wanted to add an 'and then make love until we collapse' but had the sense not too. He was aware that he was already babbling, but Snape was so damn silent, Harry didn't know what else to do.
He squeezed Snape's fingers, still in his. "All right?"
Wordlessly Snape nodded, though Harry had the idea Snape would have said anything to get him to leave.
"You'll come?" Harry said, perfectly aware of the slight innuendo, but also perfectly willing to let it stand.
"When?" Snape said, his voice still rough. Shuffling through their schedules helped unthicken the air, so that by the time Harry stood up, it was easy enough to just give Snape's hand a tug to get him to follow. Harry didn't let go until they were at the fireplace, and only then to put his hand on Snape's upper arm. He very much wanted to be kissed goodbye. Instead he lifted up, and leaned over to the side, making his intention very clear before brushing a light kiss on one smooth cheek.
To his astonishment, Snape blushed, skin warming nearly as soon as Harry touched it.
He had that and a lot more to think about when he got back to his own place. He'd actually snogged Snape. He wasn't naïve enough to think what they'd done had been anything like making love, or even as far enough as having sex. Stripping out of his own trousers, Harry ran a hand over the wet spot on his pants. But they *had* done…something.
The knowledge came back to him at odd moments. While he was shopping in the village for food. The local matrons had long since given up introducing their sweet young daughters to that nice Mr. Potter who lived in the old cottage down the lane, though when he'd first moved here he'd been invited to every social function in the village. When he asked for fresh strawberries, he'd got a speculative look from the shopkeeper, a plump old busybody with three fair-haired daughters of her own.
He thought of Snape's hand, heavy on his cock when he took baths in the evening, lying back on his old tub.
He thought about it as he went over the neat row of all ten symbols he'd translated. He still had no idea what the alchemical formula was, but he was proud to have figured out all of the symbols.
He thought about what they'd done whenever he pushed his cock into his own hand, replaying the scene in his mind, coming too fast every time.
When the night of their dinner arrived, Harry nearly screamed with impatience as the clock over the mantel showed Snape five minutes late. He was just reaching for the snorkack horn on the mantel, to go find the cowardly bugger, when a knock sounded at the front door.
"I thought you weren't coming," Harry said as he answered the door, smiling at the sight of Snape.
"I Apparated outside the village and walked through," Snape explained, as Harry ushered him inside. "I got waylaid by a shopkeeper."
Harry laughed. "Heavyset woman?"
"Fat," Snape rebutted, handing Harry his coat. He was wearing his usual wizarding attire, but had sense enough not to wear robes.
"You'll have to go back that way, then," Harry said, hanging it on a dragon tail-shaped peg on the back of the door. "Otherwise she'll think you spent the night." It was out before he realized it. He rushed to fill the expected awkwardness. "The village is lovely, isn't it?"
"It's very isolated," Snape said, following him into the kitchen. Harry pushed down absently on the hovering sofa as they passed.
Shrugging Harry reached up into the cupboard. "I like things quiet." Harry, used to standing on tiptoe to reach things, thumped back to the balls of his feet when Snape reached over his head and pulled out the plates he'd been reaching for. Harry laughed at Snape's bemused expression when he saw the design on the plate. "Best use another one."
"This is--" Snape began, staring at the bile green plate as the design on it began to pulse.
"Hideous, I know. That's the worst of them though." He took the plate beneath the green one, a turquoise one with a different illustration, and showed it to Snape. "See, this one's better."
Though hideous, the green plate held Snape's attention. "Where did you get such a thing?" He took another look at it and shuddered.
Harry sighed. "Gift from the children's ward at St. Mungo's." He turned the turquoise one over to show Snape the bottom. It was inscribed "Thanks, Harry Potter" and encircled by a dozen childish signatures. He looked over at the plate Snape was holding up like a mirror. "The kids drew them, though I think the matron charmed them to--" He put a hand over his mouth and looked away, feeling his stomach churn. "M-move." He plucked the ugly green one out of Snape's hand, and slid it back inside the cupboard. "I don't use that one much. This one's okay--sort of like a village at sunset." He took down the yellow one. "And this one's a broomstick, I think."
Harry could tell Snape was unimpressed by the child's artistic talent. "Hope you like, erm--" He fumbled in his pocket for his wand to unseal the crockery with their dinner. He realized Snape was watching with some interest as Harry identified their dinner.
He sniffed. "Beef Stroganoff. I think." Snape's expression clearly demanded an explanation. "I get meals delivered in. Dob-er, I mean this friend, rather insists on it." He brightened. "I made the pudding though." He began spreading out their dinner. "Oh, and don't put more vegetables on your plate than you can eat or the plates won't let you leave until you finish them all."
"Won't let me--" Snape said, putting back a spoonful of peas.
Harry gave a mock shudder. "Trust me, you don't want to know." All through dinner Harry tried not to think of how he hoped the evening would turn out. And he wasn't thinking of it at all as they were stacking the now-clean dishes away, Snape stepping up behind him to put the plates up on the high shelf in the cupboard. One arm reached over his head with a clank of the plates, sleeve brushing Harry's hair. A soft, pleasurable shudder went through him and he turned, though the space between Snape's body and the counter was small. There was a long moment where their gazes locked, the small leap of desire he saw in Snape's probably echoed in his own.
This breathless moment, heads bending, arms adjusting, mouths brushing, then moving over each other, should have been awkward, but the soft ripples of pleasure seemed to carry away any awkwardness. Their bodies were pressed together, full length for the first time, but fitting somehow. His hands had found their way around Snape's neck. He'd never had a lover with hair this long, and it was surprisingly erotic to feel the soft fluff along his arms.
Snape's mouth trailed along his neck until Harry made a needy noise, then he found his mouth covered again, sucking up the noise and any others Harry felt building just beyond his throat. Strong hands slid down his back, slipping between his arse and the unyielding countertop, pulling them closer.
He opened his mouth to say something, but forgot what it was when Snape kissed it away, turning Harry so that once again his hand could trace over the firming bulge in his trousers.
Fingers worked the fastenings of his fly, slipped inside the band of his pants, to close around his cock. Harry gasped and Snape lifted his head again. "Shh," he said.
"I want--" Harry began, determined to reciprocate tonight.
"No talking," Snape said, sucking on his lower lip to make it impossible.
Harry used the language he had available--that of touch--to brush kisses inside Snape's mouth, to stroke along the heavy weave of his trousers. He wanted to see that cock, to touch it the way Snape was touching him. Wanted to feel it sliding inside him. He nearly growled with impatience, here against his own countertop when he had a perfectly good, if hideously quilt-covered bed, in the other room.
There was no reason he couldn't do exactly what Snape was doing, though his fingers fumbled more than Snape's had. Snape seemed to realize what he wanted, for he paused, then angled his hips to give Harry access--access Harry very much wanted.
Hot and heavy, Snape's cock surged into his hand. Harry knew at once he was going to like having sex with Snape very much. From the rich masculine scent to the way they moved together, presaging more horizontal pursuits.
Harry had never been so thoroughly seduced by any hand save his own. It was as if Snape had always known how to make him come hard and fast and had just been waiting for a chance to prove it. He proved it much faster than Harry wanted, wanting time to touch and kiss and explore. Instead he was shaking like a teenager, still being devoured by Snape's mouth.
Snape didn't release him, still moving against Harry's hand, seeking his own pleasure as much as Harry was giving it. It didn't take much more, and Harry was gratified for that at least. Snape came with a near silent inhalation of breath, and barely a spare movement. Only then did he lift his head from Harry's mouth, licked it once, then reached for his wand, cleaning them both up, before Harry had a chance to protest.
Snape inspected him as though he were a potion that had worked. "I'll go back out the way I came in, through the village," he said, tucking himself back in. Snape glanced at Harry's kitchen clock. "And at a decent hour."
Hastily Harry did up his own trousers, feeling out of sorts, despite the passion still clogging his blood. This was not the sort of sex he'd expected, this hurried business, but even that he could live with, if he could just get Snape to acknowledge that they'd *had* sex. Of a sort.
Silently they walked to Harry's front door, and Snape shrugged into his coat. Harry was at a loss about what to say, not sure where this was going, or if it had already gone. Snape opened the front door then looked down at Harry, as if deciding something.
"I'll see you again?"
Harry opened his mouth, expecting a disclaimer, some reference to the parchment and the symbols, but there was none. He nodded then shut the door once Snape was over the little stone bridge on the path, and leaned against it.
Why couldn't anything be normal with Snape?
He wrestled with his pride all week. Part of him wanted to just owl the prickly bastard and tell him he wasn't interested in whatever game he was playing. But part of him, and Harry had to admit it was the bit tied into his libido, wanted to see where this was going. Because he thought it could be really good, even if it had just been okay so far. But okay with Snape sounded more interesting now that he'd tried it.
The owl arrived just after he'd got back from an assignment. He was dirty and tired, and out of sorts from having no privacy to think about how nice Snape's hand had felt on his cock.
"There is a dinner for the staff, celebrating the holiday," it began, though Harry had forgot all about the Easter holiday. "Please come if your schedule allows."
Well, Harry wasn't much on the hearts and flowers stuff either, but this sounded like a public date, so he didn't quibble at the unromantic wording. He owled back immediately and accepted. He took a page out of Snape's book and Apparated into the village and walked the way to the school, figuring if the Floo wards would accept him, the front door ones would as well.
He was only running a little late when he pushed open the door to the Great Hall. A round table had been set up in place of the usual house and head tables, for the staff that had stayed over the spring holiday. Every head turned in his direction, including Snape's. He noticed that a place had been saved for him beside Snape.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, then leaned down and brushed a kiss on Snape's cheek before he sat. Then realized every fork had halted in mid-air. Every mouth that had been opened had dropped--some rather distastefully full of food.
"You didn't tell them, did you?" he said, looking around. His former head of house looked as if she'd caught a first year out of bed.
"I told them you were coming for dinner," Snape said, handing him a napkin, which Harry unfolded absently.
"You didn't tell them *anything*?" Harry said, thinking perhaps he should have tried for sotto voce, since even Professor Flitwick was eyeing him over the salad.
Snape gave Harry a bewildered look. "Why start now?"
Despite the rocky beginning, Harry enjoyed dinner. He'd sat beside Snape enough times in various pubs around the countyside not to be overly affected by the casual brush of their legs under the table, but now that he knew where the evening could lead, it lent an air of expectation to the entire meal. He caught up with professors he'd known, and met those he didn't, so that by the time they were walking down the dungeons stairs, Harry was feeling quite nostalgic for his time here as a student. Then he stole a glance at the man beside him and thought maybe nostalgia was overrated.
There was something about deliberately walking into a person's room that was different than Flooing into it in anger as he'd done the other times. He sank down on the sofa, still feeling nervous when he realized Snape hadn't sat down, hadn't even asked Harry to. The feeling of Snape hovering over him always gave him unpleasant associations with Potions class, so Harry popped back up to his feet.
Which wasn't right either because now they were standing too close, and he got the feeling Snape knew as little where to look as he did.
Finally an exasperated, "Sit down, Potter," sent him sinking back down, only this time Snape sat too, more primly, nearly on the edge of the lounge, and there was nowhere to look except at each other.
Harry knew a way, better than any words ever spoken, to communicate his desire. He stretched back on the couch, opening his body, spreading his knees, legs loose. He lifted his chin slightly, exposing his throat.
Silent invitation.
There were times Harry wished he could be outside his body, watching. Just now he wished he could see the way Snape's eyes glittered as though lit inwardly by the hottest potion ever brewed. Their surfaces were black, but oh, beneath them was that roiling effect that Harry wanted to watch, even as Snape was leaning in, sliding one hand over Harry's hipbone, before capturing his mouth.
He wished he could see whether it looked like he was wrapped in a black blanket, as the drape of Snape's body covered his, from the brush of black hair over his shoulder to the long edges of his robes.
Harry slid his arms up, holding on, and anchoring himself. This way he could angle his hips better and groaned slightly when his cock brushed the leg that had moved to connect them further.
"Shh," Snape said, a quiet murmur into his mouth.
A moan of pleasure sank back into his chest. The silence made the small movements they made against each other seem very loud. The rustle of fabric as it moved, the damp sucks of their kisses, even the swish of Snape's hair as his head moved, lips tracing along his jaw and into the soft places of his neck.
The hand near his waist slid down, teasing along his thigh before sliding in between. Harry nearly held his breath as the zip came down. Nearly, because he needed more oxygen to his brain if he was going to get through this without passing out from sheer pleasure. Snape's fingers moved over the shape of his cock, first through his trousers, then slipping into his fly.
Harry surged into the warm fingers. "Yes," he hissed, only to have Snape's hand pull away as if stung. Yes, his fuzzy brain reminded him, you need to be quiet, but he didn't quite remember why. Several breaths passed before the hand lowered again, the heel of Snape's hand rubbing Harry's cock slowly, as if deciding where to go next.
Harry knew where he wanted him to go next and dragged one hand down to cover Snape's. "Please," he said, keeping his voice low.
But it was not enough. "Shh," Snape said again, pulling his hand away and wrapping it around Harry's throat as he lowered his mouth for another kiss. Harry changed tactics, reaching up to stroke Snape, who must be painfully erect inside the tightly buttoned black trousers to judge from the hardness that met his hand.
As soon as Snape realized what he was doing, he shifted slightly, and Harry could hear the slight pop of the sofa springs beneath them. Better, but still too many clothes in the way.
"Let me--" he began, only to have Snape swallow the words again, lips closing almost desperately over Harry's. Letting his fingers trace down the row of buttons, Harry fumbled with the topmost one, finally getting it undone, letting out a small triumphant noise as it slid open.
The pressure on his mouth increased, and Snape moved away from his hand. Harry felt blindly for the next button. Above him Snape was moving restlessly and a low prickle of unease went down Harry's spine. He slid out from beneath the almost bruising kiss.
"No, wait, I want to--" he began, only to have Snape shove away from him.
"Be quiet, man, or they'll hear you!"
They?
Harry sat up. Snape's eyes were wild, unfocused, but clearing, even as Harry watched. A shudder seemed to go through him as he shook his head, opening his mouth as though to speak.
But he didn't speak. He was doing up his single loose button and standing before Harry realized it. Snape turned away. "You should go." From his position on the couch, Harry saw Snape reach into one pocket and pull out something. A pause while he looked at it, then a click. The pocket watch then.
He should have felt foolish, lying there on the lounge with his trousers undone, but all he could focus on was that Snape wanted him to leave, wanted him because--
Be quiet, man, or they'll hear you.
Harry did himself up and stood, coming round behind Snape's very straight back. His hands hovered over Snape's shoulders before resting on them very lightly. Snape flinched, but didn't pull away.
There was a long silence. For the first time Harry realized how utterly quiet Snape's rooms must be, insulated by stone.
"I'll go," he said, after the silence had started to thicken again. He waited to see if Snape would say anything, but he just nodded. Harry tugged at the heavy coat, turning him around, until they were facing. He wanted to ask what the hell had just happened, who the hell 'they' were, where Snape had gone in that unguarded instant, but he swallowed his questions down.
"But I'll be back," he said, hoping he was not imagining the slight relief in the black eyes. "All right?"
It took a moment, but Snape nodded again. A strand of the dark hair was at odds with his cheek, and Harry pushed it back, feeling it slide through his fingers.
"I can't--" Snape began, not looking at Harry, but at his own hair in Harry's fingers. "All right," he said instead, the customary mask slipping into place.
Harry had a lot to think about on his way home. He walked back the way he had come, rather enjoying the looming menace of the Forbidden Forest by night. The soft rustling of the trees was more a comfort than a threat, and the soft cries from within, of hunting creatures, and night birds. He wondered idly if spiders made much noise.
It wasn't hard to guess, given Snape's past, exactly who 'they' were.
If it had been anybody else, Harry would probably be walking down this path for the last time. He'd avoided difficult emotional entanglements, precisely because he had a prickly bit of a past himself. Snape, though--
Harry stopped at the rise that led to the village, staring back at the night-lit castle.
It would be difficult. Harry let a little chuckle out, that sounded very loud in the darkness. What about Snape wasn't difficult?
He gave himself a few days to let the idea simmer. He knew if he went any further along this path with Snape he might be letting himself in for disappointment. Harry's chest did a tight little clench at that.
Could he accept the limitations the incident--whatever it was--in Snape's past might put on them? There was no getting around it now, their few hurried fumbles had been a bit off, leaving Harry, and probably Snape as well, wanting more.
Would more be worth it?
The list in Harry's head started out physical. The unexpected broadness of Snape's shoulders. The tucked-in compactness of his hips. The curve of his arse, not very rounded, but what curve there was fit perfectly in Harry's hand. Qualities Harry appreciated now, that he had not even been aware of as a student.
The list shifted gradually to subtler things. The smile that started out as a smirk but always ended up somehow deeper, when genuine amusement touched the black eyes. The references to the students still in his charge that had led Harry to believe he had genuine affection for them. The fierce intellect at play when they'd been pouring over the parchment, grabbing the pen out of each other's hand to make notes.
Harry threw himself onto his sofa without pushing it down first and felt it thud heavily onto the floor, jarring his jaw. He'd already admitted to himself he liked Snape, or maybe respected him. He'd always known Snape had a prickly exterior. Trust Snape to be just as thorny inside.
He looked over at his mantle clock, a non-magical one that actually told the time. Gone ten. It was a sudden decision, but Harry wasn't a deep thinker, and wasn't about to start now. He grabbed some Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.
"Snape's quarters."
The sitting room was empty, and Harry made a face, uncertain what to do, until a noise sent him turning around. Snape stood in the door of the bathroom, still dressed, but looking at Harry as though he were an escaped convict.
Snape looked like he was about to speak, when Harry put one finger to his lips. Snape frowned as Harry crossed the room and took one hand, leading him over to the chair, pushing him down lightly. Harry sank down to the floor, in the opening between Snape's legs, letting the flat part of his hands rub up the lean thighs.
Harry used his lips first, through the fabric, just stroking. Letting his cheek rub over the front of Snape's trousers, he felt the swelling hardness beneath, then began using his fingers to explore.
He didn't look up until he was ready to undo the buttons, and was nearly undone himself by the sight of Snape watching him. That look nearly made Harry say let's bugger this teasing and get horizontal quickly.
If it had been anybody else, Harry would have. But he was determined to prove that he could overcome whatever demons had plagued Snape so far in their encounters. So, instead, he slid open the row of buttons and spread the placket wide and bent his face to see what lay beneath.
Having a man's cock in your hand was not at all like having it so close up. Close enough to smell, to lick, to see the wetness welling up from its depths. Harry took his time before actually wrapping his lips around it, letting the thick head settle against his tongue before sliding down.
Fingers speared into his hair, stroking, pulling, letting him know he was doing all right. Harry needed neither words nor fingers to tell him so. The heated pulse that raced up Snape's prick was enough to tell him. Or the sleek hardness beneath his mouth, or the shifting balls beneath the palm of his hand.
Harry knew the subtle signals, knew even that Snape was letting him know that it was all right to pull back if he wanted. Harry kept going until Snape arched into his mouth, cock pulsing, whole body straining toward Harry's, fingers tightening so hard in his hair that it hurt but Harry hung on.
He'd known Snape wouldn't make a sound when he came. Harry held back too, though he wanted to shout in triumph, wanted to hear his own name shouted in a voice like dark red wine poured through silk.
The only thing he heard was the labored sound of lungs, pulling in harshly, sounds just out of synch enough to know that two sets of lungs made them. Harry pulled back, and stroked the softening cock before tucking it almost primly into Snape's plain underpants. He concentrated on the buttons before looking up, feeling quite pleased with himself. Snape looked a bit dazed, and Harry once more held back that shout of triumph.
Getting to his feet, still in the open wedge of Snape's long legs, Harry leaned over for a quick kiss, not lingering. If he did, all his good work might be wasted. This was about controlling himself. When he straightened, Snape was looking more himself, trailing one finger over the obvious swelling in Harry's trousers, looking up enquiringly. Harry shook his head.
Then he was beside the chair, hands together as Harry stood, as Snape's head rested on Harry's hip. A quick squeeze of his hand, and Harry was free. He sidled over for another quick kiss, then back into the Floo for home.
Once in his own bedroom he yanked down his trousers as fast as he could and came in about a dozen strokes, silently, until it was done and then let out a soft, "Severus," before crawling into bed and sleeping more soundly than he could ever remember.
In the village that week, he shopped for fresh peaches and beat the cream himself for dinner on Saturday. He'd been unsure Snape would respond to the owl he'd sent after his impromptu visit to the school, but Snape's prim response had arrived in time for Harry to warn Dobby that he'd be having company.
They sorted out the dishes like they'd been doing it for years, Snape avoiding the bile green plate while Harry took the tray out of the warmer. "Let's see what Dob--er, my friend has whipped up."
Snape finished with the silverware and looked over at Harry. "Do you think I mind that you're still friends with that ridiculous house-elf?"
Harry looked around for his mitt and found it thrust into his hand by Snape. "Well, I never meant for him to become my personal chef," Harry admitted. "It started with a tea tray when I first moved in here and now I can't tell him no without hurting his feelings." The smell of breaded chops filled the kitchen. "And Dobby has very big feelings." He hung the mitt back on the peg by the stove. "He still lets me fix my own breakfast," he said, then froze. To anybody else that would have sounded like a come on. He realized Snape had gone very still. It must sound like an invitation to Snape too.
Snape rattled the plates in the cupboard slightly as he pulled them out. Harry was satisfied when Snape made appropriately appreciative noises over the peaches and cream, though he was trying to think of a reason to prolong the evening that didn't include sex, when Snape pulled out the much-scribbled upon parchment.
"I thought we might have another go at this," he said, as if he too wanted to linger. It had been a couple of weeks since Harry had seen the formula so he bent over the table they'd cleared together and studied it anew.
"I did have a thought on the placement of the symbols," Harry said, tracing a finger up the zigzag line of Parseltongue symbols that cleaved the parchment. "I mean, why place them like this unless it means something?" He looked up to see if Snape was following, and realized their chairs were very close together. Snape's face looked excited by the idea so Harry went on. "What if--" He angled the parchment around so they could both see it as he dragged his finger back up the line of symbols. "What if this line is supposed to represent the way a snake would read it?"
"Snakes do not read, Potter," Snape said, sounding exasperated, as though ashamed of his earlier excitement over Harry's theory.
"Well, I *know* that," Harry said, resisting the urge to snatch the parchment back. "I'm just saying it could be a clue about how to read them." He angled his fingers like a snake's head and wound them sinuously back up the parchment, skipping every other one, then making a turn and winding his hand back down.
"Do that again," Snape said, and Harry complied. "So if read in that direction skipping every other one, they say--" He fumbled in his breast pocket for a pen, but came up empty.
Harry stood up and pulled one out of a drawer. It wasn't until he'd handed it to Snape that he realized it said, "Stolen from #4 Privet Dr." on one side and "Eat at the Leaky Cauldron; Harry Potter does" on the other. Old Tom gave him one every time he stopped by.
"Famine," Snape said, one finger on the bottom symbol.
"Or hardship," Harry said, leaning over Snape's shoulder as he wrote.
Snape's finger skipped over to the next symbol in the serpentine line. "Then purity."
"Leave it to a Slytherin to be worried about purity during a famine," Harry said, figuring the glare would be worth it.
Snape was too keen on his project and forewent the glare in favor of the next symbol. "Male." That had been one of the first ones Harry had translated and had no alternate meaning. "And drive or--" A line appeared between his brows. "Or compulsion."
"A biological drive," Harry added, "like the urge to mate."
Snape's finger tapped the next symbol with the pen. "This is the one for path, but we think it could be referring to the alchemical formula itself." Harry nodded, as Snape started back down the zigzag line. "Then the one that could be transubstantiate or transmutate." He frowned again but continued with the list. "Liquid form."
"Snakes have no reason for a word like that." Now Harry was frowning too. "It's a feeling like an air pocket, only wet." He shook his head, uncertain how to explain that Parseltongue was felt as much as pronounced. Maybe more so.
"Very well." Snape crossed out 'liquid form' and wrote in 'air pocket' with a question mark. His finger smudged over the next symbol. "Mate," he read off, adding it to the numbered list.
"Like husband, not friend," Harry put in.
"Or wife," Snape added, moving to the next symbol.
Harry shook his head. "No, wife is different. More esses. Definitely husband."
Snape drew a line through mate and wrote in husband. "Then, er--" The pen paused over the paper.
"Making baby snakes," Harry said with a grin, using the pub-safe euphemism they'd developed for what the symbol really meant.
Snape made that noise that always left Harry thinking Snape wasn't absolutely sure he wasn't pulling his leg on that one. Without looking up he filled in the final symbol. "Eggling. You're sure about that one?"
Harry nodded. That one had been very clear. "So we've got times of hardship, a male snake, a need for purity, coupled with a biological urge. Use this alchemy, make an air pocket, mate with another male snake, and produce baby snakes." He snorted. "I can't believe we wasted all this time on something everybody knows." He looked over but Snape wasn't looking disgusted. He was looking pale. Paler.
"Everybody knows?" Snape said, his eyes all gone black. "I need a drink."
"Haven't got much--" Harry said, then he took a closer look at Snape. "Look, everybody knows some snake species can reproduce asexually." He stood up, trying to remember where he'd put the liquor. Snape looked like he really needed it. "The only trouble is, unless more snakes join in, the gene pool gets corrupted pretty quickly. Looks like some bloke's figured a way around that, though why anyone would waste their time on--"
"Harry, the parchment isn't talking about snakes. It's talking about Slytherins."
Harry went ashen. "I need a drink." Inspiration struck, and he rooted around in the cupboard beneath the sink. Back behind the cleaning supplies was a sealed bottle of pumpkin brandy. "All I've got," he said, holding it up triumphantly. He got the feeling Snape had been looking at his arse as he bent over.
"Anything." Snape looked down at the paper with the translated symbols and pushed it away distastefully.
The brandy was a gift from the Brandeis Broomstick Testing Lab, and had been inscribed, "To Harry Potter, with thanks, for killing You-Know-Who." Looking at it, Harry suddenly remembered why he'd banished the bottle under the sink. The 'oh's' in You and Who had been charmed to look like slitted red eyes, eyes that moved. Hurriedly he turned the bottle around and uncorked it.
He poured them each a tumbler full then sat back down, the bottle between them, angled so Harry couldn't see the paper any longer either.
"So this formula is one for getting blokes--"
"Pregnant, yes," Snape said, then took a long drink, nearly draining the tumbler. Harry refilled it before trying his own. Not bad. Looks like Brandeis Broomsticks knew a thing or two about brandy.
"But why?"
Snape eyed the deep amber liquid thoughtfully. "I can only speculate, but there have been times when Slytherin house was not as well loved as it is today."
Harry gave that the snort it deserved. "So, you think Slytherins would rather get other blokes--get them--" It was too horrible. He couldn't say it. "Than do things the normal way with, say a Hufflepuff?"
A delicate shudder went through Snape. He tapped the side of his glass with one finger. "Potter, that goes without saying. If there were Ravenclaws about, or even, in a pinch, Gryffindors, but no self respecting Slytherin would mate with a Hufflepuff, biological disaster or no. He took another drink. "Besides alchemy is all about turning one thing into another."
"Do you reckon it works?" Harry asked.
"I, for one, am not going to test it." He drained his glass and pulled out the pocket watch. "I should go," he said, giving it the barest glance.
Harry slid his fingers over Snape's hand before he could put the watch away. The pulse beneath his fingers felt very fast. "What's on that thing?"
"It's a watch," Snape said, "what do you think is on it?" He turned it over. The Slytherin crest decorated the back in raised silver.
"It's a really nice one," Harry said, thumb rubbing over Snape's palm.
"A gift from your year." For once Snape's smile held no trace of a smirk.
"Let me see," Harry coaxed, thumb on the clasp, on top of Snape's.
Obligingly Snape flipped open the watch. "What--what is that?" Harry asked, peering at the face.
"Potion shorthand," Snape explained. He frowned at the collection of little squiggles. "For example, if I have a first year class to teach, the symbols show me a first year potion."
Harry was careful not to smudge the crystal. Some of the symbols looked vaguely familiar from class. "What does it say now?"
Snape closed the watch quickly. "Time to go." He started to put the watch away, but Harry held onto his arm before he could rise.
"No!" he said, thinking furiously. "Have another drink." Snape looked like he wanted to protest, but hadn't quite worked up to it, so Harry poured them another round. The bottle was over halfway empty, but the stuff wasn't very potent. Harry's head was still quite clear.
Even though Harry had turned the bottle around, Snape must have seen the inscription, which moved as the red eyes followed their every drink. "Another gift as thanks from a grateful nation?"
Harry couldn't tell from Snape's tone if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He settled for an off-handed laugh. "Well, I couldn't exactly turn it down--"
"Couldn't you? England and the world was ready to shower you with anything you wanted for killing the Dark Lord." Snape cut in, and Harry felt the verbal footing grow more rocky. He was searching for a reply when Snape sat back in the chair. "You turned down grand houses, high ranking positions, pensions. A new broomstick a day for the rest of your life." He picked up the bottle and looked disdainfully at the inscription. "Yet you accept a bottle of second rate brandy." He put the bottle down with a solid thump.
"I knew you'd be ruined by fame. A year after you left school, two at the most and you'd be in the Ministry's pocket. Their pretty hero. Who knew what depths you would sink to?" He slid the bottle round and round so that the shifting eyes went crossed trying to keep up.
"Only you didn't."
"I didn't deserve those things," Harry said. "What would anybody *do* with a new broomstick every day?"
"You would've never had to work again," Snape said, as if Harry hadn't spoken.
"I like to work," Harry said defensively. He leaned forward. "Besides--"
Snape cut him off again. By kissing him. Harry was so surprised he wrapped both hands around Snape's skull and hung on. Their knees bumped. One of Snape's hands found its way to Harry's back, supporting him or pulling him close. Harry didn't care.
He felt a happy little moan rising out of his throat when Snape's tongue dragged across the roof of his mouth. Harry squashed it down. He couldn't help the breathy noises he was making. Then Snape was hauling him to his feet, and Harry thought for just a moment even the breathy noises had been too much.
"Let's go," Snape said, in a growl that would've awakened a very primitive response in Harry if it hadn't already been brought roaring to life as soon as Snape's tongue slid into his mouth.
"Come on," Harry said, guiding them down the short corridor to his bedroom. Fingers were already plucking at his shirt before he got the door open. The room was dark, the open door casting an arrow-shaped slice of light toward the bed.
"You'll have to--" Harry began, soothing his hands down Snape's back when he went rigid, "find a way to keep me quiet." Snape's body relaxed enough so they could cross the short space to the bed.
"Only one way to do that," Snape said, voice low.
Harry could think of several, but he liked the one Snape chose, sealing their mouths together while Harry dragged them both down onto the bed. Snape had managed to get Harry's shirt open, but not off when Harry pushed his hands down to his trousers. If it had been anybody else, he'd have wanted something slower, full of teasing kisses and exploring hands. But he'd felt poised between two different Snapes for too long to question this sudden burst of passion.
He felt his trousers sliding off his legs, suddenly absurdly grateful he'd worn decent underpants. One of Snape's hands was already cupping him while the other dealt with the tangle of trousers. Harry couldn't tell if he was just anxious to touch Harry or just checking to see if he was aroused.
Harry decided to use the same litmus test, and got a low intake of breath and a handful of cloth-covered cock. A gratifyingly hard handful. He pulled Snape toward him, using motion instead of words to show him what he wanted. Snape caught on quickly. Even in the scant light, Harry could see the glittering anticipation in his eyes.
There was no noise but the rustle of bedsprings while Harry palmed the lotion out of his nightstand. Another flurry of trouser noises, and he was sliding beneath Snape, pulling him close with knees and ankles. He thought he might have one sock on still, but couldn't tell. He rubbed the foot in question along Snape's bottom.
Yeah, one sock.
He wrestled down Snape's pants, letting the full cock slide over his palm. Snape's kisses took on a new urgency, one that ignited Harry's blood as well. Both their hands were covered in lotion by the time Harry rolled back onto the bed, lifting his knees in silent invitation.
A satisfied noise hovered just at the base of his throat while the thick hardness sliced into him. Harry managed to hold it in until their bodies synched enough for Snape to drop onto Harry's chest, gathering his shirt by fistfuls, like reins. His mouth moved over Harry's in something too unformed to be called a kiss, even when each stroke of his body summoned another stroke of tongue.
Buttons pressed into his chest and the sock had slipped down around his ankle. A shirt tailed-wrapped hand fisted around his cock, stroking him faster than their bodies were moving. But the counterpoint motion sent Harry rutting against Snape, whole body curling inward, clinging with single-socked foot, and knees and hands that dug furrows in the back above him.
The desperate noise swirled around in his lungs until just the echo of it hissed out of his lips. Snape's mouth came down hard, swallowing the shout as Harry arched into Snape, ruining someone's shirt.
The strokes slowed down, just as Snape slid his hands up into Harry's shoulder, one hand slippery with come. He had to break the seal on his mouth, but Harry was beyond words now.
It took only a few hard thrusts, with Harry still beckoning him deeper with his body until Snape gave a long, silent shudder and pressed Harry down into the bed.
Harry didn't let go. He could see the light from the hall cutting a wedge shape across Snape's back, still clothed from the waist up. When he heard Snape's breathing start to level off, he dragged the socked foot up the back of his calf. Snape lifted his head. There was just enough light to see his face. Harry smiled.
The wet shirttail trailed away as Snape lifted. Definitely Harry's then, though he didn't regret the ruined shirt.
"Are you all right?" Snape said. Harry nodded, too uncertain to speak. Instead he began undoing the buttons of Snape's white shirt. "What are you doing?"
Harry squinted in the hardly there light. "You can't sleep in all these clothes you're sort of wearing," he said, then realized with a slow sinking in his chest that Snape had no intention of staying. Indignation rose up, though he let it out as a challenging gleam in his eye. For just a moment he thought he might have a fight on his hands, and braced himself to say that despite their current joined at the arse-ness, Harry wasn't the sort one shagged and left. Not if they expected to be asked back. It wasn't the best orgasm he'd ever had, but it was the best one he'd had with Snape, and he fully expected they'd improve.
Then, without a word, Snape separated their bodies, and added to Harry's efforts to actually get their clothes off instead of just loose. Harry threw the single sock into the pile on the floor. He yanked down the quilt before Snape could see how ridiculous it was, then, naked, went out and turned out the light. He found his way back to the bed in the dark and crawled up beside Snape.
He could tell Snape wasn't all together comfortable, but Harry was comfortable enough for both of them, and slid as close as possible, letting one leg drape over his. It felt much nicer without the sock on. Gradually, in the silence, the body beside his relaxed. And when one hand reached out to grope the quilt, Harry deliberately misunderstood, and slid his fingers into Snape's.
"Are *you* all right?" he asked once his palm settled against Snape's.
"Yes," Snape said, too quickly.
"So, you can talk after sex, just not during?" Beside him, Snape tensed up instantly, and pulled his hand free of Harry's, as though shaking off a spider web. Harry brought his bare foot up one long shin, knee resting in the shallow dip of one hip. Not letting go. Not being pushed away.
"Let's talk about something else, then," Harry said. He wanted the hand back, and let his own roam over Snape's chest, then, reading his body like Braille, down the curve of his shoulder until he slid his hand comfortably back into Snape's. "Now that we've got this hideous secret between us--the parchment, I mean," he added in case Snape thought he was referring to the fact that they'd just had sex. "I think you should tell me more about it."
"What would you like to know?" Snape asked, voice gratifyingly unsuspicious.
"Where did you get it?" Harry asked. Snape had always avoided mentioning the provenance.
For the first time Snape's voice sounded relaxed. "Approval for improvements to the Slytherin common room came through, so I arranged to have the sofa sent out to be recovered. The parchment was glued to the bottom."
"I thought you said it was three hundred years old," Harry said.
He felt Snape shrug. "It's an old sofa."
"So, you looked at this old parchment and thought of me--" Harry began, only to hear an indelicate noise from Snape's throat.
"That was a year ago. I spent some time trying to translate the symbols myself."
"So, you realized you couldn't do it yourself, and *then* you thought of me."
"No, first I developed a specialized translation potion, made an exact copy of the parchment, immersed it in the potion. All that came out were a lot of hissing sounds. Then I thought of you."
Harry shrugged, and slid his hand out of Snape's, unable to resist the urge to roam over the pale plane of his chest. Snape watched until Harry's hand dragged beneath the covers. One hand followed it, closing over Harry's hand.
"I can't."
"Oh, I know," Harry said. "I just thought I might, um, clean you up a bit." He paused, waiting for the verdict, knowing perfectly well Snape thought he was probably talking about getting a flannel. Only when the nod came Harry slid beneath the quilt himself. After the initial muffled yelp, he heard no more. The 'I can't' quickly became, 'oh lord, I just might' in the language of penises before Harry scrambled out of the covers and back up to the pillow.
"So, about this parchment--" Harry went on with a smirk. Snape's head was sprawled back on the pillow, fingers clutching the quilt like a wand. Even in the dim light he could see the slow gleam as Snape opened his eyes.
"I don't mind doing my share," Snape said. Harry was about to ask, when Snape went on. "Of clean up."
With a flourish, Harry swept back the covers. "Not a word, I promise," he said as Snape crawled under them. One thing he had to admit about people who worked around dangerous substances--like Potions ingredients--they were *very* thorough about clean up.
"I think we should burn it," Snape said, rejoining him on the pillow, just as Harry felt his eyes start to go off on their own in the back of his head.
"Wha--?" He tried to do that gleaming eyes thing Snape had down cold but settled for shoving the covers over instead. "I think I might have missed a spot," he said, then repositioned himself in the bed, feet occupying the space where his head had just been. "I'll just lay like this in case you missed a spot as well."
He was fairly sure neither of them had missed *any* spots by the time he wiggled back up to the head of the bed, to tuck himself sleepily beside Snape. "We'll talk in the morning," he said, head fitting into the crook of Snape's arm.
"We'll do no such thing," Snape said, but his voice was sleepy too.
There was sun slanting in the heavy curtains by the time Harry woke. The covers had slipped down around his waist, though Snape was holding onto the quilt so that it was closer to his chest. Harry grimaced to see that his fingers were fisted in the scene from Harry's life where he and Ron were flying Mr. Weasley's car to Hogwarts. There was no way to disengage the grip so Harry turned onto his side and watched Snape sleep.
Which was, Harry decided after about ninety seconds, about the most boring thing ever. He knew he could probably use a shower--okay, definitely use one--but he didn't want Snape to wake up and feel disheveled, even though Harry's prick liked the idea of that. In fact, right now, Harry's prick was liking just about any idea associated with Snape. He was just deciding whether the other man would appreciate being woken up to try some of them, when the hand gripping the quilt slid loose, and the attached arm draped over Snape's face covering his eyes.
"I'm not a morning person," came the deep voice from beneath the arm.
"Yeah, I figured," Harry replied.
"So, whatever atrocious activity you're contemplating will have to wait."
"Even this one?" Harry slid the pale arm further over Snape's eyes, leaving his mouth bare. Both their faces were rough with whiskers, but Snape's felt good against his hand when he dragged it against his jaw. "Feel like talking yet?"
The arm over his eyes jerked away. "No."
"I'm losing my touch," Harry complained, propping his head up on his elbow. "I think we need to figure out a few things."
"I hate conversations like this," Snape said, closing his eyes, and drawing up the covers again as if to go back to sleep.
"Well, we only need to have this one once," Harry said. While he watched, Snape's fingers skated uncertainly over the knot work in the quilt.
"What--?" He opened his eyes and looked down at the quilt in horror. "I've been sleeping under this thing." He swallowed hard. "All night?"
Harry felt sheepish. He really should have tried harder to get rid of it. Immediately he felt sleepy and quickly averted disaster by telling himself it wasn't so bad if you liked good knots. "It was a--"
"Gift, I know." A beat. "Am I on it?"
Harry grinned. "In two places." He pulled the spread around. "Here's where you find Ron and me after the flying car incident in second year." Even Harry had to admit the knots on the car were particularly cunning. He shifted the quilt again. "And here we both are getting our Orders of Merlin."
Snape stared at the applique patch a moment. "You turned down a palatial villa in Italy, fully staffed with a specially bred family of bilingual house-elves and you accepted this?"
"Know about that do you?" Harry asked, rubbing his unshaven chin thoughtfully.
"I was asked to be on the committee to persuade you to accept."
Harry's grin widened. "Turned them down flat?"
"Just so." He took another look at his form in applique and righted the covering so it was no longer visible. "You can't tell me you *like* this thing?"
Harry was making frantic shushing noises, putting one finger to his lips. "It's charmed. Every time I think about getting rid of it--" He felt his eyes starting to drift closed. Really, why was he talking when all he wanted to do was--
Snape grabbed him as he swayed. "Why on earth don't you have someone *else* get rid of it?" he said, when Harry's eyes fluttered again.
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't think of a reason, except that no one really came in here but him and he was used to it. He didn't want to tell Snape about the lack of traffic in his bedroom.
"So, er, to get back to matters--" He said, as Snape's expression turned wary. "Is there any sort of Silencing Charm you could use on me?"
Confusion replaced the wariness, and Snape frowned. Then he rolled onto his side in the bed, propping his head up on his elbow. "Nothing that can be, er, localized to the point we'd need." He moved in, demonstrating. "If I get too close then I'd be in the field of the charm, and unable to cast the countercharm to release you."
"Could be embarrassing."
"Exactly."
The appliquéd quilt had slipped down, leaving both their chests bare. Harry was trying to concentrate--he really was--dragging his eyes away from the smudge of hair on Snape's chest disappearing beneath the edge of the cover. "Any potions that will do the trick?"
"None that I'm aware of," Snape said with resignation.
"None then," Harry said, dragging his eyes back up, despite the advice from his prick to do otherwise. "How about some sort of anti-Sonorous spell?"
Snape seemed to be having an equal amount of difficulty focusing on the subject; his gaze seemed to be fixed on one of Harry's nipples. "The counter spell simply restores your voice to normal."
"I suppose there's always--" He paused. "Look, would you mind covering up a bit? It's awfully hard to think with--"
"Agreed," Snape said, sounding slightly breathless. They paused for a hasty round of tucking up.
"I suppose there's always Muggle methods," Harry went on, when they were both safely beneath the covers. "Ball gags and things of that sort." Instead of gleaming, Snape's eyes looked sort of glazed over. "I think I could make a lot of noise around one though." He pantomimed with two fingers in his mouth, making a sort of gurgling noise. Snape's eyes definitely looked unfocused now. The quilt had slipped down off his shoulder, leaving it bare.
"That's no good, because now you just look enticing." Harry reached up to tuck the exposed shoulder away, only to find Snape's fingers curled around his wrist. "Look," he said with sudden urgency, "Why don't you just shut me up the old fashioned way for--" Snape was sucking the inside of his wrist. "--twenty minutes--tops--and we'll figure something out later."
Snape handed Harry a pillow. Harry handed Snape the lube.
It took far less than twenty minutes. Harry's ankles were still resting on Snape's shoulders when he gave up his death bite on the pillow. There were a lot of things he wanted to say to Snape right now, but realized they were all probably foolish. There was something to be said for silence.
"Are you all right?" Snape asked, after a deep inhalation.
"You don't have to keep asking me that," Harry said. "I'm fairly flexible." To prove it, he traced a circular shape in the air with his foot, calling attention to the fact that it was draped over Snape's shoulder. "And I'm enjoying this as much as you." He ran a finger though the splash of come on his belly.
Slowly the realization sank in that Snape probably wasn't much used to talking *after* sex, either. With his other hand he reached for the nightstand, to the watch leaning against the lamp.
"In a hurry, Potter?" Snape said, voice roughened nearly to a snarl. He eased his cock out, looking at Harry's hips, not his face.
"I just wanted to see what was on your watch," Harry said, fingers sliding over the back of it. Snape's hand slid along his arm, covering his hand.
Harry followed the bare arm back up to Snape's face and smiled. There was no trace of the snarl now as Snape opened the cover. Harry squinted, then fumbled for his glasses. "What--" Even with his glasses, he couldn't quite make out what the symbols added up to. "Is that a--a blueberry?"
"It is." He brushed his lips over Harry's mouth. It was the first remotely affection gesture Snape had ever made.
"I-I could probably manage muffins from a mix," Harry said, watching Snape mouth kisses along his collarbone.
"That'll be fine." His tongue made a circle around Harry's nipple, and Harry stopped talking all together.
By the time Harry made it to the shower, he sang off key, but very loud.
He had an assignment that week, and came home on Thursday very tired. He forced himself to tidy up a bit, wondering, as he nearly always did, how a house sitting empty for three days could get *un*-tidy, but it always seemed to. There was no message from Snape, no unfamiliar owl pacing in impatience in the tiny out building he'd set aside for Hedwig and her family.
Usually he didn't mind the restless feeling he got after assignments. Somehow this time, the empty cottage seemed lonelier, as though having people in it had spoiled it. He pushed the couch down onto the floor and sat before it could drift back up. He took a lot of naps after assignments.
By Saturday he still hadn't heard from Snape. Harry couldn't decide if he was angry because he thought he'd made it *quite* clear he wasn't a one-time shag, or disappointed because Snape had decided to let whatever was happening between them go.
If it had been anybody else Harry would have spent the weekend trying to get over whoever it was. Instead he Flooed into Snape's quarters. If he'd expected him to be pacing about, bemoaning how shabbily he'd treated Harry, he was destined for disappointment. The main living area was deserted.
He was just remembering what an awfully big place Hogwarts was when he heard a noise from the slightly open doorway to his right. "Hello?" he called, pushing the door open slowly. "I called out," he lied, then, when he caught sight of Snape, composed his face to hide his smile.
Snape was wearing a set of something with two large lenses over his eyes that magnified them to look as big as owl's eyes. There was a strap, holding the contraption on, parting his hair, making it look tufted, like owl ears. Snape looked up and blinked right as Harry ran out of owl similes.
"Did we have plans?" Snape said, reaching around his head to unbuckle the eye pieces.
"Nothing specific," Harry said, coming over to the worktable that had been absorbing Snape's attention. Unsurprisingly, the translated parchment lay on top. Surprisingly, it appeared to be the original parchment, which Harry had only seen in copies. It was pinned to the worktable by a layer of glass. "You aren't actually going to--" He gulped. "*Make* this formula?"
"In the interests of science--" Snape began, setting down the magnifying contraption. "Actually, no. I'm just studying it for clues to the author."
"What have you got?" Harry leaned over the table. The writing was archaic, the language more so.
"The author was a Slytherin."
Harry waited. "That's it?"
Reluctantly Snape leaned over the table as well. "Probably a descendent of Salazar Slytherin."
"I hadn't thought about that. Guess he'd have to be." A thought struck. "Probably male too, right?"
Snape gave him one of those looks he used in class when he knew a student was guessing but had at least guessed right. Eventually Snape gave Harry the eye pieces and let him look at the writing close up to see if he could think of anything Snape might have missed. Harry was so engrossed in their endeavor that he lost track of time until Snape pulled out his watch.
"We'll have to do something about dinner," he said while Harry unbuckled the eye contraption. Really, he'd have to look into getting one for himself.
"Sure, your place or mine?"
Snape looked at him, then said, "Think your reputation can withstand dinner in the Great Hall with me?"
Harry smiled. "It isn't dinner I'm worried about."
"Oh?"
Harry took a step closer, looking around as though there were anyone to overhear and said, "It's breakfast."
The surprise on Snape's face was very gratifying.
After dinner Harry fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a plastic chain made of brightly colored links. "I thought we might try this tonight."
They'd returned to Snape's rooms, perfectly aware of the gossip that must be following them--or, since this was Hogwarts, the largest gossip factory in Britain--preceding them down the stone stairs.
"What on earth is that?" Snape asked, nearly wrinkling his nose at it, and Harry laughed.
"Well, it's a Silencing Charm on a chain, only very low level, since they use it for babies." He turned it over so Snape could see the duck embedded in a Lucite bead. "It won't hurt them, you see, no matter how many times--oof!"
Snape gave him no warning, pulling him into the kiss with a ferocity Harry had only imagined. He barely had time to get his mouth open before Snape was requesting entry, licking the slice of his mouth. Without a word, Harry opened his mouth, as Snape's arms went around him, blending their bodies together at every critical juncture.
He drew back to draw breath, not surprised at the flush of arousal on Snape's face. Snape tilted his head toward what Harry hoped was the bedroom and dove in for another kiss. Harry barely had time to nod his assent, nearly stumbling over the edge of the carpet. Snape's hands held him upright until he could get the door open.
It was dim inside, but Harry could make out the outlines of the bed. It looked bigger than his, but probably didn't have a quilt with Snape's life story on it. Snape was already pushing him toward it, fingers plucking in the dark at his shirt buttons. Harry lifted his hands to reciprocate and realized he'd dropped the plastic charm in the outer room. There was no help for it; he'd have to manage on his own.
Snape got Harry out of his clothes before Harry even had a good start on his. A kiss, less frantic, but no less enticing guided him back on the bed. Harry heard the soft rustling of layers coming off and fumbled for the pillow. It was somehow easier to be silent in the dark, as though the darkness itself had dictated this requirement.
Snape, warm and aroused, soon joined him, sliding them down into the bedclothes. Harry's leg curved around one thin hip before Snape pressed him back to the bed. Harry wiggled out from beneath the long legs, trailing kisses along Snape's neck, rolling him over, back into the bed. It was harder to see in the dark, harder to concentrate when he was also trying not to make a sound.
The sounds they *were* making seemed magnified by the darkness somehow. The restless movements of Snape's legs, the damp sound of Harry's kisses. The sharp intake of breath when Harry threw his leg over Snape's midsection, straddling him, anchoring him to the bed.
Hands were shoving him away before the harsh noise finished leaving Snape's chest. "Stop it, god, stop it." Snape shoved him aside, off him, and was gone, leaving only the sound of harsh breaths in the darkness. Harry reached out to where the sounds started, connecting with an arm, he thought, but was shaken off.
His wand was somewhere in the floor, so Harry fumbled for a light, fingers sliding over one of the old-fashioned lamps. He lit it silently and looked over. Snape was sitting hunched over his knees, arms wrapped around them, at the furthest edge of the bed. He turned his head away at the light.
"I can't," he said, as Harry settled back onto the bed.
"It's all right," Harry said, grimacing at how inadequate that sounded. Even though he was fairly certain he'd get shaken off again for his trouble, he sidled over closer, hand wavering in the air over Snape's arm.
Snape didn't move this time, and Harry came closer still. All traces of arousal had vanished from his system. For long moments they sat there, Harry's hand on Snape's arm, the only sound, the slight hiss of the gas lamp and the slowly steadying sound of Snape's breathing.
"I can't do this," Snape said, turning his head at last. "I shouldn't have tried. Not even for --"
"It really is all right," Harry said. "I was only--" He exhaled loudly. "It was stupid. I wasn't going to get on top." Beneath his fingers, Snape's arm tensed. Harry rubbed the spot to stave off being pushed away again.
"If you're going to ask me, just go ahead," Snape snapped, eyes narrowing on the sole place their bodies touched.
"I'm not going to ask," Harry said. "If that's what you're worried about, I'm never going to ask." He untangled the knot Snape had made of his fingers. "Come on, lie down, let's just get some sleep." Harry soothed over every centimeter with assertions that all they were going to do was lie down, and gradually Snape relaxed enough to stretch out rigidly on one side of the bed.
Harry doused the light, and slid in beside Snape, not expecting the fixed arms to move to cradle him. It took a moment, but one arm unbent enough so that Harry could slide beneath it. He crawled his hand over Snape's chest, letting his splayed fingers rest there in the middle. He wasn't sleepy at all but listened for signs that Snape was settling in for the night. The man's breathing remained steadily regular save for the sharp exhales as though his mind too were whirling too fast to sleep.
"A lot of people got hurt in the war," Snape said at last, voice low, barely higher than a whisper. "No sense in being a baby about it." Harry forced himself not to tense up. One index finger idly traced circles around one of Snape's nipples. Not to entice. Just letting him know he was awake. When Snape didn't speak again, Harry lay silent, thinking Snape had indeed gone to sleep.
Then, with a deep sigh, Snape turned toward Harry, catching him up in the circle of his arms, head buried in Harry's hair. Their bodies fit like this, whether vertical or horizontal, Harry's toes just brushing the tops of Snape's feet.
"There were two potions. One that could heal. The other that would kill. Swiftly. Mercifully." His hand settled on Harry's back, just above his arse. "One I carried freely, the other I hid. I was in as much danger as the rest." A slight shake of Snape's head in Harry's hair. "He was--ill used. A prisoner, though I never knew his offense. Abused in the worst sort of way by night. Healing slower every day."
Snape's chin brushed through Harry's hair. "I was so young. I didn't understand my need to offer the mercy of the killing potion. Didn't understand my own…nature until he kissed me. In that dank, horrible cell."
Harry tried to picture Snape ever being that young, and drew on his memories from Occlumency lessons.
"I plotted ways to help him escape. But there was no escape, save the potion, which he refused, despite the fact that they called for him night after night."
This was a Snape Harry could not picture. Vulnerable. Merciful. In the throes of youthful passion.
"I didn't understand how he could--endure what he did--what they did to him, then want to--to be with me when I came by with the healing potion. We had to be quiet. So quiet." Snape's voice trailed off. He rubbed his cheek in Harry's hair again, taking a deep breath. "We were caught, of course. He was killed--and not swiftly." Another long inhalation. "The next night I was called in his place. I went to Dumbledore the next morning."
A shudder ran through Harry though he was disciplined enough not to let it out. He'd heard of the 'entertainments' the Death Eaters enacted with prisoners. His heart broke a little that Snape had been victimized.
"I got over it, over course. Moved on." Harry did not bother to refute this obvious lie. "But I can't--" A frustrated noise. "I've tried, you see." Snape pulled his head back from Harry's head. "I don't indulge in this sort of thing anymore. I shouldn't have even tried." Harry's fingers tightened, in case Snape had any thought of pushing him away--as though there were anything he could do about it in case Snape really wanted to.
Harry deliberately let his fingers loosen, and smooth over the no-doubt stricken flesh. "Sometimes I feel guilty that I killed Voldemort, that I took a life, even his," he said. "But not today." He pressed his mouth into the base of Snape's throat, glad for just the steady pulse there. "Get some sleep," Harry said, sliding back into the comfortable haven of his arms.
He felt Snape stiffen beside him. "You're not leaving?"
Harry stroked one hand between Snape's nipples. "Do you want me to?"
"No." Snape gathered him up close, and again Harry heard a great inhale of breath. He pulled back as if looking at Harry even though it was dark. "We are not talking about this in the morning."
Harry nodded against Snape's chest. "We don't ever have to talk about this again."
Waking in a strange bed was a lot less disorienting than Harry remembered, unless there was something about waking up within walls that had sheltered him for seven years that took the oddness out of it. He rolled over and looked at Snape, still asleep, head turned to one side, hair fanned out across the pillow.
He knew that whatever else he felt for Snape, pity would never make the list. The awful things that had happened to him had made him the person Harry was sharing a bed with now. Had made Snape the sort of person Harry wanted to share a bed with. Snape could no more help it than Harry could help who had raised him, or that he'd killed, and not just Voldemort, before he was eighteen.
It only took a few moments of staring at Snape before Harry realized the arousal of last night had only been deferred. Quietly he eased out of the bed, fingers automatically fumbling on the nightstand for his glasses. His clothes were folded on the chair beside the bed, wand perched atop his clothes. He was certain Snape would give him some sort of explanation about not wanting to trip over Harry's things in the middle of the night, but he was not averse to ascribing affection to the actions.
Harry squinted at his image in the mirror of the loo, rubbed his nose and went back into the bedroom. He was leaning over his trousers on the chair when he realized Snape had his eyes open, and a look on his face that clearly said he expected Harry was about to leave. Instead Harry pulled out the slender tube of lube he'd put in there before Flooing into the dungeons last night. He smirked, tossing the tube up in the air and catching it like a snitch.
"Harry, what--?" Snape began, but Harry put one finger over his lips in a shush gesture. Very deliberately Harry set the tube down on the pillow. He sidled in beside Snape, checking to see if there were any objection in the cauldron-dark eyes, then leaned over for a kiss. One that didn't stop with mouths, but went on as Harry worked his way down his neck. Then down, as his reckless explorations urged him on. Licking nipples that crinkled at the slightest touch of his tongue. Lingering over the intriguing valleys of Snape's hipbones. He heard a muffled grunt of satisfaction as Harry's cheek nuzzled the rising prick. His cheeks were slightly stubbled, but if Snape had any objection, Harry didn't hear it as he rubbed his face against the heated length.
He was facing down in the bed, the covers having long ago been shoved aside. Very carefully, he worked one leg over Snape's chest, checking to make sure this wouldn't cause another upset. Harry let his fingers card through the inky spill of pubic hair before rubbing his cheek through the thatch, then letting his mouth rove up, up the erect cock, just in time to catch the dampness glistening at the tip.
He felt Snape's hands run up his calves, then the backs of his thighs, and back down again without touching his arse. Harry nearly groaned in frustration, until Snape did it again. Harry could almost picture the hands cleaving into him, thumbs holding him open before tracing circles around his entrance. A smooth palm slipped between his legs to cup his balls, then back, ever circling. Then gone, but only for a moment.
Harry looked over his shoulder as Snape picked up the tube from the pillow. Their eyes met, and Harry nodded quickly, then dropped his mouth back on Snape's cock, tongue capturing the heated essence at the tip. He managed to guide Snape's legs apart a bit so he could suck the restless balls into his mouth, just before something cool slithered into his crevice. Harry sucked a bit harder than he intended on Snape's balls to muffle any noise.
One coated finger followed, poised at the crinkled rose of his arse, giving Harry time to object if he wanted. Eagerly, Harry pressed back on the slick finger, granting permission, and access. He already knew Snape would be careful, easing him open slowly until Harry had to release his mouthful simply to suck in a great lungful of air at the pleasure of it.
With a last lingering lick, Harry starting shifting in the bed, turning himself around so he and Snape were facing. Since Harry was still on top, he went slowly, to make sure this was all right. He leaned in for another kiss, more breathless than the first, before guiding his arse over Snape's upraised cock. Snape's hands were there to help guide it in, until they fell away when Harry slid all the way down. His cock bent up toward his belly, aching and damp.
There were no words to describe the rightness of the moment. Harry wondered if there ever had been, why he'd ever needed to say anything during sex. Snape's expression was all he needed. The pale hands spread over Harry's thighs, nails denting his flesh. When Harry started to move, to lift, then sink back to where their bodies joined, Snape's hands curled up into Harry's, palm to palm, bracing him so Harry could move faster. He rocked himself up and down, trusting that Snape would hold onto him, feeling his balls tucking into his body, into his cock, aching.
Snape's mouth opened, though no sound at all came out, a wordless plea as he arched into Harry, fingers digging into his hands. Then, almost too softly to hear, "Harry," as he found his release. Harry slammed down hard to capture it, wobbling on his perch, steadied by Snape's hands.
Then, when the dark eyes opened, Harry took one of Snape's hands from his and wrapped it around his cock, fucking Snape's hand, holding onto the cock inside him as he moved. Snape's other hand curled into his balls, rolling them as Harry moved, seeking, seeking, until Harry was there, pushing himself through the sheath of Snape's fingers, pleasure rushing through him. He watched Snape milk his cock, until come covered his hand and splattered his chest.
Only then did he lift off enough for Snape's prick to slip free. Harry smiled and let Snape guide him off, and over onto his back, kissing despite the messy smears on both their bodies. When Snape still seemed disinclined to break the silence, Harry reached over and flipped open the silver watch. He showed Snape the face--the blueberry muffin shorthand.
Snape's hand was still wet as he reached over and took the watch, closing it with barely a glance. For a moment, Harry was worried he'd erred again, crossing some hidden boundary of Snape's history. Then Snape dragged the chain leisurely down Harry's chest, swirling it around one nipple, his expression languid but not quite sated.
The only sound was the soft clink of the silver links as Snape followed the circle he'd drawn with his mouth, sucking Harry's nipple while the watch and chain rested on its twin. Then slowly down the center of his chest, into the first dab of come, collecting it in the links, then licking it off.
Harry wanted to whimper. He watched again as Snape collected more slick fluid from his belly, cleaning the chain off again before Harry dragged the next batch to his own mouth. Snape's eyes lit with surprise, but he draped the chain across Harry's mouth. This close Harry could hear the low tick of the closed watch.
Snape palmed Harry's toppled cock, fingers squishing in the come coating the head. While Harry watched, Snape wrapped the watch chain around the base, looping it behind Harry's balls, so that the watch itself dropped between Harry's legs. Obligingly Harry spread his thighs, the metal warming quickly against his skin.
Snape kissed him again, licking the inside of his mouth hungrily. Desire bloomed at all the points Snape licked, the thrumming pulse in his neck, the undulating crevice of his navel. Then down, below the impromptu cock ring, nosing Harry's languid cock aside, obviously searching out more challenging targets. Harry watched the sleek head dip between his legs, then nearly rocketed off the mattress when Snape started collecting more come from the source. He muffled as many of the pleading little gasps as he could, dimly aware that some must be slipping out.
Then Snape's head lifted, drawing Harry's eyes open, though half-lidded with arousal. Fully aware that Harry was watching, Snape sucked one finger into his mouth, then eased it back into Harry. As the pad of his finger rubbed over the spot just behind Harry's cock, Harry felt his own cock, still bound by the silver chain, twitch in anticipation.
If it had been anybody else, Harry would have been pleading to be fucked again. The silence forced him to be inventive, spreading his legs, hand wrapping around his own cock. The glint of desire in Snape's eyes was all he needed to spur him on, stroking himself, while Snape fucked him slowly with one finger.
Harry expected him to add another, for they both knew he could take it, his arse still relaxed from this morning's exertions. Instead Snape pulled out slowly, lifting up to kiss Harry again, hand all but smacking Harry's on his cock away. Heat and hardness brushed his thigh, and Harry realized Snape had become aroused again. He smirked, sliding his hand down between their bodies to reciprocate. Only Snape had shifted again, thrusting his hips into Harry's, doubling up the cord of the watch, wrapping it around his own cock. Snape's hand wound around both pricks, sliding the foreskin down with ease.
The chain wasn't confining, not like a true cock ring, but having both of them in it pulled the links taut, not quite cutting, the slight pain overridden by what Snape was doing with his fingers. Up and over, stroking them both, his body moving against Harry's as though they were fucking.
Then Snape was straddling him, his knees bracketing Harry's hips before leaning over to kiss him again, tongue slashing into his mouth as he bent over, almost leaning on Harry. Both their cocks were trapped in the scant space, but neither seemed to mind, moving against each other with every urgent thrust.
Harry's head arched back into the pillow, baring his neck. Snape started kissing it, tongue rasping over the pulse point. Harry lifted his legs, holding onto Snape's hips, wanting, needing to be closer. He wasn't sure if he imagined the low growl in his ear as his fingers dug into Snape's shoulders, the only warning he could give for his orgasm.
Snape thrust into the sticky place between them, then rolled away so suddenly Harry's eyes flew open. But just in time to see Snape scooping up the tendrils of Harry's come, slicking up his own cock. Harry let his legs open again, and felt the watch fall onto the mattress below him, no longer supported by his erection.
Harry knew he was still loose enough to accommodate Snape, but there was a moment when their eyes met, silent permission and need passing between them as Snape eased himself in. Harry was glad he kept his eyes open to see the rapt bliss on the usually austere features. It took only a few moments, as it had for Harry, but Harry watched, without the tyranny of needing to come himself, the pleasure Snape found within his body. This time he only mouthed the word 'Harry', but it gave Harry an odd sort of satisfaction to see it form. Then Snape was on top of him again, toppling as though hexed.
Harry held onto the heaving back until Snape's breathing quieted and he looked up. It looked as though Snape were going to ask him if he were all right again, so Harry smiled and said, "I'm fine. Don't know about your watch, though." Even more fascinating were the two pale spots of color that appeared in Snape's cheeks.
"Perhaps it would be best not to mention the non-standard use of his gift to Mr. Malfoy," Snape said.
Harry made a face. "Promise me you'll never, ever, mention Malfoy's name when I'm in bed with you again."
Snape looked at him from where he was rooting around Harry's arse for the timepiece in question. Harry felt his fingers close around it and obligingly shifted out of the way. Snape opened it, frowned, and started to put the watch back on the nightstand. Curious, Harry tugged over the hand holding it until he could see the face.
"That's not the potion shorthand for blueberry muffins," he said.
"Er, no," Snape said, the faint spots of color more like pence pieces now.
Harry squinted at the squiggles. "Isn't that the symbol for mineral oil?" he asked, as Snape took the watch, closed it firmly and set it aside. "So, anyway, I was wondering what you were doing this summer, when term ends?"
Snape was just settling back beside him, rubbing his legs over Harry's as if there weren't muffins in the offing. At Harry's question he stopped, mid-rub and looked down at him, frowning. "The usual, sunbathing, entertaining scantily-clad young boys at my palatial villa in Italy--why?"
Harry smiled at the fiction, though in his mind, there was only one scantily clad young man, and one very naked sunbather. "Just that I was thinking we could, you know, spend some time together." He rubbed one finger idly though the damp hair in the middle of Snape's chest.
"Actually, I was planning on intensifying my research into the alchemy parchment," Snape said, his tone neutral.
"Well, I could help you with that," Harry said. "I don't have to take any assignments unless they interest me, so I'd have plenty of time to help." Snape's eyes had gone alarmingly round. "Not help, like *that*," he clarified.
Snape's expression softened slyly. "You would make a good test subject." His hand dragged leisurely down Harry's belly, despite the damp patches of semen still glistening on it. "Young, in relatively good health." He smiled, though it was quite a wicked example of the art. "As you've pointed out--flexible." He pinched one nipple, and Harry yelped.
"You're kidding. I think," Harry said. It wasn't until later, over breakfast regrettably without blueberry muffins, that he realized Snape hadn't answered him about the summer.
He didn't ask again, but he did notice a spare toothbrush in the loo the next time Snape stayed the night. Harry smiled to himself and put it back in the cup.
Just to make sure, when he handed Snape back his underpants the next time Harry picked them up off the floor, he tugged thoughtfully on the tiny rip in the crotch. "Oh sorry, must have ripped this when I--"
Snape came over to him, still naked from their shower, and inspected the tear. Harry cleared his throat. "Say, you could just leave a couple of spare pairs here in case I, er, get enthusiastic again." When Snape didn't say anything, Harry added, "There's plenty of room."
By close to the end of term there were not just several pairs of serviceable dark boxers, but a spare teaching robe, neatly paired socks, and more than one marked up potions text in Harry's bedroom. In the bathroom, a shaving kit held a perpetual spot beside Harry's on the sink.
"So, I was thinking," Harry said, moving his hands over Snape's back in slow strokes. The snort from the man beneath him didn't daunt him in the slightest. He was seated astride Severus's back, rubbing in the massage oil Severus had brought a few nights ago. "And I had an idea," Harry went on, "two, actually."
They'd worked up to this bit. Massaging, as Harry had pointed out, wasn't *really* sex, just a bit of a prelude, so Harry should be able to talk all he wanted. The first time they'd tried this, Snape had thrown him off as soon as he'd become hard, but he'd ended up fucking Harry on the floor, using the massage oil as lube. Needless to say they'd tried it again, until Harry was able to hold a conversation, if he didn't mind a bit of one-sidedness about it. He still didn't know Snape's line, but he always knew when he crossed it.
Brushing Snape's hair aside, Harry worked the oil onto the back of his neck, hoping to ease away a little of the end of term stiffness. The contented noise into the pillow made him smile. "I was thinking about the maker of the alchemy parchment, how we don't know who he was or anything, except that he was probably a Parselmouth. And I thought he probably had a snake helping him with the symbols."
Snape turned his head, so that he was looking over his folded arms. "And that helps us in what way? Unless there's a three hundred year old snake running loose in the school."
Harry edged the sides of his hands down the length of Snape's spine, then back up, and out again, over his shoulders. The man's eyes drooped appreciatively. "Not a live snake, but maybe one of the snakes in the portraits around the school."
Snape's eyes fluttered open. "That benefits our research precisely how?" The eyes closed.
Harry tightened his fingers just under Snape's armpit to disguise how much he liked that it was now *their* research. "If our Slytherin had a snake in the castle, one of the portrait snakes might remember it." He shrugged and slapped one rounded flank before sliding off and stretching out beside Snape, waiting for him to open his eyes again.
"What was your other idea?" Snape said, opening just one.
Harry grinned. "I'll tell you that one later. What do you think of this one?"
Snape lifted his head, releasing his folded arms and threw one over Harry, pulling him into the heat of his erection. "That it's ridiculous to expect that one painted snake would have the brains to remember such a detail after three centuries." He sighed, and slid one hand down Harry's side. "And that we don't have all that many other options so we might as well try it." He was looking at Harry's mouth as he spoke, with a gaze that Harry knew all too well. When Snape leaned in for a kiss, Harry chuckled.
"Hey, don't I get a massage?"
Snape's eyes gleamed with mischief. "You'll have yours from the inside, now be quiet."
Harry wanted to start looking for a snake portrait to help them right away, but Snape countered with his own end of year teaching schedule. Since he was putting away the contents of a small bag in one of the drawers Harry had cleared out, Harry made no complaint.
They started in the dungeons, with the portraits of prominent Slytherins, most now long forgotten. Snape, not unexpectedly, began to deride the idea when they questioned all the snakes on one level with no results.
"That's it, then," he said, when the tiny green garter snake lying on its mistress's lap simply shook its head and buried its head beneath the frilly edge of the old-fashioned dress.
"Not by half," Harry said, looking around the deserted corridor. The school was eerie and quiet with no students in it, but the fact that he was alone down here with Snape hadn't escaped him. "There are Slytherins in portraits all over the castle. And a surprising number with snake familiars." He dusted off his hands on the front of his trousers. "Single minded lot."
They'd brought along a copy of the parchment, as well as one with just the Parseltongue symbols. But each time they showed it to one of the painted snakes, they got more and more discouraging responses.
They had just about finished the second level of the dungeons, the one where Snape's quarters were, and Harry was about to suggest a detour to them, purely for the purposes of reviving their spirits, when he spotted a tiny portrait wedged behind the stairwell. "May as well check that one out."
Snape glanced at it. "Too high." He squinted. "And too small. You can't even tell if there's a snake in the painting."
Harry cupped his hand over his mouth. "Anybody up there?" he called out in Parseltongue. He felt Snape's eyes heavy on him, as he had several times when he'd spoken the language of snakes. They waited a moment, with no response. Then, just as they were turning away, and Harry was about to suggest a quickie, er, a rest break in Snape's room, he heard a tiny voice.
"Master?"
Harry put a hand on Snape's arm. "Only a friend. May I speak with you?" he asked looking around for a way up to the little portrait, wishing he'd brought his broom.
"Are you a friend of my master?" the tiny voice said.
"Hoist me up," Harry said, but Snape was already pulling out his wand. A quick Wingarduim Leviosa and he was nearly eye level with the tiny painting. Unlike the other portraits they'd examined, this one had no human in it. It was a painting of a tree branch, lush and full, and the snake was a lovely, if dusty, viper. Above its head was a rich, red apple, now coated with dust. There was a worn spot on the tree branch, as though the snake frequently rested its head there.
Harry introduced himself, while the snake rose from the painted tree and examined him with sleepy eyes. Then Harry pulled out the copy of the parchment and the snake nodded its head.
"You are a friend of my master."
"You recognize this?" Harry said excitedly, holding out his other hand against the stone wall to steady himself. He glanced below. Snape had his wand trained firmly on Harry's feet.
Wordlessly the snake nodded again. "Who was he?" Harry asked.
"My master," the snake said, unwrapping its tail from the tree trunk.
"I mean, do you know his name, his given name?" The snake stared at him blankly. "What others called him?"
"Master Monroe," the snake said. The snake's voice was getting stronger with use.
Harry held up the alchemy parchment. "What can you tell me about this?"
"Master Monroe wrote it. He and the House Master."
A satisfied thrill went through him. Just then, he felt a tug on the hem of his trousers. He looked down at Snape.
"It this the correct snake?" Snape asked, his wand still pointing at Harry.
"I think so, yeah."
"Take the painting down and we'll take it to my quarters."
"Good idea."
Between the two of them, they got the portrait down off the wall, and Harry back on solid ground. The snake was definitely more alert now, looking around the empty corridors as they made their way to Snape's rooms.
"This is the House Master's quarters," the snake said, as Harry propped the painting up on the lounge.
"It is," Harry said, then translated for Snape.
"I was painted here. By Master Monroe." It flipped its tail toward the right hand corner of the painting. Snape handed Harry a cloth so he could wipe the dust away. There in the corner were two tiny initials, M.L, and the year 1787.
Carefully they cleaned up the rest of the frame and painting, the snake wiggling and hissing as Harry wiped it clean.
"What's it saying?" Snape asked with a frown and Harry smiled.
"It's just ticklish."
Harry sat on the sofa near the painting but Snape drew up a chair while Harry pulled the parchment out of his pocket. "We'd like to know anything you can tell us about your master and this document," Harry said as the snake turned its head toward him to get a better view.
"I was master's familiar," the snake said, puffing up a little from pride. "He painted me for the House Master at school. After he didn't come back, my living self was sent to the master's home, and the House Master put me where you found me."
Harry frowned. "Didn't come back from where?"
The snake lifted its coils, giving the appearance of a shrug. "I don't know. The House Master was very worried, and then he hung me away."
Harry translated what he'd learned so far to Snape who echoed his frown. "Ask him if this Monroe was a student." Harry did and they got a confirmation. "And a Parselmouth," Snape went on.
"Did your master speak in your own language, as I'm doing now?"
The snake preened. "Yes, master Monroe spoke to me as soon as I came out of the egg."
"Was he a student here or a teacher?" Harry asked, very conscious of Snape's eyes on the exchange.
The snake's head wobbled from side to side, as though it was trying to mesmerize Harry. "The master slept with the other boys most nights, save those when he and the House Master worked long into the night." It flipped its tail toward the bedroom door. "In there. I was not allowed inside."
Harry translated for Snape, a horrible idea growing in his head. He could tell from Snape's expression that he had the same horrible idea. Rather than expressing it, Snape stood up and strode over to one of the built in bookcases, fingers running over the books on a high shelf. Harry turned back to the snake. It was grooming its perch, the tree branch, nosing away some of the dust Harry had missed.
"Ask it why the formula was created," Snape said, pulling down one of the volumes and thumbing through the pages. Harry translated the question for the snake. He hadn't thought much about that, beyond the general biological reasons that might make such a horrible thing seem reasonable. War, pestilence, famine. He had only the vaguest idea of British history from that period, but aside from the American Uprising, which the formula was too late for, and the French Revolution, which it was too early for, there didn't see to be an abundance of suffering in Britain at the time. Maybe there'd been a goblin uprising then, but if Harry had paid attention in Binns's class, the knowledge was lost now.
The snake looked around as though assuring itself no one else was present before replying. "To give them an heir."
Harry sat back on his heels, staring at the painted serpent. "They didn't--didn't *try* it, did they?"
The snake stared at him, its black eyes steady and Harry kept staring back until a shadow loomed over him and he looked up. Snape stood over him, concern etching lines into his features.
"What?"
"They tried it."
Wordlessly, Snape handed Harry the old book, pointing to an entry. "Monroe Lavalier, sorted Slytherin: 1, September, 1781." An entry below it, three years later, in the same hand, listed the OWLs Monroe had taken. Then beside it, in a decidedly different hand, was written, "Deceased: 14th, May, 1788." Harry glanced down the page. The next year's entries were in a new hand altogether.
"The House Master's book," Snape explained, though Harry vaguely recalled giving McGonagall his OWL and NEWT scores for his own house book.
Harry looked back at the snake, who was still looking around the rooms with interest. "Was a portrait ever painted of your master?"
The snake shook its head once. "I don't think so. I don't visit the other portraits much, but I think I would have heard."
Harry translated back for Snape, who was looking backward in the book. He nodded over something, then closed it. "Do you think he--" He looked back at the snake, trying to think of a way to spare its feelings.
"Yes," Snape said, laying the book down on one of the tables beside the lounge.
"You can't be sure," Harry said, but he was fairly certain himself the experiment had killed Monroe Lavalier.
Harry didn't have the heart to return the snake portrait back to its lonely outpost beneath the stairs, so they took it back to Harry's cottage and hung it in the living room, over the couch, which drifted up several centimeters as if in greeting.
As they lay in bed that night, neither made any move to initiate anything more than a kiss, lost in thoughts of the unknown student.
"You're thinking what I'm thinking, aren't you?" Harry asked, running his hand up Snape's bare arm. "That this Monroe had an affair with the head of Slytherin while still a student."
"I don't see any other conclusion," Snape said, with a deep sigh. "It isn't exactly unheard of--"
Harry propped his head up on his hand. "You're joking!" He had a quick, jealous flash of anyone in his own year with Snape before he realized how ridiculous it was.
"Very rare. And usually the scandal is discovered. This one never came to light."
"Until now," Harry said.
"Until now," Snape said, and they were quiet again.
"So," Harry said, rubbing his hand along his jaw before returning it to propping up his head. "Ever entertain any notions about any students yourself?" He scooted his hips in a little closer. "Like me?"
Snape, however, looked scandalized. "Certainly not." The dichotomy of lying naked in Harry's bed while he said it showed immediately on his face. "Harry, if you think I've ever entertained anything but the most proper feelings for you until *very* recently--"
Harry pounced, like a snake. "What feelings do you have now?" he asked, using the question as a distraction to move closer.
"You're my--" Snape's tongue seemed to have trouble wrapping around whatever thought he was trying to express.
"What? Partner?" Harry hazarded.
"If we publish our findings together, yes, I suppose that would apply, but I was thinking of--" he began, but Harry cut him off by pressing full length against him, using his weight to roll Snape over on his back. He waited a moment to see if any lines had been crossed.
"Your what?" he asked again, thinking Snape looked good like this.
"My lover," Snape said, and Harry smiled, thinking it was nice to kiss someone while smiling. "That warrants a certain sort of feeling," Snape went on, when Harry would let him.
"What sort?" Harry said, even though, if it had been anybody else, he'd have let it go by now.
"The sort that is inestimably pleased that you are *not* a student." They celebrated Harry's departure from school in a manner that would have been difficult to visualize if he'd still been seventeen. Or not so difficult to visualize with anybody else, but never with the man who'd become his lover.
"My feelings for you when I was a student were extremely proper as well," Harry said, letting himself be rolled onto his side, then over onto his back. "I loathed you quite properly."
"Mutual," Snape said, from around a mouthful of Harry's nipple. Harry watched him lick it with an attention he found utterly endearing. That thought didn't even surprise him anymore.
"Hated you bitterly most of sixth year," Harry said, when Snape switched his attentions to the other nipple. He was fairly certain Snape's teeth tugged on one of the coarse black hairs there entirely by accident.
"Mutual, again," Snape said, but one corner of his expressive mouth quirked up before he lifted his face to Harry's for a kiss. "Respected you a bit--mind, only a bit--in seventh year."
"Mutual," Harry said softly, letting his fingers trail over the sharp angle of one cheek. Snape closed his eyes at the caress. "I need to be quiet now, don't I?" Harry said, and Snape nodded, and kissed him again, just below his ear, licking down his neck slowly. The sounds of licking and kissing washed slowly over his ears. The noises they made were so gentle, Harry could almost hear the blood racing into his cock, lifting it onto his belly, could almost hear the soft shifting of his balls as Snape parted his legs.
Harry kept the slick stuff they used by the bed since he couldn't Accio it once they got started. The squat jar sat next to Snape's silver watch, closed now, so that not even the sound of time ticking away intruded on the careful way Snape eased his entrance open, preparing him with tongue and fingers, and most of all, attention.
He also kept a pillow close by in case he needed to stifle his cries, but he only opened his mouth in pleasure as Snape guided himself inside, pausing, the expression on his face clearly asking if Harry was all right. A quick nod as the bed began to sway; even the springs were quiet. Harry ran his hands down the damp plane of Snape's chest, pinching the tight little nipples there, hearing the swift intake of breath. His hands kept moving, down to where their bodies joined, fingers tangling in the thick hair, both so black it was impossible to tell which thatch was whose.
Snape thrust in hard as Harry's hand wrapped around his own cock, pulling it as Snape eased out, then lifted Harry's legs up to his waist, kneeling on the bed, close as two bodies can be and still be two. Harry continued to stroke himself, knowing Snape liked this position so he could watch Harry do it.
It was not frantic, not tonight, not when their needs were simply to seek affirmation in each other's bodies, sure in the knowledge that they could wake up tomorrow and find the same affirmation in the sharing of breakfast, or a back presented for washing.
In weeks past, he'd wanted to cry out "Severus" as he came, but the satisfaction of Snape's face above him as he did with a simple gasp was far better than any name could convey. And when Snape rocked into him one last time, head thrown back in a pleasure that made him the most captivating creature Harry had ever seen, Harry's hand fell away from his own sticky cock, awed by the silent joy of it.
Snape bent over, head bowed nearly onto Harry's chest until the last of the shudders went though him. Harry used his nearly clean hand to thread softly though the thick hair, listening with great reverence to their lungs slowing, to the soft liquid noise Snape's prick made pulling out of Harry's arse. He almost thought he could hear the flutter of Snape's eyelashes as they opened, the black eyes that always sought Harry's in reassurance before settling down beside him.
Snape cleared his throat. "You said you had a second idea?"
Harry's eyes had almost drifted closed, so content was he, in the lee of Snape's side. "I did?" He thought a moment.
Even cuddling, Snape liked touching him, his hands hardly ever idle. He was stroking down the sweaty surface of Harry's belly. "Just before we went on the hunt through the portraits. You said you had two ideas. Was it one for discovering more about the parchment, because I have an idea about that, too."
"Oh, that." He was playing softly with Snape's hair, letting the coarse strands drift though his fingers. "It wasn't anything." The silence told him right away he wasn't going to get away with not confessing. "I had another idea about--" Snape was looking at him now, instead of following his stroking hand. Harry sighed. "Just another idea about working through your--" Snape's eyes narrowed. "Your problem," Harry finished, wishing he could have thought up at least another idea about the parchment, if it would take away the slight hurt he saw in Severus's eyes.
"Harry, I don't know if I'll ever be able to--"
Harry put three fingers against Snape's mouth, then traced the outline of it with his index finger. "Then I realized there isn't anything I have to say that's better than making love with you."
Snape's eyes softened, as he sucked Harry's finger into his mouth. "Mutual," he said softly.
"What was your idea? For the research, I mean? I thought you were going to drop it now we knew the formula doesn't work."
Snape gave him a look over the flat of Harry's stomach. "We don't know the formula didn't work," he said, then dipped his tongue into Harry's navel. "There was, after all, a marked instability in the most recent descendant of Salazar Slytherin."
"Of course we--" He thought about it, and was horrified to realize Snape was right. "What was your other idea then?"
But Snape was obviously no longer thinking about research, unless it involved how many hairs lay along the path to Harry's cock. "I'll tell you later."
Harry's fingers slid along the back of Snape's skull. "You know, you could probably do better than someone who's always trying to change you."
Snape looked up at that, though his eyes were gratifyingly unfocused. "I don't want anybody else," he said, proving it, as though Harry needed it, with a slow swipe of his tongue along the length of Harry's cock.
Harry smiled, letting his knees fall open so Snape could settle between them. "You know, I was just thinking the same thing."
~~**~~The End~~**~~
Author's Chapter Notes:
Written for Accioslash, based on a plotbunny she provided, and so dedicated. Mused by Aubrem, beta read by Serpentsgarden and Skuf.
