If You Are Prepared III: Come What May
Chapter One: All Good Things
~~~~~~~
And I fall and fall again.
Every time I disentangle myself from the mess of bedclothes and long youthful limbs, I promise myself it will be the last time. Every time knowing I will surrender to him again. It’s our game. How long will I resist until I can no longer? He plays along. A shy smile. A coy laugh. A kiss with such mock innocence that I might be tempted to think he is reborn every time he comes for me. Renewed. Perpetually.
But as all things, this too will end. Tomorrow, the walls around this peculiar nest we have built will come tumbling down. He becomes Harry Potter, sixth-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And I reclaim my title as Professor Snape, Potions master, and all-around hateful bastard. I tell myself that I will manage to remember our positions. It has been easy to forget, trapped within these walls, as though existing in some alternate universe where hedonism is the moral code and there is no such beast as consequence. But beyond that door, reality reigns supreme.
“Severus.” A whisper in the dark. If I answer, he’ll come to me. As long as it is he who initiates, I can pretend that weakness is my only transgression.
Falling. “Hm.”
I hear him get out of the spare bed that Dumbledore added to my bedchamber. Not that it gets much use. Still I insist on at least pretending I have morals. He plays along, no longer complaining when I force him to lie in the atrocity. He knows he won’t be there long.
A groan of the bedsprings, which have never been so vocal. He slips under the duvet and stretches against my side. “What were you thinking about?”
“How rested I was before you came into my life.”
“You were bored stiff.” He laughs. His fingers play around my chest. His leg slides between mine. I long ago ceased to be shocked by this familiar gesture. He sighs contentedly. I keep myself from doing the same. “You won’t know what to do once I’m gone,” he teases.
The many levels of truth to that statement make me dizzy. I am nearly thankful when he presses his lips to mine, anchoring me. I won’t know what to do when he’s gone. I damn myself for becoming accustomed to his presence. His absence will surely be felt. The warmth of his body which manages to smell like sun even when it hasn’t seen the sun for over a month. The quiet which stretches between us comfortably. He takes up space. Physically and mentally, he occupies every corner of my existence.
My chambers have become the perpetual present. We don’t speak about what has happened. Nor do we think about what will happen. Perhaps that is a mistake. But when I’ve tried to bring it up he silences me with a pleading look or a kiss.
“I know it won’t be like this once school starts. Look, we don’t know what’s going to happen, right? Let’s just...wait,” he had said the last time I managed to find my good sense. I dropped the subject. When one lives in constant fear for his life, one cannot afford the luxury of thinking about the future. Planning. Dreaming. Harry lives in the moment. He holds me there with him.
His mouth moves over mine softly, slowly. Nothing like the urgency of our first time together. Content to savour every moment, he is in no hurry to speed things up. He memorises me. I memorise him. This will be my sustenance once I’m forced to remember my austerity. My life as Professor Snape. Severus be damned.
His mouth moves to my neck and faint puffs of breath send shivers through me. The play of tongue and teeth tells of refined talent and skill. He provokes me. He’s always provoked me. My body responds to his touch—skin tensing, blood flowing to select places he chooses to assault, wave after wave of pleasure incited again and again. Whether because he is forbidden, or because of the aesthetic image of beauty and the beast contrasted, I have no recollection of ever enjoying another person so much. It is foolish. It is dangerous. And disturbingly right.
“Severus?”
“Hm.”
His hands run over the thin fabric of my night shirt. Finding a nipple he teases it to attention, before pinching gently. “I...” He nuzzles into my neck. “I want to be inside you,” he whispers. I can imagine his blush, but I’m too concentrated on the panic fluttering about in my stomach to be pleased. I don’t remember the last time I was topped. Well, willingly, at any rate. He notices my sudden discomfort. He senses it. He always does.
“This might be our last time. For a while anyway. I just...I want to know. I want to feel you. Please.” He raises his head and stares at me. It’s always the same argument, isn’t it? Every time might be our last time. There are some foolish people who think it advisable to live every day as though it were their last. Those morons can afford to believe that. It’s not true for them. Some people don’t have the luxury of procrastination.
I push away my trepidation irritably. I’m much too old to have first time jitters and a part of me wants him to know, wants him to experience everything—before tomorrow comes. “To top, Mr. Potter, one must possess a modicum of self-restraint. Are you quite certain you’re capable?”
He narrows his eyes. “I think you’re just afraid of giving up control.” Were truer words ever spoken? “Get undressed. Now.” He tries to mimic my voice. He couldn’t even come close. I laugh at him and then pull my night shirt over my head. He does the same. “You know, if you would just sleep naked we could save so much time.”
I glare at him. “I suppose I still irrationally cling to the hope that someday you will manage to gain power over your impulses.”
He grins. “Well, if you haven’t managed it yet, why would you think I could?” He stops me from replying. Insolent brat. My sarcasm is swept away by his eager tongue. He moves over to cover me with his body, pressing his erection deliberately into mine. The care he took before is forgotten under the prospect of a new experience. A new adventure. His curiosity knows no bounds.
He works his way down my torso quickly before stretching his lips around my cock. I’ve taught him well. Too well. I groan. Positive reinforcement. Praise for a job well-done. I hope vaguely that my madness doesn’t carry over into my classes. I’ve managed to keep from killing any of my students. That they should die of shock would be a pitiful shame.
Warm and wet, his mouth moves over me, a hand working the length when he comes up to swirl a perfect pink tongue over the head. My breathing quickens and I have to close my eyes. The image alone is overwhelming. It would please me a great deal to see the faces of the members of the Potter fan club were they to see him now—hunched over, mouth stretched, servicing a former Death Eater. The reality never ceases to surprise me and I am even slightly amused by it. But more, I’m thankful. If we were to get caught, I would have a hard time honestly repenting these past few weeks.
Before he takes me too far, I pull him up by his hair. He pants up at me, mouth open and swollen, cheeks flushed. “What?”
“If I am to be fucked, I insist it be done properly. I will not have you come the moment you enter me. Lie down.”
His temporary state of embarrassment does not keep him from obeying quickly. He’s extraordinarily compliant when he has something to gain by being so. Not that I’m surprised. In all fairness, my role as authority figure has long expired. Here, in this bed, next to him, I am merely Severus. And it alarms me how content I am to be just that.
He stretches on his back and I hover over him, sliding between his pale thighs. I allow myself to cover him completely, savouring the smooth heat of his body. His chest rising and falling in rhythm with my own breathing. I kiss him. He tastes of toothpaste and that sweet subtle flavour that is uniquely him. Innocence, I call it. It’s a misnomer. He is no more innocent than I. But I daresay there is a part of him that will not be sullied. That part which I have come to understand as the essence of Harry Potter.
I work along his chest slowly. My tongue moves over the countless shiny, pink scars that would flaw him. Somehow they only make him more perfect. It is long since he’s tensed at the attention I pay them. He’s resigned himself to them. Accepted them as a part of himself. I will never know what maliciousness created them. He’ll not tell me and I’ll not ask. I can only say with what kindness they have since been treated. They are no longer a testament to torture. They are part of the fabric of which he is made.
He hums softly at the contact of my breath on his erection. I tease him with my tongue until he juts his hips up pleadingly. I take him in my mouth, enjoying fully the softly moaned encouragements. Mindless chatter in moments of abandon. I suck firmly, stopping the ecstatic flood of words that pours from his mouth. I play him expertly—knowing how to make him sing out and how to paralyse that voice. My hand cups his balls gently and his breath hitches when my thumb runs over the tender flesh. My middle finger presses the space behind and his breath escapes him. Every sound that I evoke feeds the arousal coiling in my abdomen. The salty drops of precome melt into my tongue and I can feel his balls contracting. I can end this now if I want to. He begs me to do so. I resist, choosing to draw out the moment. All good things must come to an end, but in this case it is within my power to choose when that end will come.
I stroke and lick and suck strategically. Bringing him repeatedly to the edge only to push him away the moment he is about to leap off. His tender words have turned to curses. The word fuck scrapes over his lips with all the chasteness of a child’s prayer. I look up to see him open-mouthed, eyes glimmering with passionate desperation.
“Please...”
I move my mouth over him quickly, sliding up and diving in until he swells once more with an impending eruption. I take him into my throat and watch his eyes roll up, his head flies back and he comes with a shout. He stays for one blissful moment, back arched as though being drawn up by unseen force, stomach muscles spasming in brilliant waves under his pale skin. I slide up him and he relaxes into the bed, panting and holding his arms out in a silent invitation. I accept and cover his body once more
“You’re brilliant,” he breathes.
I kiss away the compliment before putting my head on the pillow next to his. The arm cradling my neck curls around and he begins absently playing with my hair. We lie together silently. I listen as his breathing steadies once more. His heart beats more slowly against my chest.
“I don’t want tomorrow to come,” he whispers almost inaudibly. I am shocked by his admission. A rare moment when he allows himself to look beyond the here and now. I raise my head to see sadness in his expression. He tries to cover it with a poorly plastered smile. I roll off to the side and stare up at the ceiling, trying to still the dread that I’ve been keeping at bay since I realised that tomorrow must, in fact, come.
“Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.” He rolls to his side and drapes an arm and leg over me. “Let’s just not think about it, all right?”
“You can’t keep pretending this won’t end.”
“I know. But it doesn’t make sense to worry about it now, does it? I mean...what’s coming will come. And we’ll meet it when it does.” He sighs heavily. His arm tightens around me and he kisses my shoulder. “I just want to be with you now. And forget.”
I don’t ask what it is he wants to forget. I don’t need to. I’m sure there isn’t a specific answer. A general oblivion. For one more night, our entire world is trapped within the confines of these stone walls. We’ll not think about what happens when that world must expand.
He slides onto me and pulls me back to the present. Back to him. His body. His skin. His mouth covers mine instilling awareness of all that my present world encompasses. This bed. His mouth, tongue, hands run over me, coaxing my consciousness away from its abstract philosophical meanderings to the concrete, the tangibility of the five senses. Hands, mouth, and body move desperately as though trying to grasp the moment, as though once abandoned it will be gone forever. I am swept up in his longing and swept away by my own. Giving over to pleasure and sensation, I experience him with all my senses. Devour him. Consume him.
I am jolted back to some vague reality at the sound of him fumbling blindly through the night stand. He finds what he’s looking for and releases my nipple from between his teeth to look up at me, eyes asking permission as he kneels between my legs and takes the top off the bottle of lubricant. He pours a small bit onto his fingers and I hold my breath watching him. Waiting with ridiculous apprehension. When I feel the slight brush of his fingers, my hand goes automatically to still his. He looks at me unsurely, but makes no move to withdraw his hand. His fingers begin to swirl around my entrance tentatively. I take a deep breath and release his wrist, cursing away a flutter of panic.
A finger breaches me and my breath catches. He straddles my thigh and lies along my side, moving his finger in and out with careful shallow strokes. I release my anxiety into his mouth, willing myself to accept the intrusion, to submit to those inexperienced fingers. He pulls his mouth away and watches me. His green eyes glitter with excitement and curiosity as he studies my reactions. I feel a second finger enter me slowly and dance in unison with the first. A moan escapes my throat as the burning pleasure intensifies.
“You’re lovely,” he whispers. His gentle smile smoothed over by a hungry, wet tongue. “Does that feel good?” He drives his fingers in to the knuckle and then withdraws them almost completely. I close my eyes to avoid the confrontation in his face. I concentrate on the almost forgotten sensation of being filled and stretched. My breathing comes raggedly and then hitches once more when I feel a third finger fit itself into my arse. His breathing, too, is laboured as he continues to stretch me carefully, relying on his memory for guidance. He drives into me and a finger accidentally slides across my prostate sending an electric shock violently through my body, escaping in a loud groan from my throat. I open my eyes and see his pleased expression. His hips move against my thigh in rhythm with the fingers fucking me. The sensation is too much. It’s not enough.
“Now.”
“Now what?” He grins. It occurs to me that this is more than pleasure for him. This is revenge. He withdraws his fingers before sliding them in again slowly. Once more against my prostate and I manage to clench my jaw against the shout. He notices the reaction, however, and begins stroking it repeatedly.
“Dammit, do it,” I growl.
“Say it,” he whispers, leaning in to bite my neck firmly.
“Fuck me, Harry. Or I’ll hex you.”
He sniggers and then withdraws his fingers. I shudder from the absence and lack of movement. He kneels once more between my legs and begins to prepare himself. I put a pillow under my hips as a passing thought. He smiles at me nervously. “You’re not to laugh if I do it wrong.”
I snort. “I think I can safely say that if you do it wrong, laughing will not be my immediate reaction.”
He purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “You might have just said ‘all right’.” He positions himself and I spread my legs further to accommodate him. An undignified position, really. It occurs to me that if I’m to submit to this I would rather be on my stomach. The thought escapes me when I feel him press against me. He looks down with a concentrated expression and then raises his eyes to meet mine. “Ready?” he whispers. I stifle an incredulous laugh too late. He pushes into me as punishment and my humour escapes me as I feel my flesh give painfully over. I hear him gasp and then curse. “God...fuck...” he pants. I will myself to relax as he takes a moment to gather himself.
At length, he begins rocking his hips, stabbing and caressing the flesh squeezing around him. I can hardly catch my breath. The burning pain harmonises perfectly with the pleasure pulsing through me. He is being entirely too careful. I wrap a leg around his hips and pull him into me hard, thrusting down into him simultaneously. He cries out as he is suddenly sheathed, leaning into his hands which press into my chest. My own strangled groan echoes his.
“My god...that’s...damn...”
I breathe deeply and adjust to the invasion, which begins to feel less like an invasion and more like a completion. All the ridiculous, idyllic, nonsensical emotions that come with being so attached to another person cloud my brain. He struggles to pull himself together, his eyes shut tight and jaw clenching. I feel a sinister smile form on my lips. I constrict my arse and his eyes fly open wildly.
“Do it. Hard,” I command. He pulls out and thrusts back in obediently. The movement excites sparks of ecstasy and catapults them through my body. My hand moves to my cock as I have little confidence in his capacity for coordinated movement. I stroke myself in time with his thrusting. His face curls into a grimace and he bites down hard on his bottom lip before quickening his awkward pace and losing himself in his pleasure. I speed up my own strokes, feeling myself approach climax, my lungs working independently. I am dizzy from the mixture of sensation, pleasure, and what seems to be hyperventilation. My entire body contracts hard and I explode over my hand. He cries out and shoves deeply into me, his cock pumping me full of spunk. He collapses onto my chest and I melt into the bed.
“If I were to die right now, at least I’d be happy,” he says against my skin. I grunt with amusement, unable to conjure up irritation just now. It doesn’t help that I feel exactly the same. I sigh and reach for my wand. He slips out and I perform a cleaning charm on the both of us—thankful once more that I was born a wizard. He reclaims his place stretched out at my side, arm and leg draped lazily over me. His head occupies the crook where my neck curves into my shoulder. His breath is warm on my skin. His lips brush over my jaw.
“Thank you. That was incredible. But I think I can do better. We’ll need to practice.” He laughs.
“If you were as enthusiastic about your studies as you are about sex, I daresay you would surpass even Granger’s class performance.”
“If doing coursework felt like that, I’d be Head Boy.”
I snort unexpectedly and then laugh. “I think you’ve effectively claimed that title.”
“Clever,” he grunts. “I guess that makes you the head master.” He giggles. “Oh. Ew.” He buries his face into my shoulder and I laugh harder. “I don’t even want to think about Dumbledore and sex.”
A terrifying mental image flashes before my closed eyelids. I open my eyes, hoping to dispel it. “That does it. You’ve officially made it impossible for me ever to face that man again.”
“Good,” he sighs. “So, we’ll just stay here, then. Forever.” He slides under my arm. I stroke his back and attempt to still that damned dread again.
“Harry--”
“I know,” he whispers.
“We have to discuss this.”
“We will. Tomorrow. Just...tomorrow. All right?”
Once again I surrender to his moment. I concentrate on his breathing and not the ticking sound of our time slipping away.
~~~~~~~
I open my eyes to find green ones peering intently. He smiles and then places a finger over my lips.
“Just listen.” The finger retreats and he rolls onto his back. “I’ve been thinking.” I purse my lips against a snide comment. He really ought to know better than to start a conversation like that. Especially with me. I listen. “Dumbledore still expects that our study sessions will continue. So...I don’t see why we have to stop. You can say that our...that this will confuse our positions, or whatever. But I think that...well, quite frankly, that was done a long time ago. We’ve already proven that we can keep this a secret. I don’t see why we have to stop now. I mean...you were a spy, right? You’ve done the whole double life thing. So...you can be a hateful bastard in class. And I can punish you for it at night.” He grins and then looks over at me for the first time since he began his address.
“No,” I say firmly. I applaud myself for my performance and then hope that he will not press the matter.
“Sev.”
“No. And don’t call me that.” I get out of bed and search for my dressing robe. He follows me relentlessly.
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t my name.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” I turn around and glare at him. He glares back. “Why?”
“It won’t work.”
“Fine. What do you suggest, then?”
“Tea.” I summon a pot of tea and go to the sitting room. I sit and wait for him to join me. After a few moments he emerges, clothed thankfully. He sits across from me and waits to hear my version of how things will go. I, unfortunately, haven’t thought of one.
“Well?”
Well. One thing is certain: “This can’t continue.”
“What can’t continue, exactly?”
Sex. Affection. Emotion. Him.
He continues before I can decide on a response. “All right. I can live without sex. But...” He wrinkles his nose. “You’re being an idiot. Honestly. We’ll be pretending out there anyway. And I...you like this as much as I do. Even if you won’t ever admit to it. You’re always telling me that I shouldn’t be self-sacrificing. I think you should take your own advice.”
So, I’m a hypocrite. No news there.
He crosses the space between us and kneels at my feet. “Look. You always do this. You always try to do what you think is right. We decide it’s not good to be together. But somehow...we are. And I think...we don’t have a choice. That we’re...stuck. Together.”
He smiles and I recognise my own words. Trelawney’s words echo them. And you will lose. I can’t help but think he’s right. Even if I could put all of my will behind ending this, somehow I would wind up right back here. With him kneeling before me. Perhaps I’ve been in this bloody dungeon too long, but he makes sense.
I have undoubtedly been in the dungeon too long.
“How about...we don’t decide anything. We see how things go once we’re out there. All right?” He rises and then straddles my lap, squeezing his knees on either side of my legs. “Severus? Say something.”
“I need a drink.”
“It’s...6:30 in the morning.” He grins.
“Then I have precisely ten hours, thirty minutes to prepare myself for the outside world.”
“I can think of better ways to spend that time.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I do not doubt that you can.” He leans down to kiss me. “Harry-”
Any protest I may have had drips away as my entire body melts into that damn chair. I really must remind myself to ask him how to change the keyword. His mouth covers mine and I try to pull away but my head seems quite content to stay just where it is, against the back of the chair, being attacked by that warm mouth that tastes of sleep. The mouth disappears and I lazily open my eyes to see him grinning down at me smugly. I will my mouth to say “Harry” once more.
“Damn chair.”
He laughs. “What time is Dumbledore coming?”
“The wards are set to expire at five.”
A mischievous glint glitters in his eyes. “I think we should go back to bed. You need your strength for tonight.”
“Which is precisely why I am not getting into bed with you. Get off me. Don’t you have homework to do?” I marvel at the absurdity of all those sentences juxtaposed. I’m fucking someone who has homework.
“Mm-hmm...” He leans in to kiss along my neck. “Maybe you can help? What do you know about topping?” He sniggers even as his tongue runs along the shell of my ear. My stomach jolts with an arousal which will soon become quite apparent through my dressing robe.
“Get off, you insatiable little bugger.”
“I intend to.”
He kisses me and my resolve vanishes into his mouth. Not that I had much to begin with. I’m not nearly as irritated as I should be. His hands slide under the fabric of my dressing robe to excite the skin of my shoulders, my neck, my chest. I succumb to him. Again and again. I embrace my fall.
I have lost.
