Current mood:	you really don't want to know
Entry tags:	*fic, 2009-10, author: leela_cat, character: harry, character: severus, theme: hyphephilia

FIC: The Gloves Upon Those Hands (Severus/Harry ~ NC17)
Title: The Gloves Upon Those Hands
Author: Leela (leela_cat)
Characters: Severus/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: * None *
Themes/kinks chosen: Hyphephilia: arousal by touching fabrics or garments
Word Count: ~1,150
Summary: Severus Snape does not share his hands with just anyone.
Betas: eeyore9990
Author's Notes: Inspired by the prompt "glove" provided by eeyore9990 and partly a gift fic for alisanne. My thanks to the DD mods for letting me post on a month that I'm not scheduled.



The gloves came off last, after the cloak and scarf. A tug on each finger and then the thumb, followed by a slow slide of black leather. Pale, stained skin revealed millimetre by millimetre with a sensual lack of haste.

The fingers were long and thin. Marked with splotches and splashes of dull, faded colour. An old burn scar drew attention to the base of the left thumb. The palms were square, making the hands seem broad and capable rather than aristocratic. Not the hands of a labourer, but of someone who worked with his hands.

The left forefinger stroked a pair of thin lips. The fingers and thumb of the right hand spread possessively around the book that lay open on the table.

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding, picked up a pencil and began to sketch.

A peek garnered him the first time a page was turned. The left hand hovered while that odd twisting caress of the right hand flipping the page over.

The next time he glanced over, the book remained but the hands were gone.

"Oh," Harry murmured in disappointment. He looked down at his pad, at the half-finished drawing, and curled his lip. Something was off. The thumb wasn't too long this time, but... maybe the curve of the palm? It seemed out of proportion to the fingers and the wrist.

"Perhaps this will help," a familiar voice purred in his ear as the right hand splayed over his pad and then into the same position as Harry's sketch.

A thousand, possibly a hundred thousand excuses spun through Harry's mind and evaporated. Instead, he compared his sketch with the hand and discovered that the problem was in the heart line. He'd drawn it too short, too far from the head line, plain instead of chained.

He became so lost in the movements of his pencil, in the need to render everything perfectly, that he made a noise of objection and grabbed at the hand when it started to move away. The hand left anyway, moving just far enough to tip his chin upwards and force Harry to look into a pair of amused dark eyes.

"They're my hands, Potter" Snape said.

"So?" Harry frowned, wondering what Snape was on about.

"You may not draw them when I wish to use them."

"I was almost done." Harry was very proud of himself for keeping the whine out of his voice.

"Given the thickness of your sketch pad, I suspect that's something on the order of 'almost pregnant'," Snape responded.

"I don't just draw your hands."

"Really?" An elegant eyebrow arched in the exact curve Harry had captured three weeks earlier.

"Yeah."

"So, if I were to open this book--" Snape tapped the page, and Harry realised that he'd not quite captured the slight raggedness of the half-moon at the base of the nail on the index finger "--I wouldn't find sketch after sketch of my hands."

"There's other stuff."

"And this other stuff bears no resemblance to any part of my body?"

Harry slammed his hands down on the book, preventing Snape from taking it. "It's none of your business."

The scoffing noise that came out of Snape's mouth held an entire universe of disbelief and scorn, but when he leant down again, when he placed his lips next to Harry's ear, his voice was soft enough to raise more than goosebumps on Harry's body. "Some artists believe that you can't draw something until you've truly experienced and understood it."

"Here?" Harry flung his arm out in a gesture that encompassed the small café and the three tables that the ladies of the Gardening Guild had pushed together for their regular Wednesday meeting. A couple of the blue-rinsed heads had turned at Harry's raised voice, and he could all but hear the gossip flying.

"Hardly. I don't share my hands with just anyone."

While Harry watched, Snape returned to his table, dropped a handful of coins next to his plate, swirled his cloak and scarf around his shoulders. A knowing glance at Harry and he raised his hands, making a performance of drawing on his gloves.

He was halfway out the door before Harry snatched up his pencil, pad, and coat and ran after him.

~*~

An hour later, Harry was lying in the middle of Severus Snape's bed. Nude. Snape was fully dressed... and gloved.

The leather was butter-soft and thin enough for Harry to feel the warmth of Snape's hands as he ran them up and down Harry's torso.

"Close your eyes." Snape kissed each of Harry's eyelids. "Allow yourself to feel."

The sweep over Harry's collarbones with the tips of Snape's fingers made Harry jump. The movement was repeated, again and again, sometimes with a thumb pressing on the underside of the bone. After the fourth time, needing more, Harry arched into the touch and raised his hands to clutch at Snape's arms. But his hands were pressed down on the bed.

"Hold onto the duvet, if you must."

His fingers traced down Harry's sternum and then over to Harry's nipples. The first pinch drew a moan from Harry. The rasp of a stitched seam across the nipples sent a jolt down into Harry's cock, had him bucking his hips.

"Feel my hands," Snape said, and stroked his palms down Harry's sides and rested one of each of Harry's pelvic bones. There was a pause, a lack of movement that had Harry gripping the duvet, parting his legs, and digging in his heels.

Snape murmured some words Harry didn't quite catch, although he felt the soft breeze of magic passing over him. Then, Snape shifted, somehow keeping his hands in place, as he moved between Harry's legs. The rough, slightly itchy scratch of a wool jumper against Harry's inner thighs had Harry pushing down, rubbing against him.

And then Snape's hands moved. His fingers and thumbs splayed out. The fingers pressed into Harry's stomach, the thumbs into the muscle on either side of Harry's cock. And then he rocked his hands. Sometimes turning his thumbs to dig the seam of the leather into Harry's skin, twisting just a little to catch a few curly hairs. Over and over, repeating the movements, building up speed.

"Please," Harry begged, thrusting his hips upwards, writhing in an attempt to get those hands on his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut, reached over his head and clutched the bed frame.

"Please what?" Snape asked, sliding his hands sideways just a little, bringing his thumbs closer to the base of Harry's cock.

"Touch. Oh, god, please, touch." Harry was babbling, his entire body undulating as Snape's thumbs massaged the skin just to the side of his cock.

Then Snape said, "Harry," and breathed on his cock.

And Harry was lost, babbling as his toes curled under, his hips arched upwards, his cock pulsed, and he came.

~fin~