Entry tags:

harry potter, harry/snape, severus snape

[FIC] Number Thirteen (Part One): Snape/Harry
Originally posted here on 12 September 2007

Title: Number Thirteen
Requester: unbroken_halo
Author:
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Summary: Harry and Hermione have been friends for a long time, but he still isn't too sure about her suggestion to use a dating service (especially when that dating service has a reputation for catering to, shall we say, "alternative" tastes). What follows is a mix of passion, disappointment, meddling, and new discoveries, as Harry finds himself facing choices and situations he'd never dreamed of.
Warnings: AU. D/s relationships.
Author's Notes: Written pre-DH, but AU anyway. Many many thanks to the exchange moderator, and to my betas for their help! Any remaining errors or plot holes are entirely my fault. ~28,000 words.



It had not been a good day for Harry.

First he'd overslept, missing his alarm clock for the second time this week, and he'd been in too much of a hurry to get breakfast. Then Professor Marshall had wanted to speak with him about the history project he had due – in just two weeks! – and he'd been late for his next lecture. Finally, he'd spent two hours at the library shelving books, which was fine except that the bloody heater had gone on the fritz again and he hadn't remembered to bring an extra sweater – although with as cold as it was, what he needed was a full overcoat, extra sweater, mittens, hat, and scarf.

"I swear," he said to his flatmate as he dumped his books on the dining table, "it was colder inside that old building than it was out!"

Hermione Granger pushed her bushy brown hair back out of her face and clucked in sympathy. "Sounds terrible, Harry. Have a biscuit."

"Thanks." He slumped into one of the other chairs at the table and grabbed one of the biscuits from the table. He bit into it and eyed his books warily for a moment before glancing up at Hermione. "Are these... low-fat or something?"

She put down her pencil. "Honestly, Harry, you sound like I was trying to poison you. They're nutritious. And it means you can have two instead of just one."

"Two? I was hoping to help with the rest of the box."

"Harry."

"All right, all right." He pushed his glasses up on his nose and frowned over to peer at what she was working on. Math. Pretty advanced stuff, too. He made a face. "How's that big paper coming? Wasn't it due sometime this week?"

"Tomorrow." Hermione went back to her papers.

Harry stared. "Aren't you worried? You were freaking out about it last weekend."

"Ah, that was before I had my monthly session with my Mistress." She smiled, and he blinked for a minute before remembering.

"Oh... yeah." Normally he might like thinking about two girls in bed together, but not when one of those girls was Hermione! She was practically a sister to him.

He just didn't think he would ever understand the kind of things Hermione did for fun. Anyone who actually enjoyed vector calculus was obviously living in a different plane of existence. He sighed and reached reluctantly for one of his history books.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

"M'fine," he mumbled, flipping the book open to the middle. "I just had kind of a rough day, is all."

Hermione was looking at him critically. "You need to get out more."

He rolled his eyes. "Get out more? Hermione, that would just give me less time for revising, and I need more time, not less."

"No, that's not right at all. Studies have shown that you need some relaxation time, to regather yourself, between revision sessions. You can't just work all the time, your brain would overload."

"Are you sure you're the Hermione Granger I know? 'Can't work all the time'?" He looked pointedly at her homework she was revising, and she blushed a bit.

"That's exactly why I make sure to go out once a month at a very minimum. It helps me come back fresh. You haven't – well, I'm sorry, Harry, but you haven't had a date since the start of term, have you?"

"No," Harry replied glumly. "I've just been busy."

"Maybe... Maybe you should think about a Master, Harry. Someone to make sure you do what you need to do, at least part of the time. And you don't have to worry about anything when you're with a Master – you just do whatever they say and someone else is responsible for everything. It doesn't even have to be about sex if you don't want." Hermione sighed, a far-off look coming to her eyes, and Harry began to think he understood why she liked it. To Hermione, even sex wasn't really about sex, it was about responsibility and trust and emotions and stuff like that.

"I don't think I could do it, Hermione." Harry flipped the book shut in frustration. "I can't even find someone to go out on a normal date with – how am I supposed to find someone to be a 'Master' and do all that other stuff for me?"

"Oh, that's the easy part," Hermione said. "There are services set up for this sort of thing, you know. You just call one up and tell them the sort of person you'd like to meet, and they arrange it all. Very discreet."

Harry stared. Trust Hermione to know the answer to everything. "A service? I can't imagine calling up and telling some eighty-year-old receptionist that I want to be hooked up with... I mean... Ugh, Hermione. Really ugh."

Hermione gave him a Look. "Don't go imagining things to be the most horrible they could possibly be, Harry. Honestly. I used one called Moonlight Escapes – it's run by a friend of a friend of mine, together with his partner. But like I said, he's very discreet. And I've known him for years, so it's not like this is some stranger." She hesitated for a second, and then went on. "I'll call him for you, if you like."

Harry played with a sheaf of papers, thinking. Someone else to be in control for a while. Someone else to make the decisions, and if there was some physical satisfaction thrown in, well, he certainly wasn't going to complain about that. And Hermione was willing to help him out – there was a reason they were best friends, after all. "All right," he heard his voice saying. "Give him a call. Then what happens?"

Hermione was smiling at him. "Remus will come over with a portfolio, some options, and then he'll help you pick someone out. Oh, I think you're going to be in for a treat, Harry. And just see if it doesn't de-stress you at the same time."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. Actually, it just added one more thing for him to stress about, but he also had a kind of nervous anticipation curling in his chest, too. Maybe it would be good. Maybe.

---

Apparently Hermione had wasted no time in setting the appointment up with this "Moonlight Escape" service. Frankly, Harry thought it sounded a little dodgy, but he wasn't going to tell Hermione that. He would have expected some kind of office, maybe, if this was really all above board.

"He doesn't make any money at this, Harry. There's no budget for office space." Hermione had given him a last critical look before going to answer the knock at the door. "Now, don't worry about a thing, Remus is going to take care of everything."

Right. Harry sat on the edge of his armchair, trying to look relaxed and casual as if he had hook-ups like this arranged for him all the time, and failing miserably. He heard the door open.

"Remus, hello!" Hermione's voice floated back into the living room. Harry wondered if he should get a book or something, try to look like he wasn't just sitting here waiting. A man's deep voice murmured something back to Hermione, but Harry couldn't make it out. The sheer masculinity of it, the sensuality, made him shiver. It had really been too long since he'd had a date.

"Pleased to meet you," he heard Hermione say. Harry blinked. Someone new was here too? Surely this Remus person hadn't brought someone to be the 'Master' so soon, had he? Harry thought there was going to be discussion! A trial period, some warning, something!

Just then Hermione appeared in the doorway with two men trailing, and Harry jumped. He got to his feet, trying to cover it, and smiled weakly at the group.

"Harry, this is Remus Lupin, and this is his partner Sirius Black." Harry started forward with his hand outstretched automatically, and took in the strange appearance of the two men.

The first thing Harry noticed was that both of the men were wearing matching collars – dog collars, if he wasn't mistaken. The one introduced as Remus looked... well-kept. He was wearing a silky looking shirt in solid black, and some rather nice jeans. The other man was much taller, with long black hair, and a sort of satisfied look on his face that appealed to Harry immensely. They were both older, though, maybe around forty, and it was obvious that these two were involved with each other. They were wearing matching collars, for goodness sake.

"Hi," Harry managed. "Um, won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Remus said in that low throaty voice Harry had heard, and Harry shivered again. For a second he thought the other man, Sirius Black, had seen it, but the only expression on his face was that amused satisfaction. Harry resolved to keep any physical reactions purely to himself.

He noticed Hermione hovering and grinned at her. "Come on, Hermione, you can sit down too. I know you'll have a ton of advice for me when we get talking about things."

She grinned back, a bit sheepish, and sat in the other armchair. "I just remember the first time I did this, Harry. It's fun, trust me."

Remus gave her an indulgent smile and then laid down the thick binder he'd been carrying. "Now then, Harry, if you don't mind, let's get down to business. Because our business is pleasure." He winked, to show that he wasn't taking this too seriously because who could, with a slogan like that, and rested his hand on the top of the book. "Hermione hasn't told me much about you, just that you're considering looking for a Master to try things out, and see how it goes."

Harry nodded.

"One thing I should tell you," Remus went on, "is that there are a lot of people in this book – men and women – and Masters come in a very wide range. But one thing you won't see in this book are pictures."

Harry glanced over to the other man, Sirius Black, but his expression was unchanged. He licked his dry lips and looked back at Remus. "Why's that?"

"Appearance isn't something that matters," Hermione put in. She looked at Remus. "Sorry."

"No, you're quite right." He smiled at them both. "Masters are talented people, Harry, and what they can do is much more important than how they look. Of course, once you meet whoever you choose you'll know what they look like, and you can always change your mind at any point in the process."

"All right." Harry nodded towards the book. "So what do I choose based on, if not looks?"

Remus' smile widened a bit and he opened the book. "Lots of things," he said, stroking his fingertips down the first page almost reverently. "I understand this is your first time? So you'll probably want someone with a bit of experience."

Harry shot a panicked look at Hermione. He wanted someone with a lot of experience, actually! She saw his look and cleared her throat. "I think Remus is just making sure we're all on the same page, Harry."

"Right." Remus nodded, and began flipping through some of the pages. "What we've got here is a bit of information on each candidate, about their preferences and desires – because the Masters are the ones who make the decisions when you're actually together, it's important for their desires to be well-known by both sides in advance." His gaze slid over to Sirius Black for a moment and then back to the pages. Harry got the impression he knew which of them was the Master, which was strange because Remus was doing all the talking. Mr. Black hadn't even said a word. He would have expected that the Master would be bossing the other about.

Remus saw his glance and smiled. "Not all relationships are the same in the bedroom as they are out of it," he said. "And in any case, different Masters want different things. As you see here," he indicated an information sheet in the binder, "this particular gentleman is quite strict. He prefers his partners to be completely subservient."

Harry read over the sheet. That sounded like what he had expected, and frankly he wasn't sure why Hermione found it so appealing. Who wanted to act like a slave for an hour or two at a time?

"Whereas this one..." Remus flipped a few more pages in the book. "This gentleman is much more of a fatherly figure. He is quite solicitous."

Hermione was peering over at the book too. "Oh, I remember him!" Harry's jaw dropped a little, and she blushed again. "Well, when I was first getting started, I tried out quite a few until I found one I wanted long-term."

Remus was nodding. "Not all of these are looking for someone to be a 'regular,' like Hermione has, but some of them are. Is that... is that something you might be interested in?"

"I don't think so," Harry said hesitantly. "I think at first it would be nice to know that I wasn't... being evaluated or anything. That it was definitely just a one-time thing."

"All right." Remus flipped through some more. "Here's one. He's very popular with the ladies, but occasionally takes the young men as well. Likes them your height, too." He gave Harry an appreciative look, which made Harry blush.

And then look over at Mr. Black again. He couldn't help it. It was just too strange, to have these two men in his home, and wondering about the nature of their relationship. Mr. Black was looking at him, more amused than annoyed, which was a relief but Harry still felt rather self-conscious. He wanted to ask Remus – who seemed friendly enough – if Mr. Black didn't talk, or something, but there was no way to do that while he was in the room. He turned his attention back to the profile sheet. "Forty-five years old?!" he yelped.

Remus smiled and Hermione frowned. "Well, experience does take time. Believe me, Harry, you won't mind his age when he's got you wrapped up in those arms of his."

"Er... I don't know about this part, though." He pointed. "I don't want to dress up like anything. Not girly."

"Of course," Remus murmured, looking Harry up and down again. "I have a feeling we'll find something precisely suited to your... hm, she'd like you – male, you say? yes, of course. Number 47 is always a good... well, you probably don't want that. Something more casual. Ah. How are you at blowjobs, Harry?"

Suddenly everyone in the room was looking at him, and Harry wanted to hide underneath the table. "Okay, I guess," he muttered, embarrassed beyond belief.

"By which I take it that you've done it once or twice, never had any complaints, and wish I hadn't asked you in mixed company?"

Harry had to smile at how accurate that was. "Yeah," he said. "But I could be better, I think," he added boldly.

"Couldn't we all?" Remus murmured and nudged Hermione, who giggled. Harry stared at her.

"So what you want," Remus resumed, "is perhaps someone who is willing to teach you. Show you a few things, but strictly on a one-time-only basis." He shook his head, expression thoughtful. "We don't have too many who are willing to break people in for others... Ah, how about Number Thirteen?" He turned the pages in the binder until one sparse profile page came up.

There was hardly anything written on it about what the man liked, and Harry frowned. "What is Number Thirteen looking for?"


"Number Thirteen takes all sorts," Remus answered lightly. "The catch is that he only takes them for a single session – there wouldn't be even a chance of a repeat."

"Well, that's good for me, though, isn't it?"

Remus inclined his head. "I suppose it is. Though most new people prefer someone a little more... forgiving."

Harry thought about this. "You said he's willing to teach, to show new things, and he doesn't want any repeats, so I wouldn't have to worry about doing well or any of that. What do I care if he's forgiving?"

Hermione had been peering at the page intently. "Oh..." she said softly, and looked up at Harry. "I remember Number Thirteen. One of my first, too, and he was..." She touched the profile sheet with one hand. "Very... very good."

Remus patted her hand and smiled at Harry. "He is very good. And I'm fairly sure he'd like you well enough for a session – though I have to check to be sure of course, but I think Harry here will be good with Number Thirteen, wouldn't you say, Sirius?"

Mr. Black shifted on the sofa, then, his eyes still holding that amusement but with a strange light to them. "I'd say so," he said.

---

Studying was easier to find time for, now that he wasn't worrying about what he was supposed to be doing in the way of finding a date or impressing this boy or anything, but Harry was finding it difficult to concentrate, as well. What kind of person signed up for this sort of service, as a 'Master', and took on just about anyone but would never see someone twice? Harry wondered if Number Thirteen was lonely. Or maybe he was in a committed relationship that didn't let him be in charge, so he did this on the side to make up for it.

His mind swirled with theories, but there was no way to know anything for sure. He even ran an idea or two past Hermione, but she didn't know any more about Number Thirteen than Harry did, at this point.

Harry wanted to know what the man looked like, which just made Hermione go all fuzzy. Dark hair, tallish, penetrating eyes – like he could see into your very soul. At first Harry thought she was mistakenly describing Mr. Black, but when he twitted her about it she was very vehement. "Oh, no, you'd know him when you saw him, Harry. There's no mistaking that man."

The odd thing was that she said he wasn't actually very attractive, but it was still one of the best experiences she'd had with the service.

"If he had been open to repeat visits, I'd have asked for him again."

Harry mulled that thought over. "Maybe he doesn't have anything beyond the first date, so to speak. I'm still a bit unclear on what we're actually going to do."

"I told you, Harry, you don't have to worry about any of it. There's nothing you can do to prepare so you might as well stop worrying about it. Now, I happen to know you can read two pages per minute if you're concentrating, so finish that chapter by eight o'clock, please."

Harry sighed. Hermione was a good friend and very good at what she did, but sometimes she was just a bit too mothering for him. Not that he knew what it was like to have a mother anyway. He supposed he should be grateful. "Thanks, Hermione," he said, and picked up his book.

---

Remus had called back to confirm the date for Friday, and Harry managed to put it out of his mind for the rest of the week. When Friday morning rolled around, though, he began to worry. Should he dress up? Wear cologne?

He checked his calendar. There circled in red was the time he was supposed to show up: 7 p.m. sharp. And penciled underneath because Harry thought it sounded especially shady and he'd like to be able to erase it was the place: the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had said it was a "charming" little inn in central London, and Harry was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Looking at the calendar, he realized what day it was and did a double take. The date was the thirteenth, and that made it Friday the thirteenth, and he was going out to meet Number Thirteen at some dodgy pub in London named the Leaky Cauldron. This could not get any stranger.

He managed to get through the day, though his advisor noticed he looked a bit jumpy and asked him five times if anything was wrong. Harry finally had to say his sister was expecting a baby any time now, which was clearly a lie since they both knew he didn't have any sisters. But his professor wrote it off easily enough, and Harry only belatedly thought he should have mentioned that he had a date. Closer to the truth and very believable. But then, he thought as he made his way back to his flat building, he would have been asked how it had gone, and he probably wouldn't want to be reminded of it once it was done.

He slid his key into the lock to unbolt the deadbolt and sighed. Just once, he said silently. No matter what, even if he liked Number Thirteen, it wasn't going to happen again, so he needed to let that sink in and the sooner the better.

Just once.

-:-

"Hermione!" Harry sorted through his closet in something like a panic. "Have you seen my green sweater?"

She appeared in the doorway. "Honestly, Harry, you should have picked your clothes out last night and laid them out. Then you wouldn't be in such a rush at the last minute all the time."

A pair of pants came flying out of the closet. "Spare me the lecture this time, please – have you seen it? You know the one I mean, it's dark and soft and I think you borrowed it two weeks ago– " Harry popped his head back out of the closet. "Hang on, did you ever give it back?"

"Oh," Hermione said with a slight flush creeping into her cheeks. "That sweater? I think I may have seen it – just a moment." Harry grinned and pulled out his shoes – wait, he couldn't just wear trainers if he was trying to make an impression. Dress shoes? Boots? Loafers? He really didn't have a lot of options. By the time he'd picked up every different pair of shoes in his closet and finally decided on the trainers, Hermione was back, sweater in hand.

"Here you are. Sorry about that."

"It's all right, Hermione. Just so long as I have it when I want it." He reached out and tweaked her nose playfully, and she swatted at his hand.

"Well, that's everything, then. And yes, I've got the directions and cash for a cab Just In Case because You Never Know, thank you very much, mother."

"All right, you've made your point," Hermione sniffed. "Just remember to have fun, and you'll be fine."

---

The Leaky Cauldron turned out to be one of those weird theme restaurants. In this case the theme was Halloween, or so Harry gathered from the witch's hats, broomsticks, and cauldron motifs. The cobwebs in the corner looked pretty authentic, too, at least as far as Harry could tell. He was supposed to ask the barman for a key to his room, so he picked his way around the crowded tables and through the knots of boisterous people, all out having a good time, until he came to the bar. He wedged in between a tall red-headed boy and a dreamy-looking blonde girl that looked to be about his age, and waved at the harried looking barman.

"Name?" The barman didn't seem interested in exchanging pleasantries, and Harry wondered how often he did this sort of thing. Did many of the meet-ups opt for the anonymity of a neutral location?

"Uh... Joel Richards."

The man reached underneath the counter and pulled out a little book, flipped through it to what Harry presumed was the Rs, and pulled out a key. "Room thirteen, second floor." He nodded toward the stairs and Harry thanked him. No one seemed to pay Harry any attention as he went toward the stairs, which he supposed he should be grateful for. He couldn't help but glance around at the crowd, looking for anyone he recognized, so that he could head any recognition off at the pass. If someone was going to spot him, he wanted to spot them in return and not be caught off guard by awkward questions on Monday morning.

But he didn't see anyone. The crowd at the Leaky Cauldron seemed to be a rather eclectic mix, and there were plenty of people his own age, but no one he recognized from school.

Once he was up the stairs, he was faced with a dark corridor. The sounds of laughter and talking from downstairs still drifted up, but muffled, as if they were in the next building over instead of just at the base of this staircase. Harry started down the hall, watching the numbers on the doors climb slowly, and when he got to room 13 on the left hand side, he stopped.

This was it, then. All he had to do was knock on the door and go in, and there was someone waiting on the other side to... to what? Tell him what to do? Make him some kind of slave for a few hours? Or – he remembered what Remus had said – teach him how to give blowjobs, for Christ's sake? Maybe he should just go home now before he made a complete fool of himself.

In fact, he was sure that's what he should do. He thought of facing Hermione and telling her that he decided not to do it after all. She'd probably tell him that he should have decided that days ago instead of inconveniencing everyone like this...

Just once.

It's just one time, he told himself. After tonight you'll never see this man again, and you just might actually enjoy yourself. Let someone else be responsible for a while. His hand reached up to knock, slowly, and he followed its path with his eyes as if it belonged to someone else. Then his knuckles made contact with the hard wood of the door, and there was the sound of two sharp raps.

Suddenly Harry was more certain than ever that he should make a run for it. This was crazy, this man was twice his age and notoriously "not exactly forgiving" – he probably preferred girls, or taller blokes, or shorter, or–

The door opened. Just a crack. All Harry could see was darkness, and some black hair across the man's face, and the light of the hallway reflected in two glittering eyes. Harry stared.

The man stared back for a moment, still just holding the door open an inch or two. Finally he spoke. "Yes?" The voice was impossibly low and just the slightest bit impatient. Not a good way to begin, Harry thought with a gulp. He'd best get to it, and remember that his job was just to do whatever this man wanted him to do.

"Sorry – I'm H– Joel." He didn't drop his eyes from the man's face, and after another heartbeat's time, the door opened wider, the man stepping back to let him into the room.

Hermione had said that the master would choose to tell his name or not depending on various things, so Harry still just thought of him as Number Thirteen. He couldn't help but look the man over curiously as he stepped past him into the room, and it was rather surprising. He didn't look like anything special. Just a man of about forty, medium build if a bit on the thin side, with a rather unfortunate nose, surprisingly long black hair, and dark, hard eyes. Only a few inches taller than Harry, which was nice, wearing plain white shirt and soft-looking dark trousers, though it was difficult to tell the shade of anything in the dim room. His expression was absolutely and utterly unreadable, which was more than a little unnerving. How was Harry supposed to tell if he was doing something right or wrong or anything?

He cleared his throat and looked at the room while Number Thirteen shut the door. It was a standard hotel-style room, though large, separated into a small sitting area (where he was now standing) and a doorway with a bed visible beyond. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous. What was he supposed to do now?

"So you're... Joel," Number Thirteen said, his voice a soft purr. Harry was reminded of Remus' low growl, though that man's was more harsh and throaty whereas Number Thirteen had a silky, deliciously rich voice like dark chocolate.

"You can call me Harry," he blurted, and then felt his face redden. Well, so much for anonymity, and so much for not making a fool of himself.

"Harry." There was a definite tinge of amusement in the man's voice, and Harry thanked the stars above that at least he could tell a bit of what was going on by the tone of Number Thirteen's voice, if his face was going to continue to give nothing away.

The man walked around Harry then, circling, and Harry could feel his gaze sweeping over every part of him. Finally Number Thirteen stopped directly in front of him, hands at his sides and looking perfectly at ease. Harry tried not to fidget under that cool gaze, but he was wondering like mad what the man was thinking.

They stood there for a moment, not speaking, and Harry began to feel a little lost in the depths of those black eyes. Well, he finally told himself after a moment, he really had nothing to lose here, so he may as well be as direct as he wanted to be. The worst that could happen would be Number Thirteen sending him home early, but even if that happened, at least Harry wouldn't have to worry about what to do or what to say any more.

"So, um, I'm not sure how much they told you about me, but this is the first time I've done anything like this, and I – I guess I would appreciate a little bit of guidance, because I–" Harry paused. The man hadn't moved a muscle, but he appeared to be listening. "Because I don't really... uh... know what I'm supposed to..." Harry trailed off, aware that he sounded about as dumb as was humanly possible.

Number Thirteen raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing," Harry finished, trying to sound as dignified as he could.

"I see." Number Thirteen seemed to mull this over. "Very well. For now, what you are 'supposed to' be doing is standing there. I shall tell you when something else is required." Harry opened his mouth, and shut it again. Standing there meant no talking, he guessed, though Number Thirteen hadn't seemed annoyed or anything when he'd launched into his little speech a minute ago. Well, he had asked for it. At least now he knew he didn't need to do or say anything else. Harry just stood there, silent, and waited to see what Number Thirteen was going to do next.

Apparently, what he was going to do next was look Harry over a while longer. Harry was okay with that. He knew he wasn't the best looking bloke in the world, but Remus had said that Number Thirteen took all kinds. And he didn't need to worry about being approved; he was already here. There was no "next time" to audition for.

Number Thirteen gave a small nod after a moment, as if deciding upon something. "Well, Harry," he said, his voice light and conversational this time, "what I'd like next is to know a little bit about what it is you think is going on here tonight."

Harry was a bit confused by this, but he had nothing to lose, so he said quite honestly, "I'm supposed to do whatever you tell me to do. And we'll do whatever you like."

Number Thirteen stepped around behind Harry, then, as if he were looking him over again, but his footsteps stopped. Harry guessed the man was just off to one side, behind him, which made an itch develop between his shoulder blades, but he didn't turn.

"Tell me something." Harry jumped. That low, sensuous purr was right beside his ear! He could feel the warm breath against his neck. "Have you ever had sex with a man?"

Harry blinked. "I thought Remus would have told you."

"Just... answer the question. Harry."

Harry's eyes fluttered closed at the sound of his name rolling across that rich, milky voice. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes... I've had..." Harry's mouth was dry, and he felt more embarrassed at the words than he had felt showing up to have sex with a stranger in the first place. "I've had sex with a man."

"I see." The breath disappeared from his neck, leaving Harry with a cold shiver, but then it came back on the other side. "And what about women? Have you ever had sex with a woman?"

Harry shook his head. "N-no."

"No?" The voice was curious. Harry waited for the next question, but instead he felt the soft caress of fingertips against the base of his neck, passing over the juncture of neck and shoulder and fingering the edge of his collar. He shivered. And waited.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" The voice was low, but casual, almost conversational.

"N-no." Harry fought not to lean back against the warm hand on his neck, which had moved over to the other side, fingertips stroking the nape of his neck.

"Would you like to know? Harry?"


"Yes," Harry managed to say, "please."

The fingers took sharper hold of his neck, and then Number Thirteen stepped around in front of Harry, leaned down and kissed him. There was nothing subtle or gentle about the kiss – the man's lips were insistent, and Harry felt his own lips parting under the onslaught. Then there were two hands on him, gripping the back of his neck, his shoulder, moving about as if the man didn't know what he wanted to touch more, and Harry wondered wildly if he should be doing anything with his own hands. Number Thirteen hadn't said to, but then he hadn't said to return the kiss and Harry was doing that rather enthusiastically with no complaints forthcoming.

He was just considering raising his hands to touch that gorgeous long black hair when suddenly the man broke off the kiss. The fingers were gone from the base of his skull, and Harry blinked a few times in disorientation. "What – "

"Quiet." The man's voice was mild, as one might correct a very young child. "Get into the bed." He reached for Harry's shirt as if to lift it from his waistband, and then paused as if remembering something. For a moment they were frozen like that, staring into one another's eyes, and Harry noticed how much light there was reflected in those black depths. Then Number Thirteen took a step back, apparently recovering his equanimity. "Come with me," he said, and reached to wrap his fingers around one of Harry's wrists. Harry followed along, letting himself be pulled across the room to the large bed against the wall.

"So." Number Thirteen stopped him just a step away from the bed, let go of his wrist and sat down facing Harry. He seemed to have an almost predatory look on his face, and Harry liked it. "What I want you to do now... Harry... is to go down on your knees and suck me. You've done it before, I take it?"

Mutely, Harry nodded. He had done it, and had it done to him, but he had never "finished" someone off that way – it had always been a precursor to something else. Once again he found himself unsure and growing more nervous.

Number Thirteen seemed to take this in stride. "I may have a few comments about your technique," he said, "but don't let that worry you. After all, you may as well learn something while you're here." He smirked a bit, then motioned toward the floor.

Harry knelt, surprised to find a cushion already on the floor – oh, Number Thirteen had been in the room before him. He'd probably prepared for everything they were going to do. The thought was reassuring, as if someone had a plan and all Harry had to do was follow along. And like the man said, he may as well learn something. Hesitantly, he reached his hands out to brace himself on Number Thirteen's thighs. The trousers were indeed as soft as they looked, and thin enough that Harry had no trouble feeling the wiry muscles underneath. He looked up, and Number Thirteen was still smirking a bit, but he began to undo his trousers.

When Number Thirteen's hand disappeared inside his own trousers, Harry had to bite down a soft groan. The sight was mesmerizing, and he was rewarded when a few seconds later the trousers were pushed down to reveal the man's hand wrapped around his own cock. Harry's mouth opened by reflex, and his own cock began to respond. He was a rather oppressed college student, after all – not a date yet this semester – and the sight of another man's delicious erection was very enticing. He bent his head down, eager to lick up that small bead of precome forming at the head of Number Thirteen's cock, but he was stopped by a hand on his forehead.

"Um?" Harry said. He knew he wasn't supposed to speak unless spoken to, but hadn't the man said to suck him? And here he was, ready to obey.

"You don't just dive in with your tongue flapping, Harry." The man ran his thumb over Harry's lower lip. "Use your hand, first. Gently. Get me ready."

Harry nodded and slid one of his hands up Number Thirteen's leg to join the hand already there. Number Thirteen nodded and pulled his own hand away, slowly, and leaned back onto his hands.

This, now, this was something Harry knew how to do. The angle was different than when he did himself, but pressure and starting slowly were things he could understand. Number Thirteen's cock was thick and heavy in his hand, but the skin moved just the same as his own cock, and Harry began to stroke, his fingers curled tight around it. The drop of precome became a bead, and still Harry ignored it, waiting until he was given permission so that he could taste it. The cock grew even harder in his hand as he worked, and Number Thirteen shifted once as if getting into it. Harry glanced up to see the man staring down at him, eyes heavy-lidded with lust, and Harry had to smile a bit. He was doing this, and he was good at it because Number Thirteen liked it, and he would do whatever the man wanted and told him to and it would be fine, it would be good, and it didn't matter if he was horrible anyway because the man was never going to see him again after tonight.

"All right," Number Thirteen said. Harry was gratified to hear the catch in the voice, just as he pumped over the cock, and he knew how it was arousing and yet frustrating to have someone touching you, stroking you, but not paying any attention to the sensitive head of your cock. He raised his eyebrows.

"All right, put your mouth to good use," Number Thirteen growled. Harry debated for a second disobeying – holding out and just continuing the same motion, just to see what the man would do, but then Number Thirteen shifted as if he were going to put all of his weight onto one hand and use the other for something else, and Harry bent his head in a hurry. There was something about this man that made Harry want to obey, even if he did seem to enjoy testing the limits.

He bent his head, and Number Thirteen pushed up slightly, not demanding, just presenting himself to be sucked. Harry paused a heartbeat to admire that cock – darker than the exposed stomach, with black curls around the base. Harry bent his head and, ignoring the cock altogether, pressed his face into the dark curls, nuzzling against Number Thirteen's balls. Before he could do anything else, Number Thirteen moved, lifting up a hand to catch Harry's chin in a cruel grip. Harry found he didn't mind the pinching fingers, though – he was almost sorry it wasn't more. For a split second, as their eyes locked, he envisioned Number Thirteen slapping him across the face for his disobedience, and his trousers tightened even more against his own straining cock. He must have tightened his grasp on Number Thirteen's cock, too, for the man drew in a slight breath and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

Then the moment passed, and Number Thirteen guided his chin so that his mouth was right next to that throbbing luscious head. Harry let go of the man's cock and Number Thirteen sat forward to press his cock against Harry's cheek. "You want it, don't you," he growled low and sensuous. It must have been obvious how badly he wanted to take Number Thirteen in his mouth, because the man just forced his cock against Harry's lips and rubbed it from side to side. "I know you want it," he said. "You don't need me to tell you how to do it – you already know, don't you?"

Harry's body reacted to that in a rather surprising manner – arousal. Sharp and instant arousal. He opened his mouth to say something – after all, the man had asked him a direct question, so he figured he was supposed to answer – but the instant his lips parted, Number Thirteen slid his cock between them, and Harry actually did want it, so he gave up protesting. The hand on his jaw twisted, forcing his mouth open wider, and Harry's body sagged between Number Thirteen's legs as he gave himself up to the invasion.

The cock pushed further into his mouth, and then the hand moved from his jaw to the back of his head, and for a moment Harry wondered if this was smart, if he would be able to breathe, if this man was going to hurt him? But then he was distracted by the slide of cock against his tongue, and even without the hand forcing his jaw he kept his mouth only partly open. It meant Number Thirteen's cock scraped against his teeth, he knew, but he wasn't biting and it had to have been tighter that way as well. There was a pause, and then Number Thirteen began to pull Harry's head off of him with his fingers twined in Harry's hair. Harry let himself be pulled away, relaxing his jaw as he did so, and then the hand let go completely, and Harry set to work. Number Thirteen's hand was resting lightly on his head, and he figured that meant if he did anything wrong he might be punished (if you could call being forced to take a cock in your mouth "punished") but right now he had free reign to do things his way.

He took a moment to swipe his tongue across the tip of Number Thirteen's cock, tasting the faint tang of release there, but he didn't have a chance to wonder at the flavor before – ever mindful of the hand hovering around his head – he pushed back down, taking Number Thirteen deep into his throat, letting his tongue massage and work over the underside of the cock before pulling out and moving again. He brought one hand back up to the base of Number Thirteen's cock, holding it steady and adding a little squeeze and tug as he moved with his mouth. It actually wasn't that hard to coordinate and get the timing right, because his own mouth needed the same timing as well.

God, but the man's cock felt good in his mouth. Heavy and sweet, and Harry's own prick was really taking notice. He imagined rubbing up against it – but he was still clothed, and that made imagining difficult. Still, he felt a lot less vulnerable this way than he would have if he were completely naked, and he wondered if that was just coincidence that Number Thirteen had "let" him remain clothed. In any case, he was grateful. He swirled his tongue, wondering if that felt good, and had his answer when he heard a soft sigh escape Number Thirteen's lips. He glanced up as he pulled away a bit, and smiled around the cock in his mouth when he saw the aroused expression on the man's face. Should he know his name? Harry wondered out of nowhere. Surely he had a name. Something other than "Number Thirteen", anyway. No, he reminded himself, they were mostly anonymous here, and it didn't matter anyway because they weren't going to see each other ever again. Still... a part of Harry's brain whispered... it would be nice if you knew his name. I bet Remus knows his name. And Mr. Black does too, from the look of things.

Suddenly Number Thirteen had Harry's head in both hands, dragging him off the cock he'd been sucking. "What are you thinking about?" he demanded. Harry was more than a little frightened at this point – had he bitten him? His mind had been wandering, was there a problem with that?

"S-sorry," he managed, stumbling over the words. "I'll do better, I–"

A rough shake again, and for a moment Harry wondered what he was going to do. It looked like Number Thirteen was about to demand another answer to his question, but then his expression relaxed slightly and he released Harry's head. His hands moved to stroke gently at Harry's hair, as if trying to smooth it down (which was impossible; no matter what Harry did his hair had a mind of its own). "It's all right," he said, and it wasn't said in a soothing manner but yet it had that effect on Harry. Some quality of the man's voice was innately soothing, and Harry's own cock bobbed inside his trousers reminding him of his own needs. Somehow Harry didn't think a surreptitious hand down his own trousers while he sucked Number Thirteen would go unnoticed, or allowed.

Number Thirteen saw the way he moved and obviously knew what he was thinking. Hermione had been right, Harry thought, the man seemed like he could read minds. He started to go back to what he was doing, but Number Thirteen stopped him.

"Time for something else. Stand up and undress."

Harry scrambled to his feet and toed his shoes off. He took off his clothes quickly, trying not to notice the way Number Thirteen watched, until finally he was stepping out of his pants. Number Thirteen stood up, and for a moment Harry began to panic again, but all the man did was motion him towards the bed, so Harry went to it and lay down.

The bedspread had been pulled down and the sheets were incredibly smooth. Not overly soft, like the flannel sheets Harry's aunt always used to use in the winter time, but smooth, like water had been tied up and put into two flat sheets on either side of his toes. Like chocolate. Like Number Thirteen's voice.

Then it was Number Thirteen's turn to undress, and Harry's turn to watch him as he stripped. His eyes were fixed on Harry's, even as Harry's eyes were fixed on those hands that moved over buttons and fastenings. The shirt was removed, and Number Thirteen betrayed no hint of shyness, even though he did not have the most handsome chest in the world. Wiry had been right, and without any clothes on there was nothing to take the relief off the hair and dark eyes.

But those eyes... Harry snapped his gaze back to them, wondering what he was supposed to do or say. The man was just standing there on the floor, not coming towards the bed, both of them completely as naked as the day they were born.

"Uh," Harry said, and it was like he broke some kind of spell. Number Thirteen rolled his eyes, looking just as put out as he'd done a few moments before when Harry had disobeyed, back when they'd both been wearing clothes.

"Just be quiet, Harry. Let me look at you." Harry's face flamed as he remembered what he was wearing. It wasn't enough that he was lying here naked; he was lying here naked and aroused, and as his eyes roamed over the other man's body, he was becoming more aroused. That cock really was something, and it had been in Harry's mouth. His lips twitched with desire, and his own cock filled with blood as he thought again about rubbing them together. Harry's experience wasn't limited to frottage, but he knew he liked it, possibly better than the sex. Well, being on the receiving end of the sex, anyway. When he'd topped it had been pretty good, but receiving was sometimes a little weird.

He realized they were staring at each other again, and he looked away, feeling vulnerable or shy. Number Thirteen took a step toward the bed, leaning down, and looked directly at Harry. "Trust me," he whispered, and then he was climbing up over Harry, straddling his legs. Harry was a bit confused when Number Thirteen pushed his legs together, but then he leaned forward onto his hands and canted his hips and there was contact and friction and the two erections rubbing together, and Harry hadn't seen when the man had got any lube but he must have in there because their cocks were slipping against each other and it felt amazing. His eyes closed involuntarily and his head fell back against the pillows, but Number Thirteen put a gentle hand on his cheek. "Eyes open," he said.

Harry obeyed, and he pushed away any embarrassment by reminding himself that Number Thirteen was practically a professional, even if he wasn't getting paid, and he'd seen probably hundreds of other people in just as compromising a position. Not to mention that Harry was never going to see this man after tonight, and even though he would have to tell Hermione about it, at least he could trust Hermione with his innermost secrets. With all that in mind, he let his arousal and desire and want show on his face, and though Number Thirteen's expression didn't really change, Harry thought he seemed pleased.

Number Thirteen was rocking against him more forcefully now, hand covering both of their cocks, and Harry wished he knew what to do with his hands. Just then Number Thirteen leaned down to place a wet, hungry open-mouth kiss against the underside of Harry's jaw, making his head fall back again, but he brought it back up so that Number Thirteen would be able to see his eyes, and then the man really surprised him by whispering, "You can put your hands on me if you would like."

Hesitantly, Harry reached his hands upward, letting one of them rest on Number Thirteen's shoulder and moving the other up to the man's hair. It was soft, and it felt even better when Number Thirteen tossed his head back, encouraging his grip. His fingers tightened close to the scalp, and the long hair brushed against his wrist and forearm as they rocked against each other. Harry was panting now with the pleasure of it. "Please," he whispered, a bit wary of angering Number Thirteen by speaking out of turn. But the only reaction was another nuzzle against his neck, taking Harry's hand along for the ride. "Please," he said again, not even knowing what he was asking for.

"You want something?" Number Thirteen murmured against the skin just below his ear, then licked it. Harry thrust his hips upward in response, wanting to feel all of it. The hand, the man's cock, everything was so much sensation, and his balls tightened and he knew what he needed. Release.

Number Thirteen shifted then, moving one of his legs to between Harry's thighs, nudging them apart. Harry was so far gone he didn't even dream of resisting. Anything this man wanted to do to him was fair game. He felt fingers sliding down the length of his cock, pausing to stroke his balls, rougher than he'd ever been himself but somehow it felt good, and then slip lower, into the sensitive place behind his sac, tickling against his skin.

"Too light?" Number Thirteen said, almost as if to himself as he watched Harry's reaction. All Harry could do to answer was push upward, wanting more contact, and Number Thirteen sat up on kneeling, so that he could take hold of Harry's cock with one hand even as he slid the other in, down towards his most private place. Oh, he'd been fucked before, but he never remembered wanting someone to slide a finger into him quite so much.

"Please," he said again, and then was horrified at his body's next action: he actually moved downward, seeking out the man's finger, trying to take hold of it, and it was so arousing the idea that he couldn't help it but he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

Number Thirteen didn't laugh, which mollified Harry only a little bit. Instead, the man stroked his cock slowly and teased the entrance smoothly, firmly, and Harry got control of his body again. He was okay with this, yes, but he didn't want to want it quite so much. Number Thirteen quirked an eyebrow and Harry nodded.

He was grateful again when Number Thirteen moved, back onto his hands and knees so that Harry didn't have to watch his face as that finger – oh! Inside him, now, and it was strange as ever and he couldn't help but tense up a bit, but then Number Thirteen was at his neck again, kissing and licking and even biting – those weren't playful nibbles, the man was going to leave a mark! – and the finger inside him twisted a bit and slid in further, and it wasn't bad. Actually, it was exciting to think that someone else would enjoy doing this to him, and if there was one thing Harry was sure about it was that Number Thirteen was enjoying this. I mean, he thought a little dazedly, obviously he must enjoy it if he regularly agrees to have sex with strangers, but he's actually having a good time right here, with me, right now. It was a comforting thought.

With a sigh, Harry pulled his hands away from the man on top of him and stretched his arms out over his head. It was nice, in a way, to be the helpless one – he did trust Number Thirteen, which was strange. Had he ever trusted someone to fuck him before, or had he just grudgingly allowed it as some kind of trade, or payment, or retribution? Harry wasn't sure. But right now he felt like he liked it, and he actually wanted the thick cock he'd been sucking on just a few moments before to be inside him.

Their cocks were rubbing against each other again, and Harry could feel the pleasure growing. He was struck by a sudden thought – what if Number Thirteen wanted to finish him off this way? He'd much rather get fucked while he was still hard – it made it easier in his experience to distract himself from the cock up his arse – but he didn't know what Number Thirteen was planning to do. He placed his hand hesitantly on Number Thirteen's shoulder, unsure how to ask a question or even if he was allowed to ask anything or have any say in the direction of the evening's activities.

Number Thirteen seemed to sense a question, though, because he pulled away and looked at Harry's face, his body stilling and his finger stopping its slow twist and pump motion. He looked... not worried, but concerned at least, and Harry was once again reassured that not only did the man know what he was doing, but he was willing to take Harry's needs and wants into consideration. Even if he did order Harry around.

"What?" he growled harshly, but Harry could tell he was just unhappy about stopping and maybe a little afraid he'd hurt Harry or something, not actually angry about being interrupted. Harry had to smile a bit at that.

"I just... I just wanted to make sure..." Harry felt unaccountably shy, considering he was talking to someone who was even now fingering his arse.

Number Thirteen seemed to relax minutely, perhaps now that Harry had assured him that he wasn't being injured. He bent and kissed Harry's chin and neck again just for a moment, as if to say 'it's all right, you can tell me, I'll take care of you,' and Harry felt more reassured than ever.

"I just wanted to make sure... you were going to fuck me," he finished in a rush. Number Thirteen's head pulled back sharply, and for an instant he just stared and Harry felt like there was an actual connection in their eyes. It was the oddest feeling. Then Number Thirteen almost groaned a bit, shifting against him and pushing his finger farther in.

"Harry..." he murmured as he kissed some more. "I am going to fuck you."

"I mean, um, before." Harry felt his cheeks redden. He knew that wasn't really clear, so he summoned up all his courage and went on, "Before I, um, come."

Number Thirteen's look was appraising now, but he nodded slowly.

Then he was pushing two fingers in, and again Harry missed how the lube got there but it went in smoothly with no trouble and he just felt full and stretched. He moaned a little, then, and Number Thirteen let a small smile creep over his face. Then the fingers were gone, and Harry wriggled uncomfortably at the loss.

Number Thirteen parted his legs farther and knelt between them, urging his knees bent and with a last kiss on Harry's neck and trailing down his chest, he paused once more and Harry practically begged for it but held his tongue. Number Thirteen would tell him when he needed to do anything; for now he was just going to keep doing whatever the man wanted. He would take this and then have his turn, and that would be good enough. The man must have read some of his trepidation in his face, because he smiled softly and trailed a hand down Harry's chest. The smile looked out of place on the man's harsh face, but it just went to show Harry how much he was trying to put him at ease.

The finger was back again, teasing, and Harry relaxed, knowing that he already liked that part of it. Why or how he wasn't sure. But then the finger became more, thicker, blunter, and Harry watched Number Thirteen watching him. At least he was watching him – not lost in his own pleasure, not in a hurry even though he must have been more than ready for this – what if he wasn't? What if Number Thirteen wasn't really that turned on, maybe he'd taken a pill or something, Harry had read about those, and he wasn't really that exciting to be with?

Just then Number Thirteen tilted his hips from side to side a bit and pushed in further. He paused, waiting, looking down at Harry, and again that same small half soft smile was back, quirking the corner of the man's lips up. "It's so hard to go slow, Harry," he murmured, and Harry almost came right then from the silkiness of the voice, so obviously filled with wanting and hunger, and all for him. So the man had done this a hundred times before – right now he was with Harry, and it was being with Harry that made him need to go it hard for him to go slowly.

Harry bent his legs further, pushing against Number Thirteen's shoulders to lift his legs for easier access. "So don't," he said, a little astonished at his own audacity. With a low growl, Number Thirteen shoved in more fully – deep and sudden and Harry felt deliciously dirty. Number Thirteen wriggled, and Harry gasped. "Wait–" he said, and the look on Number Thirteen's face changed to an almost mischievous look.

Go to Part Two!