Summersmut Mod (summersmutmod) wrote in hp_summersmut, @ 2007-09-12 10:00:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | harry potter, harry/snape, severus snape |
[FIC] Number Thirteen (Part Two): 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.
Part One!
"No," was all he said, and then he took Harry's hands in his own, lacing their fingers and gripping tight. It hurt, and Harry had half a mind to tell him so, even though he was pinned to the bed and getting fucked at the moment, but then Number Thirteen began to move. He slid out and back in long, smooth strokes, filling Harry in a way he'd never been filled before, and rubbing against something inside him that heaped the pleasure up in layers, building and making him jump with every thrust. God, he was close – and no one was even touching him, and he just needed a minute and one hand to fix himself and he'd be good to go, really–
"Wait!" he said again, and tried to pull one of his hands out from Number Thirteen's iron grip. It was no good. How was this man so much stronger than him? Something about struggling was so goddamn exciting, though, especially with the way Number Thirteen was giving him that knowing half smirk. "Just – let me – " He was trying to speak in between the thrusts, but there just wasn't time, and after a moment he couldn't really remember why he'd wanted Number Thirteen to stop, anyway.
Suddenly the pleasure mounted up, spiked too high for him to control, and he remembered why. With a cry, he began to come, and at the very instant Number Thirteen released one of his hands and stroked him off. The touch sent Harry's orgasm spiraling out of control and he jerked and spasmed, sending jets of come across his own belly and Number Thirteen's hand. He kept his eyes open, remember what the man had said, and to his surprise Number Thirteen watched his eyes the entire time, and started to come himself just afterwards. His lips moved, but Harry didn't hear anything – surely that wasn't his name the man was mouthing? With a grunt, Number Thirteen fell onto his elbow, half on Harry, hand still wrapped around him and cock still buried in his arse.
Harry sighed, completely sated and utterly relaxed – all except for the one hand that Number Thirteen was still gripping. He flexed his fingers gently, wondering if the man would release him now, and the hand unclenched and drew away, but slowly. Then Number Thirteen shifted, pulling out and sliding off of Harry, lying just to his side on his side. One arm was still draped across Harry's chest, and Harry risked a glance at the man's face. Eyes shut. Surely he wasn't asleep – just recovering. Harry wondered if he always did this. A pang hit his chest when he realized that whatever Number Thirteen might be to him – possibly the best fuck he'd ever had – he himself was just one more stranger to Number Thirteen, one in a row of ever-changing faces. Probably young faces, probably more attractive than Harry for the most part. That shouldn't have bothered him, just like it shouldn't have bothered him to imagine Number Thirteen doing this with any other boy – or girl – but it did. And not just any girl, he realized, but Hermione, too.
He propped himself up onto his elbows, displacing Number Thirteen's arm down to around his waist, and Number Thirteen opened an eye to peer up at him. Harry wasn't sure if he was still just supposed to do what Number Thirteen told him to, or what, or maybe if that was over now that they'd had sex. What happened now? What was he supposed to do? Should he leave?
"Lie back down," Number Thirteen said, and though his voice was quiet there was no mistaking the edge of command in his tone. Harry again thought of protesting, but then what would be the point of that? He flopped back down onto the pillows and waited.
A few moments went by. Harry tried not to fidget.
Number Thirteen had closed his eyes again. "Can I ask you something?" Harry finally said, unable to stand it any longer.
"No."
Taken aback, Harry's mouth fell open for a second. Then he closed it again and shifted his head on the pillow. Well. That was that, he supposed. Then again, what was the man going to do if he did keep talking? It's not like he could do anything physical again so soon, unless he just tied Harry up or actually hurt him or something, and Harry didn't really think that was the sort of thing Number Thirteen did. It seemed to be all in play – although, he thought, remembering the way Number Thirteen had trapped his hands, just because it was all in play didn't make it any less real, either.
He glanced around the room a bit as he lay there, waiting for what, he wasn't sure. A large mirror appeared to be the closet door, and there was a small chest of drawers in the corner. Basically, the room was furnished simply but with older, high quality furniture. The wallpaper was a charming old Victorian pattern, all diamonds and curlicues, and if the particular shade of purple was a bit odd, at least it was understated.
The strangest thing was the sense of timelessness of the room. Harry wasn't wearing a watch, there was no clock on the wall, and he had literally no idea what time it was or how long he'd been there. And how long had he been lying there looking around? Was Number Thirteen sleeping? Harry didn't think so. He glanced to the man, lying snug against him, eyes closed tight.
His face looked relatively smooth for forty or so, Harry thought. He would have guessed him in mid or young thirties. His mouth was turned downwards and in general the man looked like he was generally had an unpleasant scowl on his face, but he seemed relaxed at the moment. Just a faint downward turn at the corners of his mouth told Harry that he wasn't totally relaxed – wasn't asleep. The hair was falling over his face, and for a second Harry was half tempted to reach a hand up and brush it back, but he was afraid of doing anything that seemed too intimate. He wondered again how long it would be before Number Thirteen kicked him out of bed – would he get to shower before he left? Or would he be expected to just button up and run on home, so to speak?
And why, Harry thought, staring intensely at the face of the man lying in bed next to him, why doesn't he see anyone more than once?
"All right," Number Thirteen said suddenly, his mouth barely opening to get the words out. "Ask your question."
Harry's mind went blank. What had he been going to ask before? It wasn't about why Number Thirteen didn't see anyone more than once, was it? Was he going to ask about the other people Number Thirteen had been with? Or if he preferred blokes to girls? Harry's mind searched for an appropriate question and he couldn't think of anything.
"Why don't you ever see anyone more than once?" Harry blurted. Instantly he wished he could take the words back, but there was no stopping his mouth when it got going sometimes.
Number Thirteen didn't move for a second, and Harry almost hoped against hope that the man hadn't heard him. What an embarrassingly stupid question; he sounded like some kind of desperate, lovesick teenager – well, maybe he hadn't heard.
Then he opened his eyes – both of them. Time for damage control. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," Harry added hurriedly. "I think it's a fine – I mean, you're perfectly within your rights to set up a policy – er, I mean, actually I'm sure it's really a very nice rule, I was just curious... as to..."
Number Thirteen's pushed himself up on one elbow and raised his eyebrows, waiting for Harry to finish.
"Just curious as to your reasoning," Harry finished with as much dignity as he could. "That's all."
"I see." Number Thirteen was staring at him, and even though Harry had been naked for quite some time now he felt even more exposed with those dark eyes staring straight at him. "So it's not because you would want to see me again?
Harry was confused. Did that mean he wasn't going to answer? "Erm..."
"Just in case you were wondering, no, you aren't the first person to ask me that. The very policy seems to engender some sort of... mystique." Number Thirteen pursed his lips – a very slight motion that drew Harry's attention immediately. Number Thirteen didn't seem to notice his attention, though, as he went on. "In fact I rather wish Lupin would stop mentioning it to people. It would serve my purpose just as well if no one knew about it until afterwards. Then he could deal with them and I would never have to answer any questions about it." He shook his head, and Harry blinked. Serve his purpose?
"At any rate," Number Thirteen went on, "I am not going to answer the question. It doesn't matter. For whatever reason, Lupin saw fit to tell you, and that's the end of that."
"Actually," Harry said before he could change his mind, "that rule was the only reason I agreed to try this out in the first place."
Something subtle shifted in Number Thirteen's gaze, and he tilted his head slightly. "Is that so?"
"Uh..." Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer or not. Did that sound bad, if he said yes? Did it make him sound desperate, or too repressed? He wasn't sure and couldn't begin to guess how this man, who was still for all intents and purposes a stranger, would interpret whatever he was going to say, so he gave up and decided to stick with the complete and bare truth. "Yeah. It, uh, takes the pressure off."
A bit of the intensity of Number Thirteen's gaze lessened, then, though Harry couldn't have said why.
"I see," he said again. Harry took the lack of anything more critical to be a good sign. He thought of asking what happened next, but decided not to press his luck.
Number Thirteen lay back against the pillows, settling himself in for what seemed to be a while. "If you're wondering what happens next," he said as he closed his eyes, "the answer is that it's up to you, within the following framework. I am going to sleep. I have the room until tomorrow. You may stay here and sleep, or you may go at your leisure. If you stay, you will be silent. If you go, you may not return. Any questions?"
Harry was a bit taken aback. So, apparently, they were done, and his ideas about the pressure being taken off were all well and good, but he was still plagued by a kind of performance anxiety. If he had lasted longer, would he still be given the same options? Maybe if he had been better at sucking Number Thirteen off, he'd be invited for another round later or something. Maybe if he stayed now, there would be another round. But Harry wasn't tired, and he was beginning to be more uncomfortable in the presence of this man, especially as he couldn't help but wonder about how many others – about all the others that had been given the same option, that had been with this man in a post-coital stupor. If he stayed, could he snuggle? Did he want to? His bravery was beginning to give out – well, if Harry was being honest with himself, it gave out rather a long time ago.
The sex had been good, but he was definitely feeling the awkwardness. Hesitantly, not wanting to disturb Number Thirteen – who he could tell wasn't sleeping anyway – Harry pushed himself to a sitting position. He watched the man's face for some sign, some flicker of approval or disappointment or something, but there was nothing. Maybe if he spoke again, Harry would be able to tell. He swung his legs off the bed and looked felt around for his glasses so that he would be able to find the rest of his clothes.
"Can I ask you something else?"
"No."
Harry sighed with exasperation, but quietly. He couldn't tell anything from one short syllable. He stood up, then, and gathered his clothes. Maybe a quick shower would be a good thing, and maybe he'd be able to tell something when he came back from that.
He was still in a bit of a daze when he showered and got dressed. What did he want from this man? Some kind of sign, some kind of indication, but what was he hoping for? Did he think that an experienced Master like this was going to suddenly change his policy of not seeing anyone more than once and ask him for a second – date, session, whatever this was? And why would he? Harry was nothing special. Nothing to write home about. Nothing to break a longstanding policy of single dates for. Still...
He shook his head and stepped out into the bedroom again. Number Thirteen had pulled a sheet up to his waist and was lying on his side, facing the far wall. There was no hint that he was still awake, but Harry got the impression he wasn't really sleeping yet, either. He stood there, a moment, and then a moment more, wondering. The skin of Number Thirteen's bare back was pale. Harry had an insane urge to go and wrap the man up in his arms, but surely that sort of overture would be rejected. And he wasn't quite as eager to leave as he had been a few moments before. After all... this was his one and only chance.
Maybe he'd call Remus up again, see if there was someone else. After all, everyone else in the world seemed to have survived without multiple sessions with Number Thirteen. Just because Harry was curious about him, didn't mean anything – he was probably just feeling the after-effects of good sex. That was it. He looked down at his shoes for a moment. They hadn't really played much part in the evening after all, and he'd agonized so much about which shoes to wear. Well, it had been a good night, no doubt about it.
He thought about moving towards the door and found himself utterly incapable of leaving without at least saying something. The man might be asleep, or he might not be, but Harry had to say it anyway. "Thanks," he said, just loud enough to be heard, and then he fled.