Bred in Captivity, part two (Harry/Snape, NC-17) for foxestacado Author:jadzialove Recipient:foxestacado Title: Bred in Captivity Rating: NC-17 Pairing(s): Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Harry/OMC, Ron/Hermione Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 18 or older. Summary: Being sentenced to serve his time in Potter's custody is not the ultimate price Severus expected to pay for his crimes. It's not Harry's idea of post-war bliss either. But in making the best of a bad situation, they just might find something neither could have anticipated: understanding. Warnings: EWE but otherwise DH compliant, Voyeurism, Wanking, Highlight to read: *Original Character Death* Word Count: 14, 900 +/- Author's Notes: I hope this is to your liking, foxestacado! I went with the "Hurt/comfort. Author decides plot and relationship dynamic" portion of your prompt, which gave me a lot room to play. The resulting fic has plenty of hurt/comfort, I think, and is undeniably Snarry. Merry Yule Balls to you!
Thank you to my amazing if currently anonymous friend and beta for the heroic wrangling of deranged ellipses, and to my other anonymous friend and Brit-picker for interrupting a lovely holiday for me. *Loves*
The Home Stretch
A small, warm hand on his shoulder woke Severus, though he was deliberately slow to open his eyes, until he recalled where he was.
"Professor, if you'd like to stretch out, I've transfigured something more comfortable than the chair for you," said a familiar voice in a hushed tone.
"Thank you, Miss Granger. I think I shall." Severus sat up, rubbing his neck to help ease the crick he'd developed. "When did you arrive?"
She smiled softly. "It's Weasley now, but I wish you'd call me Hermione. We got in twenty minutes ago, or so. Even with the emergency Portkey, we were delayed. Ron's dropping our bags at the Burrow, but he should be here shortly."
Severus nodded and stood, offering her the bedside chair with a gesture. "You must call me Severus, then. And I thank you for your intervention, Hermione—I might still be at Potter's otherwise."
Stuck there and nursing a towering temper because of a ruined meal and Potter's monumental lack of consideration. Shacklebolt had been apologetic and had whisked Severus away to St. Mungo's personally, but it still rankled that he'd been dependent on another for transportation.
"I don't think they left you out intentionally. But I was glad to remind them. How is he?" She took Potter's hand as she eased into the chair, her eyes taking in the freshly healed wounds on his face and neck, the worst of them around his eyes.
"They've put him in a healing sleep, to keep him immobile, allowing the mended bones in his back and pelvis to heal completely. The burns over his torso, neck and face have been successfully healed, though they had some difficulty healing the laceration on his chin until they discovered some metal shrapnel embedded deep within the wound. He'll undoubtedly have a scar there." Severus paused before adding, "The damage to his eyes was extensive. They've healed what they could, but the true extent of it cannot be assessed properly until he awakes."
"Good heavens." Appearing distressed, she rubbed the limp hand held loosely in her own. Hermione looked up at Severus and asked, "And Ian? Molly Flooed to tell us Harry had been hurt, but no one's said...."
Her eyes told Severus that she suspected the truth, which Severus confirmed with a small shake of his head.
"Oh." She closed her eyes, sending silent tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to collect herself after only a moment. She kissed the back of Potter's hand, then reached up with her free hand to stroke the black hair. "He'll blame himself."
"Of that I have no doubt."
"How... what happened? Do they even know?"
Severus sighed. He'd been told precious little and had Kingsley to thank for that much at least. That and eavesdropping had a faint picture forming for him, but he had no real information to impart, merely his own supposition.
"From what I've been able to glean, it appears to have been a random act—which will be of little comfort to Potter, I'm certain. They believe that Mr. Ketteridge was somehow at the point of origin. And there is some speculation that it was a Muggle incendiary device, though, as it was use of magic that drew the Ministry's attention to that location, it was likely no accident there were Aurors present at the time of the blast."
Hermione nodded without looking away from Potter. "That's terrible. Does Ian have any family, do you know?"
"I've heard talk of a mother and a sister, though my information is limited to what I am able to overhear. There might be more," he added.
"I'll speak with Kingsley, see if there's anything we can do for them." She smiled at him sadly.
Severus nodded and turned, walking to the other side of the room, to the chaise longue Hermione had transfigured for him. Finding it very comfortable indeed, he gratefully sank into a light slumber.
When he next awoke, it was to find a blanket covering him, and the room dark except for a low light emanating from an orb hovering near Potter's head. The Weasleys—Ronald and Hermione—were dozing in comfortable-looking chairs, which, since the upholstery matched, had likely been transfigured by the same hand as his own bed.
Severus rose and made his way to the patient's bed, stepping over Weasley's long legs along the way. He briefly considered offering the tall man the chaise, but he was reluctant to engage in a conversation, so decided against it.
He leant against the rail, watching the sleeping form for a few moments.
When he was a very young child, Severus had gone to a Muggle hospital to see his paternal grandmother, who had fallen gravely ill. To his child's mind, the place had been horrible and frightening: it had smelled odd; there were strange noises that spoke of pain, of sometimes-great suffering; and there had been a general air of despair that even he could sense. Despite that, he'd found some comfort in the gentle whirring sounds the machinery on the ward had made, and in the quiet but rather intimidating competence of the ward sisters.
There were no such reassuring signs of life in the wizarding world; it was, apart from Weasley's soft snoring, eerily quiet. Potter was so still, so pale in the soft light, that Severus was tempted to place a hand on his chest to verify that he was breathing. After a few tense moments of observation, he was able to discern, with great relief, a gentle rise and fall.
Checking over his shoulder to verify the Weasleys slept on, Severus took Potter's nearest hand into his own. With his free hand, he ran a tentative finger across a warm cheek, the welts marring the pale curve no longer an angry red as the magic worked to restore the skin.
"What mess have you stepped in this time, Harry?" The affection in his voice was evident even to his own ears, and he was glad for the darkness, as his face heated, surely glowing red.
He'd worked very hard to steel himself against any of the softer emotions. Acknowledging and letting such things grow, with regard to Harry Potter, no less, was the path of madness and pure folly, and couldn't be tolerated.
But here, in this place, in this circumstance, and in the forgiving darkness, the walls he'd carefully built and maintained around his heart seemed to crumble like so much ash.
The offending organ beat wildly in Severus's chest as he gave in to the impulse and lifted Potter's hand to his lips, brushing them against the knuckles just briefly. Emotion, rusty with disuse and wholly unwelcome, welled up within him: the idiot had almost died. Again. How many times over the years had Potter come so close to death? Nine? Ten?
"Foolish boy. One day your luck will not hold." The affection in his voice was tempered with exasperation this time.
Severus gently released Potter's hand, then felt rather than saw the eyes on him, just before he was joined by another at Potter's bedside.
"Do you know, Muggles believe that a person in a coma can hear and possibly find comfort in the voices of the people who care about them?" Hermione said in a whisper.
"I do not..." Clearly he'd been caught out, as the woman looked at him knowingly, and the denial died on his lips.
She touched his arm gently. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me, Severus." She smiled kindly before continuing, "But I do think Harry is going to need just that to get through this."
"If that is the case, then we are doomed," he said sardonically.
Hermione squeezed his arm before releasing it. "I don't know. I think you might surprise yourself. Perhaps Harry will as well."
Severus looked down at the sleeping young man who'd so handily breached his defenses. Hope was a luxury that he'd never had the means to afford, whatever absurd notion Granger had alluded to.
This... attraction was sheer madness, born of Severus's isolation and their forced proximity. Preposterous, ludicrous, patently ridiculous—a foolishness so grand as to be epic in proportions. And utterly unacceptable. He would fight this... absurdity, that's all there was to it. Fight it and harden his heart against Harry Potter, who certainly deserved better than the likes of Severus Snape.
He would.
Soon.
-:-:-:-:-
Harry rolled into a fetal position, onto his left side. Changing position from right to left and left to right was about all he could be arsed to do, and pretty much the extent of his daily activity.
Unless one could count lying in the total darkness his bed curtains provided, and making an effort to Not Think.
If that counted, then he had a rather full day.
Harry sighed. There was an ache... not from his injuries, which had healed as well as they were ever going to, but just a general, all over, non-specific ache, and he wondered vaguely how long he could go on feeling this way.
Time had already escaped him. If he had to guess, he would say it'd been a month since he left the hospital, but likely it was longer; the days blurred into one another. He assumed it was daytime whenever Kreacher came round with a tray, but Harry never saw him, as he didn't open the bed curtains. In fact, he only saw the trays routinely left on the bedside table when his body made a rare demand for sustenance, and even then, he didn't eat much; the carefully prepared meals that he'd once enjoyed enormously, tasted like ash in his mouth.
Sometimes, he considered developing a taste for firewhisky, thinking it might help dull the ache and maybe help him with the Not Thinking.
Not Thinking about the explosion.
Not Thinking about being blind in one eye. Oh, it looked all right on the outside, but was entirely useless otherwise. Healthy, except for the fact that he couldn't see out of it.
"I'm afraid we have a bit of good news, bad news. We were unable to restore the sight in your right eye, however, your left eye healed so well that you should no longer have need for your spectacles. I'm very sorry I couldn't do more for you, Mr. Potter," the Healer had said. She'd looked it too, which didn't make a damn bit of difference.
And he was absolutely Not Thinking about... what he was absolutely not thinking about.
Harry realized he must have dozed (which was the other thing he did when he wasn't changing position, lying in the dark, and Not Thinking), because he heard Kreacher outside of his curtains again.
Only it wasn't Kreacher after all.
Suddenly, bright light spilled into his dark world. Harry blinked against it, trying to work up the energy to be outraged.
"Mr. Potter, you have had ample enough time to feel sorry for yourself. This ends today."
Harry pulled a pillow over his head. "Go. Away."
"I think not. Kreacher, if you would be so kind."
Harry felt the tingle of magic and knew he'd been hit with a cleansing charm.
"Kreacher—" he began indignantly.
Severus interrupted him. "Don't you dare order him to stop. You are, in your own words, ripe. Hit him again, Kreacher."
Harry bit his tongue as the spell worked over him once more, only because he knew that Kreacher would punish himself for it rather than Severus.
There was a whispered argument that Harry couldn't make out and suddenly, his bedding—pillows, linens, bed curtains and all—disappeared.
"Hey!"
"It is well past time to face the day. Minister Shacklebolt will be here shortly, you have enough time to make yourself presentable."
"Well, Kingsley will be wasting his time—I won't see him."
"He shall see you, however. And if you prefer that it is in this room and you in this condition, then so be it."
"Why are you doing this? And what does he want?"
Severus sighed—looking, Harry now noticed, rather worse for the wear—and answered in a low voice, "If you could see past your own self-pity, you would realize that you are not the only person to have ever lost someone they cared about." He added, "And unfortunately, you are not the last."
Harry processed what had been said. He wanted to rail against it, initially, but something prickled at his sub-conscious, which had him asking, "Has someone else...?"
Spinning on his heel and crossing his arms across his chest, Severus looked every bit as dramatic in his Muggle trousers and shirt as he ever had wearing stark black robes, and Harry waited, filling with dread.
"Another Auror. This time the perpetrator was slightly more clever in disguising the device."
"Oh god." Harry closed his eyes. He sat up but drew his knees up and put his head down, searching for the comforting darkness. "Who?"
"A young man called Cooper Sedgwick."
Harry rolled to the side and curled up into himself. It was nearly too much to bear—Cooper had children. If only he'd been quicker, been able to stop Ian... they might've been able to end this sooner.
"What is it, Potter?" The voice was very close and when Harry opened his eyes, he was almost nose-to-nose with Severus, who hissed scornfully, "Would you blame yourself for this one, as well?"
Severus was angry, there was no mistaking it, but Harry'd never seen him angry in this way. He'd seen the man spitting with it, he'd seen him nearly mad with it, but this quiet almost pained anger... Harry didn't know how to interpret this, or how to deal with it.
His silence, his inability to deny the accusation in Severus's question seemed to be answer enough for the man.
"Taking on blame where it isn't due, is just as surely as arrogant as taking all the credit, perhaps more so. You would do well to get over yourself, and become useful instead."
It was a challenge motivating enough that, two hours later, after a painful but productive meeting with Kingsley, Harry found himself sitting in the library, contemplating his new position, should he choose to accept it, within the Auror department.
Severus stalked into the room, heading for a crystal decanter that Harry had never noticed before Severus raised it in his direction, an eyebrow arched in question.
Harry nodded and accepted the glass Severus handed him before taking a seat on the sofa opposite him.
"Sláinte." Severus lifted his glass toward Harry, then took a swallow.
Following suit, Harry discovered whatever the stuff was, it was both stronger and smoother than firewhisky. The heat exploded in his empty stomach, then rose steadily to the top of his head.
Perhaps noticing Harry's red face and the fine sheen of perspiration that'd formed along with it, Severus supplied, "Scotch."
He took another more cautious sip and decided he quite liked it, though if he was to become a productive citizen again, maybe he should indulge sparingly.
"Kingsley's offered me a position. A desk job." Harry drained his glass and put it on the low table between the two sofas. "Muggle Weaponry Expert. He wants me to work with the Muggle Ministry to get up to speed, whatever it takes, and then to stay on top of it," Harry paused for dramatic effect, "in order to educate the Aurors in what to look for."
"A teacher." Severus smirked. "How unexpected."
"Yeah, it is. Teaching isn't something I've ever considered doing. But since I can't do field work anymore anyway... They found the guy, Severus. That's almost the worst thing, because it really was just a random nutter. Entirely pointless." Harry sighed. "Right now, Kingsley is the only one familiar with Muggle munitions, apart from the Department of Mysteries, and they aren't talking. Since the Minister for Magic can't very well be the Auror department's expert too, they want me for the job."
"Will you accept it?"
He hesitated. "I think so. Ian had no idea what it was he'd picked up. That can't happen again. I just..." ...failed to save Ian. ...can't fathom being an Auror without him. ...don't deserve to do something I might enjoy. Harry felt his nostrils flare and his breathing become harsher with the effort to keep the strong emotions at bay. "How...?" he began, but couldn't finish, because really, 'how' about covered it.
Luckily, Severus seemed to understand. "I can tell you from experience that time dulls the pain of losing one you care deeply for, but you will, no doubt, always feel his loss."
"That's just it...." Harry began his horrible confession. "I didn't love him, not like he wanted, not like I should've. Not like he deserved. All I could think about was having fun."
Severus was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Are you telling me that you should have pretended to return Mr. Ketteridge's feelings for you? Or that you might have miraculously returned those feelings had you somehow known his fate?"
Not when it was put like that, but Harry wasn't ready to give up the fight just yet. "No, but maybe, I dunno, he would've been happy before he died."
"Your arrogance truly does know no bounds," Severus said, surprisingly without rancor. "Mr. Ketteridge was a grown man and fully capable of making his own decisions. He chose to take whatever it was you could offer him, and he did not seem to be suffering for it on the occasions I was able to observe him. Quite the opposite, in fact."
"But I should've...." ...loved him back. ...been happy to take what he offered me. ...not wanted something, somebody, else more. The arguments nearly choked him as they backed up in his throat. Harry swallowed hard and closed his eyes, saying instead, "It just feels so wrong to feel good about anything, when he never will again."
When Harry opened his eyes, he found understanding in the black eyes looking back at him.
"What you are speaking of is guilt, Harry, and wallowing in it is just as self-indulgent as self-pity; it serves only to feed itself. You did not cause his death, and nothing that you do or say now can change the fact that he is gone. What you must do instead, is ask yourself how Mr. Ketteridge would feel knowing that when he lost his life, you stopped living yours as well." Severus looked weary, Harry now realized as he watched him sit up and scrub a hand over his face before continuing, "It is not as easily done as said, I know, but I pray you make a wiser decision than I did."
Harry sat thoughtful for a moment, mulling over what had been said, until the last thing sank in fully. He looked up at Severus and the question in his eyes must have been loud and clear.
"Oh for pity's sake. We've had this discussion already. I was not in love with Lily Evans. I was speaking of Regulus Black."
Harry regretted stepping all over what Severus had offered him, because he now seemed less inclined to elaborate. He couldn't let it go completely, so he asked tentatively, "You... uh, loved Regulus?"
Severus sighed and seemed to weigh his answer carefully. "It was a situation not unlike your own. I was unwilling to commit because of our tenuous positions, which prompted Regulus to action and, presumably, his death." Severus stood suddenly. "I think I shall retire for the day. Granger's daily missive enquiring after your well-being has yet to arrive. Perhaps you could answer it yourself today?"
Harry nodded, then called out before Severus left the room, "Thank you. For everything."
Severus bowed his head once and then was gone, leaving Harry with a whole lot to think about.
-:-:-:-:-
The library had become Severus's favorite room in Potter's house. And Sunday was Severus's favorite day to spend in it. There were two Muggle newspapers to read through, a wizard one, and an excellent and extensive selection of books, not to mention a continuously replenished tea tray at hand.
After their somewhat excruciating conversation in this very room, Potter had seemed to recover sufficiently, suffering, understandably, a few bad days here and there over the ensuing months. Whatever comfort Potter had found in their discussion appeared to translate into a comfortableness between them, which had progressed from sharing the room on Sundays, to sharing opposite ends of the same sofa, to the current breach of personal space.
"Potter, your feet are like ice. Remove them at once."
"No, your skinny arse is surprisingly warm."
Severus made no further objection, concentrating instead on the Ipswich newspaper spread in front of him, trying to appear unaffected by the brat's wriggling toes underneath him.
He'd never got around to hardening his heart against Potter, and he knew he would suffer for it. Severus planned to spend the first few days of his freedom in a drunken stupor, and fully expected the next few after that would be spent in an angry snit. Once he'd finally purged himself of The Absurdity (as he'd come to think of his mortifying, Potter-based affliction), he'd be able to begin his new life as a free man.
To that end, an apothecary seemed a logical route, but lately, Severus had been considering cooking food rather than potions. A Muggle restaurant, where his successes or failures would rest solely on his abilities instead of his notoriety. It was a risky venture, but he had several years' worth of unspent salary, and a Muggle bank account he'd maintained since the first go round with the Dark Lord.
Potter would be well shut of him in only a few days time. He would be free to molest young men in the entry hall, in the kitchen, in this very library, wherever the urge hit him, uninterrupted. He would likely never see Potter again, determined as Severus was to put distance between them. It was a shame, really, because Ipswich was an ideal location for the type of restaurant he had in mind. But no matter, England was full to bursting with picturesque little towns and quaint villages—he would find something suitable.
Agitated by his thoughts, Severus had to consciously release his clutching hands from the newspaper, which was now rather crumpled. He tried to flatten the page, then gave it up for a bad job.
"I've arranged for a room at the Leaky Cauldron on Thursday," he announced. "If that's not acceptable, I might be able to arrange something for late Wednesday night."
The feet retreated abruptly, and Potter looked up from his book, stunned.
"What? Why?"
"I shan't impose on you any longer than necessary."
"You're not an imposition. I thought you liked it here. You haven't walked around in your underwear in months."
Ah, well, that was for purely practical reasons that had everything to do with his suddenly hyper-active libido, not that he'd tell Potter that. "You should be celebrating. Soon we shall both be free."
"But you don't have to go right away, or even at all. I have more than enough room here. You could take all the time you need to figure out what you'll do next."
The boy's face was filled with emotion, and Severus couldn't account for it.
"I have plans already, Potter."
"I see." Shooting to his feet, Potter said, "I have to... something. Forgot. Dunno when I'll be back," and all but ran from the room.
Severus nearly regretted handling it in that manner, as the next few days were extremely uncomfortable, walking on eggshells whenever they saw each other.
When Wednesday evening rolled around, Severus's near regret became fully realized. Potter had done nothing wrong, had defended him, and made what could have been an absolutely miserable experience for both of them an agreeable one instead. The fact that Severus couldn't fathom even a casual acquaintance with the man, because of The Absurdity, was hardly Potter's fault.
Potter had made himself scarce, so Severus hoped that he was holed up in his rooms, rather than out of the house altogether. He knocked on the door, then did it again when there was no answer. Nothing seemed to stir on the other side of the door.
Disappointment washed over Severus as he turned to head back toward his own room.
"Severus? Is everything all right?"
He turned back to find green eyes, no longer hidden by spectacles, looking at him warily, reminding him of another whom he had hurt terribly. He ignored Potter's question in favor of stating his purpose, "I wished to thank you."
Potter pulled the door open further, allowing Severus entry.
There was an opened bottle of Scotch and one glass on the table between the two chairs in the sitting area. He took one of the chairs as Potter wandlessly and silently conjured a second glass, then offered it to Severus with a gesture.
"Sláinte," Severus said, tossing it back.
Potter offered him another, which Severus accepted, though he nursed it this time.
"As I was saying, I wished to thank you for you hospitality. You made what could have been a wretched experience, for both of us, more than bearable."
Studying him for moment, Potter took a swallow of his own drink, then shrugged. "It was only what I would do for any friend."
He held Severus's eyes for a moment, seeming to see right through him, making Severus feel vulnerable, exposed. And ready to flee. He emptied his glass, and rose from his seat. "I couldn't take my leave without letting you know of my appreciation. I wish you well, in all that you do."
Severus moved toward the door quickly, but heard the sound of a heavy crystal whisky glass hitting the wooden table, then a muttered, "Fuck it."
How Potter made it across the room so quickly and so silently, Severus would never know, but a hand on his arm stopped him before he reached the door.
"Severus, wait."
Turning, he found Potter only inches from him. They were nearly eye-to-eye, which Severus found surprising.
Their eyes met and Potter said, "I just wanted to—"
Potter, demonstrating that actions speak louder than words, was suddenly kissing him.
Severus was so shocked, it took a moment for him to respond. In that time, Potter began pulling away, which wouldn't do at all. Raising both hands, he held Potter's head in place and dived in, sliding his tongue along the full bottom lip, then inside to tangle with Potter's, putting everything he was into the kiss.
He was drowning in the sensation, and willingly so.
They broke the kiss gradually, but moved apart only slightly. Severus rested his forehead against Harry's, their ragged breathing mingling between them. "This is madness," he said.
"It's not. It's perfect, it's right. It's what I've wanted for a really long time." At some point, Harry's arms had wound around Severus and he tightened them now, perhaps sensing Severus's rising alarm. "I wanted to wait until you were free, so there wouldn't be any hint of coercion. I thought I'd have plenty of time to seduce you after the sentence was up."
"Noble to the last.... As if you could force me to do anything I did not wish to do. This is hardly a prison, with the trading of sexual favors for cigarettes or privileges," Severus replied, exasperated with both of them, and not a little bit stunned by Potter's revelation.
"Well, you might've made the first move instead, and saved us both from my nobility," Potter said wryly.
Severus pulled back slightly and lifted a hand, running his thumb along a high cheekbone. "I had no cause to believe that my attention would have been well received."
"Well received, and very much returned." Potter smiled. "So, do we wait for midnight? Or have you already succumbed to my powers of coercion and seduction?"
"Enchantment, more like." Severus couldn't hold back a moment more. Securing his hand on the back of Potter's head, he took his mouth once again, in a hungry, demanding kiss.
Potter laughed into the kiss, and broke away long enough to say, "Take that as a no on waiting, then?"
They tugged at each other's clothing, leaving a trail of discarded garments as Severus moved them steadily toward the bed. Potter shimmied out of his boxers, and stood before Severus unselfconsciously. Severus looked his fill, taking in the compact torso, with a fine sprinkling of dark hair that became denser as it led downward toward Potter's rather lovely cock, which bobbed when Potter shifted his feet.
Severus resumed kissing Potter, then mouthed along his stubbled jaw, down the cords of his neck, kissing and nipping along the collarbones, tonguing and nibbling each of the stiffening nipples. He pushed Potter backward onto the bed, then continued his exploration downward, until he reached his destination and used a flat tongue to lick up the length of Potter's cock.
"Is this the sort of sexual favor you had in mind, in trade for privileges?"
Potter laughed breathlessly, then responded, "If you don't mind, Severus, could we leave the role-playing for another day, and just fuck me?"
Severus smirked. "As you wish."
He removed his own boxers, kicking them aside, and heard an intake of breath from Potter.
"Gorgeous," Potter breathed, propped up on his elbows and looking at him hungrily.
"You have a very odd measure of aesthetics," Severus replied dryly, though he was pleased nonetheless.
Potter held up a hand, and a jar of lubricant flew into it with a slap. He handed the jar to Severus.
Taking his time, Severus coated his fingers with the slick substance, then used them to stretch Potter, who pushed into the rhythm Severus set. After two fingers, Potter cried out, "Oh god yeah. Good. I'm good, Severus. Please."
Severus ached with need, knowing that such a beautiful, debauched young man—more that this particular one—was offering himself so willingly, pleading for Severus to give him pleasure.
He climbed up onto the bed, then applied a bit of lubricant to himself before settling Potter's... Harry's legs on his shoulders and pressing into the incredible heat.
"Mmmmmm," Harry moaned as Severus slowly pushed forward until he could go no further.
Waiting for a sign from Harry that he was ready, Severus stilled, throbbing with the need to move. He leaned forward and kissed Harry thoroughly, and Harry smiled up at him. "Fuck me, Severus."
Something surged within Severus, something raw and desperate, and he took Harry at his word, moving smoothly in and out, trying different angles, until Harry cried out, "Yeah, right there. Ooooh don't move from there."
Severus braced himself and began thrusting in earnest, retaining just barely enough sense to take hold of Harry's leaking cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
And Harry met him thrust for thrust, moaning a string of incoherencies that only pushed Severus closer to the edge.
"Harder. Severus, please god harder..."
Severus obliged, really throwing his back into it until Harry cried out a long low moan. He watched Harry's face transform with ecstasy, felt Harry spend himself over his hand, and felt the tight channel constrict around him, pushing Severus over the edge he'd been skating on, into bliss, and pulsing his release into Harry.
He helped Harry straighten his legs, then they collapsed together into a tangled, entirely satisfied heap. As sleep worked to pull him under, Severus reached out without thinking, to do something, a skill and habit wizards usually learn to do as adolescents: he cast a wandless cleansing charm.
And was then instantly awake, when the spell actually worked, as it hadn't for five years.
"Severus? Are you okay?" Harry asked groggily.
He looked under the bedding they'd pulled over themselves to find the Ministry cuff was gone from his leg. The midnight hour had come and gone without his notice.
Harry became more alert and looked down at Severus's bare leg as well, clearly understanding the implication. He looked at Severus with eyes full of uncertainty, though he smiled and said, "You're free."
"I am. Yes."
"Free to come and go, free to do magic, free to choose."
Severus turned toward Harry and lifted a hand, meaning to caress Harry's face, but Harry took the hand and drew it to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on Severus's palm.
Taking a chance, Severus said, "If I am free to choose, then I choose you."
Looking both delighted and relieved, Harry threw his arms around Severus, sending them both falling back into a heap, then kissed him slowly and deeply. A promise rather than a demand.
"Good choice." Harry grinned.
Something in his expression prompted Severus to ask, "And what would you have done about it if I'd chosen otherwise?"
"Ah, I think you've let my boyish demeanor lull you into a sense of security. Don't forget that I am a highly trained Auror, with expertise in both Muggle and wizard restraint techniques."
"You would keep me in captivity?"
"Not for ever, just long enough."
"Long enough for what?"
Harry nibbled Severus's earlobe before whispering, "I am highly trained in the art of persuasion, as well."
"Ah, it all comes back to the sexual favors."
"Many favors, whatever it takes," Harry said huskily.
"Hmmmm." Severus put on a thoughtful expression and waited.
Harry looked up at him, and, as expected, asked, "What's wrong?"
"Well, I'm beginning to think I made the wrong choice after all."
"Ha bloody ha." Harry laughed, then reached around Severus and popped him on the arse.
"Corporal punishment as well. What other deviant things lurk in your repertoire?"
"That's for you to find out," Harry said beguilingly.
"I suppose I shall, then." Severus added far less jokingly, "With you holding me captive, it hardly feels like captivity at all."