Summer of Snarry - Fic: Summer Lovin' Challenge: Summer of Snarry Title: Summer Lovin’ (happened so fast!) Author:roozetter Other pairings/threesome: Pansy/Blaise, Hermione/Terry Boot Rating: NC-17 Word count: +/- 7k Content/Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *Established relationship. Inappropriate use of a Patronus. Yeah. That happened. * Summary: What do you do when you feel inferior in your relationship? If you’re Severus Snape, you simply add more magic. A/N: I have no excuses for this. *sigh* Much love and appreciation to torino10154 and severa_snape for the quick proofing and encouragement (and title!)
“I want you naked, waiting for me in the hammock out back.”
Harry blinks at the shimmering doe standing before him, right hand frozen mid turn on the page of the book he had been flipping through before she cantered into the living room. He’d been expecting a mumbled, irritated missive explaining his absence. Something about a potion in a delicate stage of brewing, inconsiderate board members incapable of understand the word No without the benefit of several more helpful adjectives from Severus’ wide vocabulary, or, Harry’s personal favorite, how Severus’ tardiness in returning to their home is his fault.
The nights when Severus’ late returns are Harry’s fault are filled with seductive whispers, purpling bruises on his inner thigh, and being claimed forcefully enough to have him wincing every time he sits down the next day.
But to have the doe trot into the house and lower its head demurely, paw at the ground like it is embarrassed, and announce that Severus wants him naked... it’s a bit exciting, unexpected in a way that has goosebumps prickling on Harry’s arms and his cock twitching with interested in his trousers.
Almost as though Severus expects Harry’s hesitation, the doe cocks its head to the side and seems to shimmer a bit brighter. “Five minutes, Potter,” Severus’ silky voice drawls. The doe nods in agreement and then vanishes.
Ok, then.
The house is quiet and still as he wanders outside, the air feeling thick and stifling even after throwing open all the windows and doors and casting a cooling charm to get the air circulating. Harry strips down, collects an icy butterbeer, and wanders out to the hammock in the back garden to watch the sunset and wait for whatever Severus has planned.
This is the time of summer he likes best, when the thick heat of the day has ebbed and left behind a slightly more cooling breeze, the smell of sun-warmed flowers, and the murmur of insects. It makes Harry feel peaceful, and he idly palms his cock as he swings in the hammock, one knee bent to encourage an easy, soothing motion, and to offer Severus the best view for when he, presumably, walks through the back door.
It’s relaxing in the quiet privacy of the back garden, the wards humming in synchronicity with the bees, and he strokes himself with broad, easy movements, keeping his actions languid, with just the first stirrings of arousal building in his stomach. And when the doe appears, prancing out the door with her head held high, Harry’s arousal only increases.
He watches expectantly as the doe ambles closer, strokes himself harder and adds a twist at the head while waiting for Severus’ voice to hiss at him with some interesting demand, his erection twitching under the warmth of his palm. God, he loves Severus’ voice. Instead the doe walks closer, until Harry can feel the residual warmth of the Patronus blossoming against his thigh, watching intently as Harry’s breath stutters.
Then she bows her head, and a thin, transparent tongue gently licks the purpled tip of Harry’s erection
The doe’s tongue is warm and silky, a whisper of a touch, like the feeling of Severus’ hair brushing against him as he breathes the scent of Harry in before sucking his erection into his mouth. But unlike a blowjob, there is no warning, no delicious anticipation making Harry’s stomach quiver. Instead there is the warm feelings of love and affection and security, the tingle of magic against his erection, the sensation of Severus’ protection wrapping around him.
Really, it’s too much. Harry’s orgasm sneaks up on him, arousal rushing through him, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the sight of the doe in order to remember to breathe. The unexpected naughtiness of the gesture exponentially increases Harry’s arousal, the delicate tickling against the sensitive head of his cock proving far too stimulating to ignore. Harry’s back arches, a choked noise of surprise the only warning before he is pulsing messily against his own stomach.
Harry lies back against the hammock, staring at the doe with wild eyes as he pants and trembles through his afterglow. The doe seems faintly embarrassed, lowering her head and pawing at the ground before dissipating. Harry can’t help the bubble of laughter rising up and making his whole body shake with joy.
“SNAPE! You bloody pervert!”
“I beg your pardon?”
And there he is, leaning against the doorframe in his buttoned-up robes, face pale even mid-summer from a day spent arguing with the board and preparing for the next year of school, hair lank and sweaty around his face. He looks hot and irritated and vaguely smug, gaze sweeping over Harry’s naked, reclined body with a look that has Harry’s half-hard cock twitching hopefully.
“Your Patronus,” Harry says in amusement, stretching his arms lazily over his head and resuming his swinging. Severus’ gaze drops instantly to Harry’s thighs and Harry watches those dark eyes ignite with lust and revels in the feeling of his own sexuality. “She decided to taste me,” he lets his hand drop, palming his cock. “The first female to put her tongue on me in over twenty years.”
“My doe did no such thing!” Severus sounds affronted. Even so, his eyes narrow with jealousy at Harry’s off-hand comment, and he shrugs out of his robe, tossing it on the back of a lounge chair. Underneath he’s wearing black trousers and a buttoned-up, long-sleeved white collared shirt. Harry shakes his head at the layers Severus is always so careful to build around himself, and undoes the buttons with a flick of his wrist and a murmured spell.
A single eyebrow arches at the gesture and then Severus is next to him, climbing onto the hammock in a movement far too graceful to be natural. Harry brings his leg up, wraps it around Severus’ waist, and lets a whispered spell keep them rocking. He feels hot and sticky and sweaty, and Severus feels warm and solid on top of him. He should add to Harry’s feeling of discomfort, but after the Patronus...
Harry rests his head against Severus’ throat. “I missed you today.”
“Did you? Doubtful. You probably spent the entirety of your day lounging about the house like a lazy sloth.” The way Severus’ arms tighten around Harry is almost convulsive, too tight. Harry thinks of a boa constrictor preparing for a kill and knows that whatever upset Severus today, he is not in the mood to be toyed with.
But after fifteen years of marriage, Harry knows exactly the kind of teasing that is guaranteed to bring Severus out of his funk. So he lets his leg caress up and down the clothed portion of Severus’ thigh, feels the fabric bunch and rub and warm against their skin. Lets his fingers slide through the cooling come on his stomach, and lifts a finger to paint the mess onto Severus’ lips. Replacing his fingers with his mouth, he licks every drop from those thin lips, biting teasingly until Severus’ mouth opens on a groan and Harry is pressed back tightly into the hammock. The rope of the hammock is spelled against chafing, but the texture of it against his sweaty skin makes Harry moan and forget he’s supposed to be teasing.
“I missed you today,” Harry repeats, pulling back enough to pant the words out, tugging Severus’ shirt off of his shoulders.
Severus doesn’t say anything in return, but his eyes go soft and he allows Harry to divest him of his shirt and unbutton his trousers. And when he kisses Harry again, it is gentle and possessive. Harry smiles in between kisses, lets his eyes flutter shut, and knows Severus missed him too.
~*~*~
Severus has to go to Brussels to interview a Transfiguration master. Harry decidedly does not pout when he leaves. He’s forty-five, after all; far too old to sulk like an emotional teenager.
And it’s not that Harry wants to go to Brussels with Severus, it’s just that he’s bored, has been accustomed to selfishly guarding the times when it’s simply them, away from school and responsibility.
There’s another month before professors are required to return to Hogwarts for classroom prep, and Ron’s in Romania working with dragons while Hermione is doing.... whatever it is she does at the ministry. Probably plotting her next attempt at taking over as Minister of Magic. Neville and Hannah are busy with the pub, Luna and Rolf are in Malaysia, George is working on the renovations for his new factory, Seamus is a lounge singer at night and sleeps the day away. Ginny and Dean would welcome his visit, but it’s always an adventure to navigate his way through their six kids.
In the end Harry owls Draco. He doesn’t write anything, just sends a blank parchment off which is their code for demanding entertainment or distraction. Draco comes through and owls back two tickets to the Falmouth Falcons match and a note that Blaise will meet him at the Leaky in two hours. Cheered, Harry gets up and showers, dressing in the green robes with built-in cooling charms that Severus bought him on their last anniversary.
Blaise looks slightly discomfited as they wait in the box for the match to begin. “Potter,” he says tightly, “I’m grateful for this opportunity to apologize for my actions the other day.” Harry frowns and tilts his head inquiringly, having no clue what Blaise is talking about. But Blaise looks sincere and nervous, wiping his palms over his thighs and taking a deep breath. “I’m deeply sorry if my thoughtless comments upset Severus last Wednesday.”
Last Wednesday. The night Severus returned home and sent his Patronus... Harry flushes and looks away. He has to clear his throat before speaking. “Don’t worry about it, Blaise,” he says easily. “After working at, and now running Hogwarts, Severus is used to dismissing dunderheaded comments.”
“Yes, but.” Blaise frowns, looking genuinely distressed as he reaches out and places a hand on Harry’s knee. “It was never my intent to cause strain in your relationship. I’ve respected Severus since I was eleven, and though I had my reservations over your marriage, I’ve seen how happy you two are together. To think that I played any part in --”
“You didn’t,” Harry interrupts, blushing again at the memory of their night on the hammock. He slings his arm companionably around Blaise’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Whatever happened upset Severus, yes, but Severus and I have an unbreakable relationship.” Blaise still looks uncertain so Harry tightens his arm, pulling Blaise in for an impromptu one-armed squeeze. “Trust me.”
“All right.” Looking relieved, Blaise squeezes the hand still resting on Harry’s knee and grins before pulling away.
“But if your Slytherin sense of pride demands restitution in another form,” Harry says cagily, grinning, “I will of course let you pay for the first round of firewhiskey.”
Blaise laughs, but obligingly snaps his fingers for a house elf.
The next morning, relaxed and slightly hungover, Harry is wearing nothing but his boxers, drinking coffee and casting watering charms on the garden while he tries to blink himself awake. Yesterday was fun, but he’s glad he has all of today to recover and lounge about in his boxers, as Severus is not due to return home until tomorrow. The sudden crack of apparition is loud in the peaceful serenity of the garden, and Harry looks around vaguely, wondering who has come for a visit.
Severus storms into the backyard looking furious. No robe, crisp black slacks, clean white shirt unbuttoned at the cuffs. His face is flushed, an unattractive mottling of color that makes his skin look splotchy and feverish, eyes bright, with his hair so tangled and unkempt that Harry feels his fingers twitch with the desire to smooth it out.
“Hey,” Harry says in surprise, lowering his wand and taking a step forward. He does the math in his head -- If it’s half past seven here, it’s half eight in the morning in Brussels. Severus must have been interrupted in his morning routine by something. “Are you all right?” Harry asks in concern, setting his coffee cup and wand on the patio table and taking another step forward. “Thought you weren’t going to be home until tomorrow?”
Growling, Severus reaches out and grips Harry, fingers hard and bruising as he drags Harry forward by the back of his neck. The kiss is hard and possessive, easily as passionate and desperate as the kisses they shared in the beginning of their relationship when everything was so new and uncertain. Harry moans and pushes himself closer, ripping at Severus’ shirt, feeling like he back in his twenties and sneaking in a shag instead of being a married man in his forties.
They stagger and fall, and now they’re writhing on the ground, the earth sun-warmed and smelling of clean dirt and summer. Bits of grass cling to Harry’s neck and Harry wonders if Severus can taste them as he bites down.
But Severus clearly wants Harry naked, and his hands are rough as he yanks at Harry’s boxers. Harry squeezes his eyes shut to better appreciate the feelings, and makes the deep, half-strangled sounding groan that Severus has always found to be altogether too enticing. Severus shudders against him, and Harry helpfully arches his hips up, using the movement to shove at Severus’ pants and trousers until they’re down past his bony hips and his erection is pressing into Harry’s stomach.
It feels decadent to be laying naked in the grass, and Harry tries to think of the last time they did something like this, went at each other with mindless lust and little regard to the setting. But then Severus grabs an aloe leaf and yanks it so roughly that the plant is practically ripped from the ground, snarls as he bites the leaf in half, and uses the thick, viscous liquid to ease two fingers into Harry, and Harry’s decides he’ll think about it later as he drags Severus closer for another open-mouthed kiss. Severus tastes bitter, like dirt and desperation, and Harry can’t get enough of the taste of him and opens his mouth wider.
Severus looks like a wild animal as he enters Harry, fingers bruising on Harry’s hips, sweat dotting his face and eyes feverishly bright. Harry feels just as blindsided and out of control as he wraps his legs around Severus’ waist, and fists his hand in Severus’ hair hard enough to have Severus’ head jerking back, enabling him to bite at the scars on Severus’ throat. Severus groans and shoves in harder, and Harry lets go of Severus’ hair to hold on to Severus’ back and dig scratches into the wiry muscle.
There’s no rhythm to their movements as they bite and claw at each other, no smooth seduction and concentration on stimulating the prostate, taking care to bring each other the maximum amount of pleasure possible. They’re rough and needy and desperate, and Harry throws his head back and howls as he comes, the scent of dirt and crushed grass and sweat making him feel light-headed and disconnected from his body.
“Mine,” Severus hisses, shoving in hard one last time. His entire body jerks, muscles so tight they quiver under the strain, and Harry smiles sleepy and content as Severus comes inside his body.
Harsh breathing is the only sound in the garden as they lay wrapped around each other on the ground. Harry lifts his head. He loves this wild and unpredictable sex, but he’s come to expect post-coital kisses and damn it all if Severus thinks he is going to deny him that pleasure simply because he is feeling possessive.
Severus doesn’t quibble in the slightest over kissing, bestowing gentle kisses over Harry’s eyelids, damp, open-mouthed kisses over his face, nibbling bites and licks down his throat, and lingering, wet kisses to his mouth. Severus is shaking, and Harry wraps his arms around Severus and practically purrs with contentment.
Only then Severus is detangling himself and rising to his feet. Harry squints his eyes open but Severus is shaded against the sun so he can’t see his face. “I must go.”
“Mmm hmm.” Harry stretches, feeling achy and sweaty and relaxed. He’s forgotten how much he loves it when Severus gets all possessive and demanding, and is so glad for his day off as he wants nothing more than to fall back asleep smelling like sex and Severus. Maybe he’ll nap in the garden, even, as the thought of staggering back inside and up to their bed just seems like too much effort.
“I shall see you tomorrow,” Severus says calmly as he buttons his pants and reaches for his shirt. Harry shuts his eyes, feeling ridiculous that even after fifteen years of marriage he hates watching Severus leave him. But he smiles as Severus’ magic wraps around him, lifting him up and settling him gently into the hammock.
He’s dozing pleasantly when the familiar tingle of magic touches his hip, and he’s slightly embarrassed that he instinctively arches toward the magic before opening his eyes to see the doe standing next to him. The doe doesn’t make a move to lick him again, just lowers her shimmering head to Harry’s groin and seems to breathe him in. Harry is fascinated and slightly turned on, knowing he smells like sweat and sex and semen. The doe closes her eyes in pleasure, makes a happy sort of humming noise, and breathes in again before turning to leave.
It makes Harry smile in amusement as he summons his wand to him and casts his own Patronus. The stag cuddles close, letting Harry stroke a hand down it’s warm muzzle. “Tell Severus.” Harry pauses, a mischievous smile gracing his face. If Severus is wanting to act all possessive and early-relationship passionate, then Harry can regress right along with him. “Tell Severus: Fuck you, arsehole.”
Satisfied that his message will be accepted in the same vein with which it is intended, Harry stretches in the shade of the hammock and goes to sleep.
~*~*~
“Harry.” Hermione pauses, tilts her head, and holds up a single finger. Harry waits patiently as she walks over to the liquor cabinet and returns with the pretentious, ever filling, cut-crystal decanter of scotch Kingsley gave Harry and Severus the year he became Minister of Magic.
Not bothering with glasses, Hermione tilts the bottle and takes a healthy swallow of the amber liquid. She looks at Harry, considers, and takes another swallow before taking a deep breath, passing him the bottle, and folding her hands primly in her lap.
“And how long have you had this pseudo interest in bestiality?”
“I don’t have an interest in bestiality,” Harry says, amused, taking his own drink of scotch. It burns going down his throat, and he can’t help the feeling of admiration that Hermione can drink the stuff like it’s water.
“Yet you have objectified Snape’s Patronus into a sexual entity?” Hermione leans forward and gives Harry a hesitant, pitying look. “You’re not still associating the doe with your mother and the stag with your father, are you?”
“What?” Harry frowns and takes another drink, choking the instant his brain makes the connection. “Hermione! No! That’s disgusting!” He rubs the heel of his hand against his crotch protectively, horrified over the mental image of his mother on her knees with her tongue -- “NO! Just. No. And that is the kind of conversation we had before we decided to get married. The ghosts of my parents are not between us.”
“Hmm.” Hermione ignores Harry’s frantic rubbing and takes another drink. “Does he feel the same way?”
Harry scowls. “Even you can’t think that Severus initiated this because he secretly wants Prongs to mount him.”
“Well, no,” Hermione admits. “I did kind of wonder about the amnesty between him and Sirius, but nothing about the history between Snape and your father sparks the same feelings of angry lust.”
“What?” Harry stares at Hermione and abruptly decides the topic of conversation needs to change. Now. “Anyway. Why do you think he started this?”
“Didn’t you say something about Blaise upsetting him?” Hermione absently traces the lip of the bottle with a finger as she thinks. “And that very night was the first time he used his Patronus so inventively?”
“Inventively,” Harry repeats, grateful yet again that such a lovely woman as Hermione remains his friend even after all the weird shit he subjects her to. “But I can’t see Severus putting enough stock in someone’s words to take offense like that. I mean, aside from me, he doesn’t really care what people think of him.” Harry frowns and takes the bottle back. “And sometimes he can care less what I think of him, to be honest.”
“Well, then I don’t know, Harry.” Hermione shrugs, but her mouth is pinched just so in the way that indicates she is not done thinking on this problem, and Harry feel inexplicably relieved.
“Blaise is in Tahiti until next Monday,” Harry says absently, frowning as he tries to think of what Blaise could have possibly intimated to upset Severus so deeply. “I’ll ask him when he gets back, I guess.”
“Good idea,” Hermione says, shaking her head to clear whatever thoughts are making her frown. “In the meantime,” she continues, “you are only forty-five. Exploring new sexual proclivities is healthy, and I encourage you to keep up this game so long as you and Severus are both comfortable with it.”
“Yeah,” Harry says absently, “but is he doing this because he wants to, or because he feels compelled to keep my interest somehow?”
~*~*~
Routine settles comfortably around Harry and Severus upon his return. They make love, bicker about the wards, laugh, read, and generally just enjoy being together. Harry feels loved and desired as Severus is finally able to spend the next few weeks at home with him instead of dealing with the mundane practicalities of running a school. But then Severus gets a lead on a Defense Against The Dark Arts instructor, and portkeys to Italy to headhunt him.
Ron comes to town the day after Severus leaves, and Harry joins him and some friends for an impromptu game of quidditch and drinking and vainly attempting to reclaim their youth. The paparazzi that never leave Harry alone gets wind of the event, but Harry helped cast the wards around the field and ignores them as he pulls off his shirt and uses it to mop the sweat from his face. Craig, one of the dragon handlers that came to town with Ron, passes him a beer, and Harry grins his thanks and laughs with him about the first time they met, back when Craig helped them smuggle Norbert out of the school.
He goes to bed early that night, pleasantly buzzed and tired from the heat and the exercise.
Only then it’s warm, and Harry feels safe as he blinks his eyes open. The clock on the nightstand says it’s just after six, and Harry would roll over and go back to sleep except the doe is shining in the darkness of his bedroom. Harry smiles sleepily as her softly glowing head dips to nuzzle at his neck.
Reaching for his wand, Harry mumbles something vaguely resembling an incantation, keeps his eyes squinted open long enough to watch Prongs trot obediently through the wall, and then lets his eyes shut and his wand clatter onto the floor as the doe crawls onto the bed and lays down beside him, her shining head resting over Harry’s heart.
~*~*~
“Really, this is getting entirely out of hand,” Hermione remarks calmly, sipping at her tea as her boyfriend Terry sits in shocked silence beside her. “Though I do see the basis of its appeal.”
“Yeah?” Harry flushes, wishing he hadn’t automatically canted his hips as the doe appeared in front of him and licked at his crotch.
“Must be so nice to feel that wanted, even after all your years together.” Hermione looks slightly wistful as she watches the doe nuzzle Harry inappropriately. “To know that your partner cares about you enough to make the effort to warp magic to add to your pleasure.”
Terry makes a strangled noise, the tea cup shattering in his palm.
“Reparo,” Harry says absently, flicking his wand at the mess. “And what do you mean by that? Severus and I are just....”
“Episky” Briskly tapping her wand against Terry’s palm to heal the wound, Hermione tilts her head thoughtfully as Harry slouches just a bit further in his seat and scratches the doe behind its ear. “Harry, Dumbledore was a master in Alchemy, and it still took until the first war with Voldemort before he discovered a way to make the Patronus charm into a messenger charm.” She shakes her head admiringly. “For Severus to have discovered a way to render a corporeal Patronus capable of human contact... it’s brilliant.”
“Oh, right.” Harry frowns as he thinks about the logic behind their new... game. Absently flicking his wrist and conjuring Prongs, he smiles at his stag and nods his head toward the wall. “Severus.”
Terry watches the stag vanish through the wall. “Perhaps the patroni are projecting their owners emotions at a baser level?”
“What do you mean?” Harry sighs a bit sadly as the shimmery doe abruptly disappears mid lick.
“Well,” Terry continues, “perhaps Severus is afraid that your marriage is becoming stale, and wishes to spice up your sex life to keep you engaged. And so he uses his Patronus, a manifestation of comfort and protection and love, to express this desire, since you both fail spectacularly at discussing your emotions like rational adults.”
It’s a sound theory and Harry is duly impressed. “Why did we never hang out at school, Terry?”
“I was always a bit more logical than you head-first Gryffindor types,” Terry says modestly.
~*~*~
Pansy is tanned and glowing when Harry is escorted into her living room. “Have fun in Tahiti, then?” Harry asks with an easy smile.
“Fantastic.” Pansy grins and sticks her left hand out, wiggling her fingers. A large princess cut diamond in an elegant gold band gleams on her left hand, and Harry admires it accordingly.
“Congratulations,” he says happily. “Blaise around?”
“He was called back to Hogwarts this morning for a meeting,” Pansy says, watching Harry closely. “Weren’t you?”
“No. But then I do live with the headmaster, so I’m sure Severus will pass on anything important.” Harry shrugs as he takes a seat on the chaise lounge. “When do you expect Blaise back?”
“Is this about what happened a few weeks ago?” Pansy tilts her head and studies Harry. “Because he does feel horrible about that, you know. He is well aware what a gift your and Severus’ friendship is, and he would never do anything to abuse that.”
“What did he say?” The exasperation bleeds through Harry’s tone, but it can’t be helped. He’s been waiting weeks to find out what instigated the Patronus sex game, and if Pansy knows then he’s going to make her tell him.
“Harry.” Pansy looks uncomfortable and purses her lips together tightly for a moment before shaking her head and summoning an elf to bring tea. She waits until she is able to hide behind her tea cup before speaking again. “I’m happy with Blaise, so please don’t take this the wrong way.”
“OK?” The experience of having married the consummate Slytherin has Harry carefully placing his tea cup into his saucer and setting them gently on the table. Whenever a Slytherin needs to hide behind the thin veneer of civility of tea before having a discussion, Harry will inevitably end up choking if he tries to drink.
“The thing is, Harry.” Pansy toys with the stem of her cup before setting it in her lap with a sigh. “You’re quite fit.”
“Excuse me?” Forty-five years old and he still blushes like a teenager.
Shaking her head, Pansy gives Harry an almost pitying look. “No, it’s more than that. You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” And if Harry’s voice is a trifle stiff, well.
“Harry.” Pansy sighs and leans forward a little in her chair. “Look at Severus. He’s pale and skinny with bad teeth, lanky hair, and no arse to speak of.” Harry’s eyes narrow, but Pansy merely holds up a hand for silence. “When he hunches his shoulders he looks like a gawky teenager. He has saggy skin, bushy eyebrows, and nose hair, for Merlin’s sake! He is not aging gracefully.”
“And?” Harry asks in a silky, cold voice. He’s sitting tense in his chair, utterly livid that a woman who professes to be one of Severus’ friends and admirers can dissect him so coldly and dispassionately.
“By comparison,” Pansy says, still in that maddeningly calm voice, “you get sexier the older you get.” Harry frowns. “Your shoulders have broadened, your mouth is fuller, your eyes are brighter and more intense, your hips sway when you walk, and you have this sexy bubble butt that just begs to be squeezed.”
He’s blushing hard now, but Pansy continues, looking amused and relieved as the tension eases from Harry’s shoulders. “No one knows how Severus managed to woo, let alone keep you. So when people speculate,” she hesitates, flushing, and looks down before steeling herself to meet Harry’s eyes. “When people speculate over what he has to offer you... sometimes even Severus doubts the solidarity of your relationship.”
~*~*~
Harry sends his Patronus to Severus, going outside to wait for him in the hammock in the garden. It’s cooler tonight, the breeze carrying a bite that has Harry shivering in his robe. Severus Apparrates into the garden, striding toward Harry before the lingering pop of his arrival fades into the background.
“Your stag,” he murmurs, in the sexy, silky drawl that always makes Harry shiver, “attempted to mount me at my desk.”
“I was wondering if constant exposure to your doe would alter Prongs’ ability to touch,” Harry says, laughing. Severus’ eyes narrow as he reaches Harry, lying on top of him in one smooth move that sends the hammock swaying dangerously side to side.
Severus has clearly had a frustrating day at work - his cheekbones are blotchy in the way they only get when he’s lost his composure and spent time rubbing at the underside of his eyes, and his hair has started to frizz at the ends. Harry wraps his arms tighter around Severus and presses kisses to his neck. Severus sighs, Harry smiling as the tense muscles in his back seem to sag under Harry’s touch, and they swing lazily in the quasi-silence of the garden.
“Do you realize,” Harry says softly, later, after the sun disappears over the treetops and the buzzing of insects fades, and all Harry can smell is flowers and grass and the hum of Severus’ magic in the warming charm surrounding them. “That we seem to profess all of our important declarations to each other in the summer.”
“Is that so?” Severus lowers his head and Harry sighs into the kiss, reaching up to tangle the hair brushing Severus’ collar. His fingers brush the pulse beating strong and steady in Severus’ neck and it fills him with such a rush of love even now that Harry pulls away to smile.
“All of them,” Harry repeats, shifting onto his hip until he is pressed even tighter against Severus’ side and can ease a leg over Severus’ bony hip. The hammock continues its gentle swaying, Severus’ arms tighten around his waist, and Harry loves him so much in this moment it’s hard to breathe. “The first time you admitted your attraction to me was during the summer.”
Severus stiffens. “I recall professing no such nonsense.”
“Right.” Harry laughs. “You told me I was a waste of a functioning brain, I told you to go fuck yourself,” he slides his hand under Severus’ shirt and presses his palm against the cool skin of Severus’ back, “and then you dragged me to Malfoy’s bathroom and ravished me.”
“Ravished?” Severus pulls back to stare down at Harry, eyes gleaming in the deepening shadows. “I had no idea you thought so fondly of that first encounter.”
“Not my word,” Harry says smugly, nuzzling Severus’ chin with his nose. “It’s Draco’s.” Severus pauses at this, looking at Harry in silent inquiry. Harry grins, utterly delighted to be revealing this secret to Severus after all their years together. “He approached me after his honeymoon and said that you ravishing me on his wedding day meant you were going to keep me, so I’d best call him Draco.”
A pause. “I see.” Harry doesn’t have to look to know that a flush is creeping up Severus’ neck and mottling his face, but he does, because he loves seeing Severus so obviously discomfited.
“And it was summer,” Harry continues, sounding smug and delighted, “when you first told me you loved me.”
“Again, your recollection of events differs from mine.” But Severus shifts, tugging Harry’s robe off his shoulders and placing a gentle, almost reverent kiss upon his breast bone.
“Mmm,” Harry agrees, sliding his hands over the small curve of Severus’ ass. “You told me that since I was clearly incapable of protecting myself, you were going to do it for me.” He obligingly arches his hips as Severus resumes stripping him down, feeling his nipples pebble in the cooler air.
“How you reached the age of thirty without my direct involvement in your life I will never know,” Severus mutters, lifting his arm as Harry pulls his shirt off and throws it to the ground. He refreshes the warming charm, though, and Harry relaxes into the comfort of it all.
“You were always directly involved in my life,” Harry protests without heat. “Even when all we did was fight, you were always there.”
“Hmm?” Severus’ eyes are closed, forehead resting atop Harry’s head. He looks ridiculously peaceful and content, strangely vulnerable with the twilight playing in the dips of his ribs and the jagged angles of his shoulders as they hunch over Harry’s body, pressing as much skin together as possible. Harry feels a surge of possessive protectiveness sweep through him at the sight.
Instead of pursuing their conversation he summons a blanket, twists it until it drapes evenly upon them both, and snuggles closer for sleep.
~*~*~
It’s not until summer is waning and they are back in the castle, overcast days interspersed with sunbursts and wind that howls in the empty, echoing corridors, that Harry broaches the subject again.
The last meeting of the week has ended, teachers old and new properly introduced and dispatched to set up their classrooms and lesson plans, children scheduled to appear on Sunday evening, and Harry escapes to their quarters for the remainder of the day. Severus is still formerly buttoned up in his robes, hair tied neatly back at his nape, muttering and pacing as though the teachers do not all respect him enough to fall into line on their own. And while it is weird to be at Hogwarts without Flitwick and McGonnagal and Binns, the new teachers all appear competent and eager to infuse the school with their own personalities. He gives Harry an absent kiss before striding to his office, promising to return to Harry shortly.
But Harry doesn’t want the new school year to start without settling the demons stirred up over the summer. Not that he objects to his husband surprising him with kinky, possessive sex, but only if they both want it, not because one partner is afraid the other may slip away. So he gives Severus two hours to finish whatever details are distracting him, and then summons him.
“He has this spot on his neck,” Harry tells Prongs, tapping a finger gently against a spot below his left ear, “just here. Get his attention and tell him that summer isn’t over yet.”
It doesn’t take long. Harry has barely flopped, yawning, onto their bed, when Severus storms through their Floo, color high in his cheeks and eyes flashing fire. “It is no longer summer, Potter. This game has no place amongst the children.”
“Summer is not technically over,” Harry corrects smugly, “until the Fall Equinox.” Severus’ eyes narrow, and Harry holds out a hand beseechingly. A token grimace and then Severus is striding across the room to sit stiffly on the bed next to Harry.
“Besides,” Harry murmurs, tugging on Severus’ hand until he is draped half-across Harry’s chest, “once the children return we’ll be too exhausted for the first couple weeks to do more than fall asleep in this bed.” He grins, reaching up to tangle a hand in Severus’ hair. “We should take full advantage of our solitude.”
“Harry.” Severus sighs in exasperation, puffs of warm air skating across Harry’s face to stir his hair.
“Fine,” Harry says casually, pushing at Severus’ shoulders, “I’ll go see if Blaise is free to run around with me.” Severus’ eyes narrow, and he stops shifting backwards to lean forward and hold Harry more securely against the mattress. “Or maybe the new DADA professor,” Harry continues thoughtfully. “He winked at me as we were leaving the meeting.”
“Did he?” Severus’ voice is calm, promising instant termination.
But Harry has lived with this man for almost two decades, and can hear the hurt and weariness under the carefully modulated tone.
“How can you even think it?” Now Harry’s voice is soft, his arms going back up around Severus’ shoulders to pull him closer. “You know me. How can you even think for a second that I will be swayed from you by a pretty face?”
Defeated, that Harry seems to have caught on to his ruse, Severus holds himself stiffly over Harry for a moment longer before simply caving. His elbows buckle, his eyes close, and he sags against Harry’s chest. His nose presses uncomfortably into Harry’s chest, but Harry would not move right now for anything.
“I am not unaware of my physical limitations,” Severus says, voice muffled. “While you are...”
“Quite fit?” Harry suggests, when it appears Severus is struggling for an appropriate word choice. “Really fucking gorgeous?” Severus lifts his head and glares at Harry suspiciously. Harry just shrugs, unable to prevent an impish smile. “I asked Pansy.”
“I see.” Severus’ voice has that odd, possessive note in it again, and Harry wonders if Severus is going to demand Blaise marry Pansy by the Christmas holiday.
“Why the modification to the Patronus charm?” Harry asks gently, running his hands through limp, slightly oily black hair. Severus sighs again and shifts into a more comfortable position, draped as he is across Harry still. One bony hip digs into the muscle of Harry’s thigh, and it’s familiar in an uncomfortable way, a pleasure pain that makes Harry smile.
“Complementary patroni is an indication of a strong match,” Severus answers crisply. It sounds like a perfectly logical explanation, but Severus keeps his face pressed to Harry’s chest as he speaks and Harry knows him enough to hear a prevarication when he hears one. But it’s ok if Severus will never own up to his insecurities. Harry doesn’t need the words to appreciate the sentiment behind them.
“Hmm.” Harry knows the wordless answer will annoy Severus to no end, and has to bite the inside of his lip to hide his smile when Severus lifts his head to glare at him after a moment. “I have a secret of my own to admit.”
“Yes?” Severus’ eyes narrow, his fingers tightening against Harry’s ribcage before he catches the motion and brings himself back under rigid control.
This small, aborted movement hurts Harry, makes him wonder at the power of their personal demons that even a lifetime of loving each other is not enough to dismiss the ingrained sense of worthlessness from their past.
“I really love our hammock,” Harry says quietly, stroking his fingers down the soft, loose skin of Severus’ face. He lets his hands wander, over skinny, narrow shoulders, down the flat chest and nearly concave stomach, the slight bump of Severus’ arse, reaching as far as he can to caress strong, narrow thighs. “I can’t even imagine my life without it.”
Severus’ eyes go bright and fierce as he brings a slightly shaking hand up to rest gently on the fluttering pulse at Harry’s jaw. “No intention of upgrading to a newer, less abused model?”
“Never,” Harry swears fiercely. He cups the back of Severus’ neck and tugs until Severus is lying fully atop him and he can press small, hard kisses to Severus’ thin lips, watching in delight as they bruise and swell. “I love everything about our hammock, every frayed piece of rope and weather stain.”
Severus stares into Harry’s eyes intently for a moment before releasing a shuddering breath and lowering his head to kiss Harry fiercely. “Then the subject shall never be brought up again.”
“Good,” Harry says, draping one of his legs around Severus’ waist and trying to convey through each gentle caress of his hand how very much he loves Severus, regardless of how unattractive the rest of the world may perceive him.
It’s warm and quiet in the bedroom and Harry relaxes into the moment. Long, lingering kisses and possessive hands sweeping up and down his body.
Only then Severus pulls back to smirk at him. “However, I still refuse to allow your stag to mount me.”
Laughing, Harry tightens his arms around Severus’ neck in a relaxed, impromptu hug. “There’s always next summer.”