|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2007-12-10 11:38:00
|Entry tags:||au: magic, fic, rated: pg-13|
Phantom Fingers, for norbert
Title: Phantom Fingers
Word Count:Approx. 2,400
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't care!
Summary: Harry becomes a bit obsessed about Snape's fingers and what those fingers might be capable of doing.
Prompt: I'd love to see a content Snape...Content in his asshole-ery, that is. Promiscuous and confident, a prick just because it's fun, kind of Snape. Who, of course, falls unexpectedly in !TRUE! love with Harry.
A/N: Thank you R for the beta. You're awesome as always! norbert, I hope I got at least a few of them right!
Harry had been an Auror for nearly five years before agreeing to take over the Defense position at Hogwarts. That’s where it all started, this finger fascination he’d developed.
He’d first noticed Snape’s hands around his third week of teaching. They were sitting in the Great Hall eating breakfast and Snape was discussing something with Professor McGonagall, and to this day, Harry couldn’t have told you what it was. He’d been too focused on watching the slow path of Snape’s finger around the rim of his teacup.
The touch was obviously light, and the circuit of his finger never seemed to vary in speed. It just kept circling the cup, and Harry’s mind flashed to that finger circling his nipple with that same agonizing slowness.
When he’d realized what he was thinking, he’d nearly knocked his chair over in his haste to get away from the table.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, before fleeing the Great Hall, never more thankful for robes in his life.
And then there was the staff meeting. Snape sat in his normal high-backed chair, his elbow resting on the arm. Snape began tapping his chin as he listened to McGonagall talk then inevitably his finger began tracing his thin lips. It would travel back and forth across the pink flesh, and Harry was unable to look away.
When Flitwick had asked him something, Harry had been too distracted to answer right away. Honestly, he hadn’t even heard the small man speak. Snape’s finger had stopped moving and the room had gone silent.
“Harry? Would you mind supervising the Hufflepuff practice session for Hooch on Thursday?” Professor Flitwick repeated.
“Yes, yes of course,” Harry said, turning to smile at Flitwick.
“Are you alright dear?” McGonagall asked with a small frown on her face.
Harry smiled sheepishly. “Yes, sorry, I was thinking about my lesson plan and got distracted,” he lied.
He could feel Snape’s eyes on him, and forced himself to meet his gaze. Snape was looking at him curiously, but Harry made good use of his Auror training and kept his face passive.
When the meeting broke up, Snape’s long strides easily caught up with Harry in the corridor. “It’s rude to stare, Potter,” he said, and Harry could have sworn there was amusement in his voice.
“I wasn’t staring, I was merely lost in thought,” Harry countered, fighting a blush.
“Do you expect me to believe you were thinking of lesson plans? There was guilt written all over your face,” Snape scoffed.
Harry didn’t answer, just continued walking.
“It leads one to wonder exactly what you were thinking,” Snape continued. “What, exactly, would make Harry Potter blush?” he asked as if thinking over the question.
“I didn’t blush,” Harry returned, scowling at Snape.
“Perhaps not, but you’re blushing now,” he said, smirking before turning down a side corridor, leaving Harry to walk alone.
It was shortly after this that Snape began showing up at the Three Broomsticks on Friday night with his endless parade of men.
“Do you think he uses potions on them or something?” Ron asked, looking over his shoulder for a moment before turning back to Hermione.
“Of course not,” Hermione answered, though there was the smallest hesitation in her voice. “And stop staring at them, it’s rude.”
“It’s a bit like a train wreck,” Ron said, shaking his head and sipping his drink. “Can’t seem to look away. This one’s lasted two weeks. Must be a record.”
“No, that blond bloke lasted for three,” Harry said distractedly, unable to look away from Snape and his newest conquest. “Dark haired one lasted for two. Other blond made it two. I wonder if he has a thing for blonds.”
Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, but didn’t say anything.
Harry wouldn’t have noticed anyway. His eyes were locked on Snape, or rather, Snape’s finger, which was currently stroking up and down the neck of his date. It was the only outward sign of affection, if you could call it such, that Snape ever did. There was no hand holding, no snuggling of any kind. Just his hand resting on the back of the bloke's chair, his blasted finger caressing up and down his neck.
And Harry would sit at the table, becoming more aroused as his mind drifted to what that finger would feel like on his own neck. How that finger might feel trailing down his chest, brushing through the patch of hair there. Would Snape use more than a finger, or would he continually tease with only one?
He was pulled from the beginnings of his fantasy when Snape and his date rose from the table. Snape looked as pleased as Harry had ever seen him, almost happy. At the very least, content with his lot in life.
He told himself he wasn't sulking when he watched Snape lead his date out the door into the lightly falling snow.
“Does he take them back to the castle?” Hermione asked thoughtfully.
Harry snorted. “If he did McGonagall would kill him. I don’t know where they go, but it’s not the castle. We’re to keep our liaisons out of view of the students.”
“Too bad you don’t have that problem mate,” Ron teased, grinning widely at Harry.
“I date!” Harry cried defensively.
“Yeah? When was the last time you met us here with a date?” Ron asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Harry blinked for a moment, trying to remember the last time he been out on a real date. “Jonathan?” he asked, brow furrowed in thought. “Or was it Maddie?”
“Right, you don't have a clue,” Hermione said, eyes sparkling with amusement. “That was over three months ago.”
Harry looked surprised. “Really? That long?”
He hadn’t really given it much thought because he’d been too focused on Snape as of late. In fact, he realized that he never considered asking anyone out for these Friday night meetings with Ron and Hermione because it would interfere with his Snape-watching.
Merlin, he was pathetic.
“You could ask him out for a drink,” Hermione finally said in exasperation.
“Ask who out?” Ron asked, looking between Harry and Hermione.
Harry snorted. “I don’t want to date him.”
“Date who?” Ron asked again.
“Oh please, you do too,” Hermione scoffed. “I’m not blind, you know.”
“No, you’re insane,” Harry returned, taking a long pull from his mug, emptying it. He refilled it from the pitcher on the table.
“Hermione, please tell me that you’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about,” Ron said, looking distressed.
“Oh, grow up, Ron,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
“But it's Snape,” Ron hissed, looking around to see if anyone was listening.
“Can we please talk about something else?” Harry snapped, taking another drink. He had a feeling he was going to need a sobering potion when he returned to the castle tonight.
~~ ** ~~
Harry knew that if there was a God, he spent most of his time laughing hysterically at him, because this was just cruel.
When he reached the gates of Hogwarts that night, it was to find Snape unlocking them to enter. Perhaps it was the massive quantities of beer he’d imbibed that evening that loosened his tongue, or perhaps it was just frustration. Either way, Harry was spoiling for a fight.
“Where’s your plaything?” Harry asked bitterly.
“I imagine he’s still where I left him,” Snape answered, looking smug.
Harry didn’t want to think about where that might be, since he doubted Snape had left him dead somewhere. Harry couldn’t be that lucky.
“You go through men like toilet paper,” Harry muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around him. The snow had stopped falling, but it was still chilly out.
Snape’s brow lifted. “Just what are you implying, Potter?”
“I’m not implying anything,” Harry replied. “I’m saying it outright. You sleep around more than Lavender Brown, and that’s saying something.”
“I see nothing wrong with fulfilling biological needs,” Snape said, shrugging.
“Do you even care about any of those guys? Or is it all about your biological needs?” Harry scoffed.
“I don’t see why the two can’t be mutually exclusive,” Snape answered calmly.
“Is this one going to last more than three weeks?”
“Doubtful,” Snape said, shrugging negligently. “He’s rather thick.”
Harry snorted. “So you do want more than sex.”
“I need nothing more.”
Harry laughed bitterly. “Never been in love then? The mighty Snape wouldn’t deign to fall in love, would he?”
“Why the interest in my personal life, Potter? One would think you were jealous,” Snape said, a smug smile on his face. “When was the last time you had sex, Potter? Or are you a virgin?”
“I am not jealous, and no, I’m not a virgin,” Harry replied, ducking his head and kicking at the snow. “And it hasn’t been that long,” he muttered. "A few months maybe."
They reached the castle and Snape pushed open the doors to the entrance hall. “That’s a shame. It does wonders for one's mood."
Harry was left gaping as Snape disappeared down the stairs.
~~ * ~~
Harry was certain that Snape was doing it on purpose now.
In every staff meeting and at every meal, Snape was always stroking and caressing one thing or another.
A book binding. A fork. A quill. His pale face or pink lips.
Harry felt as though he was in a constant state of arousal and he was beginning to have no doubt at all that Snape knew it and was capitalizing on it. He was also certain that if Snape ran the feather of his quill across his lips one more time, Harry was going to have no choice but to strangle him.
Or snog him.
At the moment, he believed both would be equally pleasurable.
“You’re staring again,” Snape said, not bothering to look up from the paper he was grading.
Harry grunted in response, scowling.
“You know, Potter, if you ask, I might just say yes,” Snape said, circling a no doubt horrible grade with a flourish before setting it aside and beginning another.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
At this, Snape did lift his head as he stared at Harry. “No? And here I was beginning to think you weren’t completely thick,” he said idly before returning to his grading.
“Oh, I’m not thick!” Harry spat, rising to his feet. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing, you manipulative bastard.”
Snape looked at Harry passively, the only hint to his feeling was the sparkle of triumph in his eyes as Harry began to rant and rave.
“What have I been doing?” Snape asked, his voice bland and innocent.
“You are a bloody tease!” Harry nearly shouted. Even as Harry came unglued his eyes were drawn to Snape’s teacup. More importantly it was the finger that was currently running around the edges of the teacup.
“There!” Harry cried. “That, right there, is what I’m talking about!”
“You don’t like the way I drink tea?” Snape asked drolly.
The man had sat back in his chair and now his fingers were running along his lips and his eyes locked with Harry’s. “Have you a problem, Mr. Potter?”
“YES I HAVE A BLOODY PROBLEM!” Harry shouted, anger, frustration and arousal screwing up his system. “You are my bloody problem. You with your finger! And your ruddy tongue licking your fingers. Why can’t you wear gloves or something? Would it kill you?”
“I had no idea you were worried about my hands. I shall endeavor to treat them better,” he said, his voice making it clear that he would do no such thing.
“Get up!” Harry snapped.
Snape's brow lifted imperiously. “Pardon?”
“I said, get up!” Harry shouted again.
Looking at Harry warily, Snape stood and circled round the desk.
He’d barely made it to the other side when Harry was upon him, pushing him back on the desk and kissing him quite soundly. It took Snape a few moments to kiss Harry back, as he was too busy reveling in his triumph of making Potter cave.
When Harry finally pulled away, Snape sat upright on the desk looking quite mussed and rather well snogged.
He was also unbearably smug.
"I never knew you cared," Snape said, sneering at Harry.
"Why do you have to be so infuriating? You're doing all of this on purpose! I can't sleep! I keep feeling those damned fingers ghosting along my skin and I end up with a hard-on like I haven't had since I was fifteen! If I have to wank one more time because you're enjoying these little -"
Harry was unable to finish due to the simple fact Snape's tongue was in his mouth and he was kissing him in ways that were making Harry's toes curl. Snape's growl went in concert with Harry's moans of pleasure.
And then Snape was rubbing against him like a cat, his hips rolling in a slow rhythm that had Harry gripping Snape's backside, trying to pull him even closer.
All too soon, Snape was shoving Harry away and returning to his chair, keeping the desk between the two of them.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, confused and breathless.
“I have work to finish,” Snape said, waving a dismissive hand in the air and returning to his grading.
Harry gaped at the man for a moment before turning to storm from the room.
“Oh, Potter?” Snape said, not looking up from his desk, “Friday, seven o'clock. Don’t be late.”
“I thought you said you weren’t thick?” Snape said, looking up at Harry in amusement.
“You really are a bastard,” Harry replied, a small smile playing about his lips.
“Something you’d do well to remember,” Snape said in reply, going back to his grading.
“See you on Friday then,” Harry said, grinning widely as he left the room.
Once Harry was gone, Snape set down his quill and looked thoughtfully at the door Harry had exited. It had taken the boy long enough. Snape had begun to despair that he’d have to sleep with half the wizards in Britain to get Potter’s attention. Of course, now that he had it, he had no intention of letting it stray to anyone else.
Potter would be his.
A pleased smile on his face, Snape went back to his grading.