|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2008-11-05 17:40:00
|Entry tags:||fic, giftee: suemonroe, rated: nc-17|
Fic: Pride Cometh Before the Fall
Title: Pride Cometh Before the Fall
Word Count: ~6200
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Tired of being in the public eye, Harry decides it's time for a change. What better way to escape fame and fortune then living like a Muggle? A perfect plan if only it didn't involve one Severus Snape.
Author's Notes: My love to my darling gals who are the best friends one could ask for and were a constant source of inspiration. You know who you are. Enjoy, suemonroe and thanks to the mods for their continued patience!
~ Pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity.
-- William Blake
The most difficult moment in Harry Potter's young life was not the moment he squared off against Voldemort, with the fate of the Wizarding World resting on his shoulders. It was not the moment when he first walked into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, trying to ignore the eyes on him that followed his every movement, the centre of attention when he wanted nothing more to be left alone. Hell, it wasn't even the first time he sat in Snape's classroom, completely singled out by the git and made to feel a fool because he was raised by Muggles. It wasn't his fault that magic was something he had only read about in books and had learned it was real not three days before he sat in the dungeons.
No, the most difficult moment in Harry Potter's life occurred exactly eight months, sixteen days and fourteen hours following the death of Lord Voldemort.
It was the moment he went to Severus Snape, swallowed his pride, and asked the man for a job.
In the weeks following the downfall of the most evil wizard to ever walk the Earth (title care of one Rita Skeeter), the whole of the Wizarding world had been thrown into a whirling dervish of activity. One couldn't pass a street corner without seeing the latest 'special edition' Daily Prophet. Though, when the Prophet was putting out six special editions each day, how unique could they really be? Reports circulated surrounding the supposed death of Severus Snape, which was, of course, followed by another issue that claimed he was alive. Molly Weasley was hailed as a war hero for the death of Bellatrix Lestrange while the people mourned the loss of her son. Even the most insignificant contribution to the final battle turned participants into instant celebrities.
The hype should have died down, it should have faded away. By all rights things should have returned to their normal dull roar and Harry could have found a job and some semblance of a life after Voldemort. At least, that's what should have happened. Harry was beginning to learn that what should happen and what does happen are two very different things.
After eight months, Harry had reached his limit. If he had one more eager young witch throw her scantily clad body in his direction he was going to do something drastic. Just what that something was, however, he had no idea. All Harry knew was that his breaking point had come and gone and he was tired of all the attention. He didn't want sex, he didn't want riches -- all he wanted was to live his life in peace.
What he wanted to know was how Severus Snape had managed to appear, collect his Order of Merlin First Class and disappear into obscurity once more. Of all newspapers to print the 'true' story of what had happened in the Shack, it was the Quibbler and not the Prophet that had gotten the story right. Snape was a Potions master and no self respecting guru went anywhere without a bezoar on his person. A charm to stop the bleeding in the nick of time kept him from bleeding out and the bezoar stopped the circulation of venom in what little bloodstream he had left. He had survived and had crawled out from under his rock long enough to claim that illusive Order of Merlin.
No one had seen hide nor hair of him in a good six months. It was as if he hadn't existed. Harry knew -- he had looked for him. (Though he'd never admit to the fact). How a man as well-known (and well-despised) as Snape could disappear without a trace was beyond him. And the fact that he envied Snape for that very reason was frustrating as all hell.
And it made him want to locate the man all the more. After the ceremony, Snape had disappeared once more and how Harry envied him that. All Harry wanted was the obscurity. He wanted to find a way to fall out of the public eye and live his life as Harry Potter -- not Harry Potter, the Boy Who Defeated the Dark Lord and Saved Us All from an Endless Reign of Terror (another title coined by Rita Skeeter). He didn't want a title to follow his name. He wanted to be just Harry. Was that so much to ask for?
As he ducked into an alley in order to avoid a throng of screaming witches, Harry realised it must have been. He waited, hands in his pockets and counted to sixty. He counted up once more for good measure before he hesitantly poked his head out from between the dingy brick walls. Even in Muggle London (though only three blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron) they had managed to find him. If they could track him down in London this easily, Harry was beginning to wonder if the only way to escape all this would be to move to America. While not the most rational of ideas, it would certainly get him away from his adoring, annoying fans here in England.
With the coast clear and once more blissfully alone, Harry trudged from the alley, turning his collar up against the bitter cold. He hunched inside his coat, trying to appear smaller than his six foot frame would allow. As he walked, Merlin curse his over-active brain, but he couldn't get the thoughts of Snape out of his head. With every step, every breath he thought of the man, jealousy coursing through his veins as he could think of nothing but Snape. What Harry wouldn't give to know the secret to disappearing within the Muggle world. While he may have been brought up in a Muggle house, being confined to a cupboard under the stairs wasn't exactly conducive to learning common sense in the world or even how to survive within it.
Head down and engrossed in his thoughts of Snape, he never saw the man approach him until it was too late. Harry barrelled into him, connecting with solid muscle and was thrown back on his arse. Harry picked his head up, words poised to give the man a piece of his mind, his speech died in his throat. The hair colour may have been different but Harry knew that face.
Hell, who wouldn't recognise a man whose nose had its own postal code?
No words were spoken between the two men, but the eye contact and the accompanying glare were enough. Harry scrambled to his feet, his vocal chords still lacking the ability to work properly. Snape turned away from Harry before Harry had any opportunity to regain the power of speech. The growing crowd started to fill in between them, obscuring Snape from view. Harry scrambled to his feet and stumbled through the crowd, lunging to grab Severus's cloak. All he succeeded in doing was startling an old man when he caught hold of the wrong person. Somehow Severus had managed to lose himself in the crowd, though there had been no crack, no telltale sign that Severus had Apparated out of sight.
Which meant he had to live or work in the vicinity. The crowd began to thin and Harry raised himself up on his tiptoes, as if that would tell him if a man with an abnormally large nose was briskly walking away. There was nothing. He had been so close to catching him only to come up empty handed. Cursing, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and doubled back once more, though he glanced at every nearly every office building, hoping to catch a glimpse of Snape.
About to admit defeat, Harry spied him slipping into a small brownstone office building. Leigh Strasser, CPA. So, Snape had fallen back on his Muggle roots in order to escape the public eye in the Wizarding world. No one knew who he was and no one paid him the time of day.
Committing the address to memory, Harry paused outside the building a bit longer then he should have. This was how Snape had escaped the public eye and this was how Harry was going to do the very same. There was only one flaw in his plan, however. He'd need resources in order to make it in the Muggle world. He had no formal education to speak of and he would need that education in order to secure a job. Which, once more, led him back to Severus Snape and the need to speak to him.
Now all he needed to do was swallow his pride and go see the man and hope Snape didn't toss him out on his arse.
Easier said than done.
"I'd like to speak with Leigh Strasser, please."
"Ha-- Carry Prince," Harry quickly changed, wondering why he had adopted Eileen's maiden name when there were any number of other surnames he could have chosen from.
"You're not on the list," the receptionist snapped. "Mr Strasser does not speak to anyone without an appointment."
And Snape still has that same stick up his arse. Surprise, surprise.
It had taken Harry a week to get up the courage to even enter the office. It wasn't as if he could call and make an appointment, now could he? Harry knew how far that would go -- if he could get a word in without the phone being slammed down on him. At least if he got in the door it would be harder to be thrown out of the building, particularly as it was a Muggle office.
"I'm an old friend of his," Harry tried.
The woman gave him a penetrating look and Harry shifted, toeing anxiously at the floor. He shoved his hands as far into his pockets as he could, fingertips brushing his wand in an attempt to calm himself down. He'd faced off with the Darkest Wizard to live and here he was, nervous about facing off with some Muggle receptionist.
"You don't look old enough to be an 'old' friend," she stated, narrowing her eyes and looking at him over the rim of her wire glasses. "Now why don't you tell me who you are and what you want with Mr Strasser?"
The auburn head Harry had followed seven days ago poked out from the office to the left of the secretary's desk. Harry straightened up the moment he laid eyes on Snape, knowing for sure that it was the man he'd been searching for.
"What seems to be the issue here, Maude?" Snape asked, his black eyes narrowing in Harry's direction.
"Nothing, sir," she said quickly. "He was just leaving."
"No--" Harry interrupted pushing his way towards Snape and the open door. "I came to see you."
"You don't have an appointment."
The door slammed in his face before Harry could say another word. He glanced back and forth between the shut door and the receptionist. The idea formed, followed quickly by a smirk. He casually walked back towards the secretary, giving her his best sweet smile.
"I'd like to make an appointment with Mr Strasser. This morning, if possible."
The woman simply glared at Harry, yet she opened the book in any case. "He has time available in fifteen minutes."
"I'll take it," Harry replied, settling himself in the waiting area. He thumbed through a magazine, attempting to picture Snape reading pamphlets on economy instead of Potions treatises. The minutes seemed to slowly march by until numbers swirled in his field of vision and Harry thought he was going to go mad. And it had only been eight and a half minutes since he sat down.
The last six and a half minutes were as torturous as those that came before them. Snape had always said a watched cauldron never boiled. In his case, a watched receptionist didn't didn't use the intercom.
"Mr Strasser, your 9:45 is here to see you."
A buzz, followed by a crackle of static nearly obscuring Snape's drawl. "And it would be?"
"A Mr Prince to see you."
"I thought you tossed him from the building."
"He has an appointment."
A beat pause. "Fine. Enter."
The door swung wide enough to allow Harry to slip into the office. He closed the door behind himself, leaning against the cool wood and putting as much space between himself and Snape as humanly possible. Wanting to go talk to Snape was one thing -- being stuck in an office with him and him alone was another thing entirely. Harry shifted anxiously from one foot to the other, waiting for Snape to speak.
It wasn't until he was situated behind the desk, elbows resting on the edge and fingers steepled under his chin that he finally spoke. All that was missing was the high-buttoned collar and Snape would have looked like... well... Snape.
"Well -- it seems you aren't as daft as I thought," Snape said, tapping his fingertips together. "Either that or your streak of good luck continues. Still in possession of the Felix Felicis? I can't imagine you managing to brew up your own batch."
Harry bit his lower lip to keep from saying anything he didn't mean. Particularly as he was about to do the lowest, most disgusting thing he could think of.
"Sir, I need a job."
"What do I look like? Your personal help agency?"
"I don't think you know what that word means."
God, he was going to have to beg, wasn't he?
"Professor--" Snape interrupted.
"You're not a professor anymore."
"Do you really want to correct me at this juncture?"
Harry bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingernails digging into his palms leaving behind half-moon circles in their wake. He was going to be nice -- he had to be nice -- he...
"I need out. I can make it on my own in the Muggle world, but I need out. And I need a job so that I don't have to be followed. And I'm asking you because you managed to escape completely and that's what I want to do."
Snape stared at him, that deep penetrating stare that seemed to see right through him. He shifted uncomfortably once more, his trainer anxiously toeing at the floor. Merlin's blue beard -- why didn't he just make up his mind and spare him the agony. Or else, this was what he had to look forward to: endless days of staring and not knowing what was going through his mind.
He never should have come here.
Too late for that now.
"You will be here at 8:45 sharp," Snape spoke, tapping a tuneless melody on the top of the desk. "8:46, and do not bother coming into the office, I will have you arrested. Go."
Harry mumbled a thank you and quickly backpedalled out of the office. 8:45 am? He'd be here fifteen minutes early just to be sure. This was a chance he was not going to let slip by him.
As much as Harry hated to admit, Snape was his only hope. And the even scarier part? There was a tiny voice in the back of his head saying just how bloody good Snape looked with auburn hair and to see him in colours other than black.
Harry wasn't sure which admission was worse.
At exactly 8:43 (and thirty eight seconds), Harry found himself in the same position yesterday staring at Snape who sat perched behind his desk like some medieval warlord. Harry swallowed hard, feeling as if he were here for an Occlumency lesson as opposed to speaking to the man about a job.
"Why did you follow me?"
That wasn't the question Harry expected, nor was the tone of voice Snape's normal. It was softer somehow and that threw even more questions in Harry's direction. A softer Snape? Was this what came from the man living in Muggle society? If that was the case, maybe he should have gone there sooner. Would have made his life easier --
"I asked 'why did you follow me?'" Snape barked. "Or has your new-found fame come with the unfortunate side-effect of perpetual deafness."
"It wasn't my intent!" Harry protested, beginning to rise from his chair. "I was thinking about you and then suddenly there you were and I had wondered what happened to you and--"
"Please, Potter. Learn to find periods even when you speak. Or, at least, learn the value of breathing in between statements. And is not a period. It is a conjunction -- a word that connects several thoughts and should be used sparingly."
Harry slowly lowered himself back to the chair, wishing the cushion would unzip and swallow him whole. Anything to escape this torment. He knew he should have expected it. This was Snape. But, hell. Swallowing his pride didn't have to come with bruises, did it?
"I want out of the public eye," Harry finally said, speaking slowly so there would be one less thing for Snape to nitpick. "You did it. I want to know how."
"I changed my name, started up a business and became successful."
"The door is behind you. I suggest it doesn't hit you in the posterior on the way out."
"Yes, that's mature," Harry retorted, fighting the urge to stick out his tongue.
"You need me. I don't need you," Snape said, leaning forward. "I suggest you remember that fact in the future."
In the-- "You mean I have the job?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up at the prospect.
"Against my better judgment, you do." Snape paused, looking at Harry with a hyper-critical eye. "You do know how to add, don't you?"
"Of course I do. You didn't teach me."
Harry Potter and the Accountant from Hell -- Day Thirteen.
"You really cannot be that stupid."
"I'm not stupid. I added both columns exactly as you told me to do."
"And if you would have, you'd have found that you should have come up with a grand total of 745 pounds and 43 pence."
"No, it's 743 pounds and 45 pence. You missed this additional line item."
"Fine. Yes, sir."
"Go get me a coffee. Venti, soy, chai."
"Technically it's tea."
"Technically it's a girly drink."
"Just get me the damn coffee."
"And every time you stick your tongue out at me, your maturity level drops about fifteen points."
"Get me the damn coffee."
Harry Potter and the Amazing Will to Keep From Murdering Severus Snape -- Day Twenty-Six.
"Three weeks and you still haven't done anything I've asked. You haven't dyed your hair nor have you gotten contacts."
"Black hair doesn't really dye well."
"I don't want to look like you."
"Then go blond."
"Beggars can't be choosers. Bleach your hair and do it now. Or else I will tomorrow."
"I already swallowed enough of my pride to come here and ask you for a job. I draw the line at looking like Malfoy."
"Potter, even with your hair dyed you couldn't possess the mental aptitude either of them have."
"Right. I'll be smarter because you know bleach kills brain cells."
"Are you always this argumentative?"
"Are you always this much of a bastard?"
"Do you always have to answer a question with another question?"
"Why, does it bother you?"
Harry Potter and the Oh God I'm Staring at His Arse Again -- Day Thirty-Five.
"I'm impressed, Potter. You've managed to grasp the complex concept that two plus two does in fact equal four."
"Really? The last set of papers I did said that it equalled seven."
"Amazing, and if I find that mistake, I will be taking it out of your pay."
"You do realise that, Snape, I have done nothing but what you've asked me to do. I've learned to balance ledgers and I've caught six mistakes that your underlings have caught."
"You, too, are also one of my underlings."
"Yes, but they fetch you coffee. I work in your office."
"That's because I don't trust you to work anywhere else. I like having my eye on you at all times."
"Is that a fact."
"Yes -- Potter, get your arse out of my face."
"I thought you wanted to watch me."
"Watching, in this definition means keeping a close eye on to ensure that you do not foul any of these documents up. You have done well, but I still don't trust you when it comes to figuring overheads."
"Yeah, well, I don't trust me either."
"I asked you to get your arse out of my face. Are you deaf as well?"
"I'm half-way across the room, Snape. Are you staring?"
"Why would I do such a thing?"
"I believe there's an ulterior motive to you keeping me in your office. Going to give me a raise?"
"Potter, do you always think with your prick, or is it your time of the month?"
Two months later and most of the wounds from Snape's acidic tongue had managed to heal, or at least had scabbed over and they weren't anywhere near as raw. What Harry couldn't get over was the fact that he and Snape had managed to fall into a working relationship. Of course, the man was still a bastard, but at the same time there was something else there as well. Quips were exchanged but there was a hint of a smile playing about Snape's lips when he tossed the verbal volley.
It got to the point where Harry was actually looking forward to going to work. He didn't want to admit it, but he enjoyed working side-by-side with him. They may have fought like an old married couple but their working relationship was bloody fantastic. There were times Harry seemed to know exactly what Snape was thinking or knew what he needed before it was requested.
Best of all, not one adoring fan had accosted him in nearly three weeks. It had taken him a long time to finally change his appearance. Snape's office was far enough away from the usual path of witches and wizards everywhere but when Snape had threatened to fire him unless he dyed his hair, Harry had come into work the following day with a light brown-colour. What was odd was the way Snape had stared at him for a few moments before barking the account names they'd be working on that day.
In two months, Harry had moved up from grunt-intern to "personal assistant" to Leigh Strasser. If Harry had an office, he was sure it would have been filled with bicycles the other staff members used to ride to work. Or -- something. All Harry knew was that he was disliked for turning the head of Leigh so soon after being hired.
It was a funny feeling, being despised by so many people. Usually it was only Snape that hated him so intensely.
"Can you get me--"
"The Silverman file is already on your desk," Harry answered promptly. "Finished it last night."
"You know, if you continue to finish my statements like this people will--"
"--Talk?" Harry supplied helpfully.
"Something along those lines."
Harry looked up and it was then that he realised his proximity to Snape. Every morning they'd complete the same routine: share a cup of coffee (or, as Harry had learned to like Snape's drink of choice, a chai) around the small occasion table Snape had purchased as a common area to stack in progress cases, go over the files to be completed during the day and set to work, each at their own desks. Lately, though, Snape had taken to lingering at the table, close enough so that a shift of body positions would cause their arms to brush.
It had happened over a period of weeks: one moment they hated each other and this whole gig was nothing more then a ploy to get Harry out of the public eye. The next, Harry was finding himself sneaking looks at Snape during the day, his stomach turning somersaults when his auburn hair fell into his face just so. Snape would hand over a file and their fingertips would brush, shooting a streak of electricity from hand to groin in no time flat. He found himself slipping into various fantasies, wondering what it would be like to feel those ink-stained fingers against his skin. The hop to men wasn't that far out of the realm of possibilities for Harry. He'd fancied his best mate for years until it became clear that Ron saw only Hermione. And there'd been those couple of blokes a month ago when he first started noticing the curve of Snape's arse in his trousers.
Harry wasn't sure what was worse -- the fact that he was staring at Snape or that he could have sworn he'd caught the other man looking away surreptitiously as if not wanting to be caught.
The fact that Snape would become the object of his affections, however... Harry would have sooner believed that hippogriffs could be taught the tarantella then to believe he would fancy, of all men, Snape.
Talk about your unlikely pair.
"Potter, you're staring into space again."
Better then staring at you and getting caught.
"You cannot possibly be bored."
Harry shook his head. "No, sir."
"You have quite a bit of work to do, do you not?"
Severus stood, thrusting a file into Harry's hands. "Then I suggest you get to work."
Once again, hands brushed Harry's but unlike any other time, they did not move away. There they both stood, a manila folder held between them with Snape's long fingers resting on the back of Harry's palms. Harry wasn't sure who moved first: only that one moment there was space and the next not even a sliver of light could be seen between their bodies. The folder dug into his stomach but Harry was rapidly passing the point of caring, particularly when hands threaded through his now tawny-coloured hair.
Harry's face was forced upwards and he found himself drowning in Snape's eyes. Snape's eyes were dark by their very nature but his pupils were dilated with what Harry had to assume was lust. Soon, though, it wasn't only the folder that was digging into his stomach.
"Why, Snape -- I didn't know you cared."
The other man growled low in the back of his throat, tossing the folder aside and snaking one hand around Harry's waist. The hand explored, moving from the small of Harry's back and lower, firmly grasping his arse through the fabric of his trousers. The moan Harry would have made was caught the moment Snape lowered his mouth to his. Lips sealed over his own, he could be as loud as he wanted, knowing it was Snape who would silence him.
However, he was waiting for someone to come barging in after the cry he let out when Snape's tongue first brushed against his own. Harry rocked against Snape, his body moving into the realm of autopilot, reacting to every kiss and caress Snape gave him. It was becoming clear that Snape was experienced in this realm and to that end, Harry relinquished all control to Snape. It was disconcerting to, for the first time, be on the receiving end of kind touches from Snape.
Maybe, for all these years, Snape had been the bully who tormented the little girl by dipping her pigtails in the inkwell because he didn't want to admit that he fancied her.
If that was the case...
Harry groaned as Snape began to undo his trousers, those ink stained fingers slipping under the waist band of his boxers to grip his bare arse.
"Quick this first time," Snape mumbled against Harry's lips. "Later... tonight..."
"Longer," Harry finished, grasping the front of Snape's oxford.
One moment he was pressed flush against Snape, the next it was a desk that had taken the place of that tall, hard body. His trousers and boxers were pulled down just enough to bare his arse to Snape. A hand was placed on his inner thigh, spreading his legs ever so slightly. In front of him, the files he had been working on that day stared up at him and Harry could feel one of them digging into his stomach.
About to ask Snape to let him move long enough to pull the file away, the query died on his lips the instant he felt something press against his arse.
"Relax, Potter." Snape breathed, nosing at the hair just behind Harry's ear. "Have you done this before?"
"Once," he confessed. "I know the mechanics."
"Then..." that finger pressed against the puckered ring of muscle once more. "You are aware that this will hurt if you don't relax."
"Do you have to lecture even through sex?"
"It's my defence mechanism."
Harry sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the files on the desk that dug into uncomfortable places and concentrated on Severus behind him. He closed his mind, letting himself visualise Snape in his mind's eye. The auburn hair and black hair began to merge, forming some weird amalgamation -- and then it was replaced by the image of Snape he'd always known: long, stringy black hair and elegant hands. Yes, no matter what Snape may look like his hands were always the prominent feature that remained the same.
Turning his head ever so slightly, he was able to bite his wrist, using it to muffle his cries. One finger, then two -- Harry wasn't sure where the oil had come from and nor did he care. He was too busy concentrating on the feel of Snape's fingers as they penetrated him for that first time. A third finger sought its way inside him and Harry felt as if he was going to go insane. He knew just how tight he was, even as he attempted to relax, and knew instinctively that this would hurt before the accompanying pleasure arrived.
"Take a deep breath," Snape said softly, lightly kissing Harry's shoulder. "The pain will pass."
A nod was the only response Harry could give him. He was afraid of the groan that would erupt if he lifted his head from his forearm. Then, there it was -- that first press of the head of Snape's cock, sliding forward. Harry leaned the full brunt of his weight against the desk, spreading his legs as wide as his trousers would allow him. Then, inch by inch, Snape began to enter him. Harry cried out softly, forcing his body to adjust to Snape's large size.
Then -- Harry wasn't sure what caused the change -- but there was a hint of pleasure in the pain. The pain continued to subside with each shallow thrust and soon all that was left was the exquisite pleasure of knowing that Snape was inside him, intimately inside him.
"Are you all right?" Snape asked after a moment, the front of his body flush against Harry's arse.
"Better than all right," Harry managed to reply. "Bloody fuck."
"Bloody fuck is redundant," Snape answered. "And really, Potter, is the image of a bloody fuck really what you want to conjure just now?"
Somewhere, there was a snappy retort that Harry could have shot back. However, when Snape chose that exact moment to begin to move, he quickly lost the ability of cognizant thought. Hell, he was lucky he was coherent enough to make soft babbling noises. Harry was hyper-sensitive to everything, his body aware of every shift and thrust Snape made. He could feel the moment Snape moved, angling his hips in a completely different direction and managed to --
Oh god. Harry saw stars. Again and again, Snape hit that spot deep inside him. Harry was sure it had a name beyond 'ohgodagainpleaserightthere' but right now, that was all he could think of to call it. Harry gave himself over to Snape, letting the other man touch him as he would. A hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke in a delicious counterpoint to the rhythm of Snape's hips.
The physical and emotional onslaught was rapidly becoming too much for him. Harry arched backwards and into Snape's body, crying out softly as he came over their hands. A few more thrusts and Harry could feel a warmth spreading through his lower regions. It was only then that the true impact of what they'd done had set in.
But Snape had begun this. Harry couldn't be blamed.
"Mr Strasser? Mr Prince?" Knock, knock "Are you both alright?"
Harry turned and looked at Snape with a panicked expression on his face. How Snape managed to look the picture of serenity with his cock in the arse of another man was beyond him. Furthermore, Snape actually managed to speak with an even, albeit annoyed tone.
In other words, the tone he always used.
"We are fine. Mr Prince dropped a stack of files, the corner of the drawer landing on his foot. That was what you heard."
"Do I need to come in and clean?"
"No, Maude. Mr Prince will be quite alright once he is able to sit down again."
There was a pause before Harry could hear the clack of high heels as she retreated away from the door. Harry's eyes narrowed in Snape's direction. "Funny. Prat."
"That's Sir Prat to you."
"I can sit down just fine, thank you very much."
The look Snape gave him was far too feral and made Harry's cock twitch with anticipation.
"You won't by the end of the night when I'm through with you."
"Where is the Silverman file?" Snape asked the next morning.
"It's on your desk like I told you yesterday," Harry replied.
Snape cleared his throat and Harry lifted his head from his work, his cheeks turning a dark red when he saw the state of the file. Between the torn corner, rumpled edge and the dark spots -- Harry knew damn well what those came from, he continued darkening until he was the colour of an embarrassed lobster.
"I'll... get right to work on that," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Next time, Potter, if you wish to jump me, I suggest you take care to wait until there is no file between us? I expect you to stay late to fix this."
"No, not tonight," Snape agreed, the ghost of a smile gracing his face. "I have other plans for you."
The worked in silence for a few moments, Harry's eyes flicking towards the defiled folder at regular intervals. At long last, the question on the tip of his tongue begged to be ask.
"Do I get to remind you that you were the one who pounced?"
"No, you do not."
"Didn't think so."