|auctasinistra (auctasinistra) wrote in wip_rip,|
@ 2008-10-28 17:13:00
Snape lowered himself to the floor – gracefully. Crosslegged. Elbows on his knees and hands under his chin, he looked for all the world like a bored child waiting for his parents to finish some tiresome adult task. Harry almost laughed.
“Whenever you are ready, Mr. Potter,” Snape said.
“Hey!” Harry blinked. The room had shifted – no, he had. “I did it!”
He was about six feet to the left of where he had been, right up against the foot of the bed. Snape stared at him for a moment, a strange expression on his face. Then he dropped his face into his hand, shaking his head slightly. That was when Harry realized that he was stark naked. His clothes lay in a pile on the spot where he’d stood a moment ago.
He felt himself flush all over.
“In future, Mr Potter,” Snape said, not lifting his head, “try to remember to include in the spell those usual accoutrements of civilized society such as attire, would you?”
Harry started to laugh. He saw Snape’s shoulders rise and fall – the potions master was laughing too, as much as he ever did, anyway.
“Oh, sure,” Harry said, affecting an American accent, “like you never did this when you were learning how to apparate.” He collected his clothes and quickly put them back on – no point in leaving the room at this stage, and though he was embarrassed about his error, he wasn’t ashamed of his body. If Snape wanted to look, or not look, that was his choice.
He couldn’t avoid glancing up, though, as he zipped up his trousers. Snape was gazing past him, into space, chin still resting on one hand, but the faintest of smiles turned up the corners of his mouth. Harry shrugged mentally. Amusement was better than anger or disgust.
He buttoned his shirt halfway, wondering if there had been any point in putting the clothes back on when he was likely to leave them behind again, and said, “S’pose I’d better try again.”
“Do endeavour to include your clothing this time,” Snape said drily, not evidently angry.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Harry said, faking a huff – God almighty, was he fishing for compliments from Snape?
“It may surprise you to learn that I don’t find the sight of a healthy young man’s body offensive in the least, Potter,” Snape said, and Harry felt that all-over blush once more, “but that – unlike you and your clothing – is neither here nor there. Our goal is not to afford me visual pleasure, but to enable you to return home without leaving your various comely body parts scattered painfully from here to the Outer Hebrides.”
Harry winced at the image – then thought ‘comely’? Thought ‘looking at me naked gave you pleasure?’ He didn’t have the nerve to ask, though the idea excited him oddly.
“Right.” Another deep breath; he squared his shoulders and tried to concentrate.
Snape looked at Harry, who shrugged and picked up the bag of bagels. “I’ve been here a few times. Americans are very friendly.”
Snape hmmed thoughtfully.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked brightly, looking Snape up and down. Harry glanced at him too, wondering what strangers thought when they first saw him.
“He was one of the wardens at the prison I escaped from,” Harry said, pleased that he was finally picking up Tony’s little trick of quick and outrageous lies.
At least Snape seemed to find it outrageous. He stared wide-eyed at Harry while the girl behind the counter said with a leer:
“Yeah, I’ve seen movies about those kinds of prisons, you naughty boy.”
That caused Snape to turn the appalled look on her. She blushed, giggled, and said:
“I was only kidding, warden. Have you come to take him back, then?”
“Yes,” Snape said darkly. “And to ensure he never escapes again.” His tone hinted at whips and chains.
She flirted her body at him a little. “Lucky Harry.”
Harry grinned, plunking his booty on the counter.
“Oh, perfect. It’s Hounddog again.” Harry eased closer to Snape. “Don’t look. He’ll take it as an invitation. What is it with him?” A devilish thought prickled in Harry’s head. “It’s not as if you’re all that sexy.”
Dry as burgundy, Snape said, “Perhaps you underestimate my ... charms, Potter.” He started to turn. “I can take care of–”
Harry pulled him back, into an embrace. “Without your wand? There are easier ways to get rid of him.” He was getting entirely too much pleasure out of making Snape this uncomfortable. And out of feeling Snape’s body against his, which made him uncomfortable – a discomfort he was rapidly growing addicted to.
He slid his hands over Snape’s rear, felt him stiffen, and smiled. “Have to make it look good, professor. After all, he already thinks we’re ... um ... lovers.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, glinting. “You are asking for trouble, Potter. I warn you.”
“You can’t kill me. Dumbledore sent you to bring me back – I’m fairly sure he meant alive.” Harry’s gaze flicked over his shoulder. “Oh no. Here he comes. That man can not take a hint. What do we have to do to get rid of him?”
Suddenly Snape’s arms were around him and he was pressed hard against the potions master, those dark glittering eyes inches from his. Snape’s breath tickled over his skin; his voice tickled over other, deeper things.
“Time for drastic measures?” He smirked at Harry’s surprise. “I did warn you.”
With that, Harry’s evil former potions teacher bent him backward and kissed him stupid.
When Snape finally straightened and eased his hold, Harry was light in the head and heavy in other regions. He gasped in enough air to breathe out one word. “Wow.”
Snape read his face, his own showing triumph and ... unless Harry’s out-of-focus eyes were mistaken, a hint of excitement. Then Snape blinked, looked over his shoulder and released Harry.
“That’s got rid of him.”
Harry swayed a little, put out a hand to steady himself against Snape’s chest. He shook his head. “Wow.”
“Your already limited vocabulary seems to have deserted you, Potter.” The cold tone was back. Snape moved away from him, headed for the back of the bar and the stairs therein.
“Well...wait a minute.”
“You can’t just do that and then walk away!”
“I think you’ll find that I can.”
Harry shut the door, locked it, and set his back against it. He had meant to plunge right in with “we need to talk,” but the sight of Snape stopped him.
The potions master stood at the window that overlooked the highway and the sea beyond. He appeared exactly as he had the first night Harry had seen him in the bar downstairs, not knowing who he was. Harry let his gaze wander over the form that had so attracted him then, feeling himself flush at how much more attractive it was because of the brain and personality attached to it.
He knew damn’ well he didn’t want to talk. He had just enough doubt about whether Snape would kill him to make him very nervous about what he did want. Maybe that fear even added to the allure. Harry wondered if he’d think that when Snape turned him into a water buffalo. That made him chuckle.
“Your friend Tony refused to tell me anything about the owner,” Snape said.
Harry blinked. Pulled his thoughts from his willie back to their situation. “Yes. He won’t tell me, either. I sneaked a look at some invoices and found out her name is Halkirk. That’s all I know.”
Snape glanced over his shoulder. “Your criminal proclivities at last come in useful.”
Harry and Tony watched, impressed, as Snape fixed several complicated drinks – including one Harry’d never seen before and guessed was a Snape original – and handed them off to the waitress.
“Wow,” Tony said. “You pick things up fast.”
Tidily putting away the bottles, Snape shook a strand of hair out of his face and said, “Potions are potions.”
Harry chuckled. Tony scowled but let it go, latching onto a different mystery. “That red drink you made – what was it? I didn’t catch everything that went into it.”
Snape reeled off a list and Tony’s eyes got wider. “Wow. Make that for me sometime. Sounds intriguing. What do you call it?”
“Bonfire,” Snape said. “A modified bonfire, technically, as many of the original ingredients are ... not available here.”
An older woman in a black dress, tall, elegant, greying auburn hair upswept, eased her hip onto a barstool. She fixed her eyes on Snape as Harry fixed his eyes on her. She watched him serve a dozen drinks to the frantically busy waitresses before he approached her. Harry took in her dangling silvery jewelry – bracelets, ear bobs, necklaces, rings, all twirling and glinting dizzyingly as she moved – and the regal expression of her face.
“Madame?” Snape said, typically unflustered despite the rush. Harry smiled slightly.
“You’re new,” she said.
“Temporary help, madame,” he said. Her eyes narrowed, possibly at his accent, Harry thought.
“Do you know how to make a black dragon?”
Harry’d never heard of the drink. He watched Snape’s eyes narrow in their turn as he examined the woman. Then, without a word, he began pulling together bottles and glasses and jiggers and ice. Working with his usual focused speed, in a few minutes he had a tall iced glass before her with a black liquid in it and steam coming off the top.
“Who are you?” she asked, not touching the glass, and Harry realized, his stomach sinking, who she had to be.
“Severus Snape, Madame Halkirk.”
“So.” Tony watched Snape walk away. “What’s the deal?”
Harry shifted the bag of vegetables to his other hand. “Sorry?”
“You and Mr Tall Dark and Sarcastic,” Tony said. “What’s the story?”
“Um ... he used to be my teacher,” Harry said, as vaguely as he could. It wasn’t that he disliked or distrusted Tony – he simply didn’t feel comfortable offering him details about his world – or about Snape.
“Teacher? Oh.” The second word was lengthened by speculation.
“What does that mean?”
“It just explains a lot. So he came to take you back to England?”
“Yes. What do you mean it explains a lot? What does it explain?”
“Well, you know ...” Tony shrugged. “The fact that you two are dancing around it, you know?”
“Dancing around what?” Harry said – then flushed as he realized what Tony was saying.
“Look, it’s none of my business,” Tony said. “But he’s sexy as a walking blowjob, and if you don’t plan on taking him up on it because he used to be your teacher...”
“What?” Harry breathed, limp with astonishment. Was he that obvious?
“Or if he doesn’t want to take you up on it because you used to be his student...”
“Wait a minute.” Harry stopped in front of a rather too interested orange vendor and grabbed Tony’s arm, pulling him out of earshot of the woman. “What are you talking about?”
Tony examined his face, grinning. “Don’t act like you don’t know. The two of you are giving off enough sexual tension to power a soap opera for a year. Is it the age thing that’s stopping you?”
“Um. Not exactly.” Harry grimaced, laid his cards on the table, such as they were. “I mean ... it’s just the Snape thing that’s stopping me.”
Tony scowled. “What?”
He’s Snape! Harry wanted to yell, as if it were obvious, but it clearly wasn’t obvious to Tony, who hadn’t been through seven years of Snape’s barbed tongue and cold sarcasm.
“Because he doesn’t want me,” Harry concluded lamely. He couldn’t possibly want me.
Tony’s scowl lifted. “You’re an idiot.”
“Jesus, Harry, is that what you really think? That he doesn’t want you?”
Harry stared at Tony.
“You dumb shit. Come here.” He grabbed Harry’s arm and marched him after Snape. Harry, with panicked ideas of what Tony might have in mind, dragged his heels.
“Tony, what are you doing?”
Tony stopped, grabbed both his arms and said, “See him, by the wine tent?”
Harry looked, saw Snape discussing a dusty bottle with a grey-haired woman.
“Tell me when he looks this way.” Tony didn’t let go of his arms, but rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you two, like a couple of fucking schoolgirls. It would serve you right if I...”
“What are you talking about?” Harry hissed, then, when Snape lifted his head, scanned the crowd, and latched his gaze onto them, said, “He’s looking at us. So now what?”
Tony pulled him into an embrace. “Watch him, you dim fuck,” he said in Harry’s ear. Harry, off balance, automatically put his own hands on Tony’s arms, but his eyes never left Snape’s face. He saw the shift in expression, the tightening of the dark eyes, and felt a chill up his spine.
“Shit...” He breathed into Tony’s ear, pushing back. “Let me go.”
Tony released him, expectant. “Well?”
Harry looked at him, shook his head, giddy. “I ... I don’t know...”
Tony’s hands planted themselves on his hips. “Did he or did he not look daggers at me for daring to touch his precious little former student?”
Again Harry shook his head. “I have to admit ... it looked like that.” Could it possibly be ..? If it had been anyone but Snape he’d’ve been prepared to swear that look was jealousy.
“Now get your dumb ass over there and tell him how icky it was to be touched by Tony the bartender when what you really wanted was those hot and experienced teacher hands all over your nubile young flesh.”
Harry laughed as Tony shoved him away. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m an idiot?” Tony splayed a hand on his own chest. “I’d be all over him if he even looked at me twice. You’re sleeping in the same damn bed–”
“Not the same bed,” Harry said, and Tony rolled his eyes in disgust.
“The same room, anyway. Don’t be a chickenshit. What’ve you got to lose?”
“His respect?” Harry blurted. Did he even have Snape’s respect?
“How long have you known each other? If knowing you find him attractive would make him not respect you, his respect’s not worth having,” Tony said. Harry stared at him.
“How’d you get so wise?”
“I’m a bartender,” Tony said, dismissive. “I see a lot.”