Snarry-a-Thon23: FIC: My Soul to Keep Title: My Soul to Keep Author:catharticEscapism Other pairings/threesome: N/A Rating: NC-17 Word count: 4,030 words Content/Warning(s): internalized fatphobia, fat kink, mentioned child abuse Prompt: No. 42: Harry gains a lot of weight postwar and feels self-conscious about it so Snape worships his body. Summary: Harry is self-conscious about his weight gain after the war, and Severus reassures him that he’s loved just the way he is. A/N: This one really got away with me. I had only intended to write a quick smut scene, but it demanded I include some sort of plot. The more I wrote, the more it blossomed and, by then, the smut had become secondary. I really enjoyed the process of writing this fic! It's the second Snarry fic I've written, but the first I've published. I might go back and finish writing that one as well. I think it's a story that deserves to be told — just as much as this one is. Enjoy the fic!
“Look at me.” Severus’ voice cuts through the dark of the room, disturbing the uncomfortable silence they’d been breathing in. Ordinarily, his voice is soothing to listen to, but today it causes a flutter of anxiety in Harry’s belly. He shifts from his splayed position on the bed, flat on his back with the sheet over him, clasped in a white-knuckled grip. Unexpected fingers stroke over the back of his hand, careful in a way that Severus only ever is with his potion ingredients. Harry can feel them tiptoeing down to his wrist and knows without having to open his eyes that the other man is checking the frantic beat of his heart.
“Severus,” Harry says, drawing out the name with a whisper, “I wish you wouldn’t. I’ve told you, I’m—” fat, he doesn’t say. The words crawl up inside his throat and make themselves at home. They taste of ash, of the self-hatred he’s been battling daily. Harry’s never been one to discriminate against heavy people, but he can’t help but associate it with excess and opulence, with the Dursleys. Their indulgence came at the expense of his well-being, but Harry’s no longer their house elf, nor is he being starved by their hands any longer. That doesn’t stop the curdling of his stomach as nausea rears, but it eases the shard of ice lodged in his heart.
“Your rash assumptions never cease to give me a headache,” Severus says, his voice light in a way that implies he’s not serious. Harry gives a dry chuckle; he can always trust the other man to dictate his ire. “Force more words down my throat and see where it gets you.” He’s curled up onto his side, a bony skeleton alongside Harry’s fluff. Their differences couldn’t be more extreme, but Harry has never seen anything resembling disgust in his eyes when he looks at him.
“Listen well. This is a lesson I’ll repeat as often as it becomes necessary,” Severus says, his digits sliding down to massage Harry’s chubby knuckles. Loosening the grip he has on the sheet, Harry shudders as Severus draws the fabric away from his person and exposes his naked body. His weight gain has seen him tripling in size, giving way to rolls of fat and a waistline he can’t see much beyond. “I won’t stand for the way you disparage yourself.” Severus’ hot breath pebbles a nipple, Harry’s pec swollen into an easy handful that the other man squeezes as he rolls the bud between his thumb and forefinger.
“There is no part of you that I don’t enjoy,” Severus says, and Harry’s dick gives a twitch of interest at the way he hisses the words. “You are perfectly suited to my needs. I prefer big men, Harry, and your body couldn’t be more pleasing to my eye.” It’s not the first time Severus has had to console him, to remind him of the fact that he loves the shape of him. Harry wants to believe him, wants it to be so simple that a tender brush of words could soothe the anxieties building inside of him.
“Okay,” Harry says weakly. He can’t help but wonder about how performative this is, if Severus is only saying what he wants to hear to appease him because he thinks cruel words will scare him away. It’s not very Snape-like for him to pretend to be something he’s not, but it’s even rarer for him to give praise. Where is the happy medium? He’s not sure what to think, but Harry wants nothing more than to be as confident in this aspect of his life as he is in every other. “You’re attracted to me. You want me.”
“Yes,” Severus says, and his lips brush against the skin of Harry’s hairy chest with each word. Before Harry can do more than gasp, his tongue sidles out to curl around a nipple and brown areola. Harry gives a deep, guttural groan, the noise is punched out of him with violence. Severus’ hand is on him, squeezing methodically, and Harry can feel himself stiffening, both at the words of praise and the suction of his nipple. “I want you,” Severus continues when he pulls up, his lips lightly swelled and wet.
Harry admires the hooked curve of Severus’ nose, his too-thin lips, and the deep bags under his eyes. His hair hangs limp and ever-greasy, pooling onto Harry’s chest like a deep well of darkness, contrasted sharply against his sallow skin. He’s objectively ugly, but Harry loves every flaw he can see, wants nothing more than to trace his lips over every sharp line on his face. His eyes are the most stand-out feature, dark chasms that appear to pierce Harry through at a glance. Severus looks at him like he wants to consume him, as if he’d devour him whole given the opportunity. Harry swallows thickly, his throat clicking and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he leans upward to drag Severus down into a kiss.
Their lips meet and Harry runs his hand down Severus’ back, feels every knob of his spine as he slides down to his arse. He squeezes, easily shifting the other man atop him, where he momentarily forgets his bigness in favor of touching Severus after such a long famine. Their lips smack together as Harry determinedly coaxes the other man’s apart, his tongue worming its way inside. A groan rumbles through Harry’s chest, his eyelashes fluttering shut as he dips his fingers down between Severus’ cheeks. There’s a gasp against his lips, and then he’s straddling Harry, sitting on his thighs while his hands rest on Harry’s belly rolls.
Harry goes rigid, the sudden stillness rocking Severus back onto knees dug into the mattress. His hands drop from the other man like he’s been burned, falling to splay across his stomach as if he could hide it from view. “Please…” Harry begs, refusing the temptation to reach for the sheet, just out of reach. Severus’ eyes catch his; they hold him still, pinned like a butterfly, unmoving aside from the rapid rise and fall of their chests.
“A new tactic is required, I see,” Severus says, and Harry can see the whirl of his keen mind, the way his expression goes distant and his eyes narrow in thought. Harry watches as the way he holds himself transitions into something determined and bat-like. He swoops down over Harry like he used to when they were still at Hogwarts. Harry chokes on a desperate laugh at the familiarity of it, and the corner of Severus’ lips crook up into a partial smile.
“Every inch of you is just as much mine as I am yours,” Severus says, looking up over the length of Harry’s body at him. It’s a struggle not to avert his eyes, to persevere and keep them on the other man. “I would have you in every way that matters.” He rests his hands on Harry’s over his stomach, delicately removing first one and then the other. He presses a kiss to the palm of each hand, something that sees Harry biting his lip, before Severus settles them at Harry’s sides, baring him in his entirety. It occurs to Harry that he could call this off, that they could stop and try again another day or maybe never, but despite this thought, he says nothing.
“I have never been one for purple prose and, yet, you tease it out of me. It is my fervid hope that, one day, you won’t doubt my judgments.” Severus’ hands grip his stomach roll, gently kneading and squeezing, as heat flares up Harry’s cheeks with a faint pink. “I have great regard for your body. There is little I enjoy as much as having the opportunity to lay my hands on you.” Severus looms over him, his hands smoothing up the length of his belly, his own cock, stiff and heavy, where it bumps into Harry’s gut. It’s with a grunt that Harry lifts his hands, allows them to totter uselessly in the air for a second or three, before he rests them on Severus’ hips.
“There we are,” Severus says with a moan at the heavy weight of Harry’s hands. He leans back into them, his eyes half-lidded, and the raw sex appeal is dizzying. “I see you, Harry Potter. Don’t hide yourself from me.”
“I won’t,” Harry says, a promise he’s keen to keep, if only at the moment. It’s the first time they’ve attempted anything intimate since he’d put on the last five stone and, even before that, he’d still been chubby enough to be self-conscious. “You really do want me,” he breathes, the awe in his voice full of enough unbridled hope that Severus nods. It’s hard to imagine such a thing; sometimes Harry looks at himself in the mirror and can see nothing but his double chin, the way his face has become more rounded and soft. Occasionally, from the right angle, he likes it. More often than not, he tries not to look.
“I’m far from prone to fluffing the ego of any dunderhead who looks my way,” Severus says with a sniff, his hands dropping to rest atop Harry’s. “I needn’t waste my breath.”
Harry laughs. “I bet you wanted to throttle me the entire time.” A pause, and then his face softens, his thumbs rubbing circles into the other man’s skin. “Thanks for making an effort, Severus. I really needed to hear it tonight.”
“Don’t make a habit of it,” Severus says with the kind of prissiness that speaks of teasing. Harry’s been with him long enough to know that he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he deemed it necessary. Taking a deep, determined breath, Harry shifts him forward so that Severus’ dick is wedged up against the flab of his stomach. There’s a funny, fluttering sensation in his chest that speaks of a heart palpitation, but Harry ignores the anxiety for what it is and ruts himself up against Severus’ arse. A jolt of pleasure spirals up his spine, the longing of repressed arousal quick on its tail.
“Ah,” Severus says, his eyes darkening as he glances down between them. “It would appear you’re back on board. It would have proved… unconscionable to continue otherwise.” His slow descent toward Harry is egged on by the hitch of breath, the slight tilt of his head to give him the space needed to latch onto his neck. Teeth scrape the delicate skin there, and Harry shudders, his dick jumping from its position against Severus’ arse.
“Severus,” Harry groans, rutting forward against him like the teenager he’d been years earlier. His nails bite into his bony hips, leaving purple fingerprints on pale skin. The position produces enough friction that Severus stiffens as his prick chafes against it. Silently, Harry accios his wand into reach and, with a flourish of his wrist, murmurs, “Praelino.” Heated lubricant spurts out of the tip of his wand, splattering against the curl of his rolls before dribbling down onto his neatly-trimmed groin. Harry drops his head back onto the pillow as Severus eases up, a perfect set of teeth marks having broken the skin of his neck. Blood leaks from it, a droplet leaking down to stain the pillowcase.
Smugness suits Severus; it sits across his features like a cat satisfied by a whole container of cream. He pulls back, his hands braced on Harry’s chest, his fingers lightly tugging on the small hairs there. He’s so light that the pressure of his body sitting on Harry’s thighs hardly feels like any weight. It would almost be concerning were the contrast between their bodies not so exceedingly hot. Creeping fingers glide around bruised hips, sliding between Severus’ cheeks to smooth over his pucker. It takes only another murmur and hot lube wets his hole, facilitating the plump finger that slides inside him.
Severus catches his breath, his lips falling open into a small “o” as he bears down on Harry’s digit. He gives himself a handful of seconds to adjust before he thrusts back against it, his cock slicking itself in the lubricant against Harry’s belly. “Don’t treat me like an invalid,” he pants, his eyes little more than slits in the face of pleasure. “Give me more.” His hands jump to Harry’s breasts, pressing them forward and together like he wants nothing more than to fuck himself between them. The thought is enough to rip a loud groan from Harry; he watches Severus greedily, like a man possessed, no longer in his right mind.
“I need you, Severus,” Harry says, and he’s so horny that his next finger slips inside the other man with barely a thought. He spreads them wide, stretching Severus around two and then three fingers. They don’t have to do this, not really. There are spells that would loosen Severus for them, but Harry has always demanded manual preparation. He likes to tease, to fan out three fingers into a small triangle, and feel the give of Severus’ body. Arching his middling digit just so, Harry gives it a flex and watches with satisfaction as Severus melts into the touch, his nails digging into his chest as he manipulates the other man’s prostate. “Tell me you want me.”
“Don’t be daft, of course, I want you,” Severus says, the words acidic. Harry snorts. His impatience is proving to be his unraveling; the closer he is to coming, the more acerbic he becomes. Harry smiles at the wet squelch of his body when his fingers slip from his hole. He manhandles him back onto his lap and Severus reaches behind him to grab Harry’s cock, to lean it forward and position himself forward over it. Harry bites his lip as Severus hovers over him, the blunted head of his cock prodding against his hole. He’s so hot and his body feels like it’s suction-cupping itself around him, sucking him in as Severus seats himself fully atop it.
“You’re so tight,” Harry says. He instinctively draws a breath and holds it, feels the frantic swell of his lungs as the need to breathe burns ever more urgent. Severus’ slow pace feels like torture, his body is like a sieve, clamping down and undulating. Harry can only stand it for so long before he has no choice but to yank Severus down fully onto him. The other man gasps, his eyes rolling in his head, and his dick slapping against Harry’s stomach. Harry only has to wait a handful of seconds for him to adjust before Severus is bouncing in his lap, grinding down against his cock as he tries to find the right angle.
Harry knows he’s found it when Severus gives a loud keen and his whole body contracts, his stomach and toes clenching as he trembles. His mouth falls open just as Harry sucks in a sharp, sloppy breath. Every movement sees his stomach and breasts jiggling in time with each thrust, and it should embarrass Harry, but in the fervor of the moment it feels good, it’s hot. It gives him the extra boost of confidence he needs to open up about how he feels, and it spills out of him like water from a fountain.
“Look at me,” Harry says, repeating the words that’d started this mess. Severus’ eyes flutter open and lock onto him, bright green meeting a brown so dark they look black. “Severus, I need you to understand that, no matter what, you can’t get rid of me. You can’t scare me away. I know you’ve been forcing yourself to be something you’re not, but you don’t need to. Good or bad, I’m here to stay.” Severus’ eyes widen before they narrow into angry slits. He doesn’t stop the motion of his hips, but instead leans forward so that his face is inches away from Harry’s.
“You absolute blundering fool,” Severus says, positioning himself so that his cock receives ceaseless friction from the motion of their bodies and the lubrication of Harry’s gut. “Always blathering on about nonsense, groomed by a madman, and destined to play the hero, to prioritize others’ needs over your own. You feckless idiot, don’t you understand that I want to be here? I’m not capitulating, I’m not anything more or less than who I am. I wouldn’t utter a word unless I meant it. I love you.”
Harry’s heart stutters in its chest at the confession, and he feels like he’s been dipped in liquid ice alongside molten heat. He’s rattled and reeling from the onslaught of abuse, coupled with the revelation that Severus loves him. Harry’s hands loosen on the other man’s hips, and Severus grunts at the lack of support, as he reluctantly eases to a slow, easy rhythm. “You love me?” Harry asks, his voice shaky with pleasure from every thrust. He shrugs off Severus’ displeasure the way he’s always done; their coupling had started out rocky until Harry had realized that Severus was more bark than bite anymore. His words were apt and blunt, but rarely did he twist the knife.
“Harry,” Severus says, exasperation writ indelibly in his countenance. “Have I done anything to suggest my affections lay elsewhere?” His hands slide up and down the length of Harry’s chest, smoothing over all the soft, sweeping curves of his fat. Every touch is delicate, spanning across his rolls with affection as he twists and contorts to trail a line of kisses up his chest and neck, across the five o’clock shadow to his mouth. “Tell me what I’ve done to falsely impress my negligence on you.”
“Oh,” Harry says against his mouth, realizing in a horrifying rush that he’d created and performed an entire narrative scripted from self-doubt. Why had he done such a thing? Had his insecurity over his body really encompassed such sweeping heights that he’d convinced himself that he was unlovable? “Wow,” Harry says, forgetting to kiss back, much to Severus’ dismay. “Maybe therapy really is a good idea.” It’s a well-worn argument, both of them steadfastly against the idea despite Hermione’s every cajole. She’d gone from flattery to wheedling to threatening, but Harry’d been just as much of a brick wall as Severus had been.
“Mm?” Severus starts, but before their activities can grind to a halt, Harry meets his mouth with his own. The other man relaxes into the kiss, needy for touch and desperate to continue. Harry flicks his tongue against Severus’, perking up when he gets an instant response. They break apart and Harry’s hands creep back to the other man’s hips, massaging the bruises he’d coaxed into the skin as they start a rigorous pace. For every upward thrust, Harry yanks Severus down onto himself, engulfing his prick in a wet heat that clings to him.
“I’ve missed this,” Harry gasps, his eyes intent on Severus’ face, the harsh lines of his body. Every whine and grunt is a music all its own, a cacophony of noise as their bodies slap together. Severus’ dick rubs into and against Harry’s stomach with each thrust, grinding up into a fold of fat until he verges on orgasm, petering on the edge. He comes with an explosive cry, as if his climax is so raw and visceral that all he can do is hold on and ride his way through it.
Harry watches Severus cum with renewed arousal, his own urgency tangible as he flips the other man onto his back and crushes him into the bed. Severus’ body disappears beneath his girth, his nails leaving a line of scratches up the length of Harry’s back as he fucks the smaller man into the mattress. There’s a spasm in his back from the position, and Harry’s knees hurt, but he ignores it all in favor of chasing the high of coming. It washes over him tremulously, a full body climax that shoots out of him like a hose, hot cum gushing inside of Severus and leaking from his pucker when Harry pulls out and flops down beside him.
“This was a good idea,” Harry says. Exhaustion tears a yawn from his throat, and he wipes the beads of sweat from his temple as he lays there, splayed beside Severus, who rolls onto his side beside him. He slings an arm around Harry’s waist and rests it there, his fingers idly walking their way up his chest as they stare up at the ceiling. Vaguely, Harry can feel the throb of Severus’ scratches on his back; the memory of sex is enough to make his prick twitch with interest, but it’s far too early for round two. He’s not even sure Severus would be up for it, considering his refractory period takes far longer than Harry’s.
“It was,” Severus allows, closing his eyes. It’s only the middle of the day, but Harry thinks they both deserve a nap. He stretches in Severus’ arms and enjoys the way the other man tightens his grip, his fingers stroking over thick biceps. “It is my hope that you’ll no longer squirrel yourself away unduly. Hunting you down, like you’re a Hogwarts delinquent, chafes. I should be able to see my partner whenever the mood strikes.” Severus tucks his head against Harry’s shoulder and presses himself flush against his much larger body. Harry stares at him blatantly, his fingers gentle as they brush the top of his head and through his greasy hair. It leaves a slight residue on his fingers, but Harry thinks that’s fair considering the mess he’s made of Severus’ body. He can’t see it, but he can feel a damp patch spreading through the fitted sheets.
“Deal,” Harry says, barely able to resist a giddy smile as he relaxes back against the bed. He has half a mind to cross an arm over his stomach, but instead decides to leave it as is. “I’ll stop using my dad’s invisibility cloak if you let me know when you’re gagging for a romp.” It feels like a fair trade now that he no longer needs it. He suspects there’ll be less moping in his future now that it couldn’t be more obvious that Severus is attracted to him.
“What a vulgar little boy you are,” Severus sneers with a reluctant nod, his nose wrinkling. Harry nearly calls him on his hypocrisy; he’s cutting and coarse, often resorting to the word “fuck” as it suits him. It’s comical to see Severus riled up, and Harry often instigates furious commentary with a few choice words and various acts of simulated stupidity. It’s not until Harry breaks his façade and bursts into uncontrollable laughter that Severus realizes he’s been deceived. There’s something unbearably arousing about seeing Severus at his most damning and cruel; Harry doesn’t know what it says about him that he enjoys it.
“You wouldn’t want me any other way,” Harry teases, capable of recognizing the truth of the statement now. Severus isn’t a patient man, but he’s become a genuine one since the war ended. He has no reason to lie or mislead Harry — if he didn’t want him, he’d say so. Severus loves him, and Harry can’t help but return the sentiment. “I love you.”
It’s the last thing Severus is expecting. Harry watches the about-face he pulls, the way his expression twists with agitation only to fall slack with disbelief. He stares at Harry, stone-faced, before warmth blossoms, cheeks a dull pink against peaky skin. “You always know how to get a rise out of me,” Severus protests, but Harry can tell he’s pleased. His eyes are impossibly fond, and he can’t quite disguise the miniscule smile hidden on his lips.
“What can I say?” Harry winks at Severus, his mood rocketing ever higher, on the same journey as his self-esteem. He’s not “fixed”, his insecurities still dwell inside of him, but he’s riding the high of a love confession, of a great orgasm, and it feels like a door somewhere has swung open. It’s progress. Taking Severus’ hand in his own, Harry holds it and traces each thin, spidery finger with his own chubby ones. “It’s magic.”