Entry tags:

fic, rating: nc-17, snarry-a-thon10

SNARRY-A-THON10: FIC: In Conference
Title: In Conference
Author: hambelandjemima
Other pairings/threesome: Reference to Ron/Hermione, past Harry/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,000
Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *Snark, fluff. That's it, I think.*
Prompt: # 30 - The conference hotel is overbooked. Harry and Snape are forced to share a room. They still hold a flame for one another years after their broken relationship.
Summary: Severus attends a conference and the last hotel room is double-booked, forcing him to share with Harry Potter. They had a relationship years ago just after the war and it ended disastrously. Potter is now divorced and Severus is still single due to the fact that no other man has ever matched up to Potter. Does Harry still feel the same way about Severus? And will they both admit it before the conference is over?
A/N: Thank you to the mods for organising this brilliant fest. I love this cliché so I had to write it. Epilogue compliant if you believe that a double-spy Potions Master wouldn't frequently put himself in the vicinity of a poisonous snake owned by a megalomaniac without having some sort of antidote on hand. Which we all do, obviously.

In Conference


Severus Snape is not a man prone to childish temper tantrums in public. This is just as well because right now in a darkened corner of his mind, behind the Occlumency wall and the false conjured memories, there is an eight-year-old Sevvie stamping his foot and yelling It's Not Fair! It's not the kind of image a man likes to project when he's spent the whole of his adult life (and a good part of his teens) taking advantage of the fact that only fools expect life to be fair and that Eileen Snape didn't raise a fool.


He turns his withering stare on the hotel receptionist, a slim blonde-haired witch from somewhere in Eastern Europe, and the inner eight-year-old Sevvie smirks when her smile falters.


"I wish to speak with the manager," Severus enunciates, deliberately.


The manager – a short, portly man wearing a name badge that flashes 'Reuben Tenwick' alternately with 'Manager' - has clearly been expecting this, because when he arrives he doesn't need explanations and launches straight into an obviously rehearsed speech that starts with, "I'm very sorry Master Snape..." and ends with "... for two such esteemed war heroes as yourselves."


A Weasley walks past – Charles, if Severus' memory serves him correctly – and claps him on the shoulder. "Playing the War Hero card, Severus? Good on you." The hand and its owner are gone before Severus can think up a suitable (and legal) hex to remove them.


His senses now on full alert – he's not about to allow another Weasley close contact, unless it happens to be Percival who is such a delightful submissive - he becomes aware of others entering the hotel foyer. Deep voices chattering excitedly intermingle with the sound of creaking leather and the scent of windblown man. Severus' spine tingles as a low throaty chuckle reaches his ears and he doesn't need to turn around to discover its source. Once he would have stared down rabid fangirls and beaten off Ministry officials just to hear that voice murmuring filthy talk in his ear. Now, though, it doesn't affect him except to wonder what he ever saw in the little twit.


His inner teenager – the one with raging hormones and a libido to match, standing next to the stomping eight-year-old - smirks and mouths, You keep telling yourself that, Sev.

Tenwick suddenly spreads his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. "Mr. Potter!" he gushes, looking past Severus. "It's a great honour to have you staying here with us."


From somewhere behind Severus, Potter answers. "Thanks," he says, easily, as if people speak to him that way all the time. Which they probably do. "Erm, do you have anywhere we can store our brooms? It was too nice a day to travel by floo today."


"Of course, of course." Tenwick snaps his fingers in an extravagant gesture that's probably supposed to impress, but frankly, Severus has seen it done better and much more extravagantly before. A Hotel Elf appears by the reception desk and holds out his hand for the two broomsticks to fly into. Bowing low he disappears from the spot with a faint pop.


Severus turns, resisting the urge to make a comment about long rides on thick broomsticks. Weasley looks mutinous, but Potter has that neutral look on his face that appears casual but in actuality takes a great deal of time and effort to master.


Severus knows, because he's the one that taught Potter that look.


Potter catches his eye. "Snape," he says, civilly. Snape nods a wordless greeting and sneers at Weasley who glowers back.


Potter addresses the manager. "We can wait if you wish to see to Master Snape first," he says smoothly.


Tenwick wrings his hands. "I'm afraid we have a problem with Master Snape that involves you, Mr. Potter."


"Doesn't it always?" Weasley mutters darkly and Potter shoots him a look.


"Hermione's already checked you in, Ron," he says quietly. "Why don't you go on up? I'll meet you both in the dining room later."


"Okay, if you're sure, mate."


Potter nods and Weasley strides off, glaring at Severus as he does so. Severus fiddles with his cuffs, affecting a disinterested air. The youngest male Weasley always was so easy to irritate; Severus is gratified to know he hasn't lost his touch.


Aware of a tension in the air, he looks up to see Potter studying him. An eyebrow quirks. "So, what's this problem then?"


Tenwick starts to babble, "I'm very sorry, Mr. Potter, I wouldn't have wished this for --"


Potter waves a hand impatiently. "The shortened version, please." Severus won't admit that he's impressed with this display of authority, although his inner 'forty-something' nods approvingly.


"The shortened version," Severus interjects, wanting this farce to be over sometime this century, "is that these imbeciles have managed to double book the last room in this god-forsaken hotel."


There is a silence during which Potter's expression doesn't change at all. Then, ever the noble Gryffindor, he says, "I'll find another hotel. You were here first, Snape."


"If it were that simple, I would be settled elsewhere by now," Severus replies, drawing himself up. "May I remind you, Potter, that for reasons the Minister prefers to keep to himself we are all to reside in the same establishment for the duration of this conference?"


Potter runs a hand through his unruly mop of hair. "Bugger," he says, succinctly.


"Indeed."


"There's no spare attic room? A vacant employee's room? A sofa in the foyer?" Potter asks.


Tenwick shakes his head at the first two suggestions and looks affronted at the last. Severus has been wondering the same things himself, but seeing how uncomfortable Potter is brings out his perverse side. Not that it takes a lot for his perverse side to show itself, as many a shop assistant could – and indeed would - attest.


"It seems as though we are destined to share this room for one week, then," he states, addressing Potter. "Please do try to keep your hands to yourself and I will endeavour to do the same."


To Severus' chagrin, Potter looks as though he's holding back a smile. Tenwick starts to bluster again. "Master Snape... Mr. Potter... I can assure you--"


"Do I need to check in?" Severus drawls, turning back to the manager and cutting the man off. "Or shall I simply inform you of my requirements during my stay?"


With a glare at Severus and an apologetic look at Potter, Tenwick signals to the receptionist. A couple of forms and one password for the wards later, both men are travelling in the lift to the last vacant room in the hotel. Severus is aware of the heat radiating from Potter and the fact that the man just can't stand still. When the lift stops, he splays his arm, indicating Potter should go first.


"Thanks," Potter mutters. "Number 69, isn't it?" He manages to say it without sniggering, unlike the Potter of many years ago who would have turned round with a leer and a filthy suggestion of what they could get up to in a room with that number. Sometimes, Severus misses that Potter.


Distracted by his thoughts, Severus almost bumps into the object of them who has stopped dead just inside the doorway. He peers over the man's shoulder – not a difficult task seeing as Severus is still a head taller than Potter – and spies a double bed. One double bed for the two of them.


"Quite like old times," he murmurs.


"Not quite," Potter says, tight-lipped, throwing his bag into a corner. "It's all yours, Snape. I need to see Ron and Hermione about.... about something."


He turns on his heel and stalks off and Severus tells himself he doesn't care.




* * * * *




Severus is sitting at the desk, adding a few notes for tomorrow's discussion when Potter staggers in, looking worse for wear. He plonks himself on the bed, fully-dressed, and falls back, narrowly missing the headboard in passing.


"You've been drinking!" Severus accuses, rolling up the parchment and putting it with his other notes.


"Oh God, yes!" Potter answers vehemently, stretching out and putting an arm over his eyes. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Severus drinks in the sight of the body that was once as familiar to him as his own. It's not as scrawny now, although still lean and lightly-muscled. Potter's shirt is unbuttoned and the t-shirt underneath has ridden up to expose a lickable expanse of stomach with its delicious trail of hair disappearing into the leather trousers which cling everywhere they touch, outlining the soft swell of his crotch.


Severus rises from his chair, holding out his hand to touch... anywhere, really. Then he remembers it's not his place anymore and he lowers his hand, still standing and watching until Potter's breathing evens out.


He crosses the room to close the curtains, shutting out the last rays of the setting sun and then lifts the duvet and slides into bed. Potter is a dead weight at his side, warm and heavy and trapping half the covers. Exasperated, he pulls on them and Potter mumbles incoherently but doesn't wake.


"Oh, for... You're hogging all the covers, Potter!" Severus snarls and pulls harder, tipping the other man onto the floor. There's a loud thud and then the sound of gentle snoring wafts up from the floor area. Satisfied, Severus whispers, "Nox," and settles down to sleep.




* * * * *




Severus is just finishing his shower when someone stumbles into the bathroom and the unmistakeable sounds of retching filter through the steam. He waits until he hears a cleaning charm and then shuts off the water. Potter is sitting on the floor by the toilet looking sorry for himself.


"Thank you, Potter, that's put paid to my morning wank now."


"Sorry, Sev." He sounds anything but. "Do you have any Hangover Potion?"


Severus makes a show of patting his naked body down. "Not on me, no. I do not carry around every potion I've ever brewed. Shame on me."


"You're such an arse," Potter says without heat. He leans back against the tiles, looking pale and older than his forty-one years. "You used to carry it in your inside pocket." He weakly jabs a finger in the direction of Severus' chest.


That was when I could predict your need for a drinking binge. "You'll find many of my habits from twenty years ago have altered." Severus accios a towel and rubs himself down briskly, although not in the way he was hoping. "Deal with the consequences."




* * * * *




At breakfast Potter is considerably more cheerful and Severus concludes he must have asked the hotel staff for a Hangover potion. Not that he is remotely interested, of course.




* * * * *




They spend the next three days studiously avoiding each other's company, but finding themselves thrown together by circumstance. Several times, Severus finds himself nodding with approval at a theory Potter has outlined and occasionally, Potter backs Severus up on which defensive spells are appropriate when dealing with murderers and a multifariousness of desperate criminals. Every now and then Severus looks covertly around the table and finds Potter watching him thoughtfully.


"Like what you see, Potter?" he once asks quietly and is disconcerted when the other man replies with, "I always did, Snape."




* * * * *




Evenings for Potter are spent with the Weasleys in the dining room and then the bar until last orders. Severus dines with Healers Baggott and Jenkins, discussing the virtues of spells versus potions in healing and then retires to the hotel room for the remainder. He is always in bed pretending to be asleep when Potter rolls in and he doesn't fall asleep until he hears soft, gentle snoring. He wakes each morning with an arm around Potter's warm body and his erection pressed against Potter's equally warm arse. Each morning it gets more difficult for him to leave the bed and go for his shower.


On the fourth evening Severus goes back to the room after bidding goodnight to Baggott and Jenkins, and finds Potter sitting in the chair at the desk.


"I wasn't aware the bar was closed tonight."


"It's not. I don't like drinking alone."


"Ah. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley want some quality time to themselves."


Potter looks at him suspiciously. "Since when did you start understanding my friends?"


Severus busies himself with taking off his shoes and Potter settles back in the chair, hands clasped across his stomach, waiting patiently for an answer. "Mrs. Weasley and I have crossed paths many times in the course of our work. It pays to know how one's colleagues' minds function. I don't think she realises how much information she imparts about her family and friends."


"Well, if anyone were to take notice, it would be you. Does she ever...?"


He falters and Severus looks up sharply. "Ever, what?"


Potter's face is flushed and his knuckles are white. Severus sits down on the bed. "Ever talk about me?"


"Frequently," Severus answers, quietly.


Potter looks surprised. Whether it's at the answer or the fact that Severus admitted it so readily is not clear.


"Oh."


"Not in the name-dropping 'Harry Potter is my friend' type of way," Severus feels the need to elaborate.


"No... I didn't think--"


"More in the 'Harry seems happy' or 'Harry's getting married' or 'Harry got promoted' type of way."


"I see."


There is silence then, not the uncomfortable silence that they used to sit in during the last stormy days of their relationship, but an easy acceptance of each other. Severus should be surprised at this, but he isn't. He's been woven into Harry's life since before his conception and their interaction has always been passionate, heated, bordering on the obsessive, but never indifferent or routine.


And he's back to calling him Harry again.


He clears his throat. "We should get to bed. We have an early start in the morning."


"Yeah, we should."


Severus rises to use the en-suite first and Harry follows when he's finished. This time when Harry slides into bed, he's not drunk and Severus is not asleep.


"Nox," Harry whispers and they are plunged into darkness. As Severus' eyes become accustomed to the dark, he feels a hand mapping the contours of his face. When tentative fingers brush his lips, he draws one in, teasingly, enticingly and swipes his tongue along its length. Harry's quick breaths are warm against his face and he runs a hand down Harry's back, marvelling at the fact that he's allowed to do so again. He pushes down the pyjama bottoms that are in his way, and his fingers gently probe between firm buttocks. Harry lets out a moan, arching his body closer.


The finger in Severus' mouth is removed and replaced with Harry's lips and tongue before Severus can complain at its loss. Their kisses are frantic and hot and searching, and Severus doesn't want to go another twenty years before tasting this again. His nightshirt has been pulled over his head and their erections, trapped between them, are hot, heavy and desperate for release. Severus rolls onto his back, pulling Harry on top of him without breaking the rhythm of their frotting. Harry's balls slap heavily against his own and Severus thrusts upwards again and again.


"I'm not going to last if you.... keep doing that," Harry gasps and dives back down for another kiss. Severus winds his fingers through messy, black locks and answers with another thrust of his hips. Harry digs his fingers in Severus' shoulders and yells as he comes, hot and sticky between them. Severus runs a soothing hand down Harry's back as Harry collapses on top of him, breathing heavily.


"Wow, that was embarrassingly quick," Harry says with a wry grin, lifting his head and planting a kiss on Severus' lips.


"I would love to taunt you with it mercilessly," Severus replies, running his tongue over his lips and tasting his Harry, "but I intend to do much the same thing."


A sated Harry is a docile Harry and he doesn't offer any resistance when Severus rolls him onto his back. He even lifts his legs to wrap them around Severus' waist in case he needs any more encouragement, which he doesn't, although he appreciates the gesture. Severus' hips snap forward as if they remember the feel of Harry beneath them - and with Harry squeezing his thighs like that, it's not difficult to see why sex between them has always been incredible. All too soon Severus is arching his back and yelling Harry's name as he climaxes, his cock pulsing and gushing thick jets of come.


Severus falls face-down into a pillow, not caring how undignified he must seem. He feels a tingle as Harry wandlessly cleans them both with a charm.


"I see your levels of power have not diminished at all," Severus mumbles into the pillow.


"Does that bother you?" Harry arranges them both so that Severus' back is against his chest, and a possessive arm is thrown around Severus' waist.


"The way I feel at the moment I doubt if anything will bother me again."


Harry chuckles sleepily, and it vibrates pleasurably through Severus. "I'll remind you of that tomorrow when you're arguing with Smith about the merits of using cat's eyes in a night-vision potion."


"I do not argue, I debate," Severus insists, yawning. "Anyway, the man's an arse. How he ever passed his Potions Master's exams I'll never know."


"Not everyone has your intuition," Harry tells him and Severus smiles. At least, the corners of his mouth attempt to turn up, but Harry would know it for a smile if he could see it. Severus is about to inform Harry of this when he hears a soft snoring behind him.


He must remember to tell Harry in the morning that he was right. It has been quite like old times after all. If Severus gets his way (and he has a sneaking suspicion it will be Harry's way, too), there will be many more times like this one. Surely he's allowed one little gloat about it.


He settles down to sleep. Severus' inner selves are happy. All is well.



-end-