Snarry-a-Thon: FIC: Aftermath Title: Aftermath Author:femmequixotic and noeon Other pairings/threesome: Past Harry/Draco and Snape/Draco, Harry/Ginny Rating: Oh, so NC-17 Word count: 7,362 Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *Infidelity* Prompt: Wild Card #1 Summary: Severus regards Harry for a long moment, then leans in again, breath trailing across Harry’s lips. "Choose carefully, Potter. This is no time for games." A/N: Many thanks to B for the beta, and to accioslash for her patience. :)
Aftermath
Harry only stumbles once as he walks down the sloping swathe of green lawn, an accomplishment after several generous glasses of Ogden’s best and an afternoon of wine. His socks and shoes are off--he’s no idea where he’s left them--and the thick grass is soft against his bare feet.
Music drifts into the cool summer air from the brightly lit tent behind him. He doesn’t want to think about where he is and why. Can’t, really. He lifts his glass to his mouth and takes another sip of firewhisky. They all think he’s pissed, he’s certain. Ginny gave him That Look when he waved the house-elf over again to fill up his glass. She didn’t stop him though. She never would.
He can hear laughter and cheerful shouts. He wonders if Ginny is furious with him for leaving her alone. Luna’s there, though, with Rolf, and he doesn’t quite know how he’d never realised she was a Malfoy cousin.
Malfoy.
Harry stops, and his fingers tighten on his glass. He’d known what he was doing the first night he’d taken Draco to his bed. There were family expectations after all, Draco’d told him. Arrangements that Narcissa had made for her son whilst Lucius spent his three years in Azkaban. Harry hadn’t cared then; he’d just wanted Draco’s lovely arse beneath him. He’d known he wasn’t the only one, but it hadn’t mattered when they were together.
All that was over now. Draco had informed him two weeks into his engagement, after an abbreviated dinner and a frantic, rough shag at Harry’s flat, that it was the last time they could do this. He had to prepare to be a husband, he’d said. Harry’d laughed at the time, but that statement had become achingly real in the months leading up to this day.
The lake stretches out before him, gleaming darkly under the heavy June moon. Water laps at the narrow strip of sand that lines the shore. Harry tugs at his tie, unknotting the strip of grey silk. It hangs over his perfectly tailored black wool dress robe.
Near the water’s edge a match strikes with a hiss, and a small flame highlights pale, scarred skin and a hooked nose. The light disappears with a whisper, leaving behind the warm red glow of a lit cigarette. The acrid scent of tobacco wafts towards Harry.
"Severus," Harry says. He receives a soft grunt in return.
Harry doesn’t ask permission. He sits on the marble bench beside his former professor and holds out the glass of firewhisky. Severus waves it away.
"I know where Lucius keeps the proper whisky," he says. He nudges a half-empty bottle of Lagavulin at his feet.
"Have another of those?" Harry asks, nodding towards the cig. Severus shifts, and then a half-empty packet of Sobranie Black Russians lands in Harry’s lap. He reaches for his wand, then stops. "Matches?"
A worn matchbook hits the grass at his feet. Harry picks it up. There’s a gold griffin imprinted on it, just beneath the address of a pub in Liverpool. Harry lights a cigarette, puffing lightly as he shakes the match out. He breathes out a slow huff of smoke and stares out over the water.
Neither of them speak.
The music changes. Slows. Harry supposes he should wonder who’s dancing with Ginny. He doesn’t. It’ll be them soon enough, he thinks. Standing in front of the vicar, Ginny’s red hair decked with creamy roses, and then later he’ll take her to bed again, bent over her back as he pounds into her, pretending her narrow hips aren’t soft and rounded.
One day she’ll realise why he prefers to fuck her that way. One day he’ll slip up. He’ll whisper Draco’s name--or Ron’s--and she’ll know why he distracts her when she presses his head towards her snatch. Why he prefers her small breasts to Hermione’s curves. Why he always wants to fuck her from behind, twisting his fingers in her soft, short hair. He lies to her every time he kisses her, every time he makes excuses for taking it slow, and he hates himself.
Draco’d mocked him for being closeted. But Draco had just married Astoria Greengrass tonight.
"Why’d you come?" Harry asks quietly.
"I was invited." Severus takes a long drag on his cigarette and stares off across the lake.
Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he sighs. He drains his glass of firewhisky. "Still doesn’t mean you had to suffer through this."
"No." Severus pauses for a moment, then purses his lips. "On the subject of suffering, dare I ask why you’re here?"
"Shouldn’t everyone know by now I’m a masochist?" Harry tries to keep his voice light. He doesn’t manage it. The war’s been over seven years now, but some days he still feels like he’s living it.
Severus snorts. "I’m sure the groom is quite aware." He quirks an eyebrow at Harry.
Harry gives him a sharp look. It doesn’t surprise him that Severus knows his secrets. Draco’s fabled discretion had never actually extended to his circle of friends. He’d been too pleased to have Harry Potter in his bed not to tell them. Despite his protests, Harry hadn’t minded; among the Slytherins he didn’t have to hide. "At least it was just sex for us."
"Obviously," Severus says dryly. He rolls the end of his cigarette between his fingers. "That’s why you’re here at his wedding."
"And again," Harry says, "you’re here why, exactly?" He knows. He’s cruel enough to want to force an admission from Severus.
Severus eyes him, cool and calm. It irritates Harry. "Surely Draco told you."
"It's more what he didn't say, really." Harry taps ash off the end of his cigarette, watching it disappear into the grass at his feet. "He liked to tell me in great detail how you fucked him, though. Thought it might spur me on." He lifts the cig to his lips and inhales.
"Did it?" Severus pours another full glass from the bottle at his feet.
Harry hesitates, then shrugs. What the hell. "Sometimes." He blows the smoke out slowly.
"I haven’t the equal privilege of hearing about you fucking him, although it was written all over both of your faces that you were well satisfied." Snape takes a long swallow of whisky, then balances the glass precariously on his bony knee.
Harry just looks away, his throat tight. He’s still angry at Draco for tossing him aside. "I suppose."
Severus studies Harry for a long moment before he scowls and glances back over the dark water. When he speaks, his voice is sour. "I think he cared for you more than you realise."
"That's not something I want to know right now." Harry takes another drag off his cigarette and blows a thin stream of smoke into the darkness. The Grecian columns of the folly gleam white in the moonlight.
"Nonetheless, if you’ll invoke his narrating our encounters to sharpen yours, I will tell you what I know in return." A faint breeze ruffles Severus’s dark hair, blowing strands across his pale cheek. "He was in love with you, Potter." His mouth twists. "At least briefly."
Harry grinds his cigarette into the sand, putting it out, and stands up. He refuses to look back at Severus. He hadn't cared that he'd had to share Draco. Monogamy is ridiculous, he thinks. An outdated notion for an outdated time. It was one of the few things he and Draco had ever agreed upon. Still. There had been moments... His lips press into a thin line. There’s no sense thinking that way. Draco had been clear about that.
He moves to the edge of the lake, not caring as the cold water laps at his feet. There's an ache in his chest he doesn't want to consider. He closes his eyes, but all he can see is tousled blond hair and a slow, easy smirk with a long, elegant body to match.
"You're pissed," he says finally.
Severus is silent for a moment, then Harry can hear the rustle of his robes as he shifts on the bench. "Perhaps."
"I’m pissed."
Severus utters a quick bark of mirthless laughter. "Definitely."
Harry looks back at him then. He doesn’t know how Severus can do it, how he can keep himself above it all. Harry had nearly incinerated the heavy cream and black wedding invitation when it had arrived in his owl post. It had taken him three weeks before he’d finally returned his R.S.V.P. and another two before he’d told a surprised Ginny they were attending. She’d had to find a robe at the last minute; she still hasn’t forgiven him for that. "You came alone."
Severus drags slowly on his forgotten cigarette, coaxing it back into life. "All of my other many paramours had previous engagements," he says, voice dry.
"Right." Harry feels his cheeks warm. He lifts his chin, irrationally annoyed. He wants to hurt Severus. Or humiliate him. "No rentboys handy?"
The look in Severus’s eye is dangerous, as much Harry can see in the moonlight. "No. Not tonight." Harry’s certain he remembers the barbed blind items on the gossip page of the Prophet as well as he does. He’d been instantly recognisable.
"Pity." Harry doesn't know why he pushes it. Recklessness, perhaps. Or insanity. "Draco thought you liked them." It’s the remnant of a conversation whispered in bed, Draco’s mouth on Harry’s throat, his legs straddling Harry’s hips. Harry doesn’t even know if it’s true. Draco had just laughed at him when he’d asked if the rumours of Severus frequenting certain Knockturn establishments were true. Who doesn’t like rentboys? Draco’d murmured as he’d buried his face in Harry’s hair. I certainly enjoy them. So do you. Shouldn’t Severus?
Severus snarls, his shoulders tight. "Even I wouldn’t bring a whore to a wedding. But you never knew how to behave properly."
Harry raises his chin. A flash of warmth ripples through him, and he realises that for the first time in weeks he feels alive, standing on the lakeshore with Severus Snape sneering at him. "You'd best not be referring to Ginny," he says. He clenches his fists, almost hoping he can swing one towards his former professor. He needs to fight. Wants to. Anger’s boiling in his blood, twisting bitterly beneath the surface of his skin.
"I meant nothing of the kind. I would never insult Miss Weasley." Severus’s eyes rake Harry up and down. "You, on the other hand..."
"Me." Harry laughs, incredulous. "You're calling me a whore."
Severus shrugs. "If you choose to interpret it that way. I hear one Mr Nott is very appreciative of your talents."
Harry's mouth tightens. "That was one night and I was pissed. Draco shouldn't have told you."
"Actually," Severus says calmly. "Theodore told me himself. He paid me a visit shortly after the engagement was announced."
"I don't see how that makes me a whore." Harry turns back to the lake. There haven’t been that many men. Five or six at the most. At least the ones whose names he knows. He’s tried to tell himself that none of them mean anything. It’s just sex. His cock likes arse; his mouth likes prick. Sometimes. He’s twenty-five for Christ’s sake. He’s supposed to be sowing his oats and all that.
"And it wasn’t just the one time, was it?" Severus takes one last drag off his cigarette and flicks it away. It arches in the air, falls into the lake with a tiny splash. "No matter. I’m sure you and Miss Weasley have it all worked out, now that you’re defending her honour."
Harry tenses, guilt roiling through him. "Leave her out of this."
"You certainly seem to leave her out of a lot." Severus eyes him coldly.
"She's..." Harry looks away. He knows he's a prick. Ginny’s been in love with him for years. Or the idea of him, at least, and really, Harry thinks that’s probably all anyone will ever want. None of them take the time to know him. Not even Draco had. "I just want to be normal," he says finally. His voice catches, and he swallows. "For once. Just normal."
"I see." Severus’s face softens for a moment. It surprises Harry. Sets him off-kilter. "And it’s not normal to chase trousers at your age?"
"It's normal to settle down," Harry says quietly. He thinks of Ron and Hermione. They’ve been happy for years now. Ron doesn’t understand why Harry doesn’t want to move in with Ginny, much less marry her. Careful, mate, he’d said cheerfully over a pint just last week, or Skeeter’ll start up about you again. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re bent, would we? Harry still doesn’t know if Ron remembers that drunken kiss on his stag night. They’ve never spoken of it. They never will.
"Potter," Severus says.
Harry turns towards Severus, his throat tight. "It’s normal to get married. To have kids." His gaze drifts towards the flower-decked tent up the lawn. "I can't do that if I'm..."
"Gay? No, not the same way exactly, although there are other possibilities. But you can’t really have a normal happy marriage to a woman either, unless you’re far more bisexual than the tales I’ve heard indicate." Severus lifts his glass of whisky to his lips.
"Like you."
Severus snorts. "Not at all."
Harry takes a step towards him. "You wanted my mother."
Severus nods. "Yes. My devotion to her began in childhood and never wavered. But it was never consummated either. I haven’t found myself wanting another woman."
"Ever?"
"Never." Severus takes another sip of the whisky and looks away, his oily forelock falling into his face.
Harry watches him. He can see the twist of scar tissue across Severus’s long throat. "You love Draco." He hesitates. "Or loved."
"Love. Yes." Severus’s eyes pin Harry. "And as usual, love has nothing to do with how things work out."
"Worthless, isn’t it?" Harry moves closer. He’s not certain what he’s doing here, or why he’s drawn to this bitter, sour man who’s hated him all his life. Except Harry’s not entirely certain Severus does hate him. Not after what Draco’s said. He stops and studies Severus. "Love, that is."
Severus frowns. "Utterly."
Harry takes the whisky from him. When their fingers brush, his breath catches. "Entirely," he murmurs.
Severus surprises him by leaning in then, close enough that Harry can smell the sharp tang of whisky on his breath and the musky warmth of his body. "What are you playing at, Potter?"
"I don’t know." Harry studies the sharp angles and planes of Severus’s face. He has a sudden urge to trail his fingertips across that stubbled jaw. It disconcerts him. "As I said, I’m pissed."
Severus looks into his eyes. "Would you like me to do something about that?" He reaches a hand to his wand holster which lies against the charcoal wool of his trousers.
Harry catches Severus’s wrist. "I..."
"You’re not thinking clearly," Severus says. He doesn’t move his hand from Harry’s grasp.
"According to you, I never have." Harry’s thumb sweeps across the inside of Severus’s wrist. He can feel the flutter of his pulse.
Severus opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. He regards Harry for a long moment, then leans in again, breath trailing across Harry’s lips. "Choose carefully, Potter. This is no time for games."
Harry moves closer. His heart thuds in his chest. He can feel his face warm. He’s attracted to Severus. If he’s honest with himself, he always has been, from the first time he fantasised about a hard cock rutting against his. The voice. The hands. The utter and complete disdain. "I like games."
"I don’t," Severus says and he crushes his mouth against Harry’s.
Harry presses against Severus. His fingers clench the glass of whisky tightly as he surrenders into the brutal, assertive kiss. Severus isn’t gentle: his teeth rake across Harry’s lips, his thumb digs into Harry’s jaw, his tongue thrusts into Harry’s mouth, his hand wraps around Harry’s hipbone.
The glass slips from Harry’s hand, landing on the grass with a soft thud and a splash of whisky against Harry’s bare toes. His fingers card through Severus’s thick, lank hair. He can’t stop the groan that escapes his lips. "This is mad," he whispers. He doesn’t care.
Severus pulls away for a moment, his lips grazing Harry’s cheek, hot breath spiralling and making Harry shiver. "No more so than anything else."
"I wouldn’t be so certain of that." Harry turns his head and catches Severus’s mouth with his again. "I’m kissing you."
Severus twists his fingers in Harry’s belt, sliding a knee between his thighs and hauling him closer. "Yes, but I believe I’m fucking you."
"Oh, God," Harry chokes out, and then he’s kissing Severus again, his teeth nipping along Severus’s jaw. He wants this. Wants Severus. Ron would think he’d lost his mind, but then, Ron will never know.
"Something like that." Severus says, hand splayed across Harry’s lower back, mouth curving in a smile. "But not here. I don’t think the Malfoys would be too pleased to find us al fresco."
Harry pulls back, but his fingers are twisted in Severus’s robe. "It’d serve Draco right," he says tightly. He can’t tear his eyes from the pink love bite just beneath Severus’s ear.
Severus blinks at the quiet fury in Harry’s voice. "Yes. But not tonight." He pauses for a moment, then gestures with his chin toward the small boathouse on the lakeside half concealed by a willow.
"Really?" Harry gives him a sideways look. "The grass would be more comfortable."
"I thought you were a masochist." Severus attempts a half-sneer, but the look in his eyes makes Harry’s skin burn.
"In search of a sadist, evidently," Harry says, rocking his hips against Severus’s. His cock is hard and hot through his trousers. "I suppose the question is whether or not I’ve found one."
Severus looks at Harry, his eyes half-lidded. "I’m not going to spoil your fun by answering." His mouth dips to claim Harry’s again, the nails of his hand digging into Harry’s hip.
Harry’s breath catches, and he kisses Severus roughly. Eagerly. "Draco was right," he whispers into the kiss.
Severus quirks an eyebrow then. "Right about what?"
"You’re ridiculously good at kissing." Harry bites Severus’s lip.
"I suppose we should find out what else I’m good at." Severus strokes Harry’s shoulder. Harry can hear the faint breathlessness in his voice. "Boathouse."
With a slow, lazy smile, Harry wraps an arm around Severus’s waist and Apparates them with a crack.
Severus steps back a pace when they land in the shadows, perfectly placed in an alcove between two covered boats. He stops for a moment. "You’ve been here before."
Harry just raises an eyebrow. "I fucked Draco, Severus. Think about it."
Severus flinches before he can hide it. His eyes are cold. "Would you care to recount the highlights or shall we take it as read that you have fond memories?"
The boathouse is dim and small. Harry trails a hand along a canvas-draped hull. "That’s private."
"As private as my fucking Draco here on his seventeenth birthday? Did he tell you about that time?" Severus’s lips compress to a tight scowl.
Harry fingers a thick rope. "No, actually." He knows Severus is trying to get a rise from him. He doesn’t blame him, he supposes. Draco had been more than willing to play his lovers off each other. It had always been about what he wanted from them. Their lives, their comfort, their bloody fucking hearts--all had revolved around Draco Malfoy’s wishes. Harry looks back over his shoulder at Severus. "But if you’d like to..."
For a moment, Severus is still, contemplative even. Then he strides over to where Harry is leaning over the boat. He pushes him forward, hands covering Harry’s on the canvas and bites the nape of his neck. Goosepimples spread across Harry’s flesh, and he barely manages to bite back a groan. He grinds back against Severus’s hips, twisting against him, nearly slipping as the cloth slides under their hands.
"How pissed am I?" Harry asks. Severus doesn’t answer, but his breath is warm against Harry’s ear. Harry wonders if Ginny is looking for him yet. God help him if she finds them. Still he turns his face into the curve of Severus’s throat, his mouth brushing against the scarred skin.
Severus stands up and pulls Harry back, almost frogmarching him to the dark wooden wall. Harry’s shoulders hit the beams as his arms come up to Severus’s shoulders. Except Severus isn’t where he expects him to be. It takes Harry a moment to realise that Severus has dropped to his knees and is unzipping Harry’s trousers.
Harry watches the head of thick black hair peppered with gray move in front of his hips and bites his lip to restrain a moan. His trousers fall to his ankles in a soft rustle of wool and his legs are suddenly cold in the night air. He waits with bated breath, mouth open, hand dropping to light on Severus’s head.
Then Severus stands up. "Touch yourself."
Harry hesitates. "You’re not going to..."
Severus’s lips curl in a thin smirk. "Watch? Yes. I’m going to watch." Severus’s gaze drifts downward as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Well." Harry shifts, his robed shoulders rubbing against the wall. "I was going to say suck me off." His hand slides down over his white shirt, fingers barely brushing the swell of his cock. "I don’t really mind you watching this."
Severus stands impassively but the look on his face changes, becoming more absorbed, as Harry feels himself grow harder and his cheeks begin to flush. Pleasure rushes through him, and the firewhisky numbs any performance anxiety. He always did like having an interested audience, even if Severus is pretending nonchalance. It won’t last long, he’s sure of it.
Harry’s fingers tighten on his prick, and he doesn’t look away from Severus as he strokes himself, lightly at first, his fingertips sliding over his smooth foreskin. When Severus’s breath catches, Harry tilts his hips forward, his cock slipping across his palm, his open robe swinging back against the wall. His mouth quirks to one side. "Yeah?"
"Stop," Severus says, closing the distance between them.
"I don’t think so." Harry twists his hand and tugs at his foreskin, pulling it over the slick, swollen head of his prick. At the look in Severus’s eye, desire spikes through Harry, and he braces his shoulders against the wall, waiting for what he knows will come next.
Severus grabs Harry’s wrists, pulling them above his head. "Incarcerous."
Harry hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t even seen Severus’s wand move, but now his arms are bound by the thick ropes of the spell. Severus pushes him back and loops his wrists over a hook protruding from the wall. His fingertips trail down Harry’s arms, skim across the soft cotton of Harry’s shirt.
Harry tries to relax, his arms stretched almost painfully overhead, shoulder blades digging into the wood behind him. The pressure in his groin tightens and he can feel himself grow even harder.
Slowly, carefully, Severus unbuttons Harry’s shirt, his eyes fixed on Harry’s face. The fine white cotton hangs loose, framing Harry’s brown nipples and bobbing prick. Severus watches him, lets his gaze slide down Harry’s lean, long body.
"Well?" Harry chokes out.
"You are not unlovely like this," Severus says, leaning closer. His hands slip beneath the rumpled fabric, cool against Harry’s heated skin. Harry groans and twists his body against Severus’s, desperate for his touch. In the shadows he can see the flush that rises on Severus’s sallow cheeks, and he knows Severus wants him, even when he grabs Harry’s hips to hold him still.
"Don’t," Harry pleads, his cock only inches from Severus’s thigh, but Severus presses him back against the wall.
"Potter," Severus says, his exasperation evident, "patience has never been one of your particular virtues. No wonder Draco complained about the subtlety of your technique."
Harry breathes out. "Never much minded when I had my prick up his arse."
Severus wipes a thumb across the wet head of Harry’s cock. "Yes, well, Mr Malfoy’s particular lack of restraint when sprawled on his back is legendary." His damp thumb rubs against Harry’s mouth, dipping between his lips.
With a groan, Harry licks the thin trace of musk and bitter fluid from Severus’s skin. He thrusts his hips forward as he sucks, hearing Severus’s breath hitch in the still, moist air of the boathouse.
"Definitely not unlovely." Severus’s voice is uneven. He keeps his thumb in Harry’s mouth, pulling at the corner, and he kisses him, lightly, carefully, his teeth scraping against Harry’s bottom lip. Harry groans softly as his cock bumps against the wool of Severus’s robe, and then Severus’s tongue presses in, sliding over Harry’s teeth, licking against the roof of Harry’s mouth. Harry wriggles, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. He sees stars.
Severus stops, and Harry sucks in gulps of air.
"You enjoy that." With a rough kiss, Severus cuts off Harry’s reply, and he closes his hand around Harry’s hard cock.
Harry nearly shouts with relief.
Severus isn’t gentle. His hands grasp and take. And then he stops.
"What?" Harry asks dumbly, opening eyes he hadn’t realised he had closed.
Severus is undoing his trousers with one hand whilst looking at Harry. He shrugs his robe off angular shoulders, and it falls with a whisper of wool and silk to the dusty floor. Harry can’t look away as Severus unbuttons his shirt, letting it slip to the floor as well. The swollen red head of Severus’s cock bobs out of the narrow vee between his mostly unbuttoned flies. Harry pulls against his restraints, desperate to bend down and take it in his mouth. He wants to taste Severus, to feel him fill his mouth.
When Severus palms the hard length of his cock, Harry gasps. "Draco wasn’t exaggerating," he says.
Severus smiles and it looks like a grimace. "Whyever should he have?"
Harry would shrug but his shoulders are stretched taut by the spell. He settles for raising his eyebrows. "It sounded pretty improbable."
"But?" Severus prompts, hand gliding to the tip and then the inches and inches back, nearly to his balls.
"Nothing," Harry says throatily. He has visions of riding Severus, just like this, just like Draco had narrated, of letting him stick that huge cock in him and riding it until...
Severus steps closer, his eyes narrowed. "Nothing," he repeats, and Harry can’t look away. "Really?" Severus slips his hand into Harry’s robe, reaching for the wand tucked in the holster. He turns it between his fingers before flicking it lazily towards the hook in the wall. It shivers and rises a hair’s breadth—just enough to pull Harry’s heels from the floor.
Harry licks his lip. His arms are stretched and shaking. He can feel the cold metal against the side of one wrist, the bite of the magical rope into his skin. His whole body tenses as Severus trails the tip of Harry’s wand down Harry’s chest, over his hipbone. It brushes the base of Harry’s cock and Harry groans again.
"Not quite O-level, Mr Potter," Severus murmurs, and Harry’s hip buck forward. He’ll never tell anyone how he used to wank, late at night, to the fantasy of his hated potions professor whispering filthily in his ear.
The wand strokes along the underside of Harry’s prick, sending shivers of magic across Harry’s flushed skin. His breath hitches, and Severus smiles.
"Desperate, are we?"
Harry bites his lip and wills himself to stay still. It’s hard to do arched like this, keeping his balance on the balls of his feet. He knows he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t have drunk this much, and yet, he doesn’t care. The sense of danger, of uncertainty, of bizarre fate being here and now and naked with Severus is oddly right.
He can hear the harsh rasp of Severus’s breath in the darkness. Moonlight streams through a small window above them, glinting off the silver in Severus’s hair. The wand falls to the floor with a soft clatter, and then Severus is touching him again, his fingers making featherlight circles in the soft, dark curls covering Harry’s balls. Harry shudders with want. Please, he wants to whisper.
He doesn’t say a thing.
Severus’s mouth is hot on Harry’s throat, his long fingers come up to twist and tease his nipples. Harry’s skin is too tight and his cock is aching.
"Christ," Harry breathes out. Severus’s tongue trails to his collarbone, then his sternum, then lower. Harry’s head hits the wall as Severus gently tongues the crease between his balls and his thigh. Harry’s robe sweeps against the curve of his arse. He knows what he must look like, nearly naked, stretched out like this, his cock bouncing hard and wet against his flat stomach. The very thought makes his body throb. "Severus--"
Severus turns his head. His hair brushes Harry’s thigh, his teeth nip at Harry’s skin. "Draco always said you begged prettily," he says against Harry’s hipbone. His fingers slip beneath Harry’s balls, stroking lightly towards his arse.
Harry twists his hips. He draws in a ragged breath. "He didn’t tell me you were a cocktease," he says roughly. "I always heard you barely managed to get inside before you--" He breaks off with a groan as Severus sucks the head of his prick into his mouth.
"Merlin. Fuck!" Harry writhes against the wall until Severus pins his hip with a well-placed forearm. It’s almost too much, the shuddering, brilliant sensations as Severus swallows him. His eyes roll back in his head.
Harry knows he won’t last. He’s amazed he’s made it this far.
Severus pulls away.
He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth as he stands, oblivious to Harry’s curses. He steps back, and his eyes slide down Harry’s shaking body.
"You’re a bastard." Harry’s throat is tight and thick. He can barely choke the words out. His cock aches, and each shift of his hips slaps it wetly against his stomach. He twists, aching for friction or anything that will push him over the edge into blessed relief
Severus reaches into his trousers’ pocket and straightens up. With surprise, Harry registers that the something is in his hand is oddly familiar.
Severus lights the cig and drags hard.
The incongruity of Severus Snape, half-naked, his cock jutting from his open trousers, smoking a cigarette makes Harry snort. No one would believe him. Severus raises an eyebrow and blows a stream of smoke towards Harry’s face as he smooths a palm over his foreskin.
"Forget bastard," Harry says, his amusement fading into a shiver of lust just from watching Severus like this. He licks his lip. "You’re an utter shit."
Severus regards him impassively, cigarette hovering between his long fingers. "I’m happy to leave you here, you know."
"You wouldn’t."
"Try me," Severus says and takes another drag.
Harry’s shoulders hurt. "Fuck you."
Severus crushes the cigarette carefully against a metal plate anchored on the floor. He walks closer until Harry can smell the bitterness of his smoky breath as he speaks. "No, Harry. Fuck you."
Harry can’t contain the shudder that ripples through him. His cock jerks and bobs. He closes his eyes, willing himself back under control.
"Beg me, Potter," Severus says, stroking a fingertip lightly across the plane of Harry’s left hip.
It takes everything Harry has to whisper, "No." His eyes flutter open.
A small smile curves Severus’s lips. His hands slip down to the last few buttons on his trousers. He undoes them slowly, his eyes fixed on Harry’s, and with a whisper of fabric, his trousers fall softly to the floor. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants. "Beg me," he says again, as they slide down his thighs. He steps out of the puddle of silk and flannel, his cock firm and curved against his stomach, his darkly furred balls heavy and tight.
Harry’s breath catches. The head of Severus’s prick is swollen and wet, and Harry can smell the musky scent of their arousal. He wants to feel Severus, to rut up against him, to rub his hip against that glorious cock. Harry loves the feel of a man’s body against his. Loves the heat and the hardness and the slide of firm muscles and rough skin.
Severus catches Harry’s mouth, his tongue pressing, thrusting, leaving Harry breathless and aching. His hand rests on Harry’s hip, fingers warm and heavy. "Beg me."
Harry turns his head. His lips graze the smooth scar that mars Severus’s throat. The Aurors had found him after the battle, on the floor of the Shack, barely breathing, blood pooled beneath his head, matting his filthy hair. It’d taken nearly six months in St Mungo’s before he’d been released. Even now his voice is rougher than it had been during Harry’s school days. Rawer.
It makes Harry’s knees tremble.
"Really, I think you should beg me," Harry says. It takes everything he has to keep his voice steady. He can feel the staccato thud of Severus’s pulse against his mouth. He flicks his tongue against it; Severus shivers. Harry’s pleased. "You want me."
Severus’s stubble scrapes across Harry’s jaw. He nips at Harry’s ear. "I can walk away."
"Can you?" Harry rolls his hips forward. His cock brushes against Severus’s. They both hiss. "I don’t think so."
Severus growls. "Don’t tempt me, Mr Potter."
Harry drags his tongue across Severus’s bottom lip. "But I like to."
He gasps when Severus grabs his hips, lifting him. The pressure on his arms eases, and Harry realises how much they ache. And then Severus is against him, pushing him into the wall, his mouth rough against Harry’s, his cock hard and hot on Harry’s hip.
"Harry," Severus says against his throat, and Harry wraps his legs around narrow, bony hips, pulling Severus closer. Their pricks slide together, and Harry cries out.
"Christ, Severus. Please." Harry doesn’t care anymore how it sounds, what he’s doing, only that he can have this now.
Severus’s voice rasps in his ear. "Since you ask so nicely."
Their bodies move together, cocks pressing, rubbing, rutting. The wall is hard against Harry’s back, and one rough thrust slams him into an uneven panel that Harry knows will leave a bruise in the morning. He doesn’t care.
"Finite Incantatem," Severus chokes out, and Harry’s half-numb arms slide free. His nerves burn as his arms hang limply over Severus’s shoulders.
Harry groans and twists against Severus. His robe slides off one shoulder and catches on splintered wood as his cock slides wetly across Severus’s skin, rutting against Severus’s prick. Severus hisses and arches against him.
"More." Harry tries to swallow. His throat is raw; his body aches. Another shove presses his hip into the wood and it scratches skin. Still he tightens his legs around Severus’s hip, digging his foot into Severus’s arse. He’s able to wrap one arm around Severus’s neck now, and he holds on as best he can. His trousers and pants dangle from one ankle, slapping against the back of Severus’s thighs before they fall to the floor. Harry can hear the soft thunk of his belt on the planks of the floor.
Severus’s breath comes in gasps, hot against Harry’s neck. His hair swings forward in a dark curtain as he leans in to kiss Harry. It sticks to their damp skin. Harry’s hand slips on Severus’s shoulder, gripping his arm. With each move, his bicep prickles, stings.
Harry licks the curve of Severus’s jaw. He tastes salty-sweet, and his dark stubble rasps against Harry’s tongue. It’s different from the smoothness of Ginny’s skin, and the softness of Draco’s. Harry shivers and rolls his hips again. He loves the feel of Severus’s lanky body. Long. Wiry. Hard. His ragged fingernails scrape across Severus’s skin, and he moans when Severus pushes his hips up and against the wall, holding him still as he rocks up against him.
"You," Severus says roughly, his mouth tracing the shell of Harry’s ear, "are a wretched--" He breaks off, his cock unimaginably hard against Harry’s.
Harry turns his head and kisses him. "Wretched what?" he asks breathlessly.
Severus’s mouth moves against his. Their tongues press and slide together, echoing the steady, rocking thrusts of their hips. Their gasps echo in the silence of the boathouse.
With a groan, Severus pulls his mouth away. He looks down at Harry with dark, heated eyes. His hair clings to his forehead. "A wretched brat..." He moans when Harry’s mouth finds his again. "Wretched...Harry."
He comes with a shudder and a heated spurt of spunk, his body trembling against Harry’s. Harry tangles his hands in Severus’s greying hair. He pulls him into another deep kiss, his tongue lapping at Severus’s teeth.
They’re still for a moment, and then Severus’s hand slips between them. His fingers curl around spunk-slicked skin, pressing his softening cock against Harry’s hard prick.
Harry’s hands slip over Severus’s shoulders, down his back. "Please," he says. He’s tight and tense and when Severus shifts, Harry’s balls press against his hipbone. Harry groans.
Severus’s palm slips over the head of Harry’s prick, pushing it against Harry’s stomach. His thumb dips into the slick slit, and Harry gasps, digging his fingertips into Severus’s skin.
"Lovely," Severus murmurs against Harry’s jaw. His hand tightens on Harry’s cock, and Harry arches against him with a soft moan. He’s close. So close. He just needs--
Severus’s fingers twist around Harry’s shaft.
"Oh, God, yes," Harry whispers. "That."
It only takes a moment--a few quick, hard tugs--and Harry cries out, coming warm and sticky and hard over Severus’s fingers.
They slump against the wall, breathing hard. Severus’s face is buried in the curve of Harry’s throat. Harry twists his fingers through limp hair, his body still shaking. One foot slides from Severus’s hip to the floor with a soft thud. The other one follows. Harry’s hips ache. He can barely stand up; if Severus wasn’t pressed against him, Harry knows he’d be on the floor in a quivering, sweaty heap.
His cock is softening against Severus’s sticky hip.
"Harry." Severus touches his mouth with spunk-covered fingers, lifting his head to watch as Harry licks at them lightly. He can taste himself, sharp and bitter on Severus’s skin. When he takes one fingertip into his mouth, Severus shivers against him, his eyes darkening in the shadows.
Severus steps back slowly, disentangling himself from Harry’s arms. Harry grabs the canvased hull of the boat beside them to keep from falling.
"That was..." Harry trails off, not certain how to describe what just happened.
"Yes." Severus stands in front of him in nothing but black boots. His cock hangs soft and heavy against his thigh. Harry bites his lip and barely keeps himself from falling to his knees to suck the spunk away from Severus’s wrinkled foreskin. Instead he drags a finger through the stickiness on his stomach, then lifts it to his mouth to lick it clean.
"That’s what you taste like," he says softly.
Severus doesn’t move. They watch each other. From a distance Harry can still hear the music drifting down the lawn. The soft lap of water against the boathouse. Their quiet, shuddering breaths.
Harry wants to leave with Severus. Wants to take him to his flat, throw him on his bed and suck him until he’s hard again. He wants to lean over his former professor, wants to press slick fingers inside of him, twisting and pressing against smooth, soft skin until Severus is begging for him. He wants to fuck him, Severus’s legs over his shoulders, his cock bobbing, his thighs shaking with each thrust Harry makes.
"Miss Weasley will be waiting for you," Severus says. His hair falls forward over one eye.
"I..." Harry sighs, suddenly unsure.
Severus stoops, reaching for the pile of clothes at their feet. He steps into his trousers, pulling them up over his narrow hips. Harry swallows. He wants to mouth those jutting hipbones, wants to press his face against the musky hair at the base of Severus’s prick. He looks away, bending down to grab his trousers.
"Your wand." Severus offers it, hilt first.
Harry takes it awkwardly. He’s not sure what to say and his body still refuses to obey him entirely. "Thanks."
They finish dressing in silence, both considerably more mussed than they began the evening. Harry thinks about smoothing his clothes but then decides not to, decides he wants anyone who’s still sober enough to look to know what he was up to. Evidently Severus is of a similar mind, as he doesn’t really bother to conceal the marks on his throat and jaw.
"Some advice, Potter." Severus doesn’t look at him. "If you’re not too thick to heed it."
Harry tightens the knot of his tie. "What?"
"You should speak with Miss Weasley," Severus says after a moment. He turns, his eyes on Harry. "What you’re doing here is fair to neither of you."
"I know." Harry rubs the back of his neck. "I just..."
Severus cuts him off. "Do you love her?"
Harry looks away, swallowing. He doesn’t need to answer, and he knows it. They both know it.
With a sigh, Severus opens the door to the boathouse. Moonlight floods the dark room. "You’ll never be normal, Harry. There’s no sense in forcing yourself through years of misery for a futile dream." His gaze meets Harry’s. "And it’s unnecessarily cruel to Ginevra."
Harry steps out into the cool night air. A faint breeze ruffles his hair. "I’ll talk to her."
"Good."
They walk up the lawn. Severus stops at the edge of the garden wall. He fumbles in his robe pocket and pulls out the packet of cigarettes, lighting one again. Harry breathes in the bitter smoke. There’s a trace of freesia in the scent. He pauses, hesitantly.
"Tonight," he says, and then he stops.
"Tonight I plan to drink myself into a stupor." Severus is grim. He’s thinking of blond hair and a sardonic laugh, Harry suspects. Draco has no damned idea what he’s done to either of them. Harry doesn’t expect him to ever realise.
Harry gestures vaguely in the directly of the tent where a slow Celestina Warbeck song is playing. "I should be..." He trails off. They stand silently, looking at each other. Harry crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t want to leave. He knows he has to.
"Perhaps you’d have time for dinner on Friday." Severus arches a quizzical eyebrow. A curl of smoke drifts up from his cigarette, disappearing into the thick oak looming above them.
Harry stares for a moment, then smiles. "Yes. Owl me."
He begins to walk to the tent, wondering where Ginny is and how he’s going to say all of the things he needs to, but most of all wanting to lie down and not get up for a good ten hours.
"Potter."
Harry turns back again, eyebrows raised. The tip of Severus’s cigarette glows orange in the shadows.
"Next time," Severus says, blowing a grey ring of smoke his way, "I'll have you on your back with my cock in your arse."
"And if I don't bottom?" Harry asks with a faint smile. He sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels.
Severus snorts and taps his cigarette against the wall. Grey ash drifts to the ground. "You will for me."
Harry's eyes crinkle. "We'll see."
When he walks away, the unexpectedly warm sound of Severus’s chuckle drifts behind him.