snarrymod (snarrymod) wrote in snarry_games, @ 2006-04-25 19:35:00 |
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Original poster: snarrymod
Author: snapetoy
Title: Things Left Unsaid
Warnings/Rating: Warnings/Kinks Pop up
Team: Angst
Prompt: Things Left Unsaid.
Author's Note: Thanks to my redoubtable beta team, maeglinyedi, gmth, ella_bane, nimori and amanuensis1. Go Team Porn!
Summary: Sometimes you need the words.
Harry took a last look around. He looked at the photograph on the mantelpiece, his hand reaching out to trace Severus' dour features, ignoring the Harry standing close to Severus' side, just as Severus in the picture did. He picked the photograph up, holding it for a moment before putting it back and turning to flick his wand at the trunk sitting on the floor. It followed him out of the door, which closed obediently behind him.
---
He sat on the threadbare sofa and ate takeaway curry, his feet propped on the somewhat rickety coffee table that sat in front of it. Hedwig perched on the back, biting gently on his ear to remind him that she needed more chicken, and Harry would pick a chunk out of the congealing mess in the foil container and pass it to her. She hooted softly at him when she'd had enough, cleaning her talons with her beak before nuzzling through his hair while he stroked her.
His throat felt tight.
He stood abruptly and went into the bathroom, stripping off and standing under the hot water while he scrubbed himself with soap and a flannel, his mind empty. He washed his hair, rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel.
Damn it, he'd forgotten to buy towels.
How could he have forgotten the towels?
He dried himself with a spell - it wasn't very good - and rummaged through the wardrobe, finding a pair of old soft pants and a t-shirt before climbing into the cold bed, where he folded himself into a tight ball and waited for sleep.
It was a long time coming.
It was better at work - there were people, and everyday conversation, and it was easier to concentrate on the things he had to do, his fingers sliding along rough wood, seeking the groove where it would be best to cut, lifting tools with skilled hands to ease the core into the narrow slit, muttering spells and soothing words as he sanded and spelled and oiled.
He loved wand-making. There was joy in being such a fundamental part of the world of magic and Harry would think of the faces of the children, would remember the sense of wonder that he'd felt when he'd waved the wand that was right for him and felt that tingle of magic course through him, and he'd reach out and run a loving finger down his own wand. It was painstaking, difficult work; work that he could lose himself in, and he needed that now, needed it more than ever before.
"Harry."
He looked up with a start. "Sorry, Ginny, didn't see you there." He straightened with a wince of pain at the tightness in his lower back.
"A group of us are heading to the pub. Don't suppose you--" She left the question hanging, before adding, "You're late tonight; Snape'll be waiting."
Harry could feel his face freeze, knew he'd blown it when her expression changed.
"Harry?" Ginny's voice was hesitant. "What's happened?"
"I--" His throat closed and he turned away, eyes stinging. "I've left him."
She touched him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry for you, but I know you've done the right thing. He's always been a bastard."
And there was the rub. He'd been Harry's bastard, and it hadn't mattered so much that Severus was so often a prick, when that was true, that he was Harry's.
"I've always hated the way he treated you, the way--"
"Don't, Gin," he pleaded. It had taken them a long time to work out how to be friends again, to get over the hurdle of the silly romance they'd had in Harry's sixth year, before he discovered what and who he wanted, and the terrible consequences of discovering that the who was Snape. They'd worked together successfully for the past few years, but there'd always be some subjects that were never completely safe. "The pub, you said."
She took the diversion, worked with him, her fingers petting his shoulder before pulling slowly away. "Yeah, there's a few of us heading down there. Come with us, have a drink and a laugh. Seamus' dart throwing's always worth a couple of laughs."
"Yeah," Harry said, "alright." He wasn't going home to his empty flat, not yet.
---
Harry called his final goodnights over his shoulder, staggering a bit as his foot slipped off the step and Ginny caught his arm to steady him. Maybe he shouldn't have had that last firewhisky with the butterbeer chaser, but what the hell; it didn't mean anything to anyone if he was a couple of sheets to the wind. No lectures about unseemly behaviour or snarky comments about unwarranted exceptions to public standards for the Boy Who Lived.
"Bastard," Harry said, before throwing an arm over Ginny's shoulder. "You're a good friend, Gin."
"I'll just get you home, yeah, Harry?" she asked, her breath soft and warm against his face, scented with those fruity cocktails she'd been drinking.
"Nah," he said, straightening up. "I'll be right. I can get myself home." He glanced down at her and then along the row of streetlights leading through Diagon Alley. "It's not far."
"You're sure? I'd be happy--"
He cut her off. "Thanks anyway. I'll be fine." He patted her arm and freed himself. "See you tomorrow."
"Night, Harry," Ginny called after him. "Be careful."
That had always irritated him, people believing that he couldn't look after himself, that he was stupid, impetuous, reckless - all the words that Severus would use while he ranted at Harry. Like when Harry'd been hurt a bit when he was collecting hair from the mane of a manticore in Greece last summer. It hadn't been anything major, really, but Severus had carried on like he'd gone off to catch Death Eaters, his cutting voice a sharp contrast to the gentle fingers swabbing a drawing potion over the entry point of the stinger. He'd rubbed a soothing gel into the wound until Harry'd finally shut him up the best way he knew how, hungry hot kisses and seeking hands and hard, sweaty bodies moving together until Severus was too exhausted to argue with him anymore.
He wandered down the street, turning off Diagon Alley into Lightshorn Way, the night air crisp with the tang of autumn and falling, decaying leaves, tasting woodsmoke at the back of his throat. Severus had often smelled of smoke, of heady, exotic things and Harry'd always loved washing those scents from him, replacing them with the scent of rosemary from the soap that was always in the bathroom, skin made clean and fresh as he ran the flannel over long, pale limbs, and Severus would take the flannel and wash Harry in his turn, the slickness of the soap contrasting with the rough--
He had to stop this. Stop these stupid, pointless, hurtful memories from invading his thoughts, stealing his breath and heart away with longing and want.
It was over, and Harry was better off, his own man, independent and strong, and not the needy, pathetic creature Severus' silence had made him into.
Maybe if he told himself that often enough, he'd believe it.
He walked the last block with his steps full of purpose and determination, and that lasted right up until the moment when he'd hung his cloak up on the hook next to the door and turned to see Severus' owl sitting next to Hedwig.
---
Harry tossed and turned in bed until he was sick of it, throwing the blankets off and going into the cold kitchen to make tea and sit at the tiny table, hands wrapped around the mug for warmth and looking into the depths of it for inspiration.
The problem, Hermione had said last month when Harry'd finally gone to see her, after he'd made up his mind that he couldn't do this anymore, was that he and Severus were emotional cripples, that they didn't know how to talk to each other, didn't know how to talk about themselves and who they were to each other in any way that wasn't destructive. After Harry'd stopped being indignant, he'd realised that she was right, and how could you learn that after so many years? How did you talk about this stuff without being a girl about it, without it blowing up in your face? How did you say the words?
Hedwig swooped in through the open window and landed on the back of the chair opposite, having kept Mecknet company on the flight back to Hogwarts. Harry reached across and scratched her head. "You miss them too, don't you?" he murmured. "Did you see him? How did he look? Gods, this is such a mess." Hedwig stretched her wings and flitted onto the table, hopping across to lift her leg to him for him to remove the small scroll attached to it. Harry untied it with shaking fingers, his mouth determined, before standing to put the scroll with its mate in the bowl in the cupboard, unread. His hands itched, fingertips stroking over the parchment before he forced himself to pull away and shut the cupboard door.
Everything that had needed to be said had been said before he left.
---
"Potter, do we have to have this conversation again?" Snape's voice had been impatient and exasperated.
"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
"I don't do romance, Potter. You knew that six years ago. If you're suddenly looking for hearts and flowers, you're with the wrong man." Snape's voice became oily, slick with self-satisfaction. "Mr. Creevy, I believe, does hearts and flowers."
"Jesus, Severus, this isn't about--" Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what you want from me, how you feel, what you want from us. You won't talk to me--"
Snape spun on his heel, his robe snapping around his ankles as he strode across the small room towards the door. "I am not going through this again with you. If you genuinely need to discuss something of importance with me, I'll be in my office."
"I just need to know that you--" The slam of the door cut off Harry's words.
---
In the beginning, Harry had believed that Severus' inability to say the words hadn't mattered. He'd used his body, his hands and mouth to show Harry how he felt, and it had been wonderful, magnificent. Harry'd felt cherished, beloved, as Snape's mouth had mapped the planes of his body, teeth scraping over ridges of bone and muscle, tongue sliding into hollows and flicking around the head of his cock.
"Sever, Severus," Harry had chanted, his voice broken and breathy as Snape opened his body, slick fingers sliding deep into Harry's arse before pulling free to be replaced with Snape's cock and strong, slow thrusts that kept Harry keening on the edge of coming before Snape gave him mercy.
The words hadn't been necessary then, when Severus' arms wrapped him tight against him, held him there throughout the night, warm and comfortable against Severus' body.
There had been no nightmares that night, nor for many months after.
---
He woke with his eyes feeling sore and sandy and his pants sticking to him. Hedwig chirruped at him from the rail at the end of the bed as he reached for the muggle alarm clock, his hand groping across the small chest of drawers before knocking it off.
"Shit," he muttered, and rolled over, throwing the blankets back and grimacing at the feel of dried semen itching over his belly. He sat up, pulled his t-shirt off and threw it on the bed behind him, stood and pushed his pants down before getting into the shower, listening to the mindless warning of the alarm clock before it wound down to silence, his pounding head resting against the hard tiles.
He stood there until the charm ran down and the water turned from hot to lukewarm, before stepping out of the shower.
Damn it, he still hadn't bought towels.
The drying spell worked better this time - he could hear the echo of Hermione's voice in his mind telling him that practice was all that he needed - but it left his hair scratchy and wild. After a fruitless search for a brush, he shrugged and went to find a clean shirt and trousers before heading in to work.
---
Ginny cornered him after his lunch break. "Harry, we need to talk."
Harry sighed and dropped the bag from Harmonious Haberdashery next to his bench. "No, Ginny, we really don't." He settled onto his stool and picked up the thirteen inch length of willow he was working on. Not looking at her, he added in a quiet voice, "It's not your business."
A sharp intake of breath presaged the flood of concern. "Harry, I'm your friend. I care about what happens to you, and I've hated watching and biting my tongue all these months. Every time I tried to say something, you wouldn't listen to me, but what he's done to you--"
"Ginny." Harry's voice was very firm. "It's not your business. I'm not going to talk to you about it. I know you're concerned, but it's not your business." He put the wand down, hands shaking, and stood. "I'm going home."
Picking the bag up, he thought to himself that he wasn't really, home was still Hogwarts and the dungeons that weren't cold and damp but warm and welcoming. That was in the past, though, and Harry determinedly made his way back to his flat, putting the towels away in the linen closet, hanging one in the bathroom, before forcing himself back out to shop for groceries at the emporium past Rake's Corner, picking up candles and tea and trying to find things, homey things, that would make his flat look more welcoming. More like someone lived there. He bought a plant, a biting geranium with pretty pink flowers that smelt like peppermint, and ended up floating it along behind him after it bit his fingers twice. Juggling his paper sack, he thought that perhaps he should get a Muggle TV, something to do of a night that didn't require much effort and turned the corner.
Severus was waiting outside the door.
---
Harry put a mug down in front of Severus and sat down opposite at the rickety kitchen table, wrapping his hands around his own mug. "I didn't think you'd come," he muttered, glancing across at Severus before looking back at his tea.
Severus' voice was as harsh as his expression. "You didn't think I'd humiliate myself?"
"I didn't-- didn't mean it that way."
"Potter, what other way could you possibly have meant it? I waited. I sent notes. Nothing. It was clear that you were looking for something meaningful--"
Harry flinched away from the scorn in Severus' voice. "I don't want you to humiliate yourself, Severus. That's not what this is about." He struggled for control-- another argument wouldn't do either of them any good. Running a hand through his hair, he looked at Severus, seeing the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. He looked like shit. Much as Harry himself did, he imagined. "That's not what this is about," he repeated. "Severus, I don't think you need me, not-- not the way I need you." This was such a disaster, he sounded inane and girly and ridiculous. "I don't think you love me." He looked back into his mug.
Severus snorted, "If this is about--"
"Wait. Let me finish." Harry could hear the plea in his own voice and Severus subsided, picking his mug up and drinking deeply from it. "We don't have much in common, do we? Not really, not in an everyday type of way. I-- I just fit into your life, and I don't see you fitting into mine, trying to fit. I know your work's important, I know you don't like going out, but I hate that I go everywhere on my own, that we don't talk about my work or my friends, because that's important too, Severus. I hate that you won't talk to me, that's there always a potion waiting for you when I want to talk about something you don't. It hurts that I don't know what you want from me, what I am to you anymore." His voice ran down, tired and soft and sad, much as he'd felt for what seemed like forever, when he wasn't being angry.
"I don't understand. If I didn't want you in my life, I'd tell you, throw you out. I can't be anymore than I am and you knew that. I cannot, I am not--" Severus broke off and he stood. "I'm here. Isn't that enough?"
"I can't do this any more, Severus." He stood abruptly. "Fucking sit down. If you're here to talk, sit down and listen to me!" He took the empty mug from Severus' hand and dropped it into the sink, watching the china shatter into three neat pieces.
"I thought you wanted me to talk," Severus sniped, and Harry lost it.
"You can either sit down or you can fucking walk out the door right now," he yelled, and Hedwig left her perch on the spare chair with a hoot, flying out through the narrow door to the sitting room.
Severus sat, and Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe he did mean it, did want Harry. Harry took a deep breath.
"I'm here," Severus said, not looking at Harry. "Talk."
"I can't be that person for you. I'm not going to hide my life and my friends from you, damn it, not anymore. If you're going to be part of my life, you need to accept that, need to respect that, Severus, because from where I'm sitting, there's not a lot of respect left between us any more." He sat down, panting.
Severus still didn't look at him. "I don't like your friends. I respect your work, it takes skill and talent and power, but your friends aren't mine and going out to the pub to get drunk--" Severus' voice was scornful. "That's not something I enjoy either participating in or watching."
"Jesus, it's more than that," Harry said vehemently. "It's about spending time with people I love and finding something you can talk about with them. Hermione, now - you don't see her getting drunk, and she can talk about just about anything--"
"Ah, yes, the last time I saw her, she was berating me for the-- what did she call it? -- the contemptible way I treated you."
"Well maybe if you treated me as if I wasn't some kind of fucktoy for you or your personal fucking pet when we're out in public she wouldn't talk to you like that."
"Potter--"
"My name is Harry. Harry, Severus. That's what you call someone you love, your partner, someone you respect and care for." Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "God, this is hopeless." His voice sounded bitter and defeated.
Severus just looked at him. "Should I go?"
"Do you want to?"
"No. I only-- You can't expect more than I can give. I'm here, I'm trying, Harry, but I can't be someone different."
"I don't want someone different. I love you, you bastard, but I need to know that you love me, that you need me."
"Glib words," Severus retorted. "Actions have more meaning."
Harry thought a moment. Maybe they did. Severus was here, after all, listening while Harry yelled at him, saying that he'd try. He hadn't thrown himself out the door in a snit. He was sitting here, in the dingy kitchen of Harry's dingy flat after sending notes that had received no answer. Maybe-- Maybe it was real, something Harry could believe in.
"Maybe they do," he said softly, reaching out to slide his fingers into Severus'. Was he making a mistake? He didn't know, but he knew that he needed to try this, needed to get through to Severus, needed to find out if there really was a place for Harry in Severus' life. In Severus' heart.
Maybe they could do this, and Harry wanted to believe that they could make it work. He stood and Severus rose to meet him, shifted closer in the small space between the table and the sink, leaned in and reached up to curve his palm over Severus' cheek, along the line of his jaw. "Then show me," he said softly, sliding his hand to the hidden nape of Severus' neck and pulling him down.
"Harry," Severus groaned, and then kissed him, thin lips hard against Harry's, sliding and opening to let Severus' tongue lick against his lips and teeth, to stroke against his tongue, speaking of hunger and need with licks and nips and long, sliding pushes. Harry pressed tighter into Severus' arms as they closed around him, hands closing into Severus' hair, fingers stroking over that secret place at Severus' nape, that place that only Harry knew, as they kissed, small, soft panting noises that were almost moans releasing into each other's breaths. It went on forever, hands shifting, mouths breaking apart only to inhale, to slide over skin, lips, jaw and back again. Awkward shifting steps, of limbs twined around each other as they bumped against the table and Harry tried to guide them blindly into the bedroom, not able to turn his face away from Severus for even the smallest moment. It was right, then, that they ended up in the tiny bathroom, with Harry pressed hard against the wall and Severus' hands deep inside his robes, pulling at fabric and muttering frustrated words with heated breath into the warmth of Harry's throat. Right that Harry responded with murmurs of "Yes," and "More," and "Severus."
Harry opened his eyes as Severus kissed from his throat down his chest, Harry's fingers stroking through the unkempt strands of Severus' hair. He peered down--his glasses had been dropped somewhere, he had no idea where--as Severus knelt before him. "Why are we in the bathroom?" he asked distractedly, not really caring as Severus opened his trousers, releasing Harry's throbbing cock into his hands. Harry shuddered as Severus answered, his breath warm over the head of Harry's leaking cock, voice a deep rumble that made no sense at all.
"What did you-- Oh god, do that again," and Harry gave up all pretence of listening as Severus' mouth closed over his cock, pointed tongue flicking into the slit before pressing against the throbbing vein. Harry's hands slipped to Severus' shoulders, holding himself up as Severus palmed his balls, cupping them before fingers slid into his crack, sliding to rub over and over his hole. That was all it took, and Harry came with a hoarse cry, calling out Severus' name. Severus straightened with a wince.
"So, the bathroom?" Severus asked, lazily frotting himself against Harry's relaxed body. Harry became aware of the towel rail pressing into his back.
"I was distracted," Harry smiled, fingers sliding over Severus' bare chest to tweak a stiffened nipple. "Bed?"
"Mmm," Severus agreed, nuzzling into Harry's throat.
Stumbling steps and the last of Harry's clothes marked the trail to the bedroom, and Harry, with a blush, threw the pile of clothes on the bed to the floor. "No house elves," he said, thinking of their pristine bedroom at home-- of Severus' rooms. Not his, not now, and only again if they worked this out.
"I'm not here for the furnishings, Harry," Severus said.
Harry reached for a sweatshirt on the other side of the bed and Severus grasped his hips. "Stay there a moment," he murmured, and Harry felt the sudden intrusion of slick fingers. He flattened his palms against the rumpled bedding, pushing back a little as Severus twisted two fingers into him.
"Feels good."
"I want my cock in you, want to see it sinking into you, watch you clench hot and tight around me." Severus' voice was deep and hoarse, and Harry could feel it resonate along his spine. He looked over his shoulder, watching Severus' face, pushing back onto Severus' fingers and clenching the muscles of his arse. "Yes, like that," Severus said, holding his cock in one hand and kicking his pants off. He pulled his fingers free - Harry whimpered in loss - and rubbed the head of his cock along Harry's crack, pressing the head against Harry's hole, not quite penetrating him. "Like this, forever," Severus said.
"Please," Harry gasped, "Please, Severus," and his head fell forward as Severus pushed into him. Harry thought he'd rather die than never have this again, being filled with this incredible pleasure, hearing Severus' moan echo the long, slow thrust of his prick sliding into Harry, feeling the jolt of pleasure as the full head bumped over his prostate. "God, oh god." It wasn't quite a whimper.
"Harry."
Harry could hear the need in Severus' voice, and wanted to see him, see his face, look for the reassurance that he needed. "Let me see," he said and collapsed onto the bed, whimpering - it was definitely a whimper - as Severus' cock pulled free. He rolled onto his back, across the crumpled linen, pulling at the quilt to lift his arse, spreading his thighs and beckoning to Severus. "Now," he said as Severus pulled his shirt off, face flushed, hair wild, eyes intent on Harry, dropping the fabric to the floor and shifting onto the bed, onto Harry's open, welcoming body.
"Yes, now," and Harry forced his eyes to stay open as he watched his lover's face, could see and feel and know that there was nothing better in the world than this for Severus, and for himself.
Gentling hands and loving touches, of Severus touching and kissing and nipping at every part of Harry that he could reach, of wordless murmurs of appreciation and need, fingers stroking through hair and across temples, slow thrusts and hip rotations that brought Harry again and again to the brink and held him there, a quivering, whimpering mess. "Harry," Severus whispered, "Harry, love," and Harry came keening, clasping Severus to him, holding him tight as Severus thrust out of control, all need and desperation and sweaty, heated skin, Harry's name on his lips as he came.
They lay together in the tangled sheets, and Severus pulled an old sock out from under Harry's shoulder and threw it over the side, fingers searching for the edge of the blanket, pulling the soft wool over them and rolling them tighter together. Fingers stroked as skin cooled, wiping damp hair from flushed faces, and Severus kissed him.
"When do you have to get back?"
"I don't," Severus replied, and Harry could hear all the things left unsaid in those words.
Maybe that was enough, after all. Harry kissed Severus' shoulder, tasting sweat and home. It was worth trying.
*~*~*
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