snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays, @ 2007-12-15 09:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, post-dh: ewe, rated: nc-17 |
Trust me (2/2), for themadscriptor
Title: Trust Me (Or, An Embarrassing Ritual with Unexpected Side-effects)
Author: who_la_hoop
Giftee: themadscriptor
Word Count: 16,000
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Warnings: DH spoilers, swearing, brief (matter of fact, rather than angsty) suicidal thoughts, fairly explicit sex
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR. I’m just taking them out for a spin!
Summary: Snape’s suicidal, Harry’s fainting and they’re both hiding their true feelings from each other – and themselves.
Part One
“Harry, close your mouth,” Hermione said sharply, tugging on Harry’s sleeve. Harry looked at her with his little-boy-lost expression and she felt a curious combination of deep love and intense irritation tug at her insides.
“I-” Harry frowned. “What was that?”
Hermione resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.
“I mean, I know it was an apology,” Harry said, looking sheepish. “But-“ He sighed. “Help me out here, ‘Mione.”
Hermione smiled. “It was lot more than just a simple apology, Harry. He submitted to you! In public!” She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a thick history book, flicking through the well-worn pages with an intense stare. She put it back down and grinned. “Not quite as formulaic and structured as some of the old ceremonies, of course, but rather more poetic for it, I thought.”
“Yes, but what does it mean?” Harry sounded frustrated.
“Well obviously it means that he’s truly sorry,” Hermione explained. “But it’s more than that. It’s very rare for a wizard to submit to another in front of so many witnesses. Sometimes a student would submit to his master, to show respect, or to atone for a terrible mistake.”
“So he was just saying sorry,” Harry said.
Hermione frowned. “Well, yes. But it’s also more than that. The student submitting would be offering up total control to his master. He’d have to trust completely that the master wouldn’t abuse his trust. It’s a magical bond. If the master ordered the student to kill himself after the ceremony had taken place…” Hermione shuddered and broke off.
“So Snape offered himself to me,” Harry said flatly. “He wants to be controlled by me.”
Hermione shook her head violently. “Don’t you see, Harry? You’re being an idiot. He wants to show you how much he trusts you.”
Harry looked at her like she’d totally lost him, and Hermione tried not to scream. “You had an argument and refused to be his “dark lord”, right? And told him in a roundabout way how you felt about him?” she said, trying not to use her you’re such a moron voice.
Harry squirmed. “Sort of.”
“And so he offers to put himself in your hands – not those of Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World, but those of his friend Harry. As a way of showing that he knows you’d never try and control him, even if you could. He trusts you, Harry, the real you. Enough to apologise like this in front of the whole school.” Hermione wrinkled her forehead. “I can’t think of a single example where a teacher has initiated this ceremony with a former pupil. Can’t you see what an amazing compliment that is?” Hermione shook her head. “And from Professor Snape, of all people. Can’t you see how hard that was for him?”
Harry flushed and looked confused. “I- I have to talk to him.”
Hermione sighed happily. “Of course you do. We’ll have to go to the library and do some more research first though.” She frowned, as she read on from the book. “There aren’t enough details here about the acceptance ritual.
“Acceptance ritual?” Harry said, sounding a little nervous.
“Of course!” Hermione shot Harry a look. “You are planning on accepting Professor Snape’s apology, aren’t you?”
“Ye-es,” Harry said, sounding torn.
Hermione slipped her arm through the crook of Harry’s elbow and pulled him up. “Well let’s go and find out some more details so you can decide. Come on.”
***
When Snape woke the next morning, it was with a feeling of some dread that he got up and dressed in his usual black robes. He had slept poorly, waking frequently throughout the night, his face wet with tears from nightmares in which Harry coldly rejected him in a number of inventive and unpleasant ways. It was, Snape thought despairingly, as he struggled to make himself leave his rooms and go down to breakfast, all too ridiculous. He was a grown man, and should not be frightened of eating a simple meal in public. But, as he strode out of his rooms, his head raised and a sneer plastered on his face, he was aware that inside he felt all too like himself at 14. And 14 – lonely, friendless, ugly and unhappy – had not been his finest year. Not that the subsequent years had been any better, but with years had come a sense of resignation and dignity. A dignity which he had all but lost the night before, in his mad scheme to convince Harry that he was worthy of his friendship, if nothing else.
More than ever before, Snape was aware of the gossip and mutterings of the students around him. And these were his students, his Slytherins. Of course, since the conclusion of the war, his relationship with his own students had been strained. They had known him as one thing – a death eater and loyal follower of Voldemort – and he’d been revealed as nothing of the sort. Many of the students’ parents had gone to jail for their role in the war, while he still walked free. He supposed it was no wonder that he had lost the trust of his own House. He sighed. Once he had sorted out this dreadful business with Harry, he would turn his attentions to his own. His students were hurting, and he hadn’t been there for them. He must, and he would, show them that his way was the right way. It was time for Slytherin House to rebuild its reputation, before it was too late. There were already mutterings from some of the parents that the House system should be abolished.
Engrossed in thought, Snape found himself entering the Great Hall all too soon. He strode to his usual seat without looking to either side and sat down, turning a general glare on the hapless person who happened to be sitting opposite him. It was Harry. Snape paled.
“Um,” Harry said, going red and looking nervous. “Can I talk to you? This afternoon, after class. You can come to my rooms. If that’s OK.”
Snape wet his lips. “That would be… Yes. Yes, I shall be there.”
Harry smiled faintly. “OK. See you later.”
Harry rose and left, Miss Granger shooting after him and taking his arm. He looked, Snape thought anxiously, rather unsteady on his feet. Snape looked down at the food in front of him and realised he felt ravenous. He hadn’t felt hungry for longer than he could remember. He dug in with relish. Harry wanted to speak to him. It would all be OK.
* * *
By the time classes were over, Snape had lost his buoyant mood and had sunk into a deep gloom. His students had been truculent and unpleasant, making no attempt to conceal their glee about his situation with Harry. He had taken over two hundred points in one day, even deducting several from Slytherin students, who had looked outraged beyond belief, but his temper had not felt eased. He had realised, sometime during the morning, that talking with Harry did not mean that things were well. Harry could simply wish to refuse his offer, or to tell him he never wished to see him again.
Snape realised, to his horror, that he felt incredibly nervous. He was not used to the sensation, and it displeased him. It was unpleasant and uncomfortable. He realised that, even if Harry did still want to be his friend, that would still be a kind of disappointment. He wanted Harry, with a fervour that unnerved him, but had no idea how to reveal this fact to Harry without personal embarrassment or loss of face.
The bell rang and Snape’s class filed out. Snape tidied up his papers slowly, feeling a kind of sick dread sweep through him. He was going to be rejected. It was going to hurt.
Snape knocked on the door to Harry’s quarters with some trepidation. He rarely ventured over to the Gryffindor section of the castle, and he felt out of his comfort zone. When Harry opened the door, his face serious, Snape did not feel at his best.
“Potter,” he said stiffly.
“Professor,” Harry said, “Come in.” He looked nervous.
Snape followed him in to a cosy looking living room, with squashy sofas and a warm fire. He was interested to see that the colour scheme was fairly restrained. He’d expected a virulent red and gold mess, so the creams and dark reds were a pleasant surprise. Perhaps Potter had developed a sense of taste, Snape thought with some amusement, as he sat down. He realised he already felt a little more relaxed.
“Drink?” Harry said. “There’s tea.”
Snape had been on the point of ordering something extremely alcohol. “Tea would be fine, Potter,” he said.
Harry disappeared for a moment, and came back with two mugs, one of which he passed wordlessly to Snape. He curled up on the sofa opposite to Snape, but kept his eyes low, gazing into the cup of tea.
Snape blew on his tea uncomfortably, unsure whether he was supposed to speak first and, if so, what exactly he was supposed to say.
“Would-” he started.
“So-” Harry said simultaneously, then flushed. “You first.”
Snape inclined his head. “Please. You were speaking.”
“Right,” Harry said, and took a sip of tea. “Um.” He looked down, and Snape’s heart thudded uncomfortably. “About what you said.” He shook his head, and he winced. “About what I said.” He stopped, and seemed unable to go on.
“Will you accept my apology?” Snape said finally. “I meant it sincerely.”
Harry looked up at him, and Snape tried not to look away. It was very difficult to meet Harry’s eyes. “What exactly did you mean sincerely?” he said doubtfully. “That you were sorry, and you trusted my judgment? Or that you wanted to pass control of your life to me? You could have meant either.” His face twisted. “And you know what I think of that.”
“Harry,” Snape said. The first name sounded odd on his tongue. It was the first time he’d said it out loud. “You’re my friend. At least, I hope you’re still my friend. I trust you. I know you would never do anything that wasn’t in my best interests.”
“Like Dumbledore?” Harry said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Snape opened his mouth, and then closed it. Was he asking Harry to be like Dumbledore? He missed Dumbledore so much. He was one of the only people that he’d been able to call friend. But then Dumbledore had let him think that he’d kept Harry alive all these years only for him to be sacrificed to Voldemort. And he’d forced him, Snape, to kill him. His friendship had a high price – perhaps too high a price. “No,” he said finally. “Not like that. I don’t believe you’d ever order me to do anything, or ask me to carry out a task without explaining why. That’s why I offered you my submission.” Snape felt himself flush. “You don’t have to accept. But I wished to do you the honour.”
Harry’s expression cleared, and he smiled slightly. “I’d like to. Shall we do the ritual now? Hermione explained it a little, but I’m a bit hazy on the details.”
Snape’s insides flipped, and he simultaneously relaxed and tensed. His friendship with Harry seemed assured – but what of the other matter that Harry had mentioned? That of the partnership with someone he loved? Had he been completely deluded to think that such a thing could apply to himself?
“How does it work?” Harry asked.
“I say the spell, and you touch me on the forehead with your wand.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“OK, go ahead,” Harry said, sounding a little nervous.
Snape did so. As Harry gently touched his forehead, he felt a strange tingling flood through him. A kind of joy overcame him. Harry had trusted him enough to do it. Now he just had to trust Harry.
“Um,” Harry said, putting down his wand and picking up his cup of tea again. “Did it work?”
Snape looked supercilious. “Of course it worked, Potter.”
The colour rose in Harry’s face. “I liked it when you called me Harry,” he mumbled. Then he looked uncomfortable. “You don’t have to. If you don’t want to. How does this spell work in any case?”
“You have to make a direct order, using your wand,” Snape said firmly. “Don’t fuss, Harry. It’s not something you can do by mistake.”
Harry smiled. “Great.” Then he looked uncomfortable. He put down the cup of tea. “About what I said before. I meant it, but… I don’t even know if you’re… Look, you should probably just forget it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he mumbled.
Snape froze. He wanted to speak, but it seemed impossible. He’d never been very good at speaking on personal matters, and this seemed to cut to the very heart of him. But if he didn’t speak… “Harry,” he said urgently. “I have a request.”
Harry looked startled. “Yes?”
“I would be most grateful if you could order me to speak my mind on this topic,” Snape said stiffly. “Or I will never be able to tell you my opinion on this matter.”
Harry looked very uncomfortable. “No,” he said. “You promised you’d never make me order you about. I’m not so scary to talk to, am I?” He looked very depressed.
Snape took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. “You are.”
Harry looked shocked.
“I find speaking to you at this moment more than difficult,” Snape said, looking down at his hands. “I have things I wish to say, but I am finding it frankly impossible.”
Harry looked upset. “Please. You can ask me things if you want. But I won’t order you. I said I won’t, so I won’t.”
Snape was silent. He was trying not to panic. The situation was running away from him. He tried not to hyperventilate. Merlin, he could keep up a façade while Voldemort was murdering people right in front of him, why couldn’t he keep his calm in front of Harry Potter of all people?
Harry took another sip of tea and looked wretched. “Do you, um. Do you think you could…” Harry pulled a face. “Um. Would you like to go for a drink with me some time?” he said at super speed. “As a… a… as a date. And I’m still pretty uncomfortable about that spell, by the way. How does it work? How long does it last?”
Snape wet his lips. “It only lasts for 24 hours, Harry. It’s a symbolic ritual, rather than a long term situation.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as Harry’s question hung between them. Snape was trying to force himself to respond through the cacophony of doubt in his mind. No doubt once he went for dates with Harry it would all go wrong. Harry would see that he was mistaken in him, and then they would never be friends, let alone anything else. Snape wasn’t sure if he could bear that.
“I…” Snape tried again. “I am not very good at this sort of thing,” he said very stiffly. It was not very to the point, but it was a good start, surely?
Harry wilted. “Fine. No problem. Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked,” he mumbled.
Horrified, Snape realised he’d said the wrong thing already. He should have remembered how literal Harry’s mind could be. He would have to speak to put this right. “I am not going to repeat this,” he said, his voice going into teacher mode without his permission. “So do me the courtesy of listening.”
Harry looked surprised, and sat upright, his expression tense.
Snape focused on the spot on the floor and chastised himself. He could do this. He could speak candidly to another human being on a personal matter. By the four founders, why was this so difficult?
“You would do better to resist the urge to leap to conclusions after my slightest utterance,” Snape began with a grimace. “I spoke the truth, but it was not a flat out refusal of your earlier invitation. I…” He swallowed hard. “I am not good at this, and there are many reasons why the outing you describe would be a bad idea. Our relative ages, the shortness of time that has elapsed between your position as my student and now, your role as my work colleague, my utter ineptitude at handling my own emotions, let alone those of another’s.” Snape took a deep breath, and continued before shame at revealing such things took him over and made him falter. “I also remain unconvinced that you have thought through the sheer scandal of the juxtaposition of hero and death eater in the public eye, combined with the fact that we are both men, Potter, and…”
“I had noticed that fact,” Harry interrupted, rather sharply. “And it’s Harry, not Potter.”
Snape raised his head and glared at Harry. He’d thought he was doing rather well so far, managing to slip in a few uncomfortable truths about himself with barely a flinch. It seemed that if he could manage to keep a certain level of anger then he could speak more freely, even if he did risk offending Harry. “Please do me the courtesy of listening without interruption,” he said sternly. You may be vastly experienced at dating a member of your own sex for I all I know, Harry, but I, on the other hand have a distinct and total lack of experience in this area.”
Harry looked faintly dumfounded.
“Not only that,” Snape continued rather desperately, “But I have not dated for a considerable number of years.” He could feel himself beginning to blush – of all the ridiculous, immature things – and wondered where exactly he was heading with this. He rarely lost the thread of his thoughts, but now he felt more than flustered.
Harry was rather red-faced. “But, um, you’d like to? Er, with me?” he asked, looking both hopeful and rather scared.
Snape found the common manly courage to roll his eyes and look disdainful in the face of extreme cuteness. There was something ridiculously appealing about Harry’s expression at that moment. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh hysterically or to weep at the idea that Harry could be nervous that he (he! Severus Snape!) would reject him, but he was quite firm in his mind that either reaction would be quite out of character.
“I would have to be an idiot or a fool to reply in the negative to your invitation, Harry,” he said stiffly, “and since I am neither, I accept.”
Harry’s face relaxed into a beaming smile. “Brilliant.” He took another sip of his tea, then made a face. “It’s gone cold. Can I get you another?”
Snape snorted. “I’d rather have a Firewhiskey.”
Harry laughed and looked embarrassed. “OK. I just thought… Well, we didn’t do so well before when we got drunk… I thought tea might be better.” He shrugged. “That went OK though, right?”
Snape allowed his lips to quirk up into a slight smile. “It went as well as could be expected.”
* * *
After another cup of tea and a soothing measure of Firewhiskey, Snape was sitting on Harry’s sofa, feeling an odd mixture of mellow and uptight. While the discussion had been far easier than he’d expected, and he’d been able to speak on personal matters with a freedom that had surprised him, this only served to clear the way for a whole new raft of difficulties ahead.
It was, therefore, an unwelcome and unexpected surprise when Harry revealed a whole new issue – and one that unsettled him to the very core.
“Um, Snape,” Harry said gingerly.
Snape rolled his eyes. “You may call me Severus if you wish.”
Harry smiled. “Really? Thanks. Um, I think something unexpected is happening with that spell.”
Snape’s stomach twisted. “Could you be a little more explicit?”
“”Well… Um. Think of something really stupid. Concentrate on it.”
“What nonsense is this?”
“Just do it.”
Snape thought.
Harry laughed. “Lucius Malfoy doing cartwheels wearing a dress? That really is stupid. Please tell me that’s not from life.”
“Sadly yes,” Snape said, and then froze. “WHAT?”
Harry went red. “I can kind of read your mind a bit,” he mumbled.
Snape hoped this was all a hideous nightmare.
“I’m afraid not,” Harry replied, looking upset, and then went even redder when he evidently realised he’d answered Snape’s thoughts.
“Can you stop it?” Snape asked desperately, “how far can you go? No, please don’t try to find out. There are some things I would prefer you not to know for your own sake, never mind my mine.”
Harry frowned. “I think I could see anything I wanted if I tried. It’s… odd. I’m trying not to push, but it’s really hard to keep out.”
Snape thought, with some horror, of all the things he didn’t want Harry to know about. All the atrocities he’d witnessed, all the murder and torture and… The more he tried to keep Harry out, and not to think of anything, the more he knew that Harry was seeing. It seemed as if all his basic Occlumency barriers had been gently dissolved, which was ridiculous. Nothing could touch his mental blocks. Nothing except, quite possibly, a trust spell… Oh Merlin.
Snape suddenly found that Harry was sitting next to him on the sofa, shaking him gently, looking distressed.
“Calm down,” Harry said, “Please. Look at me.”
Snape tried to take deep, slow breaths and focus on Harry’s face, which was swimming in and out of focus in front of him. He supposed that this was what he deserved. He’d offered Harry his trust, and now he had to bare his soul to Harry and hope he won Harry’s trust in return.
“I do trust you,” Harry said, taking Snape’s hands in his own. “You know I do.”
How can anyone trust me after the things I’ve done, Snape thought despairingly, and then shut his eyes, trying to keep his rising temper in check. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that he’d left himself so unforgivably vulnerable.
“I do trust you,” Harry said stubbornly. “And it would be nice if you could trust me too. I’m not going to tell anyone anything that you don’t want me to. Anyway, this thing will only last for 24 hours right? So I’m just going to leave you alone for that long. We’ll go out and talk when the spell’s worn off.”
Snape tried not to panic, and failed miserably.
Harry turned back, his face pale. “That hurt,” he said, sounding surprised. “Do you often feel that bad?”
Snape said nothing. He didn’t need to.
Harry sat back down beside him, curling his legs up. “Well if you want me to go, you just have to say.”
“This is not… easy,” Snape said flatly. “But if you will not judge me, I would prefer it if you stayed. I am too reticent with you on personal matters. Perhaps this will make things easier in the future.”
Harry looked sympathetic, and then excited. “Why don’t you try Legilimency on me? Maybe it will work both ways. That would be only fair.”
Snape frowned. “Are you sure you wish me to probe your mind? It is an uncomfortable process, and one that has failed to cement our friendship in the past”
Harry peered at him. “That was different. You want to now, so I want you to. Go on.”
Snape did so. To his surprise, it worked. He was pitched headlong into Harry’s mind, in possibly the clearest session of Legilimency he’d ever experienced. Everything was bright and sharp, and he whizzed through a series of memories, only really noticing what they were when he’d passed several by. They weren’t memories: they were daydreams. Snape was shocked for a moment, and then intrigued. Legilimency was a special skill, and one he had some considerable talent in, but he’d never been able to see anything but memories before. These were clear, but the pictures were skewed and insubstantial. It was evident that Harry was worried about something in these thoughts. Worried to the point of obsession. And then, after a few more shifting thoughts, Snape realised what Harry’s thoughts were about: they were about him. Harry was rehearsing in his mind, over and over in varying ways and varying methods, how to reveal his feelings to him.
Snape began to feel increasingly warm at being so privileged to view these thoughts. Harry was making no effort to shield his mind, and Snape began to find himself less embarrassed by his own vulnerability, and more interested in how the strange mind connection worked. Could, for example, Harry read his mind while his thoughts were being read in return?
Harry’s thoughts shifted, as if in response to Snape’s own. Snape watched, with some mortification, as Harry relived their argument in the pub and Apparated home unsteadily, crying himself to sleep. Snape tried to relax and thought, with some reluctance, of his own reaction to the argument – the revelation that Harry liked him, the way that had affected him, and his own painful tears. Snape found that the almost unbearable invasion of his privacy was somehow tolerable when he could see – and almost feel – Harry’s response to his revelations.
Then he saw something that made his mouth go dry.
Harry was thinking, so vividly that Snape felt himself flush brick red, of himself and Snape in an… an… an interesting situation. It had all the clarity of a long-held fantasy – the colours and location sharp, the actions… practised. Snape was both mortified and amused to see how he appeared through Harry’s eyes. His skin pale and clear, rather than sallow; his hair long, wild and shiny, rather than slightly greasy; and his figure slim and lightly muscled, rather than scrawny. His face looked almost right, except the features were softened with passion, as he… Snape forgot how to breathe as he watched Harry’s vision of the two of them entwined, dream-Snape pushing Harry hard up against a wall, his robes carelessly unbuttoned at the neck, their mouths pressed hard together in a kiss that made Snape shiver with desire.
Dream-Snape’s hands undid Harry’s belt with easy familiarity and – Snape’s heart thudded – slid a hand into Harry’s trousers, his arm working up and down as dream-Harry moaned and writhed against him. The vision shifted slightly, and Snape was aware of a kind of dual-layer to it – memory melding into dream. If he concentrated he could see brief glimpses of what he suspected was the real Harry, his limbs slipping in silk sheets, as he fisted his cock in the act of self-pleasure, wanking as he thought of Snape.
Snape was overwhelmed by mixed emotions. He wanted to touch Harry, to touch himself, to be touched, so much his entire body sung with it. He was already hard and throbbing under his robe, and knowing that just thinking that meant that Harry would know did little to quell his rising passion. But – and he tried not to scream in his own head – his own total lack of experience in this area was mortifying beyond belief. He was used to being in iron control of every area of his life. It was new and horrendous to feel so out of control, so vulnerable to mockery and hurt. And to simultaneously know that, as he thought all this without even really meaning to, Harry knew that he thought this, knew that he was a virg…
Snape pulled out of Harry’s mind in confusion, only to look up to see Harry’s face, his expression so warm and sympathetic that he just wanted to die.
“I, um, don’t mind, you know,” Harry said, blushing a bit. “That you’re, you know, a…”
Snape thought acidly if you dare say the word I’ll hex you into next week.
Harry stopped hastily. “Sorry. Sorry.” He looked embarrassed. “I didn’t exactly plan to let you see that. It just sort of… popped up. I, er. Right. I was saying sorry. Sorry.”
Snape tried to pull himself together. “Well this is certainly all very enlightening,” he said dryly, “although on balance I prefer my painful confessions to be made while under the influence of a far higher alcohol to blood ratio, if at all.”
Harry looked nervous. “Um, can I kiss you?”
“No,” Snape said hastily, while his brain said yes very loudly. He glared at Harry.
Harry shifted slightly closer on the sofa, and Snape tried not to panic. He wanted to kiss Harry, very much indeed, but what if it – he – wasn’t as good as Harry expected? It had been years since he’d…
Snape was jolted from his mortifying thoughts by the feel of a hand cupping the side of his face.
Harry grinned at him in a lopsided way. “It’ll be great,” he said. “And if it’s not great, we’ll just have to practise for a very long time until it is.”
Snape didn’t even have time to protest before Harry leant forward, pressing his lips gently against his own.
For a few awful moments, Snape felt unable to respond, totally frozen with panic. But Harry was warm and soft against him, and after a moment he forced himself to kiss back, feeling ridiculously unsure of himself. For a while it was awkward, Snape finding himself unsure of how to move against Harry’s mouth, and how often. They fumbled against each other like two 13 year olds experiencing their first kiss. But after a while Snape relaxed a little. Harry was making noises of enjoyment that he surely wouldn’t be making if he wasn’t actually having fun, and his kiss was gentle and unthreatening.
Then Harry slipped his tongue inside Snape’s mouth and licked his tongue gently, and something inside Snape snapped. He launched himself on Harry, who fell back with a noise of surprise and arousal mixed, kissing back with a fervour that made itself known right the way down to Snape’s crotch.
Snape wondered what he’d done to deserve such pleasure and discomfort mixed; his body pressed hard against Harry’s, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might explode. He wanted to take things further but had no idea where to begin, or how such an act might be received.
Harry twisted under him and Snape found, to his bemusement and nervous anxiety, that they were now lying side by side on the sofa, Harry’s leg hooked over his own to pull him in closer, their bodies fitting snugly together. Snape felt himself shudder as one of Harry’s hands stroked its way down his side, and rested lightly on his hip.
They lay there kissing until Snape’s lips felt red and sore, his body taut with arousal. His stomach twisted with nerves as Harry’s fingers trailed over his hip-bone, up across his stomach, and began to ghost their way downwards.
He both wanted, and didn’t want Harry to continue. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to relax, but he felt the most vulnerable he’d ever felt in his entire life.
“I want to,” Harry mumbled against his mouth, his voice low and filled with lust. “Do you want me to?”
Yes, Merlin yes, Snape thought, and was then overwhelmed by doubt.
Harry was warm and comfortable against him. “Say it,” he whispered, and drew back slightly to look Snape in the eye.
Snape felt his face flare with red. He wet his lips. “Yes,” he said, in a low, trembling voice that sounded nothing like his own. “Please.”
Harry’s lips parted and he flushed. Snape felt Harry tremble as the young man fumbled with the buttons of his robe, and he drew in a sharp breath as Harry’s hand brushed his aching cock through the cloth.
Harry’s lips were warm and fierce against Snape’s as he tugged down his underthings, and fastened his hand around his penis.
Snape found himself uttering noises of the like that had never come out of his mouth before. He thought briefly, as he moaned and writhed and gasped under Harry’s ministrations, that he should be embarrassed, but the feelings that sparked through his body were so unusual and so overwhelming that he couldn’t fasten on that thought for long.
It became, after a few more minutes, a kind of sweet torture. Harry evidently had some skill in this area, and knew, perhaps by the begging of Snape’s mind in his, that Snape was teetering on the edge of release. His hand slowed, and paused, and stopped, and started, bringing Snape to the brink over and over, without allowing him satisfaction. Snape became dimly aware that he was sweating and trembling, as he panted out pleas to his torturer.
Harry drew back, and watched Snape with a red-faced, awed expression, and Snape couldn’t quite bring himself to protest, or even mind, even thought the idea of scrutiny at such a moment should have been abhorrent to him. All that seemed to matter was the warm, firm grip on his private parts and the aching need that flooded his entire being.
“Please, Harry,” he panted, his mouth open, his body shaking.
Harry licked his lips and Snape felt as if Harry’s mouth was hotwired to his groin, and he bucked and squirmed into Harry’s hand.
Harry flushed and smiled softly, making no move to speed up. But, Snape realised, he also made no move to slow down. Snape felt his whole body go red with a mixture of extreme arousal and embarrassment as his legs began to twitch, his stomach juddering, his breath coming in short, heavy gasps.
And then he came with a wave of red-hot pleasure, uttering a hoarse cry and gripping Harry’s hair so tightly that he was sure it must have hurt, screwing his eyes shut as he shook and spurted come against the young man beside him.
When he gathered the courage to open his eyes, Harry had already cleaned up with a quickly muttered spell, and was doing up Snape’s buttons.
Harry met his eyes and smiled. “OK?”
Snape nodded, feeling rather stupid. “I haven’t…” It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to touch Harry, but…
Harry grinned, and ran a hand through his hair. “Another time. Don’t worry. That was fun.”
Snape found, to his chagrin, that he was blushing.
* * *
After dinner in the Great Hall, during which Snape thought a variety of rude and sarcastic things about the other teachers and students, and Harry tried not to laugh, they went out.
Then they came home. Snape frowned as they entered the building and Harry started to head towards the Gryffindor tower.
Harry turned and looked back. “Well are you coming or not?”
Snape tried not to feel nervous. The Firewhiskey he’d imbibed was definitely helping him relax. “If you desire my company,” he said, inclining his head.
Harry grinned. “Of course I do, you daft sod. Come on.”
When they entered Harry’s quarters, Harry poured them both a large drink, and took a deep swig. “I know I don’t always say the most sensible things when I’m drunk,” Harry said, “and here comes another thing I’m going to regret.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Well out with it, Harry.”
“Um,” Harry said, and went brick red. “I’d like you to, um, you know, with me, tonight. If that’s OK. I know you’re, um. But I won’t let you feel stupid.”
Snape thought about that for a moment, not even quite sure what he was thinking, the blood was sinking so fast to fuel a growing tightness in his underthings.
“Oh!” Harry said, and sounded surprised. “You’d rather I?”
Snape looked at him, and tried not to grit his teeth. “Harry, I’m not even sure what I’m thinking at the moment. Perhaps you, with your unprecedented insight into my thoughts, could clarify your last statement?”
Harry looked embarrassed. “Er.”
“Just spit it out, for goodness sake. Where’s your Gryffindor spirit?” Snape said wryly.
“Um. You were thinking that you’d rather, er. Um. That you’d prefer it if I.” Harry screwed up his face and looked as if he were expecting to be hexed, “That you wanted me to fuck you, rather than the other way round.”
Snape decided not to pass judgement on Harry’s torturous sentence construction. He was too busy fixating on Harry’s words. Would he prefer that? He certainly didn’t feel ready to take control of Harry in that way, although the idea was certainly intriguing. He tried to picture himself being penetrated, and winced.
“It won’t hurt if you’re relaxed,” Harry said, looking nervous. “It’ll be nice.”
Snape made up his mind. He’d spent too much of his time alone to dither now, when a good thing was being offered to him, despite his misgivings. “Yes,” he said finally. “I would like that.”
* * *
Showered, and dressed in Harry’s dressing gown, Snape took a deep breath and entered Harry’s bedroom. He took in a sharp breath at the sight of Harry. The young man was sprawled across the bed in only his underpants, his skin a glorious warm colour and his physique thin but toned. There was a noticeable bulge in his boxers.
Harry sat up and squinted at Snape, his glasses lying on the bedside table next to a packet of condoms and a heavy-looking glass jar. He held out a hand and smiled.
Snape wet his lips nervously and stepped forward, allowing himself to be pulled down onto the bed beside Harry.
Harry smiled up at him. “You’re fantastic,” he said, and pulled Snape towards him into a hard, hot kiss.
Snape felt his doubts swirl away in a mixture of hormones and desire. Harry’s fingers were coiled in his hair, and when Harry rolled on top of him they tightened, the sharp ache in his scalp a welcome contrast to the sweetness of his kiss.
Harry reached down to undo the cord at Snape’s waist. A piece of trapped fabric remained between them, but the robe fell open at the side. Harry trailed the fingers of one hand along Snape’s bare skin and Snape shivered with pleasure, running his fingers along Harry’s bare back.
Harry sat back and tugged the robe fully open, exposing Snape’s nudity to his unfocused gaze. He smiled as he trailed his fingers over Snape’s skin, and Snape moaned faintly under Harry’s touch.
Fingers turned to kisses, and Snape lay back in a kind of bliss as Harry licked erotic trails over his skin, kissing him in unexpectedly seductive areas: the inside of his elbow, his sides, the hollow at the base of his throat.
Then Harry took his penis in his mouth and Snape nearly came just from that. He struggled to keep his calm but it was so wonderful warm and wet, the feeling of Harry’s tongue caressing the tip of his cock, the slippery movement of Harry’s mouth moving up and down as he gently sucked and licked. He moaned loudly and bucked his hips, trying to force Harry to speed up. He was so close, and the feeling so intense, that his mental faculties seemed to have entirely melted into mush.
Harry slowed, and pushed Snape over, who turned with a protest, his aching cock trapped between his body and the bed, throbbing almost unbearably.
But Harry was kissing his backside now, and pushing him into the mattress, the mere feel of the sheet rubbing against his swollen erection both erotic and arousing.
And then Harry did something that Snape did not, in his wildest dreams, expect. He took a long lick, starting at the hollow of Snape’s back and down. But he did not stop where Snape expected. He continued, his soft tongue moving down the crease between Snape’s buttocks, and taking a swirling lick of Snape’s anus.
Snape would have protested if it didn’t feel quite so exquisite.
Who would have thought that such a private area would hold quite so many nerve endings? Harry was licking and kissing down there as if it were a delicious treat, and the warm, wet strokes made Snape feel weak with desire and arousal. He tensed momentarily when Harry’s tongue pressed against him, pushing inside him, but his legs spread further apart almost of their own accord to allow Harry access, as his wicked tongue pushed further in, making Snape gasp and shudder.
It felt almost like a betrayal when Harry withdrew, but when he raised his head he saw Harry fumbling with the jar on his bedside table, and soon felt a slippery pressure as Harry pressed a finger inside him.
At first it was uncomfortable. Not exactly painful, but not exactly enjoyable either. Snape wondered what an erect penis would feel like if a single digit felt that huge. But Harry tugged him up onto all fours, and wrapped a lubricated hand around his throbbing penis, continuing to push a finger gently into him.
And then, Harry crooked his finger and stroked, and something marvellous exploded inside Snape. He stroked again, and Snape, gasping and stammering, had to ask Harry to stop unless he wanted this to end all too soon.
Harry withdrew the finger and Snape relaxed, with only a token clench when Harry introduced two fingers inside him, rubbing and stroking at his insides until he felt like jelly and his legs could barely hold him up.
He heard a rustling as Harry reached over for a condom, and slipped it on, and looked around to see Harry stroking lube over his own cock, his expression slack and aroused.
Snape tensed and braced himself.
Harry stroked his back, and reached round again to stroke Snape’s cock.
Snape was soon lost in a haze of arousal, only partly aware of Harry’s hardness pressing gently but firmly against him. Then Harry pushed. For a moment it hurt, as Snape’s insides clenched around the intruding object, and Harry paused, stroking Snape’s cock until arousal countered pain. Then he moved again, and Snape found that it was merely uncomfortable.
And then Harry’s cock pressed against the bundle of nerves inside him and Snape felt a wave of pleasure run through him. He tensed as Harry moved, but this only made the sensation more intimate, more intense. He moaned and pushed back against Harry, who laughed breathily and moved again, settling into a smooth rhythm.
Snape could feel Harry’s body, slick with sweat, pressing against him, Harry’s hard cock moving inside him, Harry’s hand moving against Snape’s own penis. He was surrounded by Harry – his feelings, his emotions, his senses all overtaken with desire and need and love.
Harry’s hand sped up and Snape felt all the blood in his body rush down to his groin. He came with a gasp, jerking and pushing against Harry’s hand and Harry’s cock inside him, the motion dragging out his orgasm until the sensation was almost unbearable.
Harry was moving hard and fast inside him and suddenly he slowed, and slammed into Snape with a gasp, sending him sprawling onto the bed.
They lay tangled for a moment, gasping. Then Harry shifted slightly and, instead of leaping up and running away as Snape half expected, pulled Snape into a loose hug.
“Don’t be so stupid,” he muttered, with a yawn. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you.”
And as Snape slipped into a half-sleep he reflected that Harry was right. He was home, with the man he loved. There was nowhere else he’d rather be.
And Harry, who’d heard his thoughts as clear as his own, smiled warmly against his Snape and tried not to burst with sheer happiness.
THE END