Snape knew that the Potter boy would be nothing but trouble for him from the moment he laid eyes on the brat, and it wasn't because of the tousled hair so like his father's, or the bright, intelligent eyes so like his mother's. That first time at the Sorting Feast, Snape tried to convince himself that there must be some other explanation for his reactions, though he still studiously avoided looking at the boy for much of the evening after Potter caught him staring.
It wasn't until Potter sat in his very first Potions class that Snape knew for certain that it wasn't a hex on his chair, or some heretofore unknown reaction to the food in the Great Hall. No, as soon as he got a good look at Potter smiling and laughing with that vile little redheaded Weasley of his, Snape's cock once again grew hard in his pants, pressing eagerly against the placket of his trousers and making him grateful for the billowing, concealing black of his teaching robes. He took a great deal of pleasure in taking the boy down a peg for his inattention and obvious ego, all the while wondering if perhaps Potter was some sort of incubus despite his well-known parentage.
Snape did not like little boys. He was not one of those who crept into Knockturn Alley late at night and acquired the services of some child unfortunate enough not to attend Hogwarts, nor had he ever harboured a secret longing toward Potter's loathsome father. The erections that Snape got around Harry Potter were persistent, consistent, aggravating, inexplicable and, most of all, utterly inappropriate. Snape spent the entirety of Potter's first year feeling as though circumstance was slowly trying to strip away the last of his humanity and make him into a pervert of the lowest sort, and wondered when he'd start getting hard over one of the other loathsome children, if he'd begin to think of ways to lure them into his office for a bit of Remedial Potions and Obliviation.
Fortunately for the majority of Snape's students, the effect seemed to occur exclusively around Harry Potter. Unfortunately for Potter, a deep loathing of this circumstance transferred itself onto the boy, and Snape was not the sort of man to suffer in silence. He took points, yelled, insulted, gave spurious punishment homework and generally did his level best to share his misery with its cause, though he would be damned if he would explain to anyone just exactly why he hated the vile little beast quite so much.
Ironically, because of his history with James Potter, he never had to try. The staff simply assumed that he was taking the sins of the father out on the son, and the students were so used to him being unpleasant that very few of them realised that his unpleasantness increased tenfold whenever Potter was in view.
During his second year, Potter hit a growth spurt and seemed less like a prepubescent child and more like he might, someday, grow into a man. Much to Snape's chagrin, this change only seemed to strengthen the force of Snape's lust, invading his dreams with images of the boy sprawled, pale and confused in his nudity amongst the dark covers of Snape's bed. Snape began to add wanking back into his list of daily indulgences -- along with taking points from Potter, doing the crossword puzzle in the staff room in ink before anyone else had the chance, and performing mildly illegal potions experiments under Dumbledore's nose. He hadn't had to take matters into hand this frequently since his second year teaching, when they'd had that particularly handsome Defence professor with his tendency to strip down to an open shirt and very tight trousers for duelling lessons, and then forget to dress himself again before staff meetings.
Between Potter's third and fourth years, Snape had to add a pre-meal wank before he took lunch in the Great Hall, because the simple fact of watching Potter eat was enough to bring back memories of his vivid dreams of Potter exhibiting the same enthusiasm in devouring Snape's cock or, occasionally, arse. Snape began to wonder if someone hadn't cursed him after all, some sort of lust hex that only operated around the boy, but he couldn't exactly go to Poppy or Albus and demand he be diagnosed, so he simply worked around it. The constant ache of unrequited desire was becoming as familiar to him as the lank oiliness of his hair or the permanent stains on his fingers, another part of himself for him to loathe and attempt to ignore.
It wasn't until Potter's fifth year that it became a pressing issue, with the boy forced upon him for private Occlumency lessons, which were a bad idea in so very many ways that he couldn't begin to explain to the Headmaster. His nighttime imaginings grew more realistic after having Potter on hands and knees in his office, the curve of the boy's arse right there for his eyes to follow, the small bulge of his balls pressing against the fabric below and between. It was ironic, really, that Snape had worked so hard to make Potter hate him, so that once they had the privacy and opportunity for him to take what he'd been yearning so desperately toward, he had no hope that his attentions would be welcome.
It was in Potter's sixth year, the year that Snape finally got the teaching position he'd wanted for so long and lost his five-year battle to keep the younger Malfoy from repeating the mistakes of his elder, that things came to a head, so to speak. Potter committed the simultaneous and unforgivable sin of haphazardly acquiring knowledge that Snape had learned so painstakingly in his own student days, and choosing some of the worst of it to use against young Draco. The resulting weeks of Saturday detentions under Snape's watchful eye were an equal torment to Snape, one he felt he deserved for leaving that damnable book where someone could find it, as the hours loomed ahead with nothing to distract him from endless temptation.
Finally, on the third such afternoon of being stuck in the tiny box of a room with Harry Potter, poorly written essays and an inappropriate erection, the control which had withstood years of fraying and nearly infinite wear snapped. "Potter," said Snape sharply, putting his quill carefully aside and capping the ink bottle with precise deliberation. After all, if one was going to fall, Snape felt it best to do so with both eyes open, as it were, and not pussyfoot around about it.
"Yes, Professor?" Potter replied, his voice dripping with its usual scorn.
Snape stood, adjusting his robes with a habitual flick of his wrist to conceal the evidence of his unsavoury intentions. "I wish to speak with you about something," he said, waving his wand negligently at the door, which shut and locked itself obediently. He hadn't really any plan for how this might go, but he felt that denying Potter the obvious means of escape would be a good start.
The worst part, of course, was that after everything he'd gone through in the past six years of having Potter as a constant torment in his life, he still didn't quite have the heart to simply take what he wanted. He didn't believe himself to be a monster of such great degree that he could commit such heinous acts on an unwilling partner, even the source of so much grief and humiliation in his life.
"I'm listening," said Potter, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the edge of the table he'd been working at, a scowl on his face.
Snape drew himself up and groped for the right words, something he could possibly say to convey the depth of his struggles. "I have disliked you since the moment I saw you," he said, forcing down a snort of amusement when Potter's eyes narrowed. "You have assumed, I believe, that I harbour grudges against your father and his compatriots that I cannot forgive, and thus burden you with the sins of the past. I have allowed you to think this, because..." He paused, not sure if he could do it, not even here in the quiet, dank privacy of his own dungeons.
"Because of what?" Potter snapped back, eyes flashing with anger and just a glimmer of real curiosity. After all, it wasn't every day that one's bitterest enemy confesses the reasons for what must have seemed to young Potter to be an inexplicable animosity.
"Are you an Incubus?" Snape blurted, the absurd question leaving his lips before he could censor it.
"A what?" said Potter incredulously. They'd covered them in Defence only a few short weeks ago, so Snape knew the boy couldn't be ignorant.
"Never mind, the question was absurd," said Snape irritably, turning to rifle through a stack of beetle-bored detention cards. He'd long ago dismissed the possibility, if for no other reason than that he'd tried every single cure for being lured in by such a demon that he could find, and could not bring himself to doubt his own ability quite so much against the eleven-year-old boy Potter had been at the time.
Potter shifted, his eyes growing more curious by the moment, and asked, "Just what are you getting at?"
Snape took a deep breath, and pinched at the ache slowly growing between his eyes. This conversation was not going at all well, not that he'd ever expected it to. "I have experienced certain physiological reactions to your presence since you first arrived at school," he said, hoping that the boy would show some modicum of intelligence and add two and two together rather than forcing Snape to spell out f-o-r-n-i-c-a-t-i-o-n. "I have not experienced this reaction around any other student, male or female, before or since your unfortunate appearance in my life. It is only you who does this to me."
"Does what?" said Potter, a look of suspicion and confusion clouding his features, drawing his brows together in a way that Snape thought made him look absurd, but Snape's prick seemed to find endearing.
Snape closed his eyes and took another deep breath, and then one more. "Only you, Mr. Potter, give me inappropriate, damning, aching erections, every single time you grace me with your presence."
Potter's eyes went wide and snapped predictably to the source of Snape's predicament. Snape leaned back just slightly and shifted his robes to highlight the problem rather than hide it, eyes slitted and lips thinned out as he waited for the boy's reaction.
It was, predictably, to have his eyes first go wide with the utter shock of finding out one's greasy professor not only has a cock but wants to use it on oneself, and secondly to double over in a breathless fit of what Snape could only assume was laughter.
"So nice of you to sympathize with my predicament," said Snape wryly, though he made no effort to conceal the source of both of their discomfort.
Potter didn't show any signs of surcease, long past humour and on into an hysteria that left Snape at a complete loss. He could cope with injured, angry, incompetent and even the rare and painfully lovestruck student, but this complete dissolution of Potter's outer shell to reveal some giggling madman within was utterly beyond his abilities to cope. Eventually he felt that a simple lack of oxygen would solve his immediate problem without his intervention, but it would still leave that cracked and shattered image in Potter's mind, the old evil, greasy git superimposed with a new image of a man capable of, nay, mired in sexual frustration, and all because of Harry Potter.
Damn, damn, and damn, he should never have listened to his libido.
Potter was sort of muttering to himself now between shuddering breaths and bursts of random, pained giggling, and Snape felt it would behoove him to attempt to understand some of the babble and thus, perhaps, be forewarned before Potter did anything more mad than laugh like an idiot until he was out of breath and nearly back in that tempting hands-and-knees position on the floor. Snape bent down just a little and cocked his head, using his ears in much the same way he detected off-topic mutterings in his classroom.
"All these years... sodding bastard... now... fucking tells me... stupid bloody git..." Potter gasped out, strings of words that only sort of made sense in the context, though Snape felt he ought to defend at least one of his choices.
"It's not like you could have reciprocated at eleven," said Snape haughtily, turning his face to one side and allowing himself to continue, "I'd be sacked and jailed if anyone found out about it even now, let alone then."
That seemed to calm the last of Potter's fit, and he straightened up slowly, eyes riveted on Snape the whole time. "So, instead of perhaps attempting to be my friend or even, god forbid, treat me like everyone else, you spent the past six years tormenting me at every possible turn?"
Snape crossed his arms over his chest and just barely managed not to huff like an offended drag queen. "Ever heard the saying 'misery loves company,' Potter?" he asked sardonically, raising one eyebrow though his mouth stayed in its unhappy line.
"Well, you definitely know how to spread the misery," said Potter, shaking his head, a ghost of that earlier laughter finding its way into his voice. "So, why now? After all these years of waiting, why'd you give in?"
It was Snape's turn to laugh, a cynical, humourless sound with its own edge of panic. "Each year as you grow into more of a man, you grow more and more difficult for me to resist," he said, leaning back against his desk with his hands beside his outthrust hips. "These loathsome detentions were too much for my frayed control, but I could trust no one else to make you understand the gravity of your foolish actions."
That seemed to burst Potter's bubble, and the boy's eyes dropped to the ground, giving Snape a few moments' blessed relief from their intent stare. "I understand I did something stupid, dangerous, and horrible, you don't need to rub it in," he said, his voice shockingly small. "Malfoy could've died if you hadn't been there to help him, and it was absolutely fucking daft of me to use a spell on another person when I didn't know what it did. I get that, all right?"
"Language," said Snape automatically, though he had an idea that this was, perhaps, the one lesson Potter hadn't needed anyone but his own conscience to teach him. "And that doesn't mean you can get by without punishment. I simply hadn't expected the degree to which I find your penance to be torment of my own."
Potter let out a cynical little laugh that could easily have come from Snape's own lips, and Snape felt a pang that the smiling boy of a few short years ago could have turned so quickly into someone so jaded, and that he'd played no small role in that transformation. "So I'm tortured reading about my dad's past crimes against you while you're tortured by sitting there, watching me and thinking of committing an entirely different sort of crime against me, is that it?" Potter asked, eyes intent once again, flashing that green that Snape always tried to convince himself was nightmarishly familiar, but that never failed to make him think instead of Slytherin emeralds and tales of a time when other Houses didn't hate all the children of the snake on sight.
Snape nodded, feeling far more trapped than he ought to by that gaze. "That is an acceptable summation, yes," he said irritably, bollocks beginning to ache under the weight of this strangely open discussion of his own forbidden, persistent desire.
"So, what if we change the penance, then? I used your words to sin against Malfoy, and you used words to hurt my dad, and he used everything he had to hurt you back, but in the end it always came back to words. And you used words to hurt me every day you could, because your body betrayed you and I'm at fault like I always am, doing things I didn't ask for and don't understand," said Potter, babbling along with such a fine head of steam that it left Snape too shocked to interrupt. "You sin, I sin, we all sin, so let's fucking sin together and maybe that'll pay for something, somewhere, and maybe we'll also get off on it together as well. Is that a fair deal?" he asked angrily, and it took Snape a moment of blinking to realize that Potter had not only come to a point, but made him an offer he couldn't refuse.
Snape nodded, feeling the jaws of fate closing over him as they had so many years ago when he'd allowed ego and foolish pride to lead him into the serpent's lair, only to find it wasn't the comforting snake of his youth after all. "A more venial sin, to be sure, but likely one which will relieve a burden for us both," he said, moving to the door and unlocking it. "We might as well be comfortable while we're committing our various sins, and I believe my quarters are likely the most private place in the entire school, all things considered," he said, holding a hand out for Potter and hoping that it hadn't all been a joke, a trap, or youthful bravado.
Potter swallowed and followed, taking Snape's hand for one brief moment, sweaty palm sliding over Snape's cold fingers in something like a benediction, or perhaps just a promise. "No one's to know," said Potter shortly, dropping Snape's hand as they navigated the few turns to the hidden door of Snape's quarters.
Snape nodded his agreement, then danced his wand over the tapestry in a complex pattern that caused it to part and admit them into his own sitting room, the hearth cold and furnishings simple but warm. "No one's to know," Snape agreed, sealing the wards behind them and walking up behind Potter, placing a hand tentatively over the boy's back, feeling the curve of his lower spine against fingers that had longed to explore every single inch for so very, very long.
"And I want to fuck you," said Potter with that impulsive finality that had won him far more important battles than the one over whose arse was tonight's prize.
"If you will agree to follow my instructions so that I may achieve some measure of my own satisfaction from the encounter, then I will agree to bottom," he said, despite the part of him that screamed out a denial, wanting the fantasy he'd long cherished of Potter splayed out in his bed, waiting to be used and taken. Snape gave the anatomy in question a little squeeze before dropping his hand.
Potter paused, then shook his head. "No, if I have to listen to you lecture me... better teach by example then. Once each way tonight, and after we'll see which I like best."
"That is more than acceptable to me," said Snape, guarding himself against too much enthusiasm despite the undoing he was about to seek at Potter's hands. "The bedroom is through here," he added, gesturing toward the door with his wand. Light flared up inside, illuminating the neatly made bed, and Potter -- Harry, really, Snape ought to get used to the idea of it at least in his head, considering the other intimacies they were about to initiate -- took a single step back before squaring his shoulders and nodding.
"Right, then," Harry said, looking from Snape to the bed. "Sins of the fathers, and all that."
Harry went in, but he couldn't seem to force himself to show more willingness than that, which gave Snape yet another unwanted sliver of doubt about the whole thing. His prick, however, was all for anything that had the object of its long-denied desires in the same room as his bed, and it was easier to pay heed to that particular part of his anatomy than the second thoughts swimming behind Harry's eyes.
"Sins of everyone, really," said Snape, gliding in after Harry and closing the bedroom door, one extra barrier should someone come seek the errant pair of fools. "Will I be permitted to kiss you?" he asked, swallowing back nervous desire at the very thought of finally being allowed to taste those inviting young lips, to hold Harry in his arms.
"What? Of course, I... Why wouldn't we?" Harry replied, his brows knitting in confusion.
"Not everyone does, when it's not a love match," said Snape, taking that final step and gathering the boy into his arms, finding that Harry truly had grown nearly into a man while Snape had watched, waited and wanted.
Harry let out a soft little sound and, much to Snape's surprise, melted into Snape's embrace. The tousled head came to rest on his shoulder, and Harry's hands laid themselves on Snape's chest as though to be reassured of the solidity of him. Snape did the only thing he could and held Harry close, pressing soft kisses into tousled hair that smelled like boy, and dust, and apples.
Long minutes passed just like that, Harry pressed to him and accepting the small affections with an eagerness Snape never would have credited, were he not seeing it for himself. He stroked Harry's back with warm, careful hands, soothing more than arousing, and seeing for the first time what a lonely, unhappy existence they'd all forced the boy into. Even surrounded by friends, Harry was hungry for this touch, eager to be held and comforted and, Snape thought, willing to give up something precious in exchange.
"You don't have to let me fuck you to get me to hold you," said Snape softly, knowing as the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.
Harry pushed away, eyes blazing and suspiciously bright. "That's not what this is about," he said crossly, in that too-quick way that told Snape that he'd figured it out before Harry had. "I'm not going to renege, if that's what you're getting at."
Snape shook his head, then pressed a single kiss to Harry's forehead, just left of the infamous scar. "That's not what I'm getting at," he said simply, then allowed himself one more luxury amidst a multitude of them and pressed the first kiss to Harry's tense, angry mouth.
Harry let out a soft sound of surprise and froze, then seemed to gather himself for one tense moment where Snape couldn't tell if he was going to be kissed back or shoved away. There was a pause a single heartbeat long, then Harry came to a decision and melted into him once again, lips going pliant and welcoming beneath Snape's and it was Snape's turn to make a noise, half of shock and half need. It was as though his body couldn't quite believe it was getting what it had wanted for so long, and his brain was running behind to catch up while he got the hang of things.
He kissed Harry back, of course, because some opportunities were not to be wasted. Snape's tongue flicked out to taste Harry's mouth, first flickering along the almost neutral softness of his lips and then dipping between, finding it sour and sweet at once, with a metallic overtone that was half fear and half the same desire thrumming through Snape's veins. Harry's tongue came tentatively up to meet with his own, and they both groaned when it slid along and back into Snape's mouth, tangling and twining with a sensuality that Snape would not have expected from a boy being ravished by his professor.
The real irony was in the echo of Snape's own words coming back to him as he realized that what he'd spent years mistaking for unbridled, unwelcome lust was, in fact, the one thing that would never be sated by something as meaningless as mere animal copulation. Another moan was swallowed in the kiss and Snape let his eyes fall shut on his doom as he shoved that and all other thoughts aside, and tried to sink into the sensuality of holding Harry Potter, kissing and caressing the willing boy in his arms.
Harry let out a little whimper, and his hands slid upward, tangling in Snape's hair with a desperation Snape knew well. "It's all right, Harry, I shall care for you," said Snape, understanding full well the weight of those words from a mouth that had done nothing but tear the boy down for years, but he stood by his promise. Now that his self-imposed blinders were removed, he could do nothing else.
Snape began to carefully undress Harry, not so much removing as freeing his clothing, pulling the shirt out of his trousers, working the tie loose and undoing what buttons were closest until the shirt was barely on the boy at all. Harry stepped back, breaking their embrace and getting an embarrassing sound of disappointment out of Snape, but he wasn't trying to go anywhere. Instead, he stripped efficiently, tie and shirt, then the dirty old trainers and holey socks, and finally his hands came to rest on his fly.
"Don't we both need to be naked for this?" Harry asked pointedly; his voice was a bit wobbly but determination shone from his eyes.
Snape nodded and drew his wand, then spoke the simple spell that would unbutton the many rows of tiny fastenings all over his clothing. He slipped out of his boots first, then hung the robe and waistcoat in his wardrobe, noting a small stain on one sleeve that would have to be removed by a house elf. The shirt went next, into the hamper rather than hanging back up, and then it was time for his own moment of truth. Without looking back, he shucked out of the trousers and pants, the latter tossed into the hamper along with his socks, the former folded and hung as well. He took a deep breath in the silence of the room and turned, hoping he wouldn't see too much disgust in Harry's face.
Harry was staring unabashedly, his face reflecting fascination and a certain nervous desire that was, Snape thought, about all he could expect. Harry was holding his clothing in front of his groin, but otherwise his body was as pale and strong as Snape had imagined, limbs straight and skin smooth, with only his groin hidden from Snape's discerning view.
Snape's own cock rose from its nest of curls, large and unattractive as always, and Harry's eyes had come to rest upon it like a mouse fascinated with the snake about to devour it. "Both naked," Snape reminded Harry gently, prick bobbing in the cool air as he made his way to back to the boy and laid careful fingers on one wrist.
"Naked, right," said Harry, eyes not bothering to leave the vicinity of Snape's prick as he tossed the bundle of fabric aside, revealing his own endowments to an appreciative audience of one.
Snape was pleasantly surprised to see Harry was nearly erect already, his cock of average size and elegant proportions, unlike Snape's with its bulbous head and prominent veins. Snape felt his mouth water just a bit at the thought of taking the clean young flesh inside, tasting the skin and suckling until he was rewarded with salty trickles of precome or a bitter flood of seed. "Lay down on the bed, Harry," said Snape, swallowing his desire just a little, though he suspected Harry might appreciate everything more if the proceedings began with a good blowjob.
"Bed, right," said Harry, blinking as though waking from a dream, and turning his face up to Snape's. "I'm going to grow up to be a size queen, with you as my first," he said incongruously, and Snape was grateful that he turned to crawl into the bed and couldn't see the blush rising in Snape's sallow cheeks.
"Perhaps I'll just have to keep you for my own, then," said Snape lightly, heartbeat pounding in his chest at the mere thought of such a luxury -- not only a relationship of more than a few nights' pleasure, but one with Harry Potter of all people, a foolishness he definitely couldn't afford at this juncture, but one he rather thought he'd give up quite a lot to have.
Harry's head whipped around and Snape thought he saw a flash of hope in the green eyes, before it was dampened by a pessimism that Snape knew he'd played a large part in putting there. "Going to chain me to the bed by my ankle and hope Voldemort accepts 'oops, we lost him' as an excuse, then?" he asked, laying down on his back and looking, well, like a nervous virgin about to be buggered by a teacher twice his age.
Snape thought he'd never looked so sexy.
"Some things are worth fighting for, Harry," said Snape, unable to hide the tone of sincerity that rang through his voice like a church bell. "For me, you are one of those things."
Harry was struck speechless, and Snape proceeded to encourage that state by climbing into bed and snogging him properly, their naked bodies fitting together in a tangle of limbs, cocks and kisses. His hands found Harry's back, smooth flanks and arse and sparsely-haired thighs, and tried to memorize the contours of each. Harry's hands fluttered uselessly about before settling in Snape's hair, and once again that thrill of surprise ran through Snape when Harry melted into the kisses like a lover, willing and even eager for each touch.
Snape let himself drown for long minutes in the simple sensuality of his fantasy, of Harry in his arms and his bed, kissing him as though drinking in each moan and feeding them back. Harry grew harder against him, all the erotic tension gathering in the place where their cocks slid over one another, tempting Snape far too early toward the simple pleasure of release. "I want to taste you first," he whispered, breaking the kiss to roll Harry onto his back. Snape slid down, resting his cheek in the hollow of a hipbone, nuzzling up against Harry's prick and waiting for permission, absolution.
"Ohgod, please," said Harry, spreading his legs and giving Snape's hair an impatient little tug.
Snape chuckled and moved between Harry's sprawled limbs, brushing kisses up the length of him, Snape's hair falling in a comfortingly obscuring curtain. Harry moaned when Snape's tongue flicked out to caress beneath the straining foreskin, pushing it down until he could suckle at the entire head like a small ripe plum, lapping up the juice welling from the tip. Harry's skin tasted sweet-salty and warm, his prick heavy on Snape's tongue, the scent of him filling Snape's nose and mouth with musk. His eyes closed, and he concentrated on the feel of Harry's cockhead, soft and insistent as it pressed at the back of his throat, the shaft hard and solid in Snape's eager mouth.
His hands wandered over Harry's hips and thighs, underneath to feel the heavy balls in their crepe-thin sac, further back to cup the perfectly curved arse and urge Harry into gentle thrusts. Harry gladly complied, whimpering when Snape managed to take the whole length in his mouth; it was just small enough that only the head pushed into his open throat. It was strangely comfortable to take Harry this way, each rock of the hips just slow enough to give Snape some measure of control, not rough at all despite a cock that was thick enough to have given Snape some pause, were Harry a different sort of man altogether.
Snape pushed aside such uncharitable thoughts and concentrated on enjoying what he was doing now, sliding his tongue over and around the shaft as it glided in and out of his mouth and flicking over the head whenever it came within reach. The tension began to spill over into Harry's body, his back bowing, toes curling and hands grasping at Snape's hair with something like desperation as he approached his climax. Snape would have purred had he the breath to spare; instead he slid one hand inward enough to allow one long finger to caress Harry's hole, not dipping inside just yet, only giving a hint of further pleasures.
That was enough for Harry, and he came with a shout that might have been a word, and might have been nothing more than a release. His come flooded Snape's mouth and throat, and Snape worked to swallow the bitter, salty stuff, surprised to find he still enjoyed the flavour; he thought he'd long ago lost the taste for such things. He let Harry's prick fall from his lips, toppling slowly and incompletely, firm enough to show the promise of a return to fullness that came with the virility of youth.
Snape licked the last traces of come from Harry's flesh and tossed his hair aside, laying his cheek back against that same hipbone and gazing up at Harry's dazed, flushed features.
"I do believe you're now sufficiently relaxed for the next portion of the proceedings," Snape said sardonically, licking lips still tingling from the extended friction.
Harry laughed breathlessly, giving Snape's shoulder an upward tug which Snape took as a request for his presence higher up Harry's body, and so obediently he slid up and kissed the bruised-looking mouth. "If that's just the start," said Harry with a grin, "then this is going to be the death of me. The Dark Lord will be proud."
Snape snorted a surprised laugh, then silenced them both with another deep, lingering kiss. "If I kill you with pleasure, Potter," he said in a mock-serious tone, "who will I chain to my bed?"
Another laugh, this one with an edge of real joy to it, and Harry said, "I never knew you could laugh during sex. Especially not with you."
Snape raised one eyebrow and slid his hand up to pinch at Harry's nipple, just to see the gasp as Harry's face went from humour to desire between heartbeats. "Believe it or not, Harry, I am more than the face I show to my students."
Harry's voice was rough as he said, "Show me more, then."
Snape leaned in for another kiss, and proceeded to oblige him. There was lubricant on the nightstand, as there was in many places in his quarters, placed there for his innumerable wanks over the boy in his arms and now to be used for better purpose. Snape slicked his cock first, not wanting to tempt himself too much before he'd felt the heat of Harry's body firsthand, as it were, and dripped the stuff over his right hand until it was shining in the candlelight. "I'll show you everything," he promised, moving off of Harry just enough to allow himself access while still able to ply the sweet mouth with kisses.
Harry gasped prettily when Snape's slick fingers slid into his crease, but it was nothing to the look of pure desire that flared up when the first one breached his body and slipped inside, long and slender. "Oh, that's... oh," said Harry, white teeth adding to the kiss-bruised look of his full lower lip as he bit down.
"Don't hold back," Snape murmured, licking at the sore spot and then kissing Harry again, his finger sliding in and out of the tight space, feeling the silk of Harry's body grasping at him, the muscles slowly relaxing. "I'm going to add another," said Snape, warning Harry just before he did so, two gliding inside nearly as easily as one.
Harry was beyond speech now, his eyes closed and head thrown back, throat bared invitingly. Snape took him up on the unconscious offer and nibbled at the white flesh while insistent fingers teased him open, adding a third when it seemed that he was ready for more.
"E-enough," Harry said, stilling Snape's hand as soon as the three fingers sank in to the knuckles. "Enough, I'm ready," he said more steadily, eyes dark with need opening up to plead for more.
Snape swallowed against a mouth gone dry and nodded. "As am I," he said, taking up his position between Harry's legs once again, sitting up this time to look down at the fulfilment of all his most dearly-held desires. Harry was pale where he wasn't flushed, his skin picking up the golden candles and silvery moon in equal measures, leaving his body limned in light. Harry's prick rose, hard and ready once again, from the nest of lush black curls at his groin, the balls below already heavy with need. Harry's legs were spread invitingly, a temptation such as Snape had never known, and even a threat of sure death would not, he suspected, stay his hand at this late juncture.
Harry's face was the greatest wonder of all, filled with lust and something that might have been affection, with a deep current of trust beneath, trust that Snape would make him feel wonderful, would take good care of him and give him exactly what he needed.
Snape positioned his cock carefully, then asked the one question he least wanted to voice. "Are you sure, Harry?"
"Yes, Severus, now," said Harry impatiently, and Snape couldn't help but smile at the impatience of youth even as he was spearing slowly into the body beneath him.
Harry's face went slack with pleasure and Snape knew his own would echo it. Harry's body tight and hot and welcoming, everything he'd long thought it never would be for him. "You're perfect," he said softly, one of the few compliments he'd ever paid the boy aloud now falling on ears deaf to anything but Harry's sweet whimpers and his own embarrassing moans. Arms reached up and Snape folded Harry nearly in half to claim a kiss, and then another as his hips began to move of their own accord.
The friction sent pleasure sparking all through him with a frisson of longing, some part of him already cataloguing everything with the expectation of never having it again. No more words were spoken, only kisses and moving bodies, whimpers and groans and panted breaths. Snape snuck a hand down between their bodies and began to stroke Harry's cock, intent on using every trick he'd learned in the past six years to bring the boy to completion before he was entirely lost.
Harry, it appeared, was nearly as lost as himself; it took far less time than Snape might have supposed to elicit a sweet cry, shuddered writhing and a flood of warm seed over his hand, and even less time before Snape was falling right after Harry into the abyss of release. He kept his eyes open through sheer bloody-mindedness, watching every nuance of expression wash over Harry's face as he felt Snape come inside him, though the pleasure sparking through Snape's veins crawled across his eyesight as well at the very height of it.
"I was right," Harry was saying as the roaring blood died down in Snape's hearing. "I'm going to die."
Snape laughed, pulling out and letting Harry's legs drop so he could gather the boy into a warm, comfortable embrace. "You're not going to die, Harry," he said, his voice warm and rich, all the bitterness leeched away by Harry's open sweetness. "I daresay you've already had your little deaths for the evening."
Harry yawned widely, cuddling up to Snape's chest shamelessly, a small, satisfied smile gracing his features. "I guess I can save fucking you for next time," he said sleepily, eyes closed on the equally sated smile resting uneasily on Snape's lips.
"I daresay you can," said Snape warmly and a little hesitantly, pressing a kiss to Harry's brow. "I'll be sure to wake us in time for you to trudge back to your tower and complain of my barbaric treatment of you," he added, hands roaming over sweat-slicked skin.
"Excellent," said Harry, though the word was punctuated by another yawn. "S'much better than copying all those cards."
The smile settled in place on Snape's face, and he stole one more kiss from Harry's lips and said, "Much better." He paused, listening to Harry's breathing even out, and joked to himself, "Though still terribly inappropriate."