A Wizard Song

Chapter 3 - There's A First Time For Everything

By Telanu

       

Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.

-- William Blake, "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell"

With his cloak on and the castle practically deserted, Harry had no trouble on his way down to the dungeons, though there was always the chance that his pounding heart might give him away to anyone who happened to be nearby. Although, judging by the silent, cold corridors surrounding him the only person nearby would probably be Snape himself. His heart skittered again at the thought.

He stopped by the classroom first, to see if Snape might still be up making preparations for the term, but the door was closed and no light shone from within. So that left the office, behind which were...Snape's quarters. Steeling himself, trying not to remember what had happened the last time he'd knocked on this door, Harry tapped as quietly as he could on the old, hard wood. A moment passed, then two; just as Harry was starting to get a rather nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach, the door swung open silently.

Nobody was standing there. Harry blinked and advanced into the darkened office, wondering if maybe Snape really was there, perhaps in an invisibility cloak himself. Then he saw the closed door at the back of the office, beyond which dim light flickered. Snape's living quarters. He gathered his wits and shut the door quietly behind him after doing one last check of the corridor to make absolutely sure Filch or Peeves weren't hanging about; nobody else would be prowling the dungeons at night.

He rapped just as quietly on the second door as he had on the first. "Come in," Snape called shortly from the other side. Harry took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and went inside.

He closed the door behind him and then stood looking over the place with a curious eye. Snape sat at a small table, book in hand, in front of a roaring fire in the grate. The only other chair in the room was on the other side of the table; an enormous bookshelf graced the opposite wall, chock full of thick, old tomes. The fire provided the only light in the room, causing the corners to extend themselves in long, sentient-looking shadows.

Lost in his inspection, Harry was badly startled to hear Snape snap, "For God's sake, take that thing off."

Whoops. He'd left on the cloak. "Sorry," Harry mumbled, quickly pulling back his hood. "I forgot I -- sorry. Um, hello."

"The whole thing, if you please," Snape said dryly. "It's disconcerting to chat with someone's disembodied head."

Fingers fumbling at the clasp, Harry had been about to stammer again when he was inspired. "I dunno. Nearly Headless Nick would be jealous." Now that he was talking to Snape directly he allowed himself a good look at his...teacher? Friend? No, not quite a friend, but...Harry stopped trying to figure it out and just looked. Snape was dressed in his usual black, the book clasped a bit tightly in his thin fingers. In the glow of firelight he looked even more forbidding, and his dark eyes were more like dark pits. Harry found himself shivering, though whether from apprehension or anticipation he couldn't be sure.

It looked like Snape had a pot of something laid out on the table, with two teacups. Harry tried not to snicker. Having a nice nighttime tea with Snape down in the dungeons -- this time last year he would have laughed at the thought. Seeing the direction of his gaze, Snape waved an irritable hand and said, "Well, sit down."

Harry sat down.

And looked at Snape expectantly.

The Potions master sighed heavily, rolled his eyes and poured Harry a cup of tea, asking with poisonous sweetness, "One lump or two?"

"Just one," Harry said, unable to keep from grinning. "I know you don't take any."

"What a long memory the child has," Snape said, and at the word "child" Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah. I suppose I do." He felt anger sparking inside him and tamped it down, aware that it partly stemmed from nerves. He couldn't let Snape bait him, not tonight. Searching for something to say that wasn't a retort, he blurted the first thing that came to mind -- a question he'd thought of when unpacking his bags. "Hey, that potion you sent me for my birthday -- um, how long does it keep?"

Snape raised an eyebrow as he pushed Harry's teacup across the table, as if refusing to let their fingers touch. Harry filed that observation away in his head. "The Somniesperus? You mean you haven't taken it yet?"

Harry shook his head. "I was hoping to save it for when I needed it." He tried a grin. "Like exams, maybe."

Snape's expression turned a bit thoughtful. "It has a fairly long shelf life for a potion," he said finally. "There have been cases where it's sat for two years and still been good, if it was brewed well. Yours should be fine. But I did intend for you to use it, not just look at it."

Harry tried not to blush. Whenever he'd had the chance he'd sneaked a look at the rosy liquid swirling so hypnotically in its phial. He'd been terribly curious, but something -- that little voice again -- was still telling him not yet, not yet. Maybe Snape really could read his mind. "I will," he assured the Potions master. "I just wanted to know. I, erm, think it'll be neat to try. Ah...thanks again." Then he was inspired again. "When's your birthday, by the way?"

That eyebrow went up once more. "December," Snape said a bit archly, taking a sip of tea and obviously not willing to divulge anything further.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Harry said sympathetically.

Snape blinked. "What?"

"I expect you get a lot of welshing on gifts -- people trying to give you something for your birthday and Christmas all in one go."

The dark eyes levelled a glare at him. "I don't get many gifts," Snape said stiffly, "and even if I did, December the fifth is sufficiently far..." then he blinked again, pinched his lips, and stared into his teacup as if furious with himself. Harry really had to work at hiding the smirk this time.

"Well, twenty days, I suppose you're right," he said airily, and took a sip of tea himself. This was kind of fun. "Thank you for the tea, it's really good. Hey, isn't this that mint kind that the headmaster -- "

"It is the only kind," Snape said through gritted teeth, "that is currently in the school stores. I'm quite sick of it myself." He sipped again, glaring back into the cup.

"Oh," Harry said, faintly surprised at the animosity Snape showed towards what was, to all appearances, a harmless beverage. "Sorry. I kind of like it, actually, and I normally hate tea..." he trailed off, aware that he would lose his temporary advantage if he gave in to nerves and started babbling. Instead he took another slow sip, letting his eyes fall shut -- and the memory came back unbidden of how Snape's mouth had tasted like this tea, months ago. His crotch twitched and Harry had to set the cup down before he gave himself away by dropping it or something.

He looked again at that closed-off face and found his gaze drawn to the set of the thin lips, clamped together tightly and limned with firelight. Quite suddenly he wanted another kiss. He wanted it terribly. The last time this had happened he'd just dived in and grabbed it, with fairly satisfactory results, but Snape was looking a lot less approachable now. Caught between desire and confusion, Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth until the rapidly fading rational part of his mind piped up.

Everything tonight -- the table with its opposite chairs, the bloody tea, even Snape himself with his irascibility and talk of "child" -- was set up to deliberately hold Harry at bay. But what the hell did that mean? He knew Snape wanted him, didn't he? His own insecurity aside, facts were facts, and those two incredible kisses definitely counted as facts. So if Snape wanted it, but was still not taking it, then...he must think it was really wrong. And in that case, wouldn't it be unethical of Harry to try and push him into anything? Unless, of course...unless Snape was waiting for Harry to come to him?

His eyes raked over that shadowed face almost desperately this time, seeking for clues. There -- the slight shifting away of the eyes. A faint hitch in the breath. One hand clenching very tightly on an unfortunate teacup.

They really were terrible at small talk, he and Snape.

He stood up from his chair and slowly made his way around the table. Snape's eyes never left him, though otherwise he made no movement. He hardly even seemed to breathe. Harry came to a halt in front of Snape's chair and reached one trembling hand to trace his finger down the hollow of a cheek; Snape gasped and seized the hand, pulling it away from his face but not letting it go. Swallowing hard, and not believing his own daring, Harry slowly sank down until he was straddling the Potions master's lap. Snape's eyes had taken on that stunned look again, one hand still clutching at Harry's, the other now clamped on the arm of his chair, white-knuckled.

"Please," Harry whispered. "You have to tell me -- if this -- " he moved his fingers against Snape's in a gentle caress, "is what you want -- " His heart was beginning to pound again, so hard it hurt in his chest.

Snape's eyes closed, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "What I want," he rasped, making no move, "and what I may have are two different things."

If Harry's heart had been pounding before, it tripped into joyful overdrive at this. He does want it, his brain gibbered, he does -- "You can have this," he said softly, bringing up his free hand to touch that thin mouth.

Snape didn't open his eyes, but a delicate shudder ran through his body. His lips moved slowly against the pad of Harry's finger. "I..."

"Just a kiss," Harry whispered, his voice going hoarse as he named his desire. "We've done that much already, haven't we?" He leaned in and brushed his lips lightly over Snape's forehead, and they both shuddered this time. "It -- it can't hurt anything..." A soft kiss on the cheek. "Just one. And then...if you like...I'll go. I'll -- "

The scent of the man was making him dizzy, that mixture of almonds and Snape and something else now -- arousal, he recognized it from the times he'd smelled it on himself this summer. The heat between their bodies made his head swim. So it was with a kind of dazed surprise that he felt fingertips, warm from a teacup, suddenly gripping his chin and pulling his face down and forward, another hand cupping the back of his head, and then it was happening.

Oh, God. Harry would have said it out loud if his mouth hadn't been busy. Yes, it was exactly as he remembered it, right down to the flavour of the tea and the rough softness of that tongue that pried his lips apart. His own eyes fluttered closed and he sank into the kiss with shaking abandon, wrapping his newly-freed arms around Snape's neck, feeling the other man's hands leaving his face and moving, one to wrap around his waist, the other around his shoulders, savagely pulling him close. And that mouth. He couldn't keep up. One second Snape was tickling at his palate, then pulling back to bite softly at his lower lip (much as Harry himself had done earlier), and then leaning back in to move their tongues together in a long, slow slide that made Harry's hips wriggle helplessly. He was already getting hard, and positioned as they were Snape had to feel it, especially with the way Harry was squirming. Don't let him stop, he begged whomever might be listening, not yet, not yet, please...

Snape, however, showed no signs of stopping; Harry's promise of "just one kiss" appeared to have escaped both their minds. One kiss melted into two melted into three melted into four, and after that Harry lost count -- probably because he forgot how to count altogether. Instead his mind focused on the hot hand that moved from his waist to slide slowly up and down his back, to slip under his shirt and touch his skin for the first time, drifting a finger lightly up and down his spine. Harry shivered and moaned softly, forgetting how to breathe through his nose (as the book had advised him to do), tearing their mouths apart to gasp. The fingers were so warm, and -- and if he bent his head back like so, maybe Snape would kiss his neck like he had last -- oh, yes, just like that. He felt the hot brush of lips for one tantalizing second at the base of his throat, followed by a surprisingly sharp nip; then the lips formed an O and began sucking softly. Harry's hands clutched at the black-clad shoulders, fingers fisting in the material of Snape's robe, as he cried out softly, hips jerking again.

Snape's hands moved to Harry's hips, and Harry tensed, waiting for them to clench down and force him to be still, like they had last time; what they did instead very nearly made him scream. Snape parted his own legs a bit under Harry, then pulled down roughly, bringing their hips together to rub. Harry could feel his breath choking and rasping in his throat as those strong hands moved him so slowly, up and down, against an equal hardness that about drove him crazy even through their many layers of clothes. He really did cry out when the hands moved from his hips to cup his arse, squeezing gently and causing his vision to swim.

This was bloody -- oh God yes, please do that again -- incredible. What would it be like without clothes? The mind boggled. Harry twisted his head away to the side and then back down to Snape's mouth for another kiss, raising his hands to cup the Potions master's face and trying to take a bit of initiative of his own this time, hoping he'd got the hang of it by now. Judging by the second convulsive squeeze on his arse, he had. His hands dropped down to struggle with the first button on Snape's collar, and then the second, and then the third, and then the --

Good God, how many buttons could one man wear? Harry paused in his kiss to stare in dismay at the seemingly infinite line of the things that proceeded down the front of the black suit-like...thing Snape always wore under his robe. This could take him hours, at the rate his clumsy hot fingers were fumbling around. Snape, lips reddened and starting to bruise, stared up at him dazedly. "What...?"

"Help," Harry blurted, tugging at the fourth button to explain his predicament, and then gesturing down at all the rest of them. The dark eyes were starting to clear. Oh, hell, this had been a bad move, because it had obviously given Snape time to regroup and think.

"Harry," he rasped, and Harry couldn't help but thrill to the word, "are you sure -- think very carefully -- "

"I'm sure," Harry replied fervently, and he was. "I mean...I'm not ready yet to do, um, some things, but, but other things I want to do," he stole another kiss from that panting mouth, "right now -- "

"You have to tell me," Snape interrupted through gritted teeth, "what exactly it is you think you are ready to do."

Harry felt his face heat up about three shades' worth of red. Oh, he did not want to stop and have this conversation now. There had been a whole section on Dirty Talk, but he was pretty sure he'd never be able to --

"I want you to touch me," he gasped. "I want to touch you. I want, I need -- I want for us to c-come..." Had he really said that?

Judging by the sudden heat in Snape's eyes, he really had. He was tugged down into another kiss, and Harry gratefully abandoned the clumsy words for touches instead, sliding his hands hesitantly up and down the older man's chest, feeling the rapid stutter of Snape's heartbeat under his palm.

The kiss ended and Snape whispered darkly in his ear, "You wish to come? My dear Mr. Potter," a soft bite at the side of Harry's neck, "I can promise you that." He blew lightly over the dampened patch of flesh, causing Harry to whimper and wriggle again. "But this is not really the place...is it?" Another bite.

Harry wasn't too sure of that. Another rub of those hips and this might be exactly the place. He responded with another whimper, amazed at the noises that came out of his mouth totally without his volition. A final squeeze to his arse, a hot exhalation against his neck, and Snape whispered, in the voice of a man who has made up his mind, "Get up."

Harry dizzily staggered to his feet, all too aware of his erection hanging heavy and awkward between his legs -- and which strangely did not diminish when Snape gave it a searing glance from the chair before he too rose.

This was the first time they'd ever kissed standing up.

From there it was a kind of weird, stumbling dance backwards into the bedroom, Harry clinging to Snape like a limpet, trying not to be a dead weight but rendered pretty much helpless by the quick, fleeting touches Snape stole in between long, hot kisses. (Harry was glad for this -- he'd wondered how you got into a lover's bedroom, did you just follow him, or did you hold hands, or what? This approach was far more satisfactory.) At one point they had to pause to lean against the doorpost so Snape could finish yanking Harry's shirt over his head while Harry made it all the way to the last button, leaving the waistcoat to fall open and expose the white shirt beneath.

"You know," Harry babbled, mind flying back to, of all places, the water queue at the World Cup and old Archie dressed in his Muggle nightgown, "not all wizards wear as many clothes as you..."

"I'll keep that in mind," Snape breathed as he paused to stare down at Harry's bared chest while he shrugged out of the waistcoat. For an instant, his eyes softened, and then he drew Harry in for a surprisingly gentle kiss, licking lightly at the abused lips. After the wild kisses of a moment before, Harry was astonished at the difference in feeling; this made a much slower, more delicate glow creep up in tendrils all through his body, and he shivered, throwing his arms around his lover, shaking at the increase of body heat now that they were minus a few layers of clothes. If Snape would take that shirt off...then he would really know what it was like, would know how it was to feel someone else's skin all up and down his own...the thought was almost unbearably exciting, and he moaned, his trousers getting even more uncomfortable.

Snape moved them away from the doorframe, and Harry, still kissing him, felt his own feet taking backwards steps until the backs of his thighs ran into something and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed, almost sliding off again. Snape easily caught him at his waist and pushed him back down on the mattress, climbing up himself and looming over Harry, eyes raking up and down his supine body with an almost crazed look in them -- though it was difficult to tell. It was a bit darker in here, the fireplace was smaller, and Harry's glasses were already a bit skewed from the hasty removal of his shirt. They were the next thing Snape took off, placing them on a bedside table, and Harry's vision blurred instantly. He hadn't thought about that before.

Of course, he reflected not two seconds later as a hot hand lazily trailed down his chest and stomach, he seemed unable to keep his eyes open for very long anyway. Two long fingers insinuated themselves inside the waistband of his trousers, and he lifted his hips with a soft cry, eyes opening again to see what looked, fuzzily, like a smirk on Snape's face. Then those fingers were tugging his zip down and he forgot how to think again, forgot everything as his corduroys were gently slid down to his thighs, their rough rasp an unbearable caress on his hot skin, and his underwear was just as softly (if a bit more stickily) peeled away.

And then he was exposed. Snape was looking at...it. It wasn't as if nobody had seen it before, but nobody had ever really looked at it, not like this! Harry swallowed hard, his legs instinctively drawing together and hands fluttering down to cover himself shyly, but Snape caught the hands, pulled them away, and bent in for another long, slow kiss. Then Harry felt one long finger lightly trace his left nipple, and he cried out softly. The tracing turned to gentle pinching and twisting. Oh. He'd read about that, and had tried touching them once or twice, but it hadn't felt like...oh. His breath was beginning to sob in his throat as his erection became agonising between his legs. "Muh-more," he panted against Snape's mouth, though he didn't know more what.

Then Snape moved to brush his mouth so very lightly over Harry's chin, down his jaw, his throat, over his collarbone, down the middle of his thin chest. Harry stared up at the darkened ceiling, dimly aware of a continuous low keening coming from his own throat that he had absolutely no control over, trying not to come from those soft kisses alone. His hips were writhing, beginning to buck desperately up into the empty air; a stray breeze could probably set him off now. How had he ever thought he could last? Snape hadn't even touched him -- they weren't even undressed yet -- and he was still about to ...

A hot, raspy tongue lapped at the teased nipple, and Harry abruptly became certain that he was going to die. He wailed, back arching up, as the tongue laved him roughly over and over again, and then teeth nipped very lightly at the stiffened tip. One of his hands fisted in the bedclothes and the other grabbed blindly at Snape's back, digging his fingernails in through the shirt's fabric. "Please!" he gasped. "Oh, please! Please..."

And then, oh dear God, he felt soft fingertips stroking his damp inner thighs, just centimetres away from his testicles -- he could feel the heat from that hand. "You like this," Snape muttered darkly, leaning to suck another hickey to life just under the nipple, "like this..."

"Oh...oh, God...oh my God..." Harry's head began to toss back and forth on the bed, his fingers clutching even harder at Snape's back. He was close, so close, and he wanted it so much -- but he didn't want to ruin it, he didn't want things to be over so soon, they had to slow down -- "Please, I'm too...if you touch me I'll..."

"I know," Snape breathed against his skin, fingers still continuing that absolutely tortuous massage. "I wonder...even if I didn't touch you, would you come for me?" He leaned back up to kiss a stunned Harry again, murmuring against his lips, "It would have been...so easy last time. You don't know," bite, "how tempted I was. A few more seconds and you would have come, all over us and the bed..." He moved and bent to rumble softly in Harry's ear, "If I had just let you rub against me for a moment longer, I could have had that...and God, how I wanted..."

Harry's vision was sparkling again, and his thighs were trembling in the effort not to give in and spend himself. "I did t-too," he croaked.

"Then come for me now," Snape whispered, and Harry sobbed, feeling hot tears gather in the corners of his eyes. "Give me that, Harry. Am I the first one to do this to you?"

Harry dimly sensed the urgency behind that question, but couldn't exactly pause to analyse it right now. "Y-yes," he cried, "but...it's too soon, I'll..."

"You'll come more than once tonight," Snape murmured darkly, biting at an earlobe. "I'll make sure of that."

Those fingers were drawing ever nearer, millimetre by tortuous millimetre, and Harry's reason was giving its last gasp before he plummeted into the hot madness that beckoned him. Oh, God, it was going to be huge, he could practically feel it in his teeth he was trembling so hard -- "All over...your clothes...!" he finally managed, hips bucking and twisting independently of his brain.

But the expression in Snape's eyes grew even hotter, and Harry almost blacked out, both from the promise they held and the tension seizing his body. "Yes," Snape hissed softly, "all over them." No longer slow, his fingers abruptly slid to caress the tops of Harry's thighs, and then he brought one hand up to lick his palm -- before wrapping it firmly around the pulsing cock. "Now."

Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Snape's hot, tight and wet grip got in perhaps two strokes before Harry was arching off the bed, coming so hard that he actually screamed, strings of ejaculate reaching all the way to his chin. It was so intense that his legs drew up and he could feel his stomach muscles clench while his body doubled around that hand. He was...doing this in front of somebody else...because of somebody else, because of Snape and not his own hand...this had never felt so good, he'd never touched himself like this before, stroking all the way through it instead of stopping, making shock after shock after shock rack his body. He could hear his voice in time with his pulse: "Ah...ah...ah..."

When it finally faded, and that incredible hand drew away from his sensitised flesh, Harry's muscles turned to soup and he slumped back down, gasping and sobbing, afraid he was going to pass out. Shaking all over, vision swimming and sparkling from the tears in his eyes, he half-blindly opened his arms and tugged at Snape's shirt, which had got rather messy indeed. He couldn't process any sort of coherent thought, but there was a distinct feeling of relief when two long, thin arms folded around him and drew him close. Harry clung to his lover's shoulders again, wishing he weren't trembling quite so much, but unable to stop.

Long fingers were lightly tracing his stomach, slowly rubbing the come into his skin, then lifting so that Snape could lick them and get the taste. Snape's eyes closed briefly and he trembled; watching, Harry moaned again.

"Are you all right?" that dark voice asked, and beneath the concern Harry could hear the heated rasp. Snape had enjoyed that too, then? Oh, yes...judging by the bulge pressing into his thigh Snape had definitely enjoyed that.

"Yes," he gasped into the curve of the other man's throat, finally loosening his death grip on those shoulders. He tried to move again and found he was a bit limited by the fact that his trousers and underpants were still tangled around his calves. Thank God he was far too relaxed to feel embarrassed about anything now. Bloody hell, that had been...hmm, he should probably tell Snape that. "It's never felt like that before," he breathed, and felt Snape take a deep breath, then release it shakily. "Um," he added, and plucked at the shirt, "can we finish taking these off now?"

A few seconds later his shoes had been yanked off and four hands, two quick and trembling and two slow and dreamy, slid the rest of his clothes all the way off. Then the hands went to work on Snape's shirt buttons, and soon the white material had joined the other clothes scattered all over the floor. Harry stared in fascination at the bared skin; Snape didn't have much more chest hair than he did, though it was much darker and narrowed into a fine line that ran down his stomach. He discovered it was soft too, when he ran a cautious fingertip down to the navel.

Snape hissed, and next thing Harry knew he was lying flat on his back on the mattress again, only this time he was covered by a warm, long body. And that skin was finally, finally against his. Good thing he'd come already...so close and warm and... "Ah," he gasped, and parted his legs so that Snape could settle his hips between them, giving a brief rub of his groin into Harry's stomach. A quick kiss that left Harry a bit dizzy, and then Snape reached under his pillow, muttering, "Just a minute."

He pulled out his wand -- the new one he'd mentioned to Harry over the summer in one of his letters. Harry blinked in confusion. What did he want it for now? Before his foggy brain could get any further than the question, Snape slowly waved his wand over Harry's torso and murmured, "Abstersi." Harry blinked again as the rapidly-drying semen on his stomach, along with the bit that had got on Snape's, vanished. Oh, well, he could see how that would have been a problem.

"Sorry to kill the mood," Snape murmured, setting the wand aside with a hand that shook only slightly. "But I don't fancy...well, never mind..." And bent in for another, much longer kiss before Harry could reply.

This was really nice, Harry reflected dimly as he shifted his hips and bent his knees to accommodate Snape more comfortably, timidly trailing his hands up and down the bone-ridged back. Snape was thin -- not athletic thin, but underfed-looking thin. Well, that made two of them, he supposed; Harry could feel every bump on the spine, the shifting shoulderblades -- oh, that felt like a sensitive spot. He shyly stroked over it again, and was rewarded with a soft moan and Snape cupping his face in both hands to steal more, ever deeper kisses. Harry was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Snape was a really great kisser. Granted, his other experience was limited to Fred and George, but he was pretty sure he could make the call on this by now. So soft and warm and wet, and slow and quick at the same time somehow, and the fading flavour of tea. And their bare chests brushing together, though Snape wouldn't put his whole weight on Harry, and the gently-rocking hips...

Oh dear. He was already getting hard again.

Judging by the soft sound Snape made in his throat, he'd realised it too. Harry squirmed, a bit embarrassed, and tried to pull away from the kiss -- though what kind of apology he was planning to stammer, he wasn't sure -- but Snape wouldn't let him, diving in for yet another kiss, making that growling sound again that caused Harry to shiver all over. His hands began to move, from cupping Harry's face to trailing up and down his sides, not enough to tickle but enough to make him squirm even more. One darted up to pluck at a nipple again, and Harry gasped; it looked like rest time was over. The other hand moved to Harry's bent leg, stroking tortuously lightly up and down the back of a thigh, occasionally scraping with fingernails and earning a shiver every time. Harry tried to return the favour while he still had some of his mind left, stroking the long back again, moving to caress the arms -- this was kind of complicated, what with trying to focus on the kiss at the same time -- maybe if he tried --

Now Snape pulled back from the kiss, a faintly exasperated expression on his face. "I never thought I'd say this to you," he said dryly, "but you're thinking too much." A thumb stroked the side of Harry's flushing face. "Relax."

Easy for you to say, Harry thought indignantly, but he was being kissed again, the way he liked best -- had Snape worked that out already? -- and he suddenly didn't want to argue any more. Huh. All those fights they'd had, and all Snape had to do to shut him up was...long fingers brushed back down his thigh, and his whole body jerked, mind going blessedly blank again. Oh, mmm, he loved the way he was being curled gently against the other man, cradled between a warm body above and a soft mattress below. And best of all, there was no one to come and interrupt them this time...no fear of discovery...they had all the time in the world...he slid his hands back up into that cool wash of dark hair, now damp with sweat, stroking lightly and not even thinking about it this time.

Snape moaned and murmured something that sounded like "Better," but Harry had already forgotten what he was referring to. Their hips rocked again, and Harry whimpered at the contact of his half-hard, sensitised cock against the material of Snape's trousers. His hands fell down from his lover's hair to his waistline, tugging at the offending clothing.

"Patience," Snape purred, and rubbed Harry's nipples again with his thumbs until Harry shivered all over and keened.

"Not...fair," Harry managed, leaning up and nuzzling desperately into the long pale curve of neck. "I'm...and you're not."

"Mmm," Snape acknowledged, sucking in his breath as Harry, suddenly intrigued by his own explorations, began to plant soft, experimental first kisses across his collarbone. "That's...good. I mean, true. But why you should...oh...want to see me without my clothes on is...beyond...me ah!"

Harry stroked his fingertip lightly over Snape's dark nipple again, feeling like his face was on fire, but enjoying his lover's reaction. "You like that?" he murmured shyly. At Snape's wordless nod, he touched again, and then pinched lightly. "Um. More?" he asked. Another nod, accompanied by a gulp for air; Harry swallowed hard himself, and then bent forward and brushed his lips over one of the pebbled nubs.

It earned him a low, hoarse "Oh," followed by a quick, cupping hand on his arse. Gaining courage, Harry darted his tongue out against the nipple in a quick flick, and then, so very gently, scraped his teeth over just the tip. Snape's hips jerked. He gave it another soft bite; then, uncertainly, he pursed his lips softly over it and began to suck. Snape was moaning now, low and continuous, and he, Harry, was doing something that made somebody else feel so good -- not just somebody else, but a lover -- Snape!

Maybe it was time to leave a few marks of his own?

Heart pounding and trembling, Harry moved away from the nipple and placed his lips directly in the centre of that skinny chest. Then he began to suck again, a bit harder, quivering with delight when Snape moaned again. He likes it! He likes it... After a few more moments of sucking and licking, and the occasional nibble, Harry bestowed a final kiss and pulled back to survey his work. There; glistening under a fine sheen of sweat and spit was a purpling bruise in a vague O-shape. Harry beamed.

Then he heard a sound that he could have sworn was a chuckle, but when he looked up Snape's face was as bland as ever, if a little flushed. "You do realise," the Potions master drawled, lightly tracing one of the hickeys on Harry's own chest, "that we're going to have to get rid of these?"

Harry's face fell, but he quickly pushed the thought away. Maybe he could persuade Snape otherwise later...after all who was going to see the marks? He had a whole week before he'd be showering with anybody else. And in the meantime -- he tugged at the trousers again. "Would you please -- "

A sigh. "As you wish." They worked together to get the shiny black shoes pulled off, then the socks; then Harry went at the trouser buttons with such enthusiasm that Snape had to still his busy hands and show him how to ease trousers down over an erection without causing undue pain and suffering. The trousers were dropped to the floor, and the next thing Harry knew --

"You...you don't wear underwear?" he asked weakly.

"Very observant," Snape muttered, leaning back on his elbows on the bed and actually flushing a little while Harry frankly stared. It was...not exactly like a banana. Bigger than his, longer, thin like the rest of Snape, circumcised. And at the moment it was reddened, almost purple at the tip, full and heavy with arousal. Harry was dazed. Because of me? I did that? He reached out one trembling hand, hoping and praying that instinct was going to see him through this one, because memory of his studies had totally blanked. And then he hesitated, looking up at Snape through lowered lashes. "Can I...?"

"Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?" Snape hissed, breathing more rapidly than ever. Harry blushed with embarrassment, and Snape added a bit more gently (if still through clenched teeth), "Yes. I'd...like that."

Trying to keep his hand from shaking, Harry touched the hard length with slow, deliberate fingertips, trailing up and down, getting used to the texture and fascinated by the sudden hitch in Snape's breath. It felt good, like and unlike touching himself, without the shifting of foreskin under his fingers. And it was warm and hard and...without realising it, Harry shifted from stroking to curling his fingers around the erection, watching precome beginning to gather at the tip.

He only got to explore for a few more moments when Snape sat up, gasped "Enough," and seized Harry's hand, pulling it away. Harry, who'd fallen into a bit of a trance, looked up, startled, into Snape's face; the black eyes glittered, the cheeks were red, and the thin lips were wet, as if Snape had been licking them. Harry gasped and leaned in, tilting his head for another kiss. Those thin arms wrapped back around him and they fell back down onto the mattress, but Harry barely registered that, because for the first time, at bloody last, they were both naked and pressed all up against each other. Harry cried out into his lover's mouth, clinging tightly and wrapping his legs around one of Snape's, body suddenly shifting in an ecstasy of luxurious movement. Hot skin, it was all over his own and there was so much of it, his cock pressed firmly into the smoothness of a hip, Snape's own arousal a brand against his stomach...

He broke away to gasp, "Oh...it's so good...how can..." his hips jerked again and he moaned before continuing, "how can you stop? Why don't...why don't people...oh...do this all the time?" Because he wouldn't have stopped for anything. Voldemort could have -- hell, Dumbledore could have walked in and Harry would have told him to sod off.

Snape didn't answer, but he was making that growling sound again, tracing the nape of Harry's neck with his fingers and it felt so unbelievably good. Harry tilted his head back, moaning for more, sobbing out loud when another hand began to stroke with small, spidery touches at the small of his back, not quite touching his arse. It was...so sensitive...he'd never known...yes, yes, a series of sharp, hot bites down his throat, that was perfect...

Snape paused in his nibbling to sigh and nuzzle again. "So responsive," he murmured, his voice guttural, "I wondered if..." Then he stopped talking, but before a suddenly curious Harry could prompt him further, he began to stroke Harry's cock in turn. Harry's fingernails dug into Snape's back once more, this time meeting unprotected flesh, but his lover didn't seem to mind. Harry's whole body bent in a bow as he began to shake; the caresses were different this time, designed to tease him instead of bring him off, and it was working brilliantly. He'd never touched himself like that either, so lightly. The wicked fingers slid down to stroke consideringly over his balls, and Harry sobbed again. "Good?" Snape whispered, and Harry could practically hear the smirk, but he was in no condition to retaliate. He couldn't even remember his own name.

It abruptly got much worse. Or better, depending on your point of view. Snape stopped the maddening stroking, but began kissing down his chest again. This time he didn't stop at the nipples, but instead continued straight down Harry's pale, smooth stomach, lingering at the sensitive places his hands had already found. Harry squirmed and moaned while his navel got licked, and almost levitated himself off the bed when Snape bent to nuzzle around in the hollow of one hip. Oh Lord, he -- was, was Snape really going to --

The hot breath paused just above his throbbing erection, and after a couple of moments of inactivity, Harry shakily propped himself up on his elbows to see what was going on. To his astonishment, when he met those dark eyes, they were...sparkling? Well, okay, maybe not sparkling, but there was definitely some kind of mischief-like expression that Harry'd never have dreamed Snape could pull off. The things you learned when you were naked.

"Well?" that velvet voice asked softly, with perhaps the faintest undertone of teasing. "Can I?"

Harry's breath stuttered and died in his chest, and he merely nodded frantically, feeling his eyes go as big as dinner plates.

Snape's lips twitched. "Sit up."

"W-what?" Harry croaked, but obeyed, though the next warm gust of breath over his cock made it very difficult to move properly. When he was sitting up, Snape murmured, "Scoot," and Harry scooted, excited and bewildered, to sit on the edge of the bed.

Then Snape slid off the bed and, God, knelt down in front of Harry, whose mind promptly stopped working altogether. Snape gripped his hips again with strong hands and holding them firmly. While Harry struggled not to pass out, or come again, or both, the Potions master bent and pressed a soft kiss on one thigh. His sallow cheek brushed against Harry's erection for one tantalising moment before he pulled away again. "Try to hold still," he whispered, and then pressed the hot pad of his tongue to the tip of Harry's cock, trailing it slowly down.

Harry yelled something. He wasn't sure what, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that Snape had a very strong grip on his hips, which was good because at the touch of that tongue his hips had bucked beyond his control. Rough and hot and wet and so perfect. All the way down to the base...and then back up, as slow and leisurely as you please, and Harry couldn't move, and he was going to go utterly out of his mind...his hands caught and scrabbled at the sheets, before lifting shakily to stroke through Snape's hair. The sight of that dark head moving between his legs was almost enough to set him off, and Harry had to close his eyes, trying to concentrate on the soft strands moving through his fingers.

Then the tongue drew away, leaving the air to cool his heated flesh for a split second -- before the head of his cock was engulfed in wet warmth. Harry howled, his hands tightening cruelly before he regained enough presence of mind to yank them away, stuffing one fist in his mouth to keep from screaming again. Snape didn't seem to mind the rough treatment, although he did pause long enough to reach up and drag Harry's hand back down from his mouth.

"No one else is down here," he panted, face flushed and dark eyes glassy. "Make as much noise as you like...I want to hear you..." and before Harry could become all self-conscious, he dipped his head and opened his mouth again, sliding the soft pad of lips and tongue slowly up and down the shaft. Harry heard another wail forcing its way out of his throat, but he couldn't do a thing to prevent it, and besides, if making noise would make sure Snape kept doing that and never, ever stopped, then Harry would scream the castle down. Whatever it took.

Then Snape stopped sliding and began sucking, and it was no longer a question of whether or not Harry would make noise, but how much noise he would make. His body curled forward around the dark head in his lap, short, sharp cries piercing the air as the warm suction, drawing his cock in ever deeper, seemed to pull the orgasm out of him. Finally, dimly remembering something he'd read, Harry made a fleeting grasp for manners and moaned, "It's...I'm...I'm coming -- "

Snape tightened his grip so hard on Harry's hip that there would be bruises later, and instead of pulling away, hummed softly. The vibrations around his erection nearly sent Harry into the stratosphere, and his throat was hoarse from his cries, and this time the world really did go dark for a moment. He hadn't thought, after that last one, that he'd be able to come like this again...

When he opened his eyes, a glass was being pressed against his lips, and he drank whatever was in it automatically. It turned out to be water, and its coolness soothed his scratchy throat. He looked blearily up into Snape's face as the Potions master took a sip himself. Harry blushed to recognize the whitish smear on Snape's chin. He still couldn't quite believe this was all real, but seeing that certainly helped.

"Are you going to make a habit out of this?" Snape asked dryly, putting the glass down on the nightstand and settling down beside Harry, drawing him into his arms once more. "Fainting, I mean?"

Harry blushed darker. "I didn't faint," he said defensively. "I just...erm."

Snape looked a bit amused -- that is, unless you looked more closely into his eyes and found the fire still smouldering there. Harry realised with some embarrassment that he'd neglected his lover; he'd come twice himself, but had barely touched Snape. Not that he'd had a lot of choice, but still. He didn't want to be selfish.

His eyes drifted down the thin chest, now shining with sweat, to where the hard cock lay against one thigh. He licked his lips, barely hearing Snape's sharp intake of breath. Should he…but he didn't really know how…maybe he'd better just ask. "What would you like?" he asked, feeling absurdly shy considering that they were wrapped up all naked together.

Snape swallowed hard. "I…er. No. If you don't…you should not feel compelled to…" He was trembling slightly.

Harry fought to keep from rolling his eyes, and won. "I don't." He wriggled backwards out of Snape's grasp so that he could take a good look at the body next to his, now splayed out and naked on the bed; for the first time he was coherent enough to appreciate it, although Snape squirmed and didn't seem entirely comfortable with the scrutiny. He forced himself to take his eyes off the penis, although it was undeniably fascinating, in favour of looking at the whole picture. Dark, dark…in the low light, Snape's eyes and hair seemed to be part of the shadows, and his face looked more olive than sallow. The skin of his body was surprisingly pale, almost the colour of cream, and Harry noticed with some surprise that only his face and hands were yellowish, a startling gradation of shade. Those dark robes tended to cover everything else, of course -- was the sallow skin what happened when Snape went out in the sun? Except he so rarely did…maybe it was the effect of all those potion fumes or something.

Suddenly, something occurred to him and he scooted farther back. "Shove over. I want to see it. Your scar."

To his surprise, Snape went pale, and his eyes narrowed in anger. He hissed, "You've seen it. I should have thought once would've been enough."

Harry blinked. "Well, yeah, but it was kind of…gross, then. And I wasn't exactly in a position to appreciate it." He tugged impatiently at Snape's ankle. "C'mon, turn your leg, give us a look."

Snape's face went from furious to bewildered in a heartbeat. "My…leg?"

"Yes, your leg, where else?" Harry demanded impatiently. Why was Snape looking at him like he had a puffskein getting up his nose? Then it hit him, and he winced at his own utter stupidity, looking at Snape apologetically. "…oh. You must have thought. No. I don't want to see…the Mark. You're right. I have seen that. I…I wouldn't ask you to." He knew it was there, waiting pale and quiescent on that thin arm, nearly invisible, easy to miss if you weren't looking. But now was probably not the time for that. Maybe never. Snape wasn't a Death Eater any more, not even a spy, and Harry knew that better than just about anyone, especially after last term.

Not to say he wasn't eaten up with curiosity about a lot of things concerning that particular Dark Mark, but…not now, Potter!

"Then what on earth," Snape was asking acidly, "are you on about?"

Harry sighed. "The scar on your leg. From first year. You know -- when Fluffy bit you."

"As if I could ever forget that carnivorous monstrosi…Fluffy?"

While Snape gaped at him, Harry succeeded in pushing his legs apart so he could see the thin white lines on the inside of Snape's calf. "Fluffy," he repeated firmly, and then shocked them both as he bent to plant a soft kiss on the scar. Down by the ankles, the hair on Snape's legs was darker, coarser, and it rubbed against Harry's lips in a not-unpleasant way as he brushed them lightly up and down. It seemed fitting somehow -- just went to show how wrong Harry'd been about so many things. He hadn't been trying to get the Stone. He wanted to stop Quirrell. To protect all of us…including me.

Time to thank him.

Harry wasn't sure why the thought was such a turn-on, but it was a damned good thing he'd come twice already. He raised his head and looked feverishly up at Snape, who appeared kind of smudgy when not viewed through spectacles, before sliding up the long body again, glorying in the press of skin and gasping when his stomach brushed against the hot cock. He bent to kiss Snape, shivering when long arms wrapped round him and held him close. Heat. Warmth. Make him feel good.

He pulled their lips apart with reluctance, hearing with pleasure Snape's gasp of protest, and enjoying the shivers going up and down the long body below him. "Your turn," he said, managing not to blush again as he kissed the long throat. His fingers began lightly tracing ribs and belly as he hummed softly in his throat and bent to press his lips against the hickey on Snape's chest again. "What do you want?" he asked again, but Snape only moaned and looked flummoxed.

Well, that was nice, and flattering, but it didn't leave much room for guidance. Harry took a deep breath and decided to go for it. Snape would tell him if he did it wrong, he was certain. He kissed the hickey again, trying to calm his nervous trembling, and then began to kiss a path down the lean stomach. Snape must have realised his intent because he moaned again. Harry reached the navel and let himself get distracted for a moment, swirling his tongue inside and blinking at the salty, furry texture on his tongue. Snape's breathing hitched. That was fun. Harry kept on kissing his way down.

And then…Remember the bananas! Harry tried not to laugh hysterically at the memory of his summer studies, which now seemed so inadequate. Laughter would…not be a good thing right now. Keeping a tight lid on his nerves, or at least as much as he could, Harry reached for the cock again, licking his lips nervously. He stroked it with his fingertips a few times, getting himself accustomed to the texture, the heat. He'd tasted himself, over the summer, a couple of times -- there was a drop of liquid welling at the tip. He dabbed it with his finger and brought it to his lips, hearing Snape's laboured breaths change to panting noises. It tasted bitter, a little different from his own and would probably take a while to get used to. And his mouth felt like sandpaper, and his tongue felt too big, and why hadn't he ever realised how sharp and clumsy his teeth were before --

Harry bent to lick the straining head before he could think about it any more. A sharp cry rent the air and he closed his eyes in pleasure. Fellatio might not taste great, but it sounded nice. And now he knew it felt nice too. It was intoxicating to know that Snape was feeling the same things now that Harry had -- wonderful to know just how good that could be from his own experience. He did his best to adjust to the sticky, salty bitterness and licked carefully all over the head, and then down the shaft, darting swipes of his tongue, to where the flavour was less sharp. Snape's hips were shifting restlessly under him, and he tried to steady his lover with his hands but couldn't quite manage it. He stopped licking for a moment and said crossly, "Hold still."

"Trying. Can't," Snape gasped. "Oh…"

"Well, you'll -- " poke me in the eye with that thing. Oh, no, he couldn't say that. He'd laugh and it would all be ruined. So Harry bit his lip, then licked it and set to again, opening his mouth over the cockhead and gingerly sucking once. Was that all right? Snape's whole body shuddered and his head fell back, mouth open, so it was probably good. Harry sucked again, and again, remembering to use his hands on the bits he couldn't reach with his mouth. Gentle…be gentle…

"Harder," Snape rasped.

…be less gentle. Harry remembered how good that strong suction had felt on him, and did his best to replicate it, being very careful with his teeth. It was really hard what with trying not to drool. He was going to need a lot of practice. Hopefully Snape wouldn't mind. Harry opened his mouth wider and relaxed his throat like he'd practised doing all summer, but still couldn't get much more in. Then he began to suck harder.

"Oh!"

That sounded like a positive noise. But before Harry could register anything else, strong fingers were twining in his hair and tugging upwards - had he done it wrong? He released the cock from his mouth, now shining wet with spit and pre-come, and tried not to pucker his lips at the lingering taste. "Close," Snape gasped, and Harry nodded in gratitude, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around the erection as he kissed Snape's chest again. He just wasn't used to it yet - swallowing, yuck. That would take practice too. But he would do it eventually, he decided firmly, because it had felt so good when Snape had done it to him, and he wanted to return the favour, wanted Snape to cry out his name. Keeping his hand's rhythm steady, he felt his lover's hand cup the back of his skull and bring him up for another burning kiss. Oh, that was good. Snape's kisses could melt him like wax.

Their lips slowly parted with a soft, prickling sound, Snape's hips moving steadily with Harry's hand now, and Harry looked at him through soft, half-lidded eyes. "I love the way you kiss me," he said dreamily, his voice husky in his own ears.

Snape's eyes went wide; then the lean hips bucked up once, twice, and he came with a hoarse groan, clutching at Harry's back as his eyes fell shut. Harry watched, fascinated, as the lean face transformed into a grimace of pleasure so intense it looked like pain - had he looked like that? Amazing, wonderful, to see that cold, closed-off face turn soft, to watch it slip into unguarded delight, if only for a few minutes…And I did that, Harry thought, enormously proud of himself. I did it to him…

Snape's spasms eventually stopped, after he had thoroughly coated the both of them with white goo. Harry didn't mind a bit, but knew Snape would, so he handed him his wand. Snape mumbled a faint "Abstersi," the mess vanished, and then he collapsed back down on the mattress, bringing Harry with him.

They lay together for a few moments after that, still clasped tightly together and panting. Harry stared dreamily up at the ceiling, wondering absently if he'd ever move again, but not much caring one way or the other. He'd never felt so content in his life.

He hoped Snape felt the same, he reflected, drawing his fingers again through the black mop of hair resting on his shoulder. Snape still appeared to be recovering from his orgasm, which was hopefully a good sign. It appeared they were done, at least for now, but his lover hadn't said anything yet.

Harry kept one hand in the dark hair, and let his other wander down to stroke across the surprisingly soft expanse of skin that stretched over Snape's bony shoulder-blades. Soft, and warm. Yes, with the fire still going in the grate and all the heat they'd generated, this bed was now a decidedly toasty place.

...The bed. Harry blinked, realising for the first time that he hadn't really paused to look at the room since he'd come in. He'd been too distracted with more important things. Now he slowly turned his head this way and that, his imperfect vision taking in what few details there were: that nightstand, a bureau, a desk covered with scrolls and books and quills, a rather threadbare rug before the hearth. The bed itself was big enough for two people to roll around comfortably, but it looked pretty old, and had no curtains around it. Off to the left was another door which presumably led to the bath. That was all.

Harry marveled, continuing to stroke Snape, whose breathing was beginning to even out at last. For a man who was supposedly rich, Snape didn't seem to have many nice things. Even his robes, while in fine condition, looked to be several years old. And yet, from what he'd heard at the Burrow, the Snapes had always been very wealthy indeed -- maybe even more wealthy, he'd heard with vicious delight, than the Malfoys. (Ron, of course, had been far less delighted.) So what all did Snape spend his money on? There wasn't a single luxury in sight. Maybe he bought lots of potions ingredients or something? But no, wouldn't the school pay for those? Or maybe the nice things had all been in that house, and were lost now?

Harry mentally shook his head. Another mystery. Like everything else about Snape.

Snape. For the first time that night, the name made Harry pause. After tonight, after all the things they'd done together, wouldn't it really be more appropriate...

Harry gathered his courage, along with a deep breath. "Um...Severus?" he asked tentatively, glad that his voice didn't do anything embarrassing.

Snape finally looked up at that, lifting his head from Harry's chest and raising one challenging eyebrow. The expression in the dark eyes was difficult to read.

"I can call you that, right? Can I call you that?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling pretty stupid. Well, if Snape said no, then he'd have a pretty good idea where this relationship was going.

Please say yes. Please.

"I should think so," Snape drawled, and Harry relaxed so abruptly that his lover couldn't help but notice and quirk a smile. "But that is all, let me assure you."

Harry blinked. "All?"

"All you may call me," Snape -- no, Severus -- damn, this was going to take getting used to -- clarified. " 'Severus.' Not 'Sev.' Not 'Russ.' Nor any other revolting variation on the syllables in between."

Harry frowned. "Variatio -- what, like 'Ever?' "

"You're getting the idea," Sna -- Severus said dryly. "I happen to like my name as it is."

"So do I," Harry mused. He'd never really thought about it before, but now that he did, Severus seemed like a nice sort of name indeed. A bit weird if you'd been raised by Muggles, sure, but no more than Sirius or Remus, or even Hermione, who was Muggle-born. It seemed to be an old, dignified kind of name. And it suited Snape. "Okay." He settled back comfortably against the pillows, and smiled. "Any other ground rules?"

He shouldn't have been surprised when Severus replied seriously, "Yes. Many of them. And you must listen to me when I say, Mister Potter, that these are rules you cannot break."

Harry squirmed under him, suddenly uncomfortable. "Um. Can you not call me that here?"

"Good. That's one of them. Here we will call each other by our first names, and nowhere else. Never outside these rooms, and certainly never in front of other people."

"I know that," Harry said, a bit offended. Honestly, he wasn't that dumb.

"I'm sure you do," Severus said with what sounded remarkably like patience. For him, anyway. "And it will be very easy to forget, or become confused. I am not insulting your intelligence, Harry. At least not this time," he added, almost under his breath, apparently unable to resist. Harry rolled his eyes. "But if you do not keep that constantly in mind, you are bound to mess it up. So am I. And I can guarantee you that a slip like that will not go unnoticed."

"All right," Harry said, already fiercely beginning to make the distinction in his head. Severus in here, Snape out there. Severus in here, Snape out there. Severus was right -- if Ron ever heard Snape's first name coming out of Harry's mouth, even once, Harry would have a lot of explaining to do. And if Severus called Harry by his first name, it would be the same thing. "I will. I'll remember, I mean."

"I hope so," Severus said a bit grimly. "Harry...I cannot stress this enough..." he paused, and his brow knitted. Harry tried to wait patiently. "Nobody can ever know," his lover said finally. "Ever. If you...if you wish this to continue -- and that's another thing, you must tell me if you do or if you don't -- then nobody can find out."

Harry nodded, swallowing hard. Somehow, in all his summer fantasies, he'd managed to sort of forget about how serious their situation actually was. And now it was staring him in the face. Severus was offering him a chance to turn back while there was still time -- but he wasn't about to take it. "I understand," he said. "And I do want to continue. Erm, if you do too, that is."

Severus finally pulled away from him to roll on his back and stare at the shadows flickering on the ceiling. He was silent for so long that Harry's stomach started to knot up a little. "I want you to know," he said after a while, "that this is, without question, absolutely the most stupid thing I have done in quite a number of years. If I sat down and thought about it for hours, it would still be difficult for me to come up with a more stupid thing to do than having an affair with a student in general, and especially with you in particular." Harry's face must have reflected his pang of hurt; one of Snape's dark eyebrows raised itself. "Don't look at me like that. It's not as if we've ever been friendly. And no one will understand if we start now." Then his face seemed to soften, just a bit. "I am not saying this to hurt you. You simply must understand these things. What I am saying is," he sighed heavily, "although I had no intention of ever letting this begin, now that it has begun..." he looked at Harry with dark, glittering eyes. "What's done is done. And now I have no intention of letting it end so soon. Unless, as I said, you wish it."

And that expression did not seem to bode well for Harry if he wished it. Which, fortunately, he didn't. Harry took a moment to calm his rapidly beating heart. It was okay: Severus wasn't going to call a halt. But still -- "What do you mean, you never had any intention...? Then why did you let me come down here tonight?"

Severus snorted, though he stopped meeting Harry's eyes. "Because you're a persistent little brat, that's why." His cheeks flushed a little.

Harry bit his lip to keep the smug smile from showing. Too right. Daringly, he laid his head on Severus' chest this time. "Okay," he yawned. His eyelids were drooping as his body's fatigue caught up with him. Up early to help the Weasleys pack, that mad motorcycle ride, then all afternoon working his hands to the bone with Sprout -- and, of course, tonight. No wonder he was dead tired. " 'M going to sleep now," he added helpfully, hearing his words slur.

"So I see." Was that amusement in Severus' voice? Too tired to tell. "Had a busy day, I imagine."

"You have no idea," Harry mumbled, snuggling in closer to the soft warmth of the bedsheets and mattress, pleased when Severus didn't push him away.

"I'll wake you when you have to go." Long fingers were stroking his hair. They felt good. "We'll talk more later."

"Mumph." That seemed to sum it up nicely. Harry dropped like a stone into sleep.

       

About ten minutes later, when Harry was well and truly deep under, Severus Snape slid out from the bed, pulling on the dressing-gown that lay draped over the chair at his desk. He lifted his wand from the floor, where it had fallen, and stared for a few seconds with a wrinkled nose at the wreckage of the bed where Harry slept so peacefully. Then he waved the wand briefly, muttering "Abstersi" again, and the mess vanished, along with the very distinctive smell.

Snape sat down, not in the chair but on the hearth, letting the warmth of the fire fall on his back. Even in summer the dungeon got cold at night. He'd poured himself another glass of water, and now sat sipping at it quietly, unmoving but for that, his eyes never leaving the outline of the boy in his bed.

He licked his lips, as if seeking the last traces of some flavour on them. His eyes drifted shut for a moment, then opened again, glittering.

What he was thinking then, no one could have said.

After fully fifteen minutes of introspection, Snape rose from the hearth, stretching until a soft "pop" came from his back. He set the glass of water down on his desk, and turned to regard the bed again, removing the dressing-gown once more.

"What's done is done," he repeated softly, and crawled back under the covers, shifting so that his young lover lay close by him again. Harry didn't make so much as a murmur.

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