Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, with whom I am affiliated in no way; I intend neither harm nor pecuniary gain.
Notes: Written for Beth H. for her birthday. This little ficlet is an homage to her wonderful "In From The Cold," from which I have borrowed the basic premise.
by Rex Luscus
The first time they often didn't even make it to the bed. They did it pressed up against the heavy hotel room door, backs bruised by locks and chains and doorknob, trousers shoved down to mid-thigh and shirttails held out of the way as they frotted and ground, open mouths colliding between frantic gasps.
Later, properly naked and stretched out on the hotel's itchy polyester duvet, they fucked with slow deliberateness, Severus's chin tucked over Kingsley's shoulder and his knees tightly gripping Kingsley's ribs. Kingsley liked to draw up onto his elbows and watch the way each deep thrust made the blue-veined eyelids flutter, the thin lips (glistening from Kingsley's kisses) fall a bit slacker, the tendons stand out on the slender neck. He would then speed up his pace and encircle Severus's head with his forearms--to keep it from striking the wall as they fucked, but also to say without words, "I am protecting you; I won't abandon you once I have what I need."
Occasionally, if there was time, they would do it in the bathroom as well, Severus's hands braced on the counter, watching themselves lurch again and again toward their own image clouded over with Severus's hot breaths. Afterwards, as Kingsley decorated Severus's shoulder blades with open-mouthed kisses, Severus would gaze from under his dark brows into his own red-rimmed glare and say something like, "What are you doing here?" and Kingsley would always respond as though the question were meant for him, even though he was fairly certain it wasn't.
Back on the bed, Severus would invariably sleep with head tucked in Kingsley's armpit, his cold, large nose pressed into Kingsley's ticklish ribs, his breathing so slow and deep that once or twice Kingsley nearly shook him awake to be sure it hadn't stopped. Hours later, Kingsley would wake him with gentle hands in his hair so they could exchange the scraps of information that were the ostensible reason for their meeting. Then, occasionally, he would allow Severus another couple hours, knowing that this death-like slumber in Kingsley's arms was the only true rest Severus ever got.
Kingsley often wondered, half jokingly, whether it was the sex or the sleep that kept Severus coming back. Either answer would be fine with him.