I don't own any of these characters...dammit...
Go on. Please. Just, let me. Let me touch your bare chest, run my hands through the curly hair that has been growing there for a few short years. Please. I don't ever ask for anything: Especially of you. Let me nuzzle my nose against your strong jaw line, caress the sunken hollow of collarbone skin that sits so beautifully between your neck and shoulder. Oh, God, how I want you. Let me give to you, just, please, let me give it to you. Let me place a light kiss on your forehead, tracing butterflies down until I meet your warm, dry lips. Please, just let me wrap one arm around you, and the other slip gracefully into your trousers, sneaking under your boxer shorts. Let me take it, oh please, let me.
And that was it. Severus Snape had come. He'd been lying on his bed, his tummy to the covers and his head deep in his pillow. He'd been day dreaming, again. He'd been panting into his pillow, rubbing his hard shaft between the inside of his pants and the soft feather duvet – He couldn't bear to touch himself. And he had come, again. He sighed wearily, both spent and disappointed. Is this really what it had come to? He asked himself this every time, but still he proceeded with the ritual. It happened almost every day now. He sat up, his robes that drowned him crumpled from the way he had thrown himself on the bed in urgency to release himself and the screwing of his fists during it. He wiped his palms over his clothes, muttering an incantation to smoothen out the creases. That would have to do. He picked his wand up hastily from the bed side table, waving it clumsily in front of his groin in an attempt to cleanse himself. He always was all thumbs after this.
Spraying cool water on his face from his wand in an effort to rid the red colour currently accommodating his cheeks, he strode to the door and sucked in a large amount of air into his lungs, bracing himself out of the privacy of his headquarters and into the publicity of Hogwarts corridors.
How he hated the dinginess of his dungeons. He never seemed to see light these days, locked away in his cupboards brewing potions, teaching dim witted children who refused to listen to him, grading papers in his office which was "too low down to install windows". When he'd finally make it to the surface of everything, the sun would have sunk into its long awaited bed.
As he skulked through the small spaces between the tables of his classroom, he leered down his nose at his students' notes. Pathetic. Utter stupidity. Too clever for her own good. He stopped at Hermione Grangers table, her intent and concentrating eyes meeting with the potion that was brewing in her cauldron. Eyes were burning into him. He looked up, to find the boy looking at him. Severus stared at him, meeting his glare and contesting it. He liked this game: always gave him a chance to stare into the eyes of Harry Potter.
He would never look away first. He would be the dominant one... For now, at least. He leant on the desk, his palms flat on the splintered wood, his back slightly bent; his erection had grown instantaneously and he would now not be able to walk with it safely. When the boy had finally broken eye contact and got back to his potion, he was able to calm himself. Down boy, come on, not now, another time, down. And then, he was able to stiffen his back once more, smirking to himself that no one did, and never would, know.
Infatuation, was all it was. The leaping of his groin, his heightened senses, his day dreaming. And even now, in his class room, it had taken over. The boy, with his scruffy hair and proud demeanour was the bane, and joy, of his life. Severus wondered how the boy would react if he were to run his slender fingers through his rough hair, smoothing down his lanky torso and slim waistline. Would he pull away, or stay? Just a thought, let it go.
"Homework: 5000 words on how the euphorbia root potion can assist those with the inability to digest certain foods."
A sigh throughout the class room. Ha. Old thoughts of his school days become familiar.
"And, furthermore, I expect the essay to be written on only 2 rolls of parchment. I've seen enough scruffy handwriting from some of you, it leaves too much to be desired."
A snort from the back of the classroom, definitely Malfoy. The boy shoots the skinny white haired child a thousand darts from his eyes. The boy knows he has scruffy handwriting.
"Fine. You may go."
They all leave, not bothering to lift their chairs which causes an agonisingly painful screech from the floors tiles. Severus turns to his blackboard and, taking his time, washes the board of the lessons productivity. He can't bear to watch the boy leave.
Finally, all is silent. Everyone has left him. He turns to his empty class room quickly, as if trying to catch someone out in a game of hide and seek. He strides toward the place where the boy would usually sit, his stool still warm from occupying it. Severus sits down, smoothing the table in front of him. He can smell the boy's after shave, crisp and clean and zesty. How he longs to run back to his room and relive his day dreamed fantasies, but no, it can wait. It can wait.
Severus seems to have gained that air around him: As he strides through the corridors, his cloak billowing behind him, everyone seems to move out of his way, go quiet and stare. It makes him feel just like a school boy again. The difference is Severus now gives as good as he gets, scowling at the younger wizards and muttering insults in the direction of the older students. No longer is he laughed at; he is feared. He doesn't like it much, but it gives him authority he never had before.
Severus turns into the Great Hall, and the three of them are already sat, deep in conversation, plotting something no doubt. As he walks past, they break free, the boy looking up and making eye contact. He wants to ask the boy to come back to his private quarters so he can whisper sweet, romantic, sexual things into his soft ear, right there in front of his two best friends. But Severus keeps walking, he knows his rightful place.
I beg you to let me, to trust me .Just let me try to make you feel special and safe. Just let me explore your skin with my hands, every millimetre of you, stroking and smoothing you. Let me, please, let me hold you and press kisses into the thick of your hair, meeting with your crown until your head buzzes. I want to have you, I want you to have me, I want us to have each other. I've never asked for anything in my life, but I am asking for this with everything I have. Oh God, run your hands over me, touch me. You can play me like an instrument, so soft, so tender. Let me fumble beneath your layers until I find it, oh God yes, let me, please, let me play with you...
"Severus? Severus? Are you quite alright?"
He'd done it again. He looked slowly to his left, Flitwick looking at him quizzically. He cleared his throat and pushed himself back up in his chair, he must have slid down it during the day dreamed haze.
But he wasn't. This was torture. He regained himself quite quickly, as he always did. He shifted himself slightly, noticing no severe wetness inside of his pants. Good. This was becoming a struggle. And Severus didn't do struggling. He stared evilly at the boy. He'd have to do it evilly, otherwise he would get caught. He stood from his chair and left via the back door, down into his dorm, where his private fantasies could wait no longer.
Severus sat on the side of his bed, his head resting in his hands. He felt unsatisfied. He had fantasised, and come, yet there was something missing. The boy. Severus knew his lustiness was getting dangerous, knowing that without the boy his daydreams were now becoming useless. He got up quickly and began pacing his room back and forth, his thumb and index finger stroking his chin. The boy had seemed lost this evening at dinner. Hurt had been in his eyes as his friends had looked worriedly on but chatted none the less. They didn't understand, how could they? But he, Severus, understood. Understood the pressure, the fear, thinking the next breath you took could be your last, wondering every second of every minute of every hour of every single day what was lurking behind that dark corner you were just about to turn, and whether you should be prepared to fight. The boy had picked at his food, barely eating anything. Severus had left before him, but he presumed he'd skulked out of dinner early to go and wander the grounds, as the boy happened to do so frequently. And there it was. The opportunity. Severus donned his outdoor cloak, pulled the hood over his head and ran out of his room, heading toward the closest door to bring him outside.
He stepped briskly into the cold evening air. It was crisp, not a cloud in the sky. If he knew the boy as well as he thought, Severus knew where he would be: The quidditch pitch.He began the slow descent, minding his step on the icy puddles that had formed, his feet making crunching noises in the frozen grass. He came quite suddenly to the pitch, stopping dead in his tracks like it had jumped out on him from behind a tree. He looked around. Nothing. Fool.He entered the main arena anyway, tracing the footsteps that perhaps once the boy had walked. His hands plunged deep into his outer cloak pockets, his head bowed against the freezing cold breeze that was causing his lips to become numb, the tip of his black boots wet and shiny from the evening dew and his warm breath causing billowing smoke to escape from his mouth into the icy evening air.
Severus spun round, not knowing where the voice had sounded from. He shook his head back and forth, still not being able to find the source of the voice. A tap on his shoulder made Severus whirl round again, and there he stood, the boy, right in front of him. Severus lowered his hood and rested it gently on his back. The boy shivered from head to foot, his body jerking violently when it gave way to the never ceasing trembling. Severus could hear his teeth chatter together, his glasses bobbed on his nose and his hair remained as scruffy as ever. He pulled at the clasp on his outdoor cloak, withdrew it from his shoulders and wrapped it around the boy: it swamped him more than it did Severus.
"Lets' get you inside." Was all he managed to say as the boy let Severus put his left arm around his shoulders and his right hand on his arm. Severus began to lead him inside, glad that he had been able to hold his tongue.
You're shoulders are so small and bony, your arms so slim in circumference. How I long to drop my hand down to your back and rub slow, soft circles with the flat of my palm. I want to stop the chattering of your teeth by stroking my tongue over your wind chapped lips, moisturising them, tasting them. Just let me comfort you, please, let me kiss your cool neck so the trembling you feel is caused by myself and not the cold you feel even through my over cloak. I want to stop you and hold you close to me, feel you breathing against my chest and your hands slip slowly around my waist. Oh yes, that feels exquisite, just a little lower, please...
They had somehow reached Severus' private quarters rather quickly. He must've been day dreaming again. A muttered word from him opened the door, and he let the boy through the door way first. Severus thrust his wand around the room; closing curtains, brewing tea, lighting fire, illuminating lights, pulling out chairs, setting out crockery, until he finally pointed his wand at a chair for the boy to sit and make himself comfortable. Severus wasn't really sure what to do with himself. He paced for a while as if he were alone. He looked up to see the boy was watching him, and remembering he most certainly wasn't alone, he set about pouring some tea. He hadn't had anyone in his private quarters for years, even requesting that the Headmaster not enter his domain. He sat opposite the boy, looking at his bemused face as he scanned the room and its furniture. Severus did have rather an odd taste, even he had to admit that. They sat in silence for a very long time. The boy had stopped shivering, was dry and had drunk two cups of tea before any word was said.
Severus wasn't sure how to reply; he hadn't been thanked in a long time. He merely nodded, so the boy knew he had heard.
"Why are you doing this?" Was the next thing said.
Because I want you. I want to help you. Make you feel safe, comfortable, wanted. I want you to know you're understood.
"You are a student, it is my job."
The boy knew he was lying, Severus could see in the lids of his eyes as he looked into his mug.
Oh God, for strength and courage now. If only, if only.
The boy pulled his chair closer, heaving with all of his might at the heavy weight. He settled on the edge of it, putting one hand gently and shyly on Severus' leg. Severus jumped at the contact, not being touched for years, only being pushed and punched and pulled by Voldemort and his loyalist of cronies. He looked up into the eyes of the boy. And there they were...
His mothers eyes. He knew the boy hated hearing it always, it's something he got about his father quite a bit when he was younger. How he'd loved that girl. If he had this chance with her, what he wouldn't have done...
They were in an embrace, lips joined together as if they had been fused. They remained for a long time, sunken into each others arms and wet lips. Severus pulled away, leaping from his chair and walking across the room. He returned to his seat and sat back down.
"I'm sorry, Potter, I didn't realise what I was doing. I got caught up in my thoughts."
"Why did you say my mothers name?"
"You look so like her. You are so like her. Everybody tells you how you are astonishingly like your father, but I disagree, only that of your infrequent arrogance. You are patient, strong headed, intelligent. All of the things I know she would want her son to be. And I know that she would want someone to look after you if she wasn't here. And that's what I'm prepared to do."
"But...Professor...You hate me, all those things you say..."
"Don't you see boy? Think! On the broom in your first quidditch match, who saved you? Me. When you fell from the skies from the dementors, Dumbledore shouted louder than I, but I was there first to catch your fall with my spell. I was the one to carry you in my arms to the hospital wing when you fought Quirrel, it was I who came for you in the Shrieking Shack when I knew you were looking for your Godfather Sirius, me, the one who came round so quickly to find you all gone, knowing full well the lunar activity and that Lupin would be an animal within minutes, me, who shouted after you to come back, and fervently ran until Granger pulled me back. I was the one who came running to your side when I finally knew that Barty Crouch Jr. had been taking polyjuice potion all along, bringing with me the verituserum to prove to you I could help you. It was all me, Potter. All of it!"
"Sir. I don't know what to say."
"I hated your father. Insolent git. What I wouldn't have done for your mother. I had dreams of one day having a son of my own with the beautiful Lily Evans. And, I suppose, you are the next best thing. But, you remind me so of her, and for that I must ask you to forgive me, this is to why I behaved in such a manner."
Silence filled the room. Their voices had been echoing back forth, hitting the cold stone walls, and now there was nothing.
"Could I...Can I hug you, Sir?"
The boy raised from his chair, Severus' eyes following him. He stood too.
Slowly and unsurely, the boy reached his hands out, guiding them underneath Severus' arms and toward his waist. Severus stretched his over the boy's shoulders, letting one hand drop over his back. He tentatively held him, until the boy suddenly pulled him in closer, tighter, and wriggled slightly into his chest. He felt his penis harden, resting his chin on the boys head. Yes, he was reminded of Lily, but this paternal instinct had warped itself into lust for the boy and not for his mother.
"Say my name."
A muffled sound reverberated around his chest. Oh God, this was it...
It was easier than he had ever thought. Giving in, letting go, wasn't so hard.
"Harry, Harry, Harry."
He breathed the name into Harry's hair, nuzzling his chin against it's scruffiness.
They stood for a long time in their unsure but firm embrace. Severus never wanted to let go, knowing this would be the first, only, and last time that he would get to hold Harry.
"Where's your bedroom?"
Another muffled sound vibrated against his chest, Harry's hands clenching and unclenching on Severus' robes that hung off of his back. Severus had wanted to ignore the question, hadn't wanted to be asked the question as he would know the consequence and there would be no turning back. Through lusty haze he pointed to the door. Harry dropped his hand to meet Severus' and led him to the room.
Severus sat at the edge of his bed, where he had sat only a few hours prior knowing he was getting into deep waters. Severus felt a force like no other, even stronger than any magic he had encountered in his long, bitter years as a double agent; He knew it to be wrong what he was doing, how he allowed himself to feel about Harry, the things he did when alone in his chambers, but it felt so natural to see Harry standing in front of him, shrugging off his zip-up jumper that read "Everlast" spread across each pectoral. It felt good that Harry had led him here, had wanted to feel Severus close to him, and had allowed him to look after Harry.
Harry squatted in front of Severus, laying his head in the older man's lap. Severus stroked the messy hair softly, as he felt his erection throb against Harry's jaw. Harry pressed his face into the fabric and smoothed it, like that of a cat to its beloved owner, and Severus realised that Harry and himself were wanting the same thing: To be understood. To be safe.
"Up you get, Harry."
He rose as the man had told him, waiting for the next command. Severus shimmied himself backward, now laying down, his head propped up by the many pillows the house elves insisted on preparing his bed with.
Come to me, oh Gods, please don't leave me.
Severus patted the space beside him, Harry still standing at the edge of the bed. Slowly and unsurely, Harry clambered onto the large mattress and lay on his side beside Severus, looking intently with those green eyes. Severus raised his arm to rest on the pillow, Harry snuggling into his ribs. They lay in each others arms, each one wondering whether to... Maybe I should... What if I... Perhaps I could just...
"You can leave any time Harry. I would not mind."
But you'd break my heart.
Into his ribs, another muffled vibration.
"Please don't send me away. Not now..."
Severus tightened the grasp on Harry, the younger boy's hand making lazy circles with his index finger above Severus' naval. The hand lowered, then faltered slightly, hesitating whether to take the plunge into the dark depths of the black folds of cloth. It carried its journey onward, fumbling with the tight button that held the two pieces of material together. The zipper makes an echoing noise throughout Severus' room, and suddenly a gush of air rushes from Severus' lungs out and into the open, where it is free to disperse and bump gently against the cold, stone walls. The hand makes painfully slow up and down motions on the hardened rod, paying particular attention to the purple head. Severus' arched his back in appreciation, feeling as if he could weep with the pleasure that was being milked from his penis. He could feel Harry's hot breath penetrating through his clothes, panting and moaning quietly; he hadn't moved since the first tentative touch. A rhythm was now being set, as Severus gyrated his hips in time with the hand that was grasping him firmly.
"Oh, yes, Harry!"
A whimper escaped from below his arm, and he realised Harry too was moving his hips in time.
"Faster Harry, now, please."
Severus was on the brink, every nerve ending screaming, every muscle tensing, every brain cell dancing in elation, every haemoglobin running through his body. But no, it must wait.He fumbled at Harry's jeans, realising the baggy trousers were easy enough to slip into without undoing. He caressed lovingly over the hard prick,
"Oh, oh..." escaped from Severus as he felt the organ grow beneath his fingertips. Harry gasped every breath from then on as Severus gently massaged his swelling penis. Everything Severus had ever wanted was right there in that moment, as he felt pleasured, and he was pleasuring. It gave him a great feeling of power.
"God Harry, the head, now..." and as Harry brought his tightened fist from the base to the tip, Severus cried aloud, jets of come pumping from his penis, his testicles cramping, his toes curling, his back arching, his chest aching. His hips thrust into the hand, while his still worked steadily on Harry's rod.
After gaining himself, Severus rolled onto his side to face Harry, whose eyes were clasped tightly together and face contorted in pleasure. Severus made love to Harry with his hand, gently and steadily pulling his foreskin back and forth, sometimes placing a thumb over the slit at the tip of Harry's penis, with which harry would grunt in appreciation. His groaning got louder and began to come in sobs, tears trickling down his cheek and into the stubble he had let grow on his chin. Severus wiped them away with his free hand, whispering,
"Shhhh, Harry, come now, come now.."
"Oh Severus, Oh... Oh God, Severus..."
Severus tightened his grip, and with one last tug, Harry's seed spread across the man's torso, warm and wet and satisfying. With his free hand, Severus wiped away the tears from Harry's face as the younger man shook.
"Come here, you silly boy."
Severus took Harry into his arms, and his heart, and there he stayed, Just as Lily had those many years ago.
A/N: You enjoyed, yes?