Title: Warm
Author: [personal profile] perverse_idyll
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~5700 for this part
Summary: Severus still suffers the after-effects of Nagini's venom, especially in winter. Harry knows just how to warm him up.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Highlight for Warnings: *Fingering, rimming, relatively nice Snape*

A/N: Still for [personal profile] torino10154. Some parts are fresh out of the brain-pan, unbetaed, and allowed no time for simmer, so concrit is definitely appreciated. And yes, I changed the title, because it ended up being completely wrong.


For a moment, equally slack and taut from rough handling, Severus lay so heavily against him Harry could feel the pulse shaking his body. Then he pulled himself together, shedding his sensual reverie rather faster than Harry had hoped, and crawled forward on hands and knees. He sank onto the pillows in careful stages, just enough that Harry could tell he was still feeling some physical discomfort. The fire threw brilliant splashes of light over the blankets, over his naked upper body, surging back and forth in flickering waves, bathing his skin in a dusky, dull-orange glow. It softened the skeletal shadows underpainting each curve of rib, the faded shine of scars, the lack of prominent muscle.

Not that it mattered; Harry didn't need them softened.

He waited while Severus got comfortable, arms crossed under his head, before leaning forward to sweep the long tangle of hair aside. Severus gave him the slit-eyed, brooding stare of a creature playing at being harmless, a hint of suspicion compressing his brow. That hadn't changed and probably never would: the loner in Severus, the part that skulked and watched and was always ready to lash out. Harry doubted he actually knew he was doing it. Even when he was reduced to strangled panting, in the throes of a wracking orgasm, it still took an extra twist of intensity to break that vigilance down.

Harry, in his turn, enjoyed the glimpses of unspoken sarcasm flashing darkly over Severus' shoulder – liked best of all the moment the sharp eyes clouded and half-closed with degraded pleasure.

But they weren't there yet, not by half, and Severus was a competitive git. "Get on with it," he rasped. "Or is it your cunning plan to fidget around until the fire puts me to sleep?"

Harry threw him a rude gesture, then dropped his hips against the soft valley where the fabric of Severus' pyjamas gathered between the slopes of his arse. Braced on his hands, he rutted there for a few seconds, the lazy weight of his cock dragging back and forth, before nudging Severus' legs a few inches apart. It gave him room to settle back and slowly, lingeringly, stretch the waistband of the pyjama bottoms down and tuck the green cotton in below Severus' bare buttocks.

Oh yeah. This needed a moment.

Harry savoured it, the tight ache of possessiveness in his chest, the way lust shot into his cock like a deadbolt slamming home, hard, final, the friction of excitement making it difficult to keep from rushing the proceedings. He knew it was daft to be so infatuated with a body part, but – well. This was something no one else knew about Severus. Of course, Ron and Hermione would likely prefer to Stupefy themselves rather than risk hearing that Severus Snape's uncovered arse was Harry's wet dream, or that Harry could sometimes be found salivating in front of it. But God, he'd been looking forward to this all evening: the cool pale skin with the firelight dancing over it, both cheeks high and snug and nestled together, rounded though not plump, a dusky line of shadow dividing them, the strong muscles yielding under the pressure of Harry's ploughing thumbs.

First, though, he bent forward to smooth his hands all the way down the scarred back, from shoulders to sacrum, rubbing until Severus' frown relaxed a few degrees and an eyebrow bent in his direction.

Satisfied, Harry sat up. With a self-indulgent sigh, he laid his hands upon the exposed arse and dug his nails in, warming the naked curves caught in the pulled-down dark-green bottoms. Slowly, with dreamy petting motions, he massaged the pale mounds, rolling them open so he could whisper a cleaning spell into the exposed hole. He was gentler than Severus had been, although even if he'd used Scourgify he doubted Severus would have reacted; his relationship to pain was somewhat different.

Pressing the reddened cheeks back together, Harry bent close and slathered his tongue over the joined crescents, lapping into the seam and licking as wetly as he could. He was rewarded with a shiver racing up Severus' spine. Satisfied, he wiggled backward into the space between his spread legs, shifting around to find the best position, and shoved his face down inside the pyjama pants, extending his tongue tip over and over to caress the loose folds of Severus' scrotum before nuzzling his way back up to his anus.

"Fuck," Severus muttered, his breathing raspy and his tone just shy of begging.

Harry pillowed his head for a moment on that smooth bottom, staring hypnotised into the fire, then started on his flanks. He rubbed and kissed, streaking spit on Severus' skin as he mouthed over every inch, occasionally baring his teeth and using them. His tangled fringe fell in his eyes, and he didn't bother brushing it away. His hands clamped and wrenched, forcing Severus' arse and legs further apart, stretching the backs of his pyjamas. The only sounds in the room came from the peaceful crackle of the fire, the long, spluttery slurps of Harry's sucking, and the hoarse whispers of air as Severus tried not to let on how hard he was panting.

A quick pause to wipe sweat from his eyes, then Harry shifted his hands upward, one on each cheek, twisting hard enough to leave bruises. The warm swells tempted him to cross the line from worship to punishment. Fine-skinned and tight, their shapeliness – not to mention the way Severus lay just on, but not quite over, the edge of surrender – catered to a painful craving inside him. A craving that had lain dormant until the night Severus consented, with a grudging, half-drugged sensuality, to let Harry spread him open and eat him out.

Upstairs, a clock chimed the hour. Harry loosened his grip and ran his nails over Severus' mottled skin. Then he stretched up and blew a stream of cool air. Tiny, prickly goosebumps rose inches from his lips. The pale cheeks quivered, pulling up, and Harry reached down to squeeze some patience into his cock before sliding his hand back around Severus' arse. Gently, he kissed the finger-marked, goosefleshed ovals. A palm on each, he separated one from the other, peeling them carefully apart like halves of a fruit until Severus' dark, hairy crease was revealed.

A pulse slugged suddenly through his groin, startling and balls-deep. Harry leaned his weight on it, triggering a few more hard, hot thumps of blood. The fierceness of the sensation surprised a harsh noise from his throat.

Severus turned in the guttering light and glowered at him. His face was lust-flushed, his hair parting around the pale spar of his upraised shoulder. They shared a moment of mutual sex-drunkenness before Harry said softly, "Lie down."

Severus sank an inch or two back onto the blanket, resisting. The heaviness of his half-closed eyes betrayed how far under he was, his black stare fogged by fumes of hunger that had seethed below the surface for twenty years.

"Lie the fuck down," Harry said again. It was one of the peculiarities of his sexual make-up that conflict got a rise out of him, sparked something on a level that relaxed, affectionate lovemaking couldn't touch.

Severus, naturally, made Harry's little friction kink seem like child's play. Out of bed, the unpredictable push-pull could be irritating as all bloody hell, but they both understood how it fed the sexual charge between them.

In control for the moment, Harry held him splayed, an elbow hooked over the back of each thigh, subduing the clenching reflex of his arse muscles. Then he reinforced his order by leaning forward and letting the tip of his tongue just touch.

The prone body jerked under him, and Severus' face fell back to the pillow.

Settled on his stomach before the fire, Harry burrowed in greedily, lapping and dabbing. He licked and licked until the inner curves of Severus' arse glistened with saliva. With rough fingers, he pried the narrow cheeks apart. The heat from the wet crevice smote him, a sweaty, musky fragrance, and a tongue-swipe up the tender line of stretched pink skin earned him a stifled gasp.

He'd figured out long ago that if he wanted to triumph over that spiteful fucker Professor Snape, there was no sweeter revenge than making Severus come unhinged with pleasure as often as was humanly possible.

Severus, of course, was the tightest of arses, and Harry proceeded to give that tight arse a tongue-lashing. He slid his wet mouth into the crease, relishing the flex of muscles in his grip, the salty taste of fevered skin, the suffocating press of flesh on both sides of his burning face. His whole world narrowed to this one spot, his nose mashed against Severus' tailbone while his tongue flicked at its target, circling, tickling, building up the ecstatic torment.

Severus twisted and strained under Harry's hands, his arms stretched out in front of him, too mindless with the roar of his own need to stop himself. Shudders wracked his body. He loved being licked, but it connected like an electric shock to something desperate and heavily guarded inside him. Once or twice, gasping curses into the pillow, his dark voice broke like a boy's, and Harry knew he would pay for that later.

It had been one of the most erotic experiences of his life, that first time Severus had trusted him enough to offer up his body for anything Harry wanted to do to it. The memory of him moaning incoherently, unable to stop arching and trying to crawl away as he came apart under Harry's prodding tongue, would be worth wanking to even twenty years on.

Of course, the second time Harry had rimmed him, he'd had to hold Severus down to stop him from thrashing, and still earned a bitten tongue for his trouble. The third time – well, thinking back, Harry sometimes wanted to hex himself for not realising sooner that the muffled choking sounds and tense shuddering had been Severus breaking down into the pillow. He'd come, but with a cry cut off halfway, and a bloody bottom lip that made it clear afterward how he'd silenced himself. For days afterward, he'd been in such a hair-trigger mood, so intensely, bitterly sarcastic about sex, that by the end of the week Harry had been ready to flip him off and Disapparate entirely out of his life.

He knew better now. He knew what Severus wanted and what he would never ask for.

And he knew what he wanted, but he wasn't sure Severus would let him have it. "Come on," he said firmly. "Up on your knees. And stay there until I'm finished with you."

He made sure Severus was comfortably arranged, though still hobbled by the pyjama bottoms because that was how Harry wanted him. Then he summoned lube from the pocket of the discarded dressing gown, squirted it over his palm, reached between Severus' legs, and applied a nice slippery grip to the situation. He started with an easy, loose-wristed polish, slicking the rippling skin, gratified by how thick and urgent Severus' need for him was. This was another secret never shared with the world: Severus was hung like a young hippogriff. Skinny bastard, huge dick. The double entendre would have made it a hit with the boys' dorm. Not, Harry reflected as he nudged his way back between Severus' arse cheeks, that his friends would appreciate him going into raptures over it.

He started picking up the pace, speeding his hand along. His own cock twitched forlornly, so Harry gave it his other hand, matching his tongue's pace to his two-fisted wanking. He licked and lip-smacked Severus' hole over and over, then placed the tip of his tongue dead centre and tried to force it in. The much-abused pucker flinched at each soft, relentless stab but didn't yield.

Impatient, Harry pulled back and stuck a hasty finger in his mouth. He left his cock to fend for itself, an aching curve poking at the flannel of Severus' falling-down bottoms.

Going slow, he insinuated his fingertip between the pale, upraised cheeks. When Severus didn't immediately whip around and snarl, "What the fuck are you doing?" he pressed in, rotating the finger from side to side until he'd breached a part of Severus he wasn't usually invited to enter.

"Potter – " The dark eyes rolled a little under their lids, and Merlin's balls, the sounds he made. "I can't – bloody fucking hell, Potter, please – "

"Call me Harry when I've got my finger up your arse," Harry whispered, only half-joking, then twisted the tip just far enough in to locate Severus' prostate. He barely touched it, brushed over it, circled it in passing, careful not to overdo the contact. He was rewarded with tiny involuntary tremors as Severus' body vibrated to those glancing touches. Hooking one knee over the pyjamas to push them down, Harry licked the quivering rim of flesh enclosing his fingertip, and with his tongue soothed the distended skin. His other hand fondled the flared hood of Severus' cock and jerked him off faster.

Severus moaned between clenched teeth and nearly tore a hole in the pillow.

Sitting up finally to take the strain off his knees, Harry caught a glimpse of how they might look to an outsider: the Death Eater spy Severus Snape, thin-framed as a thestral, stark naked and facedown in a sea of blankets, his cheek cradled on the forearm that once bore a Dark Mark, the glow of embers reddening the silver strands in his hair. The skin around his eyes was tense, as if it actually hurt him to receive pleasure, his pyjama bottoms hanging lopsided down his legs and his arse raised for Harry to worship.

And Harry, kneeling behind him, naked except for the sweat-stained vest shoved up under his armpits, his forefinger half-buried in a place one might have said fingers weren't meant to go.

Probably no one would approve, and he didn't want anyone else touching Severus anyway. Harry had fought long and hard for this intimacy. All that mattered was the look on Severus' face. And oh God, how perfect his arse was, presented to Harry like this.

Harry was only human, and he'd been very patient. He drove his finger all the way in.

Severus' breath caught, and he struggled up onto his hands, his long hair tangled around his face. His eyes blazed back at Harry, who faltered and popped his finger right back out.

"Don't stop, you bloody tit," Severus snapped, but the thrill in his face, the rising colour, took away the insult and replaced it with breathless excitement. "Why the sodding hell must you always second-guess yourself? Just do it, Potter."

"You're sure?" Harry said stupidly, but lost no time slathering on the lube. "You know what it is I want to do, right?"

Lungs still heaving with exertion, Severus opened his eyes wider, his dilated glare roaming over Harry's damp body, the hair that covered his chest in sweaty curls, his oiled-up cock.

"I’m not breakable," he bit out in a low voice, which was a fucking lie. They didn't do this often, precisely because someone had once broken Severus, and he could be a right bloody bastard about it if Harry weren't careful. But then he added, in that sore-throat, sultry tone, "Just fuck me. And get your hand back on my cock." There was a pause. "And kiss me, you unromantic little shit."

That surprised a laugh out of Harry. A curious look, barely discernible in the shadows, flitted across the accusing contours of Severus' face. By now, the fire had completely died down, and they were preparing to fuck in the faint, brimstone glow from the red-hot coals. The look was there and gone in the turn of his head and a veil of hair, but unless Harry was projecting, he recognised what had evaded Severus' self-control, and his heart started beating ridiculously fast. A blush prickled up his neck to his ears.

Shakily, he caressed Severus' arse and then felt his way up the slightly rutted road of backbone and muscle to give his trembling hands time to recover, following their upward slide until, bent forward, he could deliver the expected kiss. A challenging glint flashed up at him as he roped aside the smoky tangles smelling strongly of wine (oh cripes, when had they managed to spill wine in Severus' hair?). Then he angled Severus' head with a hand to his jaw and suddenly their mouths were full of each other, a hungry mingling of wet tongues and messy emotions.

Harry gradually let his stomach come to rest on the small of Severus' back. It was an intense turn-on, surrounding him like this. His erection slotted snugly between those warm, sticky arse cheeks, smearing lube everywhere. Beneath him, Severus shifted, kissing with his usual lack of moderation, and twined Harry's pushed-up vest in one fist. He had to tug a few times before Harry, getting the message, fumbled for his cock, thought about preparing Severus a bit more, thought about what Severus would likely say if he tried, and pressed in.

Slippery-fingered, he got the knob through and then just hung on, mildly stunned by the gripping pulse beating through his shaft. A tight circumference, that was all. A bit of flesh. But God, it was glorious. And of course Severus's arse just had to resist, and now Harry was going to bollocks everything up. If it didn't stop squeezing, he'd be in and done in five seconds flat, and Severus would never let him near his arse again.

But oh God, it felt really, really good.

Except Severus had stopped kissing him. Without making a sound, his body had pulled inward like a drawstring purse, closing up around that sensitive entrance. Harry groaned softly when Severus moved, oh so slowly shoving his arse back another inch onto the cock skewering him. Then he stopped and pressed his hot forehead against Harry's neck.

Harry swallowed, dying a little inside with the need to thrust. Severus muttered, "Don't move."

"You all right?"

"Yes. Shut up."

Harry huddled around him, trying not to let on there was a lump in his throat. They were still at the stage where either of them bristled at anyone blurting the word 'love,' but Harry could feel it fluttering in his throat. It was nerve-wracking enough sometimes, living with a Legilimens.

"Just so you know, you feel amazing," he whispered.

"Potter – "

"You sure you're all right?"

Severus grunted something Harry didn't understand, but it didn't sound as if it wanted to kill him. It might even have been a laugh, there in the deepening dark, with only the coal-bed radiance in the grate hinting at the shape of the room around them and the house that contained it, the two of them within it pressed together, connected by much more than just a cock in an arse.

The wind continued whistling somewhere in the distance, but it had receded, moving away, as cold and beautiful as the voice of old magic. A late-night timelessness brimming with the echoing presence of winter seemed to separate them from the rest of the world.

Harry couldn't imagine ever letting go.

The vest strangling his underarms loosened a bit as Severus stopped wringing it for moral support. His hand travelled up past Harry's face and groped his hair, petting it gently, pulling at it not so gently.

"You're an idiot," he said at last, his voice threading an odd line between disapproval and regret. "But you still have to fuck me. Right now, Potter."

"You don't have to insult me into it," Harry said, puzzled, wishing he could see Severus' face. "I'll do it at no cost to you whatsoever."

Since it was right there in front of him, he kissed Severus' arm instead, the forearm that had once been horribly marked, then turned his head and kissed the next thing he encountered, a downcast eyelid, smiling when it flickered offendedly under his lips.

Severus didn't say anything. After a moment, though, he made another noise, one that implied he might be willing to kill Harry after all if he didn't get on with it.

Snickering, Harry kissed him on his scornful, unpredictable mouth, meanwhile leaning some extra weight on Severus' hole. Miraculously, the grudging muscles relaxed at last, and Harry slid in and was sheathed before he quite realised it. He'd meant to go slow. Severus exhaled through his nose, and his arse contracted a few times, so Harry scattered apologetic kisses on his shoulders before rising onto his knees to gaze upon the sight of his glistening cock emerging slowly from Severus' body. He tilted his hips forward and pushed it back in, half-closing his eyes as it went down deep into that lovely arse, entirely swallowed up, and Severus dropped his head between his arms and flexed his back, his flanks twitching, moaning as Harry carefully pulled out and –

And then Severus flopped belly-down on the blankets, leaving Harry with his cock swinging in midair and a spark of alarm shooting through him.


Infuriating git. Severus stretched, arms, back, legs elongating luxuriously and then going limp. He wormed a pillow under his cheek and craned around, rutting lazily, to give Harry the slyest, darkest, most unrepentant smirk he'd ever received, while his arse rolled in obscene rhythm before Harry's eyes.

The darkness in the room was absolute now except for the vaguely hellfire shadows cast by the grate, just enough to render everything in spooky red tints. It was the ideal backdrop to Severus' low, compelling voice, calling Harry to him as if promising to wrap that velvety tongue around his genitals.

"I'm tired, Potter, and my cock is getting cold. I could use some help here." One twilight eye glittered over his shoulder. His hooked nose reflected the ember's infernal colour like a devil mask, outlined by its own shadow upon the pillowcase. He looked diabolical and hungry, and Harry was utterly hypnotised by the slow undulation of his arse.

"I'll do whatever you want," he said.

"Such a good little Gryffindor," Severus murmured.

Harry snorted. "Such a bastard Slytherin." He dragged the sweaty vest off over his head and tossed it aside, then tugged the pyjama bottoms down past Severus' feet, wadded them up, and sent them flying after the vest. He shuffled forward on his knees, stroking himself stiff again with one hand. "Cold, eh? Need warming up again, do you?" He hovered uncertainly. "Do you want me to – "

"I want you to fuck me through the mattress, Potter. Or, since the mattresses are all upstairs, the carpet." Severus stopped hugging the pillow, reached down with his clever hands, and dug his nails into the flesh of his arse, spreading the cheeks apart. "I can't make it any clearer than that."

"Oh God. You are so – " Harry straddled him and ran his fingers over the dark peach fuzz splitting his buttocks. He circled the stretched hole. "Let me – "

"Harry, yes," Severus said in a deep-chested whisper. "For fuck's sake, do whatever you want." A second later, he added in a voice closer to his old professorial disdain, "You know where my prostate is. I expect you to make good use of that knowledge."

"Knowledge," Harry said distractedly, "Got it," then poised himself directly above the ruddy opening to Severus' body and without wasting any more time sank in, sank deep, all the way down, spearing him with everything he had, pulling back and taking him again quickly, and then again. He followed up with a wild volley of thrusts, all the strength in his hips pounding down into that slick hole, riding Severus with slapping force, like a hard spanking, flesh against flesh, slap slap slap slap.

Severus kicked and cried out. His arse cheeks shook, and in the dim light, Harry noticed his skin turning pink with impact. Wanting a better look at that, he threw a spell at the fireplace. Sparks exploded outward as a small log dropped out of nowhere and crushed the embers. Satisfied, Harry plunged down. Severus writhed and spread out, as if searching for some way to open himself wider, to accommodate Harry further, accidentally elbowing pillows aside and sliding onto the floor with a soft thump. He didn't seem to care, merely braced himself in the blankets and humped vehemently in rhythm with Harry's downward strokes.

It was everything Harry wanted. It was the sort of sex he'd thought he could never have, and it made him so giddy he almost laughed out loud.

It was also utterly ridiculous. Their lower bodies jounced and smacked, Harry's cock shining wetly as it pumped between the two pale mounds. His legs were starting to ache, and the tension in his cock was becoming unbearable. If he came right now, he would probably break something. He was also incredibly thirsty. Panting, he squatted over Severus as if playing leapfrog, shaft pointing straight down, and proceeded to hammer into him, rapidly, brutally, the short rough strokes designed to clip his prostate on every thrust.

Under the assault, Severus lay almost inert, legs splayed and arms outflung, letting Harry use him, his loose-limbed body shaking slightly with every blow. He grunted a guttural, winded uh at each impalement. The passivity was totally unlike him, and it was incredibly hot. Within minutes, though, he tensed and arched off the floor, hips raised far enough that he could grasp his own cock.

Harry murmured, "Yeah," and wove his fingers through the shaggy mess of black hair, yanking a bit as he secured a handhold, the texture nastier than usual after random spicings-up of smoke, sweat, wine, and lube (which had indeed got everywhere). Increasing the pull, he assessed Severus' face in the dancing gold light. It earned him an inscrutable glare, like that of a Kneazle who enjoys being brushed but was prepared, if Harry hit a tangle, to flip over and bite his face off. Hair-pulling was a kink he could use to get Severus off, but a volatile one. Actually, if he had any non-volatile kinks, Harry hadn't found them yet.

Leaning forward, he covered Severus' nearest ear with his mouth, breathing into it, tickling it with his tongue. Then he wiped his damp face and grasped the flesh of Severus' upper arm as he repositioned himself. He took a deep breath, and his hips sped up. It had been a long day, and his endurance was starting to flag, but he was so grateful, not just in this moment but here in the centre of his life, so overwhelmed with feelings for the man he was fucking that he would have been happy to service him all night.

Except that he really needed to come. It was either that or pass out.

First things first. He took charge of Severus' cock, stroking him from two directions, wanking him briskly in front, ramming him roughly in back. Severus' panting deepened, and he curled back, rubbing against Harry. Harry tugged harder on his hair, whispering a ragged stream of words consisting mostly of "fuck" and "Severus." His fist flew on the slick, rigid shaft curving up in his hand.

Suddenly Severus gasped and braced himself, his body arching in a single sensual muscle spasm, jerking in Harry's arms. Harry fucked him through it, Severus' cock pulsing and spitting in his hand. His stomach jumped against Harry's knuckles. He was gritting his teeth, and his upper lip was drawn back, exactly like his classroom sneer. Oh God, Professor Snape. Professor Snape making sex faces during potions. Harry slammed into him, quickening the pace, on his knees and going at it like a madman so that by the time Severus sagged onto the floor with a shuddering hiss, Harry had reached such a pitch he was being shaken to pieces by his own orgasm. Lights quivered behind his tight-shut eyes. For a moment, he thought he might levitate, but then he felt the blankets under his hands and knees and the sweet, unstoppable glide of his throbbing cock in Severus' arse. Anchored by that reality, he was able to control his slow collapse on top of Severus, and thus prevent himself getting hexed.

They panted like dogs for a moment, side by side, Harry comforted by the feel of Severus' ribcage expanding against his at regular intervals. The fire whispered and popped in the grate, and Harry watched through his lashes as the shimmering gold light climbed all over Severus' face. There were a lot of angles to climb, and a lot of shadows that refused to give way, especially around the eyes. It was rather beautiful, something he would never, of course, admit on pain of death.

As his post-orgasmic stupor faded, he pulled carefully out of Severus, eliciting no reaction whatsoever, and turned onto his back. He stared up at the shadowy ceiling for a while, then groped for his wand and made a few half-hearted gestures toward cleaning them both up. His arm fell back to the floor, and he exhaled. "Points to Slytherin."

Severus stirred and likewise rolled onto his back. "For?"

"A thorough sozzling," Harry said. Severus' eyelids flickered but didn't open, and the lines gathering on his face relaxed before they managed a full-blown smirk. Harry nudged him. "You planning to sleep here? Because, as I seem to recall you mentioning, all the mattresses are upstairs." He paused as Severus' eyes opened slowly, and decided to press his luck. "I suppose we could always Accio one. Find out how many things a king-sized mattress could knock over on its way down the stairs."

Without even glancing at him, the heavy, lethargic eyes cast around, seemingly at random, and then Severus lunged sideways, plucking the wand from his hand.


A few flicks brought the pillows scurrying, a few murmurs persuaded them to squish together and merge and swell, and by the time Severus tossed the wand at Harry and fell back, they had a nice, firm mattress to stretch out on.

"There's a remarkable new branch of magic just recently invented by modern wizards," he murmured, closing his eyes again. "I hear they're thinking of calling it Transfiguration. They teach it at Hogwarts, or so I've been told. You might want to look into it."

"Yeah, yeah, hilarious. You can sod right off," Harry said, scooting over and throwing an arm across Severus' ribs. Without all that athletic activity, the room was noticeably cooler, and sharing body heat was an excellent excuse for budging up.

To his dismay, Severus levered himself onto one elbow and gazed down, and Harry worried he'd given genuine offence. But then, to his astonishment, an actual smile split Severus' face. It wasn't a nice smile, and in fact it made him look like a child molester, with his scuzzy hair and uneven teeth and glittering sunken eyes. But at least it was real.

"I just had the beloved hero of the entire British wizarding world eating my arse," he said in a soft, hoarse voice that would probably, no matter how fucked-out he was, give Harry erotic dreams that night. "I doubt I could find that anywhere else. I have no intention of sodding off."

"Well, it is a pretty nice arse," Harry said, annoyed to feel himself blushing. Even more embarrassing, Severus reached over and outlined his lips with a slow, lascivious finger.

Then he lay back in a position that allowed Harry to wiggle closer and pillow his head on Severus' arm. "Not too shabby, as endings go," he said daringly, his mouth dry. "War heroes in love, yeah?" He lay barely breathing and waited for Severus to sit bolt upright and rain down thunder and insult upon him.

Severus slanted a look in his direction, and maybe it was because they were both lying down and the angle was weird, but Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out what was behind it. However, traces of the smile still lingered in the slightly quirked corners of his mouth, so he took a chance and smiled cheekily back.

Severus turned away and stared up at the ceiling. He swallowed; Harry saw the line of his throat move under the scar tissue. "I've always said you were an idiot," he remarked to the air. Another beat of silence. "Now for the love of God, Potter, shut up, or I'll Accio your tongue from your head."

He closed his eyes, and Harry exhaled in soaring disbelief. Right. It felt exactly as if he'd got away with something. Something rather tremendous.

He lay awake for a while after, feeling Severus settle gradually into sleep. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the intermittent sputter of the flames when snowflakes drifted down the chimney flue, and the quiet resonance of Severus' heartbeat under his ear.

So here was another thing Harry knew that he would bet the world didn't. Severus Snape could be happy. Snape the Death Eater, the murderer, the bullying teacher, the near-sacrifice, the childhood friend in eternal mourning, could be happy. Not often, and not for very long, but Harry had seen it. He'd witnessed it. He was even, possibly, on nights like this one, the cause of it. This was one secret he wouldn't mind taking public.

As he finally sank toward unconsciousness, shifting his head from Severus' arm to a pillow – about the time the fire burned down again, embers glowing like salamander eggs – the thought crossed his mind that this was an achievement ranking up there with some of the Boy Who Lived's more celebrated feats. Not the biggest or the most important, of course. But a kind of magic very few other people knew how to do.

He had made Severus Snape happy, and no one had died. No one had paid a price.

Turning sideways, Harry rested his face in the long, snarled hair, inhaling the last traces of the evening's debauchery as he floated into sleep.

Not too shabby, indeed.

dogandmonkeyshow: (Default)

From: [personal profile] dogandmonkeyshow

I...wow. It's been so long since I've read any new Snape/Harry that reading this is almost like starting from the beginning again. And what a start! This is brilliant: love and affection and brilliant sex.

Out of bed, the unpredictable push-pull could be irritating as all bloody hell, but they both understood how it fed the sexual charge between them.

Ah, the very essence of Snarry in a nutshell, with pitch-perfect characterisations:

"Call me Harry when I've got my finger up your arse,"

"I just had the beloved hero of the entire British wizarding world eating my arse," he said in a soft, hoarse voice that would probably, no matter how fucked-out he was, give Harry erotic dreams that night. "I doubt I could find that anywhere else."

You've landed this right on that incredibly-difficult-to-hit sweet spot: the moment where the transformation of lust and affection into love is acknowledged and accepted by both parties. It's so rare to find, especially for this ship. Salute!
dogandmonkeyshow: (Default)

From: [personal profile] dogandmonkeyshow

Yes, Snape is emotionally illiterate. After all these years I still don't know why I enjoy writing characters like this (*cough* Mycroft Holmes *cough*). I completely agree about the tightrope: because with these characters the emotional states are so high (for them) of connecting with anyone, there's pretty much no margin of error for the writer to keep them in character while doing so. But then, I don't even attempt to ship my current emotionally constipated Englishman with anyone; friendship is enough of a challenge.

Extrapolating love from sex, especially with a ship like this, can be a tremendous let-down.

I agree. But I think you've managed to convince us here that really the sex is extrapolated from the love, especially from Harry's POV.

And if Snape doesn't work for me in a fic, then the fic doesn't work, period.

Oh yeah, I totally agree. He's the litmus test for HP writers, in my mind.

As to the other: don't worry about it. I know you've been through the ringer more than once in the last few years, and I understand that when your life is being turned upside-down fandom can't be anyone's top priority. There's a lot of people from HP fandom that I miss, so from a purely selfish perspective I am glad to see you "out and about" in fandom again. :D
bugland: (callobius_severus by back_in_black)

From: [personal profile] bugland

i am not generally into stories involving rimming, yet this is one of the hottest fics i've ever read. and much as i adore the man, i'm almost never into Snape as an object of desire. it's just always made me uncomfortable. i assumed this was because i'm a prude, but here i've gone and read Harry's first description of Severus's arse at least, hmm, five times. i want to know how he looks walking around just in pants or starkers, after a bath or bone-dry, at high noon (with the windows open) or at night with just one candle lit. i want to to draw his bum, take pictures of it, give it a nice firm squeeze and then run for my life before Snape and Harry both kill me.

so i guess i'm no prude after all? still, trust me when i say breaking through that mental block is quite an achievement in writing.

of course there's more to it than that...

i love this story because it's not so much crudely sexual as erotic. but it's still quite crude (gonna justify my use of that word in a minute). the narrative voice is remarkably fluid and it moves as the characters do. this is where much of the beauty resides. it's like looking at a statue from all directions, circling it slowly, only to find when your circuit is finished the pose has changed.

of course they must move, and i'm glad they keep at it. i'm VERY glad they're so IC, that this is not a glossy, idealized Severus (he's still a git) or angelic Harry (he's still a brat) having sanitized magisex, because if they were it wouldn't be real. still more of the story's beauty lies in its crudity, which here means realism (o hai sex can be messy!) and imperfection too. if Harry and Severus weren't so imperfect the story couldn't be about love, as this is a couple who must love each other brutally and tenderly, by turns and all at once.

thanks for letting us watch.
bugland: (insolent by basilico)

From: [personal profile] bugland

oh and

"Severus, of course, was the tightest of arses, and Harry proceeded to give that tight arse a tongue-lashing."

perfect. about time.


perverse_idyll: (Default)

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