Still kneading, Harry used his thumb to smooth aside a lock of black hair and touched his lips to the spot under Snape’s right ear. “Hm?” His hands might as well have been working his own cock; with every squeeze to Snape’s muscles he got harder.
“What do you … oh …” The word began as realization and ended as a drawn-out groan when Harry sucked on the soft skin of his neck. God, the man tasted like cocoa powder, dark and rich and bitter and wonderful…
Harry smiled to feel Snape’s body yearn toward his, to see his hands float up from the desk and reach for him.
Then the hands fisted and Snape stood up from the chair, knocking it into Harry’s stomach and narrowly missing his erection.
Harry oofed, pushed the chair in and advanced on his panting former professor, who retreated until he hit the wall.
“You h-have no … idea …” Snape said, eyes glazed with arousal. Harry grinned and gently pinned Snape to the wall with his body. Snape’s hands rested ineffectually against Harry’s chest, hopelessly unable to push him away.
“Then you’d best tell me where I’m going wrong,” he said. Languid against the taller man, Harry kissed his throat – feeling Snape swallow roughly – then tasted the hollow between his collarbones while his fingers unbuttoned the shirt Snape wore. “Because this feels pretty good to me.”
“Mm … Harry … mm …” the sounds were half protest, half pleasure, but Harry only needed the encouragement of those hands sliding up to his head, the fingers twining tight into his hair as he descended Snape’s bare sternum – not counting two side trips to lick and bite the man’s nipples into taut erectness – to taste his belly. Snape shivered and Harry slid one hand up the inside of Snape’s thigh. His seeking fingers discovered and embraced the hard – very hard – fact that Snape liked this. A lot.
Harry squeezed. The potions master gasped and flung his head back, clutching at Harry, pulling him nearer.
The outer office door banged open. They jumped apart.
“Professor!” Two girls’ voices, in unison, sounding urgent.
Harry remembered that the inner door was ajar; he scrambled under the desk in the split second before it swung open.
“Pro—” the girl’s voice stopped as if severed with a knife.
Harry could see why. Jesus. Despite his own arousal Harry almost laughed at the sight of Snape sprawled against the wall, hands splayed, knees bent, shirt hanging, his hair awry and his face flushed, eyes wild. He might as well have had the word SEX tattooed on that heaving bare chest.
One of the girls squeaked.
The other girl stammered, “S – sir … Osborne … he’s spilled his cauldron … dragonsbane … it’s eating through the floor … “
Harry watched Snape pull himself together with an heroic effort, straightening up, pulling his shirt closed, tossing his hair back, grabbing his robe from the couch and sweeping from the room.
The girls didn’t follow him immediately.
“Oh. My. God,” one of them breathed.
“I know. Wow.” The other said. “What do you suppose was going on in here?”
“I don’t know, but I think I’m going to try to find a way to get some detentions from now on!”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” the other said.
“Speaking of hard,” her friend murmured. “Did you see …”
Their teasing, giggling voices trailed off as they left the office.
Harry tried not to groan. He had indeed seen. Seen and smelt and tasted and felt and the damn’ girls had to interrupt just when … he gritted his teeth and crawled out from under the desk.
Cold shower. Quidditch. Hike in the hills. Anything. At least then you’ll be calm when Snape kills you. Which he is certainly going to do after this.
* * *
He stayed out of the castle the rest of the afternoon, hiking the hills, composing and discarding apology after apology. He ended up in Hogsmeade, where he had a long, tiresome and tasteless dinner alone before he couldn’t stand it any more. Returning to Hogwarts, he went directly to Snape’s office and knocked.
“Enter.”
He opened the door – a small, penitent gap – and stood there. “May I come in?”
Snape, behind his desk, looked up. His jaw set, his cheeks burned red. “Come in.”
Harry came in, shut the door, walked to the front of Snape’s desk and stood, head hanging, hands demurely behind his back.
“Oh, for God’s sake, spare me, Potter,” Snape said, clearly both irritated and amused.
Harry looked up, immensely relieved. “Seriously. I … that was inappropriate of me in so many ways. I mean, I wanted to … I’ve wanted to for a long time—”
Snape waved a hand and Harry shut up, awaiting his death sentence.
“Yes, it was inappropriate,” Snape said, twirling his pen in his hand before setting it down. “But …”
Harry waited. Nothing followed that monosyllabic reprieve.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he ventured at last.
Snape said, “You did not offend me. You … surprised me.”
“For a man who constantly looked death in the face – hell, kissed death full on the lips,” Harry went on, watching Snape’s reaction, “I would have thought nothing could surprise you.”
“For your information,” Snape said mildly, “Death did considerably more than, as you so quaintly put it, kiss me full on the lips. I allowed it repeatedly to beat me bloody and bugger me senseless.”
Harry stared. His faint wild hope that Snape had been joking must’ve shown on his face, because the man’s expression petrified.
“It was not a love affair, Mr. Potter. It was a war crime.”
Harry felt his face blaze as horror twisted his stomach. “Christ. I’m sorry.”
“It was necessary.”
“I can still be sorry.” Harry sank onto the couch, appalled at himself, at the way he’d been treating this as a game. “Shit.”
“I don’t mention it for sympathy,” Snape said evenly. “But so that you can understand that, because of it … sex is not … uncomplicated for me.”
God. God. He was raped. And I …
Hot with self-loathing, Harry blurted, “And I was all over you. Even though you told me to stop – ”
Snape held up one hand. “Don’t. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself from attack. You were not attacking me. I was … ambivalent, not afraid.”
