Snape was making these tiny, pleading noises that sounded like they were being torn out of him against his will. His head was thrown back, his long black hair flowing around his pale shoulders like a black silk curtain. And he was gasping like he couldn’t catch his breath, like whatever sensations he was experiencing were beyond his ability to handle.
Never before had Harry had a partner so in tune with him. This was more an erotic dance than a fumbling first time. That Snape could be so gloriously sensual, so utterly open to the experience blew away every preconception Harry harboured about him.
All too soon, Harry felt his balls tighten as they slapped against that flat arse. Seconds later, his nerve endings exploded with pleasure as his cock convulsed deep inside Snape.
At almost the same instant, the cock in his hand gave up its load, spraying Harry's hand and Snape's belly with the generous, sticky outpouring.
The pleasure seeming to take everything he had, Harry collapsed across Snape's back. When Snape didn't fold beneath him, Harry wrapped his arms around Snape's chest. Even under three layers of bulky jacket, shirt, and undershirt, Snape's chest was still unusually slender.
Needing something more, Harry buried his face in the crook between Snape's neck and shoulder and greedily licked the sweet skin there.
Snape shuddered in reaction. The channel gripping Harry's now deflated cock constricted around him, and to Harry's utter shock, he felt himself go hard again. Not knowing what to do, he just stayed there, wrapped around Snape. Then Snape pushed back at him, giving his cock more friction, and Harry lost all control.
Straightening back up, Harry took hold of Snape's hardening shaft and started rocking his hips again for an amazing second go round.
This encounter felt no less satisfying than the first. Harry's entire body thrilled with every forward thrust. Each time Severus' channel squeezed his cock, the resulting burst of delight that howled through Harry's system was nearly transcendental. Snape seemed equally aroused by what they were doing, were the rock hard cock in Harry's moving fist any indication.
Not surprisingly, this time took longer, but the build-up was piercingly sweet. Harry tumbled over into orgasm again, sinking back down on Snape's back while the man's cock exploded in his hand.
Feeling the intimate motions of Snape's back rising and falling with each breath he took and that heart beating madly beneath his chest, Harry simply stayed frozen in that comfortable position, letting Snape hold him up.
Harry couldn't believe it when he felt Snape give him another squeeze. He wasn't sixteen anymore – hell, had he ever come like that at sixteen? – he should have been done for the night. Maybe for the week. But against all reason and previous experience, Harry hardened again.
Deciding that this night must be some weird, erotic dream, Harry straightened back up and began to thrust again, slow and lazy this time. The shaft in his hand did not get hard again, but Snape's bum moved to eagerly meet his every thrust. When Harry came this time, it was a gentle, warm completion rather than the previous bone-melting explosions. Harry couldn't even tell if he produced any semen. All he knew was that it felt sublime.
This time when Harry gave his weight to Snape, Snape crashed to the floor.
They lay there frozen on the soft, brown rug, their bodies still locked in that sticky union as they struggled for breath.
Harry sighed in regret as his perhaps forever-limp cock slipped out of Snape. He knew that he'd never have another night like this, that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. As much as he'd savoured it, Harry really wished he could have prolonged it. But not even at the height of teenage randiness could he have gotten it up a fourth time in one night.
After a long moment, Snape rolled over onto his side, facing him.
A shiver passed through Harry as their gazes met. He could see the same awkwardness, the same disbelief that he was experiencing reflected in those inky black eyes.
Harry hadn't know what he'd expected when he'd gone home with Snape, but it certainly hadn't been the explosive sexual chemistry they'd found.
When he felt he could spare the breath, Harry began, "That was . . . . "
His words trailed off into embarrassed silence as he realized that he couldn't finish the sentence without sounding like a sentimental idiot.
He'd never seen Snape look the way he looked now, all warm and rumpled, hair askew, cheeks still flushed with pleasure. He couldn't take his eyes off his face.
Instead of scorning him as an utter fool, as part of Harry instinctively dreaded would happen, Snape gave a strangely inflected, "Indeed."
That horrible silence fell between them again.
Recognizing that if he didn't move now, he might just lay here for the rest of his life, Harry forced himself to sit up. Snape did the same beside him, as he'd known he would.
When Harry climbed to his feet to rearrange his clothing, Snape was right beside him.
His trousers up and fastened, Harry summoned his robe from the floor and shouldered into it. He could feel Snape's dark gaze following his every move.
This was why it was never a good idea to have one-night-stands with people he knew, Harry realized. The awkwardness afterwards was enough to kill a man.
Even Snape seemed completely thrown by what had occurred between them. In the past, an out-of-sorts Snape would have instantly translated into a shouting Snape, but he seemed more shocked than angry to Harry.
Harry could appreciate the feeling. It wasn't supposed to have been like that.
If this had been any man other than Severus Snape, Harry would have given voice to the conflicting feelings he was experiencing, would have let the other man know how much he'd moved him and asked to see him again. But . . . this was Snape. Harry knew Snape wouldn't want to hear any of that, not from him, so he left it unsaid.
Recognizing that manners required that he say something before Apparating away, Harry stumbled over, "Er, thanks. I, er, guess I'll see you around."
Something that might have been resignation flashed through Snape's eyes before it was quickly masked. His voice almost totally uninflected, Snape replied, "Doubtless."
Unable to stand the tension, Harry swallowed hard and said, "Well, good night, then."
He didn't know what he'd hoped Snape would say, but the softly voiced, "Good night, Potter," wasn't it.
With a final nod, Harry Apparated home.
*~*~*
Despite his best efforts to purge the memory, that night with Snape was all Harry could think about. He tried to tell himself that sex was just sex, but he'd never had sex like that in his life. His body reverberated with the fierce sensations, and, even though he was at work, the instant Snape crossed his mind, he'd go instantly hard.
Harry knew that the wisest thing he could do was to put that night firmly behind him, because if a one-night-stand with Snape could mess him up this bad, there was no telling what anything more would do. But Harry had never been wise.
What he'd been was numb and disenchanted. To learn that he could feel, that he could have such explosive chemistry with another human, was nearly more than he could handle. Numb was safe. Reality was all about disenchantment. If he didn't hope, if he didn't dream, then he couldn't be hurt.
In his saner moments, Harry knew that there was nothing he could gain by seeing Snape again. Doubtless all a second encounter would do would be to shatter the illusions he was fostering, because, for God's sake, how could he possibly have chemistry with Snape? The idea was more than insane; it was ludicrous.
Snape would no doubt laugh in his face if Harry came skulking back to his door for a second go-round. For, seriously, where could this possibly go?
Harry tried to tell himself that it was the novelty that had made that night so hot, that it was the idea of doing it with someone who should have been out of bounds that was so titillating rather than Snape himself. The man was ugly and obnoxious. Harry had known that for years . . . only, Snape hadn't seemed at all ugly when they were lying there on the floor all rumpled and flushed after sex, nor had he been all that obnoxious that night. Prickly, yes, but Snape could no more be sweet and charming than a dragon could. For Snape, he'd been damned pleasant that night.
But just because Snape had been unnaturally forbearing with him on Friday night, didn't mean Snape would want to ever see him again. They'd both needed to get laid, that was all there was to it. To make something more out of a satisfying one-night-stand was just asking for trouble. Harry knew that.
Which was why he found himself tentatively knocking on the thick wooden door of Snape's Exmoor home the next night, because he knew he'd be asking for trouble, Harry thought with a sneer as he stood there shivering in the early January freeze. Maybe he just needed Snape to laugh in his face for him to be able to get on with his life.
The door swung open. Snape's sour, irritated expression gave way to one of complete shock when he saw who it was on his doorstep, before being schooled into its usual bland set. "Potter?"
Snape wasn't wearing his robes or jacket. He was in black trousers and shirtsleeves. The rolled up arms of his white shirt revealed the dark mark on his left arm and Snape's wiry muscled forearms, which somehow struck Harry as being unbelievably sexy. It was at that point that Harry recognized how truly doomed he was.
"Er, hello," Harry stammered, having no idea what to say. Maybe it was courage that had brought him here, or perhaps desperation, but whatever it was, it deserted him completely under that dark gaze.
To Harry's shock, Snape stepped back, opening the door wide in silent invitation.
The door closed behind them and Harry followed his surprised host back to the sitting room. There was an open book on the arm of the chair closest to the hearth and a steaming mug of what looked like milky tea on the nearby end table.
As Snape turned to face him, Harry had no idea what to say, how to even begin to explain his presence here.
There was something in Snape's guarded expression that made Harry suspect that Snape was undergoing a similar crisis. But neither of them spoke of it.
Harry wasn't sure who moved first. The next thing he knew, Snape's hands were pulling his dark blue jumper up to get at the button of his blue jeans, and Harry's own hands were scrambling to undo Snape's trousers.
His entire being seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as he was bared to the warm air of the sitting room.
Snape's cock was just as magnificent as he remembered, big and dark and hungry. Somehow it seemed even more erotic when viewed around the open trousers and pushed-up shirt end. Harry palmed Snape's moist shaft as Snape's yellow-stained fingers took possession of his own.
Once again, the pressure felt perfect. Snape squeezed him like he knew him from the inside out.
Harry returned the favour. The surprised sounding gasp Snape gave made him think that his efforts were equally effective. Wanting to hear that sound again, Harry stood up on tiptoes and latched his mouth onto that long, pale throat. A man as thin as Snape should have had a scrawny neck, but, although slender, Snape's throat was graceful and well formed.
Snape made a small, startled-sounding cry as Harry began to suck the soft skin below his ear. Clearly, the man was ultra-sensitive there. Harry nuzzled his way over to the pronounced Adam's apple, leaving a trail of little, red marks in his wake.
All the while, their hands were working each other's shafts, escalating the pleasure.
As the heat and the passion built to unbearable levels, they staggered backwards until they came up against Snape's huge desk.
Harry blinked as that small brown jar of cream he remembered from last night nudged his ear. When he took his hands off Snape long enough to fish the jar out of the air where it was floating, Snape turned and quickly pushed everything off the top of his desk to the floor.
Startled by the sound of breaking glass, Harry looked down at the mess of fallen parchments, books, and vials that had crashed on the brown rug on the far side of the desk, but then Snape was bending over the desk's gleaming, polished mahogany surface and Harry lost awareness of everything but that splendid arse on offer. The black pants and shirttails were concealing most of it, though. He pushed the shirt up, barely taking in the scarred lower back, then tugged Snape's trousers downwards until they pooled at his ankles.
Harry stroked the creamy skin of those flattish cheeks, loving how they felt under his palms. Gently grasping them, he gave a careful squeeze that drew a piercing moan out of Snape.
Harry grabbed hold of the lube and fumbled it open. Snape was just as perfectly tight as he recalled him being last night. Seeing that long body bent over the desk with trousers tangled at his feet, hearing the amazing sounds Snape made as his fingers breached and explored him . . . Harry had never known anything this wildly erotic.
Though the want was so bad that his heart was pounding in a deafening beat and he could barely breathe, Harry took his time convincing that tight channel to loosen up enough to accept him. He knew how rare a gift this was, how unheard of it was for a wizard to open himself up to another this completely. That Snape could give him this kind of surrender was mind-boggling, and Harry had no intention of taking it for granted or hurting Snape in his over-eager rush to completion.
Finally, Severus felt receptive. Harry slathered a generous helping on his own cock, carefully positioned himself, and slid home. That was what it felt like, coming home. No one had welcomed him like this. There had never been a body that moved so in sync with his own or seemed to complement his needs so well.
His hand slipped around Severus to appropriate his cock, giving the hungry length the attention it was crying for.
Harry had thought last night a fluke born of the novelty of fucking his nasty potions teacher. Tonight taught him different.
Snape was every wild dream he'd ever had. They moved together like they'd been born for this union, like their entire lives had been lived simply to bring them to this place of perfect harmony.
Harry moved cautiously in and out of Snape. Snape was keeping his butt up high in the air, leaving a safe space between his groin and the hard desk edge, but Harry knew how easily a careless move on his end could send Snape crashing into that ungiving surface. So he kept hold of Snape's hip with his left hand, making sure he didn't thrust hard enough to throw them off balance.
