He heard Potter take a couple of deep breaths. Tensing, Severus waited.
He was fairly certain there would be no physical attack for what he'd done, though Severus couldn't be certain about either a magical or verbal response. Maybe Potter had already cursed him and that was why he was frozen here on his knees unable to swallow.
His already tensed body turned to proverbial stone as Potter stepped away to pick up his cloak from the nearby boulder.
Leaving. It was inevitable, and Severus knew he'd gotten off easy, but he would have preferred almost any other reaction. Even an attack would tell him how he was to proceed from here, but this utterly silent abandonment was completely unnerving. Would Potter curse him, turn him to salt, or transfigure him into a statue to immortalize his monumental stupidity? Any of the three were merited for his temerity.
To his bewilderment, rather than picking up his trousers from where they were pooled around his ankles and apparating away, Potter stopped moving pretty much where he'd been standing a few short moments ago when they'd been . . . occupied. The younger man stood there with his pants still tangled at his feet in the wet ferns and his robe and shirt hanging open. Severus could feel Potter staring down at him. And still, he couldn't look up to meet those eyes.
The breath caught in his chest as Potter's hand came into his line of sight.
Harry's hand wasn't clenched in a fist, nor were his muscles tensed. There was no hint of violence implied. The calloused fingers touched Severus' cheek as gently as they had before, and then tilted his head up.
Meeting that gaze was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but Severus forced himself to go through with it. After the transgression he'd just committed, Potter deserved the opportunity for some payback.
Potter's expression was unreadable, but not openly angry. If anything, he looked confused.
Their gazes locked and they seemed to study each other for a time. The deepening shadows of the forest made it too difficult to see any emotion. Potter's eyes looked as black as his own.
The moment stretched, and then Potter dropped to his knees in front of him. Before Severus could judge what was happening, strong arms surrounded him and brought him in for a kiss, a kiss that delved deep and sucked what little breath he had right out of his lungs. Potter was holding his cloak in his right hand and one of its clasps dug into his back in the embrace, but Severus didn't care. His relief was too intense, his astonishment too complete, that he didn't know if he'd be able to react to anything at this point. Of all the responses he'd anticipated to what they'd just done, this was not among them. The best he'd hoped for was silent contempt.
Of course, that could still follow. Severus was dealing with an impulsive Gryffindor. Often thought did not catch up with people of Potter's house until long after an event transpired.
While his pessimistic mind continued supplying disaster scenarios, each more horrifying than the previous, Potter continued to kiss him. Every self-preservation instinct he possessed was screaming that this could not end well. Eventually, Potter's seductive taste and the gentleness of the contact pulled his mind from his fretting, in spite of his better sense.
When they parted for air, Severus thought he'd erected enough barriers to dare Potter's gaze.
Potter gave him a shy smile that clearly conveyed the fact that the younger man hadn't a clue as to how to treat him at the moment.
Hopeless Gryffindor. A Slytherin would have known how to scorn him for his stupidity and impudence. While Severus was contemplating this fact, Potter moved his right hand from behind Severus' back and shook out the cloak, spreading it out on the fairly level, wet ground beside them.
When Severus shot an enquiring glance Potter's way, Potter reached out and gripped his shoulders. With another of those bashful smiles, he announced, "Your turn now," and pushed Severus over onto the cloak.
What?
Though his topple from his knees to the black woollen cloak was inelegant, Severus wasn't injured in the fall.
Severus could feel the wetness from the ground seeping through the cloak, his robe, waistcoat, and shirt, but as Potter followed him down into another kiss, that awareness faded quickly.
It was strange. Sometimes, it seemed as though he'd spent his entire life being physically cold and uncomfortable. Of course, when you lived in a damp dungeon for more than thirty-five years, such discomfort was only inevitable, but Severus had never gotten used to it. No matter how many layers he wore, he never seemed warm enough. But as Potter's heat covered his entire front, for the first time in memory he felt comfortable. More than comfortable, the feeling of Potter's hard muscled length settling carefully on top of him was an utter delight. His shocked hands lowered to rest without thought on the broad, robe-covered back above him as he reeled from the alien physical sensations swamping him.
Potter was reciprocating? Severus hadn't expected this. It had been enough to be allowed to do what he'd done for Potter, to simply touch someone and feel the life pulse under warm skin.
The lips kissing him seemed to be trying to tell him with their care that everything would be all right, but Severus' heart was pounding faster by the second as his body tensed while he tried to understand Potter's motivation. He could bear contempt, even hatred. He couldn't take pity.
Severus knew what he was. No one touched him voluntarily, not for the sake of his enjoyment, and certainly not with this melting tenderness.
Potter released his mouth to leave a trail of kisses up his jaw, before nosing through the hair at his temple and licking behind his ear.
Severus shivered at the exquisite sensations, barely catching the gasp that tried to escape his lips. Even as he trembled in reaction, he was intensely aware of the state of his unwashed hair. Cleansing spells worked only on skin. His scalp was always clean, but the hair growing from it had to wait until he remembered to bathe . . . and he couldn't even recall the last time he'd remembered. Was it last week or the week before?
Ashamed, Severus wished . . . well, there were many things he wished, all of them unobtainable.
However, his pride was obtainable. As Potter started to nuzzle his neck, Severus said, "Potter, you needn't trouble yourself. What we did before was sufficient."
There. That had almost come out in a normal tone.
Potter lifted his head to look down on him in the shadows.
Severus wondered what the other man could see.
"Don't you like this?" The soft enquiry was laced with confusion. "It feels like you do."
"That isn't the point."
"Then what is the point?" Potter asked, exasperation flavouring the words.
"You don't have to -"
"I like what we're doing," Potter insisted.
Potter liked touching him? Dismissing that for the nonsense it was, Severus snapped, "Don't lie to me."
"What?" Potter still had feigned innocence down pat. Snape almost believed the confused sounding question.
"We both know that's blatantly impossible," Severus answered, wishing that he wasn't enjoying the feel of that well-muscled body resting carefully on top of him quite so much. It was hard to maintain the proper degree of emotional distance when one was basking in a cuddle.
"Why is it impossible?" Potter asked; his exasperation no longer underplayed.
"Are you going to make me say it?" Severus demanded. Seeing how that brow wrinkled in genuine confusion, he realized that he was going to have to spell it out for the cretin. "You are the Boy Who Lived, the saviour of the Wizarding World. I'm the Greasy Git who ummm -"
The rest was cut off by Potter's palm, descending over his swollen lips.
"Don't." To his consternation, Potter's gaze seemed to search his face. Severus could almost feel Potter thinking. The pressure of the palm lessened and Potter's forefinger began to absently stroke the skin beside his nose, making him shiver. "Let me do this for you . . . please?"
The palm lifted from his mouth.
Wetting his abused lips, Severus considered the request, and belatedly recognized that Potter's gaze was following the movement of his tongue tip, watching it as though he were hypnotized by its progress. It might have been twenty years since he'd been in this kind of situation, but his instincts told him that Potter was legitimately aroused. Back then, Severus would have used that interest as a weapon. Now he was simply bewildered by it, confused, and more than a little afraid, because he knew Potter wasn't playing a power game with him. Yet, he also knew that no one ever slept with him for the experience itself. There was always an ulterior motive, but for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what it could be in this situation.
His instincts urged him to run, to get clear of this dangerous trap. Only, it felt too good to deny.
Had he ever lain in the forest on a sultry summer night with a handsome young man in his arms desiring to make love to him? There had never been so much as a whiff of romance to a single one of his sexual encounters. Severus knew that Potter couldn't really want to be here, doing these things with him, but the same blasted hope that had convinced him that it might be possible to make up for the mistakes of his youth was urging him to surrender to this tempting tenderness, to sample something pure and wholesome, if only once in his miserable life.
Potter was offering here. What was the sense in continuing to deny something he very much wanted?
But he had to be sure this wasn't about pity. Mastering his suspicions and insecurities, Severus tried to ignore the intimacy of their entwined bodies as he snapped out a single word, "Why?"
Potter held his stare as he gazed down at him. His voice a little thick, he answered, "Because I want to."
If he'd whiffed even a hint of pity at this moment, Severus would have turned Potter to ash. But there was only a lusty eagerness on Potter's open face; as though he truly believed that this was as much for himself as for Severus.
It was . . . shocking. Men had been aroused by the uses they'd put him to in the past, but this was the first time anyone had ever wanted to touch him simply to touch him. Even if Potter wanted to bugger him and nail him to the ground, he'd probably allow it, if only for the novelty of truly being desired.
Allow it? Who was he trying to fool? If he thought there was a chance of succeeding, he'd pay Potter to do it.
Needing to convince himself of the reality of the situation, Severus reached up with his right hand to softly stroke Potter's high cheekbone. The smooth, unlined skin felt good enough to be a dream, but his mind never provided him with such pleasant night visions, so he knew it must be real.
But Potter didn't wince or tense. They were close enough that he would have caught either response. In no way did Potter behave as though his touch were abhorrent to him.
Potter blinked and quietly asked, "Is that a yes?"
Severus' answering nod came without conscious thought. Then Potter leaned in to kiss him again, and all hope of coherency fled.
Potter spent a long time worshipping his mouth, as though kissing him were some rare pleasure to be savoured. Only when it seemed they would both recognize each other by taste, did Potter release Severus' swollen lips to move southward.
Severus had always been sensitive around his neck and ears. What Potter did there in the next ten minutes with his tongue, nibbling teeth, and breath utterly destroyed him. Severus was trembling and gasping at the sensations that wracked his body. It was all he could do to hold back a whimper.
Severus had no conscious awareness of Potter either manually or magically opening the many buttons of his black jacket and white shirt. All he knew was that Potter slid off him to the side for better mobility and access. Then that talented mouth was suddenly attached to his left nipple. The resulting sensations wreaked havoc on his controls, sending tendrils of pleasure tingling straight down to his groin.
Severus didn't want to appear weak or needy. He wanted to maintain some semblance of dignity, yet he couldn't hold back his cry as his body shook under Potter's circling tongue. He was ashamed of the small, plaintive sound that emerged from his throat, but Potter just skimmed a calming hand down the outside of his ribs as if it were perfectly all right, as though that sign of his need didn't diminish him in the other man's eyes.
That flat palm kept moving as Potter lapped at his nipple. Severus' entire frame jolted off the ground as if hit with Cruciatus when the roving hand brushed over the front of his trousers in a light caress. Almost two decades had passed since any hand other than his own had had contact with that flesh.
Every nerve in Severus' body lurched with excitement at the almost accidental touch. This time he couldn't hold back the whimper.
His body overreacted to the stimulation. Severus could feel a familiar tightening spreading through him, that proverbial breath that every cell seemed to draw before exploding in climax.
Horrified, Severus realized that he was a mere touch away from disgracing himself by creaming the inside of his trousers like a randy third year.
"Please . . . . " Severus hoarsely groaned, digging his fingers deep into Potter's unruly, soft black hair. "I . . . ."
He . . . what? What could he possibly say to avoid humiliation?
Potter lifted his head to meet his eyes. Through a red daze of throbbing need, Severus watched puzzlement give way to something like surprised understanding.
Severus thought that he'd die of mortification as Potter's gaze moved to the bulge in the front of his trousers.
Remarkably, there wasn't a trace of either smugness or mockery in his attitude as Potter gently asked, "Too close?" when he returned his gaze to Severus' face.
No lauding of his victory, no arrogance at all, merely that simple question.
Feeling his cheeks flame, Severus gave a tight, affirmative nod. At this point, he didn't even know if he'd be able to hold out while his trousers were unfastened. Any contact at all would send him flying into oblivion. He drew in another laboured breath, so stressed with the need to come that he wasn't certain that even the prospect of embarrassing himself would be a bad thing. This sensation had stopped being pleasure some time right before Potter had achieved orgasm. Though Potter's caresses were a kind boon, they were sheer torture right now.
