Possessions I

Severus Snape sat in his armchair by the fire and listened to the sounds of Harry changing clothes in the adjoining room.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Sev?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He sipped his coffee. Harry was going out with Amaryll Canasta to a Muggle club. Magical Transitions, Harry’s new business of coordinating Muggle-wizard relations, was doing very well. In fact, the workshops on Muggle entertainment were so popular that Harry had decided they should publish a guidebook about Muggle nightlife. This involved a great deal of research, most of which Canasta did herself with apparently boundless enthusiasm and energy. But once in a while Harry went along.

A little pause. “It’s a mixed club.”

“Mixed?”

“Gay and straight. So we wouldn’t have to be careful.”

Snape sighed. He didn’t want to tell Harry his real reason for refusing.

“And Amaryll’s friend told her it skews a little— it attracts a crowd that’s generally between 25 and 45.”

The dratted boy knew anyway. Knew that sometimes Snape felt too old for him. At times Snape wished that Harry could hurry up and grow older, or at least appear older. Snape himself would look about the same as he did now until he was 100 or so, then would begin to age again. But for now he looked forty, and Harry looked about twenty. It hadn’t helped that the last time they’d dined at a Muggle restaurant, seeking a little anonymity, the waitress had taken them for father and son. Snape supposed he should be grateful that Harry didn’t look even younger than his age, almost nineteen.

“Sev?”

“No, that’s all right. I have some reading to do.” Next he’d be saying ‘go on and have a good time, don’t worry about me.’ He drank some coffee.

Harry stepped into the room. “I really wish you’d come.”

Snape couldn’t answer. He was staring at the stranger in front of him.

“What is it?” Harry’s voice came from the unfamiliar form.

“Your forehead,” Snape blurted. “Your— “ He raised his fingers to his own head.

“Oh, the scar.” Harry grinned. “I cast a glamour over it. What do you think?”

Snape stared at the unblemished forehead. He didn’t say anything.

Harry sighed. “Oh, all right.” He muttered the revealing charm and his scar reappeared. “Better?”

Snape nodded. “Why did you do that? Were you trying to send me into cardiac arrest?” He was able to process another detail now. “Where are your glasses?”

“Contact lenses,” Harry said briefly. “The scar— I just thought I’d try it out.” He grinned suddenly. “What do you think of the rest of my outfit?”

Snape took in the rest of his lover’s appearance. He just barely managed not to let his mouth drop open. Harry was wearing a snug, slightly shiny, green shirt with short sleeves, tucked into— Snape swallowed— black leather trousers. As Snape watched, Harry turned slowly, then faced him again.

“Well?”

“Well, indeed.” Snape stood up. “I believe I will accompany you after all.”

Harry smirked. Snape now had a full appreciation for how irritating that expression was, having seen it too many times since Harry had learned it from him. He kissed the smiling mouth hard to erase the smirk, then stepped back and looked at Harry again. “Hm.”

Snape went to his desk, unlocked one of the drawers, and took out a box. “This is for your birthday, but I think it will complement your outfit quite nicely.” And ever since he’d bought it, he’d wanted to see it on Harry.

“My birthday isn’t for another month!”

“Harry. Do you want the present, or not?” Snape was unaccountably nervous. He’d only given Harry one present, a book. This was quite different.

“Of course.” Harry smiled. “Thank you.”

Snape put the box in his hand. Harry opened it and looked in. “Oh, it’s a— hm.” A long silver snake with tiny emerald eyes lay in the box. Harry touched it lightly, and it moved. “Oi!”

The snake coiled up out of the box and pulled itself over Harry’s left hand, slithering around his wrist. It stayed there for a moment, then moved up his arm to his bicep. It wrapped around his muscular arm twice in a loose spiral and constricted lightly, relaxed, constricted again, setting up a light pulsing.

“Oh, mint!” Harry was gazing down in fascination. He touched it with his right hand, and a minute silver tongue flickered over his fingers. “This is brilliant. Thank you!”

Snape was relieved. “You can freeze it so that it won’t move when you’re out tonight. Congelato,” he said, touching the snake lightly. It pulled its tongue back in and stilled obediently.

Harry was still riveted. He had the look on his face that meant he was going to learn everything about the snake and the charm that made it work as soon as he could. The snake would be lucky if Harry didn’t try to take it apart and put it back together. “How do I make it move again?”

“Mobilitato.” The snake shuddered gently and began its rhythmic squeezing again.

“Thank you,” Harry said again. He kissed Snape warmly. “It’s beautiful. Just right.” Another kiss. “Are you still coming with us tonight?”

“Yes.” The snake on Harry’s arm made him look like some kind of barbarian prince. There was no way that Snape was going to let him go out alone. Canasta did not qualify as a suitable chaperone, in Snape’s opinion.

Snape glanced down at his robe. “I’ll change.” He walked into the bedroom, followed by Harry, and took off his robe quickly. Underneath, as usual, he was wearing black trousers and a white shirt.

Harry was rooting around in the wardrobe. He emerged with a dark red shirt. “Try this.”

“Are you shopping for me now?” Snape removed his shirt and tried on the one Harry handed him. “Living the stereotype? You’ll be redecorating next. Oh, you already have.”

“The exercise room doesn’t count,” Harry said firmly. “And the shirt was Amaryll’s idea. In case you decided to come with us some time. Look, you can wear your cufflinks with it.”

Snape looked in the mirror. The deep color flattered his sallow skin, warmed it. “Why don’t you pick out a pair for me?”

Harry sat down on the bed and opened the box Snape kept on the bedside table. He rummaged through it, then paused. “Oh.”

“What—” Too late Snape remembered. He sat next to Harry and took the silver cufflinks, engraved with wolf’s heads, out of his hand. “I’ll put these away somewhere else.”

“No, it’s fine.” Harry took them back. “They’re very detailed. Nice work.” A little pause while Snape cursed himself for keeping the damned things. But they were the only gift Remus had ever given him. “When did he—”

“That year.” The year that Remus had been the DADA teacher and he and Snape had had their affair.

“Did you give him anything?”

My heart. My heart. My heart. “Yes. A case of scotch.”

Harry laughed suddenly. “That’s appropriate.” He touched Snape’s hand. “Why don’t you ever wear these?”

Snape looked at him.

“I don’t mind, Sev. How could I?”

Snape touched Harry’s cheek, then reached into the box. “I’ll wear these.” The pair he chose were plain, polished onyx ovals set in silver.

Harry carefully put back the wolf’s head cufflinks. “Okay.” He set the box on the bedside table. “Ready? We’ll Apparate to Amaryll’s flat and take a cab from there. Oh, here.” He handed Snape a wad of Muggle money. “It will look better if you pay for things. Now, this is a five-pound note; it’s worth about—”

Snape put the money in his pocket. “I know.” He tucked his wand under his shirt and into his waistband. It occurred to him that perhaps he should tell Harry more about his past at some point.

“Oh. Right. Oh, you’ll need some identification. With a Muggle name. Hm.” Harry looked at him. “Steven? Samuel? Scott? Okay, not Scott. Simon? Um...”

“Sebastian,” Snape said firmly. “Sebastian Stevens.”

“Sebastian? All right.” Harry pulled out his wand— where the hell had he been hiding it in those trousers?— and cast a quick spell, producing an identification card and handing it to Snape. “Congelato,” he said to the snake. “Okay, let’s go.” As if he were afraid Snape would change his mind.

Canasta was ready. She had on a pair of very wide-legged red pants and a midriff-baring black top and had twisted her hair up into tight pigtails. “Harry!” She kissed Harry with a loud smack.

Snape tried not to stiffen up.

“Professor Snape!”

“Miss Canasta.” Thankfully she hadn’t tried to kiss him. “You look ... intriguing.”

“Thanks! And it’s ‘Amy’ tonight. Harry, I think we should have a bit in the book about how to choose your Muggle name.” She laughed. “One of my friends wanted to be Hortense, can you imagine?”

They went down the stairs and caught a cab with Canasta chattering away the entire time, as if she hadn’t seen Harry in three months, not three days. They pulled up to the club and Snape paid the driver. Canasta seemed impressed. Well, it didn’t take much.

“Did Harry tell you much about this place? Sebastian?” Canasta was grinning. Apparently his nom de guerre was amusing for some unknown reason.

Snape shook his head as he paid the cover charge for the three of them.

“They have great music. Lots of retro stuff.” At his quirked eyebrow, she added, “You know. Songs from the 70s and 80s.”

Wonderful. The music of his youth was retro. Snape felt even older now.

Harry patted his arm soothingly. “Amy’s friend said they have a really good scotch selection. Perhaps we can check that out.”

It was early enough that they were able to find a table. Harry sat next to him; Canasta flitted off to the bar. Snape looked around. It was a medium-sized club. Booths, tables and the long bar took up about a third of the space; the rest was a dance floor. Music he didn’t recognize was playing. Clearly non-retro so far. Harry was busily scribbling away on a small pad of paper that he was holding under the table on his knee. The waiter came by, and Harry looked up with a smile. “Do you have Oban?”

The waiter nodded. That was a pleasant surprise.

“Two, please. Doubles,” said Snape. At the bar, Canasta was talking up a storm with another young woman, similarly attired in baggy trousers and a clingy top. Harry murmured a shrinking charm on his pad and stowed it away as the two women approached their table.

“Harry, we’re going to dance. Want to join us?”

“Well, I—” Harry glanced at Snape.

“It’s Moby,” Canasta said persuasively. Apparently this meant something.

“Go ahead,” Snape said. “It will give me the opportunity to enjoy my drink in relative peace and quiet.”

Harry grinned and went off with the two women. Snape watched him. Although Harry didn’t agree, Snape thought that the boy looked better than he had when he was still playing professional Quidditch. Now that he was no longer subjected to his former coach’s insane training regimen and dietary restrictions, he had put on a little weight, and his face wasn’t so drawn and thin. Snape tried to repress the anger that surged up at the thought of Whippet and the way she had treated Harry. He fell into one of his favorite fantasies, the one in which he confronted her in her office and terrified her until she pissed herself.

“Sir?” It was the waiter with their drinks. Snape paid him and sipped his scotch. It was what he’d ordered; good. He thought about his fantasy and sighed. Tempted though he was to fulfill it, he knew that Harry would be furious at what he would see as Snape’s interference.

His eyes went to Harry on the dance floor. It didn’t surprise him to see that Harry was a good dancer, unselfconsciously taking enjoyment in the activity. Snape, on the other hand, had never quite been able to lose the sense that he was making an idiot of himself when he danced. He drank some more scotch. He had the sense that someone was watching him. He looked around discreetly; a younger man sitting a few tables away met his eye and smiled.

Harry came back, slightly flushed, and picked up his drink. “Doing all right?” He sat down and pulled out his pad again.

“Yes, fine.” It was true, Snape realized.

“Good.” Harry jotted down a few notes. “You don’t need to sit at this table all night if you don’t want to. I think there’s another room in the back.”

“Am I being given an assignment?” Snape lifted an eyebrow.

“No, just thought you might want a change of scenery.”

Snape looked Harry over. “No.” He stretched out his hand and stroked the snake lightly. He didn’t touch Harry’s skin, but the boy shivered anyway. Snape dropped his hand. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the dance floor slowly fill up.

Snape, still focused on Harry, felt someone approach. He thought it was the waiter until the other person drew up a chair and sat down. The newcomer was a good-looking man, perhaps ten years younger than Snape, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He smiled at Snape and nodded towards Harry. “Very nice.”

Snape raised his eyebrows.

“Is he yours?” The stranger looked at Harry assessingly.

Snape longed to say yes. “He’s ... very much his own man.” Beside him, Harry was tense, ready.

“I see.” The other man was still smiling. “Then you won’t mind if I ask him to dance.”

“I’m not his chaperone.” He choked down his jealousy and rage.

“All right.” The man looked at Harry again. “Would you care to dance?”

There was a brief pause. Snape kept his eyes on his hands, folded on the table.

“Yes, thanks.” Harry stood up, as did the other man, and they walked to the dance floor. Snape forced himself to look elsewhere. Now the waiter did come by, and Snape ordered another drink.

Canasta bounced up. “Where’s Harry?”

“Dancing.”

She glanced at the dance floor. “Oh. I see. You didn’t want to dance, I take it.” Somehow she’d acquired a coating of silver glitter over her torso.

He stared at her.

“Right.” Canasta tugged on one of her pigtails. “Well, I just came by to say that I’ll be circulating a bit more and I won’t need to— I’ll make it home on my own.”

“Indeed. I’m sure that you will enjoy yourself.” The sentence came out much more dryly than he’d intended. “Good night, Amy.” A small peace offering. Harry liked her, after all.

“Good night. Sebastian.” She grinned and sped off.

Snape’s gaze was drawn inexorably to the dance floor. The music shifted to a slow song, and he saw the stranger attempt to draw Harry closer. Harry stepped back, saying something; the other man reached out as if to grab him. Snape tensed. Harry sidestepped the grab easily, turned away, and walked back to Snape’s table, leaving the other man staring after him. Still standing, Harry picked up his drink and finished it in two long swallows.

“Dance with me, Sev.” An order, not a request.

The slow song was still playing. Snape stood and followed Harry to the dance floor, then put his hands at the waistband of the leather trousers. Harry sighed and edged closer, resting his hands on Snape’s shoulders.

“I used to watch you dance at the Yule Ball,” Harry said quietly.

Snape had always waltzed with the female teachers during the first half hour of the Ball, before the music switched to whatever style was currently popular. “Yes? What did you think?”

“Oh, that you were very correct. Very formal.”

Snape let his hands meet at the small of Harry’s back. “Not like this, then. Another example of the decadence you’ve brought to my life.”

“Mm. Your complaining is deafening.”

“No, that’s the song.” He was old. The music seemed to have increased in volume tremendously. Another slow song started.

“Yes, it’s pretty awful, isn’t it?” A smile. “But the company is excellent.”

They danced until the second song ended. Their table had been taken over by several couples. Snape walked behind Harry as the boy led the way to the other room he’d mentioned earlier. It was strewn, apparently haphazardly, with low couches, most of which were populated by snogging couples. The music was quieter here and sounded familiar. This must be the retro room, Snape decided.

Harry drew Snape down to an empty sofa and slid close, putting his arm around Snape’s shoulders. He leaned in and whispered, “My snake got quite hot earlier.”

Snape pondered. “Did it move?” His lips brushed Harry’s ear.

“No, it just heated up. When that bloke was talking to me.” He rested his head on Snape’s shoulder. “It stopped when I walked away from him.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Snape touched the snake; it was warm from Harry’s body, but that was all. He decided to change the subject. “Would you like another drink?”

“All right. It’s nicer back here.”

Snape managed to attract the attention of an exceedingly vague waitress. He ordered Laphroaig for a change. She returned surprisingly quickly and set the drinks on the low table in front of them.

Harry drank thoughtfully. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk about.”

Snape tried not to stiffen up. “Yes?”

“The trial.”

As he’d thought. Peter Pettigrew, Draco Malfoy, and Ludo Bagman were being held in Azkaban, awaiting their trial for arranging a near-fatal Quidditch accident for Harry, as well as for abducting Snape and attempting to kill him. Pettigrew was also charged with a long list of crimes relating to his stint as Voldemort’s henchman.

“Ron was talking to his contact in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They’re letting them mount a defense.” Harry was whispering in Snape’s ear again.

There had been a lengthy round of legal wrangling once the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had realized that Veritaserum could not be administered to the prisoners, due to the fact that the three men had managed to brew and drink a potion that would result in their deaths if they were given any sort of truth serum.

“A defense.” Snape drank his scotch. “Doubtless they don’t want to repeat the travesty that sent your godfather to Azkaban.” Along with at least a dozen other innocents, as recent investigations had revealed. The others hadn’t been as fortunate as Black. Hadn’t survived.

“Yes, Ron says they’re trying to clean up their act. I’m glad I didn’t become an Auror. What a place.”

“You thought about being an Auror?” Snape was only mildly surprised.

“Oh, for about ten minutes. But it would have been ... awkward.”

Yes, he could see that. The Boy Who Killed Voldemort working for someone who had been under his command in the last battle. He nodded.

“Anyway, the trial?” A hesitant note in the fresh young voice.

“Yes.” He rubbed his cheek against the top of Harry’s head. He did enjoy these moments of anonymity. They never touched in public when they were in the wizarding world.

“It’s actually about— I mean, I have a question about something. Someone.”

Snape drew away slightly. “Let me guess. Lucius or Draco?” He’d been hearing rumors for twenty-five years about himself with one Malfoy or another.

Harry jerked back. “Christ! I know you weren’t with Draco. And didn’t want to be.” His voice had risen, and a couple of people looked at them. He sighed and went on more quietly. “But ... you were very close with Lucius, weren’t you?”

Snape looked at his glass. “He was my best friend.” A pause. “Not my lover.”

Harry put his hand on Snape’s arm, but didn’t speak.

“I— you should know that our friendship ended many years ago.” Long before Snape had helped to track Malfoy down and imprison him.

“That doesn’t make it any easier.” Harry sipped his scotch.

“No.” Snape was still looking at his glass. He couldn’t make himself meet Harry’s eyes, simultaneously innocent and world-weary. “Lucius was ... charismatic. Compelling. He drew people to him.” Rather like Black, he thought, but didn’t say. “The man you knew was very different from the— from the man who was my friend.” It occurred to him suddenly that this was an odd conversation to be having in a nightclub. But as he looked around, he realized that they were safer discussing such matters here than anywhere public in the wizarding world.

“Did you ever want— I mean, he was very handsome.” Tentatively.

They were both talking about Lucius in the past tense, despite the fact that he was still alive— if one could call it that— in Azkaban. And Snape was avoiding thinking about Harry’s question.

“Ah. Yes, he was.” He made himself look at Harry, and saw only acceptance and patience there. “Did I want him? It’s ... hard to say. I was— “ He hesitated. “Possessive of our friendship. I didn’t want anyone to be closer to him than I was. But I didn’t— didn’t translate that into desire.”

At least not consciously. But he had to acknowledge that it had always been there, unspoken, between him and Lucius.

They were silent for a moment.

“Well, I didn’t mean to wreck the evening.”

“Mm. You didn’t.” Snape looked into the green eyes. “The trial will be ... difficult. For both of us.”

Harry sighed. “Yes. I’m not looking forward to testifying.” Another pause. “What happened to Amy?” A deliberate change of subject.

Snape had to think for a moment. “Mingling, I believe. She said that she would find her own way home.”

Harry laughed. “Yes, tomorrow afternoon sometime.” He finished his drink. “Home sounds good, actually. What do you think?”

Snape stood up.

“That means yes, I take it.” Harry followed him out of the room. They were bombarded with noise when they re-entered the main club; Snape felt Harry take his hand. They pushed through the mass of people and broke through to the front door. Harry was wincing slightly.

“What is it?”

Harry led him to a nearby alley. “Let’s Apparate from here.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, now. It was the snake again. Let’s go.” Urgently.

Snape looked about the alley; no one could see them. He nodded, and they Apparated into their bedroom.

Harry sat on the bed and pulled the snake off his arm. He examined it carefully, wand in hand, as Snape watched. “Where did you get this?”

“Jasper Stokeley sold it to me.”

“The man with the junk shop in Diagon Alley?” Harry looked at him in disbelief.

Snape smiled. “The junk is in the front of the shop. The interesting things are in the back. Are you wondering about the charm?”

“Mobilitato.” The snake coiled its way up Harry’s arm again. “Yes, it’s very nicely done.”

“Stokeley told me that it would bond with its owner. That it would respond to his wishes and serve as a warning if necessary. But he couldn’t be sure exactly how it would do that.” Snape had spent a long time ensuring that the snake wasn’t a Dark object before purchasing it.

“Well, now we know.” Harry bent down and pulled his shoes and socks off.

Snape paused. “Do you mind?” He sat next to Harry and unfastened his cufflinks.

“Mm. No.” Snape relaxed slightly. Harry continued, “I’m just wondering why it heated up the second time.”

“Perhaps that man was still there.”

Harry shrugged. “He didn’t seem dangerous. Just angry.”

Julian Whistleton hadn’t seemed dangerous either, but he’d tried to kill both Harry and Snape. Snape shoved the memory away and looked at Harry. He lifted his hand to the smooth cheek and stroked it. Harry leaned into the touch, then turned his head and kissed Snape’s hand. Snape drew him into a kiss, sliding his tongue across the soft lips until they parted and allowed him entrance to the delectable mouth. The kiss ended slowly.

“Have I mentioned that I appreciate these trousers greatly?” Snape ran his hand up and down a leather-clad thigh.

A glint of mischief in the green eyes. “Really? I hadn’t guessed.” He stretched and yawned. “Well, I’m ready to go to sleep.” Teasingly.

Snape put his hand on Harry’s arm and pulled him into his lap. “Are you?” He kissed the pink mouth again.

“Yes.” Harry wriggled away, rubbing his arse over Snape’s groin, and stood up. “Clubbing is exhausting.” He was smiling.

“Indeed?” Snape purred. “Perhaps you are exhausted, after your wild contortions on the dance floor. However, I had a truly outstanding perspective on events. And people.” Harry had been backing away slowly during this speech. Snape stood up and took a step toward him. “And I am very, very far from being exhausted.” He lunged; Harry suddenly dodged him and ran out the bedroom door. Snape followed, shedding his shirt as he went.

In the five seconds that Harry had been out of Snape’s sight, he had managed to vanish completely. As if he had that damn Invisibility Cloak. Snape stretched his arms out and made random grabs at thin air as he moved down the corridor. He paused at the half-open door to the study, then put his head in and looked around the room. No Harry. Snape left the study and went on to the next room. He heard a rustle behind him and turned to see Harry running down the stairs. He must have been behind the study door. Snape ran after his fleeing lover and caught up with him at the foot of the stairs, grabbing him and kissing him hard.

“Sev! What if Zippy sees?”

What a time to worry about the house-elf. “He has the weekend off.” Snape slid his hands under the tight green shirt. “I think he went to Hogwarts to visit Dobby and Winky.” He stroked over Harry’s nipples firmly. “And why are you making these specious excuses?” He pressed against Harry’s body, pushing him against the wall.

“Oh, I—” Whatever Harry had been about to say was lost in a moan as Snape’s hand snaked between them and cupped the bulge in Harry’s crotch. “I don’t know...” He kissed Snape’s neck.

“Good.” Snape detached himself reluctantly from the embrace and took Harry’s hand in his. “Come with me.”

“Oh, I will.” The boy could find a double entendre in anything. But he followed Snape obediently upstairs and back to the bedroom. Once there, Snape began licking and nibbling Harry’s ear and neck.

“Mm... Sev.” Harry unbuttoned Snape’s trousers rapidly and slid his hand in to caress Snape’s cock. “I want— will you let me do something?”

“What?” He bit Harry’s neck.

“Um, tie you up?”

Startled, Snape stepped back.

“Just tie you up. Nothing else.” Harry blushed. “I mean—”

Snape couldn’t hold back a smirk. “Nothing at all? How dull.” But— “Why?”

Harry stepped closer and ran his hands down Snape’s torso. “I just want to. I’ll stop whenever you want.”

He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t want to be blindfolded. Or gagged.” He tried not to shudder.

Harry kissed him reassuringly. “Okay.” He pushed Snape’s trousers and boxers down, then knelt at his feet to take off Snape’s shoes. He turned his head and kissed Snape’s cock lightly before standing and pushing Snape to the bed so that he was lying on his back. Harry murmured a binding spell, and Snape’s hands were tied by silk scarves to the headboard. “All right?”

Snape made himself relax. “Yes, fine.” He watched as Harry pulled his shirt off. “Er... could you leave the trousers on?”

A laugh. “Of course.” Harry spread Snape’s legs and knelt between them. He leaned forward and kissed Snape softly, then licked and bit at his neck. His hands were busily roaming all over Snape’s torso, stroking his chest and stomach, straying to his arms, then returning to tease and pinch his nipples. Harry leaned back and unzipped his trousers. “Not taking them off, just—” He freed his cock. “Ah. That’s better.”

“Yes, it is.” Snape drank in the sight of Harry, his arousal framed by the black leather, the snake still pulsing lightly on his upper arm. He yearned to touch him; his arms strained against the bonds.

Harry chuckled. “A little impatient?” He licked Snape’s nipples slowly, teasing them, then laid a trail of sucking kisses down Snape’s torso. Snape felt a warm breath over his cock, and waited for that delicious mouth to suck him in. But the kisses continued down his thigh, to his knee, his shin, to his foot. Then they started again on the other leg, moving upwards. Another warm breath on his cock. The scarves must have been magically strengthened; otherwise, Snape was sure, he would have torn them by now.

He heard Harry open the drawer of the bedside table as warm fingers brushed over his balls. Snape forced his eyes open; Harry’s head was bent slightly, his black hair falling untidily around his face. The hand was still playing with his balls. Then something hard and artificial touched him. Before Snape could process what it was, the object began vibrating, rubbing lightly against his scrotum and sending shocks of pleasure straight to his cock. He heard himself make a desperate little noise.

Harry grinned at him and slowed down the movements of the vibrator, sweeping it over Snape’s balls, behind them to the sensitive skin there, farther back to Snape’s opening, then returning to his balls. As the vibrator hummed against him, an oily finger stroked his entrance and began entering him carefully. Just enough sensation to bring him to the brink; not enough to push him over. He was making the desperate noise again. The head of Harry’s prick was rubbing against the inside of Snape’s thigh. The finger was fully inside him now; Harry kept it there, unmoving, for a moment, then pulled it out and pushed it back in. Pleasure was flooding through Snape in uneven bursts as the vibrator skated over his balls and the finger fucked him deliberately. Harry was panting now too.

As Snape watched, the snake on Harry’s arm began moving, slithering down to Harry’s wrist. It paused for a moment and flicked out its tiny tongue, then continued its journey, gliding onto Snape. Harry looked as taken aback as Snape, but he didn’t stop running the vibrator along the sensitized skin. Snape gasped when the snake began wrapping itself around his prick, constricting gently as it moved up. It felt both mechanical and alive, warm mobile metal against his skin. At last it wound itself around his cock from the base to the head, squeezing him a little more strongly.

As if Harry had planned this, he inserted another finger and moved the vibrator more quickly, in time with the pulsing snake. It still wasn’t quite enough to bring Snape off, but he wanted to hover there on the brink indefinitely, being pleasured by his lover, helpless to do anything but lie there in total acceptance of this gift.

“Don’t stop,” he gasped.

Harry seemed to understand what he meant, and maintained the same steady rhythm. His prick was dripping onto Snape’s thigh, the soft head sliding over Snape’s skin. Snape was totally focused on the sensations pouring through him. Not just the touches to his cock, balls, and arse, but the silk bonds, both soft and rough against his wrists; the tightening of the muscles in his arms and shoulders as he shuddered in response to the teasing caresses; the leather of Harry’s trousers brushing against his legs; and the sight of Harry, staring at him hungrily.

“Sev—” Harry leaned down and ran his tongue over the head of Snape’s prick. That was all it took; Snape came unexpectedly and forcefully in Harry’s face as ecstasy overpowered him. He heard a long, sobbing moan, and realized it was himself.

Suddenly all the touching was too much, overwhelming him with input, and he tried to move away from Harry’s hands. The snake stopped moving and simply held him as Harry switched the vibrator off and set it aside. He kept his fingers in Snape’s arse and wrapped his free hand around his own prick. Snape’s come was dripping off that handsome face; Harry licked his lips and pumped his cock a few times, then came over Snape’s belly with a groan.

Harry withdrew his fingers, grabbed a corner of the sheet and wiped off his face, and lay down next to Snape, kissing him.

“Mm... Are you going to untie me?” Snape was surprised that he could manage coherent thought, let alone speech.

“No. I’m not done with you.” Harry nipped his earlobe.

Sweet Merlin. “You are trying to send me into cardiac arrest, aren’t you? You and that damned snake.” The snake began pulsing again, very gently.

“I think we proved that it did bond with me.” Harry traced his finger through the come on Snape’s stomach, then lifted it to Snape’s mouth. Snape licked the finger, then sucked it. “Oh!”

Harry ran his other hand over Snape’s chest, flicking his nipples, then followed with his tongue, kissing his way down to the pool of come on Snape’s belly. Harry licked him clean. The way that the snake held his prick meant that he’d never gone fully soft, and Harry’s tongue working busily over his skin sent renewed arousal creeping through him. That talented tongue trailed over his hip as the strong hands massaged Snape’s thighs.

The snake pulsed a fraction harder. Harry ran his tongue over the head of Snape’s prick, then licked carefully in between the coils of the snake. The combined sensations of the warm metal flexing around him and the hot soft tongue caressing him brought Snape to full hardness instantly; when Harry continued licking him, his prick started leaking. He gasped for breath as two slick fingers entered him slowly and began moving in and out of his arse. Harry added a third finger and crooked it, pressing on Snape’s prostate repeatedly. He lifted his head and looked Snape in the eye.

“Harry—” Snape struggled for breath as Harry pulled his fingers out and applied more lubricant to his cock. Harry lifted one of Snape’s legs, propping it on his shoulder. There was a little pause; Snape lifted his head to see Harry tucking the edges of his fly around the metal teeth of the zip. Then he felt the tip of Harry’s erection press against his stretched opening; he was penetrated gradually and steadily, until Harry was completely inside. The smooth leather stroked his thighs and groin.

“Oh...” Harry leaned down and kissed him, a hot, demanding kiss. Snape spared a moment to be amazed and delighted —as he was every time they made love— at the fact that Harry wanted to be with him, wanted to bring him pleasure, before Harry pulled out and thrust back in.

Snape heard himself make that desperate noise again as Harry started fucking him deliberately. The snake continued to constrict around his cock tantalizingly. With his hands tied, Snape was incapable of doing anything other than succumbing completely to Harry’s wishes. He found his own helplessness, and Harry’s gentle domination, amazingly erotic. Harry kissed him again, his hair brushing Snape’s flushed cheeks, and began thrusting in and out more quickly. Then Snape felt a little touch to the head of his prick. He looked down and saw that the snake’s minute tongue was flickering over him.

He was either going to come or implode. Or both. Harry angled up slightly, rubbing over his prostate more firmly, and moved even faster when Snape moaned. Those striking eyes were fixed on Snape’s face, the black hair tousled about the handsome features. Harry put his hand on Snape’s prick, wrapping over and around the snake, and pulled once, twice. Snape plunged over the edge into an immense pool of delight and desire, coming hard, arse clenching on Harry’s impaling cock. Harry groaned, shoved in harder, and came too, shuddering and gasping.

Snape let his leg fall; Harry lowered himself gently, still deep inside, and kissed his face and neck. He mumbled the unbinding charm and Snape’s arms were freed. At last he could embrace Harry, and he did so with pleasure and satisfaction, stroking the sweaty back. He could feel Harry’s heart beating rapidly against him. Between them the snake uncoiled itself delicately and slithered up Snape’s torso and back onto Harry’s arm, settling on his bicep again. Gradually their breathing returned to normal.

“So. I hope that wasn’t too awful.” Harry lifted his head.

“No. Not too terribly awful.” He let his hand slide down to Harry’s leather-clad arse. “Was that your way of telling me that I’m too dominant?”

A chuckle. “No, that was my way of dealing with a sex-mad potions master.” Harry kissed him. “Do you think you’re too dominant?” He hesitated. “Or— that I’m too submissive?”

Snape laughed out loud. “You are many things, Mr Potter, but submissive is not one of them.” He squeezed Harry’s arse. “I, however, do have a widely-recognized tendency to be rather controlling.” But Harry usually pushed back when he didn’t want to be controlled. In the three months that they had been living together, they had already had more than a handful of shouting matches.

Harry was clearly thinking of those arguments too. “So ... do you sometimes wish I were more submissive?”

“No. That would be boring.” To say the least.

He was rewarded by one of Harry’s grins, and another kiss. “Okay.” Harry slid off him, got up, and peeled off his trousers. “I’ll wear them again,” he responded when Snape made a disappointed noise. Then he went into the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth. He cleaned Snape thoroughly and lay down again. The snake, Snape noticed, was almost completely quiescent on Harry’s arm; only its tongue flickered out every once in a while.

“You could wear the trousers again tomorrow,” Snape suggested hopefully.

Harry laughed. “I could.” He draped his arm around Snape’s waist. “I could grow a goatee. Like Ron.”

“No,” Snape said without thinking.

“Okay... I could have my eyebrow pierced. Like our waiter tonight.”

What was it with these suggestions? It was as if— oh. He turned and drew his lover into his arms. “Please don’t. I think—” It was still difficult for him to say it. To open up. “You are extremely attractive exactly the way you are.” Snape made himself go on. “And I will find you attractive for as long as you— for as long as you stay with me.” He wanted to believe that that would be a very long time, but couldn’t let himself trust in that.

Harry smiled. “Even when I’m 90? Gray and wrinkled?” Harry, on the other hand, continually referred to their future. Hesitantly, he added, “When I’m not a boy any longer?”

“Yes, even then.” Snape stroked his hair. “After all, I’ll be in worse shape. And somehow I suspect you’ll always be a boy to me.”

“Mm... As long as you still give me that look. The ‘I want to eat you alive’ look.” There was a pause. “Why didn’t you say yes tonight?”

Snape blinked. “To what?”

Harry pressed his face into Snape’s shoulder and mumbled, “When that bloke asked me if I was yours. You could have said yes. I wouldn’t have minded.” In a small, muffled voice.

Snape tightened his hold on him. He had said once that Harry was his, in a reckless moment, but had never dared to repeat it. His heart was pounding, but he couldn’t speak.

Harry lifted his head. “God. He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

No need to ask whom Harry meant. Remus. Whom Snape had loved, and who never loved him in return. Snape swallowed. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

“It’s all right.” A note of resignation. “I just— it’s all right.” Harry dropped his head again.

Snape berated himself silently. Why was he incapable of recognizing what Harry needed? Wanted? Why couldn’t he give it to him? “Harry...” His mouth was dry.

“It’s all right,” Harry said yet again.

“No, it’s not!” Snape surprised himself with his shout. Harry jerked away from him. Snape sat up and put his face in his hands. “It’s not all right.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath.

“I’m sorry. I’ll—” He heard Harry start to get up.

“Where are you going?” To his hands.

“I thought you— I’m in the way.” Harry was standing now, Snape saw around his fingers.

“Stay,” he managed to whisper. He forced himself to drop his hands, but he couldn’t look up. “Stay.”

The bed dipped beside him, and he felt Harry’s comforting warmth next to him. A light touch to his back.

“Harry,” he said gratefully.

“I’m staying, Sev.” There was a little pause. “No matter what.”

Snape’s heart started beating hard. “Good.” He had to say something else. More. Had to try to pay back a little of what Harry gave him so generously. “I want— I want to tell you. But I—” He broke off. Helpless again. Stuck. “Dammit!”

The cool hand touched his back again. “Really, it’s all right.”

Snape shook his head.

“Okay.” A little sigh. “Maybe it would help if you—I mean, did something happen? Is that why—”

He nodded. He groped for the pitcher of water on the bedside table and poured himself a glass, drank it thirstily. “Once we were—” Making love. No. Fucking. “I started to say some things.” //I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. The only one// “He stopped me.” Stopped Snape before he could say that Remus was his. Because he wasn’t. “I could never—” He drank some more water. “It’s foolish.”

Harry was stroking his hair now. Comforting him. That seemed all wrong somehow. “And then he left.”

“Yes,” Snape muttered.

“Okay.” That sigh again. “Could you look at me?”

Snape turned his head slowly.

“Have I left you yet?” Harry was trying to smile. “Even when you were being a real bastard?”

“No.” Amazingly enough.

“Have I ever told you that there are things you can’t say to me?” The hand was still petting his hair.

“No,” Snape said again.

“Do you believe that I love you?”

Snape paused, and saw concern creep into Harry’s face. The face he’d dreamed of before he’d ever laid eyes on a skinny, under-sized, eleven-year-old brat. The face that had been lying on the pillow next to him when he woke from four days in a coma, tight with worry and anxiety. For Snape. “Yes.” He caught Harry’s hand and held it. “Why is this so easy for you?”

Surprise. “Because it is. Even though you want to make it as hard as possible.” Muttering. “Typical.” More loudly, he said again, “I’m staying. No matter what. Until you— until you’re tired of me.”

Snape squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open. Harry looked nervous, resolute, and sad. Sad. Snape lifted Harry’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “How can you possibly believe that I could grow tired of you?” Seconds after he’d said it, he understood the answer, and cursed himself silently. He had to make this right. “I love you.” He’d only managed to say that once before. The look on Harry’s face told him that he should say it much more frequently. “Forever,” he forced out past the tightness in his throat.

“Oh, Sev.” Harry shifted and climbed onto his lap. One of Snape’s weaknesses. “Thank you.”

Realization dawned on Snape, months— years— late. Harry’s childhood. Those Muggles. He wrapped his arms around the lithe body, kissed the smooth shoulder. “You’re mine,” he said. “You belong to me.” As Harry had never belonged to anyone before. He kissed the smile that curved the beautiful mouth. “You’re mine,” he said again. It felt astoundingly good. And easy, now. “I don’t know why you put up with me. But you’re mine.”

“Yes.” A choked whisper.

Snape leaned back against the headboard. Harry slid down a little and rested his head on Snape’s shoulder. Just right.

“You’re mine too, you know.” Harry kissed his neck. “Just in case you were wondering.”

He stroked the black hair, a tangled mess now. “If you insist.”

A drowsy chuckle. “I do.”

After a while Harry fell asleep, cradled in Snape’s arms. Snape stayed awake, holding him. Holding his lover. Mine, he thought. Mine...

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