TITLE: Beautiful Music Together
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.
BETA: The Intrepid ShadowPhoenix
FEEDBACK: Is the food of the Gods
NOTES: This is just a short one-shot written for Leianora because she helped cheer me up a bit the other day.
SUMMARY: After the war, Snape found a hobby that Harry delights in.
Beautiful Music Together
Severus Snape had passed forty by the time he found his niche. Well, to be accurate, he never considered it a 'niche' exactly; he merely thought of it as…what he was born to do. He'd been a spy for nearly half his lifespan. He'd been a Potions Master and professor at Hogwarts—which was, in its own ways, far more tortuous, torturous, and terrifying—for almost as long. He'd been something of a recluse all his life.
This was something he'd never imagined himself as.
He'd never seen himself, in the months after helping defeat Voldemort, sitting down to tackle the task of learning a new art. He'd never seen himself living after the defeat of Voldemort. He'd never seen himself free from the tribulations and obligations that plagued his every waking moment for so many years. Certainly, whatever he'd seen, he'd never imagined he'd be in love with Harry Potter. He'd never seen…this.
And yet, here they were, as they found themselves so often of a Sunday evening, Severus perched elegantly atop his bench, Harry sprawled seductively over the shining hood of the baby grand, eyes glittering madly.
Harry, Severus knew, loved these moments together. The younger man watched avidly as Severus pulled out a sheet of music, propped it in front of him, and squinted studiously. He licked his lips as Severus scanned the lines over, and then again once more, anticipation building. His flower petal-soft lips would frown, pout a moment when Severus took too long. His calloused hands would ball into fists, and his breathy whisper would beg, 'Please.'
That was as much as Severus could take. Another plea would undo the man, and end the game. He was careful never to let it go that far.
Instead, he would lift his hands to the ivory bars, fingerpads finding cool comfort in the growing familiarity of them. Then, at last, his long, nervous fingers would be given free rein, would fly from key to key, scale to scale, low to high and back again. So oft called 'spidery' or 'ugly,' Severus' digits would reign supreme, commanding the thunderous chords, silencing them with the mere cessation of movement. To Harry, they were indescribably beautiful. They were more than magic.
Harry moaned. It was a quiet noise; low and in the back of his throat, but Snape could always hear it. It was there, just beyond the throbbing pulse of rhythm, just past the boundaries of harmony and discord. Harry, body flush with the silken piano lid, would react instinctively. One hand would stroke the wood, a small gesture; a repetitive symbol of obsession. The other inched along the surface of the piano towards his lover; a slow, seductive offer, a wanton admission of need.
Severus ignored him. At least, he did not turn his head. His body, however, reacted.
He made it last as long as he could, though; until the young man was squirming on the piano top, writhing in need, convulsing in time with the sweet notes being pounded into the piano. Harry once confessed that this was what he loved most; Severus' fingers, in control, sending alternating gentle thrums and deep vibrations through his body. Harry could listen to the sweet notes, let his body react, give control up to the passion of his senses.
On one occasion, Severus sang as well. Unfortunately, the combination of the rich baritone and delicious purr beneath the young man had meant they had not made it as far as the bedroom. Harry, in fact, had not even managed to make it out of his pants. Severus found this amusing, and habitually told the story at cocktail parties.
Harry used to scowl at this, but he has become accustomed to it. Now, he has become far too addicted to the man's talented fingers to ruin the pleasure of the music with petty complaints.
He rolled lithely, stretched his legs, lifted his shirt. He licked his teeth, pressed himself against the groan of the music, and watched Severus' eyes. Harry could almost feel the man's fingers dance lightly across the keyboard, knowing soon that they would dance lightly across him. He felt the swell of melody flood the baby grand, almost too much for it to handle, until it broke, like a wave, pushed and flowed into him.
He draped himself casually across its glossy elegance, and smiled a wide, ivory grin at his lover. Snape never deigned to smile back, but enjoyed the show, anyways, drinking up the boy, watching with hungry ebony eyes. He could see his lover's erection straining against his zip, jerking almost in time to the tune. Severus merely allowed one corner of his mouth to curl a bit, and concentrated on sending his soul into his fingers.
Because the piano is just a toy, a tool used between the two, a way to express themselves in ways they'd otherwise never dream.
It isn't until the song ends that they will truly play.