A/N: The child inside of me pouts and stomps, as more and more people add Invictus to their favorites and alerts daily, and less and less actually review. I tell myself I should be happy with 103 reviews—especially when at least 70 of them were given in a considerably short time. Yet still I don't feel pressed to write another chapter on Invictus, and since another chapter would take more concentration than I can muster, today, I give you all a random oneshot snarry. It's probably PWP. :3 Please review.

Cozy

WARNING: Pure, absolute, smut without plot. Rather explicit—not sure if the M rating allows it, but probably.

Incentive

Harry Potter had, at some point, grown.

Snape sat at his desk as he watched his Advanced Potions class attempt to brew Amortentia—the strongest love potion known. Somehow, most likely with a momentous amount of effort from Grangers tutoring, Potter and Weasley had managed to obtain an O on their OWL's. Snape watched, intrigued, as Potter checked and re-checked his work, going over it with a thoroughness that Snape would not have thought possible.

It wasn't that the boy had gotten taller, he mused. No, he was still a runt for his age, at least half a head shorter than his year-mates. But his shoulders had filled out. His muscles were lean and wired, if his school uniform could be believed, and his body was firm, somehow. Solid.

Snape shook himself from his musings, wondering if he had gone mad—to be appraising Potter like that! Abruptly, just as Harry made his way to the cabinet for more ingredients, Snape stood and began stalking about the room, being sure to tear down all his favorite victims—perhaps more bitingly than usual. When he got to Potters table, he looked over the potion and spun, catching the boy as he returned from the cupboard in mid-step, merely three feet away.

"Potter, did you ever think to consider that a potion might require clockwise or counterclockwise stirring for a reason?" His voice was low and dangerous, perhaps all too angry, for the type of offence. Snape didn't care. What right did the boy have? Walking around with his fans and fame, rushing ahead into certain danger and only living by the grace of Dumbledore—or Severus' own good timing? Whatever Potter had done to pass his potions OWL's, it was clear now that he had not really improved.

Harry paused mid-step on his way back from the cabinet, listening to Snapes deep, sensuous voice dress him down in a tone more dangerous than Harry had heard in a while. To his horror, he realized he was growing hard at the voice, and his cheeks pinked perceptively.

"S-sorry sir." Was all Harry could say, hoping against hope that his robes hid his erection. Luckily, Snape only glared before turning to Harry's partner, Ron, to address him in nearly the same fashion. Harry stood there, suddenly noticing that, to return to his seat, he would have to walk behind the Potions Master. His desk was closest to the wall; so that the only room between Snape and the hard stone would force Harry to slip sideways behind the man—perhaps even touch him. Harry gulped. If he brushed against Snape…

The man looked up again, glaring at Harry so murderously that the boy gulped once more, and more blood rushed down below his belt line. There was no choice; if he kept standing here, hoping that Snape would move, he would surely get a detention or simply miss the end of the class—losing full marks. Snape looked like he planned to stand there until Harry say down, or perhaps the whole period—he seemed to be dictating to the room, currently.

Harry took a deep breath and began to walk forward, hoping his thin frame would keep him from touching Snape at all. He slanted his body sideways and moved through the gap, unable to stop himself from touching the Potions Master, praying desperately that the man hadn't noticed anything odd.

It was too much to ask, for as Harry sat down, red-faced, the man turned to him with an almost wicked gleam in his eyes—causing Harry to bite his lip, half in embarrassment and half in arousal.

"Detention tonight Potter, for your wanton lack of even marginal intelligence, and disregard for the rules of potion-making." The man snapped before retuning to his desk, ready to collect the potions. Harry was dissecting the comment, curious about the use of the word 'wanton'—it seemed out of place, and the double-use of the same basic insult—disregard for the rules seemed to him to be a restatement of lack of intelligence. But why would Snape call him stupid, for…

He looked around the room, suddenly noticing that there had, of course, been a numerous amount of free—if round-about—pathways back to his desk. Paths that didn't involve briefly pressing his erection against his Professors ass. He hadn't thought of going the long way back to his desk—he had only looked at the most direct course.

Groaning, he ignored Rons concern and slumped forward onto the desk. His embarrassment heightened profusely by his apparent lack of ability to think of more than one option—ever—had his face glowing more red than pink now. He did not look up for the remainder of class, muttering 'fuck it' when a voice—sounding quite like Hermione—reminded him he would lose substantial marks for the day.

Snape smirked as he watched Harry Potters red face disappear in the shelter of his arms, wondering how the boy—who had admittedly been unable to chart a different route back to his seat—had noticed Snapes comment on both his abysmal potion and his rather lack of finesse. He supposed it hadn't been all that difficult—according to Harrys face when he had sat down, the boy had been acutely aware of his most recent blunder.

Weasley was attempting to get Harry to talk to him, looking increasingly worried, when the bell rang. Snape wondered absently how tonights detention would progress as he collected the potions before shooing students from the room.

Harry tried to compose himself before entering the potions room for detention. He felt the absurd need to justify himself to his professor for his actions, but he struggled to suppress it—knowing any justification would not be welcomed. Finally, he opened the door as calmly as he could and stepped inside. Snape was grading papers at his desk, it looked like, and a stack of dirty cauldrons lined the far wall.

"Late again, Potter. How many detentions would it take to teach you the value of my time?" The question was rhetorical, meant to be sarcastic and cruel, but Harry answered anyway as he crossed over to the cauldrons and got to work without being asked.

"Well, I'm sure you know that cleaning cauldrons is not necessarily a good incentive to be prompt, Professor." He was already on his knees, scrubbing with ferocity at a cauldron that appeared to be caked in black slime.

"What kind of incentive would you need, Potter?" The voice was mocking, low, and amused—leaving no room for Harry to misinterpret what he meant. Harry froze in his scrubbing, lowing his arms before turning around. His eyes were wide in shock, but an agreeable shiver ran down his spine. The need for justification instantly rushed back to the surface.

"Professor—I'm sorry, for—for earlier today, when I—when I walked past you." Snape ignored him, head bent in concentration over his grading.

"I just—uhm…right well, sorry. It was stupid of me." He went back to cleaning, scrubbing with renewed vigor as he called himself several kinds of idiot.

"Whatever you found to be so arousing today, Potter, be sure to avoid it in the future—my advanced class requires the students to think with the part of their anatomy that possesses brains." Harry gave something akin to a bark of laughter.

"Kinda hard to avoid," he muttered to himself, instantly regretting it when Snape stood and strode over to stand behind him. He kept cleaning, hoping the man would move away, painfully aware of the heat coming off of his Professor.

"What was that Potter?" Snapes voice was quiet, but sounded even more dangerous for that. The man noticed that Harry was close to trembling, and he wondered if the savior of the wizarding world could really be that scared of his Professor. Harry cleared his throat.

"I said, 'it's kinda hard to avoid.'" Harry said louder, still keeping his back turned.

Snape grabbed Harry by the back of the collar, pulling him upright and pressing himself against Harry's backside.

"And why is that, Potter?" He asked slowly, maliciously.

"Cause you're always insulting me in that god damn voice!" Harry yelled, unable to stop himself from pushing back against Snape, nearly groaning at the hardness that pressed into his buttocks. Snape growled at the contact, bending his head and biting Harry's neck before talking quietly in his hear.

"You get hot from my voice, Potter?" Harry managed to gasp out a 'yes' before moaning and pressing back harder, bucking his hips in a sad attempt to disregard the cloth that separated them. Snape moved his hands so that one remained on Harry's chest, keeping the boy pressed against him, and the other moved slowly down, grabbing his hip and squeezing. Harry let out something close to a whimper, and Snape smirked.

"Then I've suppose we've found some…incentive," the man growled, moving the hand on Harrys hip down even further, grasping the boys straining erection through the cloth. Harry groaned loudly and pressed into his touch, head turned to the side as his panting grew heavier. "For you to be prompt, Mister Potter, to your detentions."

"Please…" the boy whimpered, unable to finish his sentence as the older man began unbuttoning his trousers.

"Please what, Potter?" The hand pushed the boys too-baggy trousers down, and for a moment Harry was left panting before he could get more words out.

"Please, I want—want you…" the words were lost in a moan as Snape began to touch him, and he thrust his hips forward into his professor's hand.

Suddenly the Potions Master took his hands away; spinning Harry around before he could bemoan the loss of contact and grabbing him by the shirtfront, bringing his face a scant inch from the boys.

"I don't think you understand, Potter." the man growled. Harry's breath hitched as he bit his lip, looking up searchingly into the mans dark eyes—his own green ones misty with lust. "What I take, I keep."

Harry grabbed his professor's face and kissed him. It wasn't a harsh kiss, but nor was it gentle, and when it ended Harry stood on his toes to whisper in the mans ear.

"Please…"

That was all the acceptance he needed. Snape smirked and continued to teach Harry Potter not only to be prompt, but to be careful what he begged for.

A/N: total smut. I've been reading tons of it on Walk the Plank in my spare time—cause I've got time to read some oneshots, but not to write full chapters. This story is absolutely pointless, but it was fun, and I hope you'll review.