Harry sank onto Snape's cock slowly, relishing the bite of the stretch and the clenched fingers on his hips. He smiled with his eyes but gritted his teeth, looking down to watch Snape steadily lose control.
He'd found him in a dusty pub near Godric's Hollow, glaring into his brandy as the late hours of Christmas Eve bled into the early minutes of Christmas morning.
"Evening, Professor," Harry had said, signalling the bartend for a Firewhisky before looking Snape in the eye, seeing the state of him: bedraggled, embittered, and lost. It was unsurprising but disappointing in a way, to see the normally acerbic, quick-witted wizard look so glumly at the tabletop when he'd normally look so scathingly at Harry.
He hadn't realized he'd expected that kind of attention until the moment Snape had muttered a surprisingly respectful, "Potter."
Now, Snape muttered the same name, strained and gasping as his legs tensed against Harry's first thrust.
"Feel good?" Harry asked, letting a mocking note fall into the vowels, before rolling his hips again.
Snape growled, thrusting up into him and bouncing them on the mattress with his force. "I don't want to hear you speak, Potter," he hissed, fingers curling around the globes of Harry's arse and tightening.
Harry's breath hitched but he grinned, tilting his head back.
Seeing Harry smile was likely not what Snape wanted either.
"Do you miss her?" Harry had asked after some time spent with Snape at the bar, leaning into his space as the wizard avoided eye contact.
"Of course I do," Snape had said finally, turning his sneering face to Harry only to lose dedication to that sneer when he saw Harry's eyes.
Snape flipped Harry over swiftly as soon as Harry had gotten settled into the pace, and carelessly rearranged Harry's legs and arms until he had Harry's wrists pinned with one hand to the mattress, and body folded in half so Snape could fuck into his hole while in complete control.
The new angle was startling in its intensity—making Harry sweat and shake as Snape swivelled his hips, cock slippery with oil and precome and stretching him wide. Harry lost his determination, his resolve to take what he wanted, then and there. He was lighting up, burning with coiling need. He was groaning.
He was wide-eyed and gasping as Snape rammed that perfect spot inside him. That spot that was pleasure-pain, pulling and pushing, confusing his nerve endings, all at once.
"Your. Fucking. Eyes."
Harry's eyes rolled back, eyelashes fluttering.
"Don't you dare close them," Snape barked with a snap of his hips.
Snape had had three more glasses before Harry had suggested the idea.
"Why are you spending Christmas alone?" he'd asked, fingers tracing the edge of his own glass.
"Potter, do you honestly believe that I make a habit of attending soirees and other festivities at every opportunity?" Snape had responded, tilting his head and watching Harry through narrowed eyes.
Harry'd smirked, shaken his head.
"Besides," Snape had muttered between sips, "Invitations to such things are minimal at best."
"Would you like to come home with me?"
Snape had paused, set down his drink.
"I would say we could go to mine for coffee, but I'd be lying." Harry continued, "And you wouldn't drink my coffee anyway."
"Stop talking, Potter," Snape had said, standing and tossing a few galleons on the counter to pay for both of their drinks, and then slipping into his overcoat. He hadn't stopped until he had reached the door, turning and cocking an eyebrow at Harry. "Well?"
It was no longer possible for Harry to keep quiet, being split open like he was—being fucked proper like he was by his former Professor, by Snape, the greasy-haired git who'd hated his father even more than he hated him, who sneered as much as he breathed, who'd ruined many and killed more, who'd loved his mother obsessively, unhealthily, unconditionally, who—
—was sending Harry quickly over the edge.
Snape fucked with his mouth open on a snarl when it was good, gritting his teeth when it was better, and swearing when it was best.
He fucked Harry liked they'd been fucking for years, and as he fucked Harry he stared into his eyes.
Now, Snape's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. His fingers gripped at Harry's calves, and Harry was sorely tempted to grab at his arms to ground himself.
He did when he couldn't not hold onto something anymore, and Snape let him, fingers grasping at Harry's as he thrust deliberately through Harry's orgasm.
Only when Harry arched, legs tensing and cock shooting strings of come across his chest and legs, did Snape falter. Harry didn't look away as Snape swore one last time into his oversensitive arse and shook as he came.
"One thing, before we go up there," Harry had said as they walked up the steps of Grimmauld Place.
Snape looked down at him, eyes cautious.
"Promise you won't be using me as a substitute for Lily."
"I know very well that you are not your mother, Potter," Snape said after a moment. "And I prefer to give my bed partners my full attention."
Harry smiled and led him inside.