At nine o'clock, it's only four in the Caribbean.
The sand is coarse and black, and judging by the sun beating down on them, it must be near to thirty degrees. Severus looks up at inky clouds blotting the cerulean-blue sky. "Not quite the end of the rainy season," he remarks.
Already Harry is toeing off his shoes and socks and rushing to the ocean. Rolling his eyes, Severus drops the Portkey and trunks, takes off his boots, and follows. His robes drag heavily in the warm seawater behind him like a long silver shadow.
He sees the beach ending in a cliff, with jungle and palm trees, and Harry's bright smile lighting up his face.
Harry swings their intertwined hands as they trudge along the shallow waters. "When Sirius stayed here with Buckbeak, he sent tropical looking birds instead of owls."
"Ah. Witherwings. I can't imagine this was an ideal spot for a Hippogriff."
"It's an ideal spot for Harrys." He stoops to wet his other hand in the seawater. "I bet there's tropical fish, and coral. We should go out with a Bubble-Head Charm and take a look!"
"Perhaps if it is a shallow reef—I have no ambition to be killed by a shark."
"They have sharks here? Do you know any spells to send them away?"
"I'm not a Spell Encyclopaedia. And there are doubtless all sorts of dangerous creatures here. In fact…"
He takes out his wand, and Harry does the same. They cast spells for detection of Dark Magic, and all seems well.
At Severus's insistence, they turn to retrieve their things, otherwise it's a one-way ticket to sunburn and misery.
On their way back, Harry asks, "Is it normal to have your own island?"
Severus nods. "Some of the oldest families had their own tropical islands for harvesting potion ingredients. In days gone by, the apothecaries were somewhat limited, and land untouched by Muggles was a valuable source of income."
"Did your family have any islands?"
Severus looks out to sea. "Yes. My grandfather lost the fortune to gambling. It took a long time for Mum to talk Grandma 'round that the Gobstones Club was harmless. And now Grandma's a keen bridge player, as you know."
Harry snorts. "Yeah." He gestures to the cliff. "So I suppose this is Unplottable. Who renews the Muggle-Repelling Charms?"
"It's probably House-Elf magic. I wonder if Kreacher still visits."
The sand is scorching beneath their toes, so he blasts Harry's feet with the Hot-Air Charm, and they put their shoes back on.
Hand-in-hand, they head inshore, their luggage floating behind them. A cacophony of exotic bird calls and unidentified animals follow them as they pass trees with trunks six feet across, and sidestep white and crimson flowers overflowing onto the path. On the way up the steep slope, the dense canopy of the gigantic trees shades them.
The cabana sits in a clearing, lifted ten feet above ground by wooden beams to gain the benefit of a breeze. The walls of woven palm reach just waist height, above which hang simple white curtains that wave in the wind. Thatch shades the large veranda and when they enter the cabana, they see it is just one spacious room. Breeze-powered ceiling fans revolve lazily above an enormous bed shrouded by a mosquito net. There's a tiny kitchenette in the corner with a table and chairs for two, as well as two squashy chaise longues and a rammed bookshelf.
Severus examines the titles with half a mind to look up the Bubble-Head Charm whilst Harry opens all the cupboard doors. He whistles and gestures to boxes and boxes of food with Hermione's neat penmanship, and George's untidy scrawl. In a cool cabinet, there's milk, juice, white wine, and a trifle.
Whilst Harry pours them pumpkin juice, Severus rummages around for his gramophone.
"Did you bring the kitchen sink, too?"
Severus shuts him up by kissing him, before fetching his records.
"You know kissing me doesn't mean you've won the—oof."
He shuts him up some more, and decides to shut him up for the rest of the evening. Sunset isn't until seven, and it seems neither of them are in the frame of mind for exploring the island.
"Are you hungry?" Severus asks. His voice is rough, so he clears his throat.
"Nah." Harry pulls a chaise longue into the shade of the veranda, flops onto it, and pulls Severus down with him. It's a bit of a squash, not really built for two adults, yet they kiss like they are the only people left in the world, and every time Harry pulls away, he waits with bated breath for even a single extra kiss.
He enlarges the chaise longue, and soon Harry dozes, pillowed on Severus's stomach. It's not terribly late in Britain, but it's been an exhausting day.
Severus must have drifted off too, for he wakes to Harry rubbing his feet, haloed by the setting sun. "Let's go inside," Harry murmurs.
There are candles in the cupboard, and with a swing of Severus's wand they assemble in intervals around the perimeter of the room. He lights them with another wave, and their reflections twinkle in Harry's glasses as he blinks up at him. The look in Harry's eyes pierces through his defences, so Severus takes off his glasses and puts them on the bedside table.
Meeting Harry's gaze makes his chest go uncomfortably tight, makes him feel nude, as if there is nowhere to hide.
The bonding robes are rather more open-necked than he'd normally wear, and he shivers at the back of Harry's forefinger skimming over the start of his collarbone.
Surely Harry can feel his thrumming heart.
Something twists in Severus's gut as Harry stares at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He feels his own eyelids drift half closed. His hair dances around his face in the balmy breeze, so Harry reaches out to smooth it back, before crouching to untie Severus's boots and kicking off his own.
Harry grips his hand as he holds Severus's head and kisses across the outstretched neck and along his jawline.
Severus stands with his head held high, back ramrod straight.
"It's okay," Harry says, rubbing Severus's sides. "It's just me."
Now is not the time for nerves.
Severus reaches out a tentative finger to trace Harry's chin, the trajectory of his smiling cheek, and he turns his face to kiss his fingertip. Harry locks his gazes with Severus's, and backs away. Severus's heart stops for a moment, then catches up as he comprehends. Harry settles in the parting of the mosquito net. The vast swathes of silver cloth engulf Harry and the bed. Severus kneels on the floor to remove Harry's socks and brush off the remaining sand. Throughout all of this, Harry looks at him, eyes very dark in his pale face. Severus moves to kiss him.
Harry's lips are soft. He savours the inner surface of Harry's lower lip, consumes the soft sound Harry makes in his throat, and shudders as their tongues touch.
Their clothes are an inconvenient barrier, and Harry tugs up Severus's robes, and with help he flings it to the ground. Severus kneels before him in just his underwear, and shivers as gentle fingers caress the hairs of his thigh upwards so that they stand on end. His husband's eyes are observant, careful, studious. Goosebumps appear as he feels Harry's calloused palm trace the planes of his chest, and Harry leans in to kiss a scar on his shoulder. The kisses are unhurried and almost disinterested, as though he's trying to calm a wild horse, and his hands drift up and down Severus's arms and shoulders. He pulls away to bestow a long kiss on Severus's Dark Mark, and another soft, slow one on the bonding ring.
Harry divests himself of his robes and pants with breathless haste. Nude, he lies down again, tugging Severus down. Harry strokes from his ribs to the top of his underpants and then pulls him into another kiss, fingertips resting at the base of his spine.
Severus reaches out to trace the edge of his throat, jaw, up around his ear and temple, then his lips follow his hand along his bared neck, the side of his face, to finally rest in tamed black hair.
Harry guides him down so they face each other on their sides, and slings his leg over Severus's hip. "Got to be quite close. 'Cos I can't see you properly without my glasses." His breath hitches when Severus grazes his fingertips down the line of his spine, and cups the swell of his buttock.
Severus's arms encircle Harry's shoulders to pull the warm weight on top of him, and Harry huffs a sigh into his ear, and lifts his mouth for another kiss. Harry's cock drags wetly over his hip, and he reaches for it, letting it paint runes on his palm, then closes his fingers and drinks in Harry's sigh.
He plays gently with the foreskin for a while, before Harry sits up a bit to look at Severus's chest, and touch the horrible scars on his neck. He says, "Your skin, it's..." Pasty? Awful? "...incredible."
At Severus's bafflement, he grimaces and continues, "I've made you feel uncomfortable. When I want to make you happy. If I put you off, I know I say a lot of rubbish during er, sex, just Silencio me or something, I probably won't be offended if you do—"
He quiets Harry with a finger to his lips. "I am happy," he breathes. "Be yourself."
He works his hands down Harry's broad back whilst Harry presses kisses onto his cheekbone, his chin, his scars—and then Harry licks along his collarbone, and Severus pushes up and rolls on top of him, kissing him fiercely. Harrys fingers scrabble over Severus's sharp shoulder blades, and Severus presses Harry's shoulders into the mattress so he can take stock: perfect legs, thick and hairy; chest, solid and damp with perspiration; cock, standing hard for him; arms lightly dusted with black hairs. He follows a path with his fingers from a vein on his forearm down to I must not tell lies.
The nerves are still there, yet the feel of Harry's bare skin under his fingertips is an incendiary. Harry tastes him everywhere—temple, the underside of his jaw, the space behind his ear. "Harry—" he begins, but has no plan.
"Severus?" he purrs, and Severus turns to find his mouth.
Harry sinks his hands in Severus's hair, legs wide, his bare cock rubbing against Severus's underwear like a firebrand, and he looks so lovely in the fading light.
Then, Harry pushes his hand down Severus's chest, stomach, and stops, questioning. Severus nods almost imperceptibly, and Harry slips inside his boxers. He watches Harry's face as he works him with certainty, the pitch soaring to near unbearable heights without ever varying the pace. He pauses Harry with a touch to his wrist, because he knows what Harry wants and plans to give him anything he asks.
Harry's eyes are on him like coals when he pushes Harry onto his back. He gets a pillow to prop up Harry's hips, and commands, "You'll tell me if you don't like it."
Bypassing Harry's cock, legs, and stomach, Severus murmurs a cleaning spell, and presses his tongue around the rim. They've danced around each other for too long, and waiting is no longer a priority.
Wizards Under the Sheets really doesn't warn you about the noises another man makes, their scent or taste, the fear in your heart that they might not be enjoying themselves. Harry makes a strangled sound, and he only stops to check Harry's face, whose eyes are wide and jaw slack. He's probably enjoying it.
Harry Summons lubricant and passes it down, and then he's squirming as Severus presses in a finger.
"Before you ask," Harry says a little breathlessly, "it doesn't hurt."
Severus smiles into Harry's thigh, nuzzles the skin beside his cock, and adds in another finger.
"Stop tickling me with your hair and fuck me."
He quirks his fingers in punishment. "Perhaps this ought to be an education in patience, Mr. Potter."
Harry squirms. "I should get a medal. Or they can put it on my gravestone. 'Harry Potter, died of patience'."
Severus ghosts his lips down the side of his cock, and back up again to taste the tip. "Ah—probably best if you stop that," Harry gasps, "—don't want to come yet." He obeys and tastes Harry's leg instead, then adds a third finger.
Impatient, Harry grasps his shoulder, drawing Severus on top of him. Harry licks the corner of Severus's mouth. "Do it now," he pants. Harry pours lubricant into his palm, and Severus shudders when he gathers their cocks into his hand and ruts upwards, and Severus watches, mesmerised. "I want to feel you inside me. I need you to make love to me." Powerless to deny Harry anything, he buries his face in Harry's neck before sucking on the spot behind his ear. The sound Harry makes is delicious.
It's finally happening. He stares intently into Harry's eyes to make sure he understands. "You will tell me. If it hurts. Then we stop."
His breath hitches as Harry rocks backwards and positions Severus's cock at his entrance.
Harry kisses his face, threading his hair out of the way. "I'm a rubbish liar, Sev. You'll know," he says. "And if you don't like it…I'm sure I'll find some other way to satisfy you."
He eases in, ever so slightly, and if it hurts or Harry is unhappy, he can't see anything on his face.
"More," Harry whispers, nodding, eyes half closed.
He's not going to fit.
Harry's legs wrap around him, and he edges further in, and it's too much, too tight, too hot. His desire is so sudden and present that moving and breathing are a chore and he squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught.
Harry bears down on him and draws out an involuntary moan from between Severus's gritted teeth and they are fully joined. He can see from the desire smouldering in Harry's eyes that he wants this. Wants Severus.
"How—does it feel?" Severus asks.
Conversation is almost beyond him.
"Full. Turned on. A bit weird," he says, chest heaving. He cups Severus's cheek with his hand. "Glad it's you, though. So glad." Harry lazily strokes his cock. "You're bloody perfect," he says. "Like some kind of fantasy brought to life."
He rocks into Harry and growls into his ear, "I am no fantasy." He pulls out and in to illustrate his point, and Harry whines. The noises he makes are unmistakably that of pleasure. There are sounds of kissing, moaning, skin slapping together. His heart thunders and sings the sight of Harry. Everything, everything was so much more vivid than his dreams. Brow furrowed in bliss. Black hair a contrast against the white pillowcase. The feel of the hairs on his chest when Severus drags his lips down his breast bone.
With each passing thrust, Severus feels a wedge driving between who he used to be, and who he has now become. Harry's lover, Harry's husband, a good man. They undulate together as two parts of one whole. Harry is loud, they are totally alone, and he explores ways of raising Harry's pleasure by tugging at his earlobe with his teeth, pinching his nipples, and knocking his hand out of the way so that he is the source of all of Harry's gratification.
Harry undulates his pelvis to meet Severus's thrusts, whines with every movement, pulls painfully on Severus's hair, and babbles incoherent things like "Oh" and "Please" presumably because he has found his prostate. Severus feeds his ravenous ears on the sighs and gasps, his hungry eyes on his chest, quivering thighs, taut stomach. Enraptured, he watches Harry's face as it tightens in violent climax, then slackens with release.
Perhaps it's his age, but Severus somehow manages to outlast him. At least he does until Harry drives him in deeper with his heels, makes his soulmark tingle, and says in his ear, "Fill me up." The desperation and madness of being inside Harry catches up with him, and Harry holds him through the tremors, his body hugging his cock so tightly. Harry's still panting as he demands, "Kiss me. Kiss me while we're like this."
More kisses, sedating and sweet, and Harry's unique scent surrounds him, legs cradle him, and he makes to withdraw, but Harry says, "Wait, stay. I want to feel you as much as possible. I want to stay connected."
He can do one better than that, and whispers, "Legilimens." Harry lowers his defences, lets him in, and his mind is so full of love that it's almost painful, like staring into the sun. Being loved like this is frightening. His hips and knees start to ache, so he pulls out, and they lie side by side in each other's presence.
It's not long until Harry's eyes flicker sleepily, his breathing slows, and then he reaches out to smooth a lock of hair off Severus's cheek. Severus turns into the hand to kiss his wrist, and then his palm, and then his fingers. He gets a half smile for his trouble.
The candles gutter and blink out within a few minutes of each other as they kiss, shallowly, again and again, with no plans to finish.
He stays up late that night, listening to Harry's breathing. In the early hours of the morning he makes love to him again. He marks his neck. He drinks down Harry's sighs when he comes.
Sunrise is at a reasonable half seven. It's probably because of the Portkey lag that Harry wakes him just as the dawn strikes the sky. Careful fingers rub Numbing Salve into his neck, and the dull ache subsides. Severus quirks open one eye, in an attempt at a half glare, and Harry assumes from this that Severus is awake and lifts Painkilling Potion to his lips.
The sky is a deep indigo, and the dawn chorus is waking (along with Harry, and now Severus it seems), and he yields to the land of the living with delicate kisses to his throat. He remembers a murky dream of holding Harry.
"Good morning," Severus says.
"Can't you make this stuff taste better?" Harry asks, voice groggy.
Severus blinks down at him, bemused. "Numbing Salve is not designed to be ingested."
Green eyes stare back at him owlishly, glasses nowhere to be seen.
"Will it get better? Or is it the same every day?"
Severus rubs his eyes and stretches his arms, and Harry takes this opportunity to come in for a cuddle. His breath tickles Severus's armpit hair. "Sometimes I think it's getting better. Dark Magic is hard to predict. If anyone can do it it's you, and Merlin knows you're stubborn and annoying enough to try." Severus's lips twitch up.
Harry jabs him with his toe and says, "Git," and kisses the corner of his mouth. Harry, who is naked. Harry, who is pressed against him.
"You like it," Severus counters.
"I do."
Severus strokes the backs of his fingers over Harry's throat, down his chest to his nipples, over his abdomen. His cock and his hips both move. Severus raises an eyebrow. "I see," he says. "But we need a bath. And breakfast."
Their kisses are still deep and sleep tainted, Harry feeds him berries in lieu of breakfast, and they end up in an oval bathtub sunk into the ground behind the cabana. It's still rather dark, so Harry lights a lantern.
They fill the tub with Aguamenti, and Harry says, "I want to make you feel as good as I felt last night."
It's an intriguing proposition, and he tells him as such, and allows Harry to manoeuvre Severus so he stands in front of Harry who sits on the sunken bench. He's not fully awake, and the water chills his calves, but these thoughts flee his mind as the entire world narrows to a point when there's a murmured cleaning charm. Harry licks away the tingling from the magic, and plunges in with abandon. Severus's head tilts back, his eyes aren't seeing the shades of blue and orange twisting through the lightening sky, and he buries a hand in Harry's hair. Hands grip his pelvis, and he squeezes his eyes shut and lets a deep moan escape him.
"You all right?" Harry murmurs.
He understands Severus's answering groan, a lubricated finger (how?) presses in, and Harry reaches around to touch him thoroughly with his other hand, as though he was trying to see with his fingertips. It turns out his body is certainly attentive and eager to do whatever Harry wishes, and he bucks forward into Harry's palm. More fingers open him, lips kiss the small of his back, then Harry gives one slow pull from base to tip and relinquishes him.
"Can I—" Harry begins.
"Yes." He kneels on the submerged bench, palms flat on the mosaic floor tiles, and is pissed off that Harry joins him just to plant slow kisses to the back of his neck and run his hands over Severus's back and shoulders. "Get on with it, then."
He feels a puff of Harry's laughter between his shoulder blades, and Harry's slick cock at his entrance.
He concentrates on Harry's enjoyment and murmured encouragements, as it isn't comfortable.
"Does it hurt?" Harry asks.
Severus shakes his head. A drop of sweat trickles down his chest.
"Relax," he whispers, kissing the small of his back. "You feel so amazing. Can I give you more?"
Severus nods. Instead of proceeding, Harry strokes his waning cock, so Severus reverses to take more of Harry. A strong arm enfolds him and pulls him against Harry's chest.
He rocks into Severus who lives for the feel of Harry's front against his back, thigh-to-thigh, joined together, the noises he makes, especially the gibberish like "I'm so glad you're mine", "I get to keep you" and "not gonna last".
As he meets Harry's movements, clenching tightly whilst ignoring the twinge in his knees, he has no distinct thoughts. Just the impression of being loved, embraced, possessed.
Harry tweaks his nipple, presses firmly along his chest and stomach, then finally tugs his cock. When the gasps grow more ragged against the back of his neck, and Harry's grip tightens like a clamp, Severus links the fingers of Harry's other hand resting beside his. Suddenly, he presses backwards with all his strength, and turns his face to bear witness to Harry losing control inside him, because of him.
Curling forwards, Harry jerks his hips and stares helplessly down at Severus, coming, shuddering, shattering, whining.
Harry withdraws, panting, and places Severus at the edge of the bath, lies him back gently on the tiles, and kisses a path down his chest, stomach, thighs, the tip of his cock.
The soft gust of Harry's breath makes him shiver. "I love looking at you. You're magnificent." He swirls his tongue around the head and rubs the shaft with his tongue and lips. "And I love how you taste." Harry hovers above him for a moment before saying, "I want you to look in my eyes and see how much I love sucking you off."
He waits for a response, and Severus nods dazedly.
All at once, he's in Harry's welcoming, warm mouth, and Severus props himself up on his hands to watch.
Severus gasps as Harry slips two fingers into him, and the sounds from the intermingled cum and lubricant are obscene. He begins to draw little circles with his fingers, searching, until Severus cries out, and Harry sinks his mouth deeper, eyes on Severus's face. Harry works him with his tongue. Fingers press back and forth until Severus stiffens and he lets out a strangled yelp. He thrusts once, twice, spilling into Harry's waiting mouth. His fingernails scrabble along the tiles, and he moans, riding out the devastating waves of pleasure that submerge him.
He finds Harry staring at him with a somewhat self-satisfied expression. Harry gets up shakily, pushes Severus's hair back off his face. Severus's eyes flutter shut, and he turns to blindly kiss Harry's fingertips.
"That was sublime," Severus says, "I am not accustomed to such acts."
"Well. You will be."
Harry warms the water, pulls Severus back in, and rubs Severus's biceps as the chill is settling in. Severus sends a message to his arm, something simple like 'I love you' but he's not a hundred percent sure. They haven't actually bathed: Severus can taste salty sweat on the skin of Harry's shoulder. He rests his head in the crook of Harry's neck, not recovered.
Because he's young and energetic, Harry Summons the toiletry bag, and lathers and rinses away any evidence that they've had sex three times without washing. Then, he shampoos Severus's hair and kisses the skin behind his ears, in an area that will get Severus to agree to anything he wishes.
Harry Summons a fluffy towel and dries him.
Having a young lover is very dangerous indeed.
Sometime later, Harry sits down with icy pumpkin juice and swings his feet onto Severus's lap. "What are you reading?" he asks. They hide from the sun in the veranda's shade.
"Your feet smell," Severus says.
Pulling yesterday's paper towards him, Harry says, "You've gone straight to the obituaries!"
"I have," Severus says with a smirk.
"Seeing if anyone's left you anything?"
Severus laughs heartily from deep within his belly. "It's what keeps me going," he says.
Tracing the contours of Severus's face, Harry says, "I like it when you laugh." He pushes Severus's hair out of his face. "Do you believe in karma?"
"That Muggle rubbish? No, and thank Merlin for that," he says. He has done nothing to deserve such a heaven-spun creature. "Something would've gone horribly wrong for the universe to give me you."
"Well. I've won the lottery." He presses a cool glass of juice into Severus's hand. "Drink up or you'll expire."
"Fine," he huffs out, and Harry is not fooled.
Harry, it transpires, is horny every day.
He doesn't like locks. His favourite pastime is being held. He likes cupboards that are bursting full of food.
He doesn't close the kitchen cabinet doors fully, the dining chairs are in disarray, and it's a marvel they haven't perished in a house fire because of course the candles are rarely snuffed out. Salt is poured over dinner before he's tasted it. Conversations are shouted from other rooms. The plug is often clogged with hair and it is a wonder there is any water left in England once his indulgent showers come to an end. However, learning the discipline of love is not such a hardship.
It takes longer to learn that he is more than the soulmate, lover, husband, or defender of Harry Potter. He is more than a man with a faded Dark Mark on his arm, more than a lonely boy from the Midlands.
It takes them longer than anticipated to repair Morleigh Farm.
Severus takes much longer than anticipated to learn how to be loved.
THE END