"Powerful infatuation can be induced by the skillful potioneer, but never yet has anyone managed to create the truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called love."
- Hector Dagworth-Granger
Outside, rare sunlight streams through the smeared glass, casting rectangles of light on the floorboards by the window.
Inside, Harry lounges on the threadbare sofa. He has taken off his boots and his feet, clad in festive red-striped socks, are planted on the middle seat, his knees drawn up. A dog-eared old book, Have Yourself A Fiesta in a Bottle! by Libatius Borage is propped open on his chest (to distract from the throbbing pressure between his thighs). The book's margins are filled with corrections and several paragraphs of sarcastic, scathing notes. The first handwritten line proclaims it to be the property of the Half-Blood Prince. Hello, old friend. Harry turns the pages lazily, caressing each one.
Severus enters the room levitating a tray of jam, toast, and tea from the kitchen. The corner of his mouth curls as he encounters Harry perched the sofa. "As glad as I am that you are reevaluating your career, do you really think that bottled fiestas are your next calling in life?"
Harry looks up from his reading. Though Severus' hair is now smoothed down, and his shirt collar is once more done up, there's a lingering flush on Severus' sallow features. (Less than ten minutes ago, he arched his brow at Harry as if daring him, and it was all the encouragement Harry needed: he nudged Severus toward the armchair by the fireplace, planted his knees on either side of Severus' lap and then snogged him senseless. He would never forget the narrow strip of Severus' exposed neck as he pressed his mouth beneath Severus' ear and tasted his skin. That prompted a strained gasp and afterwards, Severus' hold on him was frantic. Severus' inquisitive, possessive hands slid up and down his back, tracing the length of his spine and Harry had to pull back from the chair because the urge to thrust against Severus' raised thigh was swiftly becoming as vital and instinctual to him as panting for air and writhing at Severus' touch and ohgod, we need to pause this. Now. Right now. Shit. Quick. Think of something unappealing... something - Uncle Vernon starkers, shimmying up the staircase at Privet Drive. Right. That worked. OK, breathe.)
"I'm thinking of spending a year travelling, maybe even writing a book of my own. I'll need a good editor, of course..." Harry casts a final look at the marked-up margins and carefully closes the book shut. "Do you happen to know anyone like that?"
"Perhaps." Snape's brow twitches. "Depends on the subject."
A sex manual! Help me write it. Harry bites his tongue. He won't say it. He won't, no matter how much he wants to. Instead, he sets the book aside, bites into a piece of toast, because he's starving, and tries his best not to talk with his mouth full. He does manage an appreciative "Mmm!"
"You should have told me you were so... hungry." Severus' hand brushes his shoulder and it sends electric jolts through Harry. The fact that his thumb traces the ridge of Harry's collar where the fabric meets skin, just for a moment, doesn't help in the least. It's hypnotizing.
Harry flashes his stare at Severus while finishing off the rest of the toast on his plate. "I'm always hungry."
"Ah. Young men and their insatiable appetites," Severus says with a shade of satisfaction over his features - blink once and it's gone. "By the way, you have some jam, right here." His arm extends toward Harry again, not quite reaching the corner of his mouth.
Harry allows his lips to part, licks his lower lip while facing Severus. Leans forward against the fingers presented to him until he almost kisses the nearest fingertip. Perhaps he's not the only one who has difficulty controlling himself today. Severus' stare is dark. His breathing hitches, openly so. It's as if he's not even bothering to hide the subtle signs of arousal any longer around Harry.
"Aren't you," Harry asks "... hungry too?"
Snape's features remain the same, not a shift of emotion in them. And yet, the tea tray settles on the table with an audible clang; Severus' spells have never been this imprecise before. "Harry," he breathes.
Is it a warning, or is it a question? Nonetheless, it fills Harry with enough giddy bravery to ask, "So, um, have you got any more tea and toast left in the kitchen?"
Severus' lip curls in disapproval. His hand withdraws. "Oh, even you cannot possibly be this thick-headed -"
"Wait," Harry stops him mid-rant before it has a chance to escalate further. "Only reason I'm asking is, 'cause I hope there's enough left for breakfast tomorrow." He lets the implications sink in over a brief pause, as Snape's eyes widen. "For two, I mean. If stay until then. So, er, have you got a bed in this place maybe?"
Severus' expression is an odd, curious thing. A shade of something vulnerable crosses it and then disappears as he leans forward, allows his hair to fall over the sides of his face. "Only one bed. I'll show you if you'd like."
Harry forgets to breathe. His throat is dry and hot. He nods. "Yes."
A hand extends toward him and Harry takes it, rising from the sofa, as he's led into a small passageway between the bookshelves that turns out to be a small staircase to the second floor. It's dim and cobwebbed and is framed by the tall stacks of books along the wall, reaching as tall as the railing.
Why does he have a feeling no one but Severus has seen these walls for a long, long time?
The staircase leads to a corridor with scraped-up floorboards with a few threadbare rugs. Harry's socks catch against the occasional rusty nail cap, leaving motes of red fluff behind, like breadcrumbs on an unfamiliar trail, but he pays them no mind. Severus is in front of him, taking measured steps, and all of Harry's attention is on him. Severus leads Harry to the heavy wooden door (it opens with a soft creak) and steps aside to let Harry through first.
A candle lamp hanging from the ceiling flares to life at the wave of Severus' hand, and sure enough, here it is in the centre, the unmade bed with the plain cotton sheets and a couple of heavy grey blankets piled over it.
It's real. This is real. Severus sleeps here, every night.
He's about to be naked in this room with another, and it feels like he's never revealed himself like this - or ever - before. Perhaps that's true. His body feels like a new body, no longer a reanimated golem, his mind feels freshly formed and released from its prison.
Harry turns to face Severus, as his hands are twisting and rolling the fabric at the bottom of his jumper. In one quick move, like darting through a doorway marked with a wizard's profile, like jumping off a cliff with a broom that may not even fly, Harry yanks the jumper upwards and over his head. His glasses catch on the collar and come off too, softening the shapes in the corners of the room. Severus' face is still clear.
Severus' hands are slightly chilled as they pluck Harry's glasses from the woollen bundle. His gestures are infinitely careful as he folds the earpieces, as he sets the glasses on the bedside table.
Harry faces Severus, squares his shoulders and lets the jumper fall to the floor. He feels so naked under Severus' gaze: more so with a piece of black elastic stretching over his ribs. "Hang on," he says before Severus reaches out for him because something needs to be said. He won't repeat the same mistake twice: won't let the unease of physical interactions loom and linger on as it did with George. "I want this. With you. So much. A few things first. Um, try not to put your hands around my waist or" - he gestures at his bound chest - "right here. Also, there are some words - for body parts - that probably aren't a good idea. You haven't yet said anything, but just be careful."
Severus nods and leans forward to leave a chaste kiss on Harry's lips as if sealing an unwritten deal. "Are you comfortable with your back or your sides touched?" he inquires crisply.
Harry hadn't thought of it this way. Hm, he reckons most of the discomfort with his body is what he sees when he faces the mirror, what his body curls in on itself to hide in the moments of peaceful solitude. "Yes. Both are OK."
"Very good." Severus circles then, until he ends up behind Harry, not a looming threat for once but a dark and steady presence. His hands trace their way from Harry's thighs over his fingertips and up to his arms, like a shiver bubbling up, finally coming to rest on Harry's shoulders. A heavy, comforting weight.
"So regarding words? Hm." Severus leans forward as if on a dare and whispers against Harry's ear. "If I said that knowing that you are hard - and have been hard for a while now - and the smell of you like this, the thought of your arousal in my house, at my touch, makes my mouth water, would you prefer me to voice it next time or not?" He's practically purring, even as his lips touch Harry's earlobe in a ticklish, smooth swipe down.
Ohfuck! Arousal hits Harry like a punch to the gut, his hips thrusting forward instinctively, once, twice. "Ahh. Yeah! Go on." He throws his head back until it's supported by Snape's bony shoulder. He is trying to control his body from shaking too much. His hands are in tight fists pressed against Severus' sides.
Severus is touching him. Harry's safe in these hands. He's safe with Severus' words. Severus knows Harry inside and out: what makes him lower his mental shields, what makes his heart soar. Severus won't let him down.
"Easy," comes a whisper in his ear. "Easy, Harry." He's wound up so tight, he doesn't know if Severus' hands are a curse or a blessing. That voice though, Harry focuses all awareness on that and allows the magic of it to overtake him. "Let's start with something simple first, hm? I'll keep my hands on you." Thumbs dig into the tight muscles at the back of Harry's neck. They force him to relax for once. Narrow, tight circles of blissful pressure follow. "Oh, one more thing."
"Yes?" Harry leans instinctively into that soft whisper, into the warmth of Severus' mouth at his ear. The tension is driving him mad.
"I won't touch your cock unless you ask me to."
The phrase strikes Harry like a lightning bolt, the way it spills from Severus' lips, warm and ordinary, the casual truth of it, the fact that Severus got the words right, an echo of the words in Harry's mind, and then followed up with the promise of so much more, if Harry ever braves the utter vulnerability of asking for it aloud.
But that's just unfair. The contrary sod has Harry writhing, wanting, with the way he knows just what to whisper in his ear. Harry grabs hold of those narrow hips and thrusts back, grinding against an obvious hard-on. He won't be the only one losing control here, he won't! With one desperate hand he loosens his belt, drags down the zip. Severus' hands take over as he tries to pull down his trousers, gliding over his arse, pushing him forward, squeezing and guiding Harry toward the edge of the bed.
"Onto the bed, face down." A soft command is spoken against the back of Harry's neck. Harry gasps because he had no idea that the pressure point right there, where Severus just traced a circle with his tongue onto his skin, right above the edge of his binder, could be that sensitive.
Harry melts into the soft sheets. With some difficulty, forces himself to stop grinding his hips against the solid surface. A part of the problem is, Severus' hands are still kneading his arse, through the soft fabric of his pants, before moving upwards to press in along his spine, and every point of contact is maddeningly arousing. Severus' fingers curl, nails digging in lightly and Harry loses it.
He arches up into that touch, knees apart, chest flat against the bundled blanket, face pressed against a lumpy pillow, and he is so far past embarrassment right now that a throaty moan reverberating through his body doesn't even phase him. "Fuck. Severus!"
He fumbles with the edge of his underwear, simple briefs, the kind he loved seeing on George once, and pushes them down quickly, hoping Severus won't draw attention to the pair of matching colour socks folded together just right and positioned at the crotch with a sticking charm. The fabric is damp as it slides along his thigh, spreading slick moisture with it. The awareness of that particular fact is odd, and it embeds itself like a stray splinter in Harry's brain, so he focuses instead on the sensation of himself growing hard, on his hips poised to thrust forward in a haphazard rhythm. The struggle to hold still against the urge to thrust is intimately familiar by now as if his body has always behaved this way, all along.
Severus said he won't touch him unless Harry asks, bloody teasing sod! That, for some reason, makes the not-asking a challenge, Harry wants to see how far he can push it, how long he can last in this game against his own body that he is surely destined to lose, and soon. Already, the glide of Severus' fingers along Harry's bare thighs, catching every coarse hair, is an infuriatingly maddening affair that's making Harry moan out his need in a handful of hasty words and surrender himself into bliss. If Severus reaches over his belly, following the recently thickened trail from the belly button down and touches him - yes, now, just like this - one or two caresses is all it will take, there's no way he'll last long, or at all.
Harry lasts longer than he expects. One, two, three desperate breaths before he rolls over, grabs Severus' hand and presses that infuriating, wonderful hand between his legs. "Fuck! Severus, please!" He seeks out Severus' mouth with his own, a hot, slick tongue traces his bottom lip and he all but loses it right there and then. Severus' fingers, slick with the evidence of Harry's arousal, glide over the underside of his erection, circling over the infinitely sensitive head.
"Like this?" Severus asks. His hand stills.
Harry buries his head in Severus' shoulder, tasting salt on Severus' skin, right above the parted collar. He throws his arms around the skinny, still clothed frame and holds on. "Yes. Again."
Severus' fingers are slower this time around, applying steady pressure at the base of his cock, tracing all the way up the shaft, pulling the skin over the sensitive head and pushing it back, until Harry's thrusting against that wonderful, impossible hand over and over again. His head is thrown back, his body is a needy arch. His thighs are spread wide. The hand stills and pulls back. Harry moans out in protest, but then Severus' body shifts on the bed over him, his stare burns. The loose ends of his hair trace a path down Harry's belly. His hands are holding Harry's thighs apart. So still. Time stretches on, like the first drop of a hot treacle right off a spoon. Harry feels the warmth of Severus' breath first, against the very tip of him, and that alone sends the first wave of pleasure through him. No matter how much he wants to see, he stops fighting to keep his eyes open.
And then, the inevitable slick heat covers him, surrounds him, the pressure of Severus' lips, the circling of his tongue is Harry's undoing. His orgasm rips through him like a summer's night thunderstorm, starting at the point of contact, driven out of him by Severus' hot, wonderful mouth. He spasms, sweaty and panting, burning up and tense all over, shaking with pleasure, his hands over Severus' ears, his lips parted around a desperate cry.
He's so sensitized afterwards, Severus' tongue, stilling against the very tip of his cock still makes him shiver. "Ahh."
Severus' hands settle over Harry's body, bone-tired, heavy-limbed with relaxation. He wants more of this, he can't handle the pressure, the movement. He nudges Severus' head back. "Come here."
"Was that... acceptable?"
The question startles a huff of laughter from Harry, even as he nods.
Severus moves upward, his knuckles trace along Harry's jaw. His fingers uncurl and grow still and lax over Harry's left cheek. As he leans close, Harry can smell the evidence of his own pleasure on Severus' lips. He tilts his head up, tasting it next. "It was more than that. Thank you," he breathes.
Severus' lips widen into a smile against Harry's mouth. Harry shifts his leg upward, wedging one knee between Severus' parted thighs. Severus is hard, the weight of his clothed erection pressing against Harry's hip.
"Maybe you should take this off?" Harry runs his hands over the outer robe, wrinkling the fabric over Severus' chest and feeling no regret whatsoever. He nuzzles Severus' earlobe and catches it with his lips. The giddy, overwhelming joy that has seeped into his very core must be infectious because Severus exhales a shaky laugh. "I want to touch you."
Between leaving kisses on Severus' neck, he makes a go at a row of buttons and Severus' and his fingers meet, trying to undo the next one. Harry smiles warmly as he helps Severus out of his shirt and robe. Severus unbuckles his belt and unfastens his flies and Harry, feeling sheepish and awkward, like a teenager fumbling in the dark for the first time, licks his palm, sticks an impatient hand under Severus' waistband and wraps his fingers around his prize. Severus' breathing hitches at that, his lip bitten. Harry, emboldened, moves his hand up and down the shaft. He locks gazes with Severus, just as he continues to adjust his grip. Severus' stare is equally alarmed and darkened with need, his pupils so wide. A thin sheen of sweat covers his shoulders and chest. A slight flush spreads from his chest to his face. He's breathing heavier than before. "Harry."
"Hmm?" Harry hums to himself. As Severus' trousers and underwear pool around his thighs. As he brings his other hand to cup Severus' balls. "So how do you like it most," he asks softly, watching the man in front of him. "When it's just you in this room. Do you go slower? Or harder? Do you speed up when you're close? Do you run your finger over the tip to make yourself come? I do..."
Severus thrusts into his hold, with a groan, and then pushes his hand down, wraps it over Harry's fingers, squeezing harder, moving Harry's hand in tune with his thrusts. They're on their sides, facing each other on the bed, and Severus lifts his free hand and runs a thumb across Harry's mouth. What?
"Open. Suck."
Harry's lips part and he wraps them around the slippery weight, as Severus' finger is inserted into his mouth past the first knuckle, up to the second. Harry's lips are messy and wet as he slurps around his mouthful, runs his tongue over the fingertip, and wants a completely different body part filling him instead.
Severus' thumb, wet and slippery, smears saliva over Harry's lower lip, over his chin. Harry exhales against it and tries to catch the fingertip with his tongue. It must be some kind of a spectacle because the hungry, possessive way Severus stares at Harry's open mouth is impossible to fake.
It strikes Harry just how much he wants this, Severus, filling him. Thrusting inside, features twisted with pleasure, fingers curled in a desperate hold over Harry's body, Severus letting go, letting pleasure overtake him, as he comes. It'll be brilliant. More than brilliant. Severus' cock would be hard and hot and huge and Harry needs it like breathing.
"H-have you got any lube," Harry pants before he decides to talk himself out of voicing it all together. "Need you in me."
Severus' eyebrow arches in an unspoken question.
"Now!" Harry insists. Severus surely knows the mechanics of sex between two blokes by now. "Fuck." He is too impatient to explain the part about the comfort levels of being penetrated, and that this is the most uncomplicated, least awkward way for him to enjoy it. He is too turned on to justify desire.
He doesn't need to.
Severus' thumb traces his cheek. Severus' lips cover his, as a slick tongue seeks entrance between his lips, fills his mouth, thrusting, claiming.
Severus' hand glides down Harry's spine, his fingers fanning wide over one of Harry's arse cheeks, squeezing hard, as the index finger dips into the crack. Here it goes again, that arched brow, in a mute inquiry. Sure? "Yess," Harry gasps, pressing back into that body contact. This is what he needs.
There's a non-verbal spell, it turns out, a series of spells, and Harry's surprised to learn that they exist but of course they do. Magic's brilliant that way.
Harry lets go of Severus' cock and pushes his knee up over the covers. He stops himself from grinding against the crumpled, sweat-soaked sheets as two of Severus' slow, slippery fingers press down on him, and press inside. He gasps as he's stretched wide around them. Severus' gaze is on him, dark and breathtaking, the kind that Harry can drown in, floating in the dark abyss forever. He gasps again as Severus murmurs another spell and he's flooded with slick warmth from the inside.
He bucks against the fingers penetrating him, raising his arse, pushing his hand down over the hardened evidence of his arousal. Severus' hold on his wrist stops him though. Harry groans in protest, but his groan is muffled by the pillow.
"Let's work on your timing first, shall we?" Severus moves from Harry's side, adjusting their positions so Harry's pressed into the bed, the back of him exposed to Severus' sight and touch, and then the weight of Severus' limbs settles on top of him, heavy with tension, almost as if he is daring Harry to wrestle him into the place he needs them to be, but Harry only exhales a moan as the fingers inside of him withdraw. He needs those fingers back. "Sev'rus."
A thicker weight presses inside of him, thrusting slow and steady, enough for Harry's breathing to speed up, enough for him to imagine how Severus' cock would feel inside him instead. Severus' other hand, over his stomach, angles him and holds him still. Fingers glide over his crotch, over his pubic hair, rubbing at the base of him but not moving up the shaft, a slow, teasing promise of what's to come.
"Come on," Harry pleads. "Severus, come on. In me. Now."
His answer is, at first, a disappointing lack of fingers inside, but then a thick cockhead, pressing against his entrance, which has already been slicked with magic. Mad with want, he angles himself against it and attempts to thrust. Severus' fingers on his cock press harder, move down over the shaft. When he's finally penetrated, it's almost a relief. He pants his joy out, as Severus adjusts his position in a series of shallow thrusts, deeper and deeper in. Severus' knees force his legs to spread wider, the weight of him is a welcome, wonderful thing. Harry presses his forehead into the pillow and breathes as deep as he dares with the constricted ribcage.
He hears a soft gasp, evidence of Severus' pleasure, just as real as his hard length thrusting inside Harry now. Severus' hand on him is relentless, thumb sweeping the length of his shaft, pressing over the head and rubbing in circles. Harry gasps at the growing waves of pleasure. This won't take long at all. His arse spasms around Severus' cock. Once, twice. His eyes are closed shut, his mouth opens in a soundless moan. Please. Ohfuck. Please!
Trapped between the maddening pressure of Severus' hand on him, the persistently steady movements in him, fucking him raw, all Harry can do is ride out the pleasure and let it build up under Severus' touch. Again, and again, and again. Until their breathing is fast and shallow, and Severus' thrusts turn chaotic, uneven until that last unbearable caress of a circling fingertip over the tip of Harry's cock is Harry's undoing. Harry cries out, hoarsely, and stills, Severus' length throbbing hot inside, Severus' breath warming in his ear, Severus' hand forcing another orgasm out of him, the good kind that, for just a while, make Harry forget all about gravity or breathing or the world in general.
Severus thrusts in him, wild and desperate, and then his mouth latches onto Harry's shoulder and he comes too with a soft groan. His arm, braced below Harry, grasps the sheets until they're a wrinkled mess. Harry puts his hand over Severus' hand, slides his fingers in between Severus', and holds on. He can't trust words right now. He can trust touch to communicate what he means. He needs Severus. He can't ever let go of this: of Severus' easy acceptance, of Severus' discovery of Harry's inner self. The world within Severus' reach is Harry's entire world, the kind worth existing in forever. He must make sure Severus knows it. Severus has to know! When Severus withdraws and collapses onto the unused side of the bed, a heavy weight at Harry's side, the fingers of his left hand are still entwined with Harry's. Severus' Mark is faded but visible and Harry does his best to let it remain forgotten, lets his mind slip from the past disappointments onto more bearable, pleasant things of the present moment and the future yet to come. It's the least he can do to return the courtesy shown to his own body by Severus.
They both catch their breaths. Harry's mind is a languid pool where his thought bubbles keep circling deep beneath the surface. His body feels exhausted and thoroughly fucked, in all the good ways that count. He runs his hand through his hair and even though he feels sticky and slick all over, the messy parts of mutual pleasure are all worth it, this evidence of shared need and release, sweat and come, mixed together and drying against his bare skin.
Severus waves a hand over him and murmurs a lazy cleaning charm before casting one on himself. Harry presses a kiss, thanks, into the palm of Severus' hand. He feels sated and cared for. He nuzzles the pale shoulder and presses his cheek over Severus' chest. Severus' heartbeat is still a rapid drum. So is his own.
Moments later, Harry doesn't want to move away from the comfortable warmth of Severus' embrace. He has to. His ribs are already aching with every inhale. And so he pulls back the covers and sits on the edge of the bed, bracing his bare feet against the cold floor, leaning forward and peeling his binder off, wriggling out of it until the tight elastic no longer traps his upper arms. One deep, determined breath later, he bundles the sheet in front of his chest and settles into the comfort of the bed once more, at Severus' side. Severus throws a protective arm over him and nudges Harry even closer to him, into the shared nest of blankets. Harry's leg ends up wedged between Severus'. Severus' hair strands brush, ticklish, against Harry's shoulder.
Silence settles in the gloom of their shared space, as quiet and all-encompassing as the snow outside, a thick ribbon of it gathering bright and fluffy, over the windowsill, against the night sky aglow with the sparse warmth of the distant city lights.
The grey blanket is surprisingly soft against Harry's skin, a comforting weight in addition to Severus' hold over his shoulder.
Severus still sleeps even with the sunlight beaming through the gap in the curtains. Harry untangles himself from the warm cocoon of the bed and winces as his toes touch the cold floor.
It is probably a mistake to venture out naked, with one blanket draped around his shoulders, into the drafty corridor. Harry starts to regret his decision as soon as the morning draft sends chills up his legs and arms, but then he finds what he was looking for and walks in, not bothering with closing the door behind him.
A claw-footed deep tub in the small bathroom is nothing like what Harry is used to. The only mirror in the vicinity is a small round trinket next to the shaving supplies, tilted upwards at an angle where it surely won't catch any glimpses of Harry's body within. The plain round stopper hangs down from the tap on a thin chain. Harry wedges it in place and turns the tap on until the steaming water gathers at the bottom of the tub. He tips in a generous portion of something fragrant and bubbly out of an unmarked bottle, climbs in, curls in on himself and watches the tub fill up, the water level rising around him steadily until it reaches his chest. Only his shoulders and knees are above the water. Soap-suds swirling lazily on the water surface obscure his sight. Steam fogs up his glasses completely and Harry winces and sets them aside.
"Accio toothbrush," A familiar voice at the door breaks the silence, "May I come in, or is this a solitary affair?"
Harry thinks about it with a momentary pang of panic. Of shyness. But then draws his arms over his chest, and shifts toward the back of the tub.
Severus' back is pale and broad-shouldered. There's a sequence of moles like a path leading down his backside and Harry wants to trace them with his tongue sometime soon. A robe is wrapped around those narrow hips and Harry doesn't know why Severus has even bothered with that. It not like he hasn't seen all of the man before.
"Join me?" Harry puts on an adventurous grin and pats the soap suds.
At the sink, Severus spits out a mouthful of toothpaste and water, wiping his mouth. "Only if you insist," he says, giving the tub a calculating look. Long fingers untie the robe at his hip and let the black fabric fall. Harry's mouth waters at the sight of Severus, half-hard already.
"I insist." Harry traces a soapy hand upwards, smearing bubbles on the inside of one skinny thigh with the pattern of sparse dark hair. He observes the jut of Severus' hip bones, the lengthening of that shaft as Harry's fingers come near it.
Severus steps over the tub's edge and settles down between Harry's thighs, his presence brings the water level up significantly. Fluffy soap suds rise to completely cover the taps. The water comes up to Harry's collarbones. Harry wraps soapy arms around Severus' chest and rests his chin over Severus' shoulder. Even now, with his arms full of naked Severus, he can't quite believe his luck.
"Have you considered the profession of a limpet?" Severus snorts, reclining back and stretching out his long legs to take most of the tub. "You're quite good at it."
Harry rubs his slightly bristly chin against the smooth, wet back, and then places a lazy kiss at the nape of Severus' neck. His hand reaches underwater to trace a circling path down Severus' belly. "Speaking of being good at something: you should definitely spend more time naked. You look brilliant like this. Of course, I don't have my glasses on."
"Brat." Severus turns to capture Harry's lips in a thorough kiss.
"Those spells you used yesterday," Harry asks afterwards, as they share a single breath between them in the steam of the bath. "Teach me!"
Severus' smirk widens. "A proper gentleman's gentleman ought to know at least half-a-dozen of them. Or have you not perused the right books in the Restricted Section? I am thoroughly disappointed in your education." His smirk says otherwise. The teasing sod looks downright smug.
Harry moves forward and gives those thin smirking lips a tentative lick, tracing the curving smugness with his tongue. Seconds later, Severus is panting, his hair in soggy disarray, his lips and neck reddened by Harry's persistent mouth, Harry's adventurous hand on his soaped up cock. Harry's incredibly proud of himself for such an outcome.
"Must you," Severus gasps "make me personally responsible for this part of your instruction? Oh, very well. I suppose I can't be the only one responsible for magic in the bedroom, you must pull your own weight if you expect this to carry on."
"You enjoy this too," Harry states plainly, twisting his hand just so, and dares Severus to contradict. "In fact, you love it. Every. Single. Bit." He fully expects Severus to spit out a protesting rant at that, even as he punctuates the last words with the strokes of his hand.
Severus does not. Instead, his lips widen in a rare smile. As if Harry got a difficult answer exactly right on the first try.
Harry throws his arms around him, buries his face in the soap-covered shoulder, and holds on, as hard as he can, as he speeds up the thrusts. The water in the tub sloshes over. Severus' knuckles are white as he clutches onto the rounded edges. His entire body is tense. It's easy to settle into a slightly faster pace, it's how Harry likes it too. Their sizes may be different but a cock is a cock and Harry knows how it feels to own one. Harry curls his fingers around the thick veiny length and puts all the pent-up need and desire into showing Severus just how much he needs him to come right now.
"Good," Harry pants, as if letting go of a lifelong secret on a single breath. "You're so good right now. I love doing this, you know that, right? You've gotta know. I want you to know it."
Severus' features are so tense, his body obediently writhing in Harry's hold. "Harry. Ohh-"
Harry tightens his hold on him, 'cause distractions won't do in a moment like this. Not with a slick, spasming length in Harry's fingers. Not with come spurts painting Severus' chest and belly, mixing in with soap suds. God, it's a maddeningly-hot sight that will embed itself in Harry's memory forever. He brings his hand over Severus' chest, gathers his come and slides his hand down between their bodies, to grasp his own aching cock. Just a few strokes of his fingers, a couple more, faster, faster. Ohgod yes! "Yeahh."
Severus' hand is in Harry's hair, Harry's forehead is pressed against a bony shoulder. A groan of pleasure muffled against pale skin. As Harry lifts his water-wrinkled, come-stained hand to his face afterwards he realises that, with soapy water, he cannot tell where Severus' scent ends and where his begins. They are such similar, mingled scents of two male bodies: it's impossible to tell the difference by smell or taste.
They breathe and stay together in the cooling water, arranging their limbs around each other. After a while, Severus gets out first, summoning a towel for Harry. As Harry rises, the fluffy, rolled up length of it, settles around his neck and shoulders, like a rounded collar. Harry rubs his cheek against it and grins, holding the rolled up ends to his chest.
Their eyes meet. Severus lifts one hand to Harry's face and runs his fingers over Harry's fringe, wringing droplets from Harry's hair. Harry gives the pad of Severus' palm a playful bite and lets out a content huff of laughter against Severus' wrist, as Severus' fingers settle, ticklish, over the curve of Harry's ear, not weighted down by the earpiece of his glasses for once.
Aside from the bundled towel draped over the back of his neck and hanging over his shoulders, Harry's not dressed. He holds onto the towel's edges and stands tall anyway. Severus' gaze is warm, unlike the mirror. Also unlike the mirror's incomplete reflection, Harry knows that Severus sees him, all of him, and that makes everything all right.