Please dont kill me?
Chapter Eight: Stranger Deals Were Made in History
It's around three in the morning when Harry wakes up. The lamp in the nightstand is still lit, and there's a book on his chest. He must have fallen asleep while reading. He's thirsty but at first, he doesn't want to go down to the kitchen for a glass of water, instead he just turns off the light and rolls on his back ready to go back to sleep, but as minutes pass he realizes he needs the loo anyway, he might as well get up.
He goes to the bathroom first, then heads down towards the kitchen. He's glad to notice that it's dark in the library, which means Snape is asleep. A couple steps creak under his weight, but he's silent enough not to wake the professor, or Mrs Black's portrait – which would be worse he cannot tell at the moment.
He downs the glass of water, rummages around the cupboard for a small midnight snack. He finds some crackers and pops one in his mouth before he heads back to bed.
He's upstairs, walking past the dark library again, when a rough voice calls out to him.
"Come in here for a moment."
He has to grab the doorframe not to fall over his own legs. "Bloody hell," he grunts with a hammering heart but opens the door wider and walks in.
"I'm sorry, if I surprised you." Snape says quietly from the settee. He sounds mellow, tame. It's strange.
Harry looks there. There's no light in the room, the fire has burnt out, the gas lamps aren't on, only the moonlight filtering in through the large windows provides some illumination.
He's not sure what he expects but it's not this.
Snape's a mess. His hair is ruffled as if he had been carding his fingers through it for the last couple hours. His pants, always pristine and clean, are now wrinkled. He's not wearing his cloak or his coat even, just a white button down shirt with the top two buttons undone and what's stranger, with its sleeves rolled up. Harry can see the Dark Mark even in the scarce light, more vivid than ever against Snape's pale skin. He hasn't seen it since the end of fourth year, when Voldemort had returned.
Snape's leaning on his knees with his elbows, his head bent, glass of whiskey in hand. He doesn't look up when Harry walks in, only when he's closer does he motion at the empty space next to him, "Take a seat."
Harry sits next to him and tries not to think that he had come lying on this couch while Snape talked to him. He ought not to think about such things, but they come unbidden. Images, sounds, sensations, they are all back, like a movie playing in his mind's eye one after the other.
"Tonight's full of surprises anyway," Harry answers to Snape's earlier comment.
Snape nods, his head drops even further down for a moment, then bobs back up. "I'll drink to that." He says and he does.
Harry watches him lift the glass to his lips. He doesn't drink all of it, he just takes a small sip, more measured this time. Where he got the whiskey, Harry can't tell, but the bottle on the small table in front of them is still almost full. Snape either hasn't drunk much, or he has more reserve than Harry first believed.
They sit in silence. Harry doesn't mind. It's not like he wants to go back to bed and roll around unable to fall asleep, which will certainly happen after whatever Snape wants to tell him.
He doesn't want to break the peaceful quietness of the room but curiosity eats away at his soul bit by bit. Is this going to be about Harry's death, about the Horcruxes, or perhaps, Harry's offer, or whatever that pathetic attempt at an offer that was earlier.
"You were supposed to live." Snape says suddenly and though he speaks in a low, sombre tone, his words cut through the silence sharp like a knife. "I owed your mother this. Hell, I owed your father, too, they were in danger because of me. You know that."
"I do. Professor Dumbledore told me about it."
Snape stares ahead, blindly watching the room, the carpet, the window, or the shadows, Harry cannot tell.
"Professor Dumbledore tells everything he thinks is important but nothing that actually matters." Snape grunts with a grimace. "He said protecting Lily's only son can give me redemption. I don't feel redeemed. I don't think if you were to live a ripe age of one hundred and thirty, I would feel any more redeemed, but the fact that you…" He chokes on his own sentence, then repeats, stressing every word, "You were supposed to live." His eyes close and he seems in actual pain.
Harry wants to touch him, but he's not sure he's allowed. He hesitates for too long, and the fleeting moment is gone too quickly. Snape's eyes open and there's some strange cruelness, some elemental force, destructive and hateful in there that's almost scary.
"I did everything so you get to live." Snape hisses and that devastation is there in every word. "Everything. But it was all in vain. All I did was to prolong the inevitable, to keep you alive until the real execution."
"It's not in vain," Harry tells him. "We're doing this to end Voldemort. Think of all the people who die fighting him, whose families are torn apart because of one madman. You kept me alive so I can fight him in the end and take him down with me. Thousands of lives will be saved because of us."
Snape looks at Harry, eyes so full of anger they take Harry's breath away momentarily.
"I don't care about thousands of lives, Potter. I care about only one."
Heat fills up Harry's chest. Comforting warmth wraps around his heart, as soothing as Mrs Weasley's soups or a bottle of butterbeer on a cold winter day.
"We can't change this. It has to be this way. The Horcrux within me needs to be destroyed. I accepted that, sir, and you will have to, as well."
"I will fight it till I die, Mr Potter."
Harry smiles. "Alright. You do that. The question is what's going to happen in the meantime. While we're both alive. Stuck in the same house."
Snape looks back towards the room, and sips into his whiskey. As he puts his arm back down on his knee, Harry notices that his leg is twitching and that's not even all. His fingers, too, are drumming on the crystal again. It's like watching a caged animal, restless with no space to even move.
"I don't want you to feel cornered, Professor Snape." Harry says. "It's not like you can't say no. This isn't my dying wish or anything. Think of it as a favour and if you don't want to do it, just say so."
"Listen to yourself, Mr Potter. You can't even bring yourself to say the words. And it's not like I can ignore what you're talking about because you still couldn't be any more clearer." Snape huffs. "Yet we don't say it, neither of us and it's not even like we can pretend that we're walking on eggshells, because there are no eggshells. We could be as careless as we wish because we both know what's going on, or at least, I do hope you understand what you have asked me to do. But if I misunderstood it, if –"
"You're not misunderstanding anything, sir." Harry assures him softly. "And I know what I said."
"You want me to have sex with you." Snape whispers.
Gods, as quiet as the words are spoken, so deeply do they tear into Harry. It's such a harsh feeling, almost unkind in its blatant openness. Harry feels exposed, stripped naked again like that night, when Snape was standing over him after his orgasm.
"Yes." He says intending for his voice to be strong, but it comes out almost needy.
"Good lord. You do understand." Snape grunts, then gulps into the whiskey.
Harry watches him swallow, watches his Adam's apple bob, his lips come away from the edge of the glass glinting wetly.
It takes him a moment to understand that what he feels, what twists his stomach into a churning knot, is pure arousal.
"I'm not a complete idiot, you know." He says that but he feels a complete idiot.
Their conversation happens in such a low tone, they barely disturb the soft atmosphere of the room. Dust settles on books louder than the volume of their voices and yet Harry has no problem hearing anything.
"Give me one good reason."
"I only have selfish reasons."
"I'll take any kind. Selfish, sensible, logical, just give me a good one."
"I'm curious." Harry says simply, but his voice breaks because that's not the whole truth. He reaches over Snape's leg and takes the glass from his right hand. He sips Snape's whiskey, not caring that the man might disapprove, then hands it back to him, knowing he's going to need it, too. "Hell, even talking about it now makes me hard. That's a good enough reason for me."
Snape grunts out a hushed, "Oh fuck…" under his breath then downs the rest of the drink.
Harry can't help but look again, see his lower lip against the glass, as his muscles work when he swallows, tendons tense up then release. The way his slender fingers curl around the crystal, his little finger standing slightly away.
The low rumble that slips from Snape when he pulls the glass from his lips is almost sensual and Harry feels the heat build in his groin. He wants to hear that sound more, daily, hourly, every minute of every day, wants to drink it straight in, steal it from the very source.
That thought is scary, but even more so is the possibility that it might become real.
"Let's say I agree," Snape says and the world turns with Harry. He has to clutch the cushions not to fall off. "What's in it for me?"
Harry's confused, and he looks at Snape. Black eyes still stare ahead at the carpet.
"Well, I don't know. I mean… you know..."
Snape is shaking his head. "So far this is a very one-sided deal benefiting only one of us. Or do you expect me to be overjoyed by your proposal? We both know this is a necessity not a preference."
Many things become clear to Harry with those three sentences. This isn't going to be a mutual experience; Snape doesn't want anything from him in that regard. The same rules apply as that night. Watch your wandering hands, or I might bite you. Thinking Snape would agree to this just because he gets to touch Harry is nothing but arrogance and Harry feels ashamed for not realizing this earlier.
"So you don't want me to– "
He doesn't even get to say it, Snape declares, "No."
Is that how unappealing Harry's offer is? How unappealing Harry himself is?
The rush of cold is sobering. Like a bucket of icy water Harry feels it fill up his stomach, his veins, his chest. This explains why Snape didn't want Harry to touch him the other night. There was nothing to feel, Snape was left unaffected by it all, the words he said to Harry, the sounds, Harry's whimpers, it didn't even stir him.
Indifference hurts more than straight out rejection.
"Bloody hell. You know how to destroy a bloke's ego, don't you?" Harry snaps, curling in on himself.
"I didn't realize you wanted your ego stroked and not your cock, Mr Potter."
Cruel words, meant to hurt, but all they do is ignite something in Harry. A spark of lust explodes in his abdomen by the very mention of the act, making it abundantly clear which Harry would prefer.
"A little bit of both is too much to ask for, isn't it?" Harry huff, knowing he still won't say no.
He'll accept it this way too, he'd accept anything Snape offered because he's curious and he wants to know what it would be like. Snape only talked and the heights it sent Harry were otherworldly, what would it be like if he would touch, too? He needs to know what those fingers would feel around his cock, long and slender, with a hard grip, that teases him to a new level of insanity.
It's almost a relief to have it this way. Harry can be as selfish as he wants. Take what he needs and don't give back anything. He doesn't have to pretend, just enjoy it. It's about him, and him alone.
But he has no idea what he could offer in exchange if not sex itself.
"I'll figure it out," he says, and there's a hardened edge to his voice. "You give me what I want, and I'll promise to figure out what you want in return. Could that work?"
"It could," Snape says hoarsely. "You'll have till next noon. If you manage to give me something I want, you can come to me again. If you fail…"
"The deal ends." Harry nods solemnly.
It's so strange. One moment, it's like a business arrangement, the next there's a stimulating pressure at the base of Harry's spine, sweetly intense and it makes him keen, makes him want things. He's not delusional, thankfully, he understands that this is a little bit of both. There has to be rules, so he won't get hurt, so he won't get the wrong impressions, but it's still about pleasure.
"You want one more?" Harry asks, nodding towards the bottle of whiskey on the table.
"No." Snape says and leans back. He finally looks at Harry. "One was enough for tonight. I need my wits about me, if I'm to negotiate with you about sex."
Harry turns towards Snape and leans back too. The situation is so weirdly casual, they could have been talking about the weather in the afternoon by the look of it. But it's almost three in the morning, and the topic is something far more interesting.
"So, will you do it?" Harry asks in the end.
Snape looks away, looks anywhere but Harry for a couple seconds, then he closes his eyes. "We'll be dead in a year anyway, won't we?" He sighs and when his eyes open again, darkness glimmers there and it feels like it wants to devour Harry.
"You won't be," Harry says reassuringly, even if it means he won't get what he wants. "I understand if you want to say no."
Snape shakes his head, lifts his left arm and turns it slightly. The Dark Mark is as clear as on the day Snape had received it, no doubt. The edges are not blurred, even the snake's tongue is as sharp as if it had been made with a marker now, not ink years ago. "No one has ever hidden from him for longer than a year." He notes quietly. "They say you feel him coming. He lets you know, but somehow you still cannot evade him." He rubs his fingers against the dark stain, hard enough to abuse his pale skin, and for a moment Harry does expect it to just come off. But it doesn't, and it never will. "I don't think Albus can protect me for much longer."
"Well then, what do you have to lose?"
Snape sighs, drops his hand. "This isn't about what I have to lose, Mr Potter. Don't you have someone you could do this with? I could try to arrange something maybe. Miss Weasley, perhaps? You two were close."
Harry smiles at the memories of his seventh year. "Hm, yes, that was fun. But it's over. She loved me. I couldn't do this to her, reopen wounds and all that. Besides, you know no one can come here besides Ron and Hermione, and I'd rather not start with a threesome right away." Harry grins.
Snape huffs, then turns towards him. He puts a hand up on the back of the sofa and leans his head against it. He watches Harry for a long moment. There's a small smile vibrating on his lips and he doesn't try to cover it. His voice is huskier and lower and just a tiny bit more teasing than before, when he asks, "What would you like to start with then?"
Harry feels a fist clutch around his stomach. Honesty makes his answer slightly winded. "I don't know."
Snape looks down, just as a hand appears on Harry's leg. Harry's breathing becomes faster right away. Something dangerously sweet blooms in his lower side at the wake of that single touch.
"There are many things you don't know, aren't there, Mr Potter?" Snape watches him, not his own hand, while Harry's gaze shifts continuously between Snape's face and those long fingers drifting further up on his bare thigh. Fingertips brush the naked skin on the inner side and Harry's muscles flinch and he squirms.
"Plenty, yeah," he gasps.
When Snape reaches the edge of his boxer shorts, Harry's legs drift further apart, giving him more space to do whatever he wants.
What Harry wants is no question to anyone. Those shorts do nothing but emphasize the state of his arousal.
"How far do you want to go?" Snape's voice is so sinfully low, it has a dark hum. It vibrates against Harry's skin, he feels the words, like hot breath, caress him.
Fingertips play at the hem of his shorts, drifting below, then stroking him along the edge. His breathing comes in shallow gasps already and he can feel his cock twitch with every motion.
He looks at Snape. "How far are you willing to take me?"
Black eyes ignite, glow like coal. "All the way," Snape whispers and his hand drifts over Harry's cock. "I'm willing to show you everything, if that's what you want." He strokes Harry's hardness, mapping his whole length.
"God yes," Harry moans in reply both to the proposition and the touch.
He fidgets, trying to get closer to Snape, trying to get him to strengthen his grip, but it stays teasingly gentle.
"There has to be rules."
"Anything. Anything you want, I'll agree too."
"We'll discuss it tomorrow," Snape says and moves his hand off Harry's cock, resting it just at the edge of his t-shirt. For a moment, Harry thinks that was it, Snape's going to go now and take his hand with him and leave Harry in such a wound-up state, so he grabs the man's slim wrist.
"And tonight?" He asks almost panting, his eyes staring at their hands in his lap.
Snape moves again, but this time it's his whole body. He shifts closer, smooth like shadow and leans to Harry's ear. A thumb moves, pushes Harry's shirt out of the way. Fingertips brush over his bare skin then against the edge of his underwear.
"Tonight?" Snape echoes his question, sounding just a little winded himself, then his hand disappears under Harry's shorts and fingers twirl around his bare cock. "Tonight, you get a little taste."