Chapter Nine: You Gotta Love the Free Samples

Just like that, there's someone's hand around his cock for the very first time.

Harry throws his head back, his hips jumping up. One of his hands fists around the corner of a pillow, the other clamps down on Snape's wrist. He forces himself to let up, afraid that Snape might misunderstand, might think Harry wants to stop, even though he's rock hard in his hold.

"Oh," He moans, "Oh fuck…"

Snape hums, it's like laughter, but so low, like it could never truly form – just vibration. Harry feels it against his ear, like honey it flows on his skin, on the side of his face, on his neck and it makes him shudder wildly.

That's all it takes, a soft grunt and a touch and Harry's completely undone, all reservation gone. He's convinced that this is right, that no matter what rule Snape makes, it will be worth it, because there's something sensational about this, something deeply satisfying in the fact that it's not Harry's hand there, but someone else's, and every move is just unexpected, every sensation is a surprise that makes firework happen in Harry's mind.

The other's violent closeness diminishes even the definition of personal space and only fuels the heat in the pit of Harry's stomach.

He can smell Snape's scent, that earthy fresh, forest smell is right there, he would just need to turn his face and he could press his nose against it. He can hear everything, too. Snape's breathing, which is still controlled, but more rapid than normal, he can hear him swallow, hear his tongue move against his own lip as he wets it.

All this leaves him wondering, what else he could pick up on, what else he could observe if he had the mind for it. He wants to know everything. His curiosity is starved and if this is only a taste he hungers for the main course.

"Look at you," Snape murmurs. "Just a touch and you're almost at the edge already…"

His hand moves, still out of sight, not that Harry needs any visual aid to know what's going on, even with his eyes closed he can tell. He feels the long fingers shift on his erection with ease, he is being held between fingertips and palm, gentle yet, nothing more than a caress, exploration, a tease.

Harry's throat closes, any brash comeback freezes on his tongue as a thumb drifts against the swell of the glans. More fingers follow its wake, two of them make torturous slow circles around the head and Harry whimpers.

"My god, you're good," he grunts his lower body shifting. He forces his eyes to open, and his muscles to move according to his own will. He looks down over himself. A deep inhale makes his chest rise and his stomach curve in. He doesn't just feel but sees every motion, as the fabric moves as Snape shifts his hand. It tightens over his knuckles, shows the outline of Harry's erection.

"Is that how it's going to work then, Mr Potter? I stroke your cock and you stroke my ego?" Snape huffs. There's laughter in his tone and Harry's stomach bubbles with excitement. He likes this, he likes making Snape laugh.

"You always liked that, didn't you?" Harry teases. He turns to the side and looks up, his gaze meeting Snape's.

It's a moment of sheer delight because Snape's smiling and his black eyes are gleaming and then his glance drops from Harry's eyes to his lips, and Harry thinks they are going to kiss. He even makes a little motion, shifting closer, but the moment passes and Snape turns away, burying his face into Harry's hair.

Harry's stomach sinks, and he has to remind himself that this is not that kind of relationship. In fact, it's not even a relationship, just the act, just pleasure. Just pleasure, as if that wouldn't be enough.

"Can I touch myself?" He asks hoarsely and nuzzles Snape's head.

The warm breath Snape exhales tickles Harry's scalp.

"Be my guest," the man says softly. His voice is reserved, but Harry hears something in it, a bit of flame at the edge of the words, a hushed undercurrent that wants to be more, that wants to break out and wreak havoc.

A nose drifts against the shell of his ear, then come lips, slowly and leisurely. The world seems to freeze for a moment, as anticipation builds in Harry, before Snape whispers, "Show me… Show me how you touched yourself that night. Show me now, what I didn't see then."

There it is; the fire, the flames themselves, licking against Harry's skin, setting his inside ablaze. The havoc happens right in his body, every word a small explosion. How can simple syllables affect him so much? A shiver claws at the base of his spine, makes him keen, makes him roll his hips forwards, thrust into Snape's hold. How can simple words do this to him with such ease?

His hands move on their own, they obey Snape but Harry doesn't mind. They run up his chest, up his neck, pressing down hard. The back of his hand brushes against Snape's chin, and he strokes the man with his thumb. Snape doesn't pull away, but Harry doesn't allow himself to linger for long either.

His nails come down over the skin on his nape. Harsh lines are etched into his neck as he scratches down on both sides. His hands move in synchrony, fingertips press down on his collarbone and a sigh breaks out from deep inside him. He traces a line straight up to his Adam's apple, then his jawbone.

Fingers are at his lips and a hand drifts down on his chest, too. He pushes his lips apart and his mouth opens just as his other hand finds his nipple. A thin layer of cotton is not enough to dull the sensation of a keen touch there, and an electric jolt shoots to his cock that starts twitching between Snape's fingers.

He's not the one who moans, his mouth is busy, sucking on his own fingers, tip pressing down against his tongue, getting slick and wet.

"Bloody hell, Potter," Snape grunts against his ear. His hand moves relentlessly, shifts on Harry's smooth length with a delectable speed, slow and languid, drawing Harry's pleasure to the very edge again.

Harry's wet fingers disappear under his shirt and go straight to a little nub, hard and sensitive already. He makes tiny circles, rubs his thumb down hard and his hips make a wild jerk.

"My god, the sounds you make…" Snape purrs against his ear. "Can you even hear yourself?"

Harry can't, he's deaf to his own sounds, all he hears is Snape, his voice, his breathless gasps, the dark edge to his words.

"Take it out…" He moans. If there ever was a filter in his brain, it's now gone letting him say whatever he wants. "Take out my cock, please…"

There's a low, needy grunt in his ear and he's let go. The loss is almost painful, he craves the contact again so much. His hips lift on their own as he tries to rub against something but Snape's hand is gone.

"Easy," Snape grunts as he carefully lifts the shorts over his painfully hard erection. Harry holds his waist in the air long enough so that Snape can push the boxers further down his thighs, then grasps Snape's wrist immediately to lead him back to his arousal.

Snape comes easily, without resistance at all, without even a teasing remark, his hand just wraps back around Harry's straining cock as if it was made to be there, stroking him.

Fingering his nipple, Harry looks down at his lap again, the sight almost making him come.

Snape's hand is beautiful. God, his fingers are long and elegant, his grip hard. His skin is almost glowing in the pale light of the moon and the veins, the fucking veins underneath – Harry wants to scrape his teeth along them. There are so many, dark blue now in the darkness, standing at such a contrast to Snape's skin. He almost wishes to pull it away and look at it more closely, take it in his mouth and taste each finger, explore them with his tongue, run it along the long line of those veins, follow them over Snape's wrist, up his arm.

Hours Harry could spend looking at that hand around his dick, but it's mere minutes he has, because he's already feeling that tightening in his belly, that incessant burning.

He grasps into Snape's thigh, much like a warning, fingers digging into the tight muscle. Every stroke on his cock has him clamp down more and every clutch draws a deep moan from Snape' throat. Soon he's rubbing Snape's leg, which moves, shifts against him, and falls slightly wider almost like a beckoning call. Fingers drift into his hair, and lips latch onto his neck.

When Snape starts sucking on the skin, Harry cries out wildly. It's so unexpected and so god damn good he can't stop the whimpers which now continuously fall from his lips. Helplessly his hand clenches and unclenches and he can't help but wonder whether Snape's hard. He simply can't believe that this leaves him unaffected, that all this excites only Harry's mind and body.

Snape palms the tip of his cock, fingertips press against the wet head and Harry's hand slips, pure accident, but still, it slides down onto the inner side of Snape's thigh and no one can convince Harry that the moan that comes from Snape is not utter desire.

Until Snape lets him go the next moment and pulls away.

Harry looks up at him getting further and further away on the couch, and his hand shoots out. He grips Snape's wrists as he asks, "Whoa, wha-what's going on?"

"I need a minute." Snape says, shaking off Harry's touch and the next moment, he's off the settee.

His back is to Harry as he walks to his desk, yanks a drawer open, and takes out something. A vial, some dark coloured, Harry can't tell in the dimness, is in his hand, which he opens and empties down his throat with one motion. He throws the empty potion bottle back into the drawer, then learns with his hands onto the desk. He's not saying anything, and Harry cannot utter a single word either, he's so confused about what's going on.

Snape is breathing deeply. Even in the dark, Harry can make out the rapid rising and falling of his shoulders. The white shirt tenses on his back with every inhale and his whole body shudders every now and then when he shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

Minutes pass until finally, Harry finds his voice and dares speak. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, just give me a moment." Snape says hoarsely.

"Should I leave?" Harry offers timidly.

Without hesitation, Snape looks over his shoulder and answers firmly, "Stay where you are."

He loosens up slightly after a couple more minutes, then turns around. Harry watches him keenly, but he does look good, if perhaps a little more flushed than usual, which is rather understandable.

He grabs the vial of lubricant before he walks back to the settee.

He sits back down and Harry watches him curiously, waiting for some kind of explanation or perhaps an excuse, but Snape remains silent. He uncorks the small blue bottle and turns back towards Harry. His gaze sweeps over Harry's body, noting the still straining erection.

"Did I do something wrong?" Harry asks, watching as Snape pours some lubricant onto his palm.

"No." Comes the quiet answer.

Snape rubs the oil into his right palm and fingers. It ought to be the most unerotic action in the world, but those long fingers glinting wetly now, makes Harry's rebellious erection disregard all previous issues and signal interest in the most obvious way.

Harry, pulling together the rest of his willpower, ignores his cock's wishes and takes Snape's wrist.

"Listen, I don't want yo –"

"That's where you're wrong, Potter," Snape snaps and frees his hand. "Tonight isn't about what you want." He hisses then his oily hand is around Harry's cock again. "Now shut up or I'm walking away."

"I can't j–" Harry chokes on the last word as the hand starts moving on his dick much smoother now. "Bloody hell!" He cries, his back arching away from the cushions.

Snape's ruthless. His previous gentleness, his teasing strokes are gone, he's gripping Harry hard and firm. The circle his thumb and forefinger form around the head is relentlessly tight and Harry feels a needy cry in his throat every time he slips through. And given Snape's fast pumps, that happens way too often now.

Harry's muscles contort as he melts with pleasure. His hands rise over his head, fingers dash into his hair and he grips it painfully hard. His body undulates, rocks up into the tight circle, craving the smooth touch of those elegant, long fingers.

If he could think, he would wonder what this is about if not what he wants, because he's supposed to be the only one getting something out of this, but he has no mind to think, no power to do anything just writhe on the settee as a hand works on him.

His eyes are closed tight and his other senses overpowered, which is why he doesn't realize Snape's at his ear again, only when a dark voice tells him, "Fuck my hand, Harry."

How could he say no to that? One of Harry's hands grabs into the back of the couch to make driving up between those fingers that much easier, but the other flails aimlessly between them, until Snape grasps it and holds it firmly.

"That good, Mr Potter?" He asks and Harry can tell he's smiling. He can't help the happy, almost blissed smile that spreads on his lips, too as his hips snap up, cock sliding in a tight hold.

"Fucking amazing," He sighs, and turns towards Snape. His eyes are shut firmly, but he wants to see that teasing smile. He needs to make sure everything is truly alright.

He bites his lips and looks at Snape. He's surprised that he meets black eyes right away as if Snape's been waiting for Harry to look at him.

Then he kisses Harry's knuckles again.

Harry melts. There's pleasure, desire for a climax, for a sheer moment of pure delight, and then there's this.

This sweet impression that warms his heart, that sets fluttering butterflies loose in his belly and connects electric knots in the base of his spine. There's a nameless, unidentifiable sensation in him that compels him to want to crawl into Snape's lap and seek out the warmth of his skin, bury his nose into the juncture of his throat and shoulder and inhale his scent, that makes him crave a connection deeper than this, renders him unable to remain selfish throughout all this.

He lets go of Snape's hand with only two fingers and presses them against the man's cheeks as soft lips keep kissing his knuckles, gently, reverently. He caresses Snape's face, unable to slow his body, unable to stop what's coming.

He moves, thrusts into the ring of fingers, but his face remains unmoving, eyes stuck staring into never ending blackness that seems to throw sparks in the dark.

It's so much better than last time, not because it's Snape touching him, but because he doesn't have to secretly stare at the mans' back and be satisfied with stolen glances at the side of his face. He stares unabashedly at Snape, drinks in the sight of him as he allows himself to lose control.

This orgasm is so much more violent than the ones he had in the last days. This one tears into his body, fangs sink into his muscles as they warp, claws grab into his skin and make it prickle everywhere. Wild shudders break his bones and a fierce light blinds his mind.

But all through it, he doesn't let go of Snape.

Aftershocks keep shaking Harry's body and it takes him a while to realize they happen because Snape is still stroking him. Not as firmly as to make the sensation unbearable, but just gently enough to evoke the memory of the previous ecstasy.

"Gods…" he wants to say but no words come through. He's panting as if he had just caught the Snitch.

It takes him a moment to realize he's leaning against Snape, their foreheads pressed together, while Snape is still holding his hands against his open lips. Harry feels moisture on his skin there. He's not the only one breathing hard.

He strokes Snape's cheek with his finger again. "Hey," he says, then nuzzles him.

Lips move against the back of his hand, he feels the gentle scrape of teeth. It takes him a moment to realize that Snap is saying something, those are words being formed against his skin, but he doesn't understand them; the hushed murmurs that come from the man are not loud enough to be heard.

Snape allows Harry to calm down before he would pull away, but it still feels cold to return to reality.

He doesn't have to look down on himself to know he's a mess. He can feel his come soaking through his shirt, making it uncomfortable, but he can't sit up yet.

Snape's right hand rests on Harry's thigh, in quite the same state as Harry's shirt.

Snape follows his gaze then remarks, "You came a lot," as easily as if it would be everyday business to mention such a thing.

Harry bristles, turning crimson red to the tips of his ears right away.

He glares at Snape. "Bloody hell! How can you say that?" He gasps aghast.

Snape smirks, lifts his hand. "One would think I'm allowed to say many things with your come on my hand."

"One would be entirely wrong. And don't say that either." Harry grunts and wishes he could just melt into the couch. It's stupid given what's just happened and he knows that, but he still can't help the heat that blazes on his cheeks.

He looks at the affronting hand, and an insane idea occurs to him. Why not fight fire with fire?

He takes Snape's wrist in his hand and pulls it closer.

"Potter, what are you doing?" Snape asks and Harry's pleased to hear panic in his voice.

"Getting a taste." He says sparing Snape only a glance before he takes the man's forefinger in his mouth and sucks off his come.

Snape resists for only a moment, then Harry feels him even move his digit against Harry's tongue.

"This one's kind of bitter." Harry notes after he pulls the hand away.

"I'm glad to have now been fully informed about your flavour notes." Snape remarks unimpressed, but he's still staring at his hand.

"What do you taste like?" Harry asks, curious.

Black eyes snap to him so fast, Harry's surprised Snape didn't become dizzy. He says nothing though, just raises an eyebrow.

"What? Fair's fair."

"I imagine quite similarly."

"Wait, you haven't tried?"

Snape watches him intently for a moment, but when Harry just looks back confused, he says, "I meant it as in, I lack basis for comparison."

"Oh…" Harry now gets it. He looks at Snape's hand, then at the man himself. "Well, I mean…" He says suggestively.

"Don't you dare utter another word." Snape grunts, but he's looking at his own hand, too.

A teasing, wicked smile spreads on Harry's lips and he takes Snape's wrist again, only to push it towards him this time. He knows he won't do it, but he still wants to see Snape's cheeks heated and pink at the mere suggestion.

That doesn't happen though and Harry makes a mental reminder never ever to think Snape a coward ever again.

"Bloody fuck," Harry grunts as he watches Snape's tongue dart out over the back of his hand, then lick off Harry's come from two of his fingers all the way to the top. He even takes them in his mouth, middle and ring finger disappears between thin lips, cheeks hollowing slightly while the man keeps eye contact. All the while, Snape manages to maintain a smug expression that screams: Don't ever fuck with me.

Shock of arousal shakes Harry out of his stupor but he still stares at Snape speechlessly. He watches as the man stands and then looks over Harry's body one more time, while he wipes his hand in a handkerchief, which he has just summoned out of thin air.

"Ah, the miracles of a young body," he notes softly, lips twisting into a smirk.

Harry looks down on himself and he's mortified to see Snape's previous little stunt just made him half hard again. "Holy shit!" He cries, pulling his pants quickly over the treacherous body part.

"Have fun, Mr Potter," Snape says, still self-satisfied, then throws Harry the vial of lubricant. "Don't stay up too late."