Chapter Twenty-Two: Certain Kinds of Hunger Cannot Be Satisfied
The seconds of the day drip slowly like thick honey. Minutes drag in agonising pace and hours crawl heavy with the weight of expectation.
Harry lies on his bed, legs twitching, blood buzzing, his awareness in a tormenting circle of hell. Images flash in front of his mind's eyes, thoughts, ideas, fantasies he tries to stump down, stop before they materialize, form fully in his head. He tries not to think of Snape, tries and fails, of course.
He attempted to spend the day active, doing mindless tasks that did not require him to use his brain much since that wasn't really an option anyway. He cooked, but he barely ate. He cleaned the kitchen, the library, but he doesn't quite remember swiping dust, or collecting trash. He read a book but can't recall a word from it, doesn't even know if it was about magic or murder.
Snape has not emerged yet from the attic. Harry has left a tray of food for him, which disappeared but they haven't talked or even met all day.
Harry knows not to bother the man when he is working. He was told at the very beginning that potions Snape brews here now are not the mundane concoction they used to work on at school. They are dangerous and deadly, sensitive to any change and therefore it would be best if Harry never approached the lab upstairs unless it was an emergency or he was called for.
And while Harry firmly believes the strange time-warp around him counts as an emergency, he also knows with the utmost certainty that their evening plans (and any future plans as well) would be cancelled if he messed up a potion Snape was working on under Dumbledore's orders.
So he's waited all morning and all afternoon, waited patiently, with itching muscles, but now that the sun has disappeared beneath the horizon, now that they are closer to midnight than tea time, his patience wears thin.
He tries not to think, tries to keep a tight rein on his thoughts but they dash like wild stallions on the sand of his consciousness. How could he not recall that one sentence, play it like a favourite record over and over again? How could he be expected to just walk on, pretending like the offer wasn't made?
Laughable. Every cell in his body hums with excitement, with curiosity.
"I could feel your magic upstairs."
Harry bolts up the bed straight away as he looks at Snape. He seems tired but his eyes are glimmering dark. Golden streaks stain his hands and his bare arms. He looks like King Midas and Harry expects the air around him to sparkle, for even dust to turn gold as it touches him.
"What happened to you?"
Snape tries to hide a smile. "Mistakes were made," he tells Harry evasively.
"You?" Harry gapes. "You made mistakes while brewing?" He sniggers.
Snape crosses his arms on his chest and lifts an eyebrow as he leans against the doorframe. "As I said, I could feel your magic upstairs."
"Oh!" Harry says, ducking his head. "Sorry."
Snape shakes his head lightly, but he's not angry. The expression on his face is teasing, the smile curling his lips even more so. "The whole house buzzes with your excitement, Potter. Don't apologise. The fact that this proposal has intrigued you so much is nothing but flattering."
The smile on Harry's lips is bashful. "Did you manage to finish the potion for Professor Dumbledore, though?"
"Fawkes already took it. Lives shall be saved, death avoided." He waves a nonchalant hand, as if it mattered not that he's saving lives with his work. "I couldn't care less," he even admits.
Harry laughs. "Yeah, why would you…"
"Why would I, indeed, when I have you in such a state under the same roof as me?" Snape looks down examining the chrome-like streaks and spots on his skin then his intense gaze is back on Harry. "Tell me honestly, have you been thinking of anything else at all today?"
Harry's hesitance lasts for merely a second. "No. Just you."
"Just me…" Snape repeats, thoughtful. "You must be rather excited by now."
"I… I am," Harry admits.
Snape's face darkens suddenly as he suggests, "Maybe you should take the edge off. I would appreciate it if you could hold on for more than a minute, but in this state… I highly doubt you could."
Harry flushes red at the mere thought, then Snape's proposal gets to his mind and his mouth nearly falls open. "What? You want me…?"
"Last time I checked you didn't have a problem doing it with me around. You quite enjoyed it, in fact, if memory serves."
The bare mention of their first night in the library has Harry's heartbeat quicken right away. "I like it more when you do it." The admission colours Harry's cheek, but he doesn't look away. More indecent sentences have been uttered between them. This is nearly tame compared to all their confessions.
"Alas," Snape smirks, showing his golden hands, "I am rendered incapable to hold anything right now."
Harry's blood boils at the smug expression. Snape could wash his hands in a second, that would be enough to clear off any potion and ingredient remnants of himself and then he could do anything he wanted. He could hold Harry, make him come, but no, this is on purpose. He wants to watch, observe.
Harry feels heat fill up his face. His chest tightens with excitement.
Snape knows the exact moment when Harry makes his decision to comply. He steps further in the room and pulls out his wand. A mere swish of it has an armchair lift up and move over to the bed. He sits down and crosses his legs at the knee. Then, he says in a low voice, "Lie down, Harry."
Strange how his name falls from those lips easily now. Well-practiced motions form the letters with familiarity. That's how it all started all those weeks ago, with that one sentence, too.
The soft hush of the deep voice rolls over Harry gently, like fog, yet it feels like hot vapour blistering his skin.
Not really thinking, he obeys. Agitated body stretched out, he lies on the bed comfortable for now, hands not even near himself.
He knows he won't last long; how could he? The thought of what's approaching, of why this is happening in the first place is nearly enough to make him come undone, let alone the idea that he's watched, that black eyes follow each and every movement he makes, will follow every stroke, observe the line of his body, listen avidly to his breathless gasps. How could he last long with that knowledge?
He inhales deeply a few times, trying to calm himself. When his thundering heart quiets to mere war-drums he turns his head and opens his eyes.
As his hands descend on his chest, he watches Snape in return, too. He strokes himself, fingers slowly edging under his shirt, pushing it up with lazy, slow strokes.
It's strange how this time, he's allowed a clear view, too, not just the man. At the very beginning, Snape saw nothing, but Harry wasn't allowed more either than the dark silhouette of Snape's back, the severe angle of his profile. Never his face, never the hunger in his eyes, the dark want etched into his expression, not even the needy lick of his lip when Harry takes his nipple between his fingers and twists it.
His gasp of pleasure is sharp in the silence. Snape's mouth parts and he echoes it silently.
"You never looked at me, did you? The first time…" Harry asks, emboldened by lust.
"No," Snape confesses. "It wasn't right."
"But you wanted to," Harry states as he pushes his boxers down. His legs are tucked up and he makes sure he strokes himself in a way that the sight is obscured from Snape's vision. Harry's been tortured all day, the man deserves a little bit of it, too.
"Yes. Of course, I did," comes the huffed admission. "It was hard to resist. The sounds you made portrayed your acts stunningly clearly though."
"I watched you," Harry tells him. His eyes are drifting shut with pleasure, but he doesn't let them close all the way. He wants to watch Snape, see his reactions now, too. "I could barely look away from you. I thought your voice would be enough, but of course it wasn't." Harry sighs, breath hitching. "I was terrified, but I wanted you to turn around and look at me."
He lowers his legs then, stretches them out as his hand fists at the base of his cock.
Snape grunts in a low voice, his gaze roaming on Harry's body. "This was a bad idea…" he notes, roughly.
"Why?" Harry laughs as he strokes himself lazily. "You want to join in?"
Snape stirs in the chair. "What a stupid question…"
Harry lets his eyes drift close and he focuses on his own body for a moment. Both his hands are at his groin, one fumbling with his balls, tugging on them lightly, rolling them on his palm. The other moves with slow strokes up and down.
It's not these touches that set his blood on fire, though. It's the knowledge that Snape's watching, that dark eyes are on him, a hungry gaze eating up every motion he makes.
His heart beats a wild music. His eyes open as he asks, "Are you really going to let me fuck you?"
"Christ, Potter…" Snape grunts, fidgeting.
He uncrosses his legs, lets them fall further apart. He's hard. Harry can see the bulge of his cock even through his dark pants. Long fingers drop there, a palm presses down leaving golden dust behind as it moves, and Harry moans with Snape.
"Even if I wasn't until now, this sight would surely change my mind." Snape says, then lower than a whisper adds, "Hurry up."
Harry's body seems to agree with the plea. Every brush of his thumb over the head has a wild strike of electricity burst in the pit of his stomach. He lifts his hips, presses up and moans abandoned as if alone, even though he knows someone else is in the room, couldn't forget it for a moment.
"God Severus…" he draws breath between his teeth, but it's not enough, there's no air, just heat, burning, singing his lungs. "I want to feel you."
"My hands are covered in potions."
Green eyes flash in the soft light of the room. "Your mouth isn't," Harry suggests, breathlessly.
Snape's down on his knees the next moment, right at the edge of the bed. Harry lets go of his cock and pushes himself up on all fours, then crawls there too, in haste. He sits back on his heels, legs wide apart, his member twitching, begging to be touched.
Snape leans there without hesitance, takes him in his mouth. Harry nearly comes straight away, the pressure, the heat is too much already. He cries out, thrusts deeper.
Hands flail for a second, curl momentarily into fists then release; Snape's not sure what to do with them. The rich gold mess stands in high contrast to his pale skin. He doesn't touch Harry, instead he brings his hands behind his back, locks them there.
Harry cries out at the sight, his own fingers drifting into black hair. He feels as he hits the back of Snape's throat and he pulls back, hips stuttering wanting to snap forth harshly, but he knows he shouldn't.
Snape turns his head, lets Harry's cock slip out. Precome and saliva smear onto his cheek as he growls, "Don't be shy, Potter… not now."
Harry gapes, face red with exertion, flaming with how indecent this feels. He takes Snape's chin on the palm of his hand and presses between thin lips. Black eyes roll back for a moment when he starts pushing and Snape moans when he doesn't stop.
"Deeper?" Harry asks, nearly shaking.
Snape grunts, his answer nothing but a blink.
It doesn't take much, just a change in the angle, a little more pressure and Snape swallows him all the way down.
For a second, Harry doesn't dare move. Snape's watching him mouth full, eyes dark like obsidian, breathing fast and hard through his nose. His throat convulses around Harry and he wants to scream, but all that breaks out of him is a choked moan.
"Fuck Severus…" he whispers, hands tangling in black locks as he starts pulling back. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"
Snape moans and he presses back in. Something sparks in him, deep down and he stares down at the man wide eyed. His hands tug on the long hair, just little at first, but Snape swallows around him and he can't help it, his hips buck forward.
Snape keens, and so does Harry. This can't last long. The heat, the pressure around him is overwhelming. A few more thrusts and he's coming straight down Snape's throat, silent scream frozen to his lips.
He lets Snape go, falls back on the bed. His heart beats wild, and his head buzzes as if instead of a brain he only had wasps there, a whole nest of them. Sweat covers his body, saliva drips from his cock. He stares at Snape, mouth open and not just because he's still panting.
Nothing changed. His magic didn't calm, he can feel it prickling under his skin more than ever. The excitement in his body did not elude at all, the desire he's felt all day merely increased.
"I don't think this worked," he tells Snape.
The man stands, looks over Harry's body. His dark, intense gaze burns his skin. "Wait in my room," Snape only says, voice coarse. "I'll be with you in five minutes."