I've had to take out some of the content, to keep this within the fanfiction rating scheme. I have kept all the diologue, so you'll just have to imagine what's actually going on in some places. I hope it still works.
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By the time they cleared the silent wood and stopped for the night, Snape was both horny and anxious. He retreated inside, leaving the boy to play with his friends. That world he would never be part of. Harry might forgive and believe, others would not. He would be shunned and hunted the rest of his life for his actions. How could he ask Harry to partake of that life, to willingly exile himself just at the moment when he should be returning triumphant? How could he inflict such a lonely future upon the boy? Snape thought he should leave quietly, but as he sat alone on the edge of Harry's bed, he could not quite force himself to depart.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?"
Harry's voice disrupted his thoughts.
"I happen to be quite fond of darkness," Snape replied.
"I'd rather see what I'm doing if you don't mind."
Harry clicked his fingers and brought up the lights. The boy seemed tense and nervous. Snape wondered if something awkward had been said.
"I brought you some food," Harry said, passing Snape a package. "Sorry it took so long, but there's a lot to sort out. I don't know what we're going to do next. I hadn't really planned this far ahead."
Snape picked at his food, not even bothering to see what it was.
"Some of them have got homes and families to go back to, but I don't. I'm not sure what I'm going to do."
Snape stood, taking Harry in his arms and cradling the youth's head against his shoulder.
"Don't think about it now," he said. "Permit me to distract you. I've been aching to distract you all day."
When they kissed, it was easy to forget about everything else, the uncertain future and the painful past alike.
"Snape…" Harry said, a slight quaver in his voice. "I don't… I don't know…"
Snape pulled back, his hands on Harry's shoulders.
"Do try and talk coherently," he said. "Things will be far easier if I have some idea of what you are talking about."
He watched Harry's face, those large eyes, that tender, kissable mouth, the fading scar on his brow. Realisation dawned on him. Harry might well be quite as innocent as he looked. He ran a finger down Harry's cheek, then brushed his thumb over the boy's lips. Harry responded with a kiss to Snape's hand that set him on fire. The boy may well be eager and responsive, but he might not be sure of himself.
"Potter, have you had any lovers?" Snape asked, deciding it was probably best to be forthright.
"No," Harry said, looking down. "I've kissed people and stuff like that, but there was never time, and I was always afraid if I let myself love anyone, I'd just be putting them in danger." Harry looked up then. "I won't be any good, I don't know what to do, and… well… I know what you're like. I don't want to be graded on my lack of sexual prowess, all right?"
There was anger in his voice, but Snape guessed how threatened the lad must feel.
"I won't mock you for your innocence," Snape said. "Despite your experience to the contrary, I can be a good teacher. Would you consent to let me teach you?"
"You aren't cross?" Harry asked.
"I would be honoured to initiate you into the arts of carnal pleasure," Snape replied. "Fortunately, it has very little in common with potion making, although patience is advantageous in both."
Harry snarled in mock aggression.
"I don't believe I've ever seen you so ken to learn anything Potter," he persisted. "And there's such a vast array of things to learn, I find I hardly know where to begin." He paused and regarded Harry for a while, his expression solemn and thoughtful.
"I got the impression this sort of thing works better if you aren't fully dressed," Harry said, smiling nervously. Snape brushed his hands over the long rows of buttons.
"True enough. Would you like to take care of that yourself, or would you like my assistance?"
Harry pulled off his clothing with considerable speed, his gaze returning repeatedly to Snape's face. Snape followed the boy's lead, aware that his hands were trembling slightly, and that he was struggling with his innumerable buttons.
"Let me do that."
Then Harry's hands were on him, unfastening the long jacket and pushing it from his shoulders.
"I thought you were supposed to be the calm experienced one," the young wizard remarked as Snape removed his other borrowed garments.
"So did I," Snape replied. "But I'm not so jaded that the moment does not affect me."
He pulled Harry to him, and the feel of the boy's skin against his own sent his senses reeling. Harry's hair smelled of wood smoke and autumn.
"If at any time you are uncertain, or have questions, then speak to me," Snape said. "If at any time I make a mistake, unlikely though that may be, then tell me. Some things may seem strange at first."
"I'm ready," Harry said. Looking down, Snape saw the boy's eyes were filled with trust.
"You aren't nearly ready," Snape informed him. "You aren't remotely close to ready. Once your body is on fire, aching with need, trembling with lust, then Potter, then you will be ready."
Snape could see that his brief speech had made considerable impact. Harry's cheeks flushed beautifully and his eyes gleamed. They lay down together, the sheets cool beneath them. Snape wanted to hold each moment clearly in his thoughts, to capture memories perfect enough to last for all time. He moved slowly, using just his fingertips at first, tracing exploratory lines over Harry's forehead and cheek, down across his shoulders. Leaning closer, he whispered kisses across the boy's smooth chest. Harry touched him in return, fingers on his arm, his shoulder. Snape felt his control shatter as heat coursed through him. His kisses seared with urgency, with a terrible need to consume the youth he had adored for so long. Harry responded with small, endearing sounds, his hands reaching for Snape, clinging, releasing, then grasping for him again.
Breathing heavily and giddy with desire, Snape paused in his passionate assault to regard the boy. Harry smiled up at him, then reached for Snape, pulling him down into a long, fevered kiss. The older man could resist no longer. His hand strayed down over Harry's stomach.
"Oh!" Harry's breathy exclamation was a prize in itself.
Snape moved his hand slowly, feeling the youth in his arms shudder with desire.
"Feels good," Harry gasped.
"This is only the beginning," Snape told him. "Now we commence the second lesson."
He shifted across the bed, letting his lips follow the path his fingers had found. When he looked up, the expression on the young man's face was a truly magical concoction – surprise, pleasure, anxiety, perhaps more. Snape repeated the action, relishing the gasped intake of breath, the widening eyes.
"It is generally the case that where the fingers are effective, the tongue is doubly so. Fingers have the advantage of length, useful in some instances, but your tongue creates far greater erotic possibilities, being more dextrous, more intimate."
"Don't stop," Harry begged.
"I haven't finished with you yet Potter. Patience. The next lesson. A pleasure drawn out is a pleasure heightened. It is all too easy to succumb at once, but the longer you can wait, the better the results. You may be frustrated now, but it is a small price to pay, I promise you."
"I don't know how much more of this I can take," Harry confessed. "You're driving me mad."
"Of course I am. That was precisely my intent. Believe me, you can and will take a good deal more of this."
Harry sat up, folding himself around Snape, gripping the older man tightly.
"Please!" he begged.
Snape laughed, teasing Harry with his fingers, then covering the boy's face with kisses.
"Lie back," he commanded. Harry complied. "Haste has little to recommend it. Anyone can manage a swift favour. It requires neither skill nor does it inspire much passion. Delayed gratification is another matter entirely."
With that he began once more his erotic torments. Harry bucked and moaned, and begged from time to time, only to be chastised for his impatience. Patience was something Snape possessed in abundance. He had waited years for such a moment as this, and was determined to prolong his enjoyment of it. Harry was his, at least for now, and would be ruled utterly by him. Each subtle move, each tremble and whimper told Snape of the effect he was having, and he revelled in it.
For a long time afterwards, they lay together, still and close. Eventually, Harry broke the silence.
"Kiss me?"
Snape hurried to respond, holding the boy close and kissing him deeply. He imagined drifting into sleep with the youth cradled against his chest. To be so close, even for just a few hours, was a wonder indeed.
Harry shifted in the bed, rolling Snape onto his back and covering his face with ardent kisses. Slowly, he worked his way down. Snape lay still, hardly daring to breathe. Harry kissed his stomach, then looked up.
"Promise no grading me?"
"I promise," Snape replied, bemused.
"Only I've never done this before."
"So, am I getting it right?" Harry paused to ask.
"Even down to the fine art of torturing me, it would appear," Snape said through gritted teeth.
"I can stop if you want," Harry said innocently.
Snape closed his eyes, unable to gather his wits sufficiently for a good retort.
"Should I stop?" Harry emphasised the point with a lick of his tongue.
"Only if you find yourself disinclined to continue."
"That wasn't what I asked."
Harry left the question hanging, and returned to what he'd been doing.
"Because I wouldn't want to keep going if you didn't like it," the boy persisted.
"What do I…?" Snape began, and then realisation dawned. The boy was going to make him beg.
"Please don't stop," he said. The words did not come easily, but need proved stronger than pride.
"Are you sure?"
"More sure than I have ever been."
Snape murmured words of encouragement and desire, realising the boy would not let him off lightly, and no longer caring if he had to sacrifice a little dignity in the process.
"You can tell me if I'm not getting it right," Harry said.
"For pity's sake Potter, stop asking questions!"
"I thought you were going to teach me."
"I'm beginning to think I may have taught you rather too well already."
"What was it you were saying before, about delayed gratification?"
Snape sighed.
"Harry Potter, what am I going to do with you?"
Raw emotion coursed in his body, a blend of wild ecstasy and aching sorrow. Never before had he loved the boy so fiercely as he did at this moment. He had never dared imagine Harry might prove so generous, nor so gifted. Harry's lips and tongue matched his need perfectly, breaking through what few battered defences still remained.
"You don't have to…" Snape began, afraid that he boy would give too much of himself. Harry lifted his head. His expressive eyes were fearless as ever, ready for any challenge. Snape could hardly bear to look at him, heat seared his chest, a heavy, painful emotion, too strong, too sweet. There was no doubting that the youth knew what he was doing and had no intention of stopping. Snape felt himself trembling as he gazed at Harry. He fought to resist the inevitable, held off for a few breaths. The sight of Harry so intent on bringing him pleasure robbed him of all control. The tightly coiled force of long frustration unravelled within him, escaping in a stream of heat. He cried out, a single, inarticulate expression of release. In moments, Harry was in his arms, holding him tightly, pressing his face into Snape's shoulder. Neither spoke. No words could do justice to the moment.
Later, Snape watched the youth sleeping. He looked so innocent in repose, so enchanting, with his tousled hair fanned out across the pillow, and his dark lashes dramatic against his pale skin. Snape wanted to hold him, but feared waking him. Resting his weight on his arms, he leaned his head a little closer, and brushed his lips against Harry's cheek.
When Harry work, the warm glow of satisfaction still permeated his body. He lay still for a while, remembering, and feeling fresh tingles of desire starting to enliven him. He rolled over, reaching out for Snape, meaning to wake him with kisses. The bed beside him was empty. Harry opened his eyes, look around, expecting to see Snape watching him from a chair, but there was no sign of the man. On the pillow beside him was a scroll. His heart heavy with trepidation, Harry unrolled the document.
My beloved Harry,
It might be better for you to think the worst of me. Others certainly will. You have a rare and generous spirit, but the world will not seek to understand and forgive as you have done. I will be a hunted man for as long as I live, and if I am caught, I will die for my crimes. You know it must be so. I have given most of my life in assisting you Harry. I can do no less now. I will not condemn you to the life of an exile and felon. You should return in triumph, happy in your victory. There is no place for me in your future.
I cannot regret our time together. I hope you will forgive my leaving, and understand that I mean the best for you, as I have always done. I hope that in the years to come, you will remember me fondly. Embrace life Harry, love and be loved. You have given me a few hours of happiness that will remain with me through all my days. I may have promised not to grade you, but were I to do so, be assured your efforts would be worthy of an A.
I remain yours, until my dying breath.
Severus.
Harry read the letter twice before the full meaning sank in. He ran to the door, careless of his nudity. There was no sign of anyone. Snape had truly gone. Then he sat on the bed and read the letter for a third time. In some ways Snape was right, Harry knew. Without Dumbledore's influence to protect him, he stood no chance of defending himself. Even Harry's word would probably account for little. He touched the bed where Snape had lain, feeling the cold sheet beneath his hands. Then on the pillow, he saw a single long dark hair. Harry gathered it up, stashing it in one of his many small pots. It was all he had left. The young wizard buried his face in the pillows and sobbed.