Co-written with Stormypup

Beta'd by Rakina

Chapter Seventeen

With a small frown Harry watched Snape leave. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop, agitated. Damn the man! It took considerable strength not to slam his head against the wooden surface before him. If only Snape knew. If only he knew how hard Harry tried to prevent those dreams from occurring. How often he had fallen asleep thinking about Ginny only to wake up with sticky sheets from an erotic dream about Snape. It was mortifying.

He pushed the chair back from the table, the legs dragging against the wood-paneled floor with a harsh sound. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he stood. Times like this called for something to clutch onto, something warm and soothing. Harry walked across the room and picked up the teakettle off the stove before moving over to the sink and filling it with water. He placed the metal kettle on the back burner before turning on the stove.

Ruefully, he rubbed at his scar as he leaned against the work top and stared down at his bare feet. He noted idly that his toenails needed trimming but he could take care of that later, more important thoughts were clouding his mind now. Like Snape. But then, in the past seven years, when had the man been far from his thoughts? When he wasn't serving a detention, he was off somewhere seething about something cruel Snape had done. His memories and feelings were beginning to jar violently. The two Snape's he knew didn't mesh in his mind, for they certainly were two distinctive entities. There was Snape, and then there was Severus. Both were relentless, both were as sarcastic as they come, but one wasn't as cruel, at least not in a relaxed setting.

Harry wondered what would have happened if he had gone back to Hogwarts with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. What would have become of this tentative camaraderie that he shared with the greasy bastard? Would it have fizzled with distance; faded into nothing, just a distant memory? Harry wasn't sure he liked that thought all too much. He genuinely enjoyed conversing with Snape now, so long as Malfoy wasn't around.

But still, those damned dreams. He was positive he was straight. He had never so much as looked at another guy before now. He loved Ginny. He did! He missed her, missed her strawberry-scented hair and her curves, missed her smile and her infectious laughter, but…every time he closed his eyes all he could see was dark, lanky hair and thin, potion-stained fingers marred with tiny scars from times long forgotten.

This afternoon was the worst by far. Not only was it the single most intense dream he'd had to date, but also Snape had been there to witness the finale. Harry shook his head trying to dispel the ripple of arousal that accompanied that memory. He was not going to get aroused in the kitchen!

Had the universe gone nutty? Was there someone out there plotting against every aspect of his life? Surely even Voldemort was not this cruel. No, this was all him, all his bloody hormones. This was…him. Maybe he was just Snape-oriented. It sounded illogical, but he wasn't gay. He wasn't. He just…happened to get a rush of pleasure each time Snape looked at him. Just happened to get erections at the most inconvenient times, that was all. Nothing important. There were no fond feelings for Snape; none, right? Wrong! His brain screamed at him and he almost felt ashamed of his own thoughts. He couldn't lie to himself. There was some kind of feeling for Snape and it wasn't hatred. It hadn't been in a long time either if he were honest with himself. Whatever he felt now, it was deeper than respect, and it frightened him.

The shrill shriek of the teakettle snapped his thoughts back and caused him to jump. He grabbed a mug out of the cabinet next to the sink, took the kettle off the burner and turned off the stove. Harry sighed heavily. His mind hadn't even left him alone long enough to boil the damned water!

Snape lay on his bed, staring blankly at the darkened ceiling. What was the matter with him? He had no business talking about anything remotely sexual with Potter. The age difference and his position of authority notwithstanding, it was just a bad idea.

And yet he had continued to push the boy for information. Merlin, he may as well have asked Harry for all the dirty details.

Is this what he had become? A lonely old man so desperate for a connection with someone that he...what? Considered getting involved with a former student?

Was that what he was doing? Considering it?

"Bloody fucking hell," he ground out, slamming a fist down on the mattress. Where in the hell had that come from? The boy had a few wet dreams about him. That did not constitute 'getting involved'.

Did he, on some level, wish to get involved?

The very idea was ludicrous.

So why couldn't he rid himself of the vision of Harry, writhing on his bed, moaning out his name when he climaxed. And why in the name of Merlin did the whole bloody thing arouse him? It was perverse!

Snape clenched his teeth and repeatedly opened and closed his hands in agitation. He hadn't even done anything and he was feeling guilty. His stubborn erection wasn't helping matters either. It was a constant reminder of things he wished to forget.

"Bugger it," he growled, rolling to his feet. He threw open the door to his bedroom and stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He turned the shower on cold and stripped off his clothing. Steeling himself, he stepped under the ice-cold spray.

Harry was seated at the kitchen table again, hands firmly clenched around his mug when he heard the master bedroom's door slam open and crash into the wall, followed by the sound of angry footsteps, then the sound of the bathroom door shutting. He told himself he was not straining to listen. He swore he didn't hear the shower starting down the hall because he had tilted his chair back.

But the shower was running. Snape. In the shower. Water. Snape. Shower. FUCK. Harry's hold on his cup of tea tightened till his knuckles turned white. He was not thinking of Severus Snape in the shower. Nope, definitely not thinking about the water trailing over Snape's toned body. And, Merlin! The man was toned, and he never would have known had he not been so clumsy during the early stages of training. Tripped right into the bastard and discovered him to be as hard as rock. Bloody hell, no, not hard… refined, chiseled. Not hard! Damn it. He growled low in his throat. Not thinking about Snape in the shower. Snape naked in the shower. NO! Not thinking about it. I am not thinking about it. No-

His mug shattered from pressure and the scalding contents spilled onto his lap. "FUCK!" he yelped, jumping up immediately in distress. His lap felt like it was on fire. He tripped over his own feet as he ran to the guest bedroom and stripped out of his jeans and changed his underpants before laying down on the bed, ignoring the red skin from where the tea had seeped through his clothing. "Fuck," he cursed again, closing his eyes with a grimace.

By the time Snape turned off the water his lips were nearly blue, but his arousal was completely gone, for which he was grateful. He rubbed the towel vigorously across his flesh, trying to bring any manner of heat back to his skin.

He pulled on his clothes and left the bathroom, desperate for a hot cup of tea.

He entered the kitchen and almost slipped on the puddle on the floor.

"POTTER!"

Harry cringed and stood up slowly, hissing as his shirt brushed across the top of his legs. Desperately trying to ignore the fact that he was about to go answer Snape's yell in nothing more than a baggy t-shirt and underpants, he walked stiffly out of the guest room and down the hall. He paused in the entrance of the kitchen.

"Yes?"

"Why is there a puddle in the middle -"

The words stopped as soon as he turned around to find Harry standing there half naked.

"Where are your trousers?" he dumbly asked, unable to raise his eyes from the pale flesh of Harry's muscled thighs.

Harry flushed and shifted awkwardly. "I couldn't put any on," he mumbled.

Snape forced his eyes up to Harry's face, frowning. "How does one forget how to put on one's trousers?" he asked tightly.

Harry didn't even want to dignify that with a response. "I burned my legs." Smooth, Potter, real smooth, so much better than forgetting how to put on your jeans. Now you sound like a right idiot.

Snape felt the sudden urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he was afraid if he started, he would become hysterical. Potter was standing there in nothing but his knickers, adding fuel to whatever demented fire was brewing in his head.

"Go and wait in your room, I'll get something," he said, averting his eyes and hurrying from the room.

Harry walked, or perhaps waddled, back to the guest room and turned around and fell back on the bed. He was just too exhausted to care.

Snape rummaged through his small valise of potions until he found a salve that would work on burns. Taking a deep breath, he walked to Harry's room and sat down on the edge of his bed, careful not to touch the boy.

"How did it happen?" he asked, taking the lid off of the potion vial.

Harry moaned in misery and brought a hand up to his face and scrubbed it vigorously. He kept his hand over his face as if he couldn't even stand to look at Snape.

"You.Shower.Tea."

Snape blinked.

"I see," he said, feeling a riot of emotions. "Can you...?" he asked, motioning towards Harry's burns. Harry nodded and held out a hand for the salve. Snape handed it to Harry and looked away, staring at the wall. This was too much to ask of any man. "I'm in hell," he murmured.

"Preaching to the choir."

Harry squeezed some of the cool blue, gel-like substance onto his hands before massaging it into his legs. He hissed in pain at the contact, feeling like he was squeezing lemon juice into a paper cut. It stung. "These things should come with warning labels." He grimaced as he finished up his right leg and moved onto his left.

Snape turned his head and watched Harry's face as he applied the salve. He could see when the pain turned to relief, but he refused to look at Harry's thighs.

This would be the time when he should get up and walk away, yet he found himself unable to move. He turned his head away, rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.

"Tell me to leave," he said, voice almost desperate.

Harry whipped his head up in shock; so intent on healing his legs he had almost forgotten Snape was still there. A million warning signs flared to life in his mind telling him to heed the man's warnings, but he brushed them aside carelessly.

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, I'm liable to do something we will both regret," he said, closing his eyes.

Harry stared at him for a long moment. He chewed on his bottom lip, his hands falling to the comforter, twitching as if he wanted to touch Snape but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He didn't know what to do. Part of him was telling him to run, and it was the more sensible part. The other part of him was screaming at him to press the issue to see what happened, because whatever it was it wouldn't be horrible.

"No."

"What?"

"I said no. Don't leave."

Snape turned to look at Harry once again, shaking his head. He shifted on the bed so he was facing Harry. "You're an idiot, Potter," he said, sliding his hand to cup Harry's face. "And I'm a fool," he added before leaning in, his lips a hair's breadth from Harry's.

"Tell me to leave," he repeated.

"No."

"Shit," Snape whispered before touching his lips to Harry's, brushing against them softly before pulling back to look at Harry, waiting for him to scream, or yell, or hex him.

Harry blinked slowly as Snape pulled away. "Why'd you stop?"

Snape licked his dry lips. "You should be asking why I started," Snape said, frowning. "Idiot," he muttered once again before closing the distance between them once again.

Harry fisted the comforter below him as the initial shock wore off. One of his hands drifted from the bed to Snape's chest and rested there, lightly gripping the shirt's material as he slowly began to move his lips against Snape's.

Snape moaned softly when Harry began to kiss him back, his hand fisting the front of Snape's shirt. For this one moment, he wasn't going to think. He was going to take what he wanted, knowing he would have to deal with the consequences later.

Snape allowed his tongue to run across Harry's lips, teasingly. Harry gasped softly, his mouth parting just enough for Snape to dart his tongue inside.

Snape's mouth opened against Harry's, his tongue stroking and teasing, his fingers tightening in Harry's hair. The slow exploration soon turned to ardent aggression, his mouth slanting hungrily against Harry's.

It took a moment for Harry's whimper to get through to the working part of Snape's brain. He pulled back, looking at Harry, unsure.

Harry wavered forward, his eyes still closed.

"You stopped again," he muttered thickly, slowly opening his eyes.

Snape swallowed and nodded, the reality of the situation crashing in on him. He got to his feet, stumbling backwards. "This was a mistake that can never be repeated," he said, backing from the room.

"Mistake?" Harry blinked, clearing the fog from his eyes. "What do you mean, mistake?"

"This cannot happen, Potter," Snape replied. "Surely you can see that. I shouldn't have kissed you. I shouldn't even have come in here," he said, the ramifications of what he had just done slamming him in the gut.

"Well, why not?" Harry glared at the older man, crossing his arms across his chest. If Snape thought he was getting away that easily, especially after that, he was sorely mistaken.

"Merlin, you're not even out of school yet!" Snape said, scowling, taking his anger at himself out on Harry. "I went to school with your bloody parents!" Snape shook his head. "I've done some reprehensible things in my life, but taking advantage of a student is not, and will not, be one of them," he said, his lip curling into a sneer.

"I'm not your student anymore."

"Not even you can be that thick, Potter."

"But I'm not," Harry insisted. "I'm never going to complete school, sir. I'll either be dead before it happens or bored to tears if I live to return."

"I forbid you to die," Snape replied, as if saying it would make it true.

"You forbid me to die?" Harry said with a disbelieving laugh.

Snape's scowl intensified. "Yes, Potter, I forbid it," he hissed angrily. "If you die, I have failed, and failure is not an option."

"Let's face it Se- Snape, I will die. What are the odds that I will win? Honestly, one boy against a wizard with over seventy years of experience. And don't lie to me. I am sick to fucking death of being lied to."

Snape bent down, putting his face right in front of Harry. "You're right, you very well may die, but you will not go quietly, and you will not be going alone. I will do everything in my power to protect you. I will die before I allow anything or anyone to stop you. Too much has been sacrificed to ensure your victory, and I'll be damned if you fail," he growled.

"Severus, I-" Harry choked on the last bit before offering the man a watery smile. It was all the warning Snape got before Harry threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around his waist burying his face in the man's shirt. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't because he couldn't allow himself to.

Snape looked down in shock as Harry threw himself around his waist. He closed his eyes and put a hand in Potter's hair, carding his fingers through it, wondering when things had gone so absolutely pear-shaped.