'I want to watch you,' Snape whispered.
Harry nodded and moaned, snuggling back against the pillows on the bed.
Ron turned away. It was not, after having lived in the same dorm room for seven years, something he hadn't accidentally seen or heard before, but doing so now, seems… wrong.
No, what he wanted was to watch was Snape. His expression, his actions.
Snape sat stark and forbidding in his high-backed, leather chair. The fire roared behind him, outlining him in crimson and gold, making him look like something straight out of hell. Snape's hands gripped the armrests of his chair, yellowish fingernails digging into the upholstery. Harry's moans and groans of pleasure, his wriggling against the crisp sheets were amplified by Snape's eerie silence.
Ron switched pictures quick enough to catch Harry pinch his nipples, arching into the delicious torture of the sensation. His cock hard and dark and leaking.
Flipping back to the bee capturing Snape, Ron noticed that Snape's top shirt-button had been undone.
So, not made out of stone after all, the pervert.
The moaning became louder, interlaced with passionate sighs. Snape's bottom lip had started to tremble, his breathing harsher. Ron watched a surprisingly pink tongue slip out, wetting parchment dry, cracked lips.
A small drop of sweat formed on Snape's pasty forehead, ran down his hollow cheeks to damp the impeccable starched, white shirt at his throat. Snape seemed to be losing it, moaning out whispered words between harsh breaths.
Ron cranked up the volume. The bastard better not be putting some kind of spell on Harry. But all Ron could make out, even with the volume at maximum level was, 'Oh god, Harry, yes, my Harry, please…'
Disappointed, Ron turned his attention back to his best friend. Disgustedly fascinated, Ron watched Harry sensually wet two of his fingers only to thrust them into his…
Ron changed the picture. This was not something that he wanted to see.
Snape, on the other hand, seemed to be slowly losing his façade of control. A drop of sweat was running down his throat, glittering in the light, his head tilted back, supported only by the high-backed chair. Snape's breathing was ragged, his eyes but slits; one hand had undone his zipper and sneaked into his trousers, stroking in rhythm to Harry's moans.
Harry's passionate, 'Severus,' echoed off the stone walls of his bedroom, dragging Snape over the edge with him in one desperate, painful groan. Snape's body arched and slacked.
Breathing hard for a few moments, he heaved himself to unsteady feet, staggering over to the bed.
Ron could see Harry's rather satisfied, saucy smile when Snape lay down beside him, and Harry looked at him as if… as if he mattered. Once again, Ron was impressed by Harry's magical ability when Harry, with barely a wave of his hand, removed Snape's armour-like clothes into a neatly folded stack on the chair.
When Snape gathered Harry into his arms, Ron surprised himself by not feeling utterly revolted. His disgust seemed to have turned into something else. Something like understanding.
Not entirely comfortable with this development, Ron decided to call it a day and accioed himself a butterbeer.
Opening another butterbeer, Ron let the recording speed through the night. He watched them toss and turn and - he shuddered - cuddle. Harry also seemed to have a tendency to hog the blankets.
Served Snape right. Ron watched him shiver in the chilly autumn breeze and wished Snape would catch pneumonia and die. It would make things a lot easier.
The recording sped on. Ron watched Snape slither back under the blankets and close to Harry, his unnaturally pasty arms forcing Harry into an embrace. Snape did not snore, or even breeze loudly; this struck Ron as odd, considering the size of that nose.
Morning dawned, the bluish black shades fading to grey, when Snape started to toss and turn with a vengeance.
Bastard's having a nightmare. Ron slowed the recording to normal speed. I wonder what about?
Snape bolted upright, screaming in the last throws of the nightmare's clutches. His eyes wild and uncomprehending, rapidly searching the darkness. He was breathing in harsh, gasps.
Next to him Harry stirred.
"Sev'rus? You okay?"
Snape sat on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands, distant, unresponding, still trapped in the residue of the dream. Harry pulled himself into wakefulness.
"Severus?" He scooted closer, tentatively putting a hand on Snape's back, rubbing it gently.
"Nightmare?" The hunched body next to him rocked slightly, drawing in on himself. Harry seemed to take that as confirmation. His fingers carted through Snape's lank, sleep tousled hair.
"Severus, look at me!" Snape shock his head.
"Severus, please." Harry carefully covered Snape's skeletal hands with his, gently pulling them away from Snape's face. He let him, looking utterly lost. Scared. Harry got out of the bed, pulling Snape with him.
"Come, I'll make us a cup of tea."
Ron stared. Snape was crying.