Written for my roommate Nicole. Snape/Harry with an unhealthy dose of insanity. You have been warned…
They called it love at first sight – Snape would have watched a house elves porns at the absurdity of such a notion – love was nurtured, love was grown, love was a slow brewing potion with enchanting green bubbles above the cauldron.
Snape watched the Gryfindor table, and was unable to explain the heat that overtook him, brimming out of his every pore like fire ants out of a flooded nest.
Such green eyes – the color of a perfectly brewed potion and the color of his undergarment. He would pick the Dark Lord's nose with his bare finger if it meant he would swim in the vegetation.
A life time. An eternity. Forever.
Such were the time when he couldn't see those green gems again.
He couldn't. The bulge beneath his robe was strong, but his will was stronger. What didn't come out from below came out from above – his hair grew oily.
Deep inside he feared, that his love would find him repulsing and shunted from him.
His love – he was in love – a wonderful sensation, like encountering a bat in his dungeon, like listening to the headmaster moaning alone in his chamber, like that one time when he touched the porcelain hand in potion class. A doe skateboarding on a tidal wave. A phoenix taking a sunbath.
He saw the green eyes narrowed in despise, dagger on his onion soul – his heart broke. To hide his wound and his excitement, his own dark ones grew hard as stone – if, love, you could detect the tenderness behind them, I would be forever yours.
His day of glory came one autumn day, when leaves like those enchanted eyes fell and caressed his cheek. He burned with need.
'Professor, I have left my bag.' His voice torn him, left him licking and churning within his wounds.
'Stupid boy –' his breath hitched, it's now or never, or the potion would be overcooked –'I am sure you left something else.'
'What-' his eyes widened in confusion, taken on a toad-like quality with all its slimy glory.
'Me.' He kissed him amidst his gasp, drinking in that intoxicating scent of digested food in stomach.
He wanted it. He wanted it. He wanted it. He needed it.
Then Harry kissed him back.
The space between them disappeared. Their clothes magically disappeared, two porcelain bodies shone beside shimmering fire, lapping and fondling with hunger.
Like a Petrification curse had hit his You-know-what, his male glory knocked against Harry's it-which-must-not-be-named.
Snape's penis became erect as the space in the corpora cavernosa sinuses filled with blood from the nitric oxide dilated trabecular and helicine arteries. Oh, his ischiocavernosus and bulospongiosus muscles contracted and venous return was impeded. Corpora cavernosa and corpus spongiosum became engorged with blood, turgid and throbbing with arousal.
He ran his tongue along the hair on Harry's chest, mucking them like a llama on its pasture. His love kneeled in front of him, head nuzzling on his thigh. One mighty jerk, and his excited member sent Harry's glasses flying, glans penis brushing against rosy skin.
His love spread himself for him, an invitation on wobbling butt-cheeks. He thrust in, high dive into a swimming pool of potions. The warm and wet oblivion claimed him, he gulped in the elixir of love. His hands were on him, everywhere, inside him, within him.
He remembered that childhood dream – he was drifting, in a house submerged in potions. He twisted on his naked body, taste blossomed on his skin – Angel's Trumpet, Bundimum Pomade, Chelidonium Miniscula…He was dissolving… into Everklena.
In his mind's eyes he saw them jerking together, limbs writhing like an unturned human centipede.
Nothing came close to this, not even the magic flute of his Dark Lord.
As they rocked in sublimation of their love, he let himself believe that, he was lovable. That, he, Severus Salmon Simpson Snape despite all his sins and failure, was loved.
And all around them, the potions turned into Amortentia.
Oh god. Oh Merlin. What have I written? May the force be with you!