When an evening jogger passed the bench, Harry spoke under his breath.
"Muggle."
"State your source."
Harry leapt from the bench and rounded on the man standing behind him. Severus smirked and held out a hand invitingly. Cautiously, unsure, the Gryffindor reached out and slid his fingers into the warm palm. With a small tug, Severus urged him around the bench. Harry came to a stop in front of the man who'd haunted his thoughts and darkened his heart. He wanted to speak, to question, but no words were forthcoming. Silently, he let himself be led to the stand of bushes, tall as trees, which stood nearby.
Without any sign of hesitation, Severus guided Harry through a barely visible breach in the foliage. Harry came out the other side to find they were in a small, grassy grove, hidden from the rest of the park and darkened by a massive oak that stood in the middle. He looked at his companion, who wordlessly drew him forward.
The kiss was like lightning down Harry's spine, and he felt his knees weaken. His soul was pushed and pulled with the sensations coursing through him as long arms encompassed his middle. Their bodies met and even through his clothing Harry could feel the consuming warmth of the Potions Master. And he wanted to be consumed.
With no question to how, Harry felt himself being laid back on the grass as a long-fingered hand roamed his side. There was no questing, no searching, only an exploration of flesh. Blades of grass tickled him coolly where his shirt had ridden up. His skin was alight with passion, but there was no feverish need here. Wherever they touched was soft and arcing, a soothing of the beast within that filtered the darkness out of the very crevices where it hid. Lips pressed, glided, slid in perfect synchronicity against a matching pair.
Stars winked through the leaves of the oak above them, watching over the pair of midnight lovers. Harry sighed as Severus pulled away to feather kisses over his jaw. The probing hand slid over the flesh of his stomach, pressing his shirt ever upwards. When the shirt could go no further, the body laying half atop his shifted against him. Thin lips pressed against his sternum, drawing a small gasp from the green-eyed apprentice. Slow kisses touched his chest, and the feathery kiss of lank, silky hair trailed after. Harry burrowed his fingers gently into the black locks, as the trek of those sinful lips moved slowly down his stomach. Hot breath ghosted over his feverish skin in a shuddering breath.
"Harry…"
-Break-
Harry sat up in his bed at the tavern he and his Master were staying in, breathing heavily. The dream passed over his thoughts like water, too slippery to grasp. He need not have bothered trying to remember each detail, he knew where his dreams had strayed. He'd sat on that cursed bench for over an hour, waiting for a man who would never come. It left little question about what had invaded his sleeping mind and had left his body in such a needful state. Knowing he would get no more sleep this night, and fearing what he might see if he did, the Gryffindor slipped from under his covers and dressed. There was always research to be done.