With a final nod, Harry Apparated home.
*~*~*
Despite his best efforts to purge the memory, that night with Snape was all Harry could think about. He tried to tell himself that sex was just sex, but he'd never had sex like that in his life. His body reverberated with the fierce sensations, and, even though he was at work, the instant Snape crossed his mind, he'd go instantly hard.
Harry knew that the wisest thing he could do was to put that night firmly behind him, because if a one-night-stand with Snape could mess him up this bad, there was no telling what anything more would do. But Harry had never been wise.
What he'd been was numb and disenchanted. To learn that he could feel, that he could have such explosive chemistry with another human, was nearly more than he could handle. Numb was safe. Reality was all about disenchantment. If he didn't hope, if he didn't dream, then he couldn't be hurt.
In his saner moments, Harry knew that there was nothing he could gain by seeing Snape again. Doubtless all a second encounter would do would be to shatter the illusions he was fostering, because, for God's sake, how could he possibly have chemistry with Snape? The idea was more than insane; it was ludicrous.
Snape would no doubt laugh in his face if Harry came skulking back to his door for a second go-round. For, seriously, where could this possibly go?
Harry tried to tell himself that it was the novelty that had made that night so hot, that it was the idea of doing it with someone who should have been out of bounds that was so titillating rather than Snape himself. The man was ugly and obnoxious. Harry had known that for years . . . only, Snape hadn't seemed at all ugly when they were lying there on the floor all rumpled and flushed after sex, nor had he been all that obnoxious that night. Prickly, yes, but Snape could no more be sweet and charming than a dragon could. For Snape, he'd been damned pleasant that night.
But just because Snape had been unnaturally forbearing with him on Friday night, didn't mean Snape would want to ever see him again. They'd both needed to get laid, that was all there was to it. To make something more out of a satisfying one-night-stand was just asking for trouble. Harry knew that.
Which was why he found himself tentatively knocking on the thick wooden door of Snape's Exmoor home the next night, because he knew he'd be asking for trouble, Harry thought with a sneer as he stood there shivering in the early January freeze. Maybe he just needed Snape to laugh in his face for him to be able to get on with his life.
The door swung open. Snape's sour, irritated expression gave way to one of complete shock when he saw who it was on his doorstep, before being schooled into its usual bland set. "Potter?"
Snape wasn't wearing his robes or jacket. He was in black trousers and shirtsleeves. The rolled up arms of his white shirt revealed the dark mark on his left arm and Snape's wiry muscled forearms, which somehow struck Harry as being unbelievably sexy. It was at that point that Harry recognized how truly doomed he was.
"Er, hello," Harry stammered, having no idea what to say. Maybe it was courage that had brought him here, or perhaps desperation, but whatever it was, it deserted him completely under that dark gaze.
To Harry's shock, Snape stepped back, opening the door wide in silent invitation.
The door closed behind them and Harry followed his surprised host back to the sitting room. There was an open book on the arm of the chair closest to the hearth and a steaming mug of what looked like milky tea on the nearby end table.
As Snape turned to face him, Harry had no idea what to say, how to even begin to explain his presence here.
There was something in Snape's guarded expression that made Harry suspect that Snape was undergoing a similar crisis. But neither of them spoke of it.
Harry wasn't sure who moved first. The next thing he knew, Snape's hands were pulling his dark blue jumper up to get at the button of his blue jeans, and Harry's own hands were scrambling to undo Snape's trousers.
His entire being seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as he was bared to the warm air of the sitting room.
Snape's cock was just as magnificent as he remembered, big and dark and hungry. Somehow it seemed even more erotic when viewed around the open trousers and pushed-up shirt end. Harry palmed Snape's moist shaft as Snape's yellow-stained fingers took possession of his own.
Once again, the pressure felt perfect. Snape squeezed him like he knew him from the inside out.
Harry returned the favour. The surprised sounding gasp Snape gave made him think that his efforts were equally effective. Wanting to hear that sound again, Harry stood up on tiptoes and latched his mouth onto that long, pale throat. A man as thin as Snape should have had a scrawny neck, but, although slender, Snape's throat was graceful and well formed.
Snape made a small, startled-sounding cry as Harry began to suck the soft skin below his ear. Clearly, the man was ultra-sensitive there. Harry nuzzled his way over to the pronounced Adam's apple, leaving a trail of little, red marks in his wake.
All the while, their hands were working each other's shafts, escalating the pleasure.
As the heat and the passion built to unbearable levels, they staggered backwards until they came up against Snape's huge desk.
Harry blinked as that small brown jar of cream he remembered from last night nudged his ear. When he took his hands off Snape long enough to fish the jar out of the air where it was floating, Snape turned and quickly pushed everything off the top of his desk to the floor.
Startled by the sound of breaking glass, Harry looked down at the mess of fallen parchments, books, and vials that had crashed on the brown rug on the far side of the desk, but then Snape was bending over the desk's gleaming, polished mahogany surface and Harry lost awareness of everything but that splendid arse on offer. The black pants and shirttails were concealing most of it, though. He pushed the shirt up, barely taking in the scarred lower back, then tugged Snape's trousers downwards until they pooled at his ankles.
Harry stroked the creamy skin of those flattish cheeks, loving how they felt under his palms. Gently grasping them, he gave a careful squeeze that drew a piercing moan out of Snape.
Harry grabbed hold of the lube and fumbled it open. Snape was just as perfectly tight as he recalled him being last night. Seeing that long body bent over the desk with trousers tangled at his feet, hearing the amazing sounds Snape made as his fingers breached and explored him . . . Harry had never known anything this wildly erotic.
Though the want was so bad that his heart was pounding in a deafening beat and he could barely breathe, Harry took his time convincing that tight channel to loosen up enough to accept him. He knew how rare a gift this was, how unheard of it was for a wizard to open himself up to another this completely. That Snape could give him this kind of surrender was mind-boggling, and Harry had no intention of taking it for granted or hurting Snape in his over-eager rush to completion.
Finally, Severus felt receptive. Harry slathered a generous helping on his own cock, carefully positioned himself, and slid home. That was what it felt like, coming home. No one had welcomed him like this. There had never been a body that moved so in sync with his own or seemed to complement his needs so well.
His hand slipped around Severus to appropriate his cock, giving the hungry length the attention it was crying for.
Harry had thought last night a fluke born of the novelty of fucking his nasty potions teacher. Tonight taught him different.
Snape was every wild dream he'd ever had. They moved together like they'd been born for this union, like their entire lives had been lived simply to bring them to this place of perfect harmony.
Harry moved cautiously in and out of Snape. Snape was keeping his butt up high in the air, leaving a safe space between his groin and the hard desk edge, but Harry knew how easily a careless move on his end could send Snape crashing into that ungiving surface. So he kept hold of Snape's hip with his left hand, making sure he didn't thrust hard enough to throw them off balance.
Even as he monitored himself, Harry could feel his brain liquefying under the sheer brilliance of the delight coursing through him. He was beyond lost. Harry felt like his whole world was exploding around him as he came deep inside Snape.
Seconds later, the shaft in his hand convulsed and Snape's gleaming desk was splattered with spurt after spurt of semen. Snape came so hard that it seemed to Harry as if the man ejaculated a year's worth of cum.
Harry sank against Snape, burying his face in that dark hair, nosing through it until he got to the soft, vulnerable nape of Snape's neck. He licked the skin there, feeling Snape shudder in reaction.
A moment later, Snape squeezed him, and Harry felt himself grow hard again.
This round wasn't nearly as wild as last night's second coupling, but Harry rather enjoyed the slower, easy pace. That, too, was something with which he was unfamiliar. His one-night-stands were always rushed and furtive. He'd never met a wizard who luxuriated in being taken the way Snape seemed to, and that was just so not in keeping with what Harry thought he knew of Snape's character that it was difficult to see this passionate lover as the nemesis of his youth.
This climax was a warm, tingling affair rather than the earth-shatteringly erotic one he'd experienced before. Snape barely seemed to produce any semen at all this time, but that was okay. The sounds he made more than demonstrated how much he was enjoying himself.
Orgasm claiming the last of his energy, Harry collapsed onto Snape. He lay there breathing in Snape's warm scent and the more tantalizing musk of sex until Snape gave a tentative push up at him.
Realizing that Snape must be having trouble breathing bent over the desk like that with his weight on his back, Harry quickly stumbled up. He bent to pull up his blue jeans, even as Snape was turning to fish his trousers up from around his ankles.
Once again, Harry hadn't a fucking clue as to what he should say. There wasn't an etiquette manual on the zhaiyuedu.com that included post-coital conversation with someone you were fairly certain you hated.
Only, Harry didn't hate Snape. Not now. What they shared had nothing to do with anger or revenge or the millions of other unpleasant factors that could have coloured the sex between them. He wasn't sure what it did have to do with; all he knew was that it wasn't hate.
Snape was watching him. Those normally sallow cheeks were still pleasantly flushed, his expression mild and only a little guarded.
"I didn't expect to see you again," Snape said into the silence.
Harry nodded. "I know. It doesn't make a bit of sense, but . . . it's good between us, isn't it?"
Harry braced himself for all manner of rejection.
Snape seemed taken aback by his candidness. After a long pause, he gave a totally wary, "Yes," watching him as though he expected ridicule.
