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Severus already regrets agreeing to this. His shin burns sharply where he’d hit it against the bedframe a few seconds ago. His mouth is parched, and the spot on his arm where Potter’s nails dig into his flesh hurts like hell.
“Unhand me at once,” Severus barks, too unnerved to hide how unnerved he is.
Potter frowns up at him from behind fogged up glasses. “How is this supposed to go if I’m not allowed to touch you?”
Severus glares at him as he slides onto the mattress, keeping a tentative distance from the man perched on the edge of his bed. Potter’s face is flushed, his breathing laboured, and his lips slightly bruised from the stumbling kiss they have just shared. Under the crow’s nest of hair his eyes are wide, brows drawn low.
Severus briefly closes his eyes. Yes, he regrets agreeing to this. Regrets letting Potter into his rooms in the first place. Letting it all come to this. He is mortified at the reality of what he has agreed to do, and with whom, and something in his chest constricts painfully.
“We don’t have to―” Potter murmurs.
Severus' eyes snap up to glare at him. “Quiet.” He straightens his shoulders and moves his hand to the buttons of his shirt. “I’m not in the habit of going back on my decisions, Mr Potter.”
The brows lift and bewilderment appears on Potter’s face. “Neither am I,” he smiles.
Severus holds his smouldering gaze as he unbuttons his shirt and slides it off his shoulders.
He can’t believe he is going to do this. Losing his virginity. At the age of forty-two. With Harry sodding Potter.
~~~
The first time Severus had thought about sex he had been thirteen, and Lily had had her head propped up on his arm as they lay in the meadows behind Cokeworth during their summer break. In the warm sunshine, the idea of touching someone that way had occurred to him, completely out of the blue. He’d known what sex was, of course, and had had a basic idea of what it entailed. Mostly, it had always seemed a little gross to him.
Until that day, Lily’s hair softly wafting against his cheek in the mild August breeze, when Severus had for the very first time felt curious instead of repulsed.
He hadn’t known what to do with that change in perspective, of course. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Lily, had simply continued to lie and stare at the drifting clouds overhead, and listened to her ramblings about David Bowie and how wicked he was. She’d always had a wildly inappropriate taste in music.
The first time Severus had something that could probably be considered sex he had been sixteen, and he and Regulus had hidden away in the boys’ lavatory on the second floor. Regulus had pushed his hand into Severus’ trousers, mouthing at his throat, and Severus had come only seconds after, all over Regulus’ hand and the front of his trousers. And then the door had opened, and voices trailed inside.
Severus and Regulus had frozen in their cubicle, and then Regulus had giggled quietly, adjusted his trousers, and left the toilet stall with a smirk. Severus had stood breathless, confused and somehow still horribly aroused, and listened to the rushing of water as Regulus washed the come of his hand and then left the lavatory with a quiet thud of the door.
The experience had been so humiliating that Severus had evaded Regulus for three full weeks. Then he’d stumbled into him and Avery, tongues locked and faces flushed, atop the Astronomy tower at night.
The next time Severus had permitted himself even entertaining the idea of allowing someone to touch him, he had been nearly nineteen. He’d spent the first Christmas after his graduation at Malfoy Manor, awed by the house, the wife, the dinner parties, the grandeur. He’d felt shabby and out of place, but Lucius’ welcoming attitude and attention had lured him in quickly.
And he shouldn’t have asked “What about you wife,” breathless against Lucius’ lips, the marble wall cold against his shivering back. Because Lucius had chuckled and dragged Severus along into the depths of the house, until he’d found himself in what looked like the marital bedchamber.
And on second glance that suspicion had been confirmed by an only sparsely clad Narcissa on the luscious four-poster.
Severus had only stood, dumb-struck and frozen to a pillar as Narcissa had given him a seductive smile, as Lucius has slid out of his robes, revealing smooth, pale, absolutely flawless skin.
“Why don’t you join us, Severus?” Lucius had smiled.
Severus had been sure his heart had stopped. He'd stared some more, unable to think. He'd felt his cock twitch in interest, in youthful intrigue, but his mind was full of disbelief that this was on offer, that he would possibly partake in something so―
“No, thank you,” he had gritted out, and his voice had sounded humiliatingly foreign. Lucius had let out a surprised huff, but Severus had simply nodded at them and then fled the room.
Later, in his bed in their guestroom, far away in the east wing of the manor, Severus had cursed himself a great fool, an utter coward. Something like this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he’d let it slip.
What a fine Slytherin he was.
Severus had always known he was a coward, had always been just that.
It took him another two years until he had been ready to swap his own hand for someone else’s again. The someone had been a perfect stranger in a dingy bar in Knockturn Alley, and Severus had been drunk beyond any good measure. He hadn’t known back then, when he’d permitted the bloke to suck him off in the loo, that he’d later that night receive message about the Dark Lord’s attack on Godric’s Hollow and his subsequent downfall. Had he known he wouldn't have gotten so absolutely sloshed that he’d thrown up only seconds after coming against the stranger’s tongue. So recklessly intoxicated that he’d, in his impulsive drunkenness and grief, vomit seeping through his shirt, apparated to Godric’s Hollow. Had stumbled up those stairs, sidestepping the cold body of his schoolday nemesis, and then found Lily dead on the floor in front of the crib.
Severus had neither drank nor permitted anyone to touch him since then.
The following twenty years hadn’t exactly provided him with a lifestyle that would’ve allowed him to reevaluate that decision. And it wasn’t like Severus minded all that much. He took care of his urges, and focused on his purpose. As any man would.
~~~
Of course it would be Potter who’d drive him back to drinking. Severus knew the minute the idiot set foot into the Great Hall, eliciting whispers among the students, a bright, sheepish smile on his infuriatingly carefree face.
Potter, who had two years ago graduated from the London College for Magical Studies, with a Defence degree in his pocket and an incorrigible rat’s nest of hair. Potter, with his stupid, bright green eyes and impish smiles, his suprisingly muscular arms and fondness for topless morning flights across the castle grounds.
Potter, who was now Professor Potter.
“No. Find someone else,” Severus had barked, when the deputy headmistress had presented her proposal.
“Severus, there is no one else,” Minerva had insisted. “It’s you or Potter. So you either give him the Defence post or do it yourself and let him be the headmaster of this school.”
Severus had scoffed at her, affronted. “Find someone else,” he'd drawled icily.
Minerva had dug her heels into the floor in front of the chair and straightened.
“Severus,” she had said, her face exasperated,” there is no one else.”
They had stared at each other for a few silent, heavy seconds.
“The Governors have already approved,” Minerva had said then, a smug little smile playing on her lips. Then she had stood, given Severus a victorious nod, and left the room. Severus had been left fuming in his chair, and wondered who in the blazings ran this school.
~~~
Three weeks in, Severus found himself at the brink of insanity. For all the years he had kept sexual fantasies mostly at bay, suspended to the darkness of his bedroom or perhaps the shower, the first time he saw Potter fly had opened the floodgates.
Severus wasn’t prepared for a twenty-two year old Potter, shirtless and sweating in the late summer air. Wasn’t prepared for the leanness of his body, the play of muscles as he gripped tightly onto his broomstick. The breathtaking curve of his spine, the way the trousers clung to his arse―
Severus stood, momentarily stunned, and watched. Potter was a good ten metres above the ground, performing the most reckless spins and loopings while a crowd of Gryffindors cheered him on. Severus considered scolding Potter for the shameless boasting, for exposing himself in front of students in such inappropriate manner, but not a word would come out.
“Professor Snape,” Potter then called out, waving to him in that terribly cheerful way of his. Severus pulled his face into a grimace and turned abruptly, rushing back toward the castle. It was only when he set foot onto the flagstone of the courtyard that he realised how tightly his hands were curled into fists, and how unbearably hard he was.
Fuck.
Severus continued his way into the dungeons, grateful when he reached his rooms without any disturbance, and slammed the door shut behind himself, his hands already frantic against his belt. He didn’t even make it to the bed, or an armchair at least. Instead, Severus pulled his throbbing cock out right there, his back against the door, and brought himself off with an urgency he hadn’t felt for so long that he didn’t even remember the occasion.
When he came, Potter’s face burning into his mind from the back of his eyelids, he shot hot spunk all over his own hand, the dungeon floor, and the front of his trousers. He looked at the mess, heaving and humiliated, humiliated at the fact that he’d wanked over Potter, of all people, with such vigour, such uncharacteristic lust, and let out a single dry laugh. Then he cast a cleaning charm and poured himself four fingers of firewhiskey.
And so, Severus’ libido had returned. A drinking problem in its wake.
~~~
Severus was useless. Distracted, short-tempered and perpetually annoyed to the point he was nothing short of frustrated with himself. Minerva started giving him inquiring looks, and Severus knew he had to stop this. He had to do something about this madness, this utterly ridiculous attraction that had taken hold of his whole body it seemed.
Potter wasn’t helpful at all, and neither were the unusually high temperatures for late September. After Severus had encountered a shirtless Potter upon his broom on three separate occasions, he started to hide in the dungeons.
But it was too late. Potter had wormed his way into Severus’ brain, and his trousers, and whenever Severus dared to close his eyes, Potter’s firm chest would appear, sun-kissed and glistening with sweat, perfect pink nipples and a trail of sparse hair in the middle. Potter’s athletic arms, muscles flexing as he holds onto the broom. Potter’s perky little arse in his tight sports trousers, revealing much more bare leg and oddly perfect knees than Severus could handle.
It was torture.
Staff dinners where Abaddon. Severus felt very much thrown into a pit, albeit not one of snakes but bright smiles and messy hair instead. A quirk of lips, a tongue licking jam off broom-calloused fingers. More than once Severus had to flee to take care of the sudden tightness in his trousers. More than once he contemplated dragging Potter along with him, to lick and kiss all that jam from his lips.
And then?
That was the thought that had Severus’ senses return each time, had him seek out his relief and pleasure in the shameful darkness, and alone. Even if Potter could be persuaded, if Severus managed to actually seduce him ― and the notion was so ridiculous he allowed himself to think it exactly twice and no more ― what would Severus do with him? What would Potter do with him? With a forty-two year old man who had never had sex in his life. It was laughable.
Wanting Potter, out of some completely misplaced hormonal befuddlement, was one thing ― actually engaging with him in any sexual capacity a whole other. Wanting it was easy. Letting it happen, pursuing it even, was the opposite.
~~~
Five weeks in, Severus started to lose weight from all the meals he was skipping. Not like he could’ve eaten, what with Potter only two seats away, being all lovely and alluring and painfully oblivious to Severus’ shameful anguish.
His mind was happily providing him with the most inappropriate and at times downright filthy fantasies all throughout the day. Potter on his knees, lips spread around Severus’ cock. Potter, bent over a table while Severus fucked him standing up. Potter, on his back, while Severus sat atop him, riding him into the mattress.
It was madness. Complete insanity.
Severus was sure, before long he would eventually lose his mind completely and end up doing something terribly stupid, which would ultimately lead to horrible humiliation and summarily, to packing and moving continents.
But of course, whenever Potter was concerned things never went as expected.
~~~
Severus spends his evenings either wanking or drinking these days, or both, and this night in October is no different. Except for the resounding rap that comes from his door at nearly ten o’clock. Severus is two glasses in but hasn’t wanked yet as he’s still in the self-loathing stage of procedures. He’s decently intoxicated however, and wholeheartedly displeased about the fact he is being disturbed. On a Friday night. Good riddance.
He nearly laughs when he opens the door. He stomps down the huff of bewilderment he feels forming in the back of his throat, the stumble of his heart and the twitch of his cock.
Because ―of course― it’s Potter who stands in front of his door.
“Oh, uhm, hi,” the dimwit says. “Professor,” he then adds, looking, for all it's worth, like a flustered schoolboy.
Severus does nothing and simply stares at the bane of his existence, frozen to a pillar, his hand clutching the door tightly.
“Can I― can I come in perhaps?” Potter asks, his face unnaturally red behind his spectacles.
“Why,” Severus manages to bark.
“I―” Potter falters, oddly shifty and clearly wishing to be elsewhere.
“Listen, I just want to talk to you about something. I had a bit to drink to boost my courage and I’d really like to― you know. Get it over with. Before I change my mind.”
Severus stares some more, unable to make sense of Potter’s incoherent gibberish.
“Please. It won’t take long,” Potter then adds. Severus feels his face twist into a scowl. Potter smiles at him weakly, his fingers clutching the hem of his jumper as he looks at Severus uncertainly.
“Go away,” Severus tells him, although he doesn’t feel his tongue moving at all. A sudden spell of vertigo lets him grip the door tighter, preventing himself from swaying, but Potter lifts a steadying hand and grabs his free arm.
“You’ve also had a drink or two, huh?” he asks, his mouth a little lopsided. Severus’ heart beats so fast he thinks it must combust. Potter’s hand is warm around his forearm, even through the two layers of fabric, and his hold firm and reassuring. “Well, I guess that’s good.” Potter gives him a resolute smile then, and steps bodily into the room, past Severus.
Somehow, Severus finds his way back into his armchair, all the while scowling at the intruding figure of Potter, taking his seat in the opposite armchair with apparent discomfort.
Severus doesn’t know what to expect, doesn’t even know why and when he decided to allow Potter to say his piece, but when the man finally speaks, he catches Severus completely off guard.
“I’ll get straight to the point. Please stop hating me, Professor.” Potter’s eyes burn bright and full of passion and Severus stares into them stunned silent, taking a moment to apply meaning to the words that just left that lush mouth.
“What,” Severus rasps.
Potter shifts in his chair, his face a pained grimace. “Please stop hating me,” he repeats. “I can’t stand any more of those glares from you. You’re always watching me, as if you can’t wait until I bollocks something up and you have confirmation of my complete ineptness. I hate it. And I think it’s no fair. I’m no longer an unruly student, I’m a professor now, and I think we should be equals.”
For the second time that night, Severus nearly laughs. It’s only a dry breath of air that leaves his surprised lungs, but Potter looks hurt in an instant.
“Great,” he mutters, “go ahead, make fun of me. This is exactly why I had a drink before coming here.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, the hurt shifting into a frown. “In fact, since you’re already drinking you could at least offer me one if you plan on laughing some more.”
Severus is rendered speechless by that petulant display of temper, and bites down another laugh at the complete ridiculousness of the man. He flicks his wand instead, and makes Potter gasp as a tumblr of firewhiskey glides into his hand.
“I don’t hate you, you imbecile,” it then occurs to Severus to say.
Surprise crosses Potter’s features, lighting up his eyes, relaxing his features. A wry smile appears behind the rim of the glass as he takes a sip. “I find that hard to believe,” he murmurs.
It is quiet for a while while Severus watches Potter gloomily sip his drink, and then the man speaks again all of a sudden, cutting into the grating silence.
“Listen. I know you’re not exactly the friendly type, and that’s not what I’m asking for. But don’t tell me you’re not having it out for me somehow. I know you’re mean to others as well, but it’s nothing compared to how you treat me. I thought it would get better once I wasn’t your student any longer, but it’s only gotten worse.”
A sheen of wetness on his cupid’s bow makes his philtrum appear oddly distinct, and Severus stares at it, follows the rise and stretch of it as Potter forms the words.
“And I don’t know if it’s because of my dad or my mum, or because of myself, but I really do hate it,” Potter then adds. He finishes off with a large gulp of whiskey and shakes his head in bemusement.
“I can assure you, most of it is to your own merit,” Severus grits out. He empties his glass and refills it, not sure if Potter is expecting them to have a little heart-to-heart but nonetheless disinclined to indulge him. He needs to get him out of his rooms, as fast as possible.
Potter looks contemplatory for a bit, tipping his head while he looks at Severus as if he’s some kind of riddle.
“I don’t think I ever told you,” he says quietly then, and Severus mentally braces himself for something extremely stupid and maudlin to leave Potter’s mouth. “But I still have them. Your memories.”
Severus' guts twist so forcefully that he momentarily feels like he’s going to be sick, but he quells the nausea with more whiskey and a glare directed at the young man opposite him.
“I know it’s probably a touchy subject for you but I’ve pretended for years not to remember, and I can’t do it anymore. I see you every day, Snape. And don’t worry, I won’t ask about them, in fact you can have them back if you want, but I can no longer pretend I haven’t seen them.” His eyes are insistent, nearly desperate with whatever emotion they’re trying to convey. Severus feels helpless, overwhelmed with the direction the conversation is taking, with the turmoil it’s causing inside of him.
“I owe you nothing,” he presses out, through gritted teeth as his fingers clutch his glass tightly.
Potter shakes his head with a sad smile. “No. No, you don’t. Not after all you’ve done.”
Severus clenches his jaw hard, biting the inside of his lip. He can’t do this, not now, not like this, not ever. Doom lingers by his neck as he takes another swig of whiskey, and then another. Potter doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer, and simply smiles at him some more, with those soft, sad eyes that look straight into Severus’ soul.
“You know, that night we both nearly died,” he starts again. Severus has to close his eyes, cannot bear to hold the gaze while Potter speaks of that dreadful night, “when Voldemort cast the Avada at me. Do you know what my last thought was?”
Severus opens his eyes, confused to find Potter’s smile somewhat impish now.
“No, Potter, I don’t. Please enlighten me,” he says dryly.
A chuckle lifts Potter’s chest, coming out barely more than a breath. He cuts his gaze to his knees and chews on his bottom lip. “I thought how embarrassing it was that I’d die a virgin.”
Severus’ breath hitches.
“Stupid, isn’t it?”
Severus just stares at him, feels his jaw going slack. He doesn’t know what he could possibly reply to that. Because there is no way he can tell Potter that he’d had the exact same stupid thought while he had bled out on the dusty floorboards of the Shrieking Shack.
Potter empties his glass with a strangely resolute face, and then cracks a wide, wry grin. “It gets worse,” he announces, refilling his glass as he straightens his posture. Severus catches himself mirroring the movement and carefully readjusts his posture.
“I was with Ginny for a while after the war. I’m sure you read all about the breakup in the papers afterwards. Anyways, the thought sort of got stuck in my head, and I had sex with her on the first occasion.” He pauses there, wrinkling one brow as he scratches his head. “M’sorry, that’s probably a bit too personal to tell you. But it’s important for the story.”
Severus briefly wonders when exactly Potter had turned into a storyteller, why exactly he is sitting here, idly drinking spirits with Potter while he listens to the man’s inane sentimentalities. What the hell Potter’s point is.
“So I slept with Ginny,” Potter says, on a breath, his face flushing as he pauses for a moment. “And it was awful. And all I could think was So this is what I regretted not having had when I thought I’d die?” He scoffs, gulping down more booze. “And then, this spring I nearly died again.”
Severus feels the breath that is leaving his lungs at that piece of information in his bones. He hadn’t known, yet something inside of him rings in shrill alarm, a response he’s curated over years of protecting the reckless brat’s neck.
“It was stupid, of course. I know the Prophet wrote I left the Aurors because I felt my calling in teaching, but it was actually because of that mission. I’ll spare you the details, but I found myself at the wandtip of the man I’d been following for weeks, and if Ron hadn’t managed to find me in time I’d probably be dead. My point being: I stood there, his wand digging into the side of my neck, and instead of having my whole life pass in front of my mind or thinking of my loved ones, all I thought was I will die without ever having had great sex.”
Severus stares at the flushed man until he breaks their eye contact again and coughs. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Me neither,” Severus manages to mutter. His head is whirring, his pulse throbbing in his temples, and Potter owlishly blinks up at him from beneath fluttering lashes in a way that makes Severus’ spine crawl.
“I guess I just don’t want to have any more regrets. My life could be over any day, and I don’t want my last thought to be something so stupid. And I don’t want to regret not trying to fix things with you either.”
“I have no desire to be a part of this arch of self-redemption, Potter,” Severus drawls, “But trust me when I say that having regrets, or an unfortunate sex life do not make you less of a man, or your achievements any less great.”
The look of surprise on Potter’s face is a delight, his mouth hanging open in bewilderment. “That―” he breathes, “is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Severus mutters. “I simply have long ago come to the conclusion that the things we do count more than those we don’t. At least if one is inclined to trust the word of Albus Dumbledore.”
Potter considers this for a few seconds, tipping his head to the side.
“What was your last thought?” he then asks.
Severus’ breath dies in his chest. He licks his lips, shifts his legs, his sole scraping across the stone. “I don’t remember,” he lies.
He does remember. Oh, how he remembers. Potter’s dirt-crusted face, the frantic hand pressing into the gaping wound on Severus’ neck, those green, green eyes and that lovely, lovely cupid’s bow, right before his face. “Look at me,” he’d pleaded, gripping the grimey lapel of Potter’s jacket as he held onto him like a lifetime. And Potter had looked, and Severus had only had one thought.
I’m dying a virgin.
And when he’d woken up in hospital, sore and in excruciating pain, the thought had still stuck in his mind, repeating over and over, while the image of Potter’s face floated right behind it. It had been that day, at St Mungo’s, that Potter and sex had formed a connection in his brain. He’d safely squashed the thought into submission and hid it in the farthest corner of his mind, focussing grimly on his recovery, on his trial, on normalcy. By the time he’d returned to Hogwarts he’d nearly forgotten about it. For years, Severus could mostly ignore it, stomping the occasional rise whenever Potter’s face had graced the headlines, and he’d been fine.
Until Potter had come to Hogwarts, and the floodgates had opened. Opened to all of Severus’ unfulfilled desires, all his dreams and wishful thinking, all the longing he’d never admit to, for intimacy and passion and connection, and it had all come out in the shape of Harry Potter.
“Snape? You alright?”
Severus realises he is stiff as a board and he wills his muscles to relax, his back to yield to the backrest of his armchair.
“Perhaps you should switch to water,” Potter suggests, fidgeting a little, “and I should probably leave.”
“Potter,” Severus barks, causing the young man to startle, those green eyes to widen as they snap up to him. “My last thought―” he grits, forcing the words out despite the vehement refusal of his body.
“Yeah?” Potter says softly, as if he’s coaxing a scared animal.
And Severus feels scared, scared out of his wits, and he doesn’t know why he can’t lie, why he feels this compulsion to tell someone, to tell him of all people, but he thinks he’s going to die if he doesn’t.
“I know that it does not make you less of a man because my final thought was the same.”
Potter’s face is unmoving, as if suspended in time, until after a few seconds realisation seems to dawn on him. He blinks at Severus, confused, and licks his lips.
“The same?” he asks hoarsely.
“The same.” Severus grits out. He empties his glass and sets it on the table between them. “It is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Potter’s eyes widen. “You―” he gasps, “haven’t―”
“No,” Severus grunts. He feels the burn in his ears, the mortification spreading between his shoulder blades, twisting and twirling and smothering him like devil’s snare.
Potter’s eyes go even wider, and then somewhat unfocussed as they glaze over in the low light of the sconces. “You― I,” he stutters while his face turns the shade of an overripe tomato, “Oh.”
Severus manages to roll his eyes although he feels no less flustered.
“I will obliviate you if you don’t stop that face,” he growls, and lures a surprised laugh out of Potter with that. It fills him with an odd pride.
“But―” Potter starts, straightening a little in his chair. “Are you not― interested?” he asks. His tongue comes and flicks at the corner of his mouth, something Severus now recognises as a nervous habit.
Suddenly, the air in the room feels thick, thick around that gaze from Potter’s eyes above those flushed cheeks, brimming with barely concealed curiosity.
“In romantic entanglement? No,” Severus explains, astonished that the words come out in the right order. “Unfortunately, it often comes as an unwanted side effect.” Not like Severus would know. He has never been romantically involved with anyone. But Potter need not know that much, his previous admission has been embarrassing enough.
“But― I mean,” Potter hesitates, clearly struggling for words, “there are prostitutes or willing women in sketchy bars I assume…”
Severus looks at him, appalled. “I’m sure those are viable options for people who are so inclined. As it stands, I am neither tempted by paid services nor by the fairer sex.”
“You’re kidding,” Potter says under his breath, looking absolutely gobsmacked. Then he groans, burying his face in his hands.
“You’re gay?” he then asks from behind his hands, and he sounds like he is either close to laughing or crying, Severus isn’t quite sure which.
Severus ignores what surely was meant as a rhetorical question in favour of staring at Potter some more. His shoulders are shaking, and when he finally lifts his face, he’s laughing, silent hitches to his chest.
“You’re gay,” he repeats, his voice full of wonder, “I can’t fucking believe it.”
Severus raises one eyebrow at him. He has never felt gayer in his life, drunk and tipsy and too close to the embodiment of all his unhealthy, unfulfilled desires. He nearly tells Potter this, but thankfully the man opens his mouth first and saves Severus from that misstep.
“I had a crush on you when I was sixteen,” the mouth says.
Severus briefly fears he’s having a stroke. His dad had died of one, and it had come completely out of the blue. Then he remembers what Potter has just said, and it’s strangely calming, because such a preposterous statement would likely shock the strongest of men.
“What,” he grits out.
“Your book,” Potter clarifies. “Your stupid, brilliant textbook. I had a horrible crush on the Prince. And guess who that turned out to be.”
Potter rubs his temples and picks up his glass from where he’d stuffed it into his lap. He empties it in one large gulp.
“I thought you were in love with my mother, for Merlin’s sake. I was so confused. I mean, who in their right mind is jealous of his own mother?”
Severus has a hard time comprehending what Potter is trying to tell him. His head doesn’t hold still for a single second so he can piece the words together in a manner that makes sense, and it’s absolutely futile to try.
Potter groans then, his features suddenly growing hard. “Fuck it,” he grunts, eyes blazing. “Snape, if you ever want to get rid of that virginity of yours―”
“Do not―” Severus hisses at once, “Don’t even think―”
Potter laughs at that, loud and like a madman. “Don’t think? Are you mad? I’ve been thinking about you ever since I was sixteen, Snape!”
Severus is thoroughly shut up by that.
Potter huffs, seemingly struggling for composure. “Listen. I know you hate me although you claim not to, and I can’t believe I’m suggesting this. But I need you to know that I’m here and willing and frankly, I must be going mad,” he laughs again, a toneless, dry sound in his throat, “I’d do anything to be your first.”
“I won’t be your pity fuck, Potter, go and apply your charity to a more receptive―”
“Merlin’s sake,” Potter cries out. “How can you be so fucking stubborn after all that whiskey? I thought you were a Slytherin.”
Severus doesn’t know what to say to that. He is a Slytherin, no matter how much Albus always insisted he’d turned out to be quite the Gryffindor later. And logically, Potter isn’t wrong. He could do it, and finally be done with it. He could see for himself what all the fuss is about, confirm that it has never been worth the anguish in the first place. That he hasn’t missed out on a single thing in all those years of celibacy.
“I―” Potter rasps then, putting his glass back into his lap, “I’ve never been with a man either.” His voice is quiet as he speaks the words. “And only that once with Ginny, which technically…well. It went really wrong and lasted about three seconds. And there hasn’t been anyone I could’ve trusted enough not to run off to the Prophet. You’d be my first, too, if it helps.”
Severus swallows heavily. It does help. It helps so immensely that his treacherous cock gives a tiny, excited leap in his trousers.
Potter blinks up, his cheeks blotchy scarlet. “I’ve always wanted to try sucking a cock.”
And that’s it. Something slips away from Severus in that very moment. He feels it leaving his body like a gust of wind, his whole body going slack as his sight blurs.
“Is that so,” he breathes, his voice sounding like it has been dragged through gravel.
“Yes,” Potter replies, just as breathless. Severus watches him with an odd clarity, hyperfocused on every twitch of muscle in the man’s face, of every shift of light in those luminous eyes, brimming with such apparent lust that Severus can barely exhale.
“Snape,” Potter’s voice comes again, husky and rough, “do you hate me?”
Severus finally manages that exhale. A “No,” leaves with it. “No,” he then repeats. “I do not hate you, Potter.”
He pauses, trying to make sense of the warmth in his chest when there should be ice-cold fear instead. It doesn’t make sense, however, and perhaps this simply oughtn’t make sense.
“It’s a matter of self-preservation,” he says weakly, defeated. Potter has found him out, and it’s too late now. Severus has steered too far, and now he can either go all the way or make an even greater fool of himself.
Potter’s lust-glazed face shifts into a frown. “Self-preservation?” he asks, scrunching his nose up in confusion.
“Yes,” Severus mutters. “You have successfully dismantled my defences.”
Potter’s frown intensifies. “You never make the slightest bit of sense,” he croaks. “It’s really infuriating, I’ll have you know.”
“I am quite aware of it,” Severus replies, and to his horror he feels a smirk pulling at his mouth.
Potter’s expression shifts again, into one of impatience. “Can you stop being elusive for a moment and tell me if this has any chance of happening, or if I’m making a complete fool of myself and better leave now to save at least some of my dignity?”
Severus sighs, from somewhere deep in his stomach and rubs the bridge of his nose. This is nothing like the passionate dance of lovers he has always imagined. It’s nearly transactional, appalling in its bluntness, and he already knows he’s going to regret asking what he’s about to ask.
“What exactly is it you have in mind, Potter?”
Potter licks his lips once, twice, blinking at Severus.
“Err, I―” he stumbles, “I think we should probably start with kissing. And some touching?” he rushes, his blush reignited to full force. “And perhaps I can try to suck you off, or I dunno―” a deep, brittle inhale expands his ribcage, “I’d really like to, you know, have actual sex. If you’d be up for that, I know it’s not―”
Severus can’t bear a single further second of this. He lifts one hand commandingly, surprised at its steadiness. “Quiet,” he demands. Potter’s mouth snaps shut in an instant.
Severus looks at him firmly, forcefully willing his own cheeks to stay as pale and unimpressed as they always are. His fingernails dig into his thighs and he clenches his jaw.
“If you tell a single soul about this―” he grits out.
Potter is on his feet at once. “I won’t,” he promises, eyes brimming with sincerity, wide with disbelief. He walks toward Severus, small, controlled steps, and then he reaches out and slips a hand onto Severus’ chest. He witnesses it like in trance, the way Potter draws closer, and closer, until his face is right in front of Severus’, flushed and beautiful, his breath damp against Severus’ nose.
“Last chance to back out,” Potter whispers, and then his lips are on Severus’.
It feels strange at first, foreign. Potter’s lips are soft and warm and dry, and at first a little too firm. Severus doesn’t quite know what to do, but his nose digs into Potter’s cheek painfully, so he dips his head a little. Potter’s lips soften then, and start to move against Severus’ mouth in small, exploring motions. Severus parts his lips, just a little, and suddenly there’s a hot, wet tongue probing at his incisors, and Severus nearly gasps.
For as measly as his collection of sexual encounters is, none of them had ever felt it necessary to kiss him.
They bump teeth, the frames of Potter’s glasses digging into his cheekbone, and Severus suppresses a curse as he grips Potter’s forearm and pulls him further down. A tentative hand slides up his thigh, comes to curl around his waist as the man manoeuvres himself onto Severus’ lap, both knees digging into the cushioning of the armchair on either side of Severus’ hips. The kiss breaks as they try to fit their limbs together and it’s so awkward that Severus nearly aborts it all. But then Potter’s weight sinks onto his thighs, and his free hand slides into the nape of Severus’ neck and then they’re kissing again.
The tongue is back at once, slipping into Severus’ mouth insistently, and Severus pokes at it with his own. He flinches at the contact and it takes him a moment until he grows accustomed to the odd feeling in his spine when their tongues slide against each other.
He is dizzy by the time he stops thinking about what to do and simply follows his impulses. His pulse is hysterical and his cock already rock hard, just from kissing, and Severus begrudgingly realises he hadn’t quite expected that.
Of course, what with the state he’d been in those past weeks, it’s no wonder he’s aroused beyond measure with Potter in his lap. It’s the kissing bit that’s unexpected.
Potter lets out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a moan that makes Severus’ toes curl in his boots, and then he breaks the kiss and blearily looks up at Severus.
“That wasn’t bad for a start,” he breathes, laughing softly. “I’ve never liked kissing much, but this is― nice.”
“Yes,” is all Severus has the mind to say. He wants to get his mouth back on Potter, taste more of him, but Potter shifts his weight and brings some distance between them. He looks lovely, flushed and tousled and well-kissed, and Severus has absolutely no patience for this.
He pulls him closer again, crushing their mouths together, and Potter is all over him at once, gasping and keening and tearing at Severus’ hair and robes like a hurricane.
“Bed,” Potter gasps at some point. Severus pushes him off roughly, yanks him by the arm and pulls him along, all the way to his bedroom. Potter takes one flustered look around, but as soon as his eyes return to Severus they grow dark and heavy again, and he launches at Severus so eagerly that they nearly topple over and Severus bumps his leg on the bedframe.
Potter catches himself on the edge of the bed, and Severus, for a brief moment, is struck with the insanity of the moment.
He is going to sleep with Harry Potter.
And he is going to regret this.
~~~
Severus is glad he chose to undress himself, as Potter is so clumsy he can’t even get himself undressed. After removing his glasses, Severus frees him from the confinements of his jumper, taking the time to appreciate that toned body as it helplessly wriggles beneath him. Once that is dealt with, Potter struggles with Severus’s belt buckle until he slaps his hands away and does it himself. He doesn’t object however, when, as soon as Severus has worked his flies open, deft fingers squeeze into his trousers. Potter’s face is full of awe as he rubs and probes at Severus’ achingly hard cock through the fabric of his trunks, neat front teeth biting down on a plump bottom lip.
“You’re big,” Potter whispers. “How is that supposed to fit?”
Severus is too aroused to slap him, but the urge makes his arm twitch. “There are spells,” he grits out. He can’t believe he needs to be the one to tell Potter this. “And certain salves.”
“Oh,” Potter breathes and laughs in embarrassment. “Seems you still picked up a thing or two.”
He returns his attention to his hand around Severus’ cock then, that strange, nearly affectionate expression returning to his face. Somehow Potter manages to pull Severus’ trousers further down, and then, with feeble fingers, peels the waistband of his underwear down.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes cutting up to Severus’.
Severus stares back, feeling awkward and exposed like that, on his back while Potter is hovering above him.
“Can I― suck you?”
Severus swallows so dryly it’s audible.
“I’m not sure I’ll know what to do,” Potter babbles on. Severus manages nothing but a nod to silence him, but thankfully it is effective.
A last lick across the lips and Potter’s gaze returns to Severus’ throbbing prick, heavy and already leaking on his abdomen.
To Severus’ horror, Potter takes a sniff first, his brow quirking with something Severus can’t quite place from his perspective. Then he places a hesitant kiss to the exposed underside of Severus’ shaft, and his cock jumps in wild excitement at the touch.
Severus wrangles down a groan as Potter, excruciatingly slowly, slides his tongue out and then, ever so carefully, licks the head of Severus’ cock.
A tentative thumb strokes across the skin of Severus’ scrotum, sending a shiver all the way up and around to his neck and then Potter attaches his soft mouth to Severus’s cock and sucks him in.
Severus cannot for the life of him suppress the wretched moan that leaves him at the sensation. Nothing like that frantic blowjob in the loo, rough and purpose-driven. Potter’s ministrations are exploring, and maybe a little too hesitant, reminding Severus every few seconds that he is unskilled and has no idea what he’s doing, but somehow it soothes Severus’ own terror considerably.
Severus flinches as teeth catch on his foreskin and he hisses and grabs Potter’s hair roughly. The man hums something that somehow manages to sound apologetic, and it vibrates all the way from Severus’ cock to his toes.
Potter tries again, bobbing his head slowly as he tries to work out the pressure of lips and how to keep his teeth away, and after a short while Severus manages to relax enough to forget about the imminent danger in the form of incisors.
Unfortunately, it also brings him immediately considerably closer to orgasm as the friction around his cock turns into a steady rhythm of stimulation. Severus is briefly distracted by a bit of warm drool running down into the cleft of his arse, but he manages to push the mental image of a wet stain on the sheets away when Potter’s free hand comes to grip the base of his cock, moving in synch with the sweet, wet heat that keeps engulfing him over and over, and then, all of a sudden and without much warning, Severus comes.
Potter makes a surprised sound as Severus grunts aloud, trying to keep his hips from jerking, and he pulls away. Severus comes all over his chin, and his shoulder, and makes a mess of his own thighs.
“Oh wow,” Potter breathes in astonishment. “You came really fast.”
Severus is too high to be embarrassed, but he’s sure he will be thoroughly mortified later.
“I liked that much better than…you know. Girls. It’s― so wet,” Potter mumbles.
Severus ignores this statement and holds on to the waning bliss that courses through his body. Potter comes to huddle against him, obviously unbothered that he’s smearing Severus’ come literally everywhere, and then kisses him. Severus faintly remembers to angle his face to prevent his nose from taking further damage, and this time their tongues come together more easily.
It’s a lazy kiss, one that fits Severus’ hazy state of mind and the heaviness of his body, but then he feels Potter’s cock against his hip, hard and radiating heat through his trousers, and Severus makes a decision.
He is going to regret this either way. He can at least do it properly.
Potter makes an aborted sound in his throat when Severus cups his erection.
“Fuck―” he gasps, bucking into the touch.
“Yes,” Severus rasps. Potter seems too distracted to get the hint, biting his bottom lip as he grinds himself against Severus’ hand. Severus squeezes him, with every intention to make him stop the frantic rutting, but instead, Potter cries out loudly, his body curling inward, and comes into his trousers.
Severus can’t quite believe it, and he stares at Potter with a wild mixture of repulsion and bewilderment as the man catches his breath and peers up at him.
“Wow, sorry,” he croaks. Severus removes his hand from the throbbing hardness beneath and scoffs.
“And you told me I came fast?” he drawls.
“Oh shut up,” Potter grumbles, wincing as he moves his hands to open his soaked flies. “I’m young, I can go again.”
“You better, if you plan on any deflowering happening tonight.”
Potter licks his lips eagerly, that glazed-over look returning to his eyes.
“Would you let me fuck you?”
“How crude,” Severus grunts. “I swear I will kill you, Potter―”
“That’s a yes, isn’t it?” Potter gasps, at once eager and stripped naked. Severus swallows as his eyes fall to his cock, jutting out from a nest of dark curls, lovely and pink and perfect, and suddenly Severus isn’t too averse to the idea of having that up his arse. He can at least try. He’d read about the prostate, of course, had tried to find it with his fingers during his early years of exploration, but it had never quite felt how he’d thought it should. And ultimately he had decided it was not worth the effort.
But Severus has to admit that so far, this thing with Potter hasn’t been too bad. He’d come, at least, and the kissing did feel nice.
He adds one more thing to his list when Potter attaches his mouth to his nipple and sucks. It sends a jolt of arousal straight into Severus’ groin, and when Potter swaps the lips for teeth, biting down softly, Severus can’t help but let out a wretched moan.
Potter moves his mouth down, nipping at the thin muscle over Severus’ chest and then across his ribcage, and Severus flinches so hard that his elbow knocks Potter straight into the head.
“Ow, fuck,” Potter hisses, rubbing his temple.
“Not there,” Severus grits out, his hand protectively splayed over the ticklish spot.
“Yeah, okay, I got it,” Potter mutters. He blinks down at Severus a few times and sighs. “I was just trying to get you― in the mood, you know.”
“There’s no need, I told you, there are spells―”
“Yes, I know,” Potter snaps, “but I want it to feel good for you, alright? I don’t just wanna get this over with. I wanna do it properly.”
“How awfully noble of you,” Severus mutters dryly.
Potter groans and pushes away. “Look,” he starts, rubbing his hair in exasperation, “I’m terrified about this and you're not making this easy.”
Severus arches a brow at him, an expression that, considering his state of undress, is probably a lot less intimidating than he’d like. Potter is either not fazed about it, or chooses to ignore it.
“I think you should stop being a git, get on your stomach, and let me figure it out.” He shrugs a little helplessly. “I’ll have to rely on your spells or salves, whatever you prefer. Just, you know, tell me what you want me to do.”
Severus closes his eyes and takes a deep steadying breath.
He knows this is the best shot he is going to get. A beautiful, young man, naked in his bed, eager to touch him. A beautiful young man that has haunted his dreams for weeks. Foremost, a beautiful young man who, insane as the notion sounds, can be trusted.
Because somehow, Severus knows he can trust Potter. To keep it all to himself, to not run off to the Prophet, to abuse the power Severus has handed him. And Potter, enigmatic creature that he is, wants this. Severus sees it in the softness in his jaw and the smouldering intensity in those eyes. Severus has no idea how Potter’s head works, but he wears his heart on his sleeve.
Severus averts his gaze and removes his trousers from where they are bunched around his knees. Potter watches him breathlessly, Severus feels the green boring into the back of his skull as he turns over and rummages through his bedside drawer. The jar he procures is met with an inhale from Potter behind him.
“Lubrication,” Severus rasps as he drops it into an unsteady, calloused hand.
“And I will use a spell on myself.”
“A―alright,” Potter whispers.
Potter only moves again once Severus has cast a muscle relaxant spell on himself, flinching at the sudden, unfamiliar warmth that spreads through his rectum, and positions himself like a sodding sacrifice in the middle of the bed.
Severus firmly plants his face into the pillow, red with shame.
The mattress sags beside him as Potter shifts and runs a reverent hand down Severus’ back, eliciting a wave of shivers across his spine.
“Not ticklish here?” Potter asks softly. Severus grunts noncommittally, and then needs all his concentration to stay still when the hand runs down one of his arse cheeks in a slow caress.
“Get a move on,” he barks, muffled against the pillow. The fingers twitch for a second, and then, ever so slowly, make their way to his crease. Severus shudders as Potter slips a finger inside, and then pulls it back at once.
“I’ll try the lube,” he announces. Severus waits patiently, feeling increasingly uneasy, his arse cold and exposed, and then the fingers are back without a warning and Severus grunts into the cushion.
It’s too straight forward for Severus’ liking, the pad of a finger pressing and probing and finally finding what it’s looking for.
“Oh,” Potter gasps. Severus can only hope the muscle relaxant works the way he hopes it does, and to his relief it doesn’t hurt when an eager finger pushes inside of him. It feels bloody odd, though. Intrusive, like something’s going the wrong way. Which, technically, is the case, Severus’ brain supplies.
“Alright?” Potter’s hoarse voice comes. Severus only grunts and jerks his hips impatiently. If this is how it’s going to be there’s no need to draw it out.
Potter seems sufficiently encouraged, because a second finger comes to join, and the intrusive feeling gets even worse. Severus grits his teeth through it, tries to relax. He knows being tense will only make it more difficult, and that without the spell there would be no way they’d be doing this on the first try.
Potter has worked two whole fingers into him at some point, and Severus can hear him breathing hard. The uncomfortable feeling in his arse feels somehow less intrusive now, and a little more warm, and when Potter squeezes a third finger in, Severus nearly bites his tongue.
Because suddenly, it feels different. It doesn’t quite hurt, but he feels the stretch of the muscle around those eager fingers so acutely now, like his brain is hardwired to the receptors in his rectum and sphincter, and it’s nothing like Severus' own fingers have ever felt.
A wholly unfamiliar sound leaves his throat, and he can only pray Potter hasn’t heard it over his own laboured breathing.
“Good?” Potter asks, breathlessly and hoarse with apparent arousal.
And suddenly Severus feels something grow and expand inside him, a tight, coiling sensation that tingles somewhere deep inside him, and then Potter does something with his fingers that makes Severus arch off the mattress with a surprised shout.
Oh bloody fuck.
Severus barely has the time to inhale before Potter does it again, and this time a broken moan forces its way out of Severus. He grips the pillow tighter, buries his face in it, ashamed and mortified and stupidly desperate for Potter to find that spot again.
Which Potter does.
Merlin’s sake.
The books hadn’t lied about the prostate.
Severus rips his face out of the pillow and barks “Potter. Get on with it. Now.”
Potter gasps behind him, and then, with a filthy squelching sound, the fingers are gone and Severus feels strangely bereft. It’s humiliating, the way his arse seems to miss those fingers after only such a short time.
He aborts the ridiculous thought when Potter scrambles atop of him, wrestling with arms and legs and trying to find a position, and Severus waits with increasing impatience until suddenly a hand pulls at one of his arse cheeks and something blunt and hot presses against his entrance.
“I’m going to― try,” Potter mutters, not sounding very convinced.
Severus decides it is a good moment to appreciate the fact they’re doing it like this. That Potter can’t see his face while he’s doing this to Severus.
If their roles were reversed, if it was Potter taking it up the arse, Severus would have him on his back, and look at him all the while, driving his cock inside over and over― and who is he trying to kid, he would likely climax before even making it that far.
The thought of his cock inside of Potter briefly burns hot beneath his skin until a sudden pain starts to splice him in two.
Severus hisses and clamps his teeth down, gripping the sheets so tightly his fingers hurt.
“Fuck―” Potter grunts. “So tight. I don’t think―”
“Shut up,” Severus growls, “If I can do this, then so can you. Trust me, I’m having it worse here.”
Potter huffs out something that sounds like a laugh and gusts across Severus’ left shoulder blade.
“Does it hurt?” he asks so softly that Severus nearly says yes.
“Not more than expected,” he says gruffly instead. Potter is completely still, his arms trembling with the effort to hold himself steady, just the tip of his cock inside of Severus’ burning anus, and for a few heartbeats they stay like that. Severus isn’t sure whose heartbeat it is, for he feels Potter’s pulse throbbing inside of him so distinctly it’s unsettling. He’s read many overly poetic accounts on the matter of sex, about the unification of two bodies who become one, and scoffed at ever single one of them.
He is ashamed to realise that it is exactly what it feels like.
And it only grows more intense as Potter works excruciating centimetre for centimetre inside, hissing and gasping, until he is finally all the way inside. It feels like two hearts are beating in Severus’ chest, like drums in his whole body, and only then does he notice that the burn has faded into a tolerable discomfort.
“Fuck―Snape,” Potter grunts, fingers digging into Severus’ sides. He makes a mental note to check himself for bruises tomorrow, but then Potter gives an experimental circular motion with his hips and Severus shoves his face back into the pillow.
It doesn’t feel necessarily good, the slide of Potter’s cock moving in and out slowly, still feeling like something that doesn’t belong there, but his stretched muscles around Potter’s shaft tingle from the hesitant friction, and that diverts Severus’ attention for a few seconds.
The discomfort returns then, and Severus tries to shift his angle, perhaps he can make Potter hit his prostate again, but Potter stops at once and pulls out, hissing and cursing loudly.
“Shit, sorry,” he babbles, “Why the hell did you move? I nearly came!”
Severus starts to wonder if Potter perhaps suffers from premature ejaculation, surely it can’t be normal to come so quickly, even for a twenty-two year old.
“I’ll try again, yeah? Just tell me how you want me to do it.”
Severus considers it for a moment and then remembers something he’s read in one of the books back then. He pulls the pillow free and pushes it under his hips instead.
He hears Potter pull in the air through his teeth sharply and Severus doesn’t even dare to imagine the sight he probably makes. A wet kiss is pressed to his shoulder blade then, and Severus can’t help feeling appreciative of the gesture.
“Right, tell me if the angle’s right,” Potter says with determination, and then the heat is back, and Severus nearly sighs in relief. Oddly, there is none of that intrusive feeling now, just that feeling of lava rolling through his body.
Potter gives a few, slow thrusts, exploringly changing his position every now and then until Severus escapes a low hiss.
“There?” he rasps, and Severus can hear how worked up he is. It seems Potter is trying his best to hold it together, but Severus knows he won’t be long. He’d better make the time count.
“Higher,” he growls, and Potter complies readily, shifting his weight, and at the third try he finally finds it.
Severus groans into the mattress, mortified at how undignified he sounds.
“Fuck―I―” Potter chokes, and then Severus feels his hips stutter, and he wants to pull away, delay the ineviteble, but then Potter is already coming, nails digging into Severus’ skin as he buries himself so deep it feels like he’s trying to crawl inside of him.
Severus goes slack, and Potter comes to slump down on him, a smear of cold, sweaty skin and hot, damp breath against Severus’ spine.
“Gods, I’m so sorry,” Potter slurs, trying to lift himself up but failing. “It just― felt really amazing.”
To his own astonishment, Severus doesn’t find it in himself to respond with a scathing remark. Potter sounds so blissful, his voice soft and tender, and sincerely rueful.
“Get off,” he mutters.
Potter all but slips off him, in a disgusting sticky slide of bodily fluids, and when Severus turns to lie on his back it gets even worse. He pulls a disgusted face as Potter’s semen succumbs to gravity, and the mental image of a wet stain on the sheet momentarily resurfaces in Severus’ mind.
But then a sticky hand comes to wrap around him, and a soft mouth applies kisses to his jawline, and Severus stares at the ceiling and lets it happen.
“Was it horrible?” Potter whispers against Severus’s chin, uncertain fingers tracing his collarbone.
“Not horrible,” Severus admits. “But not great either, to be honest.”
“Hm,” Potter muses. “It was pretty good for me, but I guess it’s different when you’re the one doing the fucking.”
“Marginally so, I assume.”
“And I guess it’s simply one of those things you have to practice to get good at. Like playing an instrument, you know.” Potter props his head up at that, scrunching his nose up in that nauseatingly endearing way he’d done it before.
“Deeply philosophical as the notion may be, I do not wish to be plucked like a harp.”
Potter barks out a laugh at that. “No, you wouldn’t be a harp for sure.”
“What then, Mr Potter,” Severus drawls, “would I be in your wildly unqualified opinion?”
“Oh, I dunno,” Potter grins, “a triangle perhaps.”
Severus gives him a warning glare, and then, in horror, realises that they’re flirting.
Revolting.
Potter must see some of the distress in his face, because his smile falters and his brows knit together with apparent concern.
“Is this the part where you tell me this can never happen again and throw me out?” he asks bluntly, although the colour on his face betrays his act quite spectacularly.
Severus finds that he genuinely needs to consider the question as he has no imminent answer to it. Which is surprising in itself.
He should do just that, shouldn’t he? Tell Potter off and throw him out. And then what?
Severus will see him every single day, at every single meal, for the foreseeable future. And Potter will look at Severus, and whenever Severus catches his gaze he will be reminded of the way Potter sounds when he comes, and how his arms had trembled while he’d slowly fucked Severus, and the way his lips had felt, and it will be torment.
It would be unbearable.
“No,” Severus says conclusively.
Potter blinks. “No?”
“No,” Severus confirms.
Potter looks at Severus as if he’s suddenly grown a second and third head. “Al…right?” he rasps. “So I’ll― stay?”
“So you’ll stay.” He can’t believe he’s saying this. Why is he saying this? What does it mean, stay? This is worse than sex, Severus thinks. There are books for sex, but there are certainly no books for― this.
“Should we― err, shower then, perhaps?” Potter stutters, clearly just as dumbstruck as Severus.
“Probably,” Severus concedes.
~~~
Somehow, they shower together, and Severus' body is still tingling with exhilaration from the intimacy of the procedure when he climbs into bed. A quick glance at the clock tells him it is nearly two in the morning, and how the hell have nearly four hours passed, in which he’d first drank and fought with him, and then talked to Potter about things he should’ve better left unsaid.
That last bit starts to lose its credibility as Potter shuffles closer on the mattress, and although Severus briefly fears he will wrap himself around him like a suffocatingly large octopus, he only rests the tip of his fingers against Severus’ arm.
If Severus hadn’t said those things he’d thought better left unsaid, he wouldn’t be here right now. Or rather, he would be here, in his bed, but without Potter. Without Potter, who he’d had sex with. Which is why Severus is not a virgin any longer.
The thought is strangely offputting after so many years.
Apart from the utter ridiculousness of the whole thing, Severus has learned something important today. All that fuss about sex isn’t just smoke and mirrors. And while the whole ordeal had not exactly been a mind-altering revelation, it had certainly proved that there were things Severus hadn’t expected. Things he hadn’t known to take into account. Things that had felt good, and that seemed worth being explored.
“I thought about it,” Potter’s soft voice suddenly cuts into the dark silence. Severus waits but nothing else follows.
“Pray, tell, Potter, enlighten me on what scintillating thoughts you’ve had,” he drawls tiredly, luring a quiet huff out of the man.
“I’m still a virgin,” he says.
It’s so not what Severus has expected him to say that he feels his features go completely slack, and is desperately thankful for the darkness in the room.
“Technically, I mean, I fucked you.”
Severus finally cottons on and immediately feels his heart rate speed up.
“Technically, practically, in the most sense,” Severus grunts. “Whichever way, you will have to work on your endurance.”
It takes a moment for the statement to sink in, and it is absolutely silent on Potter’s side of the bed.
“Blimey,” he then says, sounding thoroughly breathless. “I was trying to convince you too fuck me just to get you to do this again.”
“I am aware,” Severus snarls. He is losing his patience for this conversation, his nerve to keep searching for footing on the slippery ice of navigating something like this, whatever in the name of Merlin it is.
“It is not quite necessary to convince me.”
“Oh,” Potter breathes. “Al…right.”
“I’ll assign you reading before we continue,” Severus informs him, pulling the blanket higher up so his toes are free to wriggle.
“Reading? When have I ever learned anything from a textbook?” Potter chuckles. “Except when it came in your handwriting.” Another chuckle, then a gasp and a snicker. “How about you write me personalised instructions? With what you like, and things you'd like to try? I can’t think of a single better way to lure out my studious side.”
“I― will consider this,” Severus rasps. The idea is intriguing, but he is tired, and he wants Potter to shut up, and finally, for once, hopefully sleep in blissful peace. No need for Potter to haunt him in his dreams when he’s got the real thing in bed next to him.
“You know what?” Potter hums then, shifting a little closer on the mattress. Warm toes come to softly press against his. “I think you’re actually nice.”
“Slander,” Severus huffs, his voice heavy and rough.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Potter promises.
“Go to sleep, you imbecile,” Severus mutters. Potter giggles and then yawns, and then the room goes quiet.
Before he falls asleep, Severus has one last thought. One final, tiny fragment of thought that forms in his mind as the depths of slumber claw at him.
No regrets.