Happy holidays, torino10154! - Christmas Present [HP]
Title: Christmas Present
Author: TBD
Recipient: torino10154
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters or Pairing: Harry/Severus
Rating: R
Warnings: Teacher/student (though not underage). Epilogue non-compliant.
Summary: Snape had hoped to be alone at Hogwarts for Christmas, but Potter had other ideas.
Notes: Thanks to emynn for beta!
"I might have known I'd find you here."
Snape was unable to keep the gloating tone from his voice as he approached Potter in the Restricted Section of the library at Hogwarts. He had hoped to have an entirely private Christmas Eve, since the rest of the school was deserted, but as the Headmistress had departed for Sinistra's family party, she had warned Snape that Potter would be staying at Hogwarts as well.
Like everyone at the Ministry of Magic, McGonagall had been persuaded in the aftermath of Voldemort's fall that Potter could do no wrong. The fact that Potter had elected to return to Hogwarts to finish his training didn't seem suspicious to anyone but Snape, and perhaps Filch, but even the caretaker had gone to visit some relative not clever enough to have disowned him. Which meant that, instead of spending a quiet evening refining anti-venins in the dungeons, Snape had found himself prowling the corridors to discover what delinquency Potter was up to this time.
Indeed, Potter nearly jumped out of his chair at the sound of Snape's voice. Glancing at the cover of his reading material, it wasn't difficult to guess why. "Don't tell me that's for a research project," Snape continued, smirking. "Honestly, Potter, is ancient pornography the best you could do? Do they no longer sell Wicked Witches Weekly in Hogsmeade?"
"I'm sure they do, but wicked witches aren't really my thing," Potter said, his expression nonchalant as he held up the book for Snape to get a better look. Indeed, though the moving images on the cover were naked and engaged in a great deal of wickedness, there was not a witch to be seen. "Anyway, I was just wasting time with this until you came looking for me."
With a wave of his hand, Snape made the book fly back to the familiar spot on the shelf where it belonged. "So certain that I would suspect your motives for staying at Hogwarts when we both know you were invited by the Weasleys to spend your holidays with them?"
Potter flushed a bit. "I didn't think it was a good idea to stay in close quarters with Ginny a month after breaking up with her. Ron's still angry, too. And if I went to the Grangers, Hermione would ask a lot of nosy questions."
Snape had no doubt that that was true. Nor did he need to wonder why Potter had not considered a visit to the Dursleys; he had enough unpleasant memories of Christmases with his own parents, his father drunk and belligerent, his mother complaining about all the things they could not afford. "Still, you might have found something more productive to do than reading licentious material," he told Potter.
The book gone, Potter rose from his seat. Snape could not resist sneaking a glance to see whether the dirty pictures had given him an erection, but it was too dark to be certain. "I told you, I was waiting for you," Potter said. "Since you won't let me take your class..."
"Surely the highly-touted slayer of the Dark Lord has no need for NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"...and since you avoid Slughorn's parties, and sit far away from me at meals, and root against my team at Quidditch matches, staying here was the only way I could come up with to talk to you."
This made Snape frown. He'd feared something like it when Potter had tried to sign up for his class with the other seventh-years, then he'd decided that Potter was simply following the Weasley girl around, though he later heard that Ginny Weasley had been responsible for all the toilets exploding in the first floor bathrooms when Potter stopped seeing her. "I have nothing else to tell you about your mother," he announced.
"My mother?" Potter's brows furrowed, then his jaw sagged. "Oh. So you were in love with her."
"I most certainly was not!" The denial came out more forcefully than Snape intended, with a touch of revulsion that probably gave away things he hadn't intended to tell Potter. "She was my oldest friend. I didn't want to see her throw herself away on a man so full of bile that he tormented Slytherins, unpopular students and queers. I certainly didn't want to see her dead." Potter was looking at him oddly, and Snape realized that perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned queers. "Since I cannot give you any profound insight into your parents..."
"I don't want insight into my parents," declared Potter, coming around the table toward Snape. Indeed, it did appear that the pornographic literature might have produced a bulge in Potter's jeans. "I'd rather have insights into you."
"What are you doing? Stop that at once!" Snape backed up a step as Potter advanced. His face was very close, his smile very knowing. What did Potter think he knew?
"You smell good. I always noticed that. Sometimes, last year, when I was on the run, I would get a whiff of something that smells like this and I would think about you. I suppose it might have been you, now that I know you were watching over --"
"You're delusional," Snape said, his knees backing into one of the broad bookshelves. Potter shook his head.
"I'm not. I'm aroused, intrigued, interested, but not delusional. Not even a little bit." Potter smelled good too, and the bulge in his trousers was close enough now to feel as he leaned in to Snape. "Kiss me."
"You're a student --" Snape began, then immediately realized the huge error he had committed.
Potter's grin sprang the trap. "That didn't sound like 'I'm not queer' or 'I'm not attracted to you,' he pointed out, planting his feet against Snape's.
"Nevertheless you are a student --" Snape insisted, trying to regain control of the conversation, and of his libido, which had suddenly taken on a life of its own.
"Several years over age, though," Potter said, his gaze dropping to Snape's mouth. "Well, if you won't kiss me--"
Gamely Snape tried to master the flash of disappointment that unaccountably stabbed through him. Surely this was for the best, surely Potter was up to something and Snape was determined to discover....
"I suppose I'll just have to kiss you," declared Potter, and suddenly his lips were pressing Snape's, and Snape, unable to back away any further, was trying to decide best how to resist even as his resistance began to melt away.
"This is a terrible idea," he muttered when Potter finally came up for air. Somehow Snape's fingers had become entangled in the back of Potter's jumper, which he released at once.
Again Potter grinned. "That still doesn't sound like 'I'm not interested.'"
His lips returned to Snape's, tongue seeking entrance, so that when Snape opened his mouth to object again, he found himself being kissed even more deeply and thoroughly. There could be no doubt that Potter was fully erect in his jeans -- an erection which felt impressively large, for, as Potter had pointed out, it belonged to someone who was legally an adult -- and that the pressure of a hard prick against his own had Snape twitching and throbbing as well.
"Besides, if you weren't interested, you wouldn't have come looking for me," continued Potter, apparently able to speak without whimpering, a skill Snape lacked just at the moment. "You didn't really think I was going to blow up the school after I almost died to stop Voldemort. You didn't really think I was going to blow you up, either, considering that I saved your life."
This was true, though Snape had imagined that Potter had only done so out of a sense of obligation. Though he'd relived the scene in his mind over and over, Snape couldn't guess what had made Potter think to put his mouth on Snape's seemingly lifeless throat to suck out the serpent's venom. It didn't come up in any known book of treatments, though Madam Pomfrey believed it had only worked because Potter was a Parselmouth and it was rare luck, perhaps even unprecedented, to have a Parselmouth nearby during a snake attack.
When Snape had come out of the death-like trance, swooning from loss of blood and vaguely aroused, the first thing he'd been aware of was Potter crouched over him like a vampire, lips fastened on his throat. He'd managed to croak a protest, and ever since, he had refused to let himself think about Potter's mouth. Until now.
"I'm not your student," Potter murmured, his lips much too close to Snape's. "You haven't taught me anything since your memories told me how to save the world. But there are things I want you to teach me, and I bet you can guess what."
Potter should have been a Slytherin. Clearly, he had planned every detail: he'd waited until he knew the school would be entirely devoid of students and faculty, then he'd lured Snape to him by...oh fuck, Potter was kissing him again, and Snape was kissing back, grinding his prick against Potter's through their clothes. "This had better not be a joke," he warned during a pause to breathe.
"Do I feel like I'm joking? I haven't stopped thinking about you for months. So much that I had to break up with my best friend's sister and tell my best friend I'm gay."
That sounded like a terrifying prospect to Snape, who had never had the courage to tell his own youthful best friend -- Potter's mother -- that he was gay. Yet Potter did not appear traumatized. He was grinning.
"And since you wouldn't let me take your class, I did homework about you instead. I know I'm not the only one who looks at those books in the Restricted Section. I saw some very interesting pictures in them of things I'd like to do right now." Potter's fingers strayed down Snape's back to his bum.
Snape had had enough of being teased, for surely that was what this was -- an attempt to draw him out so that Potter could then mock him. "Perhaps I shall give you more than you bargained for," he growled, sliding a hand between them and curling his fingers around Potter's -- oh yes, that really was quite impressive -- erection.
Potter groaned and his eyes rolled back, but he was certainly not trying to get away from Snape's hand. In fact, he was pushing into it. "Oh yes! Give me more!" he demanded.
"What was the most...intriguing thing you saw in those books?" Snape asked, feeling Potter's fingers falter at the question. Snape pressed back against him and Potter's hand moved again, squeezing Snape's bum through his robes.
"There wasn't anything that I saw that wasn't intriguing when I imaged the two of us doing it," admitted Potter, his hips close enough to Snape's to impart details of both pricks, had either of them been capable of analyzing such information. Hard, thick, eager, that was all the detail Snape's mind could process, even as Potter's mouth drew out details of breath and desire.
"What if I ordered you to suck my prick? Right here?" Snape could tell by the shudder that went through Potter that the idea was not unwelcome.
"Fuck, even hearing you say it like that nearly made me --" The color crept up Potter's cheeks, though he didn't look embarrassed; he looked like he was about to drop to his knees and carry out Snape's order.
"You would do it, wouldn't you? Right here in the Restricted Section?" Snape said, grabbing Potter's jumper before he did just that. Potter looked up, puzzled, gratifyingly dazed and aroused. It was a heady look and Snape's prick throbbed in response.
"Why not? There's no one else in the castle, you want to, I want to, though you might have to --" Potter's cheek was coloring again as Snape's fingers released his sleeve, "-- you know, show me or give me pointers." Potter did slide to his knees, his hands molding up Snape's legs, tilting his face as though looking for permission, permission Snape had probably given when he first caught Potter alone.
This was madness. If Severus Snape was going to risk a long and moderately successful if not entirely satisfying teaching career over a student, he should at least have had the sense to do it in the privacy of his bedroom in the dungeon. Yet he found himself rooted to the spot when Potter's hands slid around Snape's hips and reached under his robes, unfastening his trousers more quickly than Snape believed possible of a novice. "Not the first time you've done that?" he growled, his voice once again revealing more than he intended.
"Only with girls," sighed Potter, making a bit of a face as his fingers went to work tugging the trousers down. "It was bad enough being the Chosen One -- I couldn't have coped with being the Gay Chosen One. Everyone got bored with me once I came back to school, though, and started getting As instead of Os in History of Magic. Not really Auror material any more, am I?"
Snape was about to retort that he'd never thought Potter would fit in among the hidebound prigs at the Ministry when Potter leaned down and his tongue took a swipe over the head of Snape's prick. "Yes!" Snape groaned instead, clutching at Potter's hair to encourage him to do it again.
"Mmmm!" Potter hummed agreement, lowering his mouth over Snape's prick.
What Potter lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm, though in truth it had been so long since anyone besides Snape himself had touched that particular bit that even terrible fellatio would have been appreciated by said bit. Plus Snape could hear Potter using his free hand to open his own trousers, and even in the dim light in the Restricted Section, with Potter's body blocking most of the view, Snape could see Potter's elbow moving rhythmically when Potter began to stroke himself.
This was going to be an embarrassingly quick --
"Fuck!" roared Snape, tightening his hand in Potter's hair to warn him to stop. However, as was so often the case with Potter, Snape found his instructions ignored. Potter bobbed his head on Snape's prick as he rocked on his knees, thrusting into his own hand. The shudder that began deep in Potter's loins shook his entire body, so that Snape could feel Potter's head quivering as Potter let out a muffled grunt around Snape's prick and ejaculated over his own hand onto Snape's trouser leg.
Any man would have had an orgasm worthy of conjuring his Patronus after witnessing such a sight. For Snape -- who'd been steadfastly refusing to let himself wank while imagining Potter's mouth doing just what it was doing now -- it worked like one of the banned climax-enhancement potions he'd occasionally been offered large sums to produce. He had no choice but to surrender, coming so hard that he forgot where he was and shouted Potter's name.
By the time Snape could see clearly again, Potter was grinning up at him, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I think you woke all the ghosts," crowed Potter. "At least you called me 'Harry.'" When Snape did not immediately reply, unable to catch his breath to do so, Potter added, "Now be fair. You can't give me a D when you came too."
"I knew you'd be glib," Snape finally managed, though he realized at once that his mouth had skipped ahead without consulting his no-doubt lust-fogged brain.
Instead of the gleeful gloating Snape expected, Potter's still-breathless smile bordered on shy. "I knew you wouldn't stop me." He gave Snape's softening prick a wet kiss, rocking back on his heels and holding out a hand which Snape took, as though they'd just engaged in a particularly rigorous Defense lesson instead of hormone-carbonating sex. Then Potter's cocky smile was back. "I'm not glib, just honest. Witty banter isn't my strong suit. But you did call me ‘Harry.'"
"I'm not averse to using your given name," Snape said, feeling a bit vulnerable with his prick dangling out of his trousers, but Potter's was dangling as well and Snape was enjoying the view too much to rush to change it.
"I wasn't sure you knew it," replied Potter, standing very close to Snape, so close that their slack trousers brushed. Then with a smirk he added, "Severus."
Snape's eyes narrowed, but his rebuttal was cut off when Potter kissed him again, blithely assuming Snape would not object to the taste, though when added to Potter's mouth, the taste was muted and not at all bad.
"You should take me to bed," Potter said. "I bet it would be ten times better in bed, a thousand times." While Snape's dignity glared at the presumption, his prick once again interjected its quite opposing position and practically perked up in support of something a thousand times better than what it had just done. Unfortunately the silence must have gone on too long, because Potter's face fell. "I mean, it doesn't have to be tonight, if you don't want..."
"You may be glib but you're still thick," growled Snape, reaching over to tuck Potter's bit back in, not minding at all that it felt possessive. Potter after all had had Snape's prick in his mouth while Snape had never managed to touch any part of him.
"I am?" said Potter, his voice quavering, though whether at Snape's hand so close to his sensitive bits or at the kiss that followed, Snape had no notion. "I mean, I am, thick."
Giving the front of Potter's trousers a pat, Snape shifted his attention to his own exposed parts. Once they were both respectable enough for any wandering startled ghost, he said, "And young enough, I expect, for another go, if the circumstances were right."
Potter's smile lit up the room like a Lumos charm. "It is Christmas Eve," he pointed out. "We should be celebrating. And I'm definitely young enough for another go or two."
As usual, Potter was getting ahead of himself, but for once Snape found that he did not mind. He might not have been as young as Potter, but if his prick's current level of interest was anything to go by, he would not have any trouble keeping up. Thus far, his Christmas presents consisted of a bottle of firewhisky from Minerva and the usual framed holiday photo of the Malfoy family, looking rather worse for wear this year. Snape felt that he was entitled to a more appropriate keepsake, like Potter's Quidditch-toned bum.
"I have no fruitcake or pudding," he warned Potter.
"That's not what I'm hungry for." Potter's arm slid through Snape's, steering him toward the exit from the library. "I want more of what I had before. Lots more."
"And when the others return to school?" Snape asked sharply.
"Then we'll have to be much sneakier." When had Potter's youthful grin, never directed at Snape and seen only from a distance, become so suggestively wicked? "You know I'm up for the challenge."
Snape tried not to get ahead of himself, either. But as they turned into the corridor and Peeves soared past, making a rude face, he could not resist smirking and saying, "The Ghost of Christmas Future foresees detentions in your days to come."
"Fine with me, as long as the Ghost of Christmas Present sees you taking me to the dungeon right now." They grinned at each other, and Snape was forced to conclude that Potter's nefarious inclinations were not without merit.
Author: TBD
Recipient: torino10154
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters or Pairing: Harry/Severus
Rating: R
Warnings: Teacher/student (though not underage). Epilogue non-compliant.
Summary: Snape had hoped to be alone at Hogwarts for Christmas, but Potter had other ideas.
Notes: Thanks to emynn for beta!
"I might have known I'd find you here."
Snape was unable to keep the gloating tone from his voice as he approached Potter in the Restricted Section of the library at Hogwarts. He had hoped to have an entirely private Christmas Eve, since the rest of the school was deserted, but as the Headmistress had departed for Sinistra's family party, she had warned Snape that Potter would be staying at Hogwarts as well.
Like everyone at the Ministry of Magic, McGonagall had been persuaded in the aftermath of Voldemort's fall that Potter could do no wrong. The fact that Potter had elected to return to Hogwarts to finish his training didn't seem suspicious to anyone but Snape, and perhaps Filch, but even the caretaker had gone to visit some relative not clever enough to have disowned him. Which meant that, instead of spending a quiet evening refining anti-venins in the dungeons, Snape had found himself prowling the corridors to discover what delinquency Potter was up to this time.
Indeed, Potter nearly jumped out of his chair at the sound of Snape's voice. Glancing at the cover of his reading material, it wasn't difficult to guess why. "Don't tell me that's for a research project," Snape continued, smirking. "Honestly, Potter, is ancient pornography the best you could do? Do they no longer sell Wicked Witches Weekly in Hogsmeade?"
"I'm sure they do, but wicked witches aren't really my thing," Potter said, his expression nonchalant as he held up the book for Snape to get a better look. Indeed, though the moving images on the cover were naked and engaged in a great deal of wickedness, there was not a witch to be seen. "Anyway, I was just wasting time with this until you came looking for me."
With a wave of his hand, Snape made the book fly back to the familiar spot on the shelf where it belonged. "So certain that I would suspect your motives for staying at Hogwarts when we both know you were invited by the Weasleys to spend your holidays with them?"
Potter flushed a bit. "I didn't think it was a good idea to stay in close quarters with Ginny a month after breaking up with her. Ron's still angry, too. And if I went to the Grangers, Hermione would ask a lot of nosy questions."
Snape had no doubt that that was true. Nor did he need to wonder why Potter had not considered a visit to the Dursleys; he had enough unpleasant memories of Christmases with his own parents, his father drunk and belligerent, his mother complaining about all the things they could not afford. "Still, you might have found something more productive to do than reading licentious material," he told Potter.
The book gone, Potter rose from his seat. Snape could not resist sneaking a glance to see whether the dirty pictures had given him an erection, but it was too dark to be certain. "I told you, I was waiting for you," Potter said. "Since you won't let me take your class..."
"Surely the highly-touted slayer of the Dark Lord has no need for NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"...and since you avoid Slughorn's parties, and sit far away from me at meals, and root against my team at Quidditch matches, staying here was the only way I could come up with to talk to you."
This made Snape frown. He'd feared something like it when Potter had tried to sign up for his class with the other seventh-years, then he'd decided that Potter was simply following the Weasley girl around, though he later heard that Ginny Weasley had been responsible for all the toilets exploding in the first floor bathrooms when Potter stopped seeing her. "I have nothing else to tell you about your mother," he announced.
"My mother?" Potter's brows furrowed, then his jaw sagged. "Oh. So you were in love with her."
"I most certainly was not!" The denial came out more forcefully than Snape intended, with a touch of revulsion that probably gave away things he hadn't intended to tell Potter. "She was my oldest friend. I didn't want to see her throw herself away on a man so full of bile that he tormented Slytherins, unpopular students and queers. I certainly didn't want to see her dead." Potter was looking at him oddly, and Snape realized that perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned queers. "Since I cannot give you any profound insight into your parents..."
"I don't want insight into my parents," declared Potter, coming around the table toward Snape. Indeed, it did appear that the pornographic literature might have produced a bulge in Potter's jeans. "I'd rather have insights into you."
"What are you doing? Stop that at once!" Snape backed up a step as Potter advanced. His face was very close, his smile very knowing. What did Potter think he knew?
"You smell good. I always noticed that. Sometimes, last year, when I was on the run, I would get a whiff of something that smells like this and I would think about you. I suppose it might have been you, now that I know you were watching over --"
"You're delusional," Snape said, his knees backing into one of the broad bookshelves. Potter shook his head.
"I'm not. I'm aroused, intrigued, interested, but not delusional. Not even a little bit." Potter smelled good too, and the bulge in his trousers was close enough now to feel as he leaned in to Snape. "Kiss me."
"You're a student --" Snape began, then immediately realized the huge error he had committed.
Potter's grin sprang the trap. "That didn't sound like 'I'm not queer' or 'I'm not attracted to you,' he pointed out, planting his feet against Snape's.
"Nevertheless you are a student --" Snape insisted, trying to regain control of the conversation, and of his libido, which had suddenly taken on a life of its own.
"Several years over age, though," Potter said, his gaze dropping to Snape's mouth. "Well, if you won't kiss me--"
Gamely Snape tried to master the flash of disappointment that unaccountably stabbed through him. Surely this was for the best, surely Potter was up to something and Snape was determined to discover....
"I suppose I'll just have to kiss you," declared Potter, and suddenly his lips were pressing Snape's, and Snape, unable to back away any further, was trying to decide best how to resist even as his resistance began to melt away.
"This is a terrible idea," he muttered when Potter finally came up for air. Somehow Snape's fingers had become entangled in the back of Potter's jumper, which he released at once.
Again Potter grinned. "That still doesn't sound like 'I'm not interested.'"
His lips returned to Snape's, tongue seeking entrance, so that when Snape opened his mouth to object again, he found himself being kissed even more deeply and thoroughly. There could be no doubt that Potter was fully erect in his jeans -- an erection which felt impressively large, for, as Potter had pointed out, it belonged to someone who was legally an adult -- and that the pressure of a hard prick against his own had Snape twitching and throbbing as well.
"Besides, if you weren't interested, you wouldn't have come looking for me," continued Potter, apparently able to speak without whimpering, a skill Snape lacked just at the moment. "You didn't really think I was going to blow up the school after I almost died to stop Voldemort. You didn't really think I was going to blow you up, either, considering that I saved your life."
This was true, though Snape had imagined that Potter had only done so out of a sense of obligation. Though he'd relived the scene in his mind over and over, Snape couldn't guess what had made Potter think to put his mouth on Snape's seemingly lifeless throat to suck out the serpent's venom. It didn't come up in any known book of treatments, though Madam Pomfrey believed it had only worked because Potter was a Parselmouth and it was rare luck, perhaps even unprecedented, to have a Parselmouth nearby during a snake attack.
When Snape had come out of the death-like trance, swooning from loss of blood and vaguely aroused, the first thing he'd been aware of was Potter crouched over him like a vampire, lips fastened on his throat. He'd managed to croak a protest, and ever since, he had refused to let himself think about Potter's mouth. Until now.
"I'm not your student," Potter murmured, his lips much too close to Snape's. "You haven't taught me anything since your memories told me how to save the world. But there are things I want you to teach me, and I bet you can guess what."
Potter should have been a Slytherin. Clearly, he had planned every detail: he'd waited until he knew the school would be entirely devoid of students and faculty, then he'd lured Snape to him by...oh fuck, Potter was kissing him again, and Snape was kissing back, grinding his prick against Potter's through their clothes. "This had better not be a joke," he warned during a pause to breathe.
"Do I feel like I'm joking? I haven't stopped thinking about you for months. So much that I had to break up with my best friend's sister and tell my best friend I'm gay."
That sounded like a terrifying prospect to Snape, who had never had the courage to tell his own youthful best friend -- Potter's mother -- that he was gay. Yet Potter did not appear traumatized. He was grinning.
"And since you wouldn't let me take your class, I did homework about you instead. I know I'm not the only one who looks at those books in the Restricted Section. I saw some very interesting pictures in them of things I'd like to do right now." Potter's fingers strayed down Snape's back to his bum.
Snape had had enough of being teased, for surely that was what this was -- an attempt to draw him out so that Potter could then mock him. "Perhaps I shall give you more than you bargained for," he growled, sliding a hand between them and curling his fingers around Potter's -- oh yes, that really was quite impressive -- erection.
Potter groaned and his eyes rolled back, but he was certainly not trying to get away from Snape's hand. In fact, he was pushing into it. "Oh yes! Give me more!" he demanded.
"What was the most...intriguing thing you saw in those books?" Snape asked, feeling Potter's fingers falter at the question. Snape pressed back against him and Potter's hand moved again, squeezing Snape's bum through his robes.
"There wasn't anything that I saw that wasn't intriguing when I imaged the two of us doing it," admitted Potter, his hips close enough to Snape's to impart details of both pricks, had either of them been capable of analyzing such information. Hard, thick, eager, that was all the detail Snape's mind could process, even as Potter's mouth drew out details of breath and desire.
"What if I ordered you to suck my prick? Right here?" Snape could tell by the shudder that went through Potter that the idea was not unwelcome.
"Fuck, even hearing you say it like that nearly made me --" The color crept up Potter's cheeks, though he didn't look embarrassed; he looked like he was about to drop to his knees and carry out Snape's order.
"You would do it, wouldn't you? Right here in the Restricted Section?" Snape said, grabbing Potter's jumper before he did just that. Potter looked up, puzzled, gratifyingly dazed and aroused. It was a heady look and Snape's prick throbbed in response.
"Why not? There's no one else in the castle, you want to, I want to, though you might have to --" Potter's cheek was coloring again as Snape's fingers released his sleeve, "-- you know, show me or give me pointers." Potter did slide to his knees, his hands molding up Snape's legs, tilting his face as though looking for permission, permission Snape had probably given when he first caught Potter alone.
This was madness. If Severus Snape was going to risk a long and moderately successful if not entirely satisfying teaching career over a student, he should at least have had the sense to do it in the privacy of his bedroom in the dungeon. Yet he found himself rooted to the spot when Potter's hands slid around Snape's hips and reached under his robes, unfastening his trousers more quickly than Snape believed possible of a novice. "Not the first time you've done that?" he growled, his voice once again revealing more than he intended.
"Only with girls," sighed Potter, making a bit of a face as his fingers went to work tugging the trousers down. "It was bad enough being the Chosen One -- I couldn't have coped with being the Gay Chosen One. Everyone got bored with me once I came back to school, though, and started getting As instead of Os in History of Magic. Not really Auror material any more, am I?"
Snape was about to retort that he'd never thought Potter would fit in among the hidebound prigs at the Ministry when Potter leaned down and his tongue took a swipe over the head of Snape's prick. "Yes!" Snape groaned instead, clutching at Potter's hair to encourage him to do it again.
"Mmmm!" Potter hummed agreement, lowering his mouth over Snape's prick.
What Potter lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm, though in truth it had been so long since anyone besides Snape himself had touched that particular bit that even terrible fellatio would have been appreciated by said bit. Plus Snape could hear Potter using his free hand to open his own trousers, and even in the dim light in the Restricted Section, with Potter's body blocking most of the view, Snape could see Potter's elbow moving rhythmically when Potter began to stroke himself.
This was going to be an embarrassingly quick --
"Fuck!" roared Snape, tightening his hand in Potter's hair to warn him to stop. However, as was so often the case with Potter, Snape found his instructions ignored. Potter bobbed his head on Snape's prick as he rocked on his knees, thrusting into his own hand. The shudder that began deep in Potter's loins shook his entire body, so that Snape could feel Potter's head quivering as Potter let out a muffled grunt around Snape's prick and ejaculated over his own hand onto Snape's trouser leg.
Any man would have had an orgasm worthy of conjuring his Patronus after witnessing such a sight. For Snape -- who'd been steadfastly refusing to let himself wank while imagining Potter's mouth doing just what it was doing now -- it worked like one of the banned climax-enhancement potions he'd occasionally been offered large sums to produce. He had no choice but to surrender, coming so hard that he forgot where he was and shouted Potter's name.
By the time Snape could see clearly again, Potter was grinning up at him, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I think you woke all the ghosts," crowed Potter. "At least you called me 'Harry.'" When Snape did not immediately reply, unable to catch his breath to do so, Potter added, "Now be fair. You can't give me a D when you came too."
"I knew you'd be glib," Snape finally managed, though he realized at once that his mouth had skipped ahead without consulting his no-doubt lust-fogged brain.
Instead of the gleeful gloating Snape expected, Potter's still-breathless smile bordered on shy. "I knew you wouldn't stop me." He gave Snape's softening prick a wet kiss, rocking back on his heels and holding out a hand which Snape took, as though they'd just engaged in a particularly rigorous Defense lesson instead of hormone-carbonating sex. Then Potter's cocky smile was back. "I'm not glib, just honest. Witty banter isn't my strong suit. But you did call me ‘Harry.'"
"I'm not averse to using your given name," Snape said, feeling a bit vulnerable with his prick dangling out of his trousers, but Potter's was dangling as well and Snape was enjoying the view too much to rush to change it.
"I wasn't sure you knew it," replied Potter, standing very close to Snape, so close that their slack trousers brushed. Then with a smirk he added, "Severus."
Snape's eyes narrowed, but his rebuttal was cut off when Potter kissed him again, blithely assuming Snape would not object to the taste, though when added to Potter's mouth, the taste was muted and not at all bad.
"You should take me to bed," Potter said. "I bet it would be ten times better in bed, a thousand times." While Snape's dignity glared at the presumption, his prick once again interjected its quite opposing position and practically perked up in support of something a thousand times better than what it had just done. Unfortunately the silence must have gone on too long, because Potter's face fell. "I mean, it doesn't have to be tonight, if you don't want..."
"You may be glib but you're still thick," growled Snape, reaching over to tuck Potter's bit back in, not minding at all that it felt possessive. Potter after all had had Snape's prick in his mouth while Snape had never managed to touch any part of him.
"I am?" said Potter, his voice quavering, though whether at Snape's hand so close to his sensitive bits or at the kiss that followed, Snape had no notion. "I mean, I am, thick."
Giving the front of Potter's trousers a pat, Snape shifted his attention to his own exposed parts. Once they were both respectable enough for any wandering startled ghost, he said, "And young enough, I expect, for another go, if the circumstances were right."
Potter's smile lit up the room like a Lumos charm. "It is Christmas Eve," he pointed out. "We should be celebrating. And I'm definitely young enough for another go or two."
As usual, Potter was getting ahead of himself, but for once Snape found that he did not mind. He might not have been as young as Potter, but if his prick's current level of interest was anything to go by, he would not have any trouble keeping up. Thus far, his Christmas presents consisted of a bottle of firewhisky from Minerva and the usual framed holiday photo of the Malfoy family, looking rather worse for wear this year. Snape felt that he was entitled to a more appropriate keepsake, like Potter's Quidditch-toned bum.
"I have no fruitcake or pudding," he warned Potter.
"That's not what I'm hungry for." Potter's arm slid through Snape's, steering him toward the exit from the library. "I want more of what I had before. Lots more."
"And when the others return to school?" Snape asked sharply.
"Then we'll have to be much sneakier." When had Potter's youthful grin, never directed at Snape and seen only from a distance, become so suggestively wicked? "You know I'm up for the challenge."
Snape tried not to get ahead of himself, either. But as they turned into the corridor and Peeves soared past, making a rude face, he could not resist smirking and saying, "The Ghost of Christmas Future foresees detentions in your days to come."
"Fine with me, as long as the Ghost of Christmas Present sees you taking me to the dungeon right now." They grinned at each other, and Snape was forced to conclude that Potter's nefarious inclinations were not without merit.