
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/246285.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      minor_(Harry_is_15)
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-28 Words: 5955
****** Soldiers ******
by literaryspell
Summary
     After Harry’s ill-fated Occlumency lesson, he visits Snape in a fit
     of guilt—with only minor ulterior motives. Will Snape allow him to
     cross the line? And can they both find a moment of peace amidst the
     war?

“Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!”
Harry absentmindedly stroked the finger-shaped bruises on his upper arm. After
nearly a week, they were still there. He pressed his fingers into the yellowish
marks, certain he deserved the slight twinge of pain that came from the action.
Harry dropped his head into his hands. He felt sick to his stomach over looking
into Snape’s Pensieve. And even more than the now-irrefutable knowledge that
his father was a bit (okay, maybe more than a bit) of an arsehole, was the fact
that he’d really, truly blown it with Snape.
What was it about that snarky, greasy, angry man that made Harry so... so...
distraught?
Over the years, Harry had been certain he’d hated the man. The feelings were
uncomplicated; Snape was a prick, and Harry hated him.
But now that Harry thought back over his actions in Snape’s office, now that he
really confronted this anger that had assailed him over his years... he
suspected there might be more than just hate. It was confusing, it was
annoying, but it was there. Seeing a teenaged Snape, awkward and lonely, had
sparked something in Harry. It didn’t create something that wasn’t there
before, no. It was more than that. All the rage, all the loathing he’d built up
over the years for the Potions master was boiling to the surface, but rather
than alighting his blood, it was... affecting rather another area altogether.
Harry moaned, throwing himself against the bedspread. He had blessed few
moments to himself these days, and his dormmates were sure to be returning any
minute. They were in the Great Hall for breakfast, which Harry had skipped,
claiming he’d wanted to sleep in, since it was a Sunday. As if he’d slept at
all in the first place.
Harry wished he were more surprised by his reaction to Snape, but he’d learned
very young that there was not much difference between love and hate, and now it
seemed it was quite easy for one to morph into the other... not that
helovedSnape, oh, gods, no. But Snape was a powerful and commanding wizard,
and—call him masochistic—there was something about the man that drew him in.
Thinking about Snapethat way presented him with another problem, which, judging
by his clock, he had only a few minutes to deal with.
Harry’s hand gently skimmed down his chest, bypassing all points of foreplay in
favour of the main destination. His hand traced and circled his already
straining cock before grasping it tightly. Images flooded unbidden into his
mind, some real, most imagined. But the image that brought him to his
culmination a few moments later, sweaty and somehow unsatisfied, was that of
Severus Snape, hauling him out of the Pensieve by his upper arm and throwing
him unceremoniously to the floor. But instead of screaming at him to leave,
Snape stalked toward him, ripping off his clothes as Harry reached up for him.
Their lips met in a near-painful crash, and Harry came hardwith his Potions
professor’s name on his lips.
Whispering a quick spell to clean himself up, Harry turned his head to the side
on his pillow and shut his eyes tightly. Nothing was ever easy for the Boy Who
Lived.
===============================================================================

Later that day, Harry was debating about whether or not to show up at the Great
Hall for dinner. He was starving, there was no denying that. But he was
nervous... okay, afraid... to see Snape. After Harry had first viewed his
professor’s memories, he’d avoided eye contact with him at all possible
junctures, including class. But during meals, Harry could swear he felt the
weight of Snape’s gaze upon him, bearing down on him like an impossible
pressure, unavoidable. Yet every time he was brave enough to look up, Snape’s
eyes were fixed on his plate.
Harry decided he’d had enough of skulking around like some Slytherin, feeling
sorry for himself. So he had a crush on the ugliest, meanest, most hateful
professor in the school. So what? Harry was used to the impossible, and he’d
triumphed countless times when told he would fail. It wasn’t like he was going
to do anything about it, after all. He would just sit back and simultaneously
adore and abhor Snape. Easy.
He threw on his robes and walked to the Great Hall. He wasn’t late, but most
students were already there. He took his place beside Ron, staunchly avoiding
looking at the head table.
“Hey, mate,” Harry said to the redhead. Ron only nodded in response, having too
much food in his mouth to reply without expelling any.
“Harry, where were you today? We were getting worried,” Hermione stage-
whispered across the table.
Harry smiled at her worry. “You must not have looked hard. I was only in the
dorms.”
Hermione glared at Ron. “You told me he wasn’t there!”
Ron shrugged, swallowing visibly. “I figured he just needed some time alone,
Hermione. Guys do, sometimes, okay?”
Hermione bit her lip, looking to Harry. “Is that true? Is everything okay?”
Harry nodded, smiling almost convincingly. “I’m fine. I was just tired and
wanted to be alone for a bit. I’m okay, I swear.”
Hermione looked suitably placated, and Ron rather strategically changed the
subject to their Transfiguration homework, which led to a mini-lecture on how
the first ever Transfiguration was performed and how the art had changed over
the years. Harry slipped in and out of the conversation, enough to make his
presence known, but not enough to actually contribute anything useful.
Before he knew what he was doing, his gaze wandered over to the head table.
Snape was there, as always. He sat rigidly in his chair, eating very slowly and
taking sips of his drink with precision. Harry wondered about his robes and why
they had so many buttons. He’d always thought it was because the man was
utterly repressed, but now that he knew better, he suspected it was protection.
His clothing was armour against people like his father and Sirius. People like
Harry. Harry’s eyes widened when he realized exactly how horrible his actions
had been.
And then he had to wonder: had Snape hidden the memories so Harry wouldn’t see
him at his weakest... or had he removed them so Harry wouldn’t know what a
complete prat his father could be? But that didn’t make sense, because Snape
had no problem telling him exactly what he thought of James Potter. Harry’s
head was starting to hurt from all the confusion.
“Psst, Harry!” Ron’s voice cut through his reverie. “What are you staring at?”
“What? Nothing,” Harry replied, slowly returning his gaze to the table. But
he’d been caught; Hermione was looking at him strangely.
He tried to keep up with the conversation for the rest of dinner, and when he
finally allowed himself to look back at the head table, Snape was gone. Harry
sighed in relief. The older man was fraying his nerves, and Harry hardly knew
how to handle it. But one way or another, one thing was certain: he owed Snape
an apology.
Harry said goodbye to his friends, excusing himself by saying he was feeling
ill. He must have looked a little off, because they believed him with no
suspicion. He wanted, so desperately, to go back to his rooms, lie down, and
never see Snape again except in his memories (and maybe his fantasies). But the
Gryffindor in him wanted to do the right thing, no matter how painful it
was—and this definitely promised to be painful.
His steps to the dungeon were slow and measured, but he still got there
altogether too quickly for his liking. He stood in front of Snape’s office
door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he, for once, thought about what
he wanted to say.
As he hesitated, the door opened in front of him, though no one greeted him.
Breathing deeply, he took a step into the office, hating how he was flooded
with memories of the last time he’d been there. He couldn’t see anyone, so he
just waited. Snape must have known he was there, because the door had opened,
and Snape’s door didn’t open by accident.
Sure enough, Snape stepped out from a door at the back of the office, which
Harry thought might be his private rooms. The Potions master stared him down,
and Harry almost faltered in his purpose under the weight of the stare. Snape
did not speak, and Harry knew that was a Slytherin tactic to make the other
party uncomfortable, and oh, Merlin, was it working.
Harry closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. Snape was standing
by his desk, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised succinctly.
“Professor, I wanted to say—”
Snape immediately interrupted. “I have no interest in what you wanted to say.
Whatever business we might have had is mercifully concluded.”
Harry nodded, coming farther into the room. Snape only rolled his eyes and sat
down at his desk, opening a frangible-looking tome and pointedly ignoring
Harry.
“Well, I’m sorry. I know you don’t care, don’t want to hear it. But I am sorry.
I shouldn’t have done what I did; it was an invasion of your privacy. I know
that. I just wanted to know...”
Without looking up, Snape intoned, “Know what, precisely? What could you have
possibly thought would greet you in my personal Pensieve? Surely you cannot be
so arrogant as to think it had anything whatever to do with you?”
Harry bit his lip. At least Snape was talking to him and in a relatively calm
voice, so far. There was no storm discernable beneath his words, and Harry felt
safe to continue with what he was going to say.
“But it did concern me, didn’t it?” Snape looked sharply at him, and Harry
hastened to continue. “I mean, it explains the animosity between you and my
father, between you and Sirius. Between... between you and me.”
Snape snorted. “Potter, whatever animosity there is between us exists solely on
your own merit at this point. If I had any preconceived prejudices against you,
you only substantiated them beyond any doubt over your years here, culminating
in your most recent act of thoughtless selfishness. I feel confident in saying
you would have done your father proud, though that is not a distinction with
which to be pleased.”
Harry sighed. This was not going well. He hadn’t expected his apology to be
accepted right away—even he was not that naïve—but now that Harry was here, it
was all he could do to keep his mind off what he’d done earlier in the day, the
things he’d thought while he touched himself, how righthis professor’s name had
felt on his lips when he’d come.
A slight gasp brought him back to the present. When Harry looked at Snape, his
eyes were widened, his hand resting seemingly casually on his wand on the desk.
Snape stood suddenly, and Harry distinctly felt the power imbalance in the
room. Had Snape seen...? Harry knew the man could do a wordless Legilimens, and
Harry felt a full-body blush coming on at the thought.
Snape stepped closer to him, placing his wand under Harry’s chin to lift his
face. Looking into Harry’s eyes, he whispered the spell Harry dreaded most, but
he did not look away, could not. Suddenly, all his thoughts and feelings, so
new to him, were careening in front of his eyes, verbal thoughts and flashes
showing themselves: how could I like him what is wrong with me he looks good
today must have washed his hair that's mean its true he’s so hardened if only
someone softened him why not me why not now....The thought culminated in an
altogether too clear image of him bringing himself off, shouting Snape’s name
and then smiling contentedly with come on his belly and hand.
When the images faded, it was as though a fog settled, but all Harry could see
was the glittering swamp of Snape’s eyes. The older man seemed to be searching
for something; his eyes were narrowed and suspicious, and Harry’s gazed flicked
down to the tight line of his lips quite without his express consent. Harry
became aware that Snape’s hand was on his upper arm in a startling replication
of where it had been after he’d viewed the Pensieve and Snape had thrown him to
the ground. Harry bit his lip, wondering what it would be like to be thrown
onto a bed by Snape, rather than the unforgiving stone floor.
His body was raging and his heart racing. Snape was rightthere... just a half-
step forward, just a tilt. And then his hands shot out like a flash, grabbing
Snape’s face firmly and pulling him down to meet his lips. The wand tip at
Harry’s chin pressed harder, but there was no other reaction.
Snape’s lips were firm and foreign, unmoving despite the insistence of Harry’s.
He tasted so strange, not sweet or familiar or anything like that. Snape seemed
to be frozen on the spot, and Harry took advantage of the uncharacteristic
hesitation and moved his lips in a one-sided kiss, willing with everything for
it to be returned. His tongue darted out to press at the sealed mouth, but it
retreated when not yielded to. Harry’s eyes were closed tight; he knew he had
to end the kiss, and to end it meant certain death. He pulled away a millimetre
before kissing Snape one last time, a softer ghost of a kiss that apologized
better than his fumbling words ever could. Harry took his hands away and
stepped backward, desperate to flee but staying to fight instead.
Their bodies were still incredibly close, only a few inches apart all the way
down. Harry swayed, feeling like he wanted to fall into Snape’s orbit, but
despite his well-reputed bravery, he could not meet his professor’s eyes.
“What... on earth... are you doing?” Snape’s voice was dangerously low, a
hissing whisper that made Harry both cringe and throb.
“I wanted...” Harry sighed, before clearing his throat to continue. “I wanted
to kiss you, so I did.” Simple as that, really; but Snape made it complicated
just by being Snape.
“And do you always just do whatever you want without a moment’s consideration
for other parties involved?” he demanded. Harry was amazed he hadn’t been hexed
and tried to think of what to say to keep it that way.
“Not generally, no. But I thought maybe I’d earned some good luck and you’d
want to kiss me, too.” His excuse was feeble at best. He had known as a
certainty that Snape would not have wanted to kiss him back, but that hadn’t
stopped him.
“Potter, I’m your professor. It’s hardly—”
“It’s not against the rules, you know,” Harry interrupted. Snape looked
surprised for a moment, so Harry barged ahead. “I checked. I don’t know why,
but I did, and it’s not.”
Snape looked at him considering, and Harry felt a flicker of hope for the first
time since he’d entered the room, but he quelled it immediately lest it get out
of control.
“Be that as it may, you are a minor—”
“But kissing isn’t against the law with a minor, sir. And I would never tell
anyone,” Harry intruded again, biting his lip and wishing he knew how to let
people finish what they wanted to say.
“Potter, this entire conversation is ridiculous. You need to leave,
immediately.” His voice was stern, but there was the slightest, faintest waver
at the last word, and Harry knew enough about the man to know that he never
wavered. He called up all that famous Gryffindor bravery and put his hands on
Snape’s chest, looking up and meeting Snape’s eyes for what felt like the first
time. Harry wished they were tumultuous or uncertain, but they were completely
fathomless.
Not to be dissuaded, Harry whispered, “Professor, I want you. I don’t care if
it’s wrong, I just don’t care. In the next few years, maybe less, I’ll be
risking my life to save everyone else’s. Don’t I deserve a moment, just a
momentof happiness, amidst all that? You and I both know it is very likely I
will not survive this war. Can’t you give me this onething?” Harry bit his lip
to keep from continuing. He doubted Snape would be moved by impassioned
speeches; if, somewhere inside him, he wanted Harry at all, he would agree to
this because he was an inherently selfish man, not for any compassion for
Harry—of that, he was certain.
Snape had kept Harry’s gaze, and the younger boy was sure he was considering.
He moved abruptly away from Harry’s hands and went to lean against his desk. He
looked everywhere but at Harry, but then he met his gaze. Harry watched with
fascination as Snape’s barriers fell, as though they were a tangible thing.
Snape looked heavenwards, as though the answers would come through all the
floors of Hogwarts from the skies and deliver him.
Finally, when Harry had begun to seriously consider stripping naked to prove
his point, Severus quietly said, “I am not a man who can give you a moment of
happiness.”
It was said so surely, so... sadly, that Harry gasped softly. He rallied
quickly and said, “But I’m telling you, you can. I’ve never asked for this from
anyone else, and if you say no, I won’t find another person to get it from. I
only want it from you.”
Snape winced, and Harry sensed he’d nearly won. He walked over to the
conflicted man and boldly stood between his feet, as Snape was half-leaning
onto the desk behind him. Wrapping his arms gently but confidently around his
neck and clasping them, Harry leaned in and, pressing his cheek against that of
his Professor, whispered in his ear, “You have more to offer than the
information you gather. Let me show you.”
Snape’s head dropped forward a little, and Harry knew the battle was won. His
comment, though said strategically, was entirely honest. Snape was more than
the sum of his deeds, good or bad. It had taken him years to learn it, and
maybe he still was learning it, but he knew it to be true.
Harry pressed his lips to the soft spot below Snape’s ear, scraping his teeth
gently against the pale flesh and nipping. Snape made a sound that might have
been a moan, coming from anyone else, and hesitatingly put his hands on Harry’s
waist, fingers grasping tightly. Harry trailed kisses along the strong jaw line
and finally pressed his lips firmly against the slightly parted ones he desired
most.
Snape allowed Harry to dominate the kiss for all of three seconds before he
grasped the younger man’s jaw and took over, kissing Harry harshly, bruisingly.
Harry whimpered softly at the onslaught, but was inwardly rejoicing. Despite
having gone from hate to... this... in only a few days, everything about it
felt right and natural. He returned the kiss with vigour, but allowed the older
man to lead it, gasping at the feeling of those strong and slender fingers
digging into his waist, sure to leave bruises.
Snape pulled Harry tightly against him, and their bodies aligned from knees to
lips. One of Snape’s hands was between his shoulder blades, pressing
persistently, and the other was lightly stroking the skin under Harry’s shirt,
just above the soft swell of his arse. Harry moaned when his body connected
with Snape’s, a hardness mirroring his own that was making its presence known.
Snape’s mouth attacked his throat, and Harry’s head fell back, his hands
clutching at the front of his teaching robes as his neck was bitten and licked,
and best of all, kissed. Snape’s kisses were impossibly hot and demanding, and
Harry yearned to be deserving of them.
“Gods, Professor, feels so good...” Harry murmured, pleased to be able to
string together words in a near-coherent fashion.
“Potter, please, don’t remind me of my position, for goodness’ sake,” Snape
groaned against Harry’s neck, and Harry laughed shortly before his breath was
stolen by Snape’s hand snaking into the back of his trousers, finding room
easily as they fit him so poorly. His arse was stroked and clutched, and Harry
couldn’t stop his hips from grinding forward against Snape’s crotch and
backward against his hand.
“What should I call you, then?” he asked breathlessly.
Snape answered by taking Harry’s shirt off, leaving him bare-chested and
inexplicably shy. Harry met Snape’s mouth again, and he took in the taste of
what could be likened to nothing, but was somehow exactly what he wanted.
Finally, Snape actually responded, “Call me Severus. Just for tonight and never
again.”
Harry nodded. He’d known in coming that if anything happened, it wouldn’t be
more than one night, and he felt lucky to get even that. But he had a
condition. “Will you call me by my first name?”
Snape nodded, running fingers over Harry’s hairless chest and scraping the
nipples while taking in the reaction on Harry’s face. “If only because the name
has fewer negative connotations for me.”
Harry shrugged, eyelids fluttering at the sensations Snape’s nimble fingers
were garnering from him. Anything Snape wanted, he would do, at this point. He
simultaneously hoped the other man knew that and hoped he didn’t.
Snape pushed Harry back, and for a horrifying moment, he thought he was being
rejected. But Snape took his wrist in hand and led him through the door Harry
had seen him enter through. He’d been right in assuming it was Snape’s private
quarters, and they were as austere and severe as Harry had pictured.
Snape took him through the living room, which he quickly noticed was designed
in lots of grey. Grey walls, grey floor, grey furniture. The only colour in the
room came from the multitudes of books that lined nearly every available
surface and wall. But his perusal was cut short when Snape led him to his
bedroom. Upon entering, Harry hesitated. It was what he wanted, yes, but it had
moved quickly, and to best honest, he’d expected to have to grovel and flatter
a bit more.
He pushed his hair back from his face unconsciously and met Snape’s eyes. He
recognized a flash of anger in them, which he quickly attributed to his
unconscious nervous habit, which undoubtedly reminded Snape of his father.
Harry had felt ashamed of the way his father and Sirius had acted toward Snape,
and even Lupin’s apathy was hard to take, but he still loved and respected them
all. However, if getting Snape be with him, even just this once, meant that he
had to tone down the Potterness, he would without qualms.
To eliminate any and all thought of his sire, Harry pressed himself against
Snape again, slipping his arms around his neck and kissing him softly, his body
bending backward slightly in his attempt to reach, even on tiptoes.
Snape responded immediately, teeth biting at Harry’s lips before licking them
softly and parting them for entry. Harry tried to think through the barrage of
feeling, his hips grinding against his professor’s cock, knees feeling weak at
the incredible feeling that flooded him. He quickly unbuttoned the repressive
robes and pushed them down and off, doing the same with the white shirt
beneath. He immediately went to Snape’s belt buckle, but he froze as hands
smoothed over his arse, pulling his lithe body hard against the taller one. He
moaned, hands awkwardly pulling at the belt, gasping as one of those hands
slipped between his cheeks outside his pants, the fingers deftly probing
despite the fabric, until Harry felt the fingertips move over his crease to
press into his balls from behind. The hand was caressing and stroking and Harry
could hardly stand.
He’d managed to undo the belt, but his hands went to Snape’s shoulders for
support instead of finishing what he’d started. Snape deftly undid Harry’s belt
and pulled his trousers and pants down in one fell swoop. Harry was shocked at
the quick work, but then a hand was on his arse again, pressing him against
Snape’s still-covered cock, and Harry shivered at the feeling of rough cloth
against his sensitive arousal. The hand was kneading and gripping his buttock,
and Harry was unable to halt the throaty groan that escaped him.
Snape pulled his face from Harry’s neck for a moment to murmur in his ear, “Are
you absolutely sure, Harry? I won’t ask again.”
“I’m sure. I want this, need this,” Harry moaned, whimpering softly when his
mouth was covered again and a slick tongue invaded his waiting mouth. Snape
certainly knew how to kiss, not that Harry had much experience; he only hoped
he was measuring up for Snape. He couldn’t explain what it was inside him that
wanted so desperately to please the man he’d detested for long, but the
intensity of his feelings were enough to convince the Gryffindor; he needed no
profound introspection to persuade himself.
Snape led him backwards to the bed, and Harry lay back when he felt it at the
backs of his knees. He crawled into the middle and tried to look casual,
uncomfortable in his nudity but at the same time melting under the heated stare
of the Potions master.
Snape sat down on the bed beside him, still holding Harry in his gaze, and
caressed his chest with a potions-stained hand. Harry closed his eyes, trying
only to feel in order to hold off the embarrassment at being exposed. His cock
was straining and precum was sliding down it, but he ignored it in favour of
the way Snape was flicking his nipple with a blunted fingernail. He squirmed,
the cotton coverlet feeling cool and soft beneath his back. It hit him that he
was laying nude on his professor’s bed after having practically begged to be
fucked. Harry’s breath let out in a sharp gasp, his eyes opening to look at
Snape, to get grounded again. To make sure it was real.
When Snape’s hand stroked his cock in gentle, fluid motions, Harry was
convinced it was real. He moaned, arching into the touch. Snape was undressed
now, and Harry found himself entranced by his professor’s arousal. Snape was
obviously very affected by what was happening, and Harry couldn’t resist
sitting up to swipe the head of that cock with his tongue. Snape made a noise
low in his throat, and Harry repeated the action, uncertain in his
inexperience, but making up for it in enthusiasm.
“Lay back,” Harry whispered, and Snape amazingly did as he was bid without
comment. But all illusions of control on Harry’s part were lost in the next
moment, when Snape pulled Harry atop him, spreading his legs so he straddled
Snape, their cocks pressing together, eliciting a moan from both.
Harry leaned over his professor and kissed him. He never imagined kissing Snape
would be so wholly erotic. Snape guided the kiss and Harry let him, trying to
mimic what the older man did, and apparently doing well if the noises Snape
made were anything to go by.
“Harry,” he whispered against the boy’s lips before devouring his mouth again.
Harry had to stop his grinding movements against Snape in order to stave off
his orgasm, and hearing his name like that from Snape’s sinful lips was almost
too much.
Snape’s hands trailed down his back, over the knobs of Harry’s spine to grasp
his arse, dragging him unmercifully over Snape’s erection. A finger delved into
Harry’s crevice and he gasped. Despite his anatomical knowledge of his own
body, and what boys who liked other boys did with their bodies, he’d never had
so much as a finger inside himself.
“Relax, I will make it feel good,” Snape told him in his soothing baritone. A
finger brushed over his hole, and Harry shivered. It felt so forbidden, but so
good.
“It will hurt, won’t it?” Harry asked, knowing the answer already but wanting
to hear the truth.
Finger still circling Harry’s entrance, Snape answered honestly, “It will
probably hurt at first. But I promise, Harry, I won’t hurt you on purpose in
any way.” Harry had known this, had known Snape didn’t want to actually hurt
him, despite all his bluster.
“I know that, Severus. I’ll try to make you feel good as well,” he responded,
blushing at his words but smiling when Snape only smirked at him.
Pressing his hips up against Harry’s, he said only, “You already are.”
Harry enjoyed the power of making Snape so hard, but all triumph was gone when
a finger suddenly entered his body. It felt slick, and he realized it was
lubricated. The breaching was uncomfortable, and even a finger felt impossibly
large within him. Harry bit his lip, looking into Snape’s eyes, who met them
unflinchingly. Another finger was added and Harry’s mouth dropped open. They
slid slowly in and out, and Harry found himself pressing back against them,
somehow enjoying the burn and stretch.
Suddenly, Snape touched something that made his hips jerk down harshly and
lights go off behind his eyes. It was unlike anything he’d ever known, and it
kept happening.... Harry moaned wantonly, grinding his body against Snape’s and
thrusting back onto the fingers, wanting Snape to do that again. And he did,
until Harry couldn’t take it anymore.
“Severus, going to come! Oh, gods!” he cried, thrusting against Snape’s pulsing
cock as the fingers pressed mercilessly against that spot inside him, coming in
jerking spurts and crying out. His orgasm felt like it had ripped his veins
open, and every part of his body was hyper-sensitive.
Snape carefully placed him on his back, soothing Harry’s body with surprisingly
gentle motions. After only a few moments had passed, Harry felt a twitch in his
cock when he gazed upon Snape’s swollen hardness. He took Snape’s hand and
guided it back between his thighs to his slightly sore but willing hole. Snape
moaned, immediately slipping a finger back inside him. Harry’s cock rose when
Snape settled between his legs, leaning over him for a voracious kiss, which
Harry met with equal force.
When Harry felt another, and then another finger enter him, he was sure he was
in heaven. The pain was gone, replaced by a delicious stretch, making him ache
in a most satisfying way.
“So tight, so damn tight,” Snape was murmuring against his neck, which he was
marking liberally with lovebites. Harry threw his legs even wider, rolling his
hips in such a way that surprised even himself.
“Want you inside me,” Harry moaned, throwing his head back as his prostate was
repeatedly stroked.
“So fucking innocent, so untouched, so perfect.” Snape’s words went straight to
his cock, and despite only just coming, he felt ready to release again. But
Snape was coaxing Harry’s legs to circle his waist and raising Harry’s hips to
meet his cock, and Harry forced himself to relax.
Snape’s cock nudged his stretched entrance, forging through the initial ring,
and both men moaned as Snape filled Harry deeply, allowing the younger man only
moments to adjust before pulling back and filling him again.
“Oh, Severus, so good, it’s so good,” Harry babbled. If only he’d known... but
he was glad it was Snape doing this, because the man was showing admirable
restraint and care, and Harry felt no pain, only pleasure.
Snape was fucking Harry with abandon now, sinking into the boy’s tightness and
grinding his hips upon filling him. His fingers on Harry’s hips were bruising,
but it only added to the sensations flooding him. His legs tightened around
Snape’s waist, locking at the ankle and using him as leverage to pull Snape
deeper, harder, faster....
Finally, Harry’s cock, untouched except for the friction from their bodies
against it, erupted again in white ropes against both of their abdomens, his
eyes falling back into his head, and his breath becoming impossible to catch.
His arsehole clenched around Snape’s cock so tightly he was sure he could feel
the veins in it, and Snape thrust more erratically, finally coming with an
animalistic shout and a look on his face so perfectly sublime that Harry felt
his entire world settle. Snape’s face fell against Harry’s sweaty throat,
nipping his skin and gasping for breath.
Harry ran his hands over the man’s scarred and slick back, fingering each mark
curiously and feeling strangely at peace and comfortable, despite the
cumbersome weight atop him.
Snape rolled off Harry and onto his back, pulling a sheet over his lower body
after casting a Cleaning Charm and thankfully including Harry in its scope.
Harry felt suddenly awkward, knowing he couldn’t stay the night, but wanting to
more than anything. He’d have to get up, get dressed, and leave like a whore.
It embarrassed him, and he felt tears prick his eyes, which he closed against
the onslaught.
“Not regret already? That must be a record, even for me,” Snape commented
sardonically.
“Not regret, Severus. I’m very glad this happened. I will never forget it,”
Harry said honestly. It felt so good to just feel something, and he wondered if
Snape felt the same way—but he would never ask.
“You shouldn’t stay here tonight,” Snape informed him, brushing Harry’s hair
from his face and tracing the line of his jaw before pulling his hand away.
Harry caught it and returned it to his face, kissing it as it traced his kiss-
swollen lips.
“I know. I’ll leave soon.” Harry looked away.
“I—Harry. Thank you. I haven’t... in a long time. And for your first time, you
were...” Snape trailed off, a look of extreme discomfort on his face, and Harry
had to wonder if giving compliments actually hurt him. “...perfect,” he
finished.
Harry nodded his thanks. “You were amazing, Severus. It was better than I even
hoped it could be. And I want to do it again,” he added forcefully, meeting
Snape’s pitch black eyes.
Snape sighed. “You know we cannot. We both agreed it was only this time. It
can’t become anything, Harry. We are both too important in this war; we would
only put one another at risk.”
Harry grabbed Snape around the neck, pressing his tired body firmly against the
scarred one before him. “I don’t care anymore. Doesn’t it feel good to be
selfish, for once? Doesn’t it feel good to have something to yourself? A secret
you don’t have to tell?”
Harry knew Snape wanted it as badly as he did, he knew it like he knew he’d
just been fucked through a mattress. Maybe Snape was a master of deception, but
Harry knew him better now and knew when he was just putting on a front.
“What we want doesn’t matter, Harry. That’s the life of a soldier. We are
needed; we cannot sacrifice others for our own happiness. I know you know
this.” Snape’s voice had gone quiet, and they both knew he was trying to
convince himself as much as Harry.
“You listen to me, Severus Snape, and listen good. When this war ends, you come
find me. I don’t care if you’re half dead, half a man, half insane. Find me. I
am not giving up that easily, and I won’t lose you to Him or to anyone.”
Snape was looking at him so intently at Harry, he wondered if the man would
ever answer. “Well?” he prompted.
“It’s time for you to go, Harry.”
 
 
 
The end.
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