Entry tags:

fic, nc17, snarry, warts and all 2

Warts and All, continued

Warts and all, continued

The wind carried away some of the dusty heat rising from the sun baked cobblestones, lending a Mediterranean glow to one of London's stuffy summer afternoons.

Harry wrestled with the fastening of his collar, sweat trickling down his neck, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his back. A small child in pink frilly robes, her brown curls bouncing as she skipped after a harassed looking woman, gave him a sticky, ice-cream smeared grin. He winked back. Ice-cream weather, indeed.

The display in Fortescue Ice Cream Parlour was mouth watering. Harry had to repress the urge to press his nose to the glass to get a better view. Waiting in line, trying to decide between a Spaghetti-Ice with whipped cream and strawberry sauce or a double Banana-Split, he spotted something in the display that made him grin like he had eaten the proverbial canary.

The cold-charm on the Pinocchio-Cup must have been wearing off, its cone nose had drooped a bit and its Smarties mouth had slid downwards into a frown. It looked, all in all, well... Harry giggled... like Snape. Contemplating the certainty of Crucio if he presented Snape with his ice cream dopplegänger, Harry decided that Snape really needed an ice cream. Maybe just not this one.

Managing not to drop, spill or otherwise damage the two double Banana-Splits he had bought at Fortescue's, Harry stepped through the Floo into the MoM and the usual hustle and bustle of the Ministry greeted him. Nodding his curt 'hallos', trying to look busy - not a mean feat when carrying Fortescue take-away - he managed to get back to his office without having small talk forced on him. Harry put the ice cream boxes down on his desk and scratched his head. Now, where on earth was Snape's office.

When he asked Liz Crafton, the department secretary, she frowned at him but handed over the MoM Map. Harry pointed his wand at it and a small dot labelled 'Snape, S.T.' appeared in the low right corner. He waved his wand over it again in hope of it giving him more information.

'Patent Office' it said in bold letters, and that was it. No wand waving, poking or cursing would produce more than an annoyed harrumph from Liz, who was furiously scribbling notes onto a piece of parchment. Harry glanced at the charmed Fortescue paper bags and sighed.

"Mh, Liz? Where is the patent office again?"

Liz gave him a busy smile, grabbed a sheet of parchment and taped it with her wand. "Follow this. It will lead you there." The paper folded itself up into an airplane, hovering just over her desk.

"Thanks, Liz, you are a treasure!"

"Sure... Was there anything else? Some of us have work to do, you know." She gave the plane a swish with her wand, sending it off speeding along the corridor.

Harry blew her a kiss, took his ice cream and hurried to follow the paper plane.

Snape's office was at the end of a long narrow hallway. Swing-doors opened into a big hall with rows and rows upon of tables running up and down the walls. Each table was walled off with filing cabinets, creating individual, shoulder-high cubicles.

Paper planes buzzed about, just a few inches above the clerks' heads. The air was warm, sticky and stale. Harry had lost sight of 'his' airplane and had to ask one of the clerks for direction. With a curious glance and a grunt Harry, was pointed towards the far end of the office.

Snape's cubicle was tiny and neat. To a worrying degree. His pencils were aligned and sorted by size, his in-tray at an exact 90° angle to the corner of the desk. On the wall, behind Snape's rickety chair, someone - in a failed attempt of humour - had stuck a poster of a glowering Mad Eye Moody urging the populace to constant vigilance.

Harry coughed politely. Snape looked up from... from yesterday's crossword?! Harry grinned. At least he was not interrupting something important. But then, with Snape you never knew. "Potter?"

" I...eh, I was at Fortescue and ... And I got you an ice cream!" He proffered the bag.

Damn the man for reducing him to schoolboy stammering. Harry held out the ice cream box as if that would explain all, and maybe function as an improvised shield.

Snape scooted his chair back, glowering at Harry. "Is that some kind of joke? A Weasley product? Potter, if that explodes in my face I will crucio you till the last bit of your brain drips out of your ears!"

"No! What? I wouldn't do that! If you don't trust me, I brought two, you choose one." Harry put the offending bag down on the table in front of him, running a nervous hand through his hair.

"Why would you bring me ice cream?" Snape took the carton tentatively. "Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Exactly. I swear, it is only ice cream. Fortescue. It is hot out and well, I thought you might like one, too." Harry hated how needy he sounded.

Snape had unwrapped the box and placed the paper cups on his desk.

"I mean, if you are busy or something, I can take the ice cream and ..." Harry reached for the paper cup but Snape was faster.

"I will have to let you know: Cross-words are serious business. That one has to last me all afternoon."

Harry blinked. If he didn't know better that remark could have passed as a joke.

Snape dug in the brown paper bag for the little wooden spoons and handed one to Harry. Harry took it and looked at it in puzzlement.

"Sit, Potter!" Snape gestured to the visitor's chair in front of his desk. Harry sat, still holding the spoon in front of him. Snape plucked one of the maraschino cherries off his banana-split, popping it into his mouth. "Eat. You do remember how, surely?"

:::

"And then the Victoire barfed up the spinach and Mom and Fleur started a fight over whose fault it was that she was so fussy..." Ginny took a big swig from her shanty. "I don't know how long I can take this. They plan on staying another week. ANOTHER week, Harry! "

You are fishing for my couch, aren't you... "I surely can't be that bad Gin..." Yeah, tough shit since you broke up with me! Harry gave his pint a gloomy look, swirling it before knocking back the contents in one go. This evening had been a disaster. Ron and Hermione were in one of their lovey-dovey phases, exchanging saccharine glances and insipid pet names. He knew better than to point out that peachums had nothing on won won.

Neville, the traitorous prat, had not even shown up, just owled that he was working late. Bastard. Harry leaned back, surreptitiously eyeing the bar where Snape sat alone at the high top table, nursing half a pint of lager. He was of half a mind to invite him over. That would put and end to Ginny's rant for sure. He realized he had not been listening for several minutes and made a non-committal noise. Which turned out to be the wrong choice.

Ginny slammed her hand on the table. "You aren't even listening, are you?"

"No, uh, I mean... sorry Ginny, what did you just say?" Harry threw a longing glance over to where Snape sat in peace and quiet. Their eyes met and he shivered.

:::

There was a quick sharp knock on the door, Harry nearly missed it. Snape stepped into his office, giving it a critical once over and seeming to find it lacking. His sneer indicated as much. Harry gestured towards the chair.

"Hallo, Severus. What a surprise. Have a seat." Harry gestured to the padded armchair reserved for important visitors.

Snape rested his hand on the back of the chair, shaking his head, radiating uneasiness. "No need for pleasantries. I will make this as quick as possible."

"So, what can I do for you?"

"I need a favour and I am willing to pay. Within reason, mind."

Harry cocked his head, suddenly curious. "A favour, from me? Friends don't ..."

"Yes, from you. Do try to keep up, Harry." Snape cut him off before Harry could finish the sentence.

"Are you sure I can't even offer you a tea?"

Snape shook his head and glared at him.

"And you wonder why you aren't invited to parties..." Harry muttered under his breath.

"I should have known this was a bad idea. Good day, Mr Potter." Snape squared his shoulders and turned to leave.

"Wait. Severus, I'm sorry. Please? What do you want?"

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I need three Ashwinder eggs."

"For a potion?"

"No, for breakfast. What do you think, Potter?"

Harry snorted. "Harry. Don't tell me you are brewing a love potion?"

"I should have known, Harry, of all the things to remember from class it would be this... No, I am not brewing Amortentia."

"Then tell me why you need it."

Snape glared at him. "I need it for a liver regeneration potion."

"A hangover cure? For who? Can't you get that at St. Mungos?"

"Whom. If you would let me finish... and no, I cannot. The potion is for my father."

"Can't he get it at St. Mungos?"

"No."

"Why? I mean..."

"HALF Blood Prince."

Harry stared at him blankly.

Snape sighed. "My father is a Muggle, Potter..."

"Oh right. But... I do remember, ehm, I saw some of your memories. Sorry about that, by the way. But I mean, why would you?"

Snape glared at him. "Why would I do what, Mr Potter? Let someone die because I dislike them?"

Harry shuffled some papers on his desk. He had the grace to feel ashamed.

"Will you get me those eggs or not?" Snape's fingers drummed a rhythm of impatience on the back of the armchair.

"I'm sorry. Of course, I will help you."

"This leaves the price negotiation open."

"Huh?"

"I will, of course, pay for the eggs. As for the favour. Name your price."

"Mmh, that is quite sudden." Harry's Slytherin side was all ears and providing some interesting suggestions.

"If you need time to think about it?"

"No, no. I know what I want: Dinner!" Harry grinned at Snape's flabbergasted expression.

"You want me to cook dinner for you? Don't you have a house-elf?"

"Eh, no, I don't. Kreacher's on loan to Bill and Fleur. The baby is a lot of work."

"How magnanimous of you. When?"

Harry picked up his quill, twirling it between his fingers. "When what?"

"Dinner, Harry."

"Oh, Saturday evening fine with you?"

"Let me check my overflowing social calendar." When had Harry started to think of Snape's prickliness as adorable.? "Yes, Saturday is fine. What do you want to eat?"

"Mmh, surprise me.

Snape's smirk made Harry back paddle fast. "I meant in a good way!"

"You should have said. No escargot then?"

"Escar-what?"

"Snails, Potter." He gave Harry a glance that was a thesaurus of the word "idiot."

"Oh, you mean those slimy French things. I think had them during 4th year. They're okay."

Snape gave him a rare smile. "Sometimes you surprise me, Harry. In a good way."

Harry walked past the cubicles in Snape's department, levitating two mugs of coffee in front of him. He gently set them down on the cluttered table.

"Morning."

Snape peered at him over the edge of his paper, folding it neatly before putting it on top of the stack on the floor. He picked up the mug closest to him and frowned.

"This better be yours, Potter. It looks disgustingly watered down with condiments."

Harry took the mug out of his hand and gave Snape a sunny smile. "Good morning to you, too, and yes, this is mine. The aqua regia is in the other mug."

"Aren't we lucky the Ministry does not make us dine from golden plates..." Snape snorted. "I am not sure whether I should be impressed that you actually know what aqua regia is or further mock your - for the lack of a better word - choice in beverages."

Harry harrumphed in response, choosing to ignore the comment, sipping his blissfully hot, sweet, milky coffee. It really took off that early-morning, Snape-induced homicidal urge.

Snape reached down, opening one of his desk drawers, pulling out a bundled up blue chequered cloth napkin, placing it in the middle of his desk.

"Biscuit?"

"Why thanks. There's only the boring plain ones left in the staff room..." Harry reached out to take one and stopped. "Tell me you didn't..."

Snape smirked at him. "Didn't what?"

Harry helped himself to two biscuits, dunking one into his coffee.

Balancing the crumbling biscuit to his mouth he spluttered. "You bastard, you picked out all the jam-centred ones!"

Snape popped a biscuit into his mouth and chewed with exaggerated care. "Good, aren't they?"

:::

Saturday came sooner than expected and before Harry could so much as protest, he was put to work peeling potatoes in his own kitchen. Snape was reading instructions from a newspaper cut out.

"Hey, is that from the Sunday edition?" Harry quipped, trying to get a better view at the recipe.

"No, Wednesday. Don't you know anything, Potter? Recipes are in the Wednesday edition." Snape set the oven to medium heat, closing the glass door, taking another look at the paper.

"Oh, I ...It seems we are at an impasse, it says here the roast takes an hour per pound." Snape glanced at his watch. "Ergo it will be ready at 8 pm."

"What do you mean? Two hours? But I'm starving. Now!" Harry added for emphasis.

Snape poured himself a glass of the red he had brought with him. "Don't you have a snack lying around, or something?"

"Well, there is that bag of Walkers that I had with sandwiches this lunch."

"That will do." He poured another glass and handed it to Harry. "Lead the way, oh master of the house."

Between handfuls of crisps, the wine Snape had brought to go with the roast didn't last long. Harry dug up a left over bottle of semi-sweet champagne from New Year's. Dignity long abandoned they both sprawled on the couch, Snape's suit jacket draped over the armrest, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, Harry's feet propped up on the occasional table.

The fire crackled cosily in the background.

Harry shifted closer to Snape, drawn by the man's presence. Out of impulse he reached out and ran a finger along the vivid, pink scar on Snape's neck. Snape stiffened, his hand instantly reaching up to cover his neck, breathing hard.

"Severus, I never asked ...",Harry leaning in, trying to meet Severus's eyes.

Snape suddenly whipped around, fury in his eyes. "How on earth do you think I survived? Bloody bird cried for me, that is how."

He turned away, staring into the flames again, his voice low, defeated. "No thanks to you, either."

He took a sip from his glass, staring into the contents, there was a tremble to his words, as if the memory was still fresh, still pained him. "I was done with it. I intend to end it that night. Instead I got dumped into this purgatory of a desk job with the best thing to look forward to all week is cooking you dinner." He drained the rest of his champagne in one go and nearly jumped when Harry covered his hand with his.

"I was looking forward to this, too," His thumb gently caressing Snape's palm.

"Harry..." He looked down at their joined hand and up again at Harry. Harry licked his lips and leaned closer, gently kissing him on the mouth.

Snape's eyes went as wide as saucers and he bolted from the couch towards the kitchen. "The roast, don't you smell the roast? It's burning. Can't you smell it? I smell smoke."

Harry smiled to himself. So a chase it was.

When he entered the kitchen Snape was busy fiddling with the roast, using a big ladle to scoop up the juices into a pot, presumably to make gravy later. Harry stood in the doorway admiring his arse.

"Do you need help with that?" Harry stepped up behind Severus, looking over his shoulder, his leg oh so accidentally brushing against Snape's. Snape nearly dropped the ladle.

"Get me the salt and the thyme, will you, Potter."

Harry pressed closer to Severus, reaching up to open the cabinet above the counter. There, in neat little rows, many of them still bearing the vendor's seal, stood dozens of tiny jars and bottles. Harry brushed his lips against Snape's ear "... spicy enough for you?"

Harry noticed with satisfaction that even though Severus nearly dropped the ladle he didn't move away. The roast looked good, though, after they cut off the tiny burned bit on top.

"We need something for the gravy. I know we drank all the wine, so ...?"

"Hold on, let me have a look, I doubt there is much, though." He looked mournfully at the empty wine bottle and started rummaging through the cabinets. Harry stood up and put two bottles on the counter, dusting off his trousers.

"Well, this is it, cooking sherry or.." he eyed the clear bottle with the immersed gold flakes suspiciously, "...whatever Danziger Goldwasser is?"

Snape made a grab for the cooking sherry. "Aniseed schnapps, tastes a bit like liquorice."

"Ew, well I guess that is one for the bin..."

"We could give it a try for afters."

Harry decided, after a glass or two, that is was rather pleasant indeed. Even though he thought it didn't taste of aniseed all that much. More like roses, really.

"I should go." Putting down his empty glass onto the occasional table, Snape smoothed down his wrinkled waistcoat, his eyes still on Harry. Dark, hooded. Unreadable.

"Is it that late already?" Harry gave him a warm, winning, and slightly inebriated smile, forcing himself to get up from his comfortable position amidst the cushions on the couch.

Snape nodded and walked over to the floo, the heat of the fire seeping through the rough wool of his clothes. Harry stepped up next to him, revelling in the closeness, his hand reaching out, gently resting on Snape's upper arm. Touching Snape brought his spinning world into focus.

"Severus? You could stay a little longer. Have another glass, or ..."

Snape's proximity burned brighter in Harry's senses than the fire behind them. Snape shook his head silently and reached for the floo powder on the mantle when Harry's hand stopped his, their fingers intertwining.

"Harry... I don't think this is a good idea."

"Then don't think." Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Severus's, swaying just a little. He moaned with the rightness of the contact. Harry licked his lips.

"Why?" Snape looked trapped, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild.

"I don't know." Harry shrugged, running his fingers caressingly along Snape's jaw, tangling in his hair.

"You are drunk."

Harry giggled. "Does it matter?" Harry kissed him again, his tongue teasing its way to a passionate response. "It feels right."

Snape looked like some inner argument was fought and won. He reached out and caressed Harry's cheek. "Yes, it does."

Harry woke at the break of dawn to gentle hands caressing his body, teasing lips ghosting over his skin. The drowsy haze of sleep mingled pleasantly with the arousal of his lover's tender touch.

Harry moaned when slippery fingers ran down his spine, teased between his cheeks, the tip of one breaching him, barely, deliciously pushing in.

Harry wriggled back against Snape's finger, wanting it all the way in, willing it to press just there. He moaned and arched his back, begging for more. "Severus, please."

Harry's quiet moan echoed loud in the hush of dawn. He felt Snape draw back and stiffen as if the sound had broken a spell. Harry turned his head to press a tender kiss to Snape's shoulder, flicking his tongue over the velvety skin. Finally, after one long hesitant moment, he felt Snape's prick, plump and hard, pressing, sliding into him. Snape's leg nudged between his, pushing it up, Snape pushing into Harry, onto Harry until Harry lay face down on the bed his arse gloriously full of Snape's cock.

Snape nuzzled his neck, his hands gliding over Harry's body, as if to memorize the feel of the soft hair on his arms, the crisp curls of the wiry hair leading to his cock, of every curve, every scar. Snape's long fingers teased over Harry hard cock, collecting the pearl of pre-come glistening there.

Snape's ragged breath slid like burning silk over Harry's skin when that digit pressed against Harry's lips. Tasting himself on Snape's middle-finger, he sucked it in to the second knuckle, running his tongue over the length of it, teasing the tender skin where it dipped in to join the hand. Snape's moan was hot and heavy on his skin and Harry found himself desperately, passionately kissed.

Snape started to move with the rhythm his tongue dictated, slow and deep and oh so good. Harry never would have thought Snape to be capable of such tenderness and caring.

Slow and sensual turned into hot and passionate and Harry enjoyed being at the utter mercy of Snape's cock thrusting in and out of his arse, deliciously filling him over and over again. Snape's hand joined his and Harry's last thought before he losing consciousness to glorious white hot orgasm was that sex had never felt this right, this perfect before.

He felt the gentle caress of a wordless cleaning charm whisper over his skin. Sleep claimed him again not long after, his head resting in the crock of Snape's shoulder, where it belonged.

When Harry awoke again, he was alone.

He rolled over and yawned, lazily stretching in the Sunday morning sun, basking in the heady buzz glow that a really good fuck will leave behind. He reached over and pulled the other pillow close, burring his face in it.

Snape had left. He wasn't that surprised. It was such a Snape-ish thing to do, too. Sneaking out in the dead of night... For all that the idea of having Snape here with him did have erotic merits, Harry could not, for the life of him, picture Snape having breakfast in bed. He accioed his bathrobe and went into the kitchen to fix himself some coffee. Waiting for the kettle to boil he flipped through the Sunday edition of the Prophet, noting with a grin that Snape had pinched the entertainment section with the crossword.

His stomach grumbled. He really needed to start shopping for groceries at one point. Chucking back his coffee decided to have a quick shower and grab lunch at the Three Bs. He penned a short noticed to Ron to meet him there if he is free and flooed it over. Even years later he still could not get himself to replace Hedwig.

Stepping under the warm spray he let the warm water run over his face, down his chest and felt it glide sensuously over his already half hard prick. He moaned, exposing his neck to the smooth flow, falling on his face, catching on his lower lip, filling his mouth, reviving in delicious aftershocks the feeling of Snape's fingers, mouth, tongue on his skin.

Harry reached for the soap, the motion of his hand covering his body in sudsy white lather, bubbles following the flow of the water, dripping, mingling dancing in creamy swirls towards the drain. Harry caught some of them in the hollow of his hand, smoothing them down his chest, wrapping his fingers around his cock, imagining the silky friction to be Snape's hands, Snape's mouth. Harry moaned, steadying himself on the white tiled wall. He reached past the shower curtain, fumbling for his wand on the little wooden stool next to the bathtub. With a swish and flick and a muttered word the terry-cloth started to slide over the ivory bar, gently lathering his neck and shoulders.

Enjoying the feel of invisible fingers massaging his back, Harry let the memory of last night seduce him into orgasm.

On Monday, Harry entered the staff room carrying a big paper bag with iced buns, whistling a virulently obnoxious tune he had picked up - and strapped to his back, lacking the ability to carry one - this morning from the wireless. Emptying the pastries into a large wooden bowl, he stuffed one in his mouth and stepped over to the counter to pour himself a cup of the ever present, ever mediocre office coffee, adding two spoonful of sugar and, after giving it a haphazard taste, adding three more and some milk for good measure.

Snape had made the coffee, he was pretty certain of that. Snape was... standing in the corner clutching a mug, no, striding past Harry with a curt nod and a 'Morning Potter'. Snape was ...gone.

Harry watched the door slam shut and realized that Snape, once again, had stolen his breakfast. For some reason it made him smile.

At lunch Harry barely saw so much as Snape's back before the older man practically grabbed his tray and fled from the room. It took two casual strolls past Snape's cubicle that had the man suspiciously absent for it to dawn on Harry that Snape was avoiding him.

So it was that Snape found himself pulled into the stationary store room not far from Potter's office and trapped against the door.

"What the hell.."

Harry grinned up at him. "I think that's my question, Severus. I was starting to get the impression that you are avoiding me."

"What ever gave you that impression?" Snape tried to say with unconvincing nonchalance. It would have worked better without the blush creeping onto his cheek.

"Let's start with you being gone Sunday morning." Harry nuzzled his neck. "Another go would have been nice."

"Potter!"

Harry ran his lips teasingly over Snape's, his tongue flickering the tiniest bit between Snape's lips. Snape's breathing became more ragged, his hands like claws on Harry's shoulders.

"If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so."

"If this is a joke Potter..."

Harry kissed him. With lips and teeth and tongue.

"No," he sighed as he pulled Severus's shirt out of his trousers and slid his hands up his chest, "This," Harry kissed him again, "is a beginning."

-end