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The Hart Flies Fast	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 8669 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Hart Flies Fast
- 2-Chapter 2
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            The place of the ambush turns out to be a Ministry gala. Of course, Harry Potter normally never attends these. The Auror career he planned on--and that the Ministry apparently also planned on--never worked out, and he doesn't have a reason to hang around people he dislikes in fancy dress robes talking stuffy politics.
            But Severus understands his prey now, the prey that wants to be caught, and he's absolutely sure that Potter will be there. For one thing, he has friends attending, and for another, Hermione Weasley receives an award tonight for her work in the name of restricting house-elf abuse. Severus knows that she would want Potter there, and knows that Potter won't disappoint his friend.
            This time, Severus is the one who spots Potter from a distance, and he puts down the drink he only ever pretended to sip from and blends into the crowd. Potter wears a burgundy dress robe that flatters him not at all and stands near the dais Granger will ascend to receive her award, tugging now and then at his lace collar.
            By the time Severus is halfway to him, Potter's head has come up and he's turned around. Although Severus has given no warning, he thinks, of his stealthy approach, Potter's eyes slip past a few people and fix directly on him.
            Severus smiles at him and keeps coming. He wonders if Potter will create a distraction the way he did at the wedding. Or perhaps he'll stay subtle and use the secrecy that has protected him as the Vigilante so far.
            It's the latter. Potter grins dazzlingly, daringly, at Severus, but doesn't move from his place at the dais as Severus slides in beside him. He only murmurs, "You keep your promise of a hunt, don't you?"
            "Technically, this hunt had only two steps," Severus says, and turns towards him. He knows that Potter will see his hand near his wand, where he can prevent dramatic escapes, if necessary. "One where I told you I wanted you, and you fled. And this one. Can you call it a thrilling hunt when it comes to that?"
            His voice is taunting, and Potter meets his eyes. He has his own hands down near his waist, but away from his body, making it harder for him to catch up his wand. "What it lacks in length, it makes up for in intensity."
            Severus smiles and starts to answer, but then an unnatural hush falls over the ballroom, and Potter reaches out and squeezes his wrist. "It's time for Hermione to get her award," he whispers. "She would never forgive me if I left now."
            Or caused some other problem now. Severus can translate the unspoken easily enough. He nods and leans back so that they can both watch Granger, made lovely by the determination in her face rather than the fiercely straightened hair and the swirling gown she wears, walk up the stairs.
            The position puts Severus's hand near the small of Potter's back. He massages it slowly, while Potter's eyes widen and gleam. Of course, someone watching from a distance--like one of Potter's acquaintances--would surely see only the usual pride and love that Potter has always displayed for his friend. Nothing else.
            Granger makes a short speech that Potter whoops at and applauds, and so does most of the rest of the party, without the whooping. Severus hears none of it. He is busy letting his hand explore under Potter's robes, and find out if the body that looked fit and lithe when Potter was challenging him is really that way.
            Yes, it is. Potter's muscles shift and flow like a dragon's coiled ones, and there's the slender strength that reminds Severus of an Antipodean Opaleye. Severus will never have anything to complain about in that department.
            He drops his hand as Potter turns towards him, but before he can speak, Granger steps down from the dais and directly in front of him.
            "Professor Snape, sir! Harry never told me you were coming." She gives Potter a chiding look.
            "Oh, he was a surprise guest," Potter says airily, exactly as if they have arranged this the way Granger so obviously thinks they have, and he winks at Severus over Granger's head.
            "It was a bit of a last-minute invitation," Severus says, and gave a short inclination that Granger can decide is a bow if she's feeling generous. Apparently she is, because her cheeks glow again. "Congratulations, Mrs.--Weasley." He remembers her new name at the last moment; it is so easy to think of her as Granger. Of all the students in Potter's year, she has changed the least. "On both your wedding and your reward."
            "Thank you," Granger says, and looks back and forth between him and Potter for a moment with a puzzled smile. Severus can feel her trying to decide what's going on, if Severus is being polite because of Potter, or whether it's stranger that Severus is bothering to be polite at all when Potter is around.
            Once again, it is of no importance to Severus what she decides. He looks at Potter and says, "There is the matter of the other thing you promised me, besides the invitation."
            "What's that?" Potter plays the part of someone who's forgotten as easily as he plays the part of someone who invited Severus. He reaches out a hand a moment before Severus's hand extends. Severus reckons that he must have seen the unconscious quiver of motion in Severus's arm before Severus fully made the movement.
            During the war, having anyone who could read him like that, friend or foe, would have terrified Severus. Now it makes him desire Potter all the more.
            "A dance," Severus says, and nods to the floor of the ballroom. The Ministry encourages dancing whenever it can, partially because it seems to think that joy and rapid movement will make more people forget about the war, and partially because even the traditional pure-bloods think it a courtly and acceptable entertainment. "This will be good dancing music."
            "Well, I did warn you that I'm pants at dancing," Potter says, and nods to the puzzled Granger--Weasley--and follows Severus out on the floor. When they're far enough away that she can't overhear them, Potter bends near Severus and adds, "That's not a lie. You ought to have seen me dancing at the Yule Ball. I can't."
            "You think I would care?" Severus murmurs, and turns his head to the side to feel Potter's lips in his hair.
            "I could make you look silly."
            Severus smiles. "I am past that worry," he says, and then whirls Potter into the first step of the dance, which Potter does perfectly, maybe because his eyes are fixed on Severus.
            "You don't care about it anymore?" Potter couldn't have looked more startled if Severus told him that he had a secret second head he's spent all this time tending.
            "Not that," Severus says, and again swings Potter in a motion that makes his cloak swirl out behind him. This is really where the fashion for cloaks came from, he thinks, because they make graceful movements in dancing, rather than because they provide protection from the weather; they do not provide that much. "I know that you are graceful enough to challenge me on the dance floor. No one who leaped from that arbor would not be."
            Potter's eyes kindle again, the way they did when Severus flung the challenge at him at Weasley and Granger's wedding. His hands slide into new positions within Severus's, and firm. He leans towards him and breathes, "Then let's see what I can make you do."
            That is the beginning of the most intoxicating dance of Severus's life, the back and forth motions of their legs and arms echoing the humming of Severus's own heart, the lead switching back and forth so often that Severus can only rarely tell who has it, and the memories blurring into one long stream of heat and passion marked out by certain gleaming moments.
            There is the moment when Potter spins him so fast that Severus's cloak coils around him, and then Potter stops and pulls him out with a snap so that the cloak drifts out, perfectly limp again, and tamely puddling on the ground, instead of wrapping around Severus in a way that might have been embarrassing.
            There is the moment when Severus becomes aware that many people in the ballroom have paused to watch them, and instead of the cringing and snarling he would have expected to feel under this press of attention, he feels instead a near-mindless exultation. Yes, see the prize I have snatched, which you cannot even attempt to claim.
            There is the moment when Severus bends near Potter and forces him back and back down, until Potter's cloak is almost flat on the floor and his heels are skidding. Potter looks back at him with the same slight, trustful, challenging smile he has worn since he begun this, silently telling Severus to drop him if that's what he's going to do, but at the same moment knowing he won't.
            And Severus draws him back up again and into the next turn, and Potter laughs aloud freely and copies him, and Severus is glad he has left the days behind when he would have thought that laughter a taunt.
            One thing is certain: By the end of the dance, Severus hears his name in Potter's mouth, and Potter has become Harry.
            And there is only one place they can go from here. Severus leaves the ballroom with a possessive arm around Harry that Harry doesn't dispute, and Apparates the moment they're outside, in a place where the Ministry's protective enchantments don't prevent it, Harry still cradled against his side.
*
            Severus has anticipated the end of the hunt with smiles to himself and imaginings of what Potter will do, will say, how he will fall back with his eyes wide open. Severus even thought it possible that the Ministry ball might not be the end of the hunt, that he might let Potter go and continue the chase in other realms despite his urge to make it brief. He did not intend to do that, but he pictured Potter's trembling anxiety as too delicious to resist.
            Now, he knows that Harry's prancing into the net and looking coyly at Severus over his shoulder is more delicious still.
*
            They are kissing the moment they appear in Severus's home, in the large drawing room that he has fitted up with comfortable chairs for fellow brewers and for the very few clients who need a private consultation. Severus backs Harry up so that his spine falls against one of the chairs and he drapes over it, head towards the fireplace, while Severus bites and sucks on his throat.
            Severus cannot get enough of the taste of Harry's skin. It's as though it's the meals he couldn't enjoy, when he ate them in the middle of bickering children and bickering colleagues at Hogwarts. The meals salted with honor and ashes during the war. The healing for the taste of thick poison that moved down his throat when Nagini bit him.
            Harry is whining by the time Severus finally pays attention to any part of him other than his neck, and his eyes are intense with need. He tries to take one of Severus's hands and guide it down between his legs.
            But although Severus is determined to have his reward and keep his reward, he is both more patient than Harry and more in control. He tugs his hand back and wraps it around Harry's neck instead, urging him to open his mouth with quick motions of his own tongue. When Harry does, then Severus enters and tastes him there.
            His taste is triumph.
            "Severus--" Harry gasps, trying to open his legs and get Severus's hand between them at the same moment. Or maybe he's trying to hang onto Severus's thigh with his thighs and ride it. He doesn't seem to know what he wants more.
            Severus does, and once again that's an advantage. He pulls back and turns Harry gently towards the bedroom, pushing him with one hand in the middle of his back and one hand on the nape of his neck. It's a good position in that, while Harry writhes enticingly, he can't quite get into one where he can force Severus's hands to slip and do something to him.
            The bedroom is the most private of Severus's private places, not right off the drawing room, where a curious guest might open the door and see it, but beyond a small room that he has decorated in Gryffindor colors for the pure satisfaction of being able to trample on red and gold every day. Harry is gaping by the time they enter the actual bedroom.
            Its colors are deep and pale, the walls both black and white, decorated with paint in a series of rippling rings that let Severus rest his eyes and be startled, both at once. The ceiling is enchanted to reflect the stars that shone at the hour of his birth. Small cauldrons dangle from hooks, and parchment covers the table beside the bed, bearing midnight ideas and notations for experimental brews. Severus wants his room to reflect all of who he is.
            Harry stops squirming when they come in, his head tilted back and his mouth open. Severus allows him a moment or so to absorb it. Then he shoves Harry towards the bed, not decorated in special colors although it is large and comfortable, and Harry tumbles and rolls lithely over.
            Severus was counting on his grace, but he forgot about his speed. In seconds, Harry has his hands on his dress robes, and he pulls them over his head.
            His beauty and grace hits Severus like a blast, like the sight of his room might have hit Harry. He reaches out a hand which is trembling in the most ridiculous way, and strokes Harry's smooth skin with a murmur of appreciation that he can't hold back. Harry lifts one leg high, and Severus thinks he is trying to show off his flexibility.
            He is not. Instead, Harry lifts his leg high enough that Severus can see part of his arsehole, and wriggles enticingly.
            Severus loses his head entirely.
            His own dress robes all but burn his skin as he tears them off, and he leaps unhesitatingly towards the bed, trusting it to catch him, trusting Harry to be there. Harry is, welcoming him in with eager legs and mouth and arms and tongue; everything that can be open about him is open, and he wriggles again.
            Severus finds himself unexpectedly in the right place, and pulls back to gasp. He thinks that he wanted to speak words, but they get lost in the rough exhalation.
            Harry seems to know he means caution, but he only grins and snaps his fingers in a peculiar way, exaggerating their motions past each other. A second later, Severus finds his cock covered in a lube that seems to be exactly room temperature, and Harry has rolled them to the side so that he's folded over but raising a leg high again, and Severus is entering his arse, which also seems to be lubed.
            Severus has room, and time, for a single, jealous thought: How often has he done this, if he has those spells literally at his fingertips?
            Then jealousy floods away, burning into emptiness as Harry continues his wriggling and thrusting, and manages to end up with Severus on his back, Harry rising over him on his knees. The sex is rough and fast-paced enough that Severus thinks Harry might be in pain. He would hold back if his own impatient desire would let him.
            And if Harry would let him. As it is, Harry bounces over him, doing almost all the work, driving Severus into himself, himself onto Severus, so fast that it steals Severus's protests to watch him. And the pleasure. It crashes and spirals over him, all black like Harry's flying hair and green like Harry's blazing eyes and red like the inside of his eyelids when Severus has to shut them in unwilling ecstasy.
            He didn't know, when he started looking for his reward. He didn't know it would be like this. He thought the thrill of the hunt would be the greatest thing, and that he would enjoy a long, slow, exquisite taking. Surely that would be the best thing, the only requirement, for a man whom the war deprived of so many kinds of slow enjoyment.
            Instead, this is violent and shining and fast, racing with fire, both the feeling inside Severus's body and what he sees outside when he opens them. Harry hasn't once slackened his pace, and watching him should make Severus feel tired. Instead, it seems that Harry is funneling his fire, his energy, directly into Severus, and Severus feels the urge to mount higher, to fly faster, and not care about the inevitable fall from a height.
            Harry will make the fall worth it.
            Harry is the first to climax, which perhaps is fitting, given how hard he's worked for it, stopping abruptly above Severus and sitting on air and only part of Severus's cock with his mouth open and his tongue moving in aborted words. Then he lets out a long, hot breath that Severus can feel all the way from here, and comes, and collapses.
            Severus feels the burning urge from the splatter of heat across his stomach, and he takes over to drive his hips into Harry as he couldn't do before now. Harry took even that away from him, overrunning fire that he is.
            Severus has time for a few good thrusts, to feel how slick and easy the lube makes things, and to sense the trembling tension rising in him, flight no longer but the moment of fall.
            It is pleasure, it is beyond pleasure. It is release and echo of all the feelings that Severus contained during the war, because he had to contain them, and now they burst free and run in whatever direction they like. Severus's hands tighten on Harry's hips, and he thinks Harry must wince, but Harry only opens his eyes and whispers encouragement, eyes bright again.
            Perhaps energy returns easily to him, but it does not to Severus. As he falls back, limp and panting, he has the strength for only one gesture. He manages to tip them slowly enough that Harry falls onto instead of off the bed, and then he wraps his arms around Harry, and locks them in place around his waist.
            Harry pauses, and looks at him. His eyes are almost too bright to face, but only almost.
            "I wouldn't run away without telling you goodbye, you know," Harry whispers.
            "I know, but I do not intend for you to run away at all," Severus murmurs. At least some strength has also returned to his tongue.
            Harry pauses again, his head tilting to the side like a curious kitten examining a piece of string held out for it. Then he grins. "You think that most people wouldn't expect to see us together?"
            "I am certain of it," Severus says, although after their dance tonight, he thinks that some observers won't be as surprised as they would have been. But the proportion of people who can use their brains is still as small as it ever was.
            Harry grins more widely. "And you think it would be a challenge for us to go on forgetting about the past and courting each other?"
            "Yes," Severus says. He hasn't thought about the courtship, the hunt, taking place beyond the moment he snared Harry, but he sees the sense in the suggestion now. Of course they will have fights, and their bond will need to be established again after each one.
            "And you think it would be harder for me to be the Vigilante around you?" Harry ducks his head and studies Severus beneath his eyelashes.
            "Yes," Severus says. "As I intend to find other uses for both your skills and your energy."
            Harry gives that free, loud laugh again, and curls up beside him. "Then this is challenge enough for me to stay around."
*
            There are still plenty of challenges from other people that Severus does not enjoy half as much as challenges from Harry. And times when they fight spectacularly, as much of a comet's fire swirling between them as it does during sex.
            But always, always there is the endless passion of the fire between them, fire that can be coaxed out with kisses as well as angry words, and there is the magic Harry shows Severus that is beyond what Severus ever studied, and the potions Severus shows Harry that Harry at last has the freedom to pay attention to, and there is endless interest in the way their souls eddy back and forth between them.
            For both of them, the hunt will never end.
            The End.
*
            lexiatel: Thank you!
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The Hart Flies Fast