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Stolen Moments	By : atdelphi Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3081 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Stolen Moments
- 1
Stolen Moments

He meets Severus at the door, glass of wine in hand.

"My dear," he says, offering Severus a kiss on the cheek and the glass in exchange for a dusty black travelling bag.

He doesn't ask how Severus's day was. He already knows. There are few secrets kept between the members of the Order of the
Phoenix, save perhaps, just why it is that Severus Snape never stays at the Black house for dinner.

"I can only spare an hour," Severus says, shrugging, running a hand through his windswept hair.

He forces a smile, and reaches out to smooth a particularly stubborn black cowlick. "Well now," he says. "I suppose we
will just have to make the most of it. Now come eat, you're looking even thinner than you were yesterday."

There is that ghost of a smile on Severus's face. "Yes, Headmaster."

5:09 p.m.

He pours himself another glass of wine.

He's losing his appetite, watching Severus push his food around on his plate. Severus notices, and takes a bite of potato.

"I thought you liked lamb," Albus says mildly.

This is an untruth. It's impossible to say whether Severus calls any food a favourite. He eats whatever is put in front
of him, clockwise around his plate, beginning with the dish closest to him. There are, however, a few meals during which
Albus has noticed him rationing one particular dish. A bite of meat, and then the asparagus, for instance. A little more
meat, and then the bread.

Albus doesn't care much for lamb, but ordered it because he enjoys watching Severus tease himself.

Severus shrugs, and spears a shred, dipping it into the mint jelly. "I'm expected at the Malfoys' for a late dinner."

"Ah," Albus says contritely. By mutual accord, Harry Potter and Lucius Malfoy, among others, have no place in this room,
at this time.

He leans across the table and steals one of Severus's potatoes, so that his own plate doesn't look so empty.

Severus sighs. "It's excellent lamb, Albus," he says, and with a glance heavenward for patience, he starts in on the rest
of it.

5:15 p.m.

He licks his lips.

The wine is exceptional - Valerius Vintner's Chateau Enchante, 1942 � and he loves to watch Severus drink it.

5:25 p.m.

He leaves the dishes for later.

He puts Mendelssohn's "String Octet" on the victriola, while Severus stretches out on the couch.

Severus runs his thumb over his lips. "Hurry up," he murmurs.

5:26 p.m.

He discovers that Severus's mouth still tastes of the lamb. It's a strong, but not entirely unpleasant flavour, and
anyway, he is still hungry. Severus is dressed down to his shirtsleeves and trousers, and isn't going anywhere, not just
yet, not with Albus flat on top of him.

"You taste delightful with mint jelly," Albus tells him, flicking open a few of Severus's shirt buttons and stroking his
bare skin.

"Mmm," Severus purrs, and smirks, baring his throat for further attentions. "Do I really?"

"Delicious," he promises, and proves it by kissing him again.

Severus twines one hand in Albus's beard, the other slipping through the folds of his robes. His fingers are, as always,
marvellously dexterous. He seeks out Albus's ticklish spots, pressing just hard enough to draw out a gasp or two. His
fingertips stray to Albus's waistband, but no further.

That could be as far as they take it. Such is the case, most nights. The spirit is always willing, of course, but the
flesh is often tired, and getting older with every day that crawls by. Much of the time, they'll simply kiss for as long
as they can, Severus with his eyes closed, and Albus with his open. Bared chests are fair game, nipples and collarbones,
and anywhere else where it is pleasurable to touch and be touched.

Sometimes, when Severus is particularly ardent, Albus will take him to bed. Severus likes to sit up against the headboard
and watch while Albus takes him in his mouth. He'll look on quietly, with intent interest, until his breath comes quickly
and his eyes flutter shut.

Sometimes, when Albus is able, he allows Severus to return the favour. He would certainly be amenable tonight, he thinks,
as Severus's knees come up on either side of him. He nudges forward, until they're lined up just right again.

Severus is the first to start moving his hips, tentatively at first, then harder as he seems to realise that Albus isn't
stopping him. His embrace is particularly fierce tonight. He is nearly trembling for the want of it, and that desire
makes Albus crave him even more.

Already, he's imagining with some anticipation, the slow slick feeling of Severus's mouth around his cock.

5:38 p.m.
lbuslbus? Will you fuck me tonight?"

5:39 p.m.

"Albus, for pity's sake, don't make me wait."

5:40 p.m.

He wonders if his heart is going to burst.

The couch is too narrow. The bed is too far. They're down on their knees, down on the rug. Severus is clutching the
couch cushions, and Albus is clutching Severus.

It's an inelegant coupling, utterly without class. They're still in their shirts and socks, and Albus's trousers are
bunched around his ankles. And by God, it's crass. They're using the butter from the dinner tray, and Albus's hands are
greasy with it, pawing at Severus's hips, trying to find just the right balance.

"Yes," Severus sighs when they find it, easing himself back.

Albus holds him there for a moment, savouring the sweet ache of their bodies joined together. Severus is hot inside, in a
way that no one else in this world would ever believe from his icy hands, and it seems as if that heat bubbles right up in
him at times like this, spilling out of his mouth.

"Oh fuck," Severus moans, his voice like lava. "Forgot how good...Albus..."

"That's it," Albus mutters. He tries not to look at the clock.

5:41 p.m.

"Harder," Severus sighs. "I want to feel it tomorrow."

5:42 p.m.

He kisses Severus's neck, the taut line across his shoulders. All the things he wants to say, burning into Severus's skin.

I love you.

Don't let me lose you.

Don't let me leave you.

"Severus..."

Just a whisper in reply: "Harder."

5:46 p.m.

He can't stop himself now. This is his favourite part, when Severus doesn't allow him to speak.

"Oh..."

"Shh."

"Severus."

"Shh."

Severus is the only man he's ever known who needs utter concentration to have an orgasm, something that tickles him to no
end. It makes every drawn-out moan seem like a quiet victory, and it never fails to make spe spend his seed when Severus
finally loses himself.

5:48 p.m.

Just.

Trembling. "Just a little more..."

Like.

Arching. "Albus..."

That.

Sobbing. "Oh, Albus."

5:49 p.m.

"Severus..."

5:52 p.m.

He catches his breath.

"What time is it?" Severus asks, his voice muffled by cushions. He is boneless, sprawled forward on the couch.

"Ten more minutes."

"Ah."

"Come," Albus says, and sits back on his heels, pulling Severus back into his lap. He eases the both of them down onto
their sides, grabbing an afghan from off the couch to cover up.

They lie on the floor, sticky and sweaty, reeking of sex and butter.

"I think I rather needed that," Severus says faintly.

Albus finds himself smiling. He can't recall when Severus has ever admitted aloud to needing anything, least of all him.
Better late than never. That is a necessary mantra in these times.

"So did I," he replies, and tightens his arm around Severus's belly.

5:54 p.m.

He is savouring the silence when Severus stirs suddenly.

"I might be able to get away for longer tomorrow," Severus says. "If you have the time."

"I think I'll be able to find a spare minute or two."

"I'm not making any promises."

"I know."

"What time is it now?"

"Six minutes. Now hush," Albus says, and Severus does.

He strokes Severus's belly and drops a kiss on his shoulder. Severus sighs, and Albus smiles a little. For six minutes
more, this gets to be the only thing in the world worth dying for. It is only he and Severus in the east tower suite that
they marginally share. There is no war, in this place. There is no world, only an endless summer, and Albus's sole
concern is how he's going to drag his old bones off the hard floor. And even that doesn't matter, because he doesn't have
to get up for a while yet.

He turns his face away from the clock, so he doesn't have to see six minutes turn into five.

delphi@popullus.net

Singing the Body Electric
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Stolen Moments