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Heat	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 13867 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money off of it. If I did, it would be gay porn and I'd be stinking rich. Alas...

Chapter List
- 1-Heat
- 1
Warnings: Snarry, slash – you know, the usual.

A/N: This story written for Qtness.Quill, who took my 'boxers
or briefs' challenge and ran with it, much to my amusement. Also,
thank you to the others who participated in this challenge. You know
who you are. I got some really great ideas, and so, what was
supposed to be a one-shot is actually now the first story in my
shiny, new 'Snape's Skivvies'
Series.

Qtness.Quill is the author of the
awesomely funny 'Snape's
Curse' (I've never
reviewed it in spite of having read it at least 4 times, because I'm
a horrible person who sucks at reviews.), which I can't recommend to
Snarry fans strongly enough. It's just way
too fun, and I, for one, wish there was a sequel.

Spoilers? – eeeh, nothing substantial. Some very vague, general
mentions from multiple books, but blink and you'll miss them. This
fic may be very slightly AU.
Just try not to think about the timeline too hard or your brain might
implode.

Heat

Part of the 'Snape's Skivvies' Series. Story 1 of 5.

“Ugh.” Harry collapsed on the cool floor of the dormitory
in a heap. He'd considered the bed, but the coverlet looked
stiflingly hot. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
His Gryffindor-red boxers were soaked through from a recent swim in
the lake.

“Blimey,” Ron gasped, collapsing beside him. “I
don't know how much more of this heat wave I can take, mate. It's
bloody mad! Everyone going about in their skivvies like
this.”

“You're just upset that other guys get to see Hermione in her
underwear,” Harry laughed.

“Damn right I am!” Ron declared furiously.

If you'd told Harry a week ago that a freak heat wave would have
everyone on campus running about in their underclothes to prevent
passing out of heat stroke and landing in the infirmary, Harry would
have laughed it off as a bizarre dream. Odd, how the weirdest
possible scenarios always seemed to happen around Hogwarts Castle.

It was, of course, another case of magic gone awry. It started,
somehow, with Neville spilling asphodel extract into Seamus' cauldron
before potions. Seamus, being Seamus, somehow managed to char a
portion of it to the bottom of his cauldron while trying to clean it,
and left it that way because that's when Snape strode indignantly
into the room. “Ten points from Gryffindor. Mr. Longbottom,
your seat is over there. I suggest you're in it before I make
it to my desk,” he'd said.

They were making a general healing potion that contained gurdyroot
and toad stones. Apparently these ingredients did not react well
with slightly charred asphodel, because Seamus' cauldron suddenly
erupted fireworks of bubblegum pink ooze just as Snape was walking
by.

Snape had vanished the disaster and removed his thick outer robe,
which was now smoking, in one smooth motion, and bellowed for the
students to evacuate immediately in his most annoyed tone of voice,
docking Gryffindor another hundred points for 'bumbling ineptitude
and putting your classmates' lives in danger' before ushering the
last student out hurriedly and locking the door on the disaster,
which promptly exploded, mixing with a series of other potions that
had been sitting in Snape's private stores.

In an attempt to clean up the disaster, Filch had used a cleaning
solution that counteracted with the bungled mess of potions, leaving
that portion of the dungeons smelling like bad fish that forced
potions to be taught in the library for three days.

At some point in those three days, one of Hagrid's magical creature
breeds escaped from containment and found it's way into the school.
The professors spent half a day chasing it down, and it retreated
into the off-limits and still extremely volatile potions classroom.
There was another explosion. The creature started belching hot air.

The finally got the thing back into containment only to find whatever
had happened to it was contagious, and within half a week, the
temperature surrounding the castle began to rise. For a while, the
teachers managed to maintain the temperature at least within the
castle, but there was yet another accident that somehow involved Luna
Lovegood's shoes falling victim to an animation charm. The shoes had
run up the hall and stepped on Mrs. Norris' tail. Mrs. Norris
panicked (as cats are wont to do) and leaped toward the wall,
breaking a valve in the kitchens that regulated the furnace. The
house elves disapparated in a panic, the kitchenware ran amok, and
the long and short of it was that the staff was far too busy
repairing the damage to worry about Hagrid's damned illegally bred
lumpy purple, heat-belching cockroaches for the moment--which he
assured everyone should stop burping out bubbles of hot air within a
matter of days, provided he could keep them from reproducing for that
long.

After the first two days of students passing out from the extreme
weather, Dumbledore had decided that 'extreme measures' ought to be
taken and told the students for the time being that they could dress
'however you feel is necessary, so long as anything inappropriate is
covered' to combat the weather. Now everyone was running around in
their underwear. Even Professor McGonagall had caved in and wore a
summer dressing gown and a pair of sandals.

The only person on the campus who refused to bow to the heat was,
predictably, Severus Snape. He still walked about in boots, black
pants, and a long-sleeved tunic—though he had forsaken his
thick outer robes for the time being. Harry didn't know if that was
because Seamus had destroyed the only one he had, or because even he
had to admit he'd not be up to his usual par of bellowing if he was
unconscious on the dungeon floor. Still, just looking at the man
made Harry hot. Every time he laid eyes on a stiff Snape with his
deep glower and furrowed brow, Harry felt as if the temperature had
just gone up twenty degrees. How could he function like that in this
heat? And for that matter, “what the hell is he trying to
hide?”

“Eh?” Ron asked, not sure where his best friend's train
of thought had just been.

“Snape. You see him still walking around covered from tip to
toe. Makes me hot just looking at him. Is he trying to die
of heat stroke?”

Ron gave Harry a wry grin. “You were just looking forward to
seeing the bastard in his skivvies.”

Harry grinned impishly. He'd been
uncertain about telling Ron he was gay, even more uncertain about
telling him he fancied the hell out of Snape, but Ron had taken it
surprisingly well. 'As long as you're not looking to bugger me,
we'll get on just fine,' he'd said. 'And if it's Snape
you're after, then I rather imagine I'm not your type anyway.'
They'd laughed that off and Harry endured a few friendly jokes about
him being a masochist, and not to mention a bit of a weirdo, with a
fetish for grumpy old men.' He didn't think Snape was old,
per say. Dumbledore was old. Snape was just older.
A lot older. But so what? Age is just a number, right? Now Ron
just liked to give him a hard time because that's what best friends
do best. “I wonder if he's the boxers type or the briefs
type,” Harry mused.

Ron just rolled his eyes and got up to grab a fresh pair of his own
boxers. “I'll let you think about that as long as you like. I
rather fancy a bath about now, myself.”

Harry nodded and waved him off. He supposed he'd better change his
own sopping boxers too, then maybe take a little walk around the
dungeons. It was cooler down there, and much to the disdain of many
a Slytherin, a good deal of the student body had taken to hanging
about now that the horrible fish smell was gone. The potions
classroom was still unusable though. If he was lucky, maybe he'd
catch Snape repairing some of the damages. Maybe he could offer to
help. Maybe he could catch Snape checking out his arse. Or maybe,
by some miracle, he could convince Snape to walk around campus in his
skivvies, just like everyone else, before he died of heat stroke.
That was a lot of maybes, but Harry figured there was no harm in
dreaming. It kept his mind off of the weather.

A few minutes later he was padding his way down the dungeon stairs. A
group of Hufflepuffs were passing the time with a good-natured
aguamenti war. These were popular now, because it helped everyone
cool off. Harry narrowly missed a jet of water, and the Hufflepuff
in question shrugged sheepishly and apologized just before ducking to
avoid one coming his way. Just as the boy ducked, Severus Snape
rounded the corner only to be hit square in the chest with a jet of
water. The Hufflepuffs scattered, but not before Snape's temper
overheated and he bellowed after them, “fifty points from
hufflepuff for spell casting in the hallways”, and curling his
lip into a sneer as he noticed one of the wall fixtures dented and
hanging awkwardly from the wall, “another thirty for damaging
Hogwarts property, Mr. Finch-Fletchly!” he added.

Harry fell back as if to become one with the opposing wall as he got
to see Snape, grumbling about irreverent students who needed to learn
some responsibility, peel the sopping white tunic off and ringing it
out. He watched the subtle musculature in the man's back and
forearms flex and bit the inside of his cheek. Snape was skinny,
sure, but he was still toned enough for Harry to ogle the muscles
rippling beneath his pale skin.

The Gryffindor's eyes fell on the
dark mark on Snape's arm and suddenly it dawned on him. 'Oh,
that's why.' That's why his
Professor wouldn't even roll up his sleeves in this heat. He didn't
want anyone to see the dark mark. Pretty much everyone already knew
it was there. It seemed silly to try to hide it, but maybe Snape
felt it was just too personal.

Snape pointed his wand sharply at the bent lantern and firmly said
“Restituo”. It snapped back into shape as if standing at
attention.

“What are you staring at, Mr. Potter?”

Harry startled as the deep voice cut through him. “I, er...”

“Spit it out, boy.”

“I, er, that is, Professor, I
thought...maybe. Uhm. How are the repairs on the potions classroom
going, sir? I...I'm not doing anything now so, uh, I wouldn't mind
helping a bit.” Harry bungled his way through the sentence and
then cursed himself for always sounding like a babbling moron
whenever Snape was around. If he thought about it carefully, he knew
Snape was a total prat – bitter, sarcastic, cruel, and not even
remotely handsome in any of the conventional ways, but then he laid
eyes on the man and thought anyone who called him those things was
deliberately looking for his worst qualities. The firm set of his
jaw, the squareness of his shoulders, his ivory skin and deep black
eyes...the stubborn pride and irrefutable dignity and grace of the
man were enough to make Harry's knees go weak. And that
voice—Merlin,
that honey-thick voice!

Snape stared down at him as if
appraising his usefulness and quirked a brow at the Gryffindor. “I
suppose even you can't
do much more damage than has already been done. So be it, Potter.
You've just signed yourself up for a few hours of manual labor. I
hope you are prepared for it. Come.”

'Really?' Harry thought. He
was sure he'd be shot down instantly. Then again, if it was manual
labor in this stifling heat, Snape would probably be eager to pass it
off onto someone else. He followed his professor
into the classroom. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. The
broken desks were piled in one corner, and the cupboards –
aside from one door hanging off its hinges – had all been
repaired.

Snape turned a sharp glare at this particular cupboard and cast that
same 'restuito' spell rather firmly at it. It snapped back into
place, but the moment he turned his back fell off the hinges again.
Harry smirked a bit behind his hand. Somehow it seemed appropriate
that the furniture in Snape's classroom would be just as stubborn as
the man himself.

Snape pointed his wand again and a bucket trundled out of the closet.
“Fill it with water. You will find rags and a scrub brush in
that disagreeable cupboard. No magic, if you please – there
are still a number of potions burnt into the floor that I have not
entirely neutralized. There is a private washroom behind that door.
Use the sink.”

“Yes sir,” Harry answered, and he thought his voice
sounded unusually timid and small. He couldn't help but open the
medicine cabinet in the washroom. He knew he was just being nosy,
but he was curious what Snape might keep in there. Rows and rows of
many colored potions, most of which he couldn't even begin to guess
at, a toothbrush and a comb. Snape really had a one track mind,
after all. All practicality, no frills. Harry had had to live that
way for so long that now he thought it was nice to splurge once in a
while. It didn't seem like Snape was big on splurging, though. When
he came back out, lugging his bucket of water and sloshing bits of it
on his feet as he went, Snape quirked a brow at him again that sent a
little ripple down Harry's spine.

“It's a miracle you can fly so well when you can barely walk,”
his Professor chided. “Just put it down and start from there.”

Harry pursed his lips. That wasn't Snape's usual level of insult. In
fact, it was half a compliment. For once, Harry decided not to press
his luck. He was alone with a topless Professor Snape. 'Maybe I
shouldn't think too hard about that until I'm wearing robes again,'
he thought just before the scrub brush nearly hit Harry in the face.

Harry saw Snape tuck his wand away as he fell back and scrambled to
collect it. “Sir! I thought you said no magic!”

“I said you were not permitted to use magic. I, on the
other hand, know what I am doing,” Snape replied tersely
without turning to look at his student. He lifted an eye dropper of
clear liquid and let two drops slip into a vial of a lilac color. He
stoppered the glass vial, shook it thrice, and the liquid changed to
a translucent sky blue.

“Sir? What is that?”

“Oh, so you're only interested in potions when you're out of
class then, Potter?”

'Or maybe only when you're topless,'
Harry thought. 'Merlin! How can you stand those black
trousers in this heat? You look like you're going to melt.' “Er...”

Snape sighed and pushed his hair from his eyes. “It is a
Reversion Potion, far beyond what a student like you would be capable
of brewing.”

Harry wrinkled his nose and deflated
a bit. Snape just couldn't help but insult him every chance he got.
Part of him still wanted to
believe the man was a sadistic bastard. That part had nothing to do
with his hormones. In the end Harry had decided that if Dumbledore
trusted Snape, then he'd trust him too. If he trusted him, then he
figured he didn't have to feel creeped out by the fact that he was
completely and hopelessly infatuated
with the man.

“...what does it do, Professor Snape?” Harry asked,
desperate to keep the conversation going. Anything to keep that
deep, velvet voice rolling towards him like an aphrodisiac. Oh, he
really shouldn't be thinking things like that while he was nearly
naked.

“It reverts,
Potter, hence the name. It is designed to revert inanimate objects
to their original state. It is extremely potent, highly volatile, and
ridiculously expensive. As such, it is not practical for using on
the broken furniture. However, the headmaster has given me
permission to make use of it in repairing the potioned portions of
the flooring, as it is at least less expensive than rebuilding my
entire classroom from scratch.”

Snape moved forward and squatted down over a charred wine colored
stain, dripping three drops onto it. Pink smoke puffed up, and the
surrounding five feet could be seen reverting back to its original
state. “Do put a bit of muscle into it, Potter? It will take
quite a bit of scrubbing to get the rest of the floor to match the
reverted portions, I should think.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. So that's
why Snape had agreed so easily. He definitely couldn't see his
Professor on his hands and knees with a scrub brush. That slender
back stretched out, those long arms flexing, that tight arse stuck up
in the air... Harry bit his lip and hunched over to scrub more
forcefully. The position allowed him to conceal the fact that the
front of his shorts were beginning to form a neat little tent around
his groin. He tried to think about unappealing things, but with
Snape walking around without all his layers of billowing robes, with
so much of his pale skin on display, that was almost impossible. If
only he'd take off those damned pants! What was there to be so
embarrassed about? Neville's underwear had ducks on them. Ducks!
Surely it couldn't be that
bad.

As Snape passed him to tend to
another patch of potioned flooring, Harry noticed a single trickle of
sweat drip down the back of his neck between his shoulder blades and
down his spine. He'd thought
Snape's hair looked greasier than usual! He was
hot! In fact, if he looked closely, there was a certain blotchiness
to his complexion and his stride wasn't quite as sharp. Snape was
good at concealing his discomfort, but Harry realized, if you were
really looking, if you actually cared,
there were subtle hints.

“Professor, maybe you should take it easy,” he said.
Shouldn't it be against some wizarding law to be so disagreeable and
so desirable at the same time? Harry knew he was probably the only
person who thought Snape was desirable, but he was sure that was only
because everyone hated the man so much. You tend only to notice the
worst qualities of people you can't stand, and those become twice as
bad. He shook his head. Best not to over-think it now. Thinking
too hard was only going to give him a headache anyway.

Snape glared over his shoulder at the boy. “Maybe you should
spend more time scrubbing and less talking, Potter.”

“But sir, you're going to melt. What good will it do anyone if
you end up in the infirmary?” Harry protested earnestly.

Snape scoffed. “Typical Gryffindor. Always sticking your nose
where it doesn't belong.”

'Stubborn bastard,' Harry
thought, glaring at his professor's back. The man squatted down to
treat another portion of the floor. Harry was torn between his
annoyance, and ogling the shape of the Potion Master's tight arse.
'Argh, what are you thinking about, Harry?! Isn't it too
hot for that sort of thing?'
Well, it was humid to be sure, but...the dungeons were
far more bearable than the rest of the castle. A twinge between his
legs reminded him that his current line of thinking could endanger
his life if Snape told him to stop scrubbing and get out. He wasn't
slightly bulging anymore; he was just plain hard. This really hadn't
been a very good idea after all.

Snape placed the vial of potion back on his desk and Harry watched a
few more drops of sweat trickle down his spine. He rested a palm
gently on the desktop as if he was looking for something, but Harry
could see the strain etched into the tense muscles of his back. The
discomfort was harder to hide without thick layers of robes, or even
a simple tunic, to cover his taut shoulders and back. Harry was left
with the impression that the heat was finally getting to the older
man, and that he was fighting off a wave of dizziness.

“Sorry Professor, but this is for your own good,” he
mumbled under his breath.

“What was that, Potter?” Snape asked, turning, but
unfortunately his reflexes were somewhat impaired in his current
state.

“Traho pessum*,” Harry declared, and Snape was promptly
hit in the midsection by a bolt of energy, and his trousers yanked
down to his ankles.

There was a moment of stony silence. On Snape's part, indignant
rage. On Harry's, utter shock. Professor Snape wasn't wearing any
underwear. It took a long moment to register. Instead of boxers or
briefs, which Harry thought were the only two possibilities, what
Harry found staring at him was his professor's bared sex—coils
of dark hair wrapped about it and dancing lightly up towards the
man's navel. His groin twitched and strained against his boxers in
response. Thank Merlin he was still hunched over.

His eyes widened as Snape suddenly grabbed his wand from the top of
the desk and shot a non-verbal spell at him that knocked him back a
good ten feet. He landed on his arse, elbow crunching into the hard
tile, and cussed under his breath. Then he cussed again as he
watched Snape's brow raise as his eyes fell on the damp bulge
pressing outward against his student's boxers. If his elbow didn't
hurt so much, and it wasn't Snape (who still scared him at times in
spite of being so damn sexy), Harry would have laughed at the
expressions of shock that raced through the man's penetrating gaze.
Especially given his professor's pants were still about his ankles.

Snape sneered and quickly pulled the trousers up. “What is the
meaning of this, Potter?” he spat. It wasn't as venomous as
usual. It's hard to be properly venomous when you're trying not to
get your junk caught in your fly, Harry figured. He also noticed
that Snape still seemed to be looking rather pointedly at the
erection he'd been trying to hide from the man for the past quarter
of an hour.

Harry reminded himself that he was a Gryffindor, and thus, really
just ought to go with it. “I, er, thought you looked hot, sir.”
And then, he smirked. He could imagine Snape internally seething.
“I just didn't realize quite how hot, I suppose.”

He was going to throttle the boy. He'd managed to check his temper
and keep from killing Harry to date, but there was a fine line the
insufferable little prat had finally crossed. When he suddenly found
himself with his pants around his ankles, for the first time in many
years, Severus looked at Harry Potter and saw his father all over
again. He'd managed, at great pains, to convince himself that Harry
was not James. It had more or less worked. He was still an
incorrigible Gryffindor, which really didn't win him any points, but
it had been a number of years since he'd separated Harry from James
Potter in his mind. Sure, he still rubbed James in Harry's face from
time to time – it really angered the boy, and there was just
something about making Harry angry that he found appealing for no
logical reason. But this! This was a part of the past he
hoped he'd never have to relive. 'Why do these damnable
Gryffindors keep insisting on pulling down my pants, anyway?' He
didn't think he'd ever understand.

He wasn't sure when he's strode forward to the prone Potter and
kneeled down, wrapping his slender fingers around Harry's throat. He
didn't tighten his grip. He just left the hand there and glared
intensely into those vibrant green eyes.

Harry was looking up at him as if he wasn't sure whether or not he
should be afraid, and if he should be, then just how much. They
stayed like that for a long time. Snape could feel the engorged
flesh between Harry's legs brushing against his thigh with each of
Harry's breaths due to the proximity. It was distracting, but he'd
determined he would ignore it. He was more than done with shagging
students. It was highly inappropriate, and he wouldn't let himself
be taken advantage of for the sake of teenage hormones again. Twice
was more than enough.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Harry's entirely too sensual
tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“Uhm, so... how long have you been going commando**, sir?”
Harry asked barely above a whisper to break the silence.

“That's none of your business, Potter,” Snape hissed.

That's when he kissed the boy. Looking back later, he wouldn't know
why he did it, or be able to form any logical chain of events that
would lead to the inevitable moment, but when he turned his hand so
that it was on the back of Harry's neck instead of his throat and
abruptly pulled their faces together passionately, he knew it was
something that had to happen. In that instant that he pushed his
tongue roughly into Harry's willing mouth and felt the boy's slender
arms wrap around his neck, a heat consumed him that had nothing to do
with the foul weather and he just knew that it had been
building between them for a very, very long time. It was simply
meant to be. Fate, perhaps.

Harry rocked his hips up against Snape's eagerly. He laced his
fingers through the older man's damp, dark hair and gasped when Snape
let his lips go and devoured his throat. Harry moaned softly. “Sir.
Please!”

“Be silent,” Snape rumbled lowly against his collarbone.
“Someone may hear.” He could cast a silencing spell,
sure, but his wand was all the way over there. Still
sitting primly on the desktop where he would have to let go of Harry
to retrieve it, and that just wasn't going to happen.

Harry struggled a bit beneath the older man and pulled his own wand
out of the back of his boxers where it had been resting against his
spine. “Mm--” Harry had to stop and try again. Snape's
body pressed against his was hazardous to his concentration.
“Muflattio,” he rasped before dropping it and letting it
roll wheresoever it pleased.

Snape smirked faintly. “It seems I've inadvertently taught you
at least something,” he quipped.

Harry placed his hands lightly on Snape's hips and ground his own
hips upward against them, biting his lip. He could feel Snape
beginning to bulge against him and rubbed against the growth firmly,
awed by the little sparks of lust that raced through the man's ink
black eyes. “Sorry,” Harry panted. “It's because
I didn't know it was you that wrote in that book.” Snape
twisted his mouth a bit but didn't speak as Harry continued. “In
class, I'm too busy staring at your arse to really absorb anything
useful.” Harry panted harshly. It was so hot, but he'd
sooner pass out of heat exhaustion than stop now. He weaseled his
hands between their bodies and brought them to the waist of Snape's
pants again. “Professor, it's really hot. Please...take these
off.”

Snape sat back on his knees. Harry made a little whimpering noise at
the loss of contact, and stared as the older man opened his fly.
Severus paused. “I won't be the only one naked,” he
stated firmly.

Harry jumped and scrambled to get out of his boxers as quickly as
possible. His eager flesh sprung free of the cloth and he tossed his
boxers off to one side of the room. He didn't give any thought to
where they landed. He was far more interested in watching Snape toe
off his boots casually and slip out of those black pants.

Snape tried to hide the relief, but without the pants and shoes he
did feel far more comfortable. ...and with a naked teenager sprawled
out on the dungeon floor, far more energetic than a man his age had
any right feeling. He had just enough presence of mind to grab his
wand and a small green bottle from the desk drawer before returning
to Harry's side.

Harry bit his lip and spread his thighs. Snape's penetrating gaze
shot straight through his abdomen. He was never going to be able to
look at the man without getting hard again, he was sure, knowing
under all those billowing robes there was...absolutely nothing else.
He wondered when Snape had decided, and what sort of logic had
inspired him, to forgo underwear entirely, but that was something he
could wonder about in more detail later. For the moment, there was
kissing – Snape's tongue dragging roughly along his lips, his
calloused hands sliding down his body, that thick shaft invisibly
buoyed at the juncture of his thighs. Harry found his eyes glued to
it. He'd been perfectly willing to let Snape molest him a moment ago
but now he needed to touch, to taste.

He pushed himself up to his knees and pulled his professor down into
another eager kiss. Snape didn't fight it, nor did he fight,
surprisingly, when Harry pushed him to lean back. He gently put the
vial and wand aside for the moment, letting his hands support his
weight. Harry licked along Snape's sweat dampened throat, dragged
his fingers across his torso. “Sir, please,” he rasped,
sitting back just enough to look down at the thick length between the
potions master's thighs. “I...can I...?” He met Snape's
eyes, then looked down again. He unconsciously licked his lips.

Snape didn't need Harry to finish his sentence to know what the
Gryffindor wanted. “Go ahead, Potter.”

Harry shuddered and adjusted himself, lowering his torso so that his
face was in Snape's lap. His arse stuck up in the air – a
rather nice view as far as Severus was concerned. He couldn't
repress the slight shudder when Harry took his member gently in hand
licked a long line up the pulsing vein from his balls to his tip. He
found his member intensely sensitive. It had, after all, been far
too long since he'd last engaged in this particular brand of physical
activity.

Harry murmured pleasantly as he wrapped his lips around the head of
Snape's cock and lathed affection over the heated flesh. He was sure
by the time they'd finished enjoying one another, he wouldn't be able
to move his body for quite some time, but he didn't care about that
now as he lowered his head over his professor's substantial
engorgement.

The tight rein Snape kept on his emotions slipped as he watched Harry
suck him so eagerly, his arse wiggling alluringly as he worked. He
bit his lower lip. The heat that consumed him now was far more
insistent than that annoying voice of logic in the back of his mind
reminding him that it was very ill-advised to engage in strenuous
activities in this weather. He patted the ground beside him until he
found his wand and leaned forward just enough to soothe his
fingertips along the young man's crevice. He found the pucker,
pressed against it gently, and Harry moaned deeply around his cock in
reply.

Severus took a deep breath that came out much more shakily than he'd
anticipated and very gently eased the tip of his wand into the boy's
tight entrance. Not too far. A cautious inch would do—the wand
tip was slender enough that it shouldn't hurt. Snape murmured
something under his breath that Harry couldn't quite make out, but
found himself intoxicated by the tone of his professor's voice –
more of a soft purr than his usual irritated bark.

Harry gasped as the wand fell away. He had to pull his mouth away
from Snape's prick as he felt something inside of him start to
roil.

“Don't move,” Snape said firmly, quickly uncapping the
green bottle and pressing the open end against the younger man's
entrance, slipping the end of the bottle inside of his body. It was
no wider than a quill and unobtrusive as the oily liquid emptied
itself into Harry's bottom. The roiling feeling swept the liquid
along with it and he realized he was being stretched, lubricated, and
prepared from the inside out. Snape let the vial fall to the ground
with a soft clinking noise and pressed his middle finger against
Harry's pucker. He rubbed it as Harry panted and shuddered until the
spell worked its way through him. After the initial surprise,
Harry's eagerness swelled and he returned to orally molesting the
older man as he rode out the pleasure for some minutes. It slowed,
and died down.

Snape pressed his middle finger into Harry's body in one smooth
motion. Harry let go of his professor's shaft again and arched his
back, pushing his bum upward against the intrusion. That felt
so...oooh. Wasn't this sort of thing supposed to hurt? Snape knew
some really amazing spells. “Ooh...Professor...that...”

Snape couldn't help the tiniest of smirks. “Feels good,
Potter? It's supposed to.” He explored a little with that
finger, but not nearly as much as Harry would have liked before
slipping it out. He nodded curtly as if confirming some thought that
Harry wasn't privy to. “You should be fine,” he said.
“Lay back and lift your legs.” He couldn't keep himself
from smirking a bit at the way Harry eagerly scrambled to comply.
The boy's body was glistening with sweat as he lay back on the floor
and lifted his legs, pulling his knees up as tightly against his body
as he could, shamelessly exposing himself. “A pity that I
can't get you to listen so well in class,” Snape chided as he
positioned himself, letting Harry's legs drop over his shoulders.

Harry arched and gasped as the older man slid his thick rod smoothly
inside. Magic really was amazing after all. There wasn't the
least bit of pain. He had to get Snape to teach him that spell,
definitely. ...or foregoing that, just use it on him again. And again
and again and again.

Snape paused only a moment to be sure Harry wasn't in any pain before
he began to thrust. It only took a few firm strokes for Harry to
find the rhythm he was setting and jut his hips upward as best he
could to meet them. “Mmm. M-maybe...if you were n - aaah -
n-naked during lessons, sir.” He moaned in reply. “Or if
I knew my re – reward for doing well...was your...mmn...big
cock up my arse, pounding me into the floor. Just. Like. This.”
His words came out one at a time, each pronounced by one of Snape's
firm thrusts and a sharp pant. They didn't waste time going slow.
Once they'd found a rhythm, Snape thrust into Harry hard and deep,
never tearing his molten gaze from Harry's face as if he was trying
to burn the image of his current lover into his mind for all time.

“I'll. Take that. Under. Advisement. Pot – ter,”
Snape replied.

“Harry,” Harry answered. “Please...” He
shuddered and cried out loudly as Snape shifted just slightly and
found his prostate.

Ah, there. Snape thrust harder and ground into the prostate again,
causing Harry to cry out loudly and the young man's eyes begin to
tear. “Harry,” he purred, leaning over his lover. Harry
moaned in reply. “Harry,” he purred again, slamming into
his prostate again. He repeated the boy's name each time he pressed
into him and was answered by a sob and moan in reply each time.
“Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry!” The
pleasure was beginning to overcome him. He didn't understand why
repeating Harry's name over and over again seemed to intensify his
pleasure right away, but when Harry's moans turned into little
hisses, and then managed to roll themselves into his own name, it
suddenly hit home.

“Severus! Fuck. Severus. Se—severus!” Harry
sobbed. He was so close. He was going to climax any moment.

Severus Snape suddenly realized that he wanted more than sex from
Harry Potter. Much, much more. His thrusts stopped suddenly. He was
about to come, but his own thoughts had startled him. He pulsed
balls-deep in the boy, who looked up at him torn between intense need
and even more intense confusion.

Severus leaned down and gripped Harry's hair just hard enough to
temporarily distract him from the pleasure of their intimacy. “You
belong to me,” Severus rasped harshly.

Harry blinked a moment, but nodded, “Yesss,” he moaned.

“And I, also, to you,” Severus added a little more
uncertainly. It was the most lucid way he could manage to convey his
feelings, and the most his pride would allow him to say.

Harry's face broke out in that typical, idiotic Gryffindor grin.
“Yes,” he answered, wrapping his arms tightly around
Snape's shoulders. “Merlin, yes. Absolutely yes.”

“Remember it,” Snape whispered before crushing their lips
together in a kiss far more passionate and needy than the ones they'd
previously shared. When their lips parted he began to thrust again,
no longer able to restrain himself, but now with their bodies pressed
much closer, their faces cheek to cheek.

Harry laced his fingers through Snape's hair again as the older man
took the cock pressed between their bodies and began to stroke it.
“My lover,” Harry whispered as if those two words could
cover everything that had ever passed between them and what it had
all amounted to. As if those two words confirmed for Snape that,
yes, in fact, it had been fate after all.

“My lover,” Snape repeated in a low rumble. It was the
last thing either of them said before release flooded through them at
the same instant. It was the most intense orgasm of Snape's life,
and by far the most satisfying. He could only hope, as he collapsed
beside his young lover, that Harry felt similarly.

Fate. Of course it was fate. If it was fate, then he didn't have to
feel guilty about the fact that Harry was a student (at least for a
little while longer), or far too young for him, or Lily's son. None
of these things had to matter, as long as he could convince himself
it was simply meant to be. There was a sense of peace in that.

Harry wanted to curl against Snape's side, but now that they'd
finished exerting themselves he realized it was still intensely hot,
so he reached out and wrapped their fingers together instead. Snape
didn't protest. They couldn't lay here naked and spent beside one
another very long, but seeing as Snape was the only person allowed in
the potions classroom for the moment, they'd at least be safe from
intrusions while they caught their breath.

“Did you mean it?” Harry asked after a long few minutes
of comfortable, sated silence.

“Hn,” Snape answered affirmatively. “We...will
need to be discreet. At least until you graduate.”

Harry squeezed the hand more tightly and forced himself to roll onto
his side to lean over the older man and kiss him far more lazily than
before. “My lover,” he whispered again against Snape's
lips.

“Fool boy,” Snape replied between kisses.

They laid like that for nearly an hour, side by side, just kissing,
before Snape finally willed himself to get up and cast a scourgify
over the area. He didn't particularly mind the stickiness overmuch –
it was proof of what had transpired, but that didn't mean it was all
that pleasant either. He was sweaty and disgusting and could
definitely use a shower before dinner. He picked up his pants, then
found one shoe, and located the other under the desk. When he turned
around he found Harry, still bare-arsed, fighting with that
disagreeable cupboard, which now seemed intent to stay tightly
closed.

“What in the world are you doing?” he asked as Harry cast
a number of spells for opening doors at the cupboard to no avail.

“It ate my boxers! I can't go out there naked!”
Harry protested, arms flailing in distress.

Having more than enough experience with that particular (and
particularly senile) cupboard, Snape sighed. Well, it would be at
least another week before the classroom was usable again. He would
be able to get Harry's underwear out of there before then. “Come,”
he said, pressing a small gargoyle head into the wall with a
whispered incantation that Harry couldn't make out. A darkened
passage opened up beside it. “This leads directly to my
personal quarters.”

Harry's stomach did a flop and he scurried after the older man,
emerging after some time into a comfortably lit room decorated in the
predictable Slytherin green. A large bed that Harry thought it would
be rather nice to wake up curled up against the naked potions master
in, a few bookshelves, an armchair by the fireplace, some throw rugs
that seemed perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon shagging, a slightly
battered armoire, and an attached bathroom. It seemed unexpectedly
cozy.

Snape gestured to the armoire flippantly. “You should be able
to find some manner of undergarment in there that will fit you. Try
to find something that you would actually wear.”

“So, you actually have underwear, then?” Harry asked with
a smirk.

Snape quirked a brow elegantly down at him. “I'm going to
take a shower,” he said.

Harry pouted at the non-answer, but was content to be left rummaging
through Snape's drawers while the man washed up. He was rather
surprised to find that Snape had a pair of pretty much every kind of
underwear there was. Well, except for briefs. For whatever reason,
Snape didn't own any briefs. Harry found a pair of black boxer
shorts and pulled them on. No one would question solid black boxers.
If anyone asked, he'd just gotten too sweaty and changed into a
different pair halfway through the day.

But the boxers weren't what had really caught his interest. When
Snape came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist the only
thing keeping him decent, Harry held up a black thong with an impish
grin. “When did you buy this?” he asked with a
soft laugh, though he couldn't beat the mental image of Snape in a
thong wholly from his mind.

Snape frowned and snatched the undergarment as if it were something
offensive. “That is a story for another time,” he
answered tightly, shoving it back into the depths of the dresser.

Harry tried changing tactics. “I couldn't help but notice that
you have pretty much every possible kind of underwear except for
briefs,” he said. “Didn't you used to wear briefs when
you were younger?” He clearly remembered seeing Snape hung
upside down and pantsed by his father. Those were briefs.
Definitely. He was certain of it.

Snape's cheeks colored for an instant before he managed to regain his
usual calm. “That, also, is a story for another time,”
he answered tightly.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Spoil sport,” he answered
before gently tugging his new lover down into a lingering kiss.
“Will I be able to see you again soon?” he asked. “I
mean, outside of class?”

“If your abominable performance in class doesn't
improve, I'd imagine most definitely. In detention,” Snape
answered.

Harry thought about that a moment. “Hm. Detention. You. Me.
Locked in a room together. You without your underwear. Me, bent over
the desk waiting to be punished...” He grinned impishly and
slipped out of the black boxers he'd only just put on, pressing his
lithe young body up against the older man's. “Hey, Professor
Snape, do you think the heat will break soon?”

Snape felt his flesh start to warm anew, and was well aware the
temperature of Hogwarts Castle had nothing to do with it. “The
weather should be back to normal in a few days,” he
answered, running his fingers through Harry's hair and resigning
himself to dealing with his lover's teenage libido. “The heat,
I think, will not be so easily abated.”

Harry gently tugged the towel from his professor's hips and dropped
to his knees in front of the older man. He wasn't seen again in
Gryffindor Tower until morning.

~The
End ~

Next Story in the 'Snape's Skivvies' Series: “Underneath”
(Remus x Severus). Published 3/8/10.

Notes:

* “traho pessum”: pull downward

** going commando: forgive me for using the American slang, but I
don't have the faintest idea what the corresponding British slang
would be.
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