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The Aftermath	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 14494 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter - clearly - and I'm not making any money off of perving up the characters in this fanfiction. :)

Chapter List
- 1-The Aftermath
- 1
A/N: Well, we're there! This is the final story of my little mini-series 'Words Left Unspoken' and as with the preceding two stories, there is really just enough plot framing the smut to claim that there's a plot at all. As I found myself in the third story, I had to mix things up so I didn't end up writing the same sex scene all over again and being repetitive, so Snape and Harry have kicked up the kink a notch or two for this one. Harry is full of surprises, after all! (the little perv, egging me on, telling me 'come on, Koh, you can do better than that!' :D )
Yes, I do have a mailing list. If you're interested, check my profile for details.
Warnings: slash, bottom snape, sexual magic, slash, anal, oral, felching, fingering, fisting. mentions of: rimming, ice cubes... and I'm very sorry if I've forgotten anything.
For those of you who have not been reading up to this point, the series goes as follows:
Little White Lies
Breaking the Habit
The Aftermath (this story)
Story 3 (Final Story) of 'Words Left Unspoken'
Sequel to 'Breaking the Habit'
The Aftermath
Harry moaned. He curled his fingers more tightly into his lover's hair as he bucked upward against the long fingers pinning his hips to the duvet. These were the clues, Severus knew, that he was doing something right.
“Ah, fuck! Sev! Yes!” Harry cried out.
Severus slid his head back with a long sucking sound, then pressed it back down, tongue slithering along the veins. He knew now, after much practice, how to properly relax his throat, and had even come to enjoy the feel of Harry's thick head pressing past the barrier of his gag reflex, the wiry hairs at the base of Harry's cock tickling his nose. What gave him the most pleasure, though, was listening to Harry cry out as he so often cried out himself – desperately and with abandon.

“A-ahh! S-sev! I-I'm going to come! Coming! Aaah, I'm coming! ” Harry declared.
In truth, Severus knew before Harry had declared it. The first splatter of release had dashed across his palette at “going”. After a rather unfortunate incident several weeks ago, when he was still not entirely skilled at this, Severus knew now to let Harry fill his mouth before swallowing. It had been tragic the first time – he'd choked, pulled back abruptly, and ended up with not only a sputtering cough, but cum in his eye. He'd had to apply a special potion to it all week before it felt right again. Harry, of course, constantly apologized, even though Severus knew it was his own bumbling to blame. He let Harry apologize anyway. Harry's apologies were always blissfully filthy – two words, Severus had decided after shagging Harry, that should never exist independent of one another's company. Now that they were in a proper relationship that went beyond the bedroom (as seldom as possible), he felt even more strongly that they were the only way to describe their love life, and his life in a more general sense, which circuited around Harry Potter. Blissfully filthy – he was quite content with the way things had turned out, really. On the weekends, like this particular one, when Severus sat back on his heels, wiping a stray dribble of Harry's release from the corner of his mouth, they always ordered takeaway – always from a wizarding establishment that delivered via floo so they didn't have to bother with putting their trousers on to tend to the delivery boy.
Harry panted heavily. “That was brilliant,” he told Severus, grunting as he shifted enough to pull Severus down on top of him, and crush their lips together greedily. He loved Harry's greedy kisses.
“Of course,” Severus purred against his lips as if it were obvious. “I have been practicing that particular skill every night for two weeks. I was bound to master it eventually.”
Harry's lips trailed down the other man's throat. “You mastered it nine days ago. I was just enjoying myself too much to tell you.”
“I know,” Severus replied. He didn't mind. He would do this for Harry every day for the next fifty years if his lover wanted it. It was the only time in bed that he was the one making his lover writhe like a wanton whore; it was normally the other way around. It had bothered him once, to be so overcome by Harry's prowess, but he didn't particularly mind, now. It was a bit of a reprieve, actually – a rare moment when the walls he'd spent a lifetime building around his psyche crumbled, and it was safe, even preferable, to let them.
They spent several minutes entangled, just kissing, embracing, caressing. Severus knew it couldn't last indefinitely. After Harry's beautiful writhing, Severus found his erection throbbing for attention, and Harry's was stabbing eagerly against his abdomen. He should never have agreed, when Harry stumbled across that spell in a book in his library. Now, Harry made use of the sexual torture on both of them nearly every Friday evening. Their weekends always started with a pepper up potion and a shower, and continued in a fashion far more suited to younger men than himself well into Sunday evening. Even so, he enjoyed the attention. That he also enjoyed the sex was far too apparent to waste words on.
Harry rolled them over to press Severus back against the pillows, spreading his legs and dappling kisses along pale thighs already pockmarked with the evidence of the young man's desire. Harry licked the bruises he'd already left behind, before finding a patch of unmarked skin on which to leave a new one. Severus used to complain about being so marked, but had since given up the complaints as silly – no one saw his thighs but Harry, and Harry seemed to prefer them speckled. Severus no longer wasted the time or potion ingredients required to heal the bruises Harry's teeth left behind. He'd grown attached to looking at himself in the mirror and seeing the evidence on his body of how Harry had enslaved his heart.
Severus moaned. To be fair, he liked the biting as much as Harry liked leaving a mark behind; it excited him. It clearly excited Harry, too: once he'd left his mark on Severus's marred thighs, he repositioned himself quickly and plunged into his lover's already abused entrance. Severus could feel the seed from their previous engagements squelch out around the edges. Truth be told, they'd had at it so many times in sequence now he'd lost count; he was barely able to keep track of the day, let alone the time. Countless potions had spoiled thanks to Harry's attention. He was sure he'd lost consciousness at some point, and his stomach had distended from Harry's persistent and thorough handling.
Harry ran his hand over it, “you're finally putting on some weight,” he joked.
Severus scoffed. “I will be rid of most of it on my next trip to the toilet and you know it.” He felt so full of Harry's seed that it seemed a miracle it was not leaking out his eyes. He was sure, if he were to look in the mirror now, he would know what a pregnant man would look like.
“In spite of all the take away I'm feeding you,” Harry replied.
“I see your devious plot, now. You are merely trying to distract me so that I will fail to notice whatever vulgar slop you force me to eat. Your plan is flawed. Your distraction burns more energy than the trash you offer me to regain it.”
“Is that a complaint?” Harry purred against Snape's throat.
“About the food, yes. About the intercourse, hardly.”
“We could eat better food, but you refuse to put on an apron after the first time,” Harry teased, nipping at Severus's ear. He began with a short, slow thrust.
Severus was already so full that more of the young man's seed dripped out of him. Severus hated how much he loved the feeling of that, in spite of the mess it was making of the duvet. He moaned anyway. He knew there was no point in hiding his pleasure from Harry, it only made the pleasure all the more overwhelming when he tried to bottle it up. “I nearly burned my...!!” The second thrust came harder, and stole Severus's breath.
“Biscuits?” Harry quipped.
Severus panted, clinging to Harry's shoulders as the third thrust made the second seem barely a whisper by comparison. “Is that what we're calling them now?” he breathed.
Harry answered by reaching a hand between their bodies and squeezing the older man's balls. Severus moaned again.
“I'm rather fond of them whatever we'd like to call them,” Harry joked, laying a sloppy kiss on the side of his lover's throat.
It was several sharp, squelching thrusts before either of them found the gall to interrupt the rhythm again. It was really no surprise that it was Harry. “It's a pity that you aren't so willing to practice kitchen sex as you've been about oral sex, though – you look delicious in an apron.”
“You seemed barely interested in the apron at the time.” Severus remembered gripping the edge of the stove as Harry knelt behind him, pulling open his cheeks and using his tongue to...
“Ooohh!!!!” That thrust hit just the spot that made Snape's eyes roll and his back arch.
“It added atmosphere,” Harry quipped. “Besides, I think you have it to thank that these are still in tact.” He squeezed the package in his firm grip again.
“Only barely,” Severus grit out, barely managing the words as Harry so skillfully manipulated his body. He also remembered his hand slipping on the knob, the gas igniting, and setting the apron aflame. It was a clumsy, manic affair that found Harry on his arse, the apron cast wildly into the sink and doused, and Severus wild-eyed and breathless. The tragedy averted, they had fucked on the kitchen table, though – no sense wasting a perfectly good erection; that was Harry's theory, and at the time Severus had found it quite sound. As a result, though, he was understandably reticent to shag anywhere near an open flame, and suspected he would be for quite some time.
Harry positioned Snape's knees up over his shoulders. The next thrusts were deeper, harder, and dragged roughly along Severus's prostate. The cries of pleasure that bounced off the walls were so undignified that Severus knew he would deny having made them until his dying day. For the moment, it scarcely mattered. Harry was far too skilled a lover for him to care. After hours of abuse, his naturally sensitive body was like a raw nerve – even the slightest shift sent his willpower and his pride careening into a bottomless void somewhere from which he might never retrieve it and left behind only the shell of a man whose only desire was to be fucked so thoroughly that he couldn't stand, so thoroughly, even, that he would agree to indulge in the disgusting slop that passed for fast food these days. Again.
Harry reached his hand around Severus's slender thigh and squeezed Severus's bollocks again. His grip was firm, and he didn't release it. It brought tears to Severus's eyes as he realized he'd been just about to come, and Harry had noticed first, and had taken measures to prevent it.
“Harrrry...” he choked out. Merlin, how he needed it! He knew, on some vague level that the spark of magic was cracking, that this orgasm would find them mercifully limp for the first time since the previous evening. He needed that reprieve desperately, they both did, but at the same time, he didn't want the blissful moments between them to end. They were so perfect together like this – clinging and sweating – a squelching, messy, depraved mess of tangled limbs. It was after the sex that things became more real. Severus didn't want reality, not now.
Harry didn't respond. Severus knew he couldn't. The rough, erratic thrusts told him everything, the hand curled tight around the base of his cock told him everything.
The tears that had threatened at the corners of his eyes tumbled free now. Frustration and longing piled onto the intensity of his prostate being battered with each hard stroke, and left tears the only reasonable expression of his pleasure. Moans and cries were no longer an adequate response for how he felt beneath Harry. His fingers dug deep into the young man's shoulders, leaving moon-shaped marks in the flesh.
Harry only gripped him tighter as he came, filling Severus again. The new load of his seed – thick and hot – made Severus's entire body shudder with the need to come, but Harry still held him back, whether intentionally or by some lust-blinded accident, Severus couldn't be certain. The new seed only pushed Harry's previous release out of him, leaving his bottom sloppy with cream pouring out around the edges of where they were joined.
Only when Harry had finished, did the young man's hand move up from base to shaft, and with only two quivering strokes, Severus arched up beneath his lover with a loud cry, and his seed splattered out with such force that he only narrowly avoided shooting himself in the eye. His stomach, his chest, his face, even his long, ink-dark hair wasn't spared the force of his orgasm. His lips. His tongue. Harry pressed down over him and licked those lips clean, kissed him deeply. He smeared his hands in the mess across Snape's torso, up to his neck, down to his navel. In spite of his exhaustion after their spell-induced day-long shag, he licked at cream-coated nipples, sucked and bit them.
It was much to Severus's horror when he felt his spent member start to twitch back to life. “Harry,” he rasped hoarsely. “Stop. I can't. It's too much.” His voice was raw to the point if he spent much more time crying out in pleasure he might lose it.
Harry's tongue circled the bud. “You always say that,” he responded just as hoarsely. “But the one after the spell wears off is always the best. You know it, too, even if you like to pretend you don't.”
“Aa-aaahhh!” He liked to pretend he didn't, because he didn't want to admit to being so utterly perverted where Harry was concerned, but when Harry slipped out of him, he still whimpered at the loss, and as his lover kissed down his torso, his aching cock still roused itself. He still offered not the slightest protest when Harry, having cleaned his torso with his tongue, rolled him over to tend to treatment in kind for his thighs and buttocks. He only moaned in blinding ecstasy as he felt the tongue slide up his kiss-bruised thighs, over his seed-spattered cheeks, around and into his stretched and sopping hole. He sobbed and moaned as Harry lapped up his own release. Severus found his cock grow ever more eager as his lover sucked his own seed out of his bottom. There was so much of it, Severus didn't know how Harry could continue without his jaw cramping, but Harry seemed intent not to stop until he'd sucked out every last drop and returned Severus's stretched stomach to normal.
Harry moaned into him. Severus sobbed insensibly in response. It was a vicious cycle that seemed to have no end. Lips and tongue. Fingers and...
...and fist...Oh for the love of Merlin, Harry's fist!...Severus lost his ability to moan out loud when Harry's thumb breached him, when the knuckles slipped past his anus and Harry's hand slid the rest of the way inside. He tried to moan, but no sound came out of his parted lips and the tears of pleasure welling in his eyes fell freely as Harry's fingers gripped and further abused his prostate, as he felt Harry's release spurt hot against the back of his thigh and his lover rasped out in half sentences how sexy he was. Merlin! That fist!
Even with the spell worn off, the lust between them was blinding and natural, instinctual magic refused to permit their stamina to cave, and the insanity to end. Yes, Harry was right, the time (or times, as the case so often was) after the spell wore off was always the best; his body was raw, aching, and responsive enough that he could hardly tell the difference between pleasure and pain – it was all just sensation, and it all made him come. He came quickly and often and didn't care that under normal circumstances his lack of ability to prevent premature orgasm would be humiliating. He was sure it was the same for Harry, who did things to him that were so filthy they could only be the result of a temporary insanity that resulted from one's cock remaining forcibly hard for more than twelve hours; even Harry would not suggest such things if he were wholly himself. Some of their favorite sexual practices were first attempted in the aftermath of insatiable lust brought on by magic that danced a very thin line between darkness and light, but veered more often toward the prior than the latter, sexual practices too indecent for Harry to suggest they try when they were in their right minds – at least the first time. Practices like Harry's fist pushing into his body, his forearm, as deep as Severus's body could take it. Severus knew, even though he couldn't think, he knew to the core of his being, that this was a practice that they would revisit again when they had a bit more sanity, and a bit more patience to explore the pleasure of it thoroughly. Not now. Oh, not now. His thighs burned so horribly he could no longer hold his hips up and he lay in a soggy mess of duvet until Harry rolled him over into another soggy mess of duvet to abuse him further, though Severus had no more ability to move his body now than a rag doll. Still, his cock hardened, and he came. Over and over and over again.
Severus wasn't sure how long it went on. He started to doubt that he'd been correct about the spell wearing off. Surely, he'd been limp for a few moments. Perhaps he'd dreamed it. Had he ever been limp around Harry? There was a point in such mental rutting at which reality started to fade away and the concept 'limp' began to feel like a fairy tale – a state of being that simply couldn't possibly be real, until eventually, Severus blacked out.
It was late afternoon when he finally opened his eyes. He was clean, as was the bedding, and – mercifully – limp was in fact reality. Even his fingernails ached. He lay staring at the ceiling for some time before rolling his head to glance across the room at the grandfather clock, chiming away the hour. He'd count how many he lost, but he thought it had probably been more than twelve hours since he last cared about the time. Sex with Harry was like that. It was so incredible that one lost time. Possibly years of one's life, too, or so it felt in the aftermath. Now that he'd returned to his senses, he lay there trying to will his aching limbs to move, and he couldn't help but wonder what would become of him when Harry grew weary of the constant sex. What sort of relationship would they truly have, once they had to properly talk to one another?
Oh, they had their conversations, mostly over trite, trivial things. They lacked depth. And, their relationship, for what it was, was private. They lived together, and had for some months now in this state of endless honeymoon, but as far as he knew, Harry had never mentioned who he was living with. He'd overheard a few floo conversations with the word 'my flatmate' in them, so it seemed safe to assume he was in no hurry to let that particular cat out of the bag. As for Severus, even if he was certain about the status of their relationship – in spite of previous declarations of love – he had no one to tell if he wanted to. His universe only contained Harry and his work. He had no need for anything else. The two things swallowed up his time completely.
He only noticed the shower when he heard it turn off. Harry emerged shortly after, hair left messy and damp. “Want a massage?” Harry asked, sitting himself on the bed. He hadn't bothered to put on pants. They were more comfortable together naked.
“No,” Severus replied. “You will need to shower again if you do, and I think I would prefer to remember what my spine feels like before you rid me of it again.”
Harry laughed and slid under the duvet, offering the older man a glass of water from the bedside table before curling up against his side.
Severus took several long sips before attempting to speak further. “You should dry your hair. You will become ill,” he said.
Harry just laughed. Severus had been chided for 'mothering' Harry often enough that the laugh communicated Harry's thoughts on the matter quite efficiently. “I wonder if you enjoy it, sometimes,” Harry said instead.
“Your hair?” Severus arched a brow quizzically. Ah, miraculous! His eyebrows, at least, were not sore from their endeavors.
“Being so stoic, and locking yourself up in your lab, and making me want your attention so badly that I end up fucking you until you lose consciousness.”
Severus felt his pulse flutter. They way Harry said it – as if he saw Severus's laboratory as competition for his affection! “There are certainly worse things in the world,” he replied. He wasn't sure how to respond to such a statement, but his response gave Harry little room to reply. He cursed himself for his choice of words now, as silence stretched between them while they both tried to pick up the thread of conversation that he had so brutally murdered. He was atrocious when it came to keeping conversations going. Even with Harry, there were things it was difficult to say, guards that were difficult to drop all the time. Even if Harry probably knew what was boiling under the surface, that surface was important to Severus, and he felt vulnerable and exposed without it in a way that no amount of kinky sex or nudity could compare to. What he needed was a lover, a partner, who understood the relative distance was bred and trained so deep into him that it was not something he could simply cast away in the face of genuine affection. He thought Harry understood, most of the time, but it was hard to be sure.
After several minutes of light caresses and the awkward dangling conversation, Harry chose to start on a new subject. “Everyone's been asking to see my new flat. I've put them off with unpacking excuses, but I can't put them off much longer.”
“Choose a date, then. I can make myself scarce for a day. I can stand to make a trip to Diagon Alley to refresh supplies, or if the weather is unforgiving, a day in the library is an engaging enough way to pass the time.”
“No.”
Harry spoke so firmly that Severus was startled by it. He put the glass of water aside lifted himself a little more against the headboard, holding back the grimace – they really had to give up on that potion! He'd be abed all evening trying to will the soreness out of his muscles enough to even be bothered to fetch a pain relief potion! Although, he didn't know that he particularly minded a bit of soreness, after such wonders as he'd been treated to in the dead of night.
Harry flushed. “I mean...” his confidence faltered and his voice showed signs of the strain. “I...it's...would it really be so bad? To host a dinner for our friends? Would it...be so horrible to admit...”
“That we're flatmates?” Severus said, looking down his long nose at the young man. He hadn't planned to call him out on that. Harry didn't know he'd overheard, and he really didn't want to be accused of spying, when he was simply wandering about his own home and overheard it by accident. All the same, the words had stung.
Harry's eyes widened, then he sighed. “I only call you that because if I call you my other half, they'll be all the more insistent to come meet you. You don't seem to be telling any of your friends about me, so I figured that was your hint to keep my bloody mouth shut about it.”
“You may have failed to notice, Harry, but all of my 'friends', as you call them, are dead. The rest of my former associates are in Azkaban. I scarcely think they would care to hear what I have been up to with 'the boy who lived', even if I had any interest in informing them.”
“They can't all be dead,” Harry sulked. Severus could see him trying to save himself from looking like an idiot. He arched a brow, watching Harry flounder.
“You write to Professor McGonagall,” Harry settled on.
Severus looked aghast at the implication. “She is old enough to be my mother, Harry. I have known her since I was a boy.”
It was Harry's turn to arch a brow; their relationship could be described in similar terms.
Severus gave him a dour expression that said he was aghast at the nonverbal comparison. “I should hardly think I would tell her about my sex life even if we had such a close relationship as you imply. All of our letters are business-related. I provide several rare potions for Madame Pomfrey's stores.”
“You do? You never said.”
“It simply never came up. Minerva's letters are amiable enough, but primarily business-related. When they are not, she strikes me as more of a nosy Aunt than as a friend.”
“Oh.” Harry pursed his lips. He looked like he was struggling with something to counter with, but could find nothing.
Severus let him suffer for a short while before taking pity on him. “I am not particularly hiding our relationship, Harry. If the papers were to discover it, we would get no peace, but I am willing to endure it if it is important to you.”
“Well, I love you, you know,” Harry answered like a spoiled child.
“I am well aware, given how often you feel the need to tell me.” Severus seldom said it back. When he did, it was not in those three precise words. It was embarrassing, and clumsy. Harry understood. He didn't say such things easily. It didn't mean he didn't feel them just as strongly as the Gryffindor brat who would gladly profess them from the highest rooftop.
“Is it wrong to want my friends to know that I have someone special who makes me happy? It would stop them constantly trying to match me up.”
They'd been trying to match Harry up with someone? Severus felt a pang of jealousy at that. That certainly had to stop. “Tomorrow evening,” Severus answered tersely. “I will have recovered enough by then to cook, but you will have to tidy the place up. Properly, Harry. I will not have company thinking I live in a bachelor pad.”
Harry buried his face against Severus's shoulder to hide his laughter. “We don't have to do it that fast!”
“Of course we do. Your friends are being meddlesome. I will not sit by idly and let them trouble you.”
Harry's laughter was not so easily contained. “You don't have to be jealous! I always tell them to bugger off.”
“I am not jealous,” Severus said, but he knew it was about as convincing as a drowned rat trying to smile. “Oh fine, a bit concerned.”
“You don't need to be concerned. You're the only one for me.”
“So long as the sex is good,” Severus droned. “After you grow weary of partnering with a man who has a strictly physical relationship with you, you may prefer someone your own age, who you have more in common with, to keep you company.” He tried to sound coldly logical about that, but he honestly feared what would become of them when Harry tired of aphrodisiac spells and bending Severus over every available surface in the place.
Harry surprised him by pulling himself up to straddle Severus's hips. He didn't do so to be sexy, but to get more on his level, cup his cheeks between broom-calloused hands, and force him to make eye contact.
Those enchanting green eyes always captured him, and Severus felt his guard slip a bit under their weight.
“Sev, do you really think I have anything in common with someone my own age? I was busy trying not to die when everyone else was worried about balls and examinations. We've both been changed utterly by Voldemort and the horrors he brought down on us all. Everyone has suffered because of it, but you and I, that was the center of our world. Those stupid, frivolous things that someone 'my age' cares about are shit. They don't mean anything. Honestly think for a moment. Think about your life. Think about mine. Then, try to tell me again that there could possibly be anyone in the world who I've got more in common with than you.”
“Harry.” Severus exhaled the name. He hadn't expected such a frank reply, and he couldn't deny the existence of those stark comparisons Harry was referring to.
Harry kissed him softly. “Stop worrying so much. You're perfect for me, you snarky, self-conscious, old bastard. The brilliant sex is just a bonus.”
“It's quite a bonus, considering how much of it you get,” Severus retorted. “I am going to end up paralyzed if I keep letting you talk me into these completely unproductive weekends.”
“Well, if you'll stop being so shaggable, I'll stop being so eager to shag you,” Harry laughed, stealing another kiss.
“Off,” Severus gasped when it broke. “I can barely move. You'll not have at me again. Go contact your friends about dinner tomorrow. Not too many of them. Even if we use an extension spell on the kitchen table, we've only got six chairs.”
“Don't worry! And then, I'll go buy groceries.” He stole one last kiss, and laughed when Severus mustered just enough energy to bean him over the head with one of the bed pillows.
Harry laughed and caught his wrist, giving him one more deep kiss before hopping off the bed. “Get some rest, Love. I had a special treat planned for tonight and it would be a shame if you're too sore to enjoy it!”
The pillow Severus threw at him bounced limply against the door, closed a mere second too soon. “PUT ON SOME TROUSERS FIRST, YOU GIT!” he bellowed. Harry's answering laughter told him he was being ignored.
XXXXX
Ice Cubes. Bloody. Frozen. Fucking. Water. Severus felt his groin tighten at the memory of last night's 'special treat' as he watched them clink around in the glass of liquor he'd just poured. To be fair, it did soothe some of the soreness from his muscles, and, aided by a few healing potions, he felt quite himself again tonight.
“All right?” Harry asked, taking it and putting it aside.
“I told you not too many people,” Severus groused.
“You told me not too many people because we didn't have enough chairs. Most everyone brought a few, and I think the Weasleys' brought the whole lot from the Burrow. Molly made pies, too, so you wouldn't need to fuss over dessert.”
“I won't be able to fuss over dinner, either. She's kicked me out of my own kitchen,” Severus complained.
“She just wants you to enjoy yourself.”
“In this crowd? I hardly think that's a reasonable expectation.”
Harry smiled and wrapped his arms around Snape's middle. “Think of it another way – in a small group, everyone's attention would be focused on us, but in a group this large, with people who haven't had the chance to see each other in ages, they're too busy catching up with one another to bother about you too much.”
A blinding flash distracted them from the conversation. “Ooohhh! The lovebirds are at it! I've got the proof!” George Weasley declared, hopping over sofas and chairs to avoid being hexed by Severus to get the embarrassing photograph out of his grasp.
Harry stopped him. “I'll get it later,” he promised. “See if Molly will let you help set the table? It smells like dinner is nearly finished.” He sneaked a quick peck to Severus's cheek before the older man could stop him.
Severus sighed. “You did put the more delicate items somewhere they won't get broken?”
“I've got it covered,” Harry promised. “Try to relax. Most of these arseholes have kids now. They won't stay all night.” He smiled. “Then we can have some time to ourselves.”
Severus couldn't wait for that. Harry pulled him down and whispered in his ear, “If you're on your best behavior, I have a special treat for you tonight,” before nipping at his earlobe and moving off to mingle with his friends. Severus glared at his back – little twit, saying such a suggestive thing when they had company and he couldn't do anything untoward to dissuade him! Besides which, Severus didn't know how many more special treats his body could handle! Oh, but he loved the charming fool, all the same. Madly. For better or worse.
He picked up the glass that Harry had put behind him on the counter. Once again, painfully distracted by the ice cubes clinking about, and the memory of just what delicious torment Harry could put him through when he put his mind to it, and even when he didn't.
A reflection of the light glistened off of the cubes, and Severus noticed a sparkle. One of the cubes seemed to have something frozen into it, what was that?
Severus fished the cube out, and in shock, dropped his glass. It shattered across the floor, dragging, of course, everyone's attention right to him. He didn't notice. All he could see was this cube, melting with spell-induced speed in his hand, and a ring – a band of interwoven silver and gold – left in the hollow of his palm. A ring.
His gaze turned about the room searchingly until he found Harry. The young man offered him an uncharacteristically timid smile and lifted his glass. The hand that held it bore a ring of exacting similarity.
“Well, don't just stare at it, dear. You're making the poor boy nervous,” Molly chided, holding up the glass she'd spelled back together for him. “I'll get you a fresh drink for the toast, I think,” she winked, wandering back into the kitchen.
Severus found his hands steadier than his heart as he slid the ring on. It fit perfectly.
Harry walked back over to him, but whatever he said was lost on Severus – the applause was so deafening, but when Harry embraced him, their guests no longer mattered. He wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, expecting his expression was somewhat less neutral than was his habit.
“When did you measure my ring size?” he asked.
“While you were sleeping,” Harry smirked, and Severus knew that Harry meant 'after you'd lost consciousness'. He always slept incredibly soundly after sex, which was uncommon for him otherwise. If not for his exhaustion, he'd have awakened while Harry was trying to measure his finger. “I wasn't sure you'd agree.”
“Of course I agree. You put me in a situation where it is impossible to refuse,” Severus chided him for the public display.
“I love you too much to give you an escape route,” Harry grinned up at him.
Severus sighed. “Honestly,” he replied lowly, “I thought you knew by now that I love you too much to look for one.”
Harry embraced him so tightly, he thought his lover might crack a rib! Well, it didn't matter even if he did. Severus had a potion for that.
“Alright, you sods! Now that the mushy shite is over, let's eat!” Charlie Weasley declared as he carried in two large trays of food, setting them down on the extended table. Bill followed behind with a large platter, and Ron and George had to carry another together, as it was too large and heavy for just one person. Why they didn't just spell them into place, Severus couldn't begin to fathom. Sometimes Weasleys enjoyed playing at the muggle way of doing things, so he presumed that's all there was to it.
“Now, hurry you lot! Let's everyone have a seat so we can have a proper toast.
Severus allowed himself, still stunned, to be pulled along to a seat at the head of the table.
The cheer, 'To Harry and Severus!' was so loud, Severus felt it might well echo off the kitchen walls of their little flat for years.
XXXXX
Severus sat up in bed, letting the covers fall away. He had no idea what time it was, but it was light, which meant he must have slept for a few hours, at least. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, which focused on a photograph on the bedside table. He lifted up the frame, as he had done every morning for more years than he cared to count. In it, Harry, much younger than he was now, had him leaning back against a table in their first flat, with his arms loosely wrapped around Severus's middle. Behind his back, Harry dropped an ice cube into his glass of whiskey. Inside the cube, something sparkled. The sparkle shifted beautifully in the shot. Sometimes, it was just a flash, others a dull gray imperfection, and on particularly beautiful mornings, the ring inside the cube was clearly visible with the occasional sparkle and shimmer.
Severus's gaze softened as he looked upon it. He felt his husband shift on the bed behind him and returned the photograph to it's position on the bedside table.
“What are you thinking about so early in the morning?” Harry asked, grudgingly sitting up.
Severus turned around, ignoring the dull ache from last night's affections. He pushed Harry's tangled hair away from his brow, ghosting knotted fingers over a dash of gray hair at Harry's temple. “I was merely wondering when the honeymoon is going to be over,” he replied, leaning down to kiss the crease beside Harry's eye, then his mouth.
Harry wrapped his arms around Severus's shoulders and pulled him back down into bed. He kissed him with the same passion they shared when they were both much younger men. “When we're both dead and buried,” Harry answered, “and not a moment sooner.” He reached over for his wand, and dragged the tip lightly down Severus's chest. “Since we're both awake, do you want to pick up where we left off?”
“Are you trying to throw my back out again?” Severus replied.
“Are you complaining?” Harry replied.
“No,” Severus admitted. “It is usually well worth the trouble and humiliation.”
“Usually!” Harry scoffed, rolling them over to press his husband back against the mattress. On the bedside table beside Harry, a framed photo sat, two men in dress robes, toasting their new marriage, silver and gold twined rings glinting in the morning light.
“Always,” Severus conceded.
“Always,” Harry affirmed.
Between the two framed photographs, a pair of silver and gold twined rings glinted in the morning light, against country white pillows, as a light breeze kicked up the light drapes at the cottage window, framing, every so briefly, the image of a domestic idyll a lifetime in the making.
~The End~
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The Aftermath