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It curled around the base of his spine like the most tempting, soft caress, the awareness of those eyes on him. He sighed, turning with a raised eyebrow to meet the eyes of the man staring at him – green met black, a sneer to face a smile.
And Potter was smiling at him, a bright, happy grin like he hadn’t just been eyeing Severus like a piece of meat behind his back. He scoffed – like he didn’t like it, like he hadn’t tolerated it for several seconds before turning to ‘catch’ Potter.
The pleasant, flattering sensation thrumming through his body turned to nothing as he walked out, down to the nearly deserted dungeons. He didn’t stop until he was in his quarters, his bedroom, slamming the doors shut on the way. His heart was racing just a little in his chest as his eyes stole to the third door of his wardrobe. It was locked and warded more tightly than even Gringotts was – and with good reason.
He sneered at nothing – a good reminder of why he had ignored or rejected all advances Harry Potter had made to his person since joining the teaching staff six months ago. There had been plenty, of varying degrees of subtlety, of course.
It had only taken a few slight brushes of his Legilimency – not enough to read thoughts, barely enough to gauge intentions, for him to confirm that Potter was sincere, not that he understood why.
Nor, really, did he care – he learned long ago that he wasn’t the sort of wizard who could afford to question why someone looked at him with interest. He could only, really be grateful – and for all that he’d never done anything about Potter’s open interest, he was flattered. Potter was beautiful. If he had his way – if he let Potter have his way…
He placed a hand on the wardrobe. If it wasn’t for that, then he might, he could…
He groaned.
“Good morning, Professor Snape.” Potter greeted as he sat down next to him. He shivered, setting down his teacup. Despite the polite greeting, the other man’s tone had been something he’d expect to hear groaned into his ear in bed, halfway through a round of…
“Good morning, Potter.” He replied blandly. His fingers – the hand hidden under the table – clenched into his thigh.
“Sleep well?” Potter asked, his smirk turning downright filthy.
“As every night.” He replied, not looking at Potter at all. If he did, he would… he might…
“You’re in a foul mood today, hm?” The other man said, his voice carrying traces of confusion.
He swallowed thickly. “I am in a foul mood every day, Potter.”
“Call me Harry.” He offered – by now, probably, for the hundredth time.
The word pressed against the back of his teeth, sitting, unformed and unspoken on his tongue.
“No.” He said quietly.
“Harry!” He moaned wildly, as he spilled himself into his sheets, hips helplessly thrusting into his hand, pleasure drowning out all awareness except for that of his own touch against his skin.
He groaned, pulling away, whispering cleaning charms even as shudders wrecked his body. The afterglow didn’t last long anyway – his eye caught sight of the third door of his wardrobe, yet again. Guilt and bitter regret stabbed through him, wiping away all traces of pleasure.
Someone knocked on the door – he cursed, righting his clothes, wondering who in the world would knock on someone’s door so late. He felt awkward already, his body not yet recovered from his activities just a few moments ago. He shuddered as the memory of the fantasy he’d indulged in played through his mind. Potter, in his bed, his hands on Severus’ skin, and…
He shook his head and yanked open the door.
As if the universe itself wanted to mock him, there he stood – Potter. Out of his teaching robes, dressed in a muggle t-shirt and tight muggle pants. He scowled.
“Potter.”
“Harry.” The younger man corrected with a smirk. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
“I’ve brought you alcohol.” He said, showing him a bottle – an expensive bottle of elf-made whiskey. Not something he could buy himself, although Potter likely charmed it out of an elf rather than buying it anyway.
“I can tolerate you for a few minutes.” He said, letting Potter cross the barrier to his sitting room. He’d never let him in before – but then, Potter had never come knocking before. Potter looked around for a moment, no longer than was polite, really, before taking a seat in one of the two armchairs there.
The one, coincidentally, that he favoured on evenings where he didn’t have the patience to walk all the way to his bedroom to get himself off. Of course, he’d thought about Potter there too, about the man’s mouth, his fingers, his cock…
He accepted the glass Harry handed him with shaky fingers, sipping some of the amber liquid within.
He groaned in surprise.
“Good, isn’t it?” Potter asked with a smile, sipping some too.
“Very much so.” He admitted. “Which poor elf did you harass for it?”
Potter snickered. “Oh, none at all. It’s my birthday. They volunteered it. As a gift.” He said.
He nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re here to demand my congratulations as well, then?” He asked with a sneer.
His unwelcome visitor giggled. “No, no. I didn’t invite you to the party either, since I figured you’d hate it.”
“You figured correctly.” He said, sipping some more and sitting in the other chair.
“Mhm… I think I have a pretty good handle on what makes you tick now.” Potter said confidently, a moment before his eyes raked Severus over like he was a piece of meat, like Potter was hungry.
His body shivered in anticipation – he squashed it immediately. “I doubt that, Potter. You’ve as much chance understanding me as a goldfish does a dolphin.” He hissed.
Potter laughed, unbothered by the insult. “I disagree. Charmed my way into your rooms, didn’t I?” He asked, holding up his glass.
“Purely by way of plying me with alcohol.” He rebuffed.
“Proves you can be plied though, doesn’t it?” Potter said, his grin positively suggestive. He didn’t even know what it was suggesting, just that his body was reacting quite positively to the handsome man sat here.
“Anyone can be… plied, Potter. Doesn’t mean one should.”
“I think one should if one is sure of the outcome.”
He laughed, loudly, heartily, at Potter’s presumptuousness. When he looked at the other man again, his expression was something he’d not seen before – Potter looked… pleased, somehow?
“I’ve never heard you laugh before.” He said. “It’s a lovely sound.”
It was the most direct thing Potter had ever said to him, and it made him feel warm, awkward but warm.
“You’re so sure of the outcome?” He asked, ignoring the other man entirely.
“Oh, yes. I’ve spent a lot of time in the last six months, you know… thinking about it.” Potter said, giving him another suggestive look.
“And your hormone-addled wank-fantasies are to be taken as gospel?” He snapped, only to freeze. He – him, not Potter – had finally given name to this something around them, even though he’d sworn the first time he’d shuddered pleasantly under Potter’s interested look that he would never.
The younger man smiled softly at him – gently, as if he was neither offended nor bothered.
“I’d like to take those as inspiration, sure.” His eyes travelled up and down Severus’ body, and he felt strangely naked for it.
“Potter…” He warned.
The other man shook his head and drained his drink. “I’ll just be blunt before I lose my nerve. I’m obviously interested in you. You’re interested in me too, so why don’t we stop pussyfooting around and just get to the fun part?”
His brain nearly broke at the audacity of the Gryffindor.
“I have never given you reason to assume that your… interest is returned, have I?” He asked idly – it was a pointless question because he knew that he had not.
Potter chuckled. “You’ve never indicated you aren’t interested and… I mean you’re you. You’d have ripped my head off the first time I looked at your arse if you weren’t interested.” The young man said – Severus’ fingers clenched on his armchair because that was the most astute thing Potter had ever said.
He took a deep breath. “Nevertheless… my answer is no.”
Potter frowned. “Okay… can I at least ask why? I’d assumed you were just playing coy so far, but…” He gestured in the air, as if Severus was supposed to understand what he meant.
“My reasons are my own.” He declined, sipping some more of the delicious alcohol Potter had brought.
“Well, sure, but if you’re going to turn a bloke down, shouldn’t you at least give him a reason why? It’s polite.” Potter said with a chuckle.
Severus huffed, put off by how… gracious Potter was being about the rejection. “We are… incompatible.”
“You can’t possibly know that because we’ve never spoken about it.” Potter drained the rest of his glass and poured himself another. “And besides, I’m… flexible.” The man said lightly.
Severus shifted uncomfortably – he had no desire to think about Potter’s… flexibility in any sense of the word. Merlin, if he would, though… He shuddered, all too aware that the other man was watching him, caught the tiny quiver racing through him as sure as he would have in the other man.
“I do know.” He replied evenly – because he did. It had been beaten into his skull years, decades ago, and it was a lesson well-learned.
Potter stood, setting down his half-filled glass and striding over to Severus’ chair. He was momentarily unnerved, once again, by the sheer gall – in his own rooms, no less. “I’ll wear Slytherin colours for a year if we’re incompatible, Professor Snape.” Potter said before unceremoniously sitting on his lap.
He squawked, inelegantly jerking away, his fingers slipping on the glass, spilling what little had been in it – likely several dozen galleons worth of alcohol.
Worse, though, was the fact that Potter’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, that confident, oh-so interested grin now much closer. Worst of all was that, despite his activities just before Potter came, he was achingly hard, and Potter had to be able to feel it.
“Told you so!” The younger man said with a chuckle, shifting – wriggling, really.
“Potter… this does not denote compatibility.”
“Call me Harry, I’m sitting on your lap… Severus.” Potter said with a slight huff.
He glowered at the other man. “Harry. You are an attractive man. That does not mean that we would… enjoy the same things.”
“Not automatically, but I have a feeling we would. And besides, what’s the worst that could happen if we’re wrong? You may be a git, but you’re not the sort of man to turf me out of Hogwarts just because I might not be kinky enough for you.” Potter said.
He laughed again, another sincere laugh – he wasn’t sure why Potter kept causing them, nor was he sure he really enjoyed the sensation. Potter seemed to, in any case.
“And if I told you that the only way I fuck is with the lights off, socks on?”
“What, laying back and thinking of England?” Potter mocked.
“Precisely.” He said, his fingers settling low on Potter’s back, enjoying the warmth of the other man – why hadn’t he turfed the boy out yet? Not out of Hogwarts, but at least out of his rooms, off his lap. His fingers clenched, pressing into solid muscle.
Ah.
“I’ll take the risk. And even if that is the case, I’m sure it’d be fantastic.”
“Absurd.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” Potter said, leaning close.
Severus was keenly aware of the fact that he was about to be kissed – and he would tell Potter that he was wrong, just as soon as…
He froze, realising that Potter hadn’t kissed him yet – wasn’t going to either – and that he’d called his bluff, that Severus had shown that he wanted the kiss, at least. He hissed, blushing in embarrassment at his own actions.
“You’re wrong!” He snapped, pushing at Potter’s chest.
“I’m not.” Potter said, leaning in and kissing him, this time.
He groaned pathetically as those plush lips settled against his. There was no hesitation – only confident exploration. Potter just assumed Severus would part his lips, would return the kiss if he deepened it… and like the weak, desperate keen idiot that he was, he did just that.
He shuddered, mewled, and pulled Potter close, his thoughts spinning out of control completely for a few seconds. A rather Slytherin thought occurred to him – hadn’t Potter offered him carte blanche, more or less? He could always fuck the younger man, without revealing his problems. There were dozens of things they could do. He could have the seductive, beautiful young man in his lap without humiliating himself.
Decision made, he shoved Potter off his lap, hard enough that the Gryffindor sprawled onto the ground, catching himself on his arms, as he looked up at him.
He stood, swallowing thickly. “Bedroom.” He ordered, his heart racing.
Potter climbed to his feet and stumbled after him with a laugh. He opened the door for them both and after a perfunctory check that the wardrobe door was, in fact, completely sealed, he proceeded to start yanking off his robes. Potter had less to take off – he was naked and in Severus’ bed in mere seconds.
He nearly choked on his own spit at the sight – Potter was every bit as deliciously appealing as he’d imagined, all perfect, evenly tanned skin over slight muscle. His cock was decent too – on the larger side, without being obscene. It looked fantastic in Potter’s hand, as he wanked himself slowly while Severus hastily stripped off the rest of his clothes.
His own body wasn’t really worth the attention Potter paid him – he was pale, scarred, and scrawny, after all. Potter’s hand abandoned his own cock and reached up, yanking him down into another kiss. The world spun, and he was readily pressed into the bed, the warm weight of his partner above him.
He groaned, pushing lightly at Potter, not to dislodge him but to revel in the feeling that he couldn’t.
“You look fantastic.” Potter groaned into his ear after breaking the kiss. “I hadn’t thought you’d be so hot.” He said, before pressing a heated kiss to his throat, before he nibbled along his neck and shoulder.
He moaned, wantonly, the words ripped straight from his own idiotic, disgusting fantasies. He hadn’t expected them – of course not.
“I’m… not.” He managed to insist, wishing he hadn’t already moaned away his dignity.
“You are.” Potter insisted. “So very beautiful under me… mhm, want you.” Potter said, panting lightly against his skin.
His plans – to fuck Potter, to convince him that was his preference, evaporated in some sort of white haze that clouded over his mind.
“Have me, then.” He moaned, sounding nothing like himself, his body squirming under Potter’s touch, into his hands.
“God, yes. Legs up.” Potter ordered – he moved before he could complain, before he could think of whether or not he wanted to complain. His partner studied him for a moment – too long, embarrassingly long.
The warm heat, the desire in Potter’s eyes forced him to avert his own. “Beautiful.” Potter surprised him by saying.
He flinched, his fingers clenching on his own thighs. “Don’t mock me.” He hissed, frissons of hurt stabbing through him like ice.
“I’m not.” Potter said, pressing a kiss to his knee. The younger man whispered spells – he knew them well enough, cleaning, stretching, lubrication. He was momentarily startled that Potter didn’t need a wand, but not enough to really care, not when a finger nudged his entrance and his eyes fluttered shut.
Potter thrust two fingers into him roughly, clearly just to check if the spells had done their job correctly. He still groaned wantonly, that part of himself neglected for so long. He didn’t even normally bother indulging himself that way alone. How long had it been – his thoughts broke off when the hand withdrew, and the blunt head of a cock nudged against him instead.
He knew he was panting, his whole body drawing up with anticipation, with the expectation of pleasure.
Potter didn’t disappoint – he snapped his hips forwards, seating himself inside of Severus completely. He moaned wantonly, his back arching as best as it could as Potter hit his prostate dead on, on the first thrust.
He was given no time to adjust to the long-unfamiliar sensation of another man inside of him – Potter wasted no time fucking into him in even, hard thrusts that had him seeing stars with each motion. He lost his grip on his legs, hands falling to his sides as Potter urged his legs around his own waist.
He groaned at the change in angle, the way Potter’s cock now rubbed along his prostate rather than hitting it dead on. He knew he was writhing, had to be an absolute mess under Potter, having completely lost all control of himself the second that cock had slid into him.
It didn’t take long – not after six months of desire and self-denial.
Not when Potter had called him beautiful, even as a joke.
He came with a scream, Potter not far behind – neither of them ever touched his cock, and he still came harder than he had done in years.
He woke up with the distinct sensation of eyes on him – concerning, given that he slept alone, and had done so his entire life. Of course, he wasn’t an idiot – he remembered at once that he’d fucked Potter the night before. In the low light of the next morning, this already questionable decision seemed downright nuts.
He rolled over, and indeed, Potter was laying there, staring at him. He steeled himself for whatever mockery he might hear – or worse yet, words of regret from his partner.
He got neither – instead Potter leaned forwards and kissed him. Just as deeply as the night before, now with the slightly odd taste of two wizards that hadn’t cleaned their teeth yet.
He grunted in shock, reflexively biting down on Potter’s lip to get him to desist. Indeed, the other man hissed and pulled back.
“Ouch! Well good morning to you too, you git!” Potter snapped, touching his lip.
“You’re not bleeding.” He hissed back. “Why are you still here?”
“What, expected me to clear out when I was done? I don’t do late-night walks of shame.” Potter said, stretching on the bed.
He studied the play of muscle under all that skin and swallowed thickly. “I don’t see how morning walks-of-shame are any better.”
“You’re right.” Potter said with a snicker, his momentary ire apparently already forgotten. “Those are bad too. How about you let me have you again and we see how I feel about a lunchtime walk-of-shame?” Potter asked.
Before he could answer – before he could comprehend – Potter had already rolled over, had yanked Severus on top of him, had rubbed his erection against his arse, making the decision for him, the selfish bastard.
It was a dinnertime walk-of-shame in the end, and for all that Potter was the one walking home almost a full day after he’d visited, it was Severus who could barely put a foot in front of the other as he staggered into the Great Hall.
Potter walked casually, as always – but then, he hadn’t gotten railed repeatedly until, he was pretty sure, his eyes had crossed. He’d have taken a pain potion, even, his pride be damned, if it weren’t for the fact that Potter had walked out with him… and he wasn’t going to stroke the other man’s ego like that, taking one in front of him.
No, the grins when Severus had slowly gotten dressed were bad enough – smug, pleased, self-satisfied.
He wished it wasn’t such a good look on his youngest colleague.
Potter was back a week later, another Saturday evening, this time with elf wine. They shared a glass, then Potter bent him over his armchair.
The week after that, it was elf champagne which he hadn’t even know was a thing they made. It was delicious, light, and strong, clearly, because they sucked each other off before Potter gave him a hand job the morning after, whispering all sorts of painful lies to him when he did. So beautiful, so handsome, so good.
He’d come harder than he ever had, shaking in Potter’s arms, the man’s cock nestled against his arse. He’d shaken afterwards, from the overload of Potter telling him things the other man couldn’t know he wanted, needed…
And Potter had simply rolled him over and fucked him face-first into the mattress.
Idiot that he was, he’d been grateful because it meant Potter couldn’t see the way he’d cried into his pillows at it all.
Six weeks later, he was standing in front of his wardrobe again, fingers trailing along the door. Normally he didn’t touch it at all, save for once or twice a year when that need ate at him, when he thought he could steel himself for the shame and humiliation of that.
He sighed softly. It had been a while, and…
“What’s in there?” A voice asked. Severus felt his body turn to salt. He’d… he’d forgotten Potter had slept over.
“None of your business.” He replied, the too-loud words ringing through the room unpleasantly. Potter stared at him in shock – they hadn’t raised their voices at each other in weeks. He swallowed thickly. “Absolutely none of your concern.”
“I’ve been curious since the first night. It’s warded like Azkaban.” Potter said. He felt the man’s magic brush the wards, touching them, exploring them. That Potter was powerful enough to do so – to let him feel the magic involved… it made him sick to his stomach.
“Get out. Now.” He ordered, his shoulders shaking with rage – with fear. Potter… Potter might just be powerful enough to tear through the wards.
“What? I-It’s fine. I’m sorry, I would never look. You can’t blame me for being curious though.” Potter said, getting out of bed.
Severus’ eyes were fixed on the wardrobe, only stealing a glance when the completely bare Potter collected his clothes from the floor. There was cum drying on his body – mostly Severus’, he knew. He shivered, the pleasant memories drowned out completely by the feel of Potter’s magic in his wards.
“I’ll leave.” Potter said, surprising him. “Because clearly you really are upset, and I’m sorry. I’ll see you next week?”
“No.” He rasped out, swallowing thickly.
“You’re… erm… not dumping me for asking, are you?” Potter asked awkwardly. “Because that would be a bit…”
He took a deep breath, desperately wishing he could just dump Potter, but unfortunately, he was a terribly weak man, desperate for everything Potter gave him, far more often than the other man did. He was equally desperate for things that could – would – never be, and…
“No. I have a Potions conference next weekend.” He finally said, unable to look at Potter.
“Oh!” The man said, far more cheerily now. “That’s fine. Well, I suppose since I’ll probably forget to tell you next week in the Great Hall, I’ll just wish you a good time now?” Potter asked, before pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek.
He didn’t have a good time at all. How could he when apparently, he’d conditioned his body to Potter’s presence so much that he struggled to think of much else?
The only other thing he could think of was a small something tucked away at the bottom of his charmed bag, something he pulled out on the second evening. It was the perfect opportunity to… indulge that particular perversion of his. He was alone, away from Hogwarts and…
And he couldn’t. The idea of it, alone – the only way he could have possibly born it the last years of his life was now almost repulsive to him now, somehow made worse by the fact that he was thinking of it now, away from Hogwarts – away from Potter.
He wanted… he wanted Harry. Throwing the thing back into his suitcase, he threw himself onto the bed instead, with a pathetic groan. If that wasn’t an option then… then could he allow himself the fantasy, at least? To imagine what it’d be like…
He came back exhausted. Cranky, upset, and more than anything, turned on. His self-indulgence had gone rather poorly, and with him only coming back in the small hours of the Monday morning, he would have had to wake Potter up in the middle of the night to find relief from him then.
No, he couldn’t do that, even if he had thought it would be well-received.
He knew he could wait, of course – he’d not been with anyone before Potter for years, so clearly, he was well-capable of not getting off for a few more days.
Of course, usually, he wasn’t so… foolishly keen on someone who sat next to him three times a day for meals.
Potter stopped him on Wednesday, yanked him into an empty classroom in between lessons. He just about managed to sneer at the other man, readying himself to hiss and spit at the other man for the audacity of manhandling him like that, when he saw the wary look on Potter’s face.
“What?” He snapped instead of the words that had flashed through his face.
“Are you okay? You’ve seemed a bit… off. I’m worried.” Potter said carefully.
He took a deep breath – their carnal arrangement did not give Potter the right to… to…
“Fine.” He hissed.
“Liar.” Potter said, raising an eyebrow at him – an imitation of his gesture, thank you very much.
“I did not… enjoy the conference.” He admitted through gritted teeth.
Potter relaxed a little and smiled.
“Oh! I see, so that’s all. I see.” He said with a chuckle, before stepping straight into his personal space. “Would you like for me to help you relax?” Potter asked, a sparkle in his green eyes. He scoffed, even as his hands came up to land on Potter’s shoulders. To stop him, probably – it was a moot point though, when Potter leaned up and kissed him, because he did nothing at all to stop him.
Nor did he stop the younger man when Potter dropped to his knees and sucked him off, right there, in the empty classroom.
They were both late for their lessons, but he did feel better.
For a while. He felt better for a while. Come Sunday morning – or rather, five am when he woke up next to a snoring Potter, that’s when ‘better’ faded to nothing. His eyes snapped to his wardrobe, in the dark. He couldn’t see, but he knew well enough where it was, knew everything that was inside as well.
He took a shuddering breath, the fantasies he’d indulged himself in the weekend before washing over him, his cock hard in seconds. He was tempted – sincerely tempted to tell Potter, to show him, but…
But what he wanted was wrong, and he wouldn’t have it, of that he was sure.
Groaning quietly, he rolled over – closer to Potter. The younger man hummed and rolled too, throwing an arm and a leg over him.
“You ever gonna tell me what’s in that wardrobe?” Potter mumbled.
He felt his body freeze, even his breath hitching in his chest for several long seconds.
“No.” He rasped out, praying he wasn’t shaking.
“Alright. You could, you know. I wouldn’t mind, whatever it is.” Potter said, nuzzling into his hair, pressing a kiss to his scalp.
He was silent for several long minutes, until he was sure Potter was asleep again.
“Maybe.” He whispered, fingers brushing Potter’s chest.
“You know, you’d look good in colour. Slytherin green, definitely, but I think red too.” Potter said as they stood in Diagon Alley.
He spun, ready to rip Potter to shreds, already regretting even agreeing to come along to get new robes for the Yule Ball. He damn well didn’t need any, now did he? He’d only gone because… because…
“I wear black.” He hissed.
“And you look good in it, don’t get me wrong, but you’d also look good in green.” Potter insisted, still not looking at him, but rather at the mannequins in Madame Malkin’s, waving and showing off their clothes as they were.
“Nonsense.” He hissed.
Potter chuckled. “I know for a fact green suits you.”
“As you’ve never seen me wear any, you cannot.” He snapped again, fear raising its ugly head inside of him. Potter walked along the street, towards another shop, and he followed.
“I do, though. And I have.”
His body reacted before he could stop himself, yanking Potter by the shoulder, pushing him into a side-alley and slamming him against the wall there, bodily crowding him. “And where, pray tell, would you have seen something so ridiculous?” He snarled, fear, shame and disgust welling up within him.
Potter smiled, not the least bit disturbed, clearly. Of course, he had no reason to be – he was, without a doubt, the more powerful wizard, after all. “Did you know you’re Neville’s Boggart?”
He balked for a second, confused by the relevance. “I’m not surprised, but I didn’t know. Longbottom is an imbecile.” He drawled.
Potter giggled, the bastard. “Yes, well, in second year, we learned about them, right? Remus got a boggart, and had us all face it.”
Dread and a new wave of fear washed over him. He had a good idea of where this was going, and he didn’t care for it in the least.
“And Mr. Longbottom saw fit to what? Dress me in a clown’s outfit?” He snapped angrily.
“No, no. His grandma’s clothes. Erm, dark green skirt and blazer and this admittedly hideous hat with a whole stuffed vulture on it. The hat was shite, but the colour of the clothes looked good on you.” Potter said with a smile.
He didn’t reply – he simply turned away, leaving Potter there, and apparating straight back to Hogwarts. He locked himself into his rooms, cast a Muffliato on his door, just in case someone – Potter – came knocking.
He yanked down the wards on his wardrobe and summoned everything inside out, spreading it over the bed. Every pathetic, disgusting piece of lace, each scrap of decidedly not black cotton fabric. He stood over his bed, shaking with rage, with humiliation, with embarrassment that even now he could neither tell Potter nor simply set fire to it all.
Potter hadn’t laughed at him – he’d complimented him. Sincerely, even, however idiotic it had been. He swallowed thickly, hands clenching by his sides as his gaze settled on his favourite thing of the lot – a Slytherin green thing of mesh and lace, with silver and white trimmings. He picked it up fingers angrily crumpling the fabric up and throwing it across the room. It didn’t go far – it was too light and thin. Instead, it crumpled to a small heap barely a foot away from him.
He laughed hoarsely – why did he have to be so very twisted that he couldn’t simply enjoy the already outrageous privilege of having a man like Potter warming his bed?
Why did he have to think about what it would be like if Potter knew this side of him? If he could… like it, even? He’d always had the exact same reactions when he’d revealed this perversion before – he didn’t think Potter would be any different.
With Potter, he thought, he could maybe even bear the humiliation, the ridicule, as long as… as long as…
“Incendio.” He whispered, setting fire to the heap of fabric by his side. It didn’t matter.
It ate at him, the desire to tell Potter. The fact that he couldn’t just ignore it, that it got harder with every time that Potter came to him made the humiliation a hundred times worse, of course.
“You’re tense.” Potter mumbled, his fingers digging into Severus’ shoulders, soothing the tension he always carried there. He groaned weakly, the relaxing touch having an entirely different effect on the lower half of his body. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” He huffed, rolling his shoulders, into the touch.
“You’re lying. I’ve thought so the last few times. Something is clearly on your mind. Why not tell me?” Potter asked, lips pressing to Severus’ neck, his throat.
He groaned, putting down his quill – clearly his marking wasn’t going to get done now.
“It’s nothing.” He insisted, tilting his head to invite more of Potter’s licks and kisses to his sensitive neck. The other man obliged him for several long moments – he almost thought he’d let it go.
“You should tell me.” Potter mumbled into his skin, and once again, he found himself considering it.
“I should not.” He said, reminding himself as much as Potter that he should, in fact, not.
“So you admit there is something?” Potter asked with a triumphant snicker.
He huffed, uncomfortable. “Potter…”
“Harry. We’ve been sleeping together for months. Isn’t it time you start thinking of me as Harry?” His lover asked, fingers brushing his cheek affectionately.
“Harry…” He moaned, unable to keep the arousal from his tone. “Fine… fine, there is something, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why’s it bother you so much, then? I’m not stupid, I can see it’s eating at you.”
“Shut up, Potter, if you want to fuck me tonight.” He hissed, standing up and pushing his chair back – right into the Gryffindor.
His lover scoffed but he did, in fact, shut up. Shut up and bugger him into the bed until he felt like a molten puddle of overstimulated nerves, barely remembering which way was up, and what his name was.
It baffled him just how effective Potter was at reducing him to this state – but at least he could admit how good it was.
How much better it would be, if….
No.
“I won’t let it go. One of these days, I’ll make you tell me.” Potter said – over dinner, the little twat.
“No.” He replied evenly. Potter had made a tactical mistake – he had no issue whatsoever refusing him in public, when Potter didn’t have his fingers, his lips, his cock all over him.
“I will. Gryffindor stubbornness and all that.” Potter said cheerily into his wineglass.
“You will not. Nothing short of tearing through my wards will accomplish your goal, and if you do that, you will never disgrace my rooms with your presence again.” He warned him.
Potter was silent for a few moments – until he turned to look at the younger man. His expression was oddly grave.
“I could, as you no doubt realise… but I learned that lesson over ten years ago, when I violated your privacy last time. I would never do it again.” He said solemnly – and something tense, something terrified within Severus eased at once, because he believed him.
He gave a small nod of acknowledgement, and the tension faded from Potter’s face.
“I’ll still make you tell me.”
“You will not.” He repeated, turning back to his food.
“Oh, I will. I have a plan, even.”
“I’m shaking in my boots.” He drawled.
He was very nearly screaming now, his self-control stretched to its very limits. His arms and legs were trembling, barely even able to support him now. He had no idea how long Potter had been fucking him for, how long he’d been desperate to come and not been able to.
He had no idea at all – it could have been an hour, it could have been three. Every single nerve-ending in his body was desperately over-stimulated, the pleasure and pain of it soaring to new heights with every touch from Potter, every thrust against his prostate.
If he didn’t know that his Occlumency shields were firmly in place he’d have accused Potter of reading his mind, of somehow cheating by figuring out precisely when he was about to come and stopping just then.
It happened again – his body drew up, ready to finally come, and Potter stopped, stilling within him, stopping mid-motion.
He sobbed, pathetically, his arms buckling as his face crashed straight into the pillow. He knew what would be next – he’d heard it at least a dozen times, by now.
“Tell me.”
“No.” He moaned, the slide of sheets against his cheek rough, almost too much to his over-sensitized skin. He groaned again, at absolutely nothing, just at the state of his body.
“Tell me and I’ll let you come.” Potter promised, grinding himself into him – it didn’t matter, he’d waited long enough that it wasn’t enough to get him off now, as Potter no doubt knew, the bastard.
“No.” He moaned again, shuddering, clenching on Potter.
“Then I’ll just keep doing this, again and again and again…” Potter promised, resuming his motions. He tugged Severus back towards him a little, to make sure he could breathe now that he was no longer on all fours. The thrusts were deeper this way, his whole body jostled with the strength of it, the intensity of each thrust.
He felt his eyes roll back, felt his body near the edge so much faster than a minute ago – and for a hysterical moment he was pleased, hoped Potter wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t stop it this time, but…
Potter froze and he screamed, uncaring that it was embarrassing, the denial of the pleasure Potter owed him by then almost as painful as the Cruciatus.
“Tell me.” Potter said, again, for maybe the tenth time, or the hundredth, he didn’t know.
“Fine.” He sobbed, despite himself. He’d reached his breaking point – he’d tell Potter anything just as long as he would make him come, anything at all. He’d take another dark mark, from Potter, at least, he’d tell the bastard he loved him, anything at all so long as he was finally allowed to come.
Potter thrust into him once, pushing him impossibly closer to the edge.
“Promise me, give me your word.” He hissed.
“Yes, yes, I swear, I promise.” He babbled mindlessly, his body trembling on the edge, right there…
And then, all at once Potter started again. He thrust into him deeply, ground against his prostate, his fingers wrapped around Severus cock, and a familiar mouth pressed against his back, pressed kisses to his spine.
He screamed as he had never, not even under the actual Cruciatus, as Potter wrenched his orgasm from his body, mercilessly pushing him off the very cliff he’d stopped him from tumbling over for so long.
He lost awareness of everything other than the indescribable pleasure, the complete abandon of his body as wave after wave of it washed over him. Longer, and harder, no doubt, than he’d ever felt it, until it was almost too good, too much, until he was glad when he collapsed and it was over.
Potter had come too, at some point, apparently, because he slid out of Severus and collapsed onto the bed next to him, both of them breathing hard.
He didn’t care – not about anything but the electric aftershocks now racing through him, from the tips of his fingers all the way to his toes. He was pretty sure that each of them even, was as intense as his normal orgasms were, and he couldn’t help a strangled sob, dimly aware that there were tears in his sheets.
A hand landed gently on his arse and he whimpered, terrified, for a moment, that Potter would do more – but no, the other man simply put his hand there and held still. When he didn’t move again, Severus forced himself to lift his head, the muscles in his neck and back trembling as he did, turning to Potter – fast asleep.
He wanted to laugh – or cry, he wasn’t sure which.
It seemed Potter hadn’t miscalculated in approaching him in the Great Hall about his secret. He’d been so smug about his ability to tell the man no there, that he’d never even noticed the mistakes he’d made.
He was furious, actually – he’d confirmed that the ‘thing’ that upset him was in fact in his wardrobe, and he’d allowed Potter’s promise not to force it to lull him into a sense of false security. He’d not expected this – not expected something as deeply and profoundly Slytherin from the Gryffindor that had just shagged him, quite literally, out of his mind.
He shivered at absolutely nothing, his muscles contracting and sending another wave of aftershocks through his body. He awkwardly checked the time – three and a half hours. Potter had fucked him like that, had edged him like that for nearly four hours.
He moaned again, cold, now that the sweat on his skin was starting to dry. They were laying on top of the sheets, and he had no hope at all of reaching for his wand or summoning without it, not with the state he was in.
The hand on his arse flexed, fingers digging into the muscle there, and he whimpered.
“Potter…” He groaned, hoping his partner was awake.
“Mh?” The other man hummed, clearly not awake.
“I’m cold.” He hissed. A grumble was his only answer, before that hand went slack again.
He sighed – in all fairness, he couldn’t blame Potter for passing out after what was, quite frankly, an impressive performance.
Soft fabric settled on his body, and he froze completely. It was a little hard to make out in the darkness, but what had covered them both was decidedly not his duvet – this one was red. Gryffindor red. Potter had, it seemed, wordlessly and wandlessly, summoned his own damn duvet to Severus’ bed.
“Braggart.” He hissed to the unconscious man, taking together what little remained of his strength to flip onto his back, knocking Potter’s hand off his arse as he did.
The sleeping man was undeterred, squirming closer and wrapping himself around him. He had half a second to be pissed at him – and then, sleep overwhelmed him too.
He woke up first, as was usually the case. Of course, there was nothing usual about that morning. Firstly, he couldn’t really walk – being a creature of habit, he’d gotten up and out of bed, as usual, only to have to catch himself on his bedside table as both his legs buckled at once. A searing pain shot through him, centred around his thoroughly abused backside. He moaned and forced himself up, stumbling over to the cabinet he kept his potions in.
He wasn’t too proud – this time – to down several potions, no matter if Potter was present. He got dressed, went about his normal morning business, while Potter slept, tangled in his own damn duvet, a painful mismatch to his green rooms. He did allow himself to ogle the man for a few moments – if nothing else, Potter was almost absurdly attractive, after all.
Also, this sight was a pleasure he was fairly sure he would not see again – not when he kept his word. And, for what it was worth, he did intend to. Potter had, of course, manipulated him in the nastiest way imaginable, but he was Slytherin – not only could he appreciate the artistry behind it, but he was far too manipulative himself to be truly upset.
No coercion had been involved either – Potter had made it clear that he could force his way into the wardrobe, and hadn’t. For all that he had been desperate the night before, he was also aware that Potter’s power aside, he too was a formidable wizard, and he could have put an end to Potter’s torture at any point. He could have kicked Potter out readily, could have gotten himself off, and not… not…
He sighed, stepping over to the wardrobe. It was warded tightly, of course – he set about painstakingly undoing them all. Not just temporarily opening them, but dispelling and dissolving them all, until that door in his wardrobe was no different than the other two. That done, he took one last look at Potter and strode out of his rooms, to breakfast.
Just because he kept his word, had revealed his humiliation, his shame, didn’t mean that he had to be there to witness the discovery of it.
Potter arrived to breakfast late – nearly too late.
Severus had stayed so long only because the idea of going back to his quarters with Potter still there was too much to bear – he didn’t think Potter would humiliate him in public, at least, so the Great Hall seemed safe.
He could only imagine the state of his quarters now, no doubt covered in his… secret, if Potter hadn’t destroyed the stuff entirely, not that he’d blame the man if he had.
“Good morning, Severus.” Potter said as he sat down next to him.
He nearly choked on his tea – the third cup that morning.
“Potter! You…”
“You left me in your rooms? You must have been quite hungry.” The man said with a grin. “Guess I wore you out?”
“Cease your pathetic blathering, you fool!” He snarled, his cheeks warming unpleasantly.
“Huh? What?” Potter asked as he buttered himself a slice of toast.
“You know.” He accused.
Potter blinked at him. “Oh!” He said, as understanding seemed to dawn. “Oh that. Yeah, I didn’t look in. Saw the wards were down, but since you weren’t there…”
“You… expect me to believe that?” He asked, nausea washing over him.
“Why would I lie? Look, you promised you’d tell me. I plan to hold you to it, but I’m not just… I don’t want to feel like I’m snooping.” Potter said, sounding entirely too reasonable.
He swallowed thickly, and stood.
“So you insist on making me humiliate myself, is that it?” He asked nastily.
Potter looked up at him with a frown. “Not at all, but I do want you to tell me so we can get over this and you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” He said, far too pleasantly.
Severus didn’t want pleasant – he wanted the damn confrontation wanted the humiliation just so it’d be over and he’d never have to look at Potter outside of their contractual obligations ever again.
“Thirty minutes. My rooms.” He snarled, furiously, before stalking off.
It felt like thirty days.
He’d immediately torn into the wardrobe, finding everything inside completely undisturbed – so either Potter had put it back perfectly, or he’d told the truth. He felt sick with fear at it, as he once again yanked out everything in there. If Potter insisted on this farce – and clearly he would, then Severus would drive the point home as firmly as he could.
He ripped his robes, the rest of his clothes off with shaking fingers, ignoring the faint sting of tears of embarrassment in the corner of his eyes, ignoring the part of him that was so pathetically hopeful inside of him, that maybe, just maybe, Potter wouldn’t…
He picked the most embarrassing of the lot, a red three-piece-set and pulled it on. He didn’t do it the way he usually did, on the rare occasions he satisfied this desire, didn’t enjoy the slide of the fabric over his body, didn’t do it slowly. No, he yanked on the panties, closed the many hooks of the garter belt where they closed behind his back, adjusted the straps that wrapped a little higher, over his hips to his non-existent waist.
He looked far away from his solitary mirror as he clasped the black lace garter – not stockings, he didn’t like those – to the clips, adjusting them on his thin thighs. The last part was the easiest – he yanked on the see-through red babydoll, devoid of anything as ill-fitting as women’s bra cups, and watched it settle over his ribs.
Normally, at this point, he’d be stepping up to the mirror, palms clammy and heart racing, to study himself, to think about how he…
But no, not this time. He waved his wand and the rest of it packed itself away again. As if on cue, he heard a knock on his door. Another wave of his wand and the door opened – while he stayed well put inside his bedroom, looking anywhere but his mirror, dreading what was to come as surely as sunrise followed night.
“Severus?” Potter called out, clearly looking for him in the living room.
“Bedroom.” He snapped out, only to lean against the door from the inside, preventing Potter from opening it.
“Erm, are you going to let me in, or do you expect me to find a way to travel through solid matter?” Potter asked with a small chuckle.
“Neither.” He snarled, clenching his hands into fists. “Potter… I would ask you to reconsider.” He said, chest heaving for air he curiously didn’t seem to be getting. What was worse – the worst part of the situation, for sure – was that he was hard, stretching the red lace of what he was wearing rather obscenely. Normally he liked the view, enjoyed the sight, but now… now that it was because of Potter that he was in such a state…
“Fine. I’ll just sit in your armchair then, shall I? And you come to me when you feel ready.” Potter said, sounding entirely too reasonable. He strained to hear if the man did as he said, but he had no way of telling – footsteps were too quiet to sound through the door, he knew that well enough.
He waited a minute, two, for his cock to go down on its own. It did, finally, eventually – the cocktail of emotions within him did not.
Knowing Potter was waiting, knowing that Potter had no idea at all of what he’d demanded to see so very often… he swallowed thickly, yanking the door open before he could lose his nerve.
He wasn’t actually brave enough to step through the door and he knew Potter couldn’t see to the door of his bedroom from his armchair. He was, indeed, sat there, the tips of his shoes visible, denoting his usual inelegant sprawl into the chair.
Severus swallowed thickly, pathetically fussing with his hair – as if it made a difference. As if anything would make a difference now. Praying that he hadn’t made a mistake in assuming that no public humiliation would follow this, he cautiously stepped out, forwards, towards the chair. Potter was facing away from him – had he chosen the other chair, he’d have been able to see him already.
Taking a deep breath, he drew himself up to his full height, schooling his expression into the same blank mask he’d worn hundreds of times among Death Eaters, and stepped around the chair, fully into Potter’s field of vision.
He thought he might well throw up as soon as he stopped there, his bare feet too cold on the stone floor. All of him was too cold, despite the perfectly acceptable room temperature around them.
The only thing he cared about – the only thing he could see was Potter’s expression. He’d smiled, when Severus had first stepped around the chair, revealing his disgusting attire. That expression had quickly morphed to surprise.
He looked away, to Harry’s feet, as he waited for the inevitable reaction – the sneer, the disgust, the humiliation.
“Wow.” Potter said quietly – softly. He drew up his shoulders, wondering if Potter would be like Evan Rosier when he’d shown him, all those years ago, sweetly pulling him closer, only to tear him to shreds then, telling him how happy he was to humiliate him, since that was clearly what he wanted. “Come closer.” Potter requested.
He almost laughed – it seemed he was exactly like Rosier. Crossing his arms over his middle, bunching the fabric there up a little, he stepped closer, to within touching distance. He knew that hiding behind his own arms wouldn’t save him from the humiliation that was to come, but it certainly made him feel safer.
“Severus… so this is what you were hiding?” Potter asked, his voice neutral – still devoid of judgement.
“Evidently.” He said, tilting his head back and staring at his ceiling, wondering how long he’d have to bear the humiliation.
“You look incredible.” Potter said at the same moment as fingers brushed his hip, tugging at one of the straps sitting there.
He squawked, stumbling back half a foot, away from Potter. He’d expected the mockery, of course, but he’d assumed Potter would be blunt about it, would call him disgusting, or ugly, or simply ridicule that he liked wearing women’s underwear, but no, it seemed he would, instead, do far worse than even Evan Rosier had, mocking him with the words he’d desperately wanted to hear ever since he’d first indulged this particular proclivity of his.
“Potter!” He snarled, finally looking at the man who had been his lover until that morning. Potter wasn’t looking at his face – he was eyeing his body, though, with an expression he knew. He’d seen it, for six months, before they’d ever fucked. It threw him off, for a second, that Potter could want… but then, he’d experienced that before too.
Plenty of men had assumed that what he was after was to be humiliated, to be ridiculed for this. There were men like that, he knew… but not him.
“Come here, Severus.” Potter repeated, holding out his hand, eyes still fixed to his body.
He felt vaguely ill as he stepped closer yet again. Potter’s hand, when he obviously didn’t take it, travelled back to his hip, once again lifting one of the straps there, lightly tugging. He stepped closer still, so it wouldn’t tear.
“Red.” Potter said, his tone light as he leaned forwards. “Knew the colour would suit you.” The other man said. He finally looked up at him – there was a smirk on his face, a gleeful little smile, but not, to his surprise, the hard edge of humiliation.
“Get it over with.” He snarled, barely able to still stand it.
“Get what over with? I hope you don’t mean looking at you because that will take a while.” Potter said with a grin.
He swallowed thickly. “The… the humiliation. For this.” He gestured down his body. Potter, to his surprise, looked quite shocked. He frowned for a moment.
“Do you… want me to humiliate you? Because… I mean…” Potter broke off, shaking his head. “I’d be more than happy trying out all sorts of stuff with you, but I’m really not into humiliation. Erm, sorry if that’s what you want.” He stuttered out, awkwardly.
Severus stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. His arms fell to his sides, limply. “You… don’t want to humiliate me.” He checked.
Potter gave him an incredulous look. “What the? Of course not! When have I ever?”
He shrugged. “Every… every time you mocked me in bed, I should think?” He spat out.
Potter’s eyebrows seemed to be trying to melt into his hairline. “And when the hell have I done that?”
He felt himself flush, felt his body cringing with a fresh wave of embarrassment. “Every time you insist on spouting that… that nonsense about me being…” He broke off, unable to even say it, dressed as he was.
For several long seconds, Potter stared at him completely blankly – and only then did abject horror cross his features, the likes of which he hadn’t seen in years – not since he’d last seen Potter try and fail to brew something, probably.
He froze, unsure what had prompted the expression.
“You! I! No!” Potter snapped, completely incoherent. “I have never mocked you! That… I was sincere!” He insisted.
He clenched his jaw, sneering at the younger man. “Stuff it, Potter, I’m not an idiot. I have a mirror. I know what I look like.”
“You don’t know what you look like to me.” Potter said – and then, after a momentary pause, he reached out and grabbed Severus’ hand, yanking on it. He stumbled, bending down as Potter pulled – and subsequently pressed his hand to the bulge in his pants.
He gasped weakly – Potter was hard. From… from… seeing him?
“I think you’re hot, Severus.” Potter said, his face mere inches from him. He wanted to balk, wanted to pull back, but the younger man had a tight grip on his hand. The really odd thing, however, was that there was no trace of… of lies or deception in those green eyes.
He swallowed thickly. “Harry, I…”
“No, please, don’t. I know you don’t take compliments well, but I didn’t realise you thought I was mocking you or I’d have spoken up before now.” He said, before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips. He flinched – he hadn’t expected it, not at all. “I promise, I’ve never mocked you or lied to you. This… I was surprised by it, but I promise, it’s a good surprise. I think it looks incredible.” Potter promised.
He took a deep breath, his chest feeling oddly strangled. “I… there are… more. Not just this one.” He admitted.
Harry’s expression morphed to a smile, a pleased, boyish expression not unlike the one he’d had when Severus had first invited him to his rooms. “Yeah? You’ll have to show me.”
Pulling Potter into the bedroom after himself, his face bright red, heart racing in his chest was… strange. He felt a little like when he’d been a teenager, his first experience with another man. It had been mediocre at best, of course, awkward fumbling and premature completion, but it had firmly shown him that he was into men.
This felt, strangely, the same. He pulled Potter into the bedroom, kicked the door shut, and all but threw the other man onto the bed, before swinging his wand and summoning his collection of things back out. He didn’t spread them out on the bed, this time, but rather levitated them nearby, for the Gryffindor to look at, if he so chose.
He didn’t seem inclined thusly, at least not for the moment – he stayed where he’d sprawled onto the bed, studying Severus yet again. Finally, he shuffled until he was sitting at the edge of the bed and gestured for him to come closer.
He went, hesitantly, almost willing to believe that maybe… maybe Potter hadn’t lied. He stepped between spread legs, surprised when, without hesitation, hands slipped around his body, up his back – under the babydoll he was wearing. Potter hummed softly, nuzzled his face against his front. He could feel familiar lips pressing a kiss to his skin through the thin, red lace, and realised with embarrassing clarity that he was painfully hard again.
Potter ran his hands lower, down to his hips, playing momentarily with the straps around his hips, before teasing the edge of the garter belt, his fingers following the front two clasps to the elastic around his thighs.
“No stockings?” Potter asked.
“Don’t like them.” He blurted out breathlessly. Potter nudged him back a little and leaned down, biting – dear god, biting – the elastic there and pulling a little. He shamelessly whimpered when the other man let go and it snapped against his leg, not hard enough to hurt, but… but.
“Fair enough.” The other man said. “What made you choose red?”
“It’s… the most ridiculous thing I have.” He hissed out.
“Oh yeah? Your least favourite?” The other man asked, his fingers now rubbing over Severus’ chest, over the lace there.
“N-No. Most are… black. Less… outrageous.” He said, gesturing to the flying things.
“Mhm…” Potter didn’t even look, licking across his nipple, the soft slide of fabric and tongue almost enough to make his knees buckle.
“Harry…” He groaned, supporting himself on his partner’s shoulders. Fingers slid along his thighs, higher, over his arse, slipping under the fabric of the panties there.
“Can I fuck you in this?” The younger man asked – Severus moaned at the image, nodding before he could even really understand the question. Nobody had ever… “Will you try on some of the others for me too?” Harry added on.
Severus just kept nodding – there wasn’t an awful lot he’d say no to, right now.
“Maybe we should do something about this first, though.” The other man said – he had a moment to wonder what ‘this’ was – then lips closed around the head of his cock, a familiar tongue licking across what little of his cock was exposed by red lace.
He looked down his body, hardly able to believe the sight of it, the beautiful red fabric covering his skin, the beautiful man eagerly licking at his cock. Potter didn’t take his cock out, he simply focused on the head of it, not contained by the panties at all. When he did use his fingers, it was to run them up and down his shaft, shifting the material there over him. It was nearly too much – it was definitely enough, and he came in a humiliatingly short amount of time, spilling himself on his own body and, partly, onto Harry’s face.
The other man glanced up when he came, a small smile on his face still. His legs nearly gave, and he leaned more heavily onto his partner, shuddering when he pressed a kiss to his stomach.
“Can I look at the rest now?” Harry asked cheerily.
Severus let himself onto the bed with a groan and gestured towards the floating things. He didn’t even care, didn’t bother watching as his lover hopped off the bed to go check out his ‘collection’.
He rolled away, actually, to not look, when a wave of emotions overwhelmed him. He was still hesitant to believe it – he had… he had misjudged Potter. Like all the men before him, Potter had indeed judged him – but unlike them, he’d not found Severus wanting, hadn’t ridiculed, or mocked him.
He’d never expected – outside of a few thoughts in the middle of wanking himself off – that Potter could… could like it. The best-case scenario, and even that he’d rarely considered was that Potter would want to keep fucking him while ignoring his perversion. Even that had seemed… unlikely to him.
And Potter – Harry – had… had… He felt himself shiver. He’d refused to humiliate him, even when, for a moment, he’d thought that was what Severus wanted.
He’d… he’d indulged him, even, had…
An arm wrapped around his middle, a body pressing to his back. “You alright?” Harry asked, nuzzling against his neck.
Abruptly aware that he was simply curled up on his bed in his now-soiled outfit, he winced. “Fine.” He said, his voice a little rough.
Harry squeezed him more tightly for a few moments, before letting go. Severus sat up and muttered a cleaning spell, before hastily moving to take it off. He’d have preferred to change without Harry there, but he wasn’t about to turf the man out now.
His lover stopped him as he reached for his usual wardrobe. “Could you… try on that one?” He asked, pointing to something behind him. He turned to look – Harry had chosen a black lace teddy he’d never even worn, one he’d bought and then hidden away, never finding the courage to put it on. It was low-cut, the sort of design meant for women without much in the way of boobs – the only style that even halfway worked on a man.
“You want me to…” He said, his voice failing him.
“If you don’t mind.” Harry confirmed.
He looked between the teddy on the bed and Harry for a moment, before wordlessly going to pull it on. It was awkward, of course, and he was hyper-aware of the eyes on him as he pulled it into place. It was relatively simple, flower-patterned lace, the front cleavage ending just above his navel. It sat tightly, stretching a little to fit his tall frame.
“Wow.” Harry said, his tone soft. Before he could turn to look at the other man, his hands were already there, brushing his ribs, along his chest, up to his neck where the straps dug into his shoulders a little. Harry did something to them – adjusted them a little, and it immediately fit more comfortably. “Gorgeous.” The other man muttered into his shoulder, pressing kisses there.
“Harry, I…” He trailed off, groaning when those fingers slid under the material, touching his bare skin underneath.
“Do you ever wear this under your clothes? During the day, I mean.”
He huffed. “No. God no. I don’t… I… usually only open that wardrobe once or twice per year. I am not… comfortable with…”
Harry nodded against his shoulder. “I see. Hm, that’s probably not going to work for me. Now that I know that you have this, that you look this fucking delicious in stuff like this, you’re probably going to have to get a bigger wardrobe. That one won’t fit all the stuff I’m getting you.”
He laughed, weakly, still confused by what was happening. “You can’t seriously be meaning to…”
Harry stepped around him and yanked him into a lose hug, his arms around Severus’ waist. “I didn’t know this was your secret. I thought it might be something like, I don’t know, bondage. That you had whips and chains in there, or something. I was prepared for those, and that would have been fine too. This, I wasn’t expecting, but in case you can’t tell, I’m really into it.”
“You must be nuts.” He whispered, feeling himself flush.
“Must be.” Harry agreed cheerily. “Did you really think I’d react badly?”
Unable to help the urge, he reciprocated the hug, pulled Harry close until his head was sitting on the smaller man’s shoulder – and thus, he could speak without Harry seeing his face. “Every man I’ve ever… revealed this perversion to has reacted the same.”
“Humiliation. That’s… that’s why you expected me to mock you.” He said, shockingly astute once again. He nodded softly, deeply comforted when those arms around him tightened. “Well… not me. I was worried for a second when you said that. I’m, erm, not the type. Really not the type. I’d have been willing to tie you to the bed or something but that… erm, no.”
He laughed weakly – it wasn’t a thought he’d considered, but that too, had a bit of appeal, now that he considered it. “You don’t… mind.” He checked, finally starting to believe that just maybe…
“God no. If anything, I’m pretty sure you just helped me discover a kink of my own.” Potter said with a soft laugh.
Severus felt some of his tension draining away, slowly, as he was held in his lover’s arms.
“God, if I wasn’t still worn out from yesterday, I’d want to fuck you into the bed right now.” Potter said wistfully.
He froze for a moment – in his fear, the spiralling of his thoughts, he’d all but forgotten the night before.
“How come you’re fine? You were way more messed up than me last night.” Harry said.
He snickered lightly and pulled back, before cautiously reaching for his regular clothes, praying he wasn’t making a mistake. Harry hummed, seemingly pleased. “I happen to be a potions master.”
“So, you’ve let me run through the castle, sore as anything, while you were fine?” The other man asked, scowling at him.
He tugged on his jacket, buttoning it up. “Yes.” He confirmed, ignoring Harry’s laughing howl of protest as he once again swept out of his rooms.
He stared at the black cardboard box sitting on the desk in his classroom suspiciously. Unexpected things in a potions classroom usually led to explosions – and unexpected things on his desk usually meant pranks. He did have some cauldrons in need of cleaning, but… He cautiously picked up the note on top of the box.
‘Open it in private.’ It read – private was underlined four times.
He scoffed – the handwriting was, of course, familiar. Potter. He’d know the writing anywhere after nearly a year with Potter – and after years of grading his awful essays.
Harry.
He grabbed the box, told his incoming students to keep busy, and walked out of class. No doubt, the dunderheads would be able to write without blowing themselves up.
Heart hammering, he locked himself into his bedroom. The box had a spell on it – one to make sure only he could open it. He tapped his wand to it, pleased when the package undid itself, the cardboard folding away to show bespelled tissue paper, held together with a sticker. When he reached for it, it undid itself, folding away to reveal what was inside.
He drew a sharp breath, taking in the sight that was, even folded like that, something to behold. Green lace, partly entirely sheer, partly showing elaborate flower patterns. It seemed to be several pieces. He hastily stripped out of his clothes, uncaring it was the middle of the day, the middle of class, uncaring that he was pathetically hard as he cautiously pulled on the panties. They were low cut, pressing not-so-gently into the bottom of his hard cock, the three straps sitting above it – similar to the set he’d shown Harry – framing it rather nicely, when he looked in the mirror.
He couldn’t help but stare – just that, just the one thing was probably nicer than anything he’d gotten for himself, the green making his skin look mysterious rather than sallow. He stepped back over to the box, picking up the next item – a sort of harness, he realised. He pulled it on carefully, worried he could rip the magical lace – nothing muggle-made could be so thin, so soft. A strap went around his neck, holding it up, while an inverted V-shape of lace ran down his middle, wrapping over his hipbones, and then back around the very top of his thighs.
The panties below split, in the back, he discovered, leaving absolutely no doubt what Harry intended to do to him in them – he’d hardly have to disturb them, actually, to fuck him. Severus moaned at the thought, unsure what to even do with himself, now, alone.
He hastily grabbed the next thing, a sort of bra entirely without cups, two triangular pieces of lace held together by straps. He cautiously pulled that on too, placing it under the strap that held the harness up. Below that, in the box, there were two more straps – simple, plain green bands that wrapped around his thighs, the way his garters had, last time.
With it all on, he stepped in front of the mirror again. Harry had chosen something fairly similar to the red set he’d worn before, and yet nothing like it. This looked positively decadent, the colour flattering him, the very shape of the bottoms framing his cock in a way he’d not seen before, all the while the whole set was made from the softest lace he’d ever touched. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Harry wanted to fuck him in it, or that the other man had spent a fortune on it.
He also knew, without a doubt, that he’d be wearing it for the rest of the day, and that he’d be dragging the Gryffindor to his rooms the second the man’s classes were over.
Shuddering, he ran a hand over his cock, fingers tracing the fabric next to it. God, Harry was going to pay for doing this to him, for making him teach like this, because surely the other man had to know that he couldn’t resist the temptation…?
Running his fingers over the bralette, feeling more attractive than he ever had, he wondered if telling Harry that, those words that he’d been contemplating for a while would be an acceptable payback for this torture – or if making him wait longer would be worse.
Pulling on his clothes, careful not to disturb his gift, he decided to use the rest of the day to contemplate just that.