Fic: I Won't Send Roses
Here is my second Valentine fic which couldn't be more different than the one I posted last night.
It is rather angsty, but more importantly (for those who might not want to read it), it is Harry/Sev! You have been warned *grins*. It is R-rated for adult themes, but there is nothing explicit.
My eternal gratitude goes to february_sea and snottygrrl for patiently reading and rereading this, my first attempt at third-person-present-tense (whatever the technical term for that might be). Any errors are entirely my fault.
I Won’t Send Roses
I won’t send roses or hold the door • I won’t remember which dress you wore • My heart is too much in control • The lack of romance in my soul will turn you grey, kid • So stay away, kid • Forget my shoulder when you’re in need • Forgetting birthdays is guaranteed • And should I love you, you would be the last to know • I won’t send roses • And roses suit you so.
---
Severus Snape isn’t a demonstrative person. He would never dream of kissing his lover in public or touching him in the view of others, and he abhors overly sentimental people.
He hasn’t always been like this.
As a child, Severus had been an affectionate boy, but by the time he went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as an eleven-year-old, he had learned that it was safer to keep his feelings to himself. His father showed him little warmth, but then Tobias Snape was a Muggle and had made it quite clear he resented his son’s magical abilities. His mother had been more loving, but only when his father wasn’t about. Even the family cat would bite and scratch should Severus try to stroke it.
He still isn’t overly fond of cats and he knows that romance is most definitely for others and not for an ex-Death Eater who sold his soul many years ago and has been trying to buy it back ever since.
Someone recently told him that he’s just denying the fact that he actually does want affection in his life and that it is the lack of that very thing which has turned him into the cantankerous man that he now is. Even though there might be some truth in this, Severus would never admit it to anyone, least of all the person who had said it to him. He had loved someone once and thought his feelings were reciprocated, but she hadn’t cared and he had learned that sometimes the opposite of love wasn’t hate, but indifference.
He isn’t interested in ever opening himself up to the possibility of that kind of humiliation again.
Severus has made many mistakes in his life; becoming a Death Eater was one such error and swearing a binding oath to Albus Dumbledore was another. But quite possibly the very worst mistake he has made so far is to let the author of those words -- one Harry James Potter -- share his bed.
The boy (Severus still thinks of Potter as ‘the boy’ even though he’s almost twenty-five years old, he tries never to think of him as ‘Harry’ because that’s just too personal) should have been sorted into Slytherin. The way Potter managed to finagle himself not only into Severus’ life, but into his bed as well, really is characteristic of someone from his own House.
It all started years ago when the truth about Dumbledore’s fake death had become common knowledge. One could only fool the Dark Lord so many times before he became just a tad suspicious, so Severus had finally given up being a spy and returned to the Order. It was then that Potter started hanging around him.
A lot.
He’d assumed, of course, that Potter was interested in Draco Malfoy (it was common knowledge that both boys were gay). Draco was another of Severus’ mistakes, or at least Narcissa’s unbreakable vow had been. He’d fulfilled his vow to save Draco from the Dark Lord, but this had lead to other ... complications. Draco had attached himself to Severus in those early months, clearly unsure of his own place in the Order.
But it had soon become clear that while Potter did find Draco attractive, it was his one-time Potions Master that he was actually drawn to.
Severus still struggles to understand this display of affection from Potter. He’d shown the boy nothing but contempt while he had been at Hogwarts and all but ignored him during the war ... all five interminably long years of it.
Yet Potter had always been there, like a silent shadow. It wasn’t puppy-dog devotion -- the Slytherin in Potter was too clever for that -- the boy had been much more cunning in his pursuit. He seemed to be everywhere. If Severus went into a room, the boy would be there, nodding politely at him before effectively ignoring him and continuing with whatever he had been doing. But Severus found himself watching Potter to the point of frustration -- the way he would chew on his bottom lip until it was red and full, or how he would play absently with a lock of hair, twisting it round and round his finger incessantly until Severus had no choice but to leave.
The war had been very, very long in so many ways.
It has been eighteen months since Potter ended the war -- eighteen months since the boy first crawled into his bed and changed everything.
He still can’t quite work out why he hadn’t just thrown the brat out straight away. Maybe it’s the way the boy looks at him with those damnable green eyes; they can burn deeper into a person’s soul than any Dark Mark, but whatever it is, it has sealed his fate well and truly.
Or maybe it’s because Potter has shown him how wonderfully innocent sex can be. By no means a novice with either gender, Severus has always used his carnal knowledge as much as a weapon as for pleasure. But with Potter he’s found the delight of sex for sheer pleasure again rather than just using it for some ulterior motive.
And Potter keeps coming back for more no matter what Severus does to dissuade him, which he does virtually every time the boy turns up for another sexual encounter. Potter is, he reminds himself, young enough to be his own son. He should be with one of his contemporaries, not with a man who is nearly twice his age.
He should be with someone who cares.
---
Severus isn’t sure when he starts to think of Potter as ‘Harry’, and it worries him slightly. First names are intimate; they speak of friendship and affection. Potter sometimes calls him ‘Sev’ in the throes of passion and he enjoys the intimacy of the secret name.
And he’s finding himself looking forward more and more to the boy’s visits.
He wonders what worries him more; the fact that he is finally admitting to himself that he actually does care for the boy or the fear that Harry might one day get bored with him and leave.
He wonders what being alone again will feel like.
---
He’s in bed now, hoping for a quiet, restful night after a particularly long day’s teaching. Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts has always been hard work and this year, the first since the school reopened, is no different. Students lost all sense of proportion and the castle had been full of floating hearts and people holding hands.
He’s just drifting off when there’s a light tap on his bedroom door and then it opens just enough for a messy dark head to poke round. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is because his chambers are carefully warded so only a few select people can enter without his permission. He’s considered several times warding them against Harry, and as he watches the boy come into his room now he tries to think of him as ‘Potter’ again.
Just as he decides it might be working, Harry smiles at him; a small almost shy smile that Severus knows is guaranteed to bring his flaccid penis to life.
He’s tempted to turn over and deliberately ignore the boy but, as always, there is something about Harry Potter that gets beneath his skin. So instead, he pulls himself up a little until he’s half sitting back against the mound of pillows (pillows are a luxury and he enjoys having several).
“I don’t recall inviting you here tonight.” His voice is deliberately terse, as if the mere fact that Harry being in his room is an affront to his dignity.
Harry either deliberately ignores or doesn’t get the tone and with a shrug he starts to unbutton his shirt. “It’s manic out there tonight.” He hooks a thumb in the general direction of the Great Hall above them and the shirt gapes open a little, showing tanned flesh and a dusting of dark hair.
Severus isn’t overly fond of chest hair, but on Harry it looks good -- the dark hair covers a small area between his nipples and is shaped like an almost perfect equilateral triangle. It narrows into a thin line that goes down, past the inviting hollow of Harry’s navel to broaden out into another delta around the boy’s genitals. He likes to play with the hair, to twist it in his fingers and to lick and suck at it and feel Harry buck beneath him.
It comes as a shock to realise he can actually picture Harry’s skin in such exquisite detail.
The boy continues, completely unaware of the way he’s being studied. It’s one of the things Severus likes -- while some people play games Harry is just ‘Harry’ and what you see is what you get. “Were we that bad when we were students?”
Severus tries hard not to smile as a quote from Dickens plays in his mind -- It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Potter and his year mates had been both a horror and a delight. It’s a shame so many of them never lived through the war.
“You were the very bane of my existence, Mr Potter.” He’s just about to add, now go away and let me sleep, but the shirt falls to the ground like a discarded autumn leaf and he can see that bare chest and almost sense the muscles rippling beneath the skin. The boy likes to think of himself as slim, but Severus always sees him as skinny. He still looks like a teenager after a growth spurt -- all gangly arms and legs that he’s not quite sure what to do with.
“I don’t recall inviting you here tonight,” he repeats, determined to retain some element of control over the proceedings. As much as Harry’s turning him on, he really isn’t in the mood for sex. He rolls his eyes and lets out a silent sigh. Heaven forbid that the boy wants to top; he has no intention of having his arse screwed tonight.
Harry shrugs and unbuckles his belt. “I thought you might like some company.”
“No.” He watches as nimble fingers make easy work of the button on the waistband and his own traitorous tongue licks at his lips. Damn the boy!
The noise of the zip is overloud in the silent room and Harry’s trousers actually rustle as he pushes them over his slim hips and down his thighs. “I haven’t come for sex.” He hops about, trying to remove the trousers over his shoes and ends up with his back to Severus. The boy’s wearing tight white briefs and as he bends his arse points directly at Severus. He wonders whether the pose is deliberate because the pert globes are perfectly displayed in the material.
Slytherin indeed.
Harry reaches down to his feet now, bent almost double with the suppleness of youth. Severus can still touch his toes, but he much prefers someone else to touch them. “We can if you want, but that isn’t why I came.” Harry looks around his legs, head upside down now with his black hair hanging freely. His glasses have ridiculously slid up (or down) towards his forehead and he deftly plucks them off as he straightens, hair now spread about him like a dark halo. He shakes his head and the hair settles a little as he finally kicks his trousers off. “I thought we could ... you know ... talk.”
Danger signals flash in Severus’ brain. Potter plus talking always leads to trouble. The boy probably has some sort of ridiculous plan that involves a public acknowledgement of their private liaison. Last time he just wanted to talk he’d asked if they could have breakfast together. Nothing obvious, just arriving in the Great Hall at the same time. Before that had been the suggestion to meet by the lake so they could walk together because “Let’s face it, Severus, you need some sunlight.”
Potter just doesn’t seem to get that he will never win this battle. Severus will allow him to share his bed, but this is not a relationship.
Harry finally turns, his briefs clinging to him like a second skin. Severus expects the boy to be hard (he normally is), but this time he isn’t. When he pads quickly to the bed and Severus realises there is something in his hand, and he hopes it isn’t what he thinks it is. Harry holds out the small parchment package.
Severus has never received a Valentine’s gift in his life and he isn’t quite sure how to react if that’s what this is.
Harry blushes a little, the colour just visible in the muted candlelight in the bedroom. “It’s nothing really, just....” He shrugs and waits.
And waits.
Finally Severus takes it, turning the package over and over in his hands.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Harry sits on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Severus’ leg through the blankets.
Inside is a small square of parchment folded in half. On the front is a real rosebud and inside written in Harry’s untidy scrawl it says simply For the Potions Master. Severus frowns as he picks up the small glass phial that’s inside the package and unstoppers it. He recognises the liquid immediately -- Rose Otto Rosa Damascena, one of the most expensive oils in the world. He looks up at the expectant face and wonders how Harry knows he’s run out and is having problems sourcing more.
A frown crosses the boy’s face and his lip looks like it’s going to quiver. “It’s the wrong stuff, isn’t it?”
“No ... no.” Severus quickly shakes his head. “It’s exactly right. Thank you.” He inhales the heady fragrance and finally lets a single drop fall onto his finger. Then carefully he rubs his thumb over the drop, spreading it a little before raising the digit and running it down Harry’s throat. As his finger finally reaches the little hollow, he pauses there to let the warmth release the scent. “Do you know it took thirty roses to make this one drop?” He can feel Harry swallow beneath his touch and the boy shivers as he shakes his head.
“No.” The single word is a whisper and Harry’s eyes flutter closed before opening again. The black pupils are slightly dilated now and Severus is hard at the expression. “Am I worth it?”
He raises an eyebrow and finally removes his finger. “Worth what?”
“The thirty roses it took to make that drop.” Harry runs his fingers over the trail of oil and sniffs experimentally at them.
Severus swallows as he carefully stoppers the phial and puts it safely on the bedside table. He knows he should answer, but for once he’s unsure of what to say. To agree would hint at more than he’d like to; to disagree would almost cruel.
Instead he turns back the sheets. “Come to bed.”
Harry contemplates him for a moment but finally climbs in and nestles against Severus’ side.
He curls an arm around the slim body. Harry is so close he can feel his heart beating and he rests his hand over the corresponding spot on the boy’s back, fingers making small circles. “I have nothing for you,” he finally says. He means he has no Valentine’s gift for Harry, but the boy’s response seems to read a deeper significance to the words.
“Yes you do. You let me come here.” Harry reaches up and kisses Severus on the lips.
It isn’t a sexual kiss, but a gentle touch, one that makes Severus feel. He mentally pauses as a question flickers through his thoughts. Makes him feel what? As the kiss continues, Severus realises that Harry makes him feel, something he hasn’t done in many years.
“And you’ve never treated me like someone special. To you I’ve just an ordinary person, not the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One.” Harry snuggles into Severus’ neck. “Can I stay tonight?”
Severus’ fingers are in Harry’s hair now, stroking gently. Harry usually goes back to his own rooms after they’ve had sex and Severus has always thought it’s because that’s what the boy wants, but perhaps that’s not true. Does he really want to wake with Harry in his bed?
He continues stroking. “I can’t give you want you want, Harry.”
“I’m not asking for anything, Severus.”
“You should find someone else.”
Harry sighs, the puff of breath warm against Severus’ neck. “Can I stay?”
“Do I have a choice in the matter?”
---
Severus watches Harry sleep and wonders if he might have been wrong all these years. He thinks about the thirty roses and knows the boy is worth each and every petal. Reaching for the phial, he lets several drops fall onto his palm and inhales the fragrance. It is a heady scent and his eyes flutter closed momentarily as he wonders how many roses it has taken to make these few drops.
He knows he will never use this oil for anything as mundane as potions making. This is for Harry, each and every drop.
Carefully, so as not to disturb his young lover, he pushes his hand into Harry’s hair, the oil coating the dark silk.
---
Severus Snape isn’t a demonstrative person, but he touches his young lover in the view of others and might consider kissing him in public one day. He has even been known to secretly buy roses.
He still abhors overly sentimental people.
---
My pace is frantic, my temper’s cross • With words romantic I’m at a loss • I’d be the first one to agree that I’m preoccupied with me • And it’s inbred, kid, so keep your head, kid • In me you’ll find things like guts and nerve • But not the kind of things that you deserve • And so while there’s a fighting chance just turn and go • I won’t send roses • And roses suit you so.
The lyrics (in italics) are from the song I Won’t Sent Roses, which is from the musical Mack & Mabel. Should you care to listen to the song (by Robert Preston from the Broadway show), then it should download from here.
---
14th February 2006
It is rather angsty, but more importantly (for those who might not want to read it), it is Harry/Sev! You have been warned *grins*. It is R-rated for adult themes, but there is nothing explicit.
My eternal gratitude goes to february_sea and snottygrrl for patiently reading and rereading this, my first attempt at third-person-present-tense (whatever the technical term for that might be). Any errors are entirely my fault.
I Won’t Send Roses
I won’t send roses or hold the door • I won’t remember which dress you wore • My heart is too much in control • The lack of romance in my soul will turn you grey, kid • So stay away, kid • Forget my shoulder when you’re in need • Forgetting birthdays is guaranteed • And should I love you, you would be the last to know • I won’t send roses • And roses suit you so.
---
Severus Snape isn’t a demonstrative person. He would never dream of kissing his lover in public or touching him in the view of others, and he abhors overly sentimental people.
He hasn’t always been like this.
As a child, Severus had been an affectionate boy, but by the time he went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as an eleven-year-old, he had learned that it was safer to keep his feelings to himself. His father showed him little warmth, but then Tobias Snape was a Muggle and had made it quite clear he resented his son’s magical abilities. His mother had been more loving, but only when his father wasn’t about. Even the family cat would bite and scratch should Severus try to stroke it.
He still isn’t overly fond of cats and he knows that romance is most definitely for others and not for an ex-Death Eater who sold his soul many years ago and has been trying to buy it back ever since.
Someone recently told him that he’s just denying the fact that he actually does want affection in his life and that it is the lack of that very thing which has turned him into the cantankerous man that he now is. Even though there might be some truth in this, Severus would never admit it to anyone, least of all the person who had said it to him. He had loved someone once and thought his feelings were reciprocated, but she hadn’t cared and he had learned that sometimes the opposite of love wasn’t hate, but indifference.
He isn’t interested in ever opening himself up to the possibility of that kind of humiliation again.
Severus has made many mistakes in his life; becoming a Death Eater was one such error and swearing a binding oath to Albus Dumbledore was another. But quite possibly the very worst mistake he has made so far is to let the author of those words -- one Harry James Potter -- share his bed.
The boy (Severus still thinks of Potter as ‘the boy’ even though he’s almost twenty-five years old, he tries never to think of him as ‘Harry’ because that’s just too personal) should have been sorted into Slytherin. The way Potter managed to finagle himself not only into Severus’ life, but into his bed as well, really is characteristic of someone from his own House.
It all started years ago when the truth about Dumbledore’s fake death had become common knowledge. One could only fool the Dark Lord so many times before he became just a tad suspicious, so Severus had finally given up being a spy and returned to the Order. It was then that Potter started hanging around him.
A lot.
He’d assumed, of course, that Potter was interested in Draco Malfoy (it was common knowledge that both boys were gay). Draco was another of Severus’ mistakes, or at least Narcissa’s unbreakable vow had been. He’d fulfilled his vow to save Draco from the Dark Lord, but this had lead to other ... complications. Draco had attached himself to Severus in those early months, clearly unsure of his own place in the Order.
But it had soon become clear that while Potter did find Draco attractive, it was his one-time Potions Master that he was actually drawn to.
Severus still struggles to understand this display of affection from Potter. He’d shown the boy nothing but contempt while he had been at Hogwarts and all but ignored him during the war ... all five interminably long years of it.
Yet Potter had always been there, like a silent shadow. It wasn’t puppy-dog devotion -- the Slytherin in Potter was too clever for that -- the boy had been much more cunning in his pursuit. He seemed to be everywhere. If Severus went into a room, the boy would be there, nodding politely at him before effectively ignoring him and continuing with whatever he had been doing. But Severus found himself watching Potter to the point of frustration -- the way he would chew on his bottom lip until it was red and full, or how he would play absently with a lock of hair, twisting it round and round his finger incessantly until Severus had no choice but to leave.
The war had been very, very long in so many ways.
It has been eighteen months since Potter ended the war -- eighteen months since the boy first crawled into his bed and changed everything.
He still can’t quite work out why he hadn’t just thrown the brat out straight away. Maybe it’s the way the boy looks at him with those damnable green eyes; they can burn deeper into a person’s soul than any Dark Mark, but whatever it is, it has sealed his fate well and truly.
Or maybe it’s because Potter has shown him how wonderfully innocent sex can be. By no means a novice with either gender, Severus has always used his carnal knowledge as much as a weapon as for pleasure. But with Potter he’s found the delight of sex for sheer pleasure again rather than just using it for some ulterior motive.
And Potter keeps coming back for more no matter what Severus does to dissuade him, which he does virtually every time the boy turns up for another sexual encounter. Potter is, he reminds himself, young enough to be his own son. He should be with one of his contemporaries, not with a man who is nearly twice his age.
He should be with someone who cares.
---
Severus isn’t sure when he starts to think of Potter as ‘Harry’, and it worries him slightly. First names are intimate; they speak of friendship and affection. Potter sometimes calls him ‘Sev’ in the throes of passion and he enjoys the intimacy of the secret name.
And he’s finding himself looking forward more and more to the boy’s visits.
He wonders what worries him more; the fact that he is finally admitting to himself that he actually does care for the boy or the fear that Harry might one day get bored with him and leave.
He wonders what being alone again will feel like.
---
He’s in bed now, hoping for a quiet, restful night after a particularly long day’s teaching. Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts has always been hard work and this year, the first since the school reopened, is no different. Students lost all sense of proportion and the castle had been full of floating hearts and people holding hands.
He’s just drifting off when there’s a light tap on his bedroom door and then it opens just enough for a messy dark head to poke round. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is because his chambers are carefully warded so only a few select people can enter without his permission. He’s considered several times warding them against Harry, and as he watches the boy come into his room now he tries to think of him as ‘Potter’ again.
Just as he decides it might be working, Harry smiles at him; a small almost shy smile that Severus knows is guaranteed to bring his flaccid penis to life.
He’s tempted to turn over and deliberately ignore the boy but, as always, there is something about Harry Potter that gets beneath his skin. So instead, he pulls himself up a little until he’s half sitting back against the mound of pillows (pillows are a luxury and he enjoys having several).
“I don’t recall inviting you here tonight.” His voice is deliberately terse, as if the mere fact that Harry being in his room is an affront to his dignity.
Harry either deliberately ignores or doesn’t get the tone and with a shrug he starts to unbutton his shirt. “It’s manic out there tonight.” He hooks a thumb in the general direction of the Great Hall above them and the shirt gapes open a little, showing tanned flesh and a dusting of dark hair.
Severus isn’t overly fond of chest hair, but on Harry it looks good -- the dark hair covers a small area between his nipples and is shaped like an almost perfect equilateral triangle. It narrows into a thin line that goes down, past the inviting hollow of Harry’s navel to broaden out into another delta around the boy’s genitals. He likes to play with the hair, to twist it in his fingers and to lick and suck at it and feel Harry buck beneath him.
It comes as a shock to realise he can actually picture Harry’s skin in such exquisite detail.
The boy continues, completely unaware of the way he’s being studied. It’s one of the things Severus likes -- while some people play games Harry is just ‘Harry’ and what you see is what you get. “Were we that bad when we were students?”
Severus tries hard not to smile as a quote from Dickens plays in his mind -- It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Potter and his year mates had been both a horror and a delight. It’s a shame so many of them never lived through the war.
“You were the very bane of my existence, Mr Potter.” He’s just about to add, now go away and let me sleep, but the shirt falls to the ground like a discarded autumn leaf and he can see that bare chest and almost sense the muscles rippling beneath the skin. The boy likes to think of himself as slim, but Severus always sees him as skinny. He still looks like a teenager after a growth spurt -- all gangly arms and legs that he’s not quite sure what to do with.
“I don’t recall inviting you here tonight,” he repeats, determined to retain some element of control over the proceedings. As much as Harry’s turning him on, he really isn’t in the mood for sex. He rolls his eyes and lets out a silent sigh. Heaven forbid that the boy wants to top; he has no intention of having his arse screwed tonight.
Harry shrugs and unbuckles his belt. “I thought you might like some company.”
“No.” He watches as nimble fingers make easy work of the button on the waistband and his own traitorous tongue licks at his lips. Damn the boy!
The noise of the zip is overloud in the silent room and Harry’s trousers actually rustle as he pushes them over his slim hips and down his thighs. “I haven’t come for sex.” He hops about, trying to remove the trousers over his shoes and ends up with his back to Severus. The boy’s wearing tight white briefs and as he bends his arse points directly at Severus. He wonders whether the pose is deliberate because the pert globes are perfectly displayed in the material.
Slytherin indeed.
Harry reaches down to his feet now, bent almost double with the suppleness of youth. Severus can still touch his toes, but he much prefers someone else to touch them. “We can if you want, but that isn’t why I came.” Harry looks around his legs, head upside down now with his black hair hanging freely. His glasses have ridiculously slid up (or down) towards his forehead and he deftly plucks them off as he straightens, hair now spread about him like a dark halo. He shakes his head and the hair settles a little as he finally kicks his trousers off. “I thought we could ... you know ... talk.”
Danger signals flash in Severus’ brain. Potter plus talking always leads to trouble. The boy probably has some sort of ridiculous plan that involves a public acknowledgement of their private liaison. Last time he just wanted to talk he’d asked if they could have breakfast together. Nothing obvious, just arriving in the Great Hall at the same time. Before that had been the suggestion to meet by the lake so they could walk together because “Let’s face it, Severus, you need some sunlight.”
Potter just doesn’t seem to get that he will never win this battle. Severus will allow him to share his bed, but this is not a relationship.
Harry finally turns, his briefs clinging to him like a second skin. Severus expects the boy to be hard (he normally is), but this time he isn’t. When he pads quickly to the bed and Severus realises there is something in his hand, and he hopes it isn’t what he thinks it is. Harry holds out the small parchment package.
Severus has never received a Valentine’s gift in his life and he isn’t quite sure how to react if that’s what this is.
Harry blushes a little, the colour just visible in the muted candlelight in the bedroom. “It’s nothing really, just....” He shrugs and waits.
And waits.
Finally Severus takes it, turning the package over and over in his hands.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Harry sits on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Severus’ leg through the blankets.
Inside is a small square of parchment folded in half. On the front is a real rosebud and inside written in Harry’s untidy scrawl it says simply For the Potions Master. Severus frowns as he picks up the small glass phial that’s inside the package and unstoppers it. He recognises the liquid immediately -- Rose Otto Rosa Damascena, one of the most expensive oils in the world. He looks up at the expectant face and wonders how Harry knows he’s run out and is having problems sourcing more.
A frown crosses the boy’s face and his lip looks like it’s going to quiver. “It’s the wrong stuff, isn’t it?”
“No ... no.” Severus quickly shakes his head. “It’s exactly right. Thank you.” He inhales the heady fragrance and finally lets a single drop fall onto his finger. Then carefully he rubs his thumb over the drop, spreading it a little before raising the digit and running it down Harry’s throat. As his finger finally reaches the little hollow, he pauses there to let the warmth release the scent. “Do you know it took thirty roses to make this one drop?” He can feel Harry swallow beneath his touch and the boy shivers as he shakes his head.
“No.” The single word is a whisper and Harry’s eyes flutter closed before opening again. The black pupils are slightly dilated now and Severus is hard at the expression. “Am I worth it?”
He raises an eyebrow and finally removes his finger. “Worth what?”
“The thirty roses it took to make that drop.” Harry runs his fingers over the trail of oil and sniffs experimentally at them.
Severus swallows as he carefully stoppers the phial and puts it safely on the bedside table. He knows he should answer, but for once he’s unsure of what to say. To agree would hint at more than he’d like to; to disagree would almost cruel.
Instead he turns back the sheets. “Come to bed.”
Harry contemplates him for a moment but finally climbs in and nestles against Severus’ side.
He curls an arm around the slim body. Harry is so close he can feel his heart beating and he rests his hand over the corresponding spot on the boy’s back, fingers making small circles. “I have nothing for you,” he finally says. He means he has no Valentine’s gift for Harry, but the boy’s response seems to read a deeper significance to the words.
“Yes you do. You let me come here.” Harry reaches up and kisses Severus on the lips.
It isn’t a sexual kiss, but a gentle touch, one that makes Severus feel. He mentally pauses as a question flickers through his thoughts. Makes him feel what? As the kiss continues, Severus realises that Harry makes him feel, something he hasn’t done in many years.
“And you’ve never treated me like someone special. To you I’ve just an ordinary person, not the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One.” Harry snuggles into Severus’ neck. “Can I stay tonight?”
Severus’ fingers are in Harry’s hair now, stroking gently. Harry usually goes back to his own rooms after they’ve had sex and Severus has always thought it’s because that’s what the boy wants, but perhaps that’s not true. Does he really want to wake with Harry in his bed?
He continues stroking. “I can’t give you want you want, Harry.”
“I’m not asking for anything, Severus.”
“You should find someone else.”
Harry sighs, the puff of breath warm against Severus’ neck. “Can I stay?”
“Do I have a choice in the matter?”
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Severus watches Harry sleep and wonders if he might have been wrong all these years. He thinks about the thirty roses and knows the boy is worth each and every petal. Reaching for the phial, he lets several drops fall onto his palm and inhales the fragrance. It is a heady scent and his eyes flutter closed momentarily as he wonders how many roses it has taken to make these few drops.
He knows he will never use this oil for anything as mundane as potions making. This is for Harry, each and every drop.
Carefully, so as not to disturb his young lover, he pushes his hand into Harry’s hair, the oil coating the dark silk.
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Severus Snape isn’t a demonstrative person, but he touches his young lover in the view of others and might consider kissing him in public one day. He has even been known to secretly buy roses.
He still abhors overly sentimental people.
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My pace is frantic, my temper’s cross • With words romantic I’m at a loss • I’d be the first one to agree that I’m preoccupied with me • And it’s inbred, kid, so keep your head, kid • In me you’ll find things like guts and nerve • But not the kind of things that you deserve • And so while there’s a fighting chance just turn and go • I won’t send roses • And roses suit you so.
The lyrics (in italics) are from the song I Won’t Sent Roses, which is from the musical Mack & Mabel. Should you care to listen to the song (by Robert Preston from the Broadway show), then it should download from here.
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14th February 2006