Contact
Title: Contact
Author: Flora
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Word count: 3800 or so
Warnings: Harry is a student, still, mid-seventh year.
A/N: Random bunny, not for any of the 4857636458 challenges I have outstanding (damn bunny). First 1100 words written longhand in 30 minutes while sitting on floor next to bike at gym reserving bike for self and waiting for class and drinking coffe at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, this morning. Heh.
Contact
It would only stop hurting temporarily, any more. The rage and frustration was too constant, too consuming and powerful, and these days even the fresh surges of new hate were only a tickling increase in the constant pain. Ron and Hermione knew, why Harry’s brow was constantly furrowed. Knew why he couldn’t keep his mind on anything. The faculty knew, as well, that he was struggling, though they weren’t quite aware of the pervasive depth; in any case, they couldn’t have taken it easy on him now. There was far too much at stake, and the end was at hand. Occlumency lessons, still underway, didn’t help a bit, and if anything, as his concentration grew worse, his control grew less steady.
The only thing that helped at all was simple human touch. Skin to skin contact, and then, the more, the better. Ron and Hermione quickly found that out too, and promptly told the others, so there was nearly always someone with him, holding his hand, or sitting parallel on the great couch in the common room, trouser cuff rolled high as ankles grazed. Anything, for touch. Anything.
There was, however, no help at night, as he lay abed, sleeping only when exhaustion temporarily overcame pain, and then, only until pain returned to the fore, overwhelming his ability to sleep. The others tried, for a time, to hold his hand even then, but this failed, in sleep. They would move, and stop touching, and he couldn’t bring himself to wake them in order to get his touch back. And anyway, as the year wore on, even that was less help, and less.
The worst times were the lessons with Snape, the Occlumency lessons when he was never, ever touched. Snape never came in contact with him at all, but for to knock him to the floor with the force of his mind’s blow, over and over, his own anger deepening each time Harry failed. “Are you trying to waste my time, Potter?” he’d sneer, towering over him as he tried to get back up. He would grasp his shoulders, then, a bruising grip to pull him upright, and Harry would try again, try until he was gasping and sweating, on his hands and knees on the floor, unable to shake his head or lift his eyes, or drag from his throat a denial of his refusal to try. At the end of the hour, he’d remain there, shaking, until Ron or Neville came to fetch him, took his hand, and made the spinning sickness of the pain recede, just enough to stand, just enough to look nearly steady as he walked into the corridor and up the stairs to where the others were waiting to help him, perhaps Ron’s big hands covering one of his and Dean’s the other; Hermione’s cool fingers on his nape or forehead, Ginny wherever Hermione was not. It would serve, well enough, and he would go up to bed and lie awake, blinking and squinting and trying not to think about how the canopy was spinning and receding and drawing near. And sometimes, he would sleep.
It was tearing him up.
One evening, in February, he snapped.
The lesson was proceeding as usual. He was on all fours, shuddering with effort and pain, and Snape grabbed him and lifted him to stand. Again. He found himself face to face with the man, inches in front of his grimacing visage, and he couldn’t stand it. Not for another moment. He did the only thing that made sense. He touched.
Snape was too startled, when Harry leaned forward and pressed their lips together and sighed at the instant relief, to do anything but kiss him back. They stood, unmoving, for several long seconds before Snape collected himself to part thin lips to speak, and then said nothing as Harry plunged his tongue into his mouth, bringing up his hands to cup and stroke, one on his jaw, the other tangling in his hair, the euphoric relief of each touch paling in comparison to the next. Finally, Harry pulled himself away, braced for the resumed battering pain, and croaked, “Try it now.”
Snape stared at him.
“Quickly!”
He tried it again.
Harry’s defenses held.
“What. How. What. Potter!” Snape’s indignant sputtering went on for a moment, and the pain was growing again, so Harry did the only logical thing. He leaned forward and kissed him again, winding his hands into stringy black hair immediately, nuzzling along his jaw lazily, as though drugged with the sensation of stubble against his nose, cheek, jaw. He pressed as much skin together as he could, sliding his lips around Snape’s earlobe, the tip of his nose pressing the shell of that ear, his cheek and jaw and neck molding against Snape’s. He tugged at the earlobe with his lips and teeth, flicking with his tongue, until Snape groaned and threw back his head, breaking the connection as he unwillingly let loose wordless lust in the moan.
Harry felt the moan directly in his balls, even as the ache reinstated itself in his skull. “More!” he managed, rasping, pressing forward as Snape pulled away, horrified awareness in his eyes now that Harry’s lips were not touching him. He pulled away as Harry continued pressing forward for more, desperate, now that pain had redoubled, seeking more, and they continued this was, pulling back and pressing forth, until Snape toppled backward. Harry immediately followed, landing astraddle the older man on the floor, slamming their foreheads together as the landed, the reverberating shock of that leaving both of them seeing stars and never the less, Harry thought, it felt immeasurably better than not touching.
“Hold still,” he said, maintaining contact with Snape’s brow. “Just. Here. Give me your hand.”
“What?” Snape snapped, pushing him away.
He held firm, connected hairline and nose, glasses too steamed to see black eyes too close to focus on, anyway. “Just. Look. As we’ve just now done snogging in your bloody office on a Friday evening after curfew, I hardly think touching my fingers will break you. Now give me your hand so I can sit up and explain.”
Snape had to concede, he had a point, so he raised one hand to where Harry’s rested against his shoulder. Harry flipped his hand over to capture it, and slowly raised up until he sat, straddling Snape’s waist, firmly aware of his own erection and the one on which he sat, bearing his weight on his own knees because aware or not, he was unprepared to think about it. He started speaking immediately, afraid if he didn’t Snape would, and things would go badly, from there, “It’s like this. You know it always hurts, now. Always, and a lot, and it makes my head spin and my eyes blur, and I can’t stop it, ever ever, and no one else can make it go away, and Madam Pomfrey has nothing that does anything except make me sleep, but then I dream bad, bad things, because it still hurts and I’m still spinning, only sleeping, if that makes any sense, and the only thing that makes it better even a little is touching someone else and the more touching the better, and then I can pay attention long enough to read or write, only that still doesn’t help with sleeping, so I never sleep any more and it’s making me tired and crazy and really angry and also I need it.”
He paused for breath, watching Snape, who was gripping Harry’s hand tighter, now, staring up at him.
“So,” Snape said, after the moment of eye contact had stretched endlessly. “You and your roommates spend a great deal of time rolling around together, then? You and your Quidditch mates as well? And anyone else?”
Harry frowned and set his other hand on top of Snape’s, wondering why he sounded angry. “No, actually. We just. They hold my hand and set their feet next to mine and… Never thought about. I mean, I suppose that would be, er, more touching.” He flushed and looked down, and as he thought about the volume of skin available to touch, an image he’d never let cross his mind before, his cock pulsed involuntarily inside his trousers as his balls squirmed away from each other and without meaning to, he started to let his weight rest on the rigid length under his arse. To his shock, Snape surged up to meet him.
He snapped his eyes up to meet Snape’s. “Sir!”
“So, “ Snape said dryly, “It helps to have skin to skin contact, and you’ve never used this as a reason to haul the redoubtable Miss Granger into your bed? I’m sure, for a good reason like that…” he let the line hang, and Harry felt his face flush hotter.
“For one, I’d never use Hermione that way. Or anyone else. I mean, I didn’t mean. I mean, on purpose. This. Er, we maybe should stand up to talk about this?”
Snape quirked a brow, and Harry went on, neither of them moving to stand. “And anyway, Hermione. I, uh. If I were inclined to attempt to use someone for skin-touching in the way, uh. It wouldn’t be Hermione.”
Snape raised the other brow. “Young Miss Weasley, then? Or Miss Lovegood; I’ve seen you in her company quite often, holding hands, I believe.”
“No! They’re girls. Um.”
“And you’ve never used your unparalleled celebrity to lure one of your roommates into curling up in bed with you?” Snape continued his end of the conversation with infuriating calm, as though his cock weren’t beginning to thrust minutely up against Harry’s balls, as though this weren’t making Harry went to come so badly he might die, as though the pain in his head weren’t of concern, as though he weren’t about to make him get up and order him to learn to do without the touching because he might not have it when it mattered most, if it were down to him and Voldemort and no one else was there, when he would need to be able to face him alone and if he were crippled by the need for touch, they would all of them be utterly and completely screwed.
“Potter. That isn’t what I’m about to do.” Harry jumped, disquieted by Snape’s perception until he realized that somewhere in that line of thought he’d begun to speak aloud.
“It. It’s not?”
“No.”
“Sir. I… we should go back to work.”
“We should. Before we do, I should point out that your astonishing restraint both has been a problem and is the only reason we are proceeding.”
“Can I, er. Can I have your other hand? It’s. The pain comes back slower, the more touching I’d got, so if I’m to practice, if it’s okay, I’d rather have your other hand for a moment, first?”
“No.”
“No? But you said. I don’t understand.”
“I have another use in mind for my other hand.” Snape reached away and turned his head, looking for something. “Accio wand.” His wand flew to him, slapping against his palm, and he looked Harry in the eye. “You’ll need to trust me, Potter.”
Harry nodded and closed his eyes, not wanting to face the blinding pain that must be forthcoming, nor whatever horrifying solution Snape had devised. He opened them again in shock seconds later, after he heard a whispered charm he clearly must have misheard, then felt the unmistakable result that proved he hadn’t. His balls, free of his underpants, fell heavy onto Snape’s hard cock, landing with a slap and immediately writhing around until they hung to either side of it, quivering and shriveling back up and falling back down as fearful astonishment warred with heat, lust, and the insane ecstatic freedom from pain. He gasped and rocked back, drawing a near-identical noise from Snape, then stopped and gawked, waiting to be hexed and wondering why Snape had stripped them both completely and entirely uncertain as to the protocol of having one’s balls wrapped halfway round one’s potions master’s cock.
“Potter, if you had told me earlier the extent of the problem, we might not have had to resort to such drastic measures. Is this better?”
Harry felt his mouth working as he tried to respond, but no sound issued forth. Finally, he manages a very small “Yes,” followed a moment later by an even tinier, “Uhm, sir?”
Snape pulled his hand from Harry’s grasp and ran calloused fingers down his ribs, coming to rest with his thumbs on Harry’s hipbones and his fingers gripping the gluteal muscles behind, not the bruising grip from earlier, but a firm and gentle hold. “Yes?”
“We don’t have to do anything. I mean, you don’t. I mean, if this is resorting to drastic measures I don’t want you to do anything you don’t-“
“Potter, do shut it. Drastic, yes. Unexpected, inappropriate, and problematic, yes. However, and here is a tip for future reference, were this something I truly wanted not to do, a few nips at my earlobe would not have brought me hard as a rock and ready to fill you in one thrust.”
Harry gaped, mouth gone dry at the very direct line of the conversation, cock so stiff he wasn’t actually sure he could stand to touch it even though there was nothing he wanted more except possible for Snape to do it for him. “R. Right. Are you? Going to? Um, do that?”
Snape ran his fingers back up Harry’s sides, dragging them, pulling forth goosebumps in their wake, then gripped high on his ribs to bull him back down, lying on his belly on top of Snape, cold stone of the dungeon floor under his knees and elbows. Harry gasped again as their cocks slid long against each other with this move, but then Snape was speaking, low in his ear, and he stopped moving because if he moved, he’d come, and then they’d stop touching, he was sure. “I’m going to do what’s necessary, Harry. Had you told me, we could have stopped this by simply assigning someone to stay with you, charming your hands bound or some such. It’s been getting worse, you say? Well, then. I doubt one of your friends can make it better for you, now, so I’ll have to do. So yes, I’ll shove my cock into your arse and pump into you-oh, you like that?-unless you’d rather do the same to me-ah, you like that too. Touching as much as possible, you know, of the area of your body most sensitive to touch.” He pushed his hands through under Harry’s arms and around onto his back, sliding down and gripping Harry’s arse once again, pressing them together. “Although,” he continued, still just above a whisper, there are many ways of touching, and I expect we have some time.”
“Some time?” Harry felt his eyes glaze over at the notion of spending more than a quick five minutes pressed skin to skin with Snape.
“Skin therapy tends to take time, Harry.”
“I’ve never even heard of skin therapy. Unless that’s just another word for, um, what we’re doing.” Snape chuckled, a noise with both startled and thrilled Harry. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before. Or at least, not in a nice way.”
“No, it’s that it is what we’re doing, which I’m sure you didn’t think was an expression of true and undying love.”
“You don’t have to sound quite that sour about it, sir. I mean, I can always-“ He pushed away suddenly and stood, still straddling Snape’s waist, expecting but unprepared for the jolt that hit as soon as they stopped touching. “Shit. No, I can. I can go back to my room.”
Snape sat up, supporting himself on long arms, fingers splayed on the rock just behind him, and let his chin now just touch Harry’s naked balls as he answered. “And you’ll have someone else do this for you? Weasley? Or Longbottom, even, though you'll still have to come back to me for the Occlumency lessoning."
Harry couldn’t help the groan that escaped his mouth once again. “God. No, neither of them. They. Don’t stop doing that.” Snape had tipped his head forward just a bit to suck loose hot skin between his lips.
He brought up his hands to cup Harry’s backside once more. “Back down, then.”
Harry considered for just a moment, and set his hands on Snape’s shoulders, allowing himself to be lowered back down, sliding down Snape’s body, continuing after they were once again in intimate contact to explore for himself the notion of sucking someone’s balls into his mouth, of licking at skin that puckered and squirmed beneath him tongue as Snape’s cock twitched and bobbed and dripped sticky fluid onto his belly. Harry squirmed back forward a bit once again and lapped at the tiny puddle, aware and glad that this left the fluid collecting on his chin instead, as Snape’s cock pressed against his pulse and dripped along his chin.
Snape arched, his belly pressing up into Harry’s lips, then in one fluid motion, never losing contact, sat up, dragged Harry up, and lifted him off the ground so he could hook his ankles around Snape’s waist as he carried him through the antechamber into his private quarters. Harry could feel the slick slide of his own pre-come, leaking onto Snape’s belly, near skin he had just been sucking, and Snape’s cock barely touching his arse, and by the time Snape set him down on his bed, Harry was panting, unable to frame the words to ask for what he wanted. He settled for the simple expedient of pulling Snape down on top of him and pressing his lips back to the earlobe he’d nibbled before, it seemed like hours ago, now.
“Harry.” Snape propped himself up on his arms, still thrusting his hips, rubbing their pricks together. “What do you want?”
Harry looked at Snape for a long moment, then deliberately took off his glasses and set them on the side table. “I want you to keep touching me, in any way you want.” He closed his eyes.
Snape moved back down onto his elbows and rolled them again, nearly knocking them off the bed in his haste, and settled Harry between his thighs. “In that case, I want you to call your wand.”
Harry frowned, but put out his hand and Summoned.
“And I want you to tap my hip, and say these words,” and Snape uttered a phrase.
Harry did as he was told, gasping as he finished the phrase because Snape had reached between them to grip both their cocks and stroke, squeezing them together with that fist and reaching up with his other hand to pull Harry’s chest down once more, waiting until their whole bodies were flush against each other before sliding his fingers into Harry’s hair and growling, “and now, I want you to fuck me.”
Harry shuddered at the directive, and pulled his knees up under him, rocking back and waiting for Snape to pull up his knees before pressing forward once more. “Like this?”
Snape adjusted his own position minutely and sighed. “Just like that.”
Harry continued to thrust in, into slick heat that must be the result of the charm he’d been told to cast, until he was fully seated. He held up there for a moment, savoring the feeling of being completely surrounded by squeezing walls, then began to pull out and plunge back in. After a moment, he realized Snape had reached between them again and was pumping his fist on his own cock in time with Harry’s thrusts, and all too quickly, he felt the hot sticky spatter on his chest as Snape’s head fell back and he squeezed around Harry’s cock, and then he, too, was coming and spilling. He slumped forward, gasping, setting his head down on Snape’s chest, holding onto him fiercely. “That. Was fucking--”
“Don’t talk, Potter. Legilimens!”
“What? I. No!” Harry raised back up and immediately pushed Snape right back out of his mind.
Snape pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “Very good, Potter. Now don’t let anyone back in.” Stand away from me.
Harry frowned once again, but scrambled shakily to his feet and off the bed.
“Hurt?”
“Not. Only a bit.”
“See? Now don’t let him back in.”
“But. When I’m asleep…” Harry sat back down on the side of the bed.
"Potter. Honestly. You put up the blocks in your mind, and don't take them down. Legilimens!" Harry deflected the intrusion easily. "See?"
"Yes, but. Sir?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "Potter, there is some chance you oughtn't to call me "sir" whilst sitting, shagged out, on the edge of my sodding bed!"
Harry grinned. "Yes, sir." He sketched a salute and danced out of the way before Snape could grab him, sturdy now, giddy with the relief of the pain.
"Potter."
He stopped and turned. "What?"
"What," Snape dropped his voice low, beckoning Harry closer with the need to hear, "were you going to say?"
Harry sat back down and looked him straight in the eye. "I was going to suggest, sir, that I ought to sleep here, until we can be sure I can hold him out in my sleep. After all. I might need more treatments. More therapy."
Snape gaped at him. "You. Want to sleep here. With me."
"Right. Budge over, then."
"No. I. You. What if. You can't. This bed is designed for one!" He was disgusted to find he'd yanked the cover over himself and up to his chin as he spoke.
"So transfigure it. I will, if you can't."
"Potter. You've been a wreck all year. What makes you think you can do such heavy work now?"
"Skin therapy. I feel brilliant. Excellent. I've never felt better! I could dance all night! I want to-mmph!"
"Do stop talking, Potter, and stand aside." Snape threw back his blanket and transfigured the bed, pushing the boy into it ahead of him and pulling up the covers. "It's still not undying love. It's convenient, and therapeutic."
"Of course. Sir."
"Sod off, and if you call me that one more time, I'm kicking you out of my bed. If I get a bloody call in the night and he can tell you're here, I'm not protecting you. You are here because I'm conditioning you to let him into your mind. You'll have to resist on your own. Legilimens! Excellent."
"Long as I'm touching you, I'll be fine." Harry rolled up against Snape and nestled his head on his shoulder, and went to sleep.
Snape stared at the ceiling and ran his fingers idly along Harry's ribs for a very long time before dousing the light. This was...unexpected.
Author: Flora
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Word count: 3800 or so
Warnings: Harry is a student, still, mid-seventh year.
A/N: Random bunny, not for any of the 4857636458 challenges I have outstanding (damn bunny). First 1100 words written longhand in 30 minutes while sitting on floor next to bike at gym reserving bike for self and waiting for class and drinking coffe at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, this morning. Heh.
Contact
It would only stop hurting temporarily, any more. The rage and frustration was too constant, too consuming and powerful, and these days even the fresh surges of new hate were only a tickling increase in the constant pain. Ron and Hermione knew, why Harry’s brow was constantly furrowed. Knew why he couldn’t keep his mind on anything. The faculty knew, as well, that he was struggling, though they weren’t quite aware of the pervasive depth; in any case, they couldn’t have taken it easy on him now. There was far too much at stake, and the end was at hand. Occlumency lessons, still underway, didn’t help a bit, and if anything, as his concentration grew worse, his control grew less steady.
The only thing that helped at all was simple human touch. Skin to skin contact, and then, the more, the better. Ron and Hermione quickly found that out too, and promptly told the others, so there was nearly always someone with him, holding his hand, or sitting parallel on the great couch in the common room, trouser cuff rolled high as ankles grazed. Anything, for touch. Anything.
There was, however, no help at night, as he lay abed, sleeping only when exhaustion temporarily overcame pain, and then, only until pain returned to the fore, overwhelming his ability to sleep. The others tried, for a time, to hold his hand even then, but this failed, in sleep. They would move, and stop touching, and he couldn’t bring himself to wake them in order to get his touch back. And anyway, as the year wore on, even that was less help, and less.
The worst times were the lessons with Snape, the Occlumency lessons when he was never, ever touched. Snape never came in contact with him at all, but for to knock him to the floor with the force of his mind’s blow, over and over, his own anger deepening each time Harry failed. “Are you trying to waste my time, Potter?” he’d sneer, towering over him as he tried to get back up. He would grasp his shoulders, then, a bruising grip to pull him upright, and Harry would try again, try until he was gasping and sweating, on his hands and knees on the floor, unable to shake his head or lift his eyes, or drag from his throat a denial of his refusal to try. At the end of the hour, he’d remain there, shaking, until Ron or Neville came to fetch him, took his hand, and made the spinning sickness of the pain recede, just enough to stand, just enough to look nearly steady as he walked into the corridor and up the stairs to where the others were waiting to help him, perhaps Ron’s big hands covering one of his and Dean’s the other; Hermione’s cool fingers on his nape or forehead, Ginny wherever Hermione was not. It would serve, well enough, and he would go up to bed and lie awake, blinking and squinting and trying not to think about how the canopy was spinning and receding and drawing near. And sometimes, he would sleep.
It was tearing him up.
One evening, in February, he snapped.
The lesson was proceeding as usual. He was on all fours, shuddering with effort and pain, and Snape grabbed him and lifted him to stand. Again. He found himself face to face with the man, inches in front of his grimacing visage, and he couldn’t stand it. Not for another moment. He did the only thing that made sense. He touched.
Snape was too startled, when Harry leaned forward and pressed their lips together and sighed at the instant relief, to do anything but kiss him back. They stood, unmoving, for several long seconds before Snape collected himself to part thin lips to speak, and then said nothing as Harry plunged his tongue into his mouth, bringing up his hands to cup and stroke, one on his jaw, the other tangling in his hair, the euphoric relief of each touch paling in comparison to the next. Finally, Harry pulled himself away, braced for the resumed battering pain, and croaked, “Try it now.”
Snape stared at him.
“Quickly!”
He tried it again.
Harry’s defenses held.
“What. How. What. Potter!” Snape’s indignant sputtering went on for a moment, and the pain was growing again, so Harry did the only logical thing. He leaned forward and kissed him again, winding his hands into stringy black hair immediately, nuzzling along his jaw lazily, as though drugged with the sensation of stubble against his nose, cheek, jaw. He pressed as much skin together as he could, sliding his lips around Snape’s earlobe, the tip of his nose pressing the shell of that ear, his cheek and jaw and neck molding against Snape’s. He tugged at the earlobe with his lips and teeth, flicking with his tongue, until Snape groaned and threw back his head, breaking the connection as he unwillingly let loose wordless lust in the moan.
Harry felt the moan directly in his balls, even as the ache reinstated itself in his skull. “More!” he managed, rasping, pressing forward as Snape pulled away, horrified awareness in his eyes now that Harry’s lips were not touching him. He pulled away as Harry continued pressing forward for more, desperate, now that pain had redoubled, seeking more, and they continued this was, pulling back and pressing forth, until Snape toppled backward. Harry immediately followed, landing astraddle the older man on the floor, slamming their foreheads together as the landed, the reverberating shock of that leaving both of them seeing stars and never the less, Harry thought, it felt immeasurably better than not touching.
“Hold still,” he said, maintaining contact with Snape’s brow. “Just. Here. Give me your hand.”
“What?” Snape snapped, pushing him away.
He held firm, connected hairline and nose, glasses too steamed to see black eyes too close to focus on, anyway. “Just. Look. As we’ve just now done snogging in your bloody office on a Friday evening after curfew, I hardly think touching my fingers will break you. Now give me your hand so I can sit up and explain.”
Snape had to concede, he had a point, so he raised one hand to where Harry’s rested against his shoulder. Harry flipped his hand over to capture it, and slowly raised up until he sat, straddling Snape’s waist, firmly aware of his own erection and the one on which he sat, bearing his weight on his own knees because aware or not, he was unprepared to think about it. He started speaking immediately, afraid if he didn’t Snape would, and things would go badly, from there, “It’s like this. You know it always hurts, now. Always, and a lot, and it makes my head spin and my eyes blur, and I can’t stop it, ever ever, and no one else can make it go away, and Madam Pomfrey has nothing that does anything except make me sleep, but then I dream bad, bad things, because it still hurts and I’m still spinning, only sleeping, if that makes any sense, and the only thing that makes it better even a little is touching someone else and the more touching the better, and then I can pay attention long enough to read or write, only that still doesn’t help with sleeping, so I never sleep any more and it’s making me tired and crazy and really angry and also I need it.”
He paused for breath, watching Snape, who was gripping Harry’s hand tighter, now, staring up at him.
“So,” Snape said, after the moment of eye contact had stretched endlessly. “You and your roommates spend a great deal of time rolling around together, then? You and your Quidditch mates as well? And anyone else?”
Harry frowned and set his other hand on top of Snape’s, wondering why he sounded angry. “No, actually. We just. They hold my hand and set their feet next to mine and… Never thought about. I mean, I suppose that would be, er, more touching.” He flushed and looked down, and as he thought about the volume of skin available to touch, an image he’d never let cross his mind before, his cock pulsed involuntarily inside his trousers as his balls squirmed away from each other and without meaning to, he started to let his weight rest on the rigid length under his arse. To his shock, Snape surged up to meet him.
He snapped his eyes up to meet Snape’s. “Sir!”
“So, “ Snape said dryly, “It helps to have skin to skin contact, and you’ve never used this as a reason to haul the redoubtable Miss Granger into your bed? I’m sure, for a good reason like that…” he let the line hang, and Harry felt his face flush hotter.
“For one, I’d never use Hermione that way. Or anyone else. I mean, I didn’t mean. I mean, on purpose. This. Er, we maybe should stand up to talk about this?”
Snape quirked a brow, and Harry went on, neither of them moving to stand. “And anyway, Hermione. I, uh. If I were inclined to attempt to use someone for skin-touching in the way, uh. It wouldn’t be Hermione.”
Snape raised the other brow. “Young Miss Weasley, then? Or Miss Lovegood; I’ve seen you in her company quite often, holding hands, I believe.”
“No! They’re girls. Um.”
“And you’ve never used your unparalleled celebrity to lure one of your roommates into curling up in bed with you?” Snape continued his end of the conversation with infuriating calm, as though his cock weren’t beginning to thrust minutely up against Harry’s balls, as though this weren’t making Harry went to come so badly he might die, as though the pain in his head weren’t of concern, as though he weren’t about to make him get up and order him to learn to do without the touching because he might not have it when it mattered most, if it were down to him and Voldemort and no one else was there, when he would need to be able to face him alone and if he were crippled by the need for touch, they would all of them be utterly and completely screwed.
“Potter. That isn’t what I’m about to do.” Harry jumped, disquieted by Snape’s perception until he realized that somewhere in that line of thought he’d begun to speak aloud.
“It. It’s not?”
“No.”
“Sir. I… we should go back to work.”
“We should. Before we do, I should point out that your astonishing restraint both has been a problem and is the only reason we are proceeding.”
“Can I, er. Can I have your other hand? It’s. The pain comes back slower, the more touching I’d got, so if I’m to practice, if it’s okay, I’d rather have your other hand for a moment, first?”
“No.”
“No? But you said. I don’t understand.”
“I have another use in mind for my other hand.” Snape reached away and turned his head, looking for something. “Accio wand.” His wand flew to him, slapping against his palm, and he looked Harry in the eye. “You’ll need to trust me, Potter.”
Harry nodded and closed his eyes, not wanting to face the blinding pain that must be forthcoming, nor whatever horrifying solution Snape had devised. He opened them again in shock seconds later, after he heard a whispered charm he clearly must have misheard, then felt the unmistakable result that proved he hadn’t. His balls, free of his underpants, fell heavy onto Snape’s hard cock, landing with a slap and immediately writhing around until they hung to either side of it, quivering and shriveling back up and falling back down as fearful astonishment warred with heat, lust, and the insane ecstatic freedom from pain. He gasped and rocked back, drawing a near-identical noise from Snape, then stopped and gawked, waiting to be hexed and wondering why Snape had stripped them both completely and entirely uncertain as to the protocol of having one’s balls wrapped halfway round one’s potions master’s cock.
“Potter, if you had told me earlier the extent of the problem, we might not have had to resort to such drastic measures. Is this better?”
Harry felt his mouth working as he tried to respond, but no sound issued forth. Finally, he manages a very small “Yes,” followed a moment later by an even tinier, “Uhm, sir?”
Snape pulled his hand from Harry’s grasp and ran calloused fingers down his ribs, coming to rest with his thumbs on Harry’s hipbones and his fingers gripping the gluteal muscles behind, not the bruising grip from earlier, but a firm and gentle hold. “Yes?”
“We don’t have to do anything. I mean, you don’t. I mean, if this is resorting to drastic measures I don’t want you to do anything you don’t-“
“Potter, do shut it. Drastic, yes. Unexpected, inappropriate, and problematic, yes. However, and here is a tip for future reference, were this something I truly wanted not to do, a few nips at my earlobe would not have brought me hard as a rock and ready to fill you in one thrust.”
Harry gaped, mouth gone dry at the very direct line of the conversation, cock so stiff he wasn’t actually sure he could stand to touch it even though there was nothing he wanted more except possible for Snape to do it for him. “R. Right. Are you? Going to? Um, do that?”
Snape ran his fingers back up Harry’s sides, dragging them, pulling forth goosebumps in their wake, then gripped high on his ribs to bull him back down, lying on his belly on top of Snape, cold stone of the dungeon floor under his knees and elbows. Harry gasped again as their cocks slid long against each other with this move, but then Snape was speaking, low in his ear, and he stopped moving because if he moved, he’d come, and then they’d stop touching, he was sure. “I’m going to do what’s necessary, Harry. Had you told me, we could have stopped this by simply assigning someone to stay with you, charming your hands bound or some such. It’s been getting worse, you say? Well, then. I doubt one of your friends can make it better for you, now, so I’ll have to do. So yes, I’ll shove my cock into your arse and pump into you-oh, you like that?-unless you’d rather do the same to me-ah, you like that too. Touching as much as possible, you know, of the area of your body most sensitive to touch.” He pushed his hands through under Harry’s arms and around onto his back, sliding down and gripping Harry’s arse once again, pressing them together. “Although,” he continued, still just above a whisper, there are many ways of touching, and I expect we have some time.”
“Some time?” Harry felt his eyes glaze over at the notion of spending more than a quick five minutes pressed skin to skin with Snape.
“Skin therapy tends to take time, Harry.”
“I’ve never even heard of skin therapy. Unless that’s just another word for, um, what we’re doing.” Snape chuckled, a noise with both startled and thrilled Harry. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before. Or at least, not in a nice way.”
“No, it’s that it is what we’re doing, which I’m sure you didn’t think was an expression of true and undying love.”
“You don’t have to sound quite that sour about it, sir. I mean, I can always-“ He pushed away suddenly and stood, still straddling Snape’s waist, expecting but unprepared for the jolt that hit as soon as they stopped touching. “Shit. No, I can. I can go back to my room.”
Snape sat up, supporting himself on long arms, fingers splayed on the rock just behind him, and let his chin now just touch Harry’s naked balls as he answered. “And you’ll have someone else do this for you? Weasley? Or Longbottom, even, though you'll still have to come back to me for the Occlumency lessoning."
Harry couldn’t help the groan that escaped his mouth once again. “God. No, neither of them. They. Don’t stop doing that.” Snape had tipped his head forward just a bit to suck loose hot skin between his lips.
He brought up his hands to cup Harry’s backside once more. “Back down, then.”
Harry considered for just a moment, and set his hands on Snape’s shoulders, allowing himself to be lowered back down, sliding down Snape’s body, continuing after they were once again in intimate contact to explore for himself the notion of sucking someone’s balls into his mouth, of licking at skin that puckered and squirmed beneath him tongue as Snape’s cock twitched and bobbed and dripped sticky fluid onto his belly. Harry squirmed back forward a bit once again and lapped at the tiny puddle, aware and glad that this left the fluid collecting on his chin instead, as Snape’s cock pressed against his pulse and dripped along his chin.
Snape arched, his belly pressing up into Harry’s lips, then in one fluid motion, never losing contact, sat up, dragged Harry up, and lifted him off the ground so he could hook his ankles around Snape’s waist as he carried him through the antechamber into his private quarters. Harry could feel the slick slide of his own pre-come, leaking onto Snape’s belly, near skin he had just been sucking, and Snape’s cock barely touching his arse, and by the time Snape set him down on his bed, Harry was panting, unable to frame the words to ask for what he wanted. He settled for the simple expedient of pulling Snape down on top of him and pressing his lips back to the earlobe he’d nibbled before, it seemed like hours ago, now.
“Harry.” Snape propped himself up on his arms, still thrusting his hips, rubbing their pricks together. “What do you want?”
Harry looked at Snape for a long moment, then deliberately took off his glasses and set them on the side table. “I want you to keep touching me, in any way you want.” He closed his eyes.
Snape moved back down onto his elbows and rolled them again, nearly knocking them off the bed in his haste, and settled Harry between his thighs. “In that case, I want you to call your wand.”
Harry frowned, but put out his hand and Summoned.
“And I want you to tap my hip, and say these words,” and Snape uttered a phrase.
Harry did as he was told, gasping as he finished the phrase because Snape had reached between them to grip both their cocks and stroke, squeezing them together with that fist and reaching up with his other hand to pull Harry’s chest down once more, waiting until their whole bodies were flush against each other before sliding his fingers into Harry’s hair and growling, “and now, I want you to fuck me.”
Harry shuddered at the directive, and pulled his knees up under him, rocking back and waiting for Snape to pull up his knees before pressing forward once more. “Like this?”
Snape adjusted his own position minutely and sighed. “Just like that.”
Harry continued to thrust in, into slick heat that must be the result of the charm he’d been told to cast, until he was fully seated. He held up there for a moment, savoring the feeling of being completely surrounded by squeezing walls, then began to pull out and plunge back in. After a moment, he realized Snape had reached between them again and was pumping his fist on his own cock in time with Harry’s thrusts, and all too quickly, he felt the hot sticky spatter on his chest as Snape’s head fell back and he squeezed around Harry’s cock, and then he, too, was coming and spilling. He slumped forward, gasping, setting his head down on Snape’s chest, holding onto him fiercely. “That. Was fucking--”
“Don’t talk, Potter. Legilimens!”
“What? I. No!” Harry raised back up and immediately pushed Snape right back out of his mind.
Snape pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “Very good, Potter. Now don’t let anyone back in.” Stand away from me.
Harry frowned once again, but scrambled shakily to his feet and off the bed.
“Hurt?”
“Not. Only a bit.”
“See? Now don’t let him back in.”
“But. When I’m asleep…” Harry sat back down on the side of the bed.
"Potter. Honestly. You put up the blocks in your mind, and don't take them down. Legilimens!" Harry deflected the intrusion easily. "See?"
"Yes, but. Sir?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "Potter, there is some chance you oughtn't to call me "sir" whilst sitting, shagged out, on the edge of my sodding bed!"
Harry grinned. "Yes, sir." He sketched a salute and danced out of the way before Snape could grab him, sturdy now, giddy with the relief of the pain.
"Potter."
He stopped and turned. "What?"
"What," Snape dropped his voice low, beckoning Harry closer with the need to hear, "were you going to say?"
Harry sat back down and looked him straight in the eye. "I was going to suggest, sir, that I ought to sleep here, until we can be sure I can hold him out in my sleep. After all. I might need more treatments. More therapy."
Snape gaped at him. "You. Want to sleep here. With me."
"Right. Budge over, then."
"No. I. You. What if. You can't. This bed is designed for one!" He was disgusted to find he'd yanked the cover over himself and up to his chin as he spoke.
"So transfigure it. I will, if you can't."
"Potter. You've been a wreck all year. What makes you think you can do such heavy work now?"
"Skin therapy. I feel brilliant. Excellent. I've never felt better! I could dance all night! I want to-mmph!"
"Do stop talking, Potter, and stand aside." Snape threw back his blanket and transfigured the bed, pushing the boy into it ahead of him and pulling up the covers. "It's still not undying love. It's convenient, and therapeutic."
"Of course. Sir."
"Sod off, and if you call me that one more time, I'm kicking you out of my bed. If I get a bloody call in the night and he can tell you're here, I'm not protecting you. You are here because I'm conditioning you to let him into your mind. You'll have to resist on your own. Legilimens! Excellent."
"Long as I'm touching you, I'll be fine." Harry rolled up against Snape and nestled his head on his shoulder, and went to sleep.
Snape stared at the ceiling and ran his fingers idly along Harry's ribs for a very long time before dousing the light. This was...unexpected.