Author: Vasaris, the Fuzzy Dragon
Rating: VS for very silly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, although I could use the money I’d have if I did.
Archive: Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest, Wave VIII
Challenge: sex and sensuality
It was the silk shirt that undid him.
Hermione had once hypothesized that Severus Snape in leather pants would be the slick glide of sex stalking the hallways of Hogwarts, but for Harry it was the moment he saw his former professor without the armor of his heavy teaching robes. Elegantly tailored slacks that caressed the man’s ass like a lover aside, it was the thin, white silk shirt that called to Harry’s hands.
Harry had rarely paid attention to what the greasy git wore when he was a student. His hatred of the man had left him incapable of seeing him as anything other than Tall and Intimidating Arsehole, interspersed with Petty and Vindictive Prat… or even, on occasion, Pustulent Boil On The Collective Anus Of Humanity. Yet one brief moment in the staff lounge silently observing Severus Snape reading the Daily Prophet in the relative quiet of a Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry ached to slip his hands over that pristine white silk and see whether or not the sweet glide of silk and skin could breach the now Deputy Headmaster’s icy reserve.
Needless to say, Harry flooed immediately to Hermione’s place, convinced that the abrupt switch from object-of-my-despite to object-of-my-desire was not natural. It could not be possible that just because the man was built just the way Harry liked his men (lean muscles and hidden strength), had a fondness for raspberries and dark chocolate (could he help it if he’d noticed Snape’s subdued delight in Dobby’s special trifle?), and wore silk beneath his everyday teaching robes (the bloody tease), that he should find himself suddenly fantasizing about dropping to his knees and finding out if Snape liked silk boxers as well as silk shirts.
Hermione, once she’d gotten over her laughing fit, had methodically checked him over for curses, jinxes, charms, potions, hexes, and overactive hormones. When his primary intelligence — as she liked to call it — failed to rise to the occasion for men, women, and overly-seductive hinkypunks, she had declared him free of any influence aside from those produced by an over-active pituitary gland that had, apparently, decided that Severus Snape was the slick, stalking glide of sex in silk, not leather.
“I wonder,” she speculated, “if he’s got a nice cock. Given the old adage about noses.”
“It’s Snape, Hermione. If anything, he’s got a mean cock that spits curses and random invective,” he’d retorted.
“Well,” she replied comfortably. “Apparently some people find this notion attractive.”
Harry, who had a sudden image of Snape’s testes foolishly wand waving, promptly coughed up a lung as scotch that was older than he was suddenly found it’s way down the wrong pipe.
So he returned to Hogwarts with the vision of Snape’s dancing cock casting Aveda Kedavera looping endlessly in the movie theater of his mind.
It gave a whole new meaning to ‘little death.’
Potter was behaving very oddly.
Very oddly, really, and that was saying something for the only scion the Marauders had ever produced. It seemed that any time the two of them were in the same room, Potter’s gaze fell on him and did not stray, even for a moment. It was mildly disconcerting, really, despite the fact that he’d taken, as per Ms. Granger’s instructions, to wearing silk shirts and well-fitting slacks beneath his teaching robes.
While it had been his intent to rouse Potter’s interest (now that the blasted boy was of age and returned to Hogwarts to teach Charms, replacing Flitwick when he retired), it was unnerving to actually have the man staring at him as though he wanted to undress him with his eyes, but couldn’t quite make up his mind to do so.
It was becoming commonplace for him to doff his teaching attire when he walked into the staff lounge, hoping that Potter would come in and see him in the clothes that Granger had helped him pick out. Elegant, expertly tailored clothes that had as much chance of giving him an erection as they did for Harry. He’d never known just how fabulous the feel of body-warmed silk could be and wished that he’d realized that the house elves really could take care of just about any laundry problem, so it wasn’t really that dangerous to wear expensive clothes while he worked.
Minerva, who had taken over from Albus when the old man had finally decided it was time for his next great adventure, heartily approved and had insisted that if Snape really wanted to pursue Harry, he should also consider certain issues of hygiene that were, admittedly, something of a bother for Potions Masters. It was inconvenient to shower anywhere from four to six times a day because of the deleterious effects of potions on skin and hair, but both were showing signs of improvement.
The transformation was gradual, and it didn’t seem that Potter, with his somewhat befuddled gaze, had noticed the progression, or what it meant, exactly, but it was certainly gratifying (if unnerving) to have that gaze swing to him every time he entered a room. Perhaps it was time to really mess with Potter’s mind.
Quite deliberately, Severus Snape caught the bottle-green gaze of his not-quite-admirer —
— And smiled.
~0~”Right. Now I’m scared,” Harry muttered to himself.
“What was that, Potter?”
“Have you been at your potions stock, Snape?”
“You’re smiling. You don’t smile.”
“I fail to see, Mr. Potter, how you would know one way or another if I smile. Your performance in my class hardly warranted such a gesture and you’ve barely been here long enough as a teacher to be aware if I smile at my coworkers.”
“I would have noticed –”
“–You have been watching me rather intently of late, have you not? No need for blushes, Mr. Potter.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“Oh, of course, the redness is from the sunburn you got dancing naked in the snowstorm outside, how can I have missed that?”
“Shut it, Snape.”
“Make me, Potter.”
As kisses went, it didn’t even rate in the top ten Snape had given or received, but it was certainly in the top twenty. Potter’s osculatory style was forceful, commanding, and utterly arousing, but he lost points for knocking over the object of his erection and banging his head on the floor.
“Severus! Harry! Surely there are more appropriate venues for this little exploration?”
Snape didn’t bother to release Potter’s lips as he gave Minerva a two-fingered salute. Harry’s hands were in the process of becoming firmly lodged in his trousers and Snape wasn’t really inclined to stop the process lest it congeal and emit foul odors like miss-brewed Wolfsbane.
“I’ll just lock the door, shall I?” he heard Minerva say with a muffled laugh.
Harry came up for air and muttered, “Do,” before latching on to Severus’ neck.
The glide of silk and Harry’s hand on his cock effectively distracted him from the sound of the Headmistress’ footsteps. The intent green gaze was slightly wary as those clever hands freed his prick from its sensual prison.
Snape laughed at him. “What do you think it does? Cast spells?”
“Well,” Harry said, leaning over and blowing gently across the head. “It certainly seems to have enchanted me.”