“What is that?”
Harry set the box down and backed away as Snape advanced. “It’s for you.”
“You…” Snape went to the desk, picked up the box, flicked the catch. Looked at Harry.
Harry shrugged. “Guaranteed fresh. The harpy was still cursing at them while they ground it.” He grinned.
“Harry…”
“I knew you needed it, so—”
Snape shushed him, scowling. “This was very thoughtful of you.” He closed the box delicately, but focused his stare on the lid. “You meant to leave it here while I was out, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was … um … you know, buying you gifts to try to seduce you. Or anything.” Harry backed toward the door. “It’s just to say thank you. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m reasonably comfortable with feeling uncomfortable around you by now,” Snape said, his voice still unnaturally mild. The fingers of his right hand stroked the polished lid of the box.
Harry bumped into the doorframe and Snape’s head snapped up. His eyes, confused, a little wild, raked Harry’s face.
“I’d … better go.” Harry waited another five painfully enumerated seconds, feeling Snape’s stare burn into him, through him. It hurt, and Harry never wanted it to stop.
Snape said nothing. His fingers clenched around the box and his eyes fell closed.
Harry’s lungs came back to life.
“Good night, Severus.” His throat and eyes stung as if he’d passed through a cloud of smoke. He left, closed the door, thinking he heard the faintest “good-bye” from Snape, and cursing that the word had been too soft for him to read the feeling behind it.
* * *
Harry leaned on the mantelpiece and cursed. He was so bad at this, so hopelessly stupid. He rested his forehead on his left arm and looked at the crumpled parchment in his right hand – the eleventh wasted sheet of pulp in the last hour – unable to believe he’d thought this was going to work.
His bare elbow jostled the unopened bottle of Old Ogden’s Special Reserve and he looked at that. Another failure. It was too pathetic to drink it alone, though he wondered if his scruples would hold out as the night wore on. He had to be back at the Ministry in the morning, but he couldn’t imagine a hangover making that worse in any appreciable sense.
He laughed at himself, at what he must look like, in his pyjamas – half of them, anyway – hot and horny and frustrated and alone, staring longingly at a bottle and holding a hopeless attempt at getting the most important feelings he’d ever had on paper.
And you were thinking of writing a book? Idiot.
A knock sounded at his door and he jumped. Another knock came, light, the sort one uses when unwilling to wake the occupant.
Harry half-turned and spoke the word to unward and open the door.
Snape stood there, looking surprised, as though he’d touched a portkey and found himself at Harry’s door.
Harry turned around fully. “Severus?” He glanced at the clock. It was after 11. “Are you all right?”
Snape came inside and shut the door, and the air in the room instantly changed, molecules vibrating at a sharply higher frequency.
Harry became exquisitely aware he was only wearing the bottom half of some rather thin pyjamas. Snape had doffed the robes he normally wore during the day; he appeared as little more than a slim shadow in his black tunic and trousers.
With his back against the door, he said softly, “I don’t wish to disturb you …”
Harry smiled, fist clenching around the parchment. “That’s sort of the core of the problem, isn’t it?” He tilted his head toward the bottle of whisky. “Come in. We can celebrate that I’m cured.”
Snape’s eyes darted to the bottle, back to Harry. He moved into the room, deliberate, as if before every step he had to ask, and answer, some question inside himself.
“Are you celebrating?” he asked, his voice low, hoarse, like a tongue on the skin over Harry’s adam’s apple.
Harry, reaching for the bottle, stopped. “Not exactly.” He saw Snape’s gaze drop to the crumpled parchment.
Snape cleared his throat. “Suicide note?”
Harry looked down at it, laughed weakly. “In a way. I was writing you a letter.”
Snape paused, then continued his slow advance.
“Telling you, you know, that I understood and was sorry for being an arse, but that … that I wish things could be different. Telling you that I care about you.”
“You already told me that.” Snape was around the couch now, his gaze never leaving Harry.
“I also wanted to apologize for not … for acting like an idiot all day long. I didn’t know how to … to not want you. To just be with you.” Harry looked at the letter as if it were at fault. “But it kept changing into … into me going on about wanting you. Then I’d remember you already told me no.” He shrugged one shoulder, held up the crumpled note. “So…”
He bent to toss it onto the flames and Snape stepped quickly forward, catching his wrist. Harry straightened and Snape’s hand slid down to cup Harry’s. Inches apart, they looked at one another, and Harry saw his own surprise reflected in dark, intent eyes.
With his free hand Snape opened Harry’s fingers and took the letter. He flicked the parchment into the fireplace, eyes locked glittering on Harry’s, and said, “Show me.”
Harry sucked in an astounded breath; his hands rose on their own and he stopped them, fingers just shy of Snape’s face.
“Severus…” He was incapable of saying no – and just as incapable of knowing what to do next.
Severus bent his head, slowly. Harry felt his own chin lift in automatic response, felt his palms come to rest on Snape’s chest. His mouth opened and he breathed in Severus’ whispered demand.
“Show me.”
Snape’s parted lips covered Harry’s, trapping the words in the warm air between them. Then his tongue filled that space, delicately kissing the roof of Harry’s mouth, dancing against Harry’s tongue for a moment before withdrawing, coaxing Harry to follow.
Harry groaned and pursued Snape’s retreating tongue, only to have his own claimed, surrounded and sucked with a firm command that burned down through his core and radiated to every throbbing artery in his body.
Snape withdrew and Harry gasped for air, dizzy, only now realizing the man’s hands were on his back, that they were pressed together from stem to stern. Harry let his face fall onto the man’s collarbone as he caught his breath.
“Harry?” Snape spoke softly, uncertain.
“Christ …” Harry felt Snape chuckle and looked up at him, knowing his arousal had to be radiating from his face – as well as other more tangible areas.
“Are you sure?” Harry whispered.
“What did it feel like?” Snape squeezed him, his expression open, warm and a little uneasy. And sexy as hell because of it.
“Like I’m not going to be able to stop, if you do it again,” Harry said honestly. “That’s why I’m asking now. You … you want this? You trust me enough?”
