Summary: "Bored, gay, and horny"–yes, PWP time, folks, move along now…. Takes place ten years or so after the final book.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, JKR does, I just make them sticky.
Severus was halfway to being too drunk to move when an unforgettable voice whispered in his ear, teasing in a way that raised his hackles even through the alcohol.
"How would you like to fuck Harry Potter?"
"Really, Potter," he said, not looking around and pleased that his voice didn't betray him, "are you reduced to picking up strange men these days?"
"Do you have anything better to do now that the party's breaking up?"
Severus blinked: indeed, while he had been drinking himself too stupid to defend himself from Harry Potter, the wedding party had dissipated. Already hotel staff was clearing off the tables, and the newlyweds were nowhere to be seen.
"Is this some kind of twisted revenge plot against me? Or are you still nursing a thing for the bridegroom?" Strong dark hands pulled him up, and he was amused to see that he still towered over Potter.
"That was over years and years ago. I thought I was the one who was out of touch."
Potter put an arm around his waist, and Severus found himself being steered expertly out of the hall and into the stairwell.
"My room's on the second floor," Harry said in explanation as they mounted the stairs.
"You didn't plan this, did you, Potter?" Somehow, the thought of an orchestrated seduction made Severus gag.
Harry snorted. "I'm only back in the country for the wedding, really. I was sitting there being bored, gay, and horny, and I thought, well, who might be in the same boat? I could see that you were bored, after the Quibbler expose everyone knows you're queer as an Irish galleon, and you didn't say no to me, you know. So, we'll scratch our mutual itches, I'll go back home to Freetown, and you'll crawl back under whatever rock you've been under these past few years." They arrived at a shabby door which Harry opened with a swipe of his keycard.
"So it's a fuck of convenience."
"Exactly." Harry did up all the locks on the door, and Severus automatically Imperturbed it. As well as the walls and windows, floor and ceiling.
"Still a paranoid bastard, I see," Harry smirked, opening the wardrobe and hanging up his suit carefully. He stood there for a moment, in navy socks, half-undone dress shirt, and faded green boxers, watching Severus with his head cocked. "This is all right with you, isn't it? You're not in a relationship with anyone or anything like that, are you?"
"No," Severus said, and glared at Harry. He realised that he'd missed having to glare down, now that he no longer taught. Harry just shrugged, smiling slightly, and apparently clever enough to know that if he mentioned the dead he wouldn't get laid.
"Nor am I," Harry said, and finished unbuttoning the shirt. He still had the body of a sportsman: his lack of height made the well-developed musculature of his body even more striking. He still had the scar, although it was barely noticeable against Harry's dark skin. His eyes were black now, of course, no longer Lily's unnerving green gaze, but still new and strange enough that Severus found himself caught in that steady scrutiny. Or perhaps he was just drunk.
"Are you waiting for me to undress you?" Harry asked, and crossed to where Severus stood. "I always wondered how many sets of sweeping black robes you actually owned. And," he said, flicking the last button undone and sliding the heavy fabric down from Severus' shoulders, "I did occasionally wonder what you wore underneath. It seems to be more black drapery. Would an onion analogy break the mood?"
"There is no mood," Severus said, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it over his robes on the chair. Harry's hands were busy with his belt and the fastenings to his trousers, but they were also subtly mapping Severus' erection as they fumbled, leaving him with the dilemma of whether he should undo the buttons himself and get naked faster, or whether he should feign ignorance and allow Harry to feel him up. Harry made the decision for him by discovering that only half of the buttons needed to be undone in order to slide the trousers over Severus' hips and drop them to the floor. Harry knelt and pulled off Severus' shoes and socks; Severus shoved his boxers off, enjoying that when Harry looked up in surprise he was nearly eye-level with Severus' cock.
Which was apparently too close to jaw-level with Severus' cock for Harry, who sat up on his heels and stretched out his tongue to lap roughly at the head of Severus' cock. One hand snaked lazily back to grasp Severus' arse, the other tightened at the base of his cock. The shock of unexpected intimacy flooded Severus with a surfeit of sensation: the gentle touch of rough, callused fingers, the heat of Harry's mouth as he sucked in as much cock as he could take, his tongue slick and restless, the erratic whisper of Harry's breath in his pubic hair. He reached down and tangled his fingers in Harry's thick curls, cropped short but still unruly. Harry looked up, eyes bright and predatory, and he pulled back.
"Shall we move to the bed?" he asked, again with that ghost of a smile playing around his mouth. Severus didn't really need to weigh the merits of the suggestion: he tugged Harry's hair to pull him to his feet, and shoved him bedwards with a trifle more force than he had meant to use.
Harry rolled onto the bed and blinked at Severus owlishly. The horrible student-teacher thing that Severus had been fighting to ignore suddenly rushed to the forefront of his brain as he saw layering the man on the bed the titchy eleven-year-old brat, the cocky, half-mad teenager, the cold possessed figure facing down the Wizengamot, the countless newspaper photos. This boy had always been a crap Legilimens, but his eyes narrowed anyway as if Severus' thoughts were written in flame over his head. Or–ah–in the collapse of his erection.
"Come here," Harry said, the annoyance and scorn in his voice heating Severus' blood in a way he suspected no other living person's could. "Just one night, just one fuck, no past and no future. Come here."
Severus wondered whether Harry was a teacher.
Harry glowered until Severus stretched out on the bed beside him, and then half-twisted off the bed, rummaging in his suitcase on the floor. When he pulled himself back up he had an impressive collection of Muggle condoms, lotions, and lubricants.
"It's for work," Harry said to Severus' smirk. "I do a lot of sex ed." Severus raised an eyebrow and waited. "All right–some of it is mine." Harry tipped one of the bottles, filling his palm with a silvery oil. He slapped his hand against Severus' chest and then used both hands to spread the oil out, his fingertips tracing whorls and arcs before finally sliding lightly across his nipples. He pinched one nipple and leant over to suck on it, his other hand reaching up to trace Severus' lips. "It's nice," he said, "try some." Severus tasted the oil cautiously: it was oddly sweet, but not cloying.
Potter took advantage of his momentary distraction to slip one finger into Severus' mouth. Severus licked it clean and then pushed the finger out: he disliked having things in his mouth that weren't edible. "Do you do this often, Potter?"
Harry looked up. "I will promise not to ask you personal questions if you agree to the same. But… no, I don't. I have my reputation, you see."
Severus decided that he was too drunk to negotiate the rules for this one-night relationship verbally, or to care to do so. He rolled over, settling his body over Potter's, not missing the way Harry's breath caught or the way his body arched up. One hand on either side of Harry's head, he looked down and grimaced.
"For fuck's sake, take the damned glasses off."
Harry blinked, and then reached up to remove them and toss them in the direction of the nightstand. "I don't see all that well without them," he said apologetically.
"Good," Severus said, and bent to run his teeth along Harry's neck. Harry twisted, offering up his throat in such a bizarre display of trust that Severus contemplated killing him right then and there just to teach him a lesson. But his wand was across the room, and he had other methods of punishment available. Unfortunately, Potter seemed to enjoy them a little too much, if the incoherent noises he made were anything to judge by.
Severus groped around for the bottle of oil, found it, and sat back on Potter's legs. He dripped the oil slowly onto Potter's erect cock, not touching it, letting the cold shock of each drop as it fell and the smooth slide downwards do the work for him. Harry watched from heavy-lidded eyes, panting slowly, his hands kneading the coverlet hard enough to whiten his knuckles. His cock was leaking precome, and it mingled with the oil. Severus capped the bottle and set it aside. He took Harry's cock and began stroking it slowly, even as he trailed a finger in the oil down past his balls and back to Harry's tight opening, pressing in.
"Breathe, Potter," he said. "Out of practice?"
Harry smiled, took a deep breath, and Severus felt his body relax. "Just like riding a bicycle," he said. Severus slipped in another finger and twisted.
"Kindly keep your Muggle analogies out of my bed, Potter."
"Kindly fuck me now, Snape," Harry drawled back in pitch-perfect imitation, and Severus gave a snort of surprised laughter. Harry reached out and found a yellow tube. "Let me–" Severus shifted so that his cock was within Harry's reach. Harry did something expert and brilliant with his hands; when Severus' eyes uncrossed, he looked down to find that Harry had somehow attached a condom without his noticing.
"Sleight of hand," Harry said modestly to Severus' black glower.
Severus grabbed a pillow and shoved it under Harry's arse; Harry had the advantage of youth for flexibility, he had to concede, and then Harry said something desperate-sounding that ended in please so Severus obliged by pushing in, hard and steady, until his entire length was tight inside.
Potter's fingertips dug into his hips hard enough to bruise; not, Severus supposed, as he looked down at the bitemarks that trailed down Potter's torso, that he had anything to complain about. He moved slowly, seeing if he could make Potter beg again. It wasn't as easy as it was to make Potter writhe, or even to scream.
As Severus fucked him he had the feeling that the bed was a crucible, that the occluding facades Harry maintained were being stripped from him, that the sweat-slick and uninhibited man beneath him was not, somehow, anyone he knew. He fisted Harry's cock roughly, the oil making it impossible to maintain any kind of rhythm, but Potter was in no position (or condition) to complain.
Severus twisted his hips, searching for the sensitive spot. Harry cried out, arms outflung, head snapping back, and his cock jumped, spurting up across his chest. The spasms of his muscles around Severus drove him nearly to the edge; he folded Harry's limp body up and pumped into him hard. Harry's eyes opened, clear and wide, and he opened his mouth and said his name; and then Severus was coming, body arching into Harry, teeth grinding together against a groan.
"Merlin," Severus said, when he could speak, and when he realised that he was sprawled stickily on top of Potter, whose arms were around him and whose face was buried in his hair. "That was. Merlin."
"Indeed," Harry said dryly, but there was a softness to his voice that sent off warning bells in Severus' head.
"I need a shower," Severus said, and was rather disconcerted to find Harry not only showing him the en suite bath but joining him. It's practical, Harry had said; better than arguing over who needs it the most. But it implied–something, something about this stranger who had once been the focus of Severus' rage.
"Freetown," Severus said as he towelled himself off, and Harry glanced at him in the mirror, where he was leaning in to shave nearsightedly.
"That's right. I thought it sounded like a good place to go. A free town."
"Was it?" Severus asked
Harry seemed to give the question some consideration. "At times it feels like hell on earth. The war, you know. At other times, it's beautiful. Where I am–what I do there–there's a lot of hope for the future. Not much food. No running water, and certainly not hot water. But I belong there now." He set the razor down and combed his hair, to no apparent effect. "And yourself–you're doing well?"
"No personal questions," Severus snapped, and Potter grinned, stepping into a pair of jeans and doing the zip cheekily. Point to him, Severus thought. He pulled on his clothes in the grey pre-dawn light and fought back a yawn. "Why me? Why–this?"
Harry turned to look at him, raising his chin. "The truth? Because I trusted that you would be honest with me. That you would neither pity me nor worship me. That you wouldn't go running to the Quibbler the next morning, or try and do something for me." He tugged a t-shirt over his head, twisting to unroll it where it had caught on the damp skin of his back. "How about you? Why me?"
Severus straightened his robes in the wardrobe mirror. "You had it right from the start. I have always wanted to fuck Harry Potter."
Surprise and amusement warred on Harry's face; the latter won. He was still collapsed in laughter on the bed when Severus nodded goodbye, unable to do more than wave a hand in farewell.
Well, Severus thought as he strode out into the early morning sun, the Boy who Lived had become the Boy who Laughed; the Chosen One had become the one to choose. Freetown, Severus thought. That does sound good. He smiled a thin, dangerous smile and headed for home.