Title: Wood Morning, Severus.
Fandom: Harry Potter (Snarry)
Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape.
Word count: 782
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.
A/N1: Unbetaed. Written for the adventdrabbles (DW,LJ, IJ) 2015 prompt 12: Drunk elf caroling.
A/N2: This is the sixth part of my Black Smoke series.
Summary: Waking up atop Potter's stomach and realizing that he must have spent the entire night curled like a small fluff-ball on the savior's naked belly was one of the most shocking shocks to have shocked him since the Drunk Elf Caroling Debacle of 1985.
Wood Morning, Severus.
Severus clearly remembered watching Andromeda Tonks take young master Lupin home, but he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when he fell asleep. He remembered feeling utterly ashamed upon arriving at the conclusion that his ridiculous kittenish nature had turned him into one of Potter's insupportable groupies without so much as a by your leave. He could also remember mewling despairingly in reaction to that particularly unwelcome nugget of traumatic self-awareness and curling tightly into the corner of the sofa, burying his head under the soft folds of his blanket and refusing to come out, no matter how hard Potter cooed or how patiently he'd tried to cajole him out of his safe haven.
But he didn't remember leaving consciousness altogether. Or the sofa, for that matter. So waking up in Potter's bedroom, in Potter's bed, was a little bit surprising. Worse than that: waking up atop Potter's stomach and realizing that he must have spent the entire night curled like a small fluff-ball on the savior's naked belly was one of the most shocking shocks to have shocked him since the Drunk Elf Caroling Debacle of 1985.
Potter slept like the dead. He was sprawled all over the bed like an overgrown starfish, looking soft and rumpled and—well, asleep. He was fidgeting slightly, twitching left and right and turning the loveliest shade of rose Severus had ever seen in reaction to whatever he was dreaming about. Small, snuffling sounds escaped his half-parted lips every now and then, breaking the early-morning quiet, and Severus would have smiled at how... unheroic... he sounded in that moment if he hadn't been too busy panicking about the inappropriateness of his own position on Potter's body and the fact that they had 'slept' together. 'He must have brought me here after I fell asleep. This wasn't my fault. I would have never allowed him to—Oh, Merlin! Please let him remember that I wasn't even conscious when he brought me here once he realizes that the cat has never been only 'the cat'. Poppy lied to him. And that isn't my fault either.'
Potter shifted in his sleep, making Severus' slight body roll down his belly until furry, silky-soft, hindquarters made unintended contact with the Savior's impressive case of 'morning wood'. Severus stiffened from ears to tail. Large, kittenish eyes rounded to capacity with traumatized horror as he sat there, very still, and attempted to convince himself that what poked him 'back there' couldn't possibly be Potter's dick. 'Maybe he sleeps with his wand between his thighs. He's a Gryffindor, after all. Weirdness is their middle name, isn't it?'
Potter chose that very second to moan low in his throat and the breathy little sound managed to make every single hair in Severus' body stand on end. 'No. Oh, no. Please... Don't let him be having one of 'those' dreams.'
Unfortunately for him The Powers That be weren’t in a listening mood, so Potter groaned a little bit louder and shifted his hips restlessly, humping empty air for good measure, thus proving conclusively that he was indeed having one of 'those' dreams. Severus ended up rolling all over the savior's lower abdomen to the rhythm of his rocking hips and his frantically swishing tail brushed accidentally across Potter's crotch, ripping a gasp of delight from the sleeping man's throat.
Severus didn't dare to stay where he was a single second longer. He flung himself blindly onto the mattress and ended up rolling past the edge of the bed and falling onto the carpeted floor with a loud thud. He lied there, on Potter's rug, feeling dazed and frazzled and oh-so-very sorry for himself. His lungs had lost every bit of air they'd accumulated and his left flank hurt like hell, but at least his rump was no longer up close and personal with Potter's massive boner. 'And how sad is it that I can't remember the last time I had one of 'those' dreams? Or morning wood? Or Sex? Dear Merlin... I've turned into an old man and I'm not even 45. Maybe I should bite the bullet and invite 'dear' Waldo to 'fruitcake' in my quarters when I get back, give him the kind of workout that will make him walk bowlegged for at least a week. Or I could come back here and ask Potter if—Nah. What am I thinking? The savior will never want me. I'm no Ginevra Weasley, am I?'