Chasing Moonbeams. Ch32.
Aug. 17th, 2019 05:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pekelekeTitle: Chasing Moonbeams.
Author: pekeleke
Pairing(s): Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17, eventually.
Length: 82K+
Warnings: Extremely Slow burn. Pre-slash to slash. Enemies to friends to lovers. Pinning!Harry. Oblivious!Severus. Implied Bottom!Severus. EWE.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. I make no profit from writing fanfiction.
Summary: “Really?” Harry beams, green eyes wide and full of wonder. “You’re going to let me snog you to my heart’s content?”
Chapter 32.
Severus is the first to admit that he thoroughly miscalculated the effect that giving himself free rein to kiss Harry Potter every time he feels like it would have on him. His libido hasn’t been precisely dormant in the last two decades; Severus is no monk, and he had his fair share of sexual escapades even during the busy years he spent as both a Hogwarts’ professor and a double spy, but he certainly hasn’t felt this horny since his teenage years, and he has absolutely no compunction blaming the Auror for it.
Harry is lovely, loving, generous. He is both patient and impatient in the most disarming mix Severus has ever encountered, and the time they spend together is slowly, but surely, becoming the highlight of Severus’s day. He is smitten. Openly and wholeheartedly. And he is running out of reasons to remind himself to be cautious. It’s ridiculous, he knows, but he feels young and silly. Willing to take risks with his emotions, willing to believe that the future will be bright and they’ll manage to overcome every obstacle thrown their way as long as they face it together.
Severus has been distracted all evening, quietly freaking out about his deepening attachment to the savior and only paying half of his attention to the boy’s lively conversation. They’re in Harry’s house, the Gryffindor having insisted on cooking him a meal that “will blow your socks off.” Severus is impressed indeed with the Auror’s culinary prowess, and the dessert was so rich -and so very irresistible- that he’d ended up shoving three generous-sized portions down his straining gullet and now feels full and sleepy. By the time Harry raises from the table and reaches out a hand to help him up as well, it takes Severus about two minutes to realize his boyfriend is patiently waiting for him to do something. To say something. To return to the moment at hand.
“Where are you right now, moonbeam? I get the feeling you’re about a thousand miles away.”
“Of course I’m here,” Severus protests instantly, flapping a flustered hand towards the table. “Who else do you think polished off half of that red-velvet cake?”
“Don’t do that, please. There’s something on your mind. I can tell.“
Severus sighs and allows his gaze to wander around Harry’s homey kitchen. It’s a ridiculously chaotic place what with its bright color scheme and the piles of dirty pots currently sitting haphazardly all over the worktop. Severus likes being here, even though the general messiness that seems to come along with Harry makes his wand arm twitch every twenty minutes or so. They’re such an unlikely match, the two of them, but the more time they spend together, the more Severus believes they can balance one another. Harry is a messy ‘doer’ while he, himself, is a self-disciplined ‘thinker.’ It shouldn’t sound like a recipe for success in any shape or form, but he is starting to realize it may be.
Severus tries to remember what his evenings felt like back when Harry was still persona non grata in his life. Back when he used to spend his weekday evenings in splendid solitude, valiantly attempting to bury his loneliness inside the often disappointing depths of a random book and a single glass of brandy. He’d been at peace, but he hadn’t been happy.
Severus realizes he is happy right now. He likes being here with Harry. He feels fluttery and excited and, like the mushiest Hufflepuff imaginable, has developed the disconcerting habit of looking forward to every single day. Of having dreams. Of laughing like some poor, deranged weirdo every time something pleases him just because he can. Severus doesn’t want to go back to his old life, and he is perfectly aware that this one doesn’t work without Harry. “It’s time we have sex,” he mutters under his breath, and only realizes his boyfriend is close enough to have heard him when the sound of the Auror’s flustered squeak reaches his ears.
‘Wha-? Why? That doesn’t have anything to do with—wait. You mean you want to have sex right now? As in here, in the kitchen, while the table looks like a trash heap and the counters are full of-
“Harry. Breathe.” Severus tries to sound reassuring even though he is thoroughly amused by the intent, wide-eyed look the brat is throwing his way.
“I can’t! Y-you just— You said we should have sex, moonbeam. You can’t fucking imagine how long I’ve been waiting for permission to set my grabby paws on you and, now that the moment is here, I’m not ready. Gosh! I can’t remember the last time I changed the sheets, and my bedroom is a mess. I don’t think there’s a single candle in the entire house that isn’t weirdly melted on one side and blacker than the mouth of hell on the other, a-and—flowers. I don’t have any flowers.”
Severus rolls his eyes and glides closer to his panicking would-be-lover. He places both hands upon the man’s shoulders and squeezes them reassuringly. “Calm the fuck down, you, insufferable Gryffindor. I’m not demanding you exchange your ridiculously romantic plans for our first night together with a quick and dirty roll on the kitchen floor, for heaven’s sake. You don’t have to flip me around, shove my pants down to my ankles and pound my arse like a beast in heat right this second, Harry. You can do it tomorrow. Or the day after. Or whenever we’re both in the mood. I merely realized I’m ready to take that step, that’s all.”
“I don’t have to s-shove your pants down and p-pound your arse— I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face. Gosh, moonbeam, who do you take me for? Superman? In which world do you think it’s possible for me to let you walk away without jumping you after you implied you’re ready to have sex?” Harry gasps, looking positively scandalized by Severus’s apparently erroneous assumption that he has self-control.
“Well. Bearing in mind that you haven’t jumped me yet I’d say it’s a distinct possibility.”
“No. It isn’t. But I-I need to know why now, moonbeam. What’s so special about tonight?”
Severus sighs. He doesn’t want to have a draining conversation about feelings. He wants to move their evening towards some sort of playful, happy, and hopefully sexual resolution; but he doubts they’ll get there if he attempts to brush Harry off. The brat is looking at him with that serious, intent sobriety that tells Severus in no uncertain terms that there will be no hanky-panky until he’s reassured his Gryffindor's precious conscience that they are both on the same emotional page. “I was thinking I’m happy right now. Not content, as I used to be, but genuinely happy. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”
“Oh! Y-you mean that?” Harry asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an over-excited puppy, and Severus smiles at him fondly.
“Of course I do.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Does this mean you’re properly impressed now?”
Severus laughs and kisses the idiot firmly on the lips. “I can’t be one hundred percent certain yet. You may be terrible in the sack, Potter, and then I’ll have to run away in despair and shack up with a mountain goat.”
“You won’t have to,” Harry promises huskily, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him so close that they end up chest to chest. “I’m a bona fide sex god, you know?”
Severus’s left eyebrow rises towards his hairline. Harry’s playful boasting makes him want to laugh and smirk evilly at the same time. He wants to tease the fool mercilessly and hug him tightly in one single motion. He wants to kiss his mouth shut, so he does, and smiles widely against Harry’s softening lips upon hearing the startled ‘oomph!’ that’s trying to escape them.
The kiss starts frisky and becomes decidedly passionate the moment Harry relaxes into it and takes control. The boy uses the hold he still has on Severus’s hips to pull him impossibly closer, then loops his greedy arms around Severus’s neck and cradles his head demandingly, turning it ever so slightly to the left in a move that angles their noses perfectly and aligns their lips so that their breathing mingles and their mouths overlap, allowing their tongues to tangle and play a dance that’s so hot and hungry that Severus can’t help but moan into the kiss. Harry’s hands tighten on the sides of his head, callused, blunt fingers digging into Severus’s scalp and pulling on his long hair with just the right amount of impatience, the right amount of dominance and need. Severus melts, opening his mouth wider and allowing the small dynamo writhing wantonly in his arms to steal his breath away.
When their mouths part ways, they stare at one another in wonder. Harry’s gaze has darkened with desire, the usual vivid green now a barely visible ring of brightness around lust-blown pupils. Severus shivers as those eyes settle upon him, ravenous and possessive, and he realizes in that instant that Harry’s seemingly incongruous warning hadn’t been a bluff at all. He’s not walking away untouched, but that’s fine. It’s wonderful, really. Severus can’t even remember the last time he felt so wanted.
“Tell me what you want,” Harry demands gruffly, eyeing Severus’s neck like a thirsty man eyes a glass of water. Severus’s head tilts sideways instinctively, exposing more skin to that avid, predatory gaze and finds himself smirking smugly when Harry jerks forwards, buries his nose in the hollow of his throat and inhales long and deeply.
“You are a bloody tease,” the Auror grumbles, nipping at his pale skin.
“It’s not teasing if I’m willing to fall flat on my back for you and let you do your worst, Potter.”
“My worst?” Harry laughs, sucking the skin at the base of his neck like a bloodthirsty vampire before leaning back enough to admire the resulting love bite with a possessive air. “Oh, no, moonbeam. You’re never getting that out of me. You’ll get my best every time. I promise.”
Severus shivers with delight. With arousal. With ever-mounting impatience. “Then shut up and get on with it already, for Merlin’s sake.”
Harry giggles and snorts and then giggles some more. “Oh. My. God. You’re one of those.”
Severus plonks his hands on Harry’s perfectly rounded arsecheeks and squeezes them meaningfully. “One of who?”
“One of those blokes who are always rushing sex.”
Severus startles upon hearing that description. He blinks dazedly and looks down at Harry, catching both his sweet smile and slightly worried expression. The smallest smidgen of disappointment swirls in the depths of the green eyes that look at him adoringly, and Severus suddenly realizes that Harry doesn’t want to be, but he is right. Severus has become the sort of man who doesn’t take his time in the bedroom. He’s become too used to the apathy of casual sex and has learned to not dwell in those emotionally unfulfilling moments for too long. “I don’t want to do that.” He offers haltingly. “Not with you.”
“Thank Godric! I’ve been dreaming about this for ages, moonbeam. I want to worship every single inch of you, thrice over, but I’m worried that’ll scare you.”
“I doubt that. I’ve had nothing but fast and dirty dark alley encounters since Regulus died, Harry. I want tenderness more than anything.”
“Then tenderness you shall receive, gorgeous,” Harry promises in that special tone of voice that makes Severus weak at the knees. Severus smiles and bends his neck low enough to muzzle against Harry’s cheek. Harry hums and turns his head just enough to plant a petal-soft kiss at the very edge of his jaw. Severus closes his dark eyes, content with their tight embrace and the simple affection so easily bestowed upon him.
Harry kisses his jaw repeatedly, holds onto his hips and shuffles backward. Severus lets himself sink into the moment. He surrenders to his senses and matches the movement of his body to Harry’s. Matches kiss for kiss, and shiver for shiver, until his eyes are glazed, his lips are swollen, and his cock is hard and pulsing with his every heartbeat, straining impatiently against his zipper.
Harry is busy peppering his neck in love bites and guiding them in a lurching fashion towards his ugly sofa. The moment the back of Severus’s legs hits the edge of the unsightly piece of furniture, Harry’s hands begin to wander, moving away from his hips in an upward arch that has them mapping most of Severus’s narrow chest in a single, worshipful sweep. Severus gasps when the nail of a pinky catches playfully on his right nipple and hears himself groan when Harry throws him a nearly irresistible flirty look and does it all over again, the fucking tease. “Sensitive. Aren’t you, moonbeam?”
“Harry, I swear to Sala-
The Gryffindor has the audacity of swallowing Severus’s growl, kissing it off his lips, off his mind, with a bold, impassioned snog. Severus bites his lower lip in retaliation and never gets enough time to worry about the potential consequences of his slightly vindictive action before Harry’s flustered groan reaches his ears. The boy launches himself forward, plastering himself from lips to belly against Severus’s chest, fingertips frantically pulling at the buttons of his shirt. Severus doesn’t have that type of obstacle, so he simply grabs the hem of Harry’s t-shirt and gives it a firm, meaningful tug. Harry detaches himself from his lips long enough to get rid of the garment and give a baleful look at the terribly wrinkled but still mostly fastened one covering Severus. “I officially hate your buttons. They’re a crime against horniness, moonbeam.”
Severus laughs, delighted, and waves his hand down his chest, unfastening the entire thing with practiced ease. “There’s a trick to it. It’s called magic.”
Harry is opening his mouth to retort when Severus’s shirt gapes open, exposing his thin but wiry chest to the avid green gaze that promptly forgets the rest of the world even exists. A single, trembling hand takes hold of a loosened placket, pushing it aside reverently. Severus swallows as the moment turns both heavy and light at once, gathering an intensity it shouldn’t have and the sort of passion that can settle over a man’s very bones.
“You are so beautiful.” Harry half sighs half whispers, and Severus’s dark gaze burns with overwhelmed emotion. This is what he’s been missing since Regulus died. This is what making love feels like.
“Y-you’re beautiful too.” He croaks softly, and Harry beams at him like he’s just placed the sun at his feet. They’re back to kissing in the next second, exploring lips and necks and chests in a frenzy of wandering hands and mouths. Severus’s knees give up the ghost about a minute into that and he sort of collapses onto the sofa, leaving a clearly shocked Harry blinking down at him in surprise, with his lips still puckered into a kissy moue. Severus can’t help the giggle-snort that escapes him, and Harry glares at him playfully, before bursting into giggles too.
“Come here, brat.” Severus offers as soon as he calms down, potion-tainted hand extended, palm up, in simple invitation. Harry takes the offered limb, squeezes Severus’s fingertips, and drops down to the floor, kneeling between his splayed knees, instead of joining him on the sofa. Their gazes tangle, loving green and questioning black, conveying a hundred desires without their owners uttering a single word. Harry’s boldness breaks the impasse, as always, free hand settling upon Severus’s slack-covered thigh and rubbing it up and down meaningfully. Severus rolls his eyes, lifts up his rump, and shimmies his hips enticingly.
Harry takes the hint at once, his fingertips skim upwards and pop open the small button at the waistband of Severus’s trousers. Then the brat finds his zipper and pulls it down reverently before allowing his hands to dive inside the warm folds exposed by the sagging cloth. Severus’s first encounter with the heat of Harry’s skin takes the form of a wavering line of goose-bumping sensation that his lover paints devoutly just above the elastic band of his boxers. The touch may be simple but it’s also powerful. It has the ability to make Severus tremble from head to toes. His spine turns to goo, and he sags bonelessly against the backrest of the sofa. His lips part in a silent oh! that allows his increasingly agitated breathing to escape him in little puff-puff-puffs of growing arousal, and he closes his eyes in a bid to feel that touch with his every sense. He wants to smell it, hear it, taste it. He wants to bask in it until he can recall it to perfection.
The tip of Harry’s index hooks around the soft elastic and tugs it downward playfully, exposing a bony hip. The gentle kiss that lands there a mere blink later sinks into Severus’s pores. Harry smiles against his skin upon hearing him sigh helplessly and Severus shivers, undone. He is officially in love with their lovemaking. He is seduced. Charmed. Enchanted. He is utterly and completely Harry’s.
The Auror keeps that oh-so-reverent assault upon his senses. Kissing his other hip, his belly, dipping a playful tongue into Severus’s bellybutton and fucking into it with such attention to detail, such teasing goddamned flair that, for a second or two, Severus becomes convinced that he’ll come for the brat, untouched. Harry takes mercy on him, though. Or maybe he wants an orgasm achieved through more sophisticated means than the premature ejaculation typical of a couple of horny teenagers.
Severus is still half-dressed one second and completely naked the next. They both are. Harry half raises, half lurches toward him, landing himself on the sofa and awkwardly straddling his thighs before Severus has time to help him. The skin of the Gryffindor’s rear is hot and soft and oh-so-welcome in his lap and Severus curls his arms around his wriggling boyfriend splays a possessive hand against his spine and presses him closer. Harry’s butt slides across his thighs, sweaty leg-hair dragging against his own with a painfully pleasurable friction-burn slide. Their crotches connect with a bollocks to bollocks soft bump, seeping cock-tip brushing against seeping cock-tip. Severus’s breathing hitches, heartbeat loud and heavy against his every pulse point. He presses Harry even closer, feels the boy lean his weight against his chest and literally melt in his arms. He buries his nose in Harry’s soft hair, presses a fiercely fond kiss against the crown of the Auror’s head and arches wantonly against him. Their torsos slide together, bellies heaving against one another, hips aligning into glorious, cock-rubbing perfection. There isn’t enough friction to make them come like this, just the maddening connection of contact and the breathtaking intimacy of growing hotter and harder together, of feeling each other’s pre-come seep into their pubic hair one warm and opalescent drop at a time. Harry moans and groans and twitches against him, callused palms wandering lazily up his flanks. Severus keeps them moving, keeps them frotting, keeps them breathless and aroused and half-mad with the ever-growing need of touching each other right there. “Not yet,” he mutters frantically under his breath, wanting their encounter to last longer, to remain thus forever, needing to drive himself crazier, to build his orgasm from the nails of his toes upwards, like the unstoppable wave of a tsunami.
Harry twitches violently against him when Severus’s hands cradle his butt and squeeze his plump arsecheeks lustfully. “OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod! Touch me. Please. Touch me. Start wanking my fucking prick right now, you, bastard,” he begs breathily against Severus’s collarbone, peppering it desperately with open-mouthed kisses. Severus’s self-control breaks. He swears under his breath even as he wriggles his right hand between their bodies taking hold of them both in a grip that’s almost painful. It’s too tight and not enough at the same time, and Severus is so far gone that he doesn’t even care about things like finesse or chaffing anymore. He ruts mindlessly against Harry, rubbing the living daylights out of their pricks with frantic, forceful little jerks of his increasingly pre-come slickened hand. He feels the boy’s orgasm imminent arrival in the tightening of the legs that bracket his, in the stiffening of the supple spine undulating wantonly under his other hand, and in the hitch, desperate and gasping, of the rhythmic puff-puff-puffs of lung-warmed air that fans his clavicle.
Harry grows taught in his arms, green eyes open and stare directly into his own with heavy-lidded adoration, kiss-swollen lips utter a single, raw-toned word: “moonbeam” before the Gryffindor’s features grow slack in pure bliss. Severus drinks in the look of him and keeps puling on their cocks, desperate now to fall, to join his lover in that cloud of pleasurable completion, and he breaks the moment he feels Harry’s warm come hitting the top of his hand. White noise fills Severus’s consciousness, all-pervading and irresistible. His ears are ringing, his eyes tightly closed, and he wouldn’t be able to move a single muscle to save his life right now.
Harry collapses against him, his body sweaty, his weight heavy and oh-so-welcome, and Severus takes stock of the simple, sated joy dancing in his heart. He feels full of warmth after sex for the first time in veritable ages. He feels content and grateful and utterly, exquisitely, at peace. He is smiling like a loon when Harry recovers enough to twitch briefly away, grabbing his wand from somewhere and casting a lazy Tergeo at their uncomfortably messy crotches.
“All right, moonbeam?” The boy asks, all soft voice, fond smile, and dreamy green eyes.
“All right,” Severus replies, knowing in his heart of hearts that he’s never meant those words so thoroughly.
Next.
Back.