pekeleke

Title: Courting Disaster.

Rating : NC-17.

Author: pekeleke

Word Count:1558.

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.

A/N: I want to dedicate this particular fic to Delia Cerrano, who is the kind of wonderful reader and reviewer who never tires of reading -sometimes even more than once- the shenanigans of my particular version of the boys.

I don't know how many times she has expressed a desire to read a story featuring the gradual dismantling of Severus' defenses through romantic courtship, so I thought I should indulge her for once and attempt to finally write this dynamic for her. Here is my take on this particular trope then, Delia. I do hope you enjoy it as much as I relished the challenge of coming up with this story-line for you. :D

Summary: For once in his life Harry Potter has a plan. A carefully plotted plan to help him conquer the heart of an extremely reluctant Severus Snape, only... conquering a suspicious ex-spy isn't for the fainthearted and soon Harry finds himself -quite literally- courting disaster.

Courting Disaster.

Chapter 1.

The pub is crowded. Noisy. Perfect.
Despite his disappointing looks Severus Snape has no trouble snaring a sexual conquest whenever he's in the mood and tonight, of all nights, he is definitely in the mood.

He is feeling each and every one of the 45 miserable years he is celebrating tonight. Seating in splendid solitude in the darkest corner of the most infamous gay bar that Knocturn Alley has to offer with nothing more substantial for company than another shot of the cheap Firewhisky they sell here he feels exactly like the giant failure that he is. 45 years of age and he is still alone. Still a nobody. Still a forgotten, forgettable, pariah.

“Happy birthday—bah!” He mumbles under his breath for the hundredth time as he contemplates the wisdom of ordering one last shot before abandoning his comfortably dark corner in pursuit of the company that lured him here in the first place. He's certainly drunk enough to have sent his usual reticence packing and the place has been filling steadily with a veritable throng of young fellows on the lookout for a bit of harmless fun. His window of opportunity has finally opened and he'll be damned before he allows himself to waste the rest of his evening on the maudlin contemplation of how much his life actually sucks.

Abandoning his table with a resolute air, he strolls regally across the crowded room, totally unaware of the fact that the oscillating light coming off the dance floor flits across his features with every step he takes, bathing his entire face alternatively in pale light and thick dark shadows that unveil the vision of a face that is both unashamedly harsh and starkly unlovely.

He understands that he can't be considered attractive under any circumstances, but there are certain types of men who, with a few pints in their belly, never fail to feel brave enough to approach him. These are men who consider themselves bold enough to attempt trying to tame the wild danger he exudes like a dark aura and, although Severus sometimes wonders why he usually attracts that particular type of drunk, he's never been able to explain the bizarre fact.

“Stupid Gryffindor wannabes and disenchanted Hufflepuffs the lot of them, most probably. And dimwitted to boot if they really imagine that I could ever be 'tamed' by a half-drunk dunderhead.” He mumbles under his breath, smiling encouragingly at a wide-eyed would-be-partner while his wavering mind remembers the explanation that some long-forgotten conquest whispered once against his neck in the back room of this very establishment.

'Whatever brings them to me is their own business, isn't it? I have no need to feel guilty for using their own gullibility for my benefit.' He decides in the next second, directing a scorching look towards the wide-eyed stranger and feeling his entire chest warm with relieved satisfaction when the man takes the first couple of stumbling steps in his direction. 'That was unusually fast. I should be out of this hell-hole in the next fifteen minutes, then.'

“Happy birthday, professor.” Someone grabs him from behind in the next second, literally breathing those three words against the back of his shoulder and Severus would have had to be a lot drunker than he is to be unaware of the identity of his unwelcome assailant.

“Potter... Get your damned hands off me. You are scaring away properly good company.”

Potter laughs. The sound is soft and breathy, falling against the very tips of his long hair in a series of small puffs that feel somehow more intimate than the touch of the determined hands that are still holding his robe-covered forearms.
“The guy in the soft, gray shirt? He is not even good-looking, Severus!”

That dismissive little comment rattles him enough to push the Gryffindor as far away from him as he can manage. He turns around sharply, frowning so ferociously at the heroic Savior Of The Wizarding World that he hears a frightened gasp or two coming from the dancers that surround them.
“I'm not good-looking, either, and that doesn't make me any less horny than you, Potter. It doesn't mean that I should head back home and embrace a life of goddamned celibacy while the rest of you, paragons of beauty, get on with the business of satisfying your urges. I don't have to be attractive to have mind-blowing sex and neither does he.”

He turns around blindly, thoroughly disgusted now with himself for bothering to even address Potter's thoughtless comment, and is about to take an absolutely infuriated step away when the best seeker in England grabs him by the wrist, pinning him to the spot against his will.
“I'm sorry. That was vile jealousy speaking. I've been sitting at the bar for a while now, trying to come up with a good enough excuse to walk up to your table, and I panicked when I saw you suddenly stroll away from it.”

Severus can't make any sense of that rather strange apology, but his mind is pleasantly fuzzy and he isn't worried enough to force himself to analyze the obscure inner workings of Potter's crazy mind.
“You, the fearless Savior himself, panicked. Right.” He agrees halfheartedly with that odd statement in the hope that humoring the brat will allow him get rid of the Gryffindor all the faster. His wide-eyed stranger has halted his approach altogether, likely intimidated by the fact that Severus seems to have caught the attention of the damned Boy-Who-Lived and he knows that it's imperative that he sets himself free from Potter's unwelcome presence in the next couple of seconds if he is to have any chance at all of bagging that particular bed-partner. “It was great talking to you, Potter, but I'm awfully busy right now. So, if you'll excuse me, I'll...”

Potter's bright emerald eyes flash with puzzling anguish. His head swivels clearly to their left, checking out the now completely still figure of the stranger who is still standing in watchful immobility at the very edge of the dance floor and a small, bitter snarl explodes from his livid lips.
“I bet the bloke can't believe his damned good luck.”

Severus frowns, belatedly rattled by the inexplicable ferociousness that has appeared in that usually friendly visage.
“Excuse me?”

Potter grabs him by the wrist in a rather frantic motion. He looks intense and determined, driven by some sort of angry urgency that Severus' alcohol-blunted senses find impossible to interpret.
“Listen to me: I'll give you mind-blowing sex, if that's what you truly want, Severus. You don't have to settle for a stranger tonight, of all nights. You can have somebody who knows you. Someone who has been inside your head and 'seen' you, really seen you. You can have someone who wants to be with you. Someone who will whisper your given name as orgasm crashes over him. Someone who knows that today is your birthday and that you are lonely. So lonely, Severus. You can have a man who is willing to hold you tonight until you fall asleep in his arms. A man who is willing to gift you the beautiful illusion of... love.”

Severus gapes. His mind reels, unable to comprehend this utterly bizarre turn of events. His dark eyes rake over Potter and his pale cheekbones flush with the uncomfortable awareness that he finds the man attractive. Potter is centerfold material, after all. Has been so quite a few times in recent years, in fact. Ever since he became the most successful seeker to ever play in the United Kingdom he's been considered something of a sex-god. He's left behind his heroic past to become an incredibly successful sportsman in his own right. He is a talented flyer. A committed team-member. An incredibly appealing young man who's fit, friendly and usually discriminating when it comes to choosing a bed partner.

For many years now Potter has been the embodiment of every gay wizard's dream catch. Of every homosexual's mother dream son-in-law. He is every sleazy pub-crawler's fantasy bed-partner come to life and Severus knows in his heart of hearts that the brat shouldn't be here. He doesn't belong in places like this. He doesn't frequent them or even enjoys them, as far as anyone can tell. So what in the bloody hell is Harry Potter doing here of all places? Why is he making this kind of incredible offer today, of all days, to a man like himself?

“I don't think I'm drunk enough to cope with hearing you offer me sex so out of the blue, Potter. I'm deeply honored by your unexpected proposition, but...”

A bold and cheeky grin blooms across the ex-Gryffindor's lips. He looks breathtakingly gorgeous. All enthusiasm and dimples and a genuine, honest-to-goodness smile. He takes a single step closer, raising up on his tiptoes to whisper softly against Severus' reddening ear:
“Don't turn me down just yet, please. If you need another Firewhiskey to forget your precious inhibitions then I'm willing to offer as many toasts in honor of your birthday as it takes to make you start seeing double. Take a chance on me, Severus. You know that I'll never, ever, hurt you, don't you? You've got nothing to lose...”

(Table Of Contents)

( Chapter 2 )