No Room at the Inn

by Dementor Delta

Part of the Slash Advent Calendar-2003 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2003

Beta: The Incomparable Isis

Severus Snape let himself into his quarters, relocking the door with a spell automatically behind him. He sensed immediately that he was not alone in his own room. A telltale bundle of skinny arms and legs -- and, most tellingly, a pair of glasses perched on the end of his sofa -- gave away the identity of his visitor. He opened the door again, then slammed it loudly. The bundle on the couch startled awake, looking around sleepily, reaching automatically for the glasses.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" Snape asked irritably.

"Where have you been?" Harry Potter asked, stretching and peering owlishly at the dungeon's other occupant. The robe he'd been using for a blanket had fallen to the floor.

Snape ignored the question. "You broke in, didn't you? Being an Auror doesn't give you the right to break in, even at Christmas. I'm changing the locking spell."

Harry just grinned. "Wouldn't be the first time." He swung his legs over the edge of the lumpy couch. "Isn't it past your bedtime?" he asked, glancing at the Muggle watch he wore even though Snape knew very well Muggle timepieces didn't work at Hogwarts.

Snape's dungeon quarters were one large L-shaped room. The small end was set up as a cozy workspace, with a sturdy table for chopping and brewing. There were cauldrons hanging over the table but he'd managed to keep the rest of the room relatively cauldron-free. The large end was predominantly taken up by the bed, tucked in one corner beside the enormous fireplace. The couch, though slightly worn, was perfectly serviceable, when not occupied by former students.

Snape laid his wand carefully on the table by the tall four-poster and took off his outer robe, hanging it on the brass hook bolted to the side of the large wooden armoire. "Find another bed, Potter," he said, ignoring the question again.

He underestimated, or chose to ignore, the young man's tenacious curiosity. "You won't tell me, will you? Neither will Professor Dumbledore." Harry's narrow face looked sly even in the dim light of Snape's room. "He did say it was all right to wait for you down here."

As he began unfastening the buttons of his long frock coat, Snape said, "He said no such thing. The Headmaster, unlike some people, respects my privacy."

At least Harry, when caught out, didn't try to make the lie plausible. "What's going on?"

Snape paused over the buttons on his sleeve, shaking out the dark fabric. There was a stain between two of the buttons. He made a mental note to blot it out in the morning with some stain-removing potion. "None of your concern," he said, trying, as always, to ignore the young man.

Obviously expecting the denial, Harry ignored it. "I've got it," he said, light of triumph sparking into his eyes. "You've got a girlfriend!"

Snape looked up. "No," he said simply, though the faint hint of a smile played around the edges of his mouth.

Of course, Potter didn't believe him. "Who is she? Do I know her?"

Snape took off his frock coat and hung it on top of his robe. He turned to his perpetually uninvited guest with an expectant stare.

"Oh hey, just teasing," Harry protested, backing down immediately, even though Snape hadn't said a word. It was one of those looks that didn't *need* words. "You aren't going to kick me out, are you?" the young man asked earnestly. "Can't I bunk down here again? There's not a room to be had in Hogsmeade."

"You know very well you've never even *tried* to get a room down in the village," Snape snorted, rubbing his neck now that he'd taken off his coat. "You know very well there are perfectly good guest rooms here at the school. No doubt Albus offered you--"

"Those guest rooms are damp," Harry said, all but pouting.

"What about Gryffindor Tower?" Snape asked resignedly.

Harry shrugged. "Crowded. No extra beds. C'mon, Professor." Wheedling now. "You always put me up for Christmas."

"Put *up* with you, you mean. You didn't even let me know you were coming." He tried not to sound peevish. Harry never owled, just turned up. And he'd always turned up for Christmas.

He knew Harry wasn't sure if he was really put out or not. "I never do," Harry said, uncertainly. It didn't usually take this much begging to get Snape to give in. As he always did. It had never bothered him that the boy had always assumed Snape would be home for Christmas.

Snape arched one black brow. "Maybe we should re-think this arrangement." He eased out of his white suspenders and began unbuttoning the white linen shirt, before he relented, "If you promise not to pester me with questions," he began, as Harry broke into a big smile. "You can have the sofa again," he finished. He took off his shirt, checking automatically to see if it needed to be pressed.

"The bed's closer to the fire." Snape glared at him and Harry sighed feelingly. He'd never yet let Harry share the bed, but the young man kept trying.

"Just for tonight?" Snape asked untucking his undershirt as Harry stood up. The young man nodded absently.

"Yeah, tonight. Maybe tomorrow," he added softly, then quickly changed the subject. "Got anything to eat down here?" He shot a dubious glance toward the alcove where there was a shelf of dead things in jars. "Nothing pickled," he added.

Backing onto the edge of his own gunmetal gray covered bed, Snape slipped out of his shoes. "There's some wormwood over there on the chopping table," he said.

Harry made a face. "Ugh! That's poisonous!"

"You did pay attention in class," Snape conceded, setting his shoes aside and staring at this exotic creature that had invaded his comfortable solitude yet again. Harry's visits were infrequent but memorable by the chaos he left behind. He watched Harry root around in his robe and pull out a battered chocolate frog package.

"And you call yourself my friend," he said, tone slightly accusatory, opening the crinkly package.

Snape sat back on the bed, long legs hanging over the edge. He flexed his bare feet luxuriantly. "I don't, actually. I endure you. If I didn't, I would inevitably be blamed whenever someone finally does succeed in killing you." Despite the disavowal, Harry grinned. They were neither of them sentimental or apologetic about whatever this was that had developed between them once Harry had left school. Snape gestured to the worktable. "There are holiday offerings from the staff and some unidentifiable food-like substance from Hagrid in those garish tins."

He watched Harry open Hagrid's tin and make a face, then devour several of the decorated biscuits in the other, leaving traces of sugary crumbs around his mouth. "Come here, boy." Harry obeyed, standing between Snape's dangling legs, while Snape wiped the lingering crumbs from around his mouth with his thumb. For just an instant, Harry stared at him with whatever emotion all the banter was supposed to hide. Then he dived back to the banter as though he'd spotted the snitch.

"How'd you score the great biscuits? I know for a fact the house elves won't come down here anymore."

One corner of his mouth edged up. "During the holidays you'd be amazed at how willing people are to overlook the fact that one is *consciously* disagreeable the rest of the year." He nudged the boy's calf slightly with one bare foot. "Get to your sofa." Snape slid off the bed and began to root around in his armoire. "Do you need a nightshirt?"

A warm chuckle sounded behind him. "You're joking! You know I sleep in just my pants." He demonstrated by pulling off his trousers and draping them over the stool at the chopping table. "You don't, still?" He considered. "No wonder you don't have a girlfriend."

Gathering the folded quilt at the end of the bed and his own gray nightshirt, Snape wordlessly handed the quilt to his visitor. Harry looked up gratefully. "Sure you won't need it?"

A silky smile settled onto Snape's face. "I'll have the fire."

When he emerged from the bathroom, properly dressed for bed, he saw Harry stretched out on the sofa, glasses again perched precariously on the over-stuffed paisley-dotted edge.

He tamped down, as he always did, the flutter of protectiveness that arose whenever this child looked anything less than the powerful wizard who'd laid the Dark Lord to rest. Resisting the urge to tuck the quilt up closer to Harry's chin, he noticed that Harry must have shaved before breaking into his quarters, or else his beard was just as sparse as when he'd left here eight years ago.

"Are you sure you're warm enough?" he contented himself with asking, thinking it didn't sound too terribly fussy.

"Had worse," Harry said without opening his eyes, shifting a bit so that the quilt slid down to reveal one brown nipple.

"Your appreciation of my hospitality is certainly keeping *me* warm," he retorted waspishly. Potter could always be counted on to squash those ridiculous protective urges flat. He slid into his own bed and extinguished the light. Laying on one side he could easily make out his restless visitor on the couch.

"How's your training going?" he asked, when it was obvious Harry hadn't fallen right to sleep.

"Bloody hard," Harry replied feelingly. "Compared to Unspeakable training, Auror training was a Sunday walk in the park." A pause "On a sunny day," he added just in case Snape hadn't gotten the metaphor. "I was really surprised we got a week off for the hols," he went on, but before Snape could protest, added, "Don't worry, I won't barge in on you for more than a night. Or two," he added softly.

"You said--" Snape began, already knowing it was pointless.

"You wouldn't throw me out on Christmas day. Even you wouldn't." They both knew he wouldn't. "Besides, it just doesn't feel like Christmas unless--"

"Don't start that again, Potter." He waited a minute, letting the 'Potter' sink in. He should have known. Leave it to the young man to get sentimental just because it was Christmas.

"It changed a lot of things for me, that last year at school," Harry said. Snape could tell, in just the ambient light from the fire, that Harry wasn't looking at him. He never did when they discussed that Christmas of Harry's seventh year. He'd seen Harry look at him when they were both in the Infirmary for Christmas in a way he'd never seen before, or since.

"Going to bunk with the twins after Christmas," Harry said, dropping the subject gracefully. "If I can survive *that* madhouse." He sounded resigned, disassociated by the darkness. The fire lay behind them, casting shadows on the stones of the dungeon ceiling. Snape never argued with Harry anymore about getting his own place, settling down at last. He'd been trying, since the first time the boy had shown up here, puppy-like, after an accident in Auror training had sent him home for three days. Only Harry had never gotten around to finding anything as mundane as a home. Snape had gotten the impression, even then, nearly eight years ago, that Harry was looking for something specific before settling down, something the offers from all his friends had lacked. Still lacked, apparently.

"You can bring her down here after I'm gone," Harry said, still not sounding particularly sleepy.

"Who?"

He could see Harry shifting slightly on the couch, knees tenting the quilt. "Your girlfriend."

"You're being ridiculous," Snape said, trying to sound irritated. "Go to sleep." A long pause. "If anyone around here is sorely in need of a girlfriend, it's you."

Harry made a sound that, in the dark, sounded like a laugh, only it was too rough to be remotely humorous. "Not me, Professor. Had a boyfriend once, but it didn't work out."

Snape knew he should say something, anything. He knew he'd waited too long when Harry sighed and flopped his legs back to the couch. "You didn't know, did you? And now I've gone and ruined it, haven't I? I shouldn't have said anything." Snape could see a hand coming up to cover Harry's eyes. "God, I've been so careful around you and now this. What is it about Christmas that makes me so bloody--"

"Careful?" Snape asked, puzzled. Of all the idiotic activities Potter had engaged in over the years, the boy thought he'd had to hide this one?

"You're probably wondering about all those 'sharing the bed' cracks. Do you want me to leave? I'd rather go in the morning, never mind it being Christmas, if it makes you uncomfortable, but I'll go now--" He stopped rambling and sighed, sounding more heartfelt in the dark.

"Potter?" he said, deliberately using the boy's last name again. He knew Harry liked it when he called him by his given name, never mind that he'd never asked permission to call Snape anything but 'professor' or 'sir'. "Come over here."

"Do you want to look me in the eye when you kick me out, sir? Because if you do, I think I'd rather--"

"I didn't ask you. Leave the quilt." He sat up against the headboard while Harry climbed off the couch. He knew this particular young man had faced more evils and danger than most wizards saw in a lifetime but he saw a tremor go through him at the thought of approaching his former professor's bed.

"Get in," he commanded simply when Harry was close enough to see him clearly, even without his glasses. Snape flung back a corner of the duvet and waited. He slid back down on his side when Harry had gotten under the cover.

"You'll have to get closer than that. Your backside is the one getting all the fire now." Harry slid fractionally closer. Snape, disgusted, propped himself up and glared over his shoulder at his guest. "I understand now why you don't have a girlfriend, but I'm beginning to see why you haven't got a boyfriend either, if this is how you share a cold bed."

Harry slid closer, then tentatively put a hand on Snape's shoulder. Very deliberately Snape pulled it down around his waist, holding the hand a moment. Harry snuggled closer until his bare skin pressed into Snape's night-shirted back.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked solicitously. Behind him Harry made a non-committal sound. "Now tell me why you think you have to be careful of me."

"This thing we have," Harry began, then stopped. "I mean," he tried again, and Snape could tell, just from his tone of voice that Harry was probably blushing. "the friendship I feel for you--I don't want to ruin it. You saw what happened when I thought you were up to no good." It had landed them both in the Infirmary on Christmas in Harry's last year of school. "I don't want anything to change. It means a lot to me that you let me--" Harry shifted against him restlessly, and his arm slid from around Snape's waist. "That you let me stay here sometimes. And especially at Christmas. I thought, if you knew about me, about the way I am, you might…not." Harry sounded utterly contrite and miserable by the end of his speech.

"Well, I might *not* if you continue to have such a low opinion of me," Snape countered.

"I--I was stupid, I know. But once I didn't tell you, it was just easier to go on not telling you."

"Put your arm back up here," Snape commanded softly. He tugged Harry's arm back around his waist. "Get some sleep," he went on, though he curled his fingers into Harry's. "Are you warm enough?" he asked again. A tremor ran through the hand he was holding.

"Er, maybe a bit too warm now."

"Backside warm enough?" He shifted, letting his own back fill in the space Harry kept leaving between them, then let their twined hands slide down his hip.

"Bloody hell, Professor! If you're teasing me you'd better send me back to the couch," Harry said, backing away again, though now Snape knew the reason.

Snape rolled gently over onto his back and let a languid smirk settle onto his mouth. Harry's hand was still on his waist, but he was now far enough away not to betray the erection Snape had just felt a moment ago. He slid over again, closing the space Harry had left between them.

Harry frowned. "Why do I have to make the first move?"

"You're the brave one," Snape said, enjoying the play of emotions on Harry's face. Emotions were always more interesting by firelight.

"And you're the--" Harry paused. Watching him think was like watching an owl returning to its perch in the owlery. "You knew about me. You let me confess all that and you knew all along." He shoved away from Snape. "How long?"

"Since I caught you servicing that Creevey boy in what, sixth year? Seventh?"

Harry was regarding him suspiciously. "You never did. You never turned me in--"

Snape fiddled with the front lacings of his night shirt. "Well, perhaps 'observed' might be a better description." He left it at that.

"God, why didn't you, I don't know, make a pass at me or something? You couldn't have missed how I felt that Christmas in the Infirmary."

They'd eaten Christmas ham off trays before Pomfrey had bustled away. Potter had been, in turns, sullen and self-pitying but Snape had had little trouble ignoring him. Snape himself had been sullen with Dumbledore when neither he nor Potter was allowed to leave, despite a just *barely* life threatening run-in with Death Eaters.

Even so, he'd been grateful when he'd heard the boy's breathing settle into sleep and had even looked over the top of his book to check. The Infirmary-issued blanket had slipped, and Potter's pajama-clad shoulders were sticking out. It was ridiculous to want to cover them up, he told himself. It was warm enough in the hospital wing.

He couldn't remember now if he'd been dozing or still reading when he'd heard the first noises from the opposite bed. He'd braced himself for signs that Potter's hormones were giving him an interesting dream. So, he was surprised instead to hear pained whimpers. When he looked over it did look like he was moving a bit, but more like an animal caught in one of those atrocious things Muggles used to trap animals.

When he put out one hand to perhaps shake the boy awake, he nearly snatched it back when Potter woke so suddenly Snape had suspicions he had never been asleep at all. The eyes that sought his gaze, however, were wild from dream images. They widened as they came into focus. He had a sharp remark on his lips for whatever Potter was drawing breath to say.

Except he said, "Oh god, I thought you were dead!" and threw his arms around Snape right there in the bed.

Snape had no experience comforting children and felt a surge of resentment that Poppy had left this task to him. Then he realized how this would look, with him sitting on Potter's bed, the thin arms around Snape's waist, and was glad of her absence.

He heard a noise that he was certain had left a deposit of some sort of bodily fluid on his nightshirt. Potter's back shook, and for one horrified moment he thought the boy was crying.

"Wouldn't this--" Potter began, pushing away, raising his damp face. "Wouldn't this," he tried again, "Be the most awful sort of hell for you, stuck here with me in the hospital wing for all eternity?" It was not normal sort of laughter at all, but the wild sort that left his eyes sparkling like gems. "And me stuck here with--"

Potter had stopped then abruptly. And there it had been. That look. The one they had never talked about.

Now Snape took Harry's hand again. "You've made it clear ever since that you didn't hate me. When you started turning up here, people assumed that we'd become friends or something."

"I wanted--god!" Harry slid back beside him, apparently not caring now that Snape could feel the hardness pressing between them. "I didn't think you'd even let me be that much to you. That's why I was careful."

"Careful," Snape repeated, voice disbelieving. "Yet, you keep turning up on my doorstep." He remembered, at the time, debating whether to enlighten Harry's concerned friends about the exact nature of their relationship, but being Slytherin, had let the false assumption stand. "I thought you just needed a respite from your legion of suitors."

"Legion? You're mad. You've no idea how few people want to be in my immediate vicinity. Well, except for Fred and George who enjoy the chaos a bit. Things happen to me, in case you hadn't noticed."

Harry's fingers hadn't stayed around his waist, as though being given permission to touch the other man, he couldn't stop them. "So, you're settling for me, is that it?" he said.

"You do have a point. Do you suppose you could settle for me as well? I'm not the best catch." Harry's fingers were twirling the lacings of Snape's nightshirt.

"Eminently unsuitable," he agreed, his own hand brushing across Harry's cheek. "Beautiful, but very unsuitable. And a *lot* less randy than I was hoping. Do stop being tiresome and either let me get some sleep or--"

Harry chose 'or'.

Then, "Bloody--" Harry, who was in no danger of getting too cold now, lifted his head. "I--Look, this isn't a one off, is it? I don't think I can go back to wanking off over you on your own couch."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You *wanked* on my couch?"

Harry tried to look innocent. "Er, maybe once. Kiss me again."

"If you think you can distract--" he began, only to be distracted when his lips were covered by Harry's enthusiastic ones. He sighed into them, relaxing back into the bed while Harry's hand snaked down his side, tugging the nightshirt up.

"Well, that's a nice surprise," he heard Harry say, just before strong fingers closed around his cock. He realized he liked being distracted. In fact, he decided, as the other hand cupped his cheek before sliding further in, Harry had an absolute gift for distraction. He felt his hole surrendering willingly to the determined coaxing. Gryffindors always wanted to top, he thought, but not with any true objection.

He let Harry work his way down his neck and chest, the fingers in his furrow doing amazing things but not quite the exact one he wanted. "If you put a finger there I'll come completely un…"

Harry did two things at once. He covered Snape's cock with his mouth and pushed a gentle finger inside him. Harry's timing, Snape reflected with the small portion of his brain still between his ears and not between his legs, had always been remarkable.

He made gurgling noises over the soft tissues in the back of his throat. He knew he was incoherent, but for someone who was almost *overly* coherent most of the time, he let himself enjoy it. When words did come out they were, "My god, boy, that mouth should be--" but the sentence abruptly changed direction to, "full of come," though he was too incoherent to voice it, as he felt the heat pouring out of him, the hungry mouth clinging to him through every last spasm and beyond.

He opened his eyes, knowing Harry would be watching him. Trailing a languid hand through Harry's perpetually untidy hair he said, "Mmm, better get something in that hole you've been lavishing so much attention on, or I shall drift off into my well-deserved afterglow."

"We're getting rid of this," Harry said with determination, scuttling at the hem of Snape's nightshirt, which was tangled up somewhere around his waist.

"Yes, Harry," he said with mock-submissiveness, which did not fool his lover at all.

"No arguments?" Harry asked, rightfully suspicious. He dropped the gray nightshirt over the edge of the bed.

"I'm about to get what I suspect will be the best fuck of my life. I shall use the time while you are riding me to marshal my arguments for nightsh--oof!" Leave it to Potter to use action instead of words.

Harry hoisted Snape's legs up around his own waist. Snape hung on, then made more rapturous gurgling sounds until Harry swallowed them all. This time the ride was brief, but not disappointingly so and he suspected Harry would be the type to go in for long slow fucks, full of languorous kisses, once he got his bearings.

Toward morning he found out he was right about the languorous kisses. He gave himself up easily, as Slytherins always did, to the delights of being kissed before he was properly awake. His body acted before he did, wrapping sleep heavy arms and legs around the intruder before his lust-addled brain matched the identity of his dream lover with his real one, melding the two seamlessly. Much like Harry had done with their bodies.

"I thought that might wake you up," Harry murmured, though the murmuring might just be a result of the distance his mouth was from Snape's ear.

"You're hereby given permission to wake me up this way in the foreseeable future," Snape replied, spreading his legs a bit to accommodate the determined assault.

Harry rubbed his slightly stubbled chin in a lazy circle around Snape's navel, making tick marks along the inky trail below it. Another languid kiss, just at the base of Snape's cock, followed. "Just the foreseeable future?" Harry asked, then gave a speculative lick to the organ in his hand. He appeared to think about it; luckily Harry's thought processes usually dovetailed nicely with whatever physical activity he was engaged in.

"Okay," he said finally, and Snape resisted the urge to just push the hovering head back down to finish the task. He had the unfortunate feeling he'd be resisting lots of similar urges. "I know it might not have been the absolute best fuck of your life," Harry said, and Snape again had to think a moment to remember the phrase he'd used. Trust a Gryffindor to have performance anxiety long after the performance.

"That's where you're wrong," Snape corrected. "Young people have such lopsided standards…oh, that's nice." Snape's head lolled heavily on the pillow, as the mouth covered him again.

Harry's head popped back up. "Not long enough." Then back down.

So lost in the sweet lap of sensation, for a moment Snape was prepared to be offended before he found the thread of the conversation. "Long enough, Harry. Foreseeable future, remember? At my age--"

He was interrupted by a distinct snort from between his legs. "Your age?" Harry eyed the weave of hair beneath his face, then ran his fingers through Snape's lush pubic hair. "Wait, I think here's a gray one." He pantomimed plucking it out.

"Whelp. Brat. Evil child." Harry's mouth covered him again, sucking as though already swallowing. "Evil, lovely child. Evil, lovely, lovely…" He hoped Harry was making note that his new lover was chatty during sex. Make that chatty during foreplay. All right, extended foreplay. "Lovely, lovely…"

His own arm drifted over his eyes, cutting out even the dim pre-dawn light as a distraction from the deft magic Harry was working on his cock. He wasn't sure that he hadn't let out a whimper or two, but because they seemed to spur his partner on he didn't try to retract them. He was developing a new appreciation for the strength of Harry's hands.

"God, you've no idea what you're doing to me," Harry said, nuzzling now, his slightly scratchy chin feeling delicious on Snape's taut balls.

Snape, lacking the energy to get up from the pillow, dragged the arm off his eyes. "Lift up then, so I can see."

Harry lifted his hips to display his own jutting cock. Snape licked his lips and smiled slyly. "Can't see it from here; you'll have to bring it closer."

Laughter met his rather transparent ploy. "You right old snake, you." Angling his hips over Snape's he fit them together, sliding in easily after such lush attention. "Your sinful mouth can wait." He brushed his mouth around Snape's, not kissing, just letting their faces touch. "Mornings are made for long slow fucks."

"And languorous kisses," Snape murmured, not objecting at all when Harry took it as a command. Harry had definitely got his bearings.

Slow thrusts. Slower kisses. Much sooner than he would have thought it of himself Snape was willing to beg for completion. He tried first using his body--his hands clenching into Harry's arse to move faster against his stiff cock. Then his legs wrapped tighter around Harry's waist to take him deeper.

Nothing worked. Harry was driving him mad. Slowly. Languorously. "Please, Harry, please." He knew his voice sounded needy, but damn it, he *was* needy.

Knees squeezed his sides as Harry pushed himself off Snape's chest, kneeling astride him, still seated deep inside, still moving slowly. Tender hands smoothed the damp black hair away from his face as Harry looked down at him. "You sure?"

"Never more certain," Snape said, as Harry squeezed his cock. "Let me do that," he said, covering Harry's hand. Harry's hand slid out from under his, cupping his achingly tight balls, pushing them up against the base of Snape's prick. He heard Harry's breath hitch as he caught sight of his own cock disappearing inside Snape's arse. Snape started stroking himself, letting Harry watch. He didn't think it would take long, and it didn't.

"Oh, fuck," Harry said, covering Snape's hand which just held his own cock, letting Harry's now-furious grinding motions move his hand over him own hardness. As much as he appreciated Harry's earlier languid pace, what they both needed right now was a good, fast…and there it was. Snape felt his head loll back on the pillow again, hips bucking up, meeting Harry's.

"God yes," Harry said, eyes widening, throwing his back into a few more hard thrusts before clinging to Snape, who pulled him closer with as many muscles as he could command, including the ones holding Harry's prick inside him.

Harry had hardly caught his breath, a process Snape discovered he enjoyed watching, before he frowned. "Oh wait!" Slowly Harry withdrew his spent cock, snuggling himself against Snape. The frown was quickly replaced by a sheepish smile. "I should ask--" He reached down and dragged a hand through the curling hair now nestling Snape's cock, then below it, trailing some of his own essence and mingling it with the milky come on Snape's belly. "I can't believe I just made love to you and I'm embarrassed to ask you--" He swirled a circle in the damp patch he'd created.

Snape couldn't decide which he liked the more, words 'made love' or the slight flush of embarrassment on his lover's cheeks more.

Harry, apparently not done with kisses, took another one, like a drunkard taking a drink to bolster his courage. Even though he had a pretty good idea of what Harry wanted to ask him, he let him struggle to form words. There was, he reflected, just as much fun in tormenting him as there'd ever been. All the drugging kisses in the world would never change that.

"If you want to, er, have a go on top, I don't mind," Harry said at last.

"Hmm, 'don't mind' or 'would like'?"

One knee rubbed along the top of his thigh. "Would like."

There was something about stroking Harry's hair that was addictive. "Then I shall, upon occasion, though I'm perfectly satisfied with the current arrangement."

Harry began tracing circles around his nipple with his slightly damp index finger. "Speaking of arrangements," he said, in a tone Snape recognized as his 'let me stay in the dungeons again' voice.

"Let me guess," Snape supplied, "You want to show up here more often, perhaps even every month or so."

"Rather more often than that," Harry put in.

"You won't consider sleeping on the couch anymore," Snape went on, as though he hadn't heard.

"Got that in one," Harry muttered.

"And I suppose you'd like me waiting for you in something more alluring than a nightshirt."

Harry's head popped up. "Do you *have* anything more alluring than a nightshirt?" he asked, voice showing more interest than either of their well-sexed bodies could accomplish. Regardless, Harry's thumb took over nipple stroking duties. "So, that just leaves me with, why now?"

Snape slid his hand down the side of Harry's face. "I don't know. I've always let you set the boundaries. When you started loitering down here, I let you. When you came by that first summer, I let you stay. When you kept turning up every Christmas, I cleared off my sofa. You tell me--why now?"

For just a second Harry leaned into the caress. Then his eyes slitted with suspicion. "Where *were* you tonight?"

He patted Harry's cheek approvingly. It was only fun to be two steps ahead when someone noticed. "I had a notion to take this week off for Christmas, so I went up to see your former Head of House about chaperoning the two Slytherins who've remained behind. Once I explained that I was going away, she was most agreeable."

The thumb on his nipple had stopped moving as Harry studied his face. "Where are you going?"

He tried to look innocent but knew it never really took on his face, so he settled for mock-innocence, which he did well. "Where would you like to go?"

Harry collapsed back into the crook of Snape's arm, turning so he was flat, staring up at the bed canopy. "I'm as transparent to you as glass," he said with resignation.

Snape rolled onto his side and gently butted Harry's shoulder with his head until he lifted his arm up and let Snape curl up beside him. "Most distressingly cheerful people are." He was watching Harry's face, having a good vantage point for it, saw it change from resignation to determination. He cupped the still-smooth cheek. "You may as well say it," he said softly. The other hand slid across Harry's enticingly flat waist. "Get it out of your system."

"I--god! Is there anything you don't know about me?" Harry said, turning his head away.

He closed his lips around one of Harry's nipples until he heard a small noise. "What your face looks like when you are being buggered, but other than that, very little, I imagine." His knee slid between Harry's and he rubbed his leg alongside it. He'd known, from other times the pup had bunked down here, that Potter was one of those men with sparse chest hair, but with a rather well-defined trail of hair from his navel to his groin. Every time he'd seen it, he'd wanted to follow it, and now that he could, he saw no reason not to indulge.

"You never said--" Harry said, sliding his arms up and onto Snape's shoulders.

Snape kissed the other nipple. "I thought you'd grow out of it."

"I didn't," Harry said, arching up into the exploring mouth.

"You still might," Snape said, easing himself up onto his hands and knees so he could get between Harry's legs better. "You were a child. A confused child who'd just seen his professor--" He hadn't meant to get like this. "I don't want that sort of love." He looked up sharply. "I still don't."

Harry's smile was knowing. "Then you'll like this sort. This is the sort that sees past how horrible you've been to me all these years."

If he'd been in a position to do so, Snape would've quirked an eyebrow at him. As it was, he punctuated his reply with jabs of his tongue. "Horrible by taking you in at all hours of the night, horrible by leaving my wards down on Christmas--" There were endless examples, not even counting the young man's school years, and he was prepared to list them all.

The hand currently making a wreck of his hair, however, pulled his head up. "I got past those wards." Snape let him see the truth on his face. "Wait, you let me break in?"

He nodded. "Of course."

The notion itself sank in quickly. "All these years?" Another nod. The implications of the notion sank in more slowly. Snape had another image of outstretched owl wings circling the owlery tower. "So you--"

"Mmm," seemed about the safest thing he could say. "You'll admit I made it challenging." He wasn't just talking about the wards now, but he trusted Harry well enough to know he knew it too.

Tender fingers caressed his face, still hovering over Harry's mid-section. "You could have given me the password."

He kissed the tips of Harry's fingers. "You've had the password since that Christmas."

Snape knew in an instant he would never be worthy of the look Harry was giving him right now. No harm in trying though, he thought, with a mental shrug.

"You'd--" Harry began but his voice was thick. He took a long breath and Snape watched his chest settle. "You'd better kiss me or I'll get distressingly sentimental." Fingers stroked Snape's mouth. "And you know how sentimental I get at Christmas."

END

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