The corners of Snape's mouth twitched up in what might have been a stifled smile at his reaction.
Harry considered what he'd learned. There was only one reason why Snape wouldn't know about those dominance issues – if it weren't something he required. Snape had always seemed such a control freak to him that Harry couldn't imagine him not preferring to top. Wizards who didn't want to take the dominant role in bed were rare. Harry realized that were this anyone other than Severus Snape, he could probably have had his pick of partners every night he came in here. Even without changing his appearance, Snape would have been immensely popular. Harry knew it was the man's abrasive personality that kept him sitting here alone night after night like Justin said he did.
Snape seemed completely unperturbed by their topic of conversation. Watching Harry out of those bottomless black eyes, he took a sip of the gold-coloured drink on the table before him.
As the silence stretched between them, Harry wasn't sure what to say next. Knowing which position Snape preferred in bed was more than he'd ever thought he'd want to know about Snape. Sixteen years ago, he would have had a definite yuck response to this kind of illumination.
Only, Harry was surprised to find that there was no repulsion factor at all. To the contrary, he was . . . intrigued.
The discovery had thrown him off centre. He felt unaccountably agitated. His pulse was racing madly, his breathing shallow, the room suddenly seemed unnaturally hot. Absolutely flabbergasted, Harry recognized his physical symptoms for what they were. He hadn't felt like this in so long that he'd all but forgotten what it felt like to be aroused.
Harry knew that in light of their tumultuous past, the idea that was flitting through his mind was completely insane. He had to be totally mental to even consider what he was thinking . . . only, it had been so horribly long since he'd felt any true excitement that he couldn't ignore it when he did, regardless of the unsuitability of its source.
Before he could think and panic, Harry took a deep breath and asked as casually as his thundering heart would allow him, "Did you come here tonight to find a partner for the night?"
"That is what we are all here for, is it not?" Snape replied, seeming more on guard, as though he were anticipating ridicule. But Snape still didn't snap and tell him that it was none of his business why he was here, as would have happened years ago.
Encouraged by that small victory, Harry forced himself to hold that dark gaze as he asked, "I guess spending the night with me would be out of the question?"
The silence that followed his question felt like it were frozen in ice.
Dear God, he'd just propositioned Severus Snape. What was he thinking? Harry's brain short circuited as he realized that he'd actually given that insanity voice. He held his breath, waiting for the explosion, fully aware that he deserved whatever Snape dished out to him.
Snape merely stared at him for a long moment before hissing, "Are you attempting to be humorous?"
Feeling the blood drain from his face and his heart and breathing thud to a painful stop, Harry shook his head. "No. I meant it."
Those dark eyes were scouring his face so intently that Harry could almost believe that Snape was attempting to read his thoughts. There was still no explosion. Finally, Snape said, "You expect me to believe that you seriously wish to . . . spend the night – with me?"
"I know it's absolutely insane, but . . . yeah, I do," Harry replied, still unable to believe that he was actually having this kind of conversation with Severus Snape.
Harry withstood the resulting scrutiny, holding Snape's gaze.
"Given our less than shining history, you must understand that I have to ask you why?" Snape said into the bubble of silence that surrounded them. Three feet away, there was still music and laughter, but their table seemed isolated in its own dimension of tension.
Abruptly, Harry realized how vulnerable Snape's admission of his sexual preferences had left him. Sex was often about a lot more than getting laid. Some men used it as a weapon, others as a bargaining tool. Harry could almost touch the other man's suspicion, the fear that Harry might be planning to use this as a way to get back at Snape for all the years of humiliation he'd suffered in Snape's class. It would be easily enough done, Harry thought, recognizing that Snape would probably never sleep with him simply to forestall such a situation.
Harry tried to come up with an argument that would circumvent Snape's considerable self-preservation instincts, but he wasn't good with words. All he had was the pathetic, inadequate truth, which he didn't want to share. Only . . . he was asking a level of trust from Snape that was unprecedented between them. Surely, he could give Snape something in return, even if it were embarrassing and enough ammunition to ensure years of humiliation should Snape decide to use the information against him, which he no doubt would.
Gulping down his fear, Harry softly confessed, "You saw the way that Brate guy treated me. Every time I come in here, that's what it's like. It's gotten so I don't . . . feel anything anymore, but . . . when you told me what you liked to do in bed, that stirred something. I know you have no reason to trust my motives, but I honestly did want to . . . try. I just figured that since we were here for the same thing, why not give it a go?"
The reasons as to why not were too many to count, Harry recognized as he waited for Snape to point that very fact out to him.
But Snape didn't belabour the bloody obvious. He simply sat there watching him for what felt like eternity before saying, "My place or not at all."
Snape still looked as though he expected to be laughed at any second.
Too shocked for words, all Harry could manage was a stiff nod.
Snape stood up. Harry followed suit. As he looked up into that familiar, stark-featured face, he was once again reminded of their difference in height. He'd forgotten how damn tall Snape was.
Snape reached out and took hold of his arm. Harry felt the power draw around him, and seconds later, they were Apparating away.
The wall sconces and hearth lit as they rematerialized in the open space in the corner of a charming sitting room. There was a huge fieldstone hearth along the far wall with a long green sofa, two brown armchairs, and several dark wood tables before it. The corner opposite the one they'd Apparated into had a huge mahogany desk and chair in it. Every other wall was lined with overburdened book cases.
As Harry glanced around his surroundings, he saw that the only decoration, if it could be called that, was a single framed picture of Albus Dumbledore on the mantle. But despite the lack of knickknacks and clutter, the room was oddly warm and welcoming, nothing like what he would have imagined Snape to inhabit.
Once he'd taken in his environment, Harry turned to look at his companion. He had no clue as to how to even approach Snape now that they were alone. He couldn't believe that Snape had actually agreed to this.
Snape was watching him with that same suspicious expression.
Their gazes met, and something like a challenge sparked in those black eyes.
Harry looked up as Snape stepped into his personal space. He wasn't sure what to expect. Kisses were never a part of these kinds of encounters.
Harry groaned as Snape's yellow-tinted hand cupped him through his trousers. He'd been half-hard since Snape had confessed that he preferred not to top. He went from half-interested to raging in a heartbeat. He could tell that Snape was using the touch to check that he was genuinely interested, but Harry didn't really care why Snape was squeezing him. All that mattered was the sensations that blazed through him.
Snape obviously knew what he was doing. That long-fingered hand had precisely the right pressure, not too hard, but nothing cloying or teasing about it. Snape's touch was firm and confident, and Harry soared.
"Very impressive, Potter," Snape drawled; a little breathlessly, Harry thought.
His own breathing was embarrassingly erratic for this stage in the proceedings. Maybe it was the sheer insanity of doing this with someone who should have been off limits or perhaps it had merely been so long since Harry had experienced anything like real arousal that he didn't know how to handle it; all he knew was that his heart was racing at an alarming rate and he couldn't think.
Snape's hands moved to slip Harry's open black wizards robe from his shoulders and then moved to his waist to fumble Harry's trouser fastenings open.
Harry gasped as the cool air of the room caressed his overheated flesh. He could feel Snape's gaze on his genitals like he would another man's touch. Then Snape was sliding down to his knees and Harry lost all ability for rational cognition as his straining cock was absorbed into the wet heat of Severus Snape's mouth.
Barely able to believe what he was seeing, Harry watched that dark head bend over his groin. He reached down and flicked open the clasp holding Snape's hair, and an instant later, his lower belly was quivering as the fall of black hair brushed against it.
Snape really knew how to use his mouth; Harry had to give him that. He'd had many a blow job in his jaded past, but rarely had anyone used their tongue on him with quite the enthusiasm and artistry that Snape did. That slick tormentor found the sensitive spot on the underside of his penis and pleasured it till Harry thought his entire body would explode from the delight that rocked through him.
Snape seemed to sense exactly when the stimulation became too much, for he drew back mere seconds before Harry was ready to come.
Harry's rubbery legs gave out from under him, and he sank down onto the brown carpet, facing Snape.
Their gazes met again. To Harry's utter astonishment, Snape looked as wild with desire as Harry felt.
Dragging in short, shallow breaths like he'd just chased a suspect on foot for six miles, Harry watched as Snape shrugged his own robe off his shoulders and then undid his black trousers.
Harry didn't know if he'd ever seen skin as pale as that revealed when Snape impatiently shoved his pants and underwear down. Snape's cock was a startlingly dark contrast against his fish-belly white stomach. It was long, thick, and so red with need that it made Harry's mouth water just to look at it.
Harry couldn't help but reach for that beautiful prize. Snape grew even larger in his hand as he palmed that bright flesh and began to pump.
After several minutes, Snape abruptly pulled away from his hand.
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but before he could voice a single word of complaint, Snape pressed a small brown jar into his right hand and then shifted on the floor until he was on his hands and knees, facing away from Harry.
Harry gulped as he recalled what Snape had implied he liked back in the bar.
