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Saturday, October 10, 1998 ---- 7:02 p.m.
There, thought Harry.
He made a face as he shoved the stack of finished essays to one side. Marking them had been even more of a pain than usual, probably because he was trying so hard not to think about Bryerson. Which made class with the man somewhat difficult, he had to admit.
His muscles ached just a little bit when he stood up from the table and made his way through the secret doorway and down into the dungeons. And no wonder. That Quidditch clinic had been gruelling, so much so that Harry wished he'd scheduled the next one for a month away, instead of just a week from now. Four teams at the same time wasn't such a good idea, not in practice. It had meant that Harry was flying back and forth like a madman, trying to help dozens of students at once.
Students who hadn't listened to his instructions, in the first place.
Or maybe they had, and the problem was that Harry had jumped ahead too fast, trying to teach some pretty advanced moves to the teams. A lot of the players were basically beginners, and flying didn't come as easily to them as it had to Harry. That much was obvious.
So Harry had felt a bit like Bryerson, rushing around trying to correct all the errors the students were making--
No, no. Not going to think about Bryerson.
"Anything in particular you'd like for dinner?" asked Harry as a way of distracting himself. It didn't work. His next thought was relief that at least on weekends, he didn't have to eat at the head table if he didn't want to. Which meant he didn't have to see--
"Chicken, perhaps," said Severus, glancing up from where he, too, appeared to be marking essays. From the number of parchments on the table, he seemed to have been at it for quite some time. That made Harry feel a little less alone. Hmm, maybe he should bring his work down here, next time, so they could sit together. "Cordon bleu."
"Sounds good," said Harry. He waited until Severus had cleared all those essays off the table, then set about ordering their meal. It was nice being able to ask for what he wanted, he thought. And nice to be able to do something for Severus, finally, though of course ordering a meal wasn't very much in the scheme of things.
Still, it was better than nothing. Much better, Harry thought a few moments later when their starters appeared.
"This looks appetising," said Severus, neatly spearing a wedge of marinated tomato with his fork. "You made a good choice of wine."
Harry felt a bit ridiculous that he very nearly beamed. But it was good to get something right for once, especially after that frustrating Quidditch clinic and even worse, his shower that morning. It hadn't gone well. Harry had felt like he was battling, the whole time, to keep his thoughts where they belonged: on Severus. The minute he relaxed into his fantasies, the man he was thinking about kept trying to shift form. Black hair, merging into brown. A ponytail appearing . . .
Groaning with frustration, Harry would force the fantasy back to Severus once more. His hair, his features. He'd finally managed to come while thinking about Severus, but his orgasm had been a half-hearted thing. Definitely, worry and masturbation didn't mix well. Maybe things would improve with practice, Harry thought. He'd think about Severus every morning, and sooner or later those tantalising images of a naked Bryerson would just go away, right?
Harry hoped so, anyway. He didn't like the feeling that he was courting disaster, that he was coming so close to breaking the terms of the contract he'd signed. Of course, it didn't say a word about fantasies, but he had promised "absolute sexual fidelity." And the contract had been shockingly vicious with him before, when it didn't seem to him that he'd broken any of its terms so . . . better safe than sorry, Harry figured.
All of which meant that he had to disregard Severus' instructions about Dreamless Sleep. There was no way that Harry was risking another unbearably hot Bryerson-dream. It was practically suicide. Avoiding such dreams meant disobeying Severus, of course, but Harry thought that couldn't be helped. Besides, disobeying Severus didn't seem to be too serious, did it? The spell wouldn't punish him unless he actually broke the contract; he was clear on that now. It was up to Severus to enforce obedience in "lesser matters," as he'd put it, and the man had all but promised that he wouldn't punish Harry, so . . . About the worst thing that would happen was that defiance would keep them from crossing powers. But they couldn't cross powers, anyway, not as long as Harry couldn't bear to be touched!
Besides, Severus never had said to stop taking Dreamless Sleep. He'd just said that he thought Harry had better stop taking it. So, it wasn't really defiance at all, was it?
In any case, Harry was relieved that he still had some potion left over from the vial Severus had given him when he'd asked, since he certainly couldn't ask for more.
Doesn't the fact that he didn't ask for it back mean that he trusts you? a voice inside of him chided. And shouldn't you prove yourself worthy of that trust?
Harry told the voice to shut up.
Saturday, October 10, 1998 ---- 7:53 p.m.
Severus had been feeling frustrated for most of the day. He kept telling himself that it was just one more week until he'd get to see Renard again. Knowing that did help, but not enough. His fantasies were still running rampant. Harry on his knees--or Renard, rather, but under the influence of Polyjuice--admiring Severus' cock as it jutted out. Harry, licking his lips. Wanting Severus. Wanting to suck him, long and slow and sweet . . .
Now, looking across the table at Harry dipping raspberries in castor sugar, one after another, and then popping them into his mouth and licking his fingers . . . it was almost more than Severus could bear.
What made it worse, thought Severus, was that Harry was so obviously ready for more than solitary showers. Severus just had to get Harry to see that. Get him to take the next step.
But how? Severus didn't want to go back to the way he'd acted before Harry's birthday, always pushing, always demanding more. No . . . any demands had to come from Harry himself. There was just no other way.
He almost sighed. There wasn't anything he could do, was there? Even if he sat here licking his fingers in a provocative way, Harry probably wouldn't notice. He just wasn't sophisticated enough to pick up on subtle signals . . . or even bloody obvious ones.
"Shall I read to you for a while?" Severus asked, pushing back his chair. At least that was something they could do together, something they both enjoyed.
Or perhaps not, since Harry made a face. "Can we switch books, though? Maugham just isn't doing it for me. Maybe something lighter?"
"I'd prefer to finish one book before moving on to the next."
"It takes so long to get through a story, that way," said Harry in a slightly peevish voice.
Severus' nostrils flared. "I haven't been reading stories to you, but novels."
"Really? I must not have been paying attention in all those literature classes Hogwarts offers." That time, Harry's voice was dry. "Listen, maybe the two of us should pop by a book shop sometime. There are actually whole books made up of shorter stories, you know."
An idea suddenly flashed into Severus' mind. A wicked idea, but a good one, for all that. "Oh, I think I can find a book of short stories in my collection, if you wish." Hiding a smirk, he led the way out to the parlour, where he bent down to fetch a slim volume off the lowest shelf. "1001 Wizard Nights, perhaps?" He turned the book around so Harry could see the cover, which was really nothing but the title written in fancy gold script against a crimson background.
Harry laughed. "Imagine that, you with a Gryffindor-coloured book. But sure, that sounds fine. Sort of Arabian, then?"
"Not precisely," said Severus as he flicked his wand to light a fire. They settled onto the settee together, Harry sitting a short distance away. Leaning back, Severus crossed his legs and angled the book so Harry wouldn't be able to see the occasional illustrations inside. He wanted Harry to listen for as long as possible, not rush off in shock. Though perhaps that wouldn't happen in any case, Severus thought, recalling the books Harry had once mentioned looking through.
Flipping through the pages, Severus chose one of his favourite stories and began reading aloud. Harry closed his eyes as he listened, but it wasn't long before they snapped open again. "Hey, those two blokes sound like they're . . . er, sort of interested in each other, I think!"
"Mmm," said Severus, merely nodding as he continued to read.
Harry settled back against the back of the couch again, but this time he kept his eyes on Severus as the story progressed. It wasn't long before the main characters--an alchemist and his apprentice, as it turned out--were tumbling together into bed.
Harry's eyes widened. "Oh . . . the author isn't really going to show . . . er, I mean, describe everything, is he?"
"She," corrected Severus, smiling slightly. "And yes, she is."
He almost expected another objection, but Harry chose to fall silent. Good enough for Severus, whose voice dropped to a smooth tone when he reached the more explicit passages. Beside him, Harry began squirming. Not much . . . but it was noticeable.
Severus was aroused as well. Very aroused, but he managed to finish the story. By that time, Harry was flushed, his breathing heavy. Severus turned to him and tried to make his voice as casual as possible. "Shall I read another, then?"
"No, I think one was enough," Harry said, the words sounding thick. "Um, I didn't know people wrote things like that."
"I thought you said you'd looked at some books not too long ago."
"Yeah, but they were--" Harry cleared his throat. "Non-fiction, you know? Almost like manuals, some of them."
"Ah." Severus laid the book aside. "Well, those have their uses, but I for one do appreciate a well-told story."
Harry shot him a look before admitting, "Uh, yeah, me too, I think."
Severus glanced down at the obvious bulge in Harry's jeans. He wanted to reach over and stroke it, then ease the denim down over Harry's hips and . . .
But no, that would be too much like a demand, Severus thought, frowning. But if Harry asked . . . well, that would be entirely different, wouldn't it? It wouldn't be Severus demanding things for himself. Or even expecting anything in return, really. Getting Harry to ask would just be a way of helping him along, helping him see that he was ready for more than solitary showers.
He needed to prompt Harry, though, because the young man clearly wasn't going to dip his toe in the water on his own. Hmm. Severus knew he had to be careful. Too much suggestion and Harry might feel that Severus was shoving him in the deep end. So, something vague. Something that left Harry still feeling like he was in control, like Severus wasn't putting ideas into his head . . .
"Harry," said Severus softly, moving over on the settee until they were almost hip to hip. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Saturday, October 10, 1998 ---- 8:34 p.m.
Harry swallowed. That really had been quite some story. He'd imagined it happening as Severus had read it . . . sort of like a movie playing in his head. He'd seen the men in bed together, lying side by side but reversed head to toe, so that each one could suck the other. They'd come together, the two of them swallowing and shuddering at the same time, then collapsing into a weak heap afterwards. The younger man had moved up on the bed after a moment so they could kiss, long and slow.
Harry was used to an aching cock these days, but his was actually twitching, now. Quite some story didn't really even cover it. He knew he'd be thinking about it in the shower, next time--
"Anything at all," Severus said, and Harry realised that the other man had been speaking.
He found himself staring at Severus' mouth, at his slightly chiselled lips as they moved. He'd been watching Severus' lips during the story, too, he realised. He'd been licking his own, from time to time, and thinking that it might be good to try kissing again. Or, no. Not quite that. This wasn't like before, when he always had a reason to be kissing Severus. Preparing for the invocation . . . or later, trying to get ready for his birthday and the attack that never came.
He'd wanted to kiss Severus just now, he realised, for no other reason than that it sounded good. It still sounded good. Really good.
"Um . . ." He didn't know why he had trouble saying it. They'd kissed plenty of times before, after all. But now, it just seemed easier to shift over on the settee and turn towards the other man. One hand behind Severus' neck, Harry pulled his head down for a kiss.
Oh . . . it seemed like a long time since they'd really kissed. Harry wasn't sure how he could have forgotten how good it was, but he had. Severus tasted faintly of wine and raspberries, in that order. Delicious.
Harry opened his mouth more and deepened the kiss, pulling Severus more closely against him. Mmmmm. He started feeling heat washing through him, the feeling gathering force in the pit of his belly as his cock got even harder. He needed more than a kiss, he thought. He needed to explore Severus, like he'd done that time they'd played that questions game. But again, it was different. Then, he'd made himself do it.
Now, he didn't think he could help himself.
Harry broke off the kiss, his breathing erratic as he moved his fingers to the top button on Severus' shirt. Fumbling, he slipped it free finally, and then moved down to the next, and the next, until he could pull the fabric apart and see the smooth contours of Severus' chest. So white, that skin. Harry wanted to see it flushed, wanted to hear Severus moaning with the knowledge of what Harry could do to him . . .
Like a bee drawn to honey, Harry dipped his head and began kissing Severus' neck, just at the point where it joined his shoulder. The other man's breathing hitched when Harry found a particularly sensitive spot. Smiling, Harry laved it more, poking his tongue into it until Severus was the one who was squirming.
The kiss wasn't enough; Harry needed more. His hands dived inside Severus' shirt, going underneath the fabric to caress the man's lean, muscled chest and taut stomach.
Severus tugged on Harry's shoulders, pulling him up onto lap as they kept kissing. Harry gasped, grinding his hips upward, seeking some kind of contact. But there wasn't any. Frustrated, he groaned low in his throat.
Soon, it was too much to bear. Harry could only sit and kiss for so long, as it turned out. The need inside him was too strong to put off any longer. His cock was too hard and his jeans far too tight. He had to get them off. Now.
But not in front of Severus, who might see him and think . . . yeah, he wasn't ready for that. But the kissing was still good. He knew who he'd be thinking about in the shower, this time, and it wasn't Bryerson.
Breaking off the kiss, Harry backed away slightly. "Um . . . I think I'd better, uh, you know." Gesturing almost randomly, he tried to indicate that he was going to go to the upstairs rooms. He was pretty sure that the motion was incoherent, but Severus must have understood it.
The man's hands dropped to his sides, his breathing ragged, his voice hoarse. "Yes, go," he only said.
Hearing that tone, Harry felt a bit bad to be leaving. It wasn't fair to Severus, he knew. And he probably wouldn't appreciate being . . . well, teased, practically, he guessed. But he hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't known things would be so intense. If he had, he wouldn't have started this, knowing as he did that he couldn't finish it.
Desperate as he was, though, he couldn't just leave without a word. "I . . . uh, that was good."
"Was it." That time, Severus' voice was dry.
Harry knew he hadn't really said what he'd meant. Well, he had, but not completely. Saying it more directly was kind of embarrassing, though. It shouldn't be, he knew, but Severus had been right when he'd said that living with the Dursleys had skewed Harry's perceptions. Still, after all Severus had done for him, he deserved to know, Harry supposed.
He cleared his throat. "No, I was trying to say, er . . . that was good because that time I didn't even think about you being a man, I meant. I just . . ." Harry glanced away. "It's just, you and me, you know. It's good."
The other man gave a jerky nod, his features strained. Oh. Not the best time to talk. Not for Severus, either. Harry suddenly felt even worse to be leaving like this. "You're going to shower too, then?"
Severus bared his teeth then, and gestured curtly with his hand.
Understanding the message, Harry left him to it.
Saturday, October 10, 1998 ---- 9:26 p.m.
A shower wasn't remotely an option, thought Severus as he shoved a hand inside his trousers and took hold of his cock. Hard and long, his balls taut and heavy, he knew he couldn't wait the few seconds it would take to make it to the bathroom.
He stroked himself with steady pressure, his other hand frantically popping buttons open so he could move more freely. Ah, yes, that was it. His cock and balls both free to the warm air drifting from the hearth, Severus shifted his hips on the settee, and began to pump himself in earnest.
Ah, yes. Harry had made him unbearably hard, so much so that Severus knew he wasn't going to last long. The slightly shy reaction to the story, and then the kissing, and the way Harry had touched Severus' chest and kissed his neck . . . untutored but eager.
Eager for Severus. Wanting him. It had been all Severus could do to keep from throwing Harry down onto the rug in front of the fire, and grinding his hips against Harry's, then and there. Until Harry was doing more than groaning. Until he was gasping, screaming, coming--
Severus came then. Hard, steady pulses of semen shot out of his cock and streamed downwards over it as his hands kept moving, pumping, milking every last drop of pleasure from his orgasm.
He heard himself moan, the sound of it punctuated by the crackling of the fire. But it wasn't a mindless groan -- no, it was Harry's name he'd said as he came.
For a long moment afterwards, Severus sat motionless. Spent and exhausted, he felt like he'd never move again. But then he glanced down at the state he was in, his cock growing limp now, poking out of the trousers he'd never even removed. Semen lay spattered against the dark fabric of his clothing.
Merlin, what was he doing, sitting here like this? Harry could walk in any second. Could have walked in, actually, while Severus was masturbating. That was how desperate Severus had been.
A wry smile curled Severus' mouth. He hadn't even been able to make it to the shower . . . oh, yes. He really did need to have a good session with Renard.
The weekend, Severus thought, couldn't come soon enough.
Friday, October 15, 1998 ---- 5:02 p.m.
"Potter."
The last student had filed out and Harry was just about to leave. Friday at last, which meant that after four straight days of after-dinner Quidditch lessons, he finally had an evening off. Of course, tomorrow afternoon he had to run another clinic for all four teams at once, but he'd be sure not to schedule another one of those anytime soon.
"Yes, Professor?"
Bryerson waved toward the stairs that led to his classroom office. "I'd like a word, if you have a few moments."
The last time Bryerson had wanted a word, he'd done nothing but criticise Harry. Still, things could be worse, Harry supposed. Dreamless Sleep every night meant that he hadn't had any more erotic dreams about the man, and ever since those long, heated kisses on Saturday night, his shower fantasies had featured nobody but Severus. His sleek black hair. His deep voice. His pale, lean body. Even his thick, long cock.
Or maybe, especially his cock. Harry's fantasies were growing randier all the time. No longer did he think only about vague rubbing, one man sliding against another while they kissed. Oh, there was plenty of that, sure, but there were also a lot of the things that happened in that book of Severus'. After hearing the story about the alchemist and his apprentice, Harry had wanted to hear more, but he'd thought that asking Severus to read it out loud again was almost like teasing the man. Which would be wrong, he knew. So he'd been borrowing the book during his off-periods, and reading it himself.
And now, the things he fantasised about in the shower had a lot to do with those stories. One man kneeling down to suck another, running his hands up and down the back of the other man's thighs. Two men slowly stroking each other as they lay side by side in bed, kissing each other's necks. And frottage. Lots of frottage. Harry got hot and sweaty just reading the detailed descriptions. But that was all right -- a nice long shower afterwards always set him to rights.
There were also some stories about other things . . . a man on his hands and knees, gasping as his arse was stretched by slick fingers . . . Harry always skipped those, as soon as it was clear which way the wind was blowing. He didn't want to think about that, and besides, those stories weren't arousing for him. Not at all. But the book had plenty of stories that were, so Harry just kept reading those ones over and over.
And over.
Harry grinned a little, thinking about the book. If he wasn't careful, he'd have to start looking up spells to help make it like new again, so it wouldn't keep falling open to the stories Harry liked best, the ones he'd read several times.
Maybe it really helped that he could imagine Severus' voice reading to him. Because now, it was always Severus with him in his fantasies. Whenever the man's image started to waver a little, all Harry had to do was think about the way they'd kissed on Saturday night, and Severus would snap into sharp, clear focus. All of him. It was actually good, Harry thought, and not just because it meant that the spell would have no reason to punish him. It was also . . . well, it was like he was finally getting into the spirit of Cambiare Podentes. Really, the enchantment he was living under was supposed to be all about sex, wasn't it? Sex with Severus. And now Harry was finally having some, right? Well, sort of. He was only fantasising, at the moment. But his fantasies weren't upsetting him the way they would have before. It just seemed natural to be thinking things like that. To be wondering, as he bit his lip to keep from howling with pleasure as he came, if he could make Severus come just by licking the man's cock, base to tip, base to tip.
Sometimes now, he tasted his own semen and wondered if Severus' would taste the same.
The idea of finding out . . . it was almost comfortable, now. Maybe because by now, he'd sucked Severus off in his fantasies. Several times. Harry was positive that he just needed a little while longer, and he'd be ready to make that first move. Another couple of weeks, that was all. Maybe a month. Well, maybe that was being a bit optimistic. He had to be sure he was ready before he leapt off a cliff like that. Pulling back at the last second, after all, would be so unfair to Severus. Yule season,Harry thought, nodding to himself. He'd be able to concentrate on it, then. No job, no students . . . Yes, definitely by then, or perhaps New Year's at the very, very latest, he'd--
"Potter?"
Oh, God. Harry had completely forgotten that Bryerson was waiting for him to follow him up to his office. He'd been standing here thinking about sex, instead. Not too professional. Sometimes it happened during class, too. He'd been a little distracted this week, he knew. He hoped Bryerson didn't want to talk to him about that.
But at least his Severus fantasies had meant that Harry had started feeling a lot more at ease about assisting during Defence classes. Bryerson was probably about to change that, Harry thought as he nodded in agreement and followed the other man up the short flight of stairs.
"Have a seat," said Bryerson, who perched atop his desk. He seemed to regard Harry as though wondering how to begin. "So, I've noticed that your essay comments have improved a good deal, lately."
That didn't sound so bad. Harry shrugged. "Well, I'm still amazed at some of the odd ideas the students seem to pick up, but I've been trying not to let it show as much."
"And you've done a fine job of encouraging students to stop calling you by your first name," continued Bryerson. "I know it seems like a small matter, but if they think of you as a mate it really will have repercussions when it comes to instruction."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I can see that."
Bryerson leaned forward slightly. "However, you still need to work on how you interact with the classes, Potter. You really do seem to avoid the left half of the room. Are you aware of that?"
Harry blinked. "I've been working extra hard to make sure I treat the left and right halves the same. Really, I have. You haven't noticed any difference at all?"
A slight frown settled between Bryerson's eyes. "Hmm. I think I have, in most classes. But not with the first-years. You're not giving the Slytherins their fair share of your attention, not in that class."
Harry's heart sank. He could just see it, now. He'd been dealing all right with having nasty little Charles Bole in class, but only because he'd avoided getting near the horrible child. But Bryerson was going to insist that Harry circulate more. Help all the students.
It's only for seven years, a half-hysterical voice inside him said. You can stand it for seven years.
The trouble was, seven years felt like forever. Harry would have looked for another job on the spot, if he could. But that wasn't an option, not for him. "Yes, Professor," he said. He sounded sulky even to his own ears, so he tried again. "I'll work on it."
"See that you do." Bryerson's brown eyes seemed to be studying him intently. "Drink, Potter?"
Harry shot to his feet. He might have straightened out his fantasy life, but having a drink with Bryerson sounded like a recipe for disaster. "Uh, no. I have to . . . er, Quidditch, you know? I'm running another clinic tomorrow and I'm not ready for it." He left man's office as quick as he could, almost tripping over his own feet to get out of there.
Smooth, Harry, he thought. Very professional.
Oh, well.