Image Credit: me, Pintarest, and Warner Bros.
The morning after is never kind to Severus. He feels its loss too much. He feels everything too much, which is why he limits his time with others. Harry dresses in the gray of dawn, taking for granted what Severus sees slipping away. Harry’s grin, the reflection in his glasses, speak of the next time. His green-fire gaze promises there will be a next time. Another night of stolen bliss, since this one has gone so well. What he looks forward to, Severus fears he, himself, will never have again. That’s the true difference between them.
When Harry leaves the Headmaster’s quarters, Severus replays the most sublime moments of their time together. By the window, he relives the boy’s insistence. How Harry pushed at his lips, pulled at his clothing, and demanded that Severus open his mouth, until there was no thought of their roles and Severus had to do what this beautiful, demanding young man wanted him to do.
There were perks to being reinstated as Headmaster and having Harry return to him as a teacher. Such nights were one of them. But not the mornings. The mornings were reserved for reverence, befitting what one night spent with Harry, naked in his arms, meant to him. If the nights were priceless, the mornings were sacred.
Credit: Sexy Draco by hpfanatic97
There was something sacrilegious about a wizard of Harry’s abilities taking a day job in the muggle world, yet he did it. He wanted friends and he wanted to feel useful, needed. He didn’t have to work, but life after losing his son in a nasty divorce, made working a better alternative to sitting in a dark house feeling like a total failure. He illustrated greeting cards. Since his company used a digital platform, the job required an eye for detail more than it did artistic skill. He worked from a database of pre-made art and arranged each picture according to the assigned text given to him. His boss, Draco Malfoy seemed pleased by his efforts.
That would’ve been great, if Harry hadn’t also seen something quiet and intent in his boss’s eyes. He told himself he was just imagining it, until he got the dinner invitation. That startled him. He was pretty sure bosses did not go around dating their employees. He ignored the invitation, only to find himself cornered in the men’s bathroom after everyone had left for the day.
“I’m still waiting for my answer, Mr. Potter.” Mr. Malfoy made a pretense of washing his hands. He spoke to Harry over his shoulder.
Harry remained inside the stall, hesitant to come out and speak to a man who’d obviously made it a point to wait on him. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Um, I’m not sure that’s considered ethical, Sir. Human Resources...”
“Oh, please. Don’t turn this into a sexual harassment case. You’re a grown man, Potter. If you don’t want to go out with me, just say so. Don’t hide behind Human Resources.”
Sighing, Harry came out of the stall. “It just seems really unprofessional for you to approach me like this. And I’m not gay.”
Draco snatched a paper towel and dried his hands. He kept his back to Harry. “You are as uptight as a virgin on a bullet train.”
Harry went through the motions of washing his hands. It was his way of showing that he wasn’t running away, he was walking away. Draco made a point to watch, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. It was obvious that he admired the view.
“I was looking over your resume. I noticed that you graduated from the Imperial in London.”
“And… I hired you anyway.” He smiled, and the thing about it was that it was as appealing as a child’s smile. Not a hint of animosity. But the way he blocked Harry’s access to the paper towels, assured Harry there was nothing innocent about him.
Harry went around him to the hand blower. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I checked. There was never a student there by that name.”
He was reaching for the door, then stopped. He kept his back to Malfoy, who came up behind him.
“I always research my interests. I knew you were different the moment you stepped into this place.”
Harry stiffened at Mr. Malfoy’s hands on his back. Long fingers sliding up his jacket, stunned his defenses. He tried to turn, to shrug his boss off, but the other man pressed him into the door.
“Don’t panic, Mr. Potter. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to give you something.”
Harry felt his jacket being lifted and those warm fingers pulling his dress shirt from the back of his pants. “Leg go.
Even he didn’t sound convincing to himself. Malfoy’s body, so close to his, emitted something he hadn’t felt in two years. His blood heated in response. He’d been celibate that long, and it probably showed. Some people were predatory like that, only interested in the ones who wanted nothing to do with them.
Harry was caught between wanting to take a swing, and wanting to see where this was going. Malfoy surprised him by slipping something rough and cool down into the band of his underwear. It felt like paper. Harry could’ve kicked himself for liking it.
Malfoy whispered against his ear. “Tell me, where do you keep your wand, Harry?”
Alarm flooded his heart. No one was supposed to know that.
Malfoy pulled back. He let go, taking his warmth with him. The ache this produced in Harry, plummeted him into further confusion.
His boss nudged past him and opened the door. “And Harry, I don’t give a damn whether you’re gay or not.” His wink, was the last word on the matter.
Harry didn’t open the envelope until he got home. He expected something inappropriate and blackmailing, and finally ripped it open to get the worst over with. He’d just have to quit. If Malfoy didn’t leave him alone, he might have to do something more drastic.
The contents stopped all thought. It was a postcard. A wizard postcard. On it, Malfoy reclined in a selfie. Shirt open, hand down his pants, he posed in an outdoor setting. His stare targeted Harry. True to wizard style, his body breathed and his hand moved languidly inside his briefs. Hey lay on the bare ground with Magnolia blossoms scattered around him, and mouthed the words to Harry, ‘Fuck me.’
Offense had Harry’s lips tightening and his hands shaking. Malfoy was a wizard. He must’ve known that Harry was also, for a while now. Harry swallowed, not sure what to do with his rage, and too stunned to take his eyes off the moving photo. A note fell out with it.
‘Mr. Potter, I’m impressed with your work. Should you ever tire of our nonmagic line of cards and want a challenge, a senior position awaits you in our Adult, magical line.”
The thing about the card, was that it wasn’t just a photo. It was more like a video. A pornographic video. Malfoy didn’t just touch himself and writhe teasingly. He completed the act. It worked with Harry’s stare. If he looked away, the image stopped, paused indefinitely. If he continued to look, the image resumed it’s recorded message. In this case, Malfoy worked himself into a flushed, perspiring frenzy as his hand picked up the pace. He soundlessly spoke Harry’s name.
Malfoy’s skin was so fair, it was easy to see his blood rise to the surface of his skin. Harry’s eyes followed it as it moved up his abdomen, rolling up each muscle group until it splotched his chest. His eyes closed and his cheeks went scarlet as he rode out the flow of his climax.
Mouth open, Harry didn’t realize he was panting as he watched. He could practically feel the heat rolling off of Malfoy’s body. The hand moving beneath the denim, was going crazy, and Malfoy’s abdomen and jerking hips told the real story. Harry watched, hypnotically, as Malfoy’s crotch darkened. With his body still shaking, that spot of wetness spread through the fibers. Coin-sized, then going oblong as it drenched the fabric.
Malfoy’s eyes didn’t open until his spasms subsided.
It was 3:00 A.M. before Harry could put the card down without picking it up again. Offended, humiliated, disgusted and awed, his psyche went through a gambit of emotions. He couldn’t get through watching it twice, without joining in, but that was only because it was more sex than he’d had in two years and refused to feel guilty for giving in. All three times. Who was this wizard? And even if he did take the job, how was he going to keep the guy off of him? A wank in the privacy of his own home did not equate to wanting anything to do with person.
But it was too late. He knew that he was going to accept the promotion.
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The officer gave up. He'd seen this too many times before, and the case was too important. This young man was not going to press charges, and he was not going to admit to what had happened to him, though everyone in the precinct knew this distinct kind of shock when they saw it. There was even enough evidence to convict. But the guy stuck to his story, even though the truth spilled from his eyes. They felt sorry for him. Sorry, that he didn't seem to know they were within their rights to go after the proof. To go after a conviction. How to get the information out of him, without having a doctor put on gloves, hold him down, and rape him all over again?
He hadn't meant to spy on them, but he wasn't going to lose sleep over it. He'd paid for the damn wedding, the least he could do was enjoy a scotch by the fire, in the dark, in the comfort of his own home. It served them right for not taking a proper honeymoon, and behaving as if they had the mansion to themselves. From the shadows, Lucius watched his son in-law make love to his son. He had to give Harry credit for knowing what to do with that exquisit equipment of his.
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A toast. A marriage.
He maintained his poker face. His stare revealed nothing. He winked at the boy as if it were their little joke. As if he weren't really thinking how inexperienced Harry looked for a man of twenty-two, and how he wouldn't mind tugging those trousers down in a dark pantry and giving his arse a tonguing so indecent he'd have Jame's son dripping pearls over the canned goods. He was certain that Harry was still innocent enough to never have had anyone's mouth there. Such a sweet boy.
Yes, a toast to your lovely bride, Harry.
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Credit: Sirius by XxNymphadoraTonksxX, deviantart. com
He knew that James's son was a grown man. But that didn't make it right. He simply couldn't stop himself from reaching under Harry's blanket. This was the third night, and still the boy pretended to sleep through it all. Even if he never penetrated, he needed the skin. He needed the contact. He needed the taste.
Afterwords, he bent to Harry's ear and whispered, "Thank you, Harry." He just prayed that James could forgive him.
The curse worked so well, they didn't know which side of Snape they wanted to try first. The front or the back. That sanctimonious, pompous Slytherin wasn't so tough now. Not with James holding one side of his body, and Peter the other. In the forest, both put all their weight on his arms and kept Snape's legs apart at the thighs. All he could do was tremble beneath the prodding of Sirius' tongue, as it lapped the length of him and into him. He gurgled helpless sounds of distress, unable to form solid words as Sirius gnawed like a dog and forced Snape's body to vibrate against his will.
Sirius licked, his mass of curls flopping and concealing what he feasted upon at the centermost point of Snape's body. He thought about doing exactly what James wanted. He wanted to. But he was still too human, and all too aware of what it would do to their friendships if they couldn't handle it.
"Do it, Sirius. Don't hold back, make the change. I wanna see this prick squirm."
Sirius couldn't get enough. The animal in him wanted to cover more surface area and to delve deeper. He wanted to make Snape produce the most shameful sounds he could pull from him. His canine instincts were already dominating his reasoning as his mouth salivated excessively, drenching Snape and sucking tender skin between his lips.
If he did it, he mused, it would officially be the worst thing he'd ever done. He trusted his friends with his life, but there was no going back if he let them see the dog version of himself doing this.
If he showed them what they were asking for, he knew they were likely to never look at him the same way again. He wanted to do it. He was going to do it. He risked a glance at Remus, who was no longer admonishing them, but had grown strangely quiet from his position under a tree. Remus stared, transfixed. And judging by the dangerous look in his' eyes, as he let his pack have the meat they wanted, Sirius knew, the wolf in Remus wanted some too.
Exhibit A, this photo is presented as evidence by Detective Ryan Kramer. It is presented as proof that Harry Potter did in fact know his stalker two years prior to the home invasion. Many more like this show Mr. Potter turning towards Mr. Cormac McLaggen's camera and deliberately initiating eye contact, which the defendant calls, 'baiting and teasing'.
"Harry knew I was taking pictures of him. As long as I stayed out of his way, it was cool. He let me. It became a thing. Over the course of two years, I felt more and more privileged and invited into his life. You can't tell it, but he was posing for me. It became our thing. I played a role for him. We both pretended that it was dangerous and exciting."
The defendants statement is supported by photos of the two of them at social functions, appearing on friendly terms.
"It was only when he stopped speaking to me, that I took pictures to get his attention. To rekindle what we had. For two years, I was his secret. I wanted it to be open. When he shut me out, I lost it. I didn't know how to handle that kind of rejection. He was this huge, adored person and nobody remembered me. I wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me. So, on that night, I stopped playing a role and became the real thing. I broke in, and I got my revenge. What's the difference between being paid to do it, and doing it on my own? He knew me and that's all he wanted from me. He just didn't think he'd lose control of the situation."
James didn't give a damn. It was never about hurting Snape. It was about getting his goddamn attention. It was about not being ignored by him. This was a powerful fucking wizard, and all he wanted, was to shatter Snape's quiet control and make him see that he could be his equal. But no, Snape had to look down his nose at everyone. Snape had to keep his distance, like he didn't want to blemish those beautiful, spell-black robes with the likes of them.
Only James could see the power behind those pitch eyes. Only James knew that silence wasn't helplessness. It was judgement. And only James knew that in his torment of Severus, he was wrestling with an angel. He would get his blessing. He would get his annointment, if he had to rip that magic from Snape's veins. This wizard was going to take him seriously. This wizard was going to take every inch of him.