Originally posted here, on December 18, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” Harry said, planting his firewhisky down on the coffee table with an audible thud.

“What is it?” Snape inquired, raising his eyebrow in question.

“You’re a bastard, conceited git, damned unfair teacher -”

Snape’s eyebrows were almost up to his hairline, and his eyes were becoming cloudier by the second.

” – brilliant potions master, brave, (shut up), and I want you. That’s it. You can kill me now.”

Harry leaned back on the couch, reached for his firewhisky, and gulped it down in one go. Some of the liquid went down the wrong way and he choked, coughing some of it out. He was embarrassed, but it didn’t matter. Snape was going to kill him anyway. He still hadn’t said anything.

Snape sipped his brandy and placed the snifter down on the table gently. He got comfortable on his chaise lounge and steepled his fingers, looking at Harry with hooded eyes. He paused, then -

“I…see.”

Harry finally deigned it safe to look at him. He brought his firewhisky to his mouth, wanting to get more alcohol into his system. Snape looked mad. There was nothing to drink. He summoned another one from the kitchen. Snape intercepted the flying bottle from the air before it could reach Harry.

“I don’t think so, Mister Potter,” he said smoothly.

Harry glared at him.

“It’s my house, my whisky, my damn body, for that manner, so give it here!” Harry summoned the bottle from Snape’s hand, but it was held in a death grip. It rattled between Snape’s fingers. Harry wouldn’t let up though. He wanted that bottle. Now.

Snape let go of the bottle suddenly, transfiguring it into a wet wash cloth. It flung toward Harry and landed with a splat on his face.

“You are an imbecile, Potter,” Snape said as Harry sputtered, flinging the cloth to the floor, wiping his wet face with the sleeve of his sweater.

Damn Snape and his twisted sense of humour. That cloth was cold, dammit! Harry glared at him.

“Shut up,” Harry grumbled, without a good comeback.

“I see your vocabulary has not changed, Potter. How utterly disappointing.”

“Just…shut up, okay? Please?” Harry was getting aggravated by the whole affair.

Snape tittered in disgust, but didn’t say anything.

“Thanks.” Harry hesitated, playing with the loose strand of thread on his sweater. “So…”

“Tell me Potter, and don’t lie to me. Do you really think I am a brilliant potions master?”

Harry looked at him shrewdly. Snape wasn’t even batting an eyelash concerning Harry’s confession. He hadn’t said anything and it was making Harry anxious.

“Yeah,” Harry said. Quickly, he added, “Snape.”

Snape sneered at him, but it was devoid of any malice or anger. It was an instinctive reaction.

“What?”

“I. Want. You.” Harry looked him straight in the eye this time.

“You have me, Potter.”

Harry sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

“Stop acting so damn dense! You know what I mean!”

Snape just stared at him with a blank expression.

“I want to have sex with you! Is that more understanding for you?”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “It certainly clears up this situation.”

“What is there to clear up?! I told you that I want you!”

“And?”

Harry gaped. “And? What do you mean and?”

“I mean, Potter, and what are you planning to do about it,” Snape said, smirking.

“You – ” Harry cut himself before he said something he would later regret.

“Me?” prompted Snape.

“Oh, forget it. I’m going to summon a bottle, and if you stop it, I swear-” He let the remaining unsaid words speak for themselves with the glare he directed at Snape.

Snape didn’t reply. And didn’t stop the flying bottle when it came sailing out of the kitchen and into Harry’s waiting hand. Harry opened the bottle and drank a huge mouthful. It was warm as it settled in his stomach. Harry was planning on doing something, but he had to be sufficiently pissed to go along with it. He didn’t think he would be able to do it sober. He glanced at Snape. Snape was looking at him. No, definitely not.

“You will not get anywhere near me if you are intoxicated, Potter,” Snape said quietly, staring straight into his eyes.

“Stop reading my mind, Snape,” Harry said tersely, taking a sip of firewhisky. Snape’s words finally penetrated Harry’s mind more clearer. “I won’t get near you drunk. What about not drunk? You’ll let me get close to you then?”

Snape glared at him. Harry sighed.

“Stop glaring so much. Have you noticed that you have these little wrinkles between your eyes? Every time you glare at me they become more pronounced,” Harry said.

“They are called furrows, Potter. And I, unlike you, do not give a damn about vanity.”

Harry sighed. He didn’t care one whit about anything right now. He was horny and wanted Snape. He wanted to get blissfully drunk too, but maybe that wasn’t such a grand idea in this case.

“I want to have sex with you. Can we get on with it?” Harry demanded, standing up abruptly. His vision swam and he fell back onto the couch, dizzy.

Snape looked at him, aghast.

“I don’t think you’re quite up to it, Potter,” Snape said with a twist of his lips that wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t a sneer either. It was one of his original trademark facial expressions. The I-don’t-care expression.

Well, if Harry couldn’t get to him, maybe…Harry sat up higher, and keeping his eyes locked on Snape’s, toed his shoes off, leaving his white socks on for the meantime. He took off his sweater and reached for the first button on his shirt. Then the next one, and next one. Damn, why did he have to wear a buttoned shirt today, of all days? He fumbled on the fourth button (just when he was starting to show some tantalizing skin) and had to break his heated gaze from Snape’s cool one to look down at his hands ministrations. This was getting ridiculous. The button would just not leave its damn confinement. Or was it his fingers that were provoking all the problems? They were sweaty and trembling. But they always did that when he was horny. Then again, he never had anyone watching his every move with an attentive eye. Especially when he was trying to act sexy or whatever the hell a man did to get another man like to Snape to take him to bed and fuck him senseless.

Harry growled. Well, if things had to be done the drastic way…so be it. He ripped the shirt in half, the noise remarkably loud in the silent room. Ah, there was his chest. All glistening, milky white coloured skin. Snape gasped. Harry’s head snapped up, watching as Snape stared at Harry’s chest with dark, bright eyes. His hands were clenched on his lap. He opened his lips slowly and a pink tongue slithered out, licking his bottom lip swiftly before disappearing into his mouth again. Harry gasped at the erotic gesture. Snape was erotic incarnate. Harry wanted him bad. He wanted to kiss those lips right now. He wondered what they tasted like. Something exotic, probably. An unbidden picture of Harry writhing in pleasure with Snape pounding into him filtered through his mind. Harry moaned softly, closing his eyes. Harry’s nipples were starting to tingle, as they tended to do when he was very randy. One of his hands slithered up his chest to settle on one of his tight nipples. Harry bit his lip. Even a little pressure was electrifying.

Harry opened his eyes. Snape was transfixed on his hand as Harry pushed it slightly against his nipple, making him jump slightly. Harry’s cock twitched. Ohgodohgodohgod…oh…Harry was breathing fast now, a light sheen of sweat breaking out under his armpits and forehead.

“Sn – Severus…” Harry moaned, massaging his nipple softly, staring at his mouth, imagining it on his, kissing him so hard that it hurt.

Harry struggled with his ripped shirt, trying to get his free arm out of the sleeve, while keeping up on the stimulation on his nipple with his other hand.

“Stop,” Snape croaked, his gaze moving down his chest to rest on his well-defined stomach.

Harry’s stomach twitched and he left his shirt alone, leaving it to hang around his chest in a tangled mess. He felt hot, and, for the first time in his life, sexy. Maybe if he acted…sexy, it would help. Harry reached down with his free hand and unbuttoned the top button on his trousers. They would hang around his hips more loosely when he stood up. Much sexier. Now, if only he could – yes! He was standing up, on shaky legs, yes, but standing up nonetheless. Snape stared up at him, his gaze going to his hips. Harry swayed his hips to the sides slowly. Snape’s eyes darkened even more. Smirking, Harry took a baby step forward. When he didn’t fall, he took another one. And another one. And another. He stopped when he got to Snape’s knees, bumping into him. Snape’s gaze hadn’t left his hips. Harry knew he didn’t want to look him in the eyes. Snape had a fear of weakness. And Harry was making him weak. And he didn’t like that. Well, Harry would make him like it.

With butterflies squirming in his stomach, Harry leaned down, planted his hands on Snape’s thighs for balance, and with a last glance at Snape’s smouldering eyes, kissed him softly on the lips. Snape sucked in a breath as Harry moved his lips over his, teasing his lower lip with tiny swipes of his tongue. Snape gripped the armchair and held his body tensely, not kissing back. Harry whimpered softly, growing frustrated. He backed away, but dived back in, kissing Snape harshly, forcing his lips open with his tongue. Snape gasped and Harry took advantage of his shock, tangling his tongue with Snape’s. Slowly, so very slowly, Harry parted Snape’s legs, insinuating himself between them, giving him ample room to swing one leg over one of his thighs. He perched on his thigh, tangling one hand in his hair, pulling his head back to re-align the kiss to better suit his position. Snape had no immediate choice but to retaliate.

Harry gave an approving noise in the back of his throat as Snape opened his mouth voluntarily and kissed him back, taking control of the kiss while it lasted. Harry cried out as Snape’s thigh moved and made contact with his cock. Harry whimpered and moved himself closer to his thigh as Snape moved it away.

“No – ” Harry gasped, ” – don’t.” He took hold of Snape’s shoulders, lifted himself upward, and let gravity bring him down. Harry gasped at the piercing pleasure, and started undulating against Snape’s thigh in earnest, attacking Snape’s mouth again. Harry’s body was hot and sensitive and he started trembling as he stood on the brink of an impending orgasm.

Snape settled his hands on his hips and stilled Harry’s movement, moving his thigh away. He broke the kiss and gasped for air. Harry grunted and tried moving. Snape’s grip tightened noticeably. Harry was close. So bloody close. Snape couldn’t do this to him now. God, not now.

“Yes, now. You need to calm down and take a deep breath,” Snape said hoarsely, his hands hot on Harry’s hips.

Harry opened his eyes. He hadn’t been aware that he had said anything out loud. He leaned his forehead against Snape’s in silent acquiescence. If Snape didn’t want to…then Harry couldn’t force him. He’d tried sexy and seductive, but it backfired. Harry was positive that Snape would hex him if he tried innocent, and distant wouldn’t get them anywhere near a bed in the long run. Maybe Snape didn’t want him…no, he did. If that kiss was any indication, then Snape wanted him just as much as Harry wanted him. What the hell was wrong with him then? What was with the distance, the restrained air that followed the man everywhere? Harry assumed they were at least friends, if not lovers, if those few fumbling kisses in the dark in the past counted.

Snape made an exasperating sound and moved Harry aside, standing up.

“You think too much, Pot – Harry. It’s irritating. Please refrain from doing it while looking into my eyes,” Snape said tersely, glancing down at his hands as he unbuttoned his button-down white shirt.

Harry opened his mouth to utter a retort, but was cut short. His pulse started beating faster as he watched Snape remove his shirt (laying it over the armchair), then proceed to bend down and divest himself of his black boots.

“What…” Harry breathed out in shocked amazement. It couldn’t be.

Snape gave him an utter look of annoyance. “You are such an idiot,” he said, placing his boots in a neat line beside the lounge.

With another look at Harry, he straightened up and Harry had an unspoiled view of his chest. Before he could actually take it all in, Snape strode forward, swooped down and kissed him soundly. Harry moaned in benediction. This was what he wanted. Snape. All of him. Taking control of the situation. Taking control of him. Harry’s head was pulled back as the kiss deepened and became more than just a kiss. It was a brutal fucking of mouths and Harry, gasping as he was pushed backward, toward the bedroom, knew that the actual fucking was going to be just as good.

“I thought you were going to leave,” Harry gasped against his lips as they stumbled toward Harry’s bedroom, all hungry kisses and groping hands.

“Like I said, you are an idiot,” Snape whispered, trailing his lips down Harry’s jaw to his throat, biting softly at the skin.

“Uh-huh…” Harry was out of words. He could only feel.

Both men grunted as they tumbled onto the bed, Snape’s body bumping into Harry’s rather hard. His body was heavy and warm on top of his and Harry didn’t want him to ever move. Harry slowly ghosted his fingers over his bare back. It was surprisingly devoid of any scars, from what he could feel. Snape pulled back from his neck, and watched him as he explored his back. Harry squirmed, his face heating up. Now that they were so close to each other, Harry could feel a tale-tell bulge digging into his hip. He was sure Snape could feel his. All of a sudden the whole situation seemed very surreal.

“Why -” Harry swallowed. “Why the change of heart all of a sudden?”

Snape glared down at him. He grabbed Harry’s wrists in one hand and pulled them over Harry’s head, stretching Harry’s torso.

“There hasn’t been a change of heart. Now be quiet,” Snape snapped at him. He shifted and then there was a hot mouth latching itself to one of Harry’s nipples and Harry couldn’t do anything else but shout, lifting his chest higher for more of that sweet suction.

“Oh – god…ah…wait! wait…stop…I’m very sensitive there, ah!” Harry hands grasped tightly onto Snape’s hand, wanting to touch him, hold onto something. Dear Merlin, it was excruciatingly pleasurable.

Snape let up on the ministration and looked down at Harry, smirking. “I know,” he said, and Harry groaned as he bent down to his other nipple and gave it even more sweet torture with lips and tongue.

Snape was a sadistic bastard, and he could – oh! stuff it, because Harry wasn’t going to – ah! give in.

“You need to stop, I’m not kidding! Stop, stop, I’m going to come, Severus, please!”

Snape gave him a slightly disgusted look as he let go of one wet nipple with a soft pop.

“You can’t honestly be ser-”

“Yes! I am, you bastard! I told you I was sensitive there!” Harry shouted at him, shifting his legs from beneath Snape so he could open them, trapping Snape between his thighs.

Snape scowled at him and moved slightly, bringing his covered cock into contact with Harry’s. Both men gasped in unison. They looked at each other.

“We should probably take these trousers off, yeah?” Harry spoke first. He struggled against Snape’s hand and when Snape finally let go, he reached forward and unbuttoned Snape’s trousers, pulling them down to his hips. Snape lifted and helped Harry remove the bothersome garment.

Harry stared at Snape’s flannels. Black flannels. Tight black flannels. Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry’s expression and both of them discarded another bothersome garment attached to Snape’s body. Snape, without warning, grabbed hold of Harry’s wrists again and pulled them taut over Harry’s head.

Harry’s hands strained against Snape’s.

“Are you going to let go of my wrists any time soon?” Harry demanded, lifting his hips as Snape’s free hand unzipped his jeans agonizingly slow.

“No,” Snape said simply, giving him a satisfied smile.

He accioed his wand to him. It came soaring through the air from the drawing room, smacking into his waiting hand. Harry scowled at him as he struggled vainly against Snape’s hand. Snape spelled Harry’s jeans away with a simple flick of his wand. Harry’s pants melted away with the same spell. He put his wand down on the bedside table. He reached over and plucked Harry’s glasses off his face, dropping them down beside the wand. He looked pointedly at Harry’s socks, but didn’t say anything concerning them.

“Snape,” Harry growled, blinking rapidly. “I want my hands back, if you’d please.”

“I said no, Potter.”

“Don’t call me that when we’re about to fuck, for Merlin’s sake! Let go of my-” Harry’s ranting was cut off as Snape kissed him deeply.

Snape settled against his hard cock, grinding his own cock onto his, slowly and fluidly. Harry screamed into his mouth, undulating upward, coming hard and fast, his body twitching as his orgasm coursed through him. Snape finally let go of his wrists, lifting Harry upward and wrapping his arms around him as he held Harry through the end of his orgasm. Harry wrapped his arms around his neck and held on.

When his orgasm finally stopped, Harry lay gasping in Snape’s arms, his whole body tingly and warm. That had to be one of the best orgasms Harry ever had, if not the best.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have a better one,” Snape promised, kissing the back of Harry’s ear.

Harry opened his eyes, again, unaware that he had spoken anything out loud.

Snape slowly untangled his arms from around Harry and laid him down, lifting a slightly bruised wrist and kissing it. He looked down at Harry, his face indiscernible.

Harry glanced down at Snape’s cock, which lay erect amongst a tangle of black hair. He slowly reached out for it, but his hand was intercepted by Snape’s.

“Don’t,” he said simply, moving upward and off Harry’s body.

So that was it then. Harry sighed as he put a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. He jumped as Snape spoke.

“Turn over.”

Harry blinked up at the ceiling, squinting over at Snape, who was kneeling at the foot of the bed, staring at him.

“Huh?”

“Turn over and tell me where you keep your lubricant,” Snape said, moving ever so slightly, his cock now semi-erect.

“I-I don’t have any,” Harry croaked.

Snape sighed and ran one hand through his hair. He glanced at Harry, studying him.

“You do want this, correct?”

Harry looked at him in confusion before clear realization penetrated his brain. “Yes!” Harry shouted. “I mean, yes, I do. Yes,” Harry said, lowering his voice, trying not to show too much excitement or his utter lack of any experience with this form of sex.

Snape, unfortunately, saw right through him. “Potter. Are you unspoiled?” he asked sharply, looking at him intently.

Harry averted his eyes, speaking to his mouth. “If you mean a virgin, no,” Harry said quietly.

“You know what I mean,” Snape ground out.

Harry hesitated. “Yes.” He didn’t give Snape a chance to reply. “Is that going to be a problem?” He asked firmly, finally returning the gaze.

They stared at each other. “No,” Snape finally said, looking away.

Harry noticed that his cock was not erect anymore, but didn’t comment on the occurrence.

“Do you still want me to turn over?” Harry asked, his eyes pleading Snape to please say yes, because he didn’t know what he would do if he was turned away.

Snape hesitated. “Yes,” he whispered.

Harry nodded and turned over, getting comfortable. The bed moved as Snape crawled closer. Harry held his breath as warmth hovered over his back. He let it out when Snape settled his hand on his back. Snape trailed his hand upward to his shoulders, and down again to the lower part of his back, trailing his fingers onto the sides, making Harry shiver.

“That feels nice…” Harry whispered.

“Mmm.” Snape’s other hand settled over one of Harry’s upper thighs, startling him slightly. He kneaded the flesh there softly, trailing his hand up and down. Harry gasped at the pleasure of a simple massage of sorts. “You feel nice,” Snape whispered to the back of his neck, moving some of his hair aside with his nose and kissing the skin there.

Harry moaned in answer. His legs were slowly parted, the hand leaving heat trails on his back slowly going southward. Snape left a soft kiss on each of Harry’s dimples, moving his lips downward toward his arse. Harry wailed inwardly as he stopped, his breath hot against the very beginning of Harry’s arse crack. He pulled back suddenly. Harry grasped the comforter beneath him in frustration. His cock was still dormant, but the pleasure of Snape’s hands was enough to stir his blood.

Snape reached over and grabbed his wand, bringing it into light contact with Harry’s arse. There was a quick spell and Harry gasped as the inside of his arse tingled. It felt emptier, cleaner. Harry smiled into his pillow as Snape put down his wand beside Harry’s pillow. And then he began to slowly drive Harry mad.

He pulled Harry upward by the hips into a half-kneeling position. Harry gasped as his cheeks were parted, cool air tickling his pucker, before a warm breath took the place of the cool air. He cried out as a hard, wet tongue swirled around his hole, slowly and softly stabbing its way inward. He lifted his head from his pillow, shouting as the stabbing became rougher, deeper, and faster, an imitation of fucking. Harry couldn’t help himself. He had to move. He pushed his arse backward, wanting more of that sinful tongue. Moremoremore. Snape grunted, but complied, swirling his tongue in circles, stabbing harder.

Harry’s cock was definitely taking a huge interest in the proceedings. And so was Snape’s, if what he could feel against his leg was any indication.

“Severus,” Harry groaned, moving his arse against his tongue, “Please,” he whimpered.

Snape pulled back. Harry screamed at him not to. His cheeks were released and Harry started begging him to continue. Snape ignored him in favour of slapping one of his arse cheeks, startling Harry quiet. But only for a second.

“Do that again! Please!”

“What?” Snape said aghast.

“Please, do that again, please.”

Snape tittered and hit his other arse cheek. Harry moaned, starting to hump air. No more slaps were forthcoming. Snape went back to his arse, but not before he reached for his wand. Harry couldn’t say that he wasn’t happy about it. One arse cheek was parted and he felt the tip of Snape’s wand touching his hole. Harry was thinking about how that wand would feel inside him when another spell was incanted and this time Harry’s arse felt fuller, but not exactly dirtier in any sense. It felt slick. He tensed his inner muscles and could feel warm lubricant. He looked over his shoulder at Snape and smiled, but Snape was laying down his wand beside him as he stared at Harry’s arse. Harry blushed at Snape’s look. God, and that was his arse. His arse.

Harry turned his head away, not really wanting to, but his neck muscles were starting to protest. Snape was parting his arse cheeks again with soft and smooth movements. A finger slowly penetrated him. Harry gasped. His finger felt very different from his tongue. His finger went in deeper, twisting at odd angles. The sensation felt odd, but pleasurable at the same time. Soon a second finger was inserted, stretching him even more and making him feel very full. Both fingers zigzagged inside him, opening him wider. Suddenly, a spark. Harry shouted as his prostate was poked softly by both fingers.

“Oh…do that again…yes, there,” Harry moaned, pushing his arse backward, burying the fingers even deeper into him. He resumed his dry humping.

Snape leaned down over his back. “Fuck yourself,” he whispered into his ear.

Harry did. Backward and forward. Snape leaned his chest against Harry’s back and didn’t move as Harry moved against his fingers, bringing the fingers into harder and deeper contact with his prostate.

Snape suddenly stopped Harry’s grinding and removed his fingers. Harry whimpered at the loss of contact. But soon enough, Snape leaned against him again. He held onto Harry’s hips and without warning flipped him over. Harry yelped in surprise. His legs were parted once more and his hips were lifted. Snape stared down at him with hooded eyes, holding him still as his cock slowly penetrated him.

Harry gasped. Snape’s cock was much bigger than his fingers. And thicker. And…ohgod…Snape slid in deeper, still moving slowly. His hands trembled against Harry’s hips. He was going slow for him. He was holding back. Harry didn’t want him to hold back. He reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck, pushing his face into his neck, squeezing his arse around Snape’s cock, driving it in even deeper and…yes!…there…his prostate. Harry screamed, while Snape moaned, hitting his prostate again. Harry gasped against his neck as Snape stalled all movement, breathing harshly.

“Fuck me,” Harry whispered into his neck, licking off a drop of sweat. “Please, fuck me.”

And Snape did. His hands tightened on his hips and he started a rhythm that wasn’t fast or hard enough for Harry. It wasn’t enough.

“Harder,” Harry panted, tightening his arms and straining up into the rhythm, wanting more.

Snape pulled back and out suddenly, sitting down with his legs spread wide in front of him, pulling Harry forward into his lap and sliding into him again in one smooth thrust that blinded Harry for a second. He saw stars as he gasped. This time he pounded into Harry hard and fast, holding onto his hips as he manoeuvred Harry’s body up and down, fucking him on his cock. He hit his prostate on every thrust, strangling a broken scream from Harry’s throat every time. Harry found leeway to move his legs and wrapped them around Snape’s waist, holding on tightly as he was fucked.

Harry could feel his second orgasm upon him. Snape was beginning to thrust into him in quick, jerky movements. Harry’s orgasm was right there, right there, but it wouldn’t come. He untangled one hand from around Snape’s neck and reached down for his own cock, but Snape grabbed his hand and put it back around his neck. He pulled him closer, still fucking him relentlessly. Harry was vaguely amazed at how long he could make it without coming. Snape’s hand enveloped Harry’s cock, his thumb swiping over the slit, making Harry hiss. He was very sensitive there as well. In three quick smooth hard strokes, Harry came with a shout. He latched onto Snape’s mouth as his orgasm rushed through his body, kissing him messily with tongue. He tightened his arse around Snape’s cock and with one hard thrust Snape came with a gasp, holding Harry tightly and not letting go of his mouth as he kissed back with fervour.

x x x

One year later…

“I’ve got to tell you something,” Harry said, his tea cup rattling against its saucer as he placed it down.

It was early morning and Snape had just walked into the kitchen looking rumpled, sleepy, grumpy, and sexy as hell. He proceeded to give Harry a look as he walked over to the kettle and sniffed its contents. He grunted in approval and summoned a cup and saucer for his use.

“I said that I need to tell y-”

“What?” Snape replied, filling his cup with hot tea.

“Can you please put the kettle down and come here?” Harry demanded, glaring at his back.

Snape turned his head and looked at him over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean it. Please come here. I need to t ell you something.”

Snape sighed as he put the kettle down and picked up his cup. He turned around and walked to the table, sitting down gingerly (he had bottomed last night, with pleasurable results) and took a sip of tea, looking at Harry in irritation and idly curiosity.

“Well? What is it? I don’t have all day,” Snape snapped, glaring at him as he put his cup down.

Harry took a deep breath. “I’ve been holding back from saying this since we’ve been together,” Harry began. Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry glared at him and continued. “Because I know you don’t want to hear it,” at this, Snape’s look became guarded and his eyes became unreadable. “But it’s time you know how I feel.”

“Potter-” Snape began, sighing.

“What? ‘Potter’? What the hell, Severus? Just listen to me before you go off the handle,” Harry said.

“I don’t need to listen to you. I know what you are going to say, and I don’t particularly wish to listen to it. So if you will excuse me, I have-”

“I love you.”

Snape’s mouth closed with a snap. He blinked in surprise and then shut his eyes as he rubbed his temples.

“Pot-Harry, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve confused a few fucks with love,” Snape said slowly, as if each word had to be forced out of his mouth.

“I know that’s not true and so do you. Don’t give me that bullshit,” Harry said tersely.

Snape sighed again and shook his head, not opening his eyes.

“Look at me,” Harry demanded. Snape opened his eyes and looked at him from beneath his eyelashes. “I love you, you bastard. And you better fucking love me back because if you don’t, then I’ll Avada Kedavra your arse into a worse place than hell.”

Snape had the gall to chuckle. He picked up his cup and took a sip. A thoughtful expression appeared on his face as he put the cup down.

“And…what will you do if I…” Snape swallowed audibly, playing with the rim of his cup with his thumb. “Love you back?”

Harry was struck dumb for a second, before he covered it up with a grin. “Oh, I’ll think of something. I’ll think of something.”

fin

Originally posted here, on July 17, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

“Meet me at the bridge,” a hot breath whispers against his ear as he straightens up, tucking his books into his bag. He tenses. Opens his mouth, his body turning toward the voice. Toward the heat.

A touch at the far reaches of his mind, numbers appearing of their own accord. He’ll be there.

+

It’s not a matter of trust, but of honesty. They want each other, they want each others bodies. It’s not a matter of love, but a matter of lust. And so they use each other. It’s better than nothing at all.

+

He is there at the set time, wearing a tattered cloak of dark brown, but in the moonless night, it looks black, like his eyes, like his hair, which seems to be even greasier.

They meet in the middle of the lone bridge, Hogwarts torches illuminating their shadowy figures.

“You came,” he speaks first, his voice trying to convey aloofness, but instead conveying genuine surprise.

“You asked me to. What do you want?”

“What do you think I want?” His cold manner is back, and he watches him under narrowed eyes.

He doesn’t answer. He grabs onto the front of his cloak and throws him against the bridge wall. A tawny, but hard thigh insinuates itself between his legs and rubs, pushes, moves against his cock. He reaches behind him and grabs onto the back of his neck, pulling him up, moving his body up and down, against his thigh. He screams, and bangs his head against the wall.

“Shut up,” he grunts as he grabs his head with his free hand and pulls it down to his mouth.

The meeting of lips is a fierce battle. There is no beginning and no end to the duelling of tongues. They gasp and sigh into each other’s mouths. It’s wet, hot, and bloody brilliant. There’s hands on his arse now, pulling him closer, harder, faster, more, more, more. He tangles his hands in the greasy hair, which is surprisingly soft to the touch, and pulls his face back, their mouths separating with a loud smack. He watches his face as he moves against his thigh. He himself is not moving now, just letting him take all the pleasure he wants. Closed eyelids open and he’s looking back at him, desire swimming in the depths of his eyes. He’s coming, coming so hard that it almost hurts. He watches him grimace, watches him open his mouth on a silent shout. Watches his eyes as they watch him.

+

“I’m leaving tonight,” he says quietly as he spells his crotch clean.

“Where are you going?” He watches him fix himself. He doesn’t notice until now, but his tawny robe seems to be the best one he’s ever worn. And his trousers don’t have rips scattered about. They look tailored.

“Somewhere.”

“Somewhere,” he repeats, as they watch each other, one boy facing Hogwarts, the other facing the exit to the bridge.

“Somewhere,” he confirms, shaking hair out of his eyes.

“Okay.”

There’s a pause, and all is silent, except for their even breaths, and the far off sound of crackling fire from the torches and the rippling water from the lake.

“O…kay,” he whispers.

They look at each other, neither showing any emotion, both too proud to show, both too proud to care.

He turns around, and walks, walks away from Hogwarts, walks away from someone, someone who gave him something. Something is always good. Getting something you want is always good. So Severus thinks.

+

When he falls through the veil; he smiles. And remembers. He can’t do anything else. Smiling is all he can conjure. He remembers. It’s better than nothing at all.

fin

Originally posted here, on June 01, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

It wasn’t love. What they shared, it wasn’t love or affection. It wasn’t caresses and sweet kisses, cuddles and honey soaked words. It wasn’t lingering touches in corridors or small and secretive smiles. There was no build-up to a relationship, because they didn’t have a relationship to begin with. They were two bodies, yearning and passionate, finding each other in abandoned classrooms, dark corridors, and haunted bathrooms. Two bodies finding release in each others arms. It was a secret. Their trysts. Liaisons, secret meetings. A dirty little secret they held under bolt and lock. A dirty little secret that wasn’t so dirty when consumed, when accepted and played out. When sweaty hands would move over slicked skin and mouths would meet for yet another duel. Dominance. A duel of dominance was what they shared. Neither wanted to be the submissive. A dance. A dance of panted gasps and wet moans, of limbs intertwined, hands fierce on soaked hair. Backs and necks arching, movements that brought tension that slowly fell away into a brilliant blast of white light. And once it was over, the secret was dirty once more. Tainted and scorned by their society trained minds.

It wasn’t hate. It was a secret that consumed their souls, ate their flesh, and destroyed them both.

fin

Originally posted here, on May 10, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

“You’re proud of what you’ve done, aren’t you?” Ron croaked out, watching as the man before him struggled against the ropes tied around his middle, his hands tied behind his lower back.

Amused grey eyes looked up at him, a patch of silver hair obscuring half of the haughty face, his other half in shadow, the dimming candles making his face look like some sort of artwork.

“You – you –“ Ron paused, closing his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath before opening his eyes once more, weary with facing an escaped convict with his eyes closed.

Lucius Malfoy didn’t even have a retort to fire back. Nothing. He remained passive, looking at him with his amused, calculating and cold eyes, his body twisting from right to left in soft movements.

“You killed him – you…FUCKING BASTARD!” Ron shouted suddenly, striding over to Lucius’ tied figure and fisting his hand in a large amount of his silky hair, twisting until he could see a look of pain cross his face.

“What are you shouting about, Weasley?” Lucius gasped out angrily as Ron growled out, pulling on each strand, watching with sick twisted satisfaction as Lucius grimaced even more, trying to rid his hair from Ron’s hand.

“Percy!” He pulled on the hair, “My brother! You killed him! And you’re bloody proud of it, aren’t you? Do you get your jollies off by watching others die? Torturing them?” He punctured each word with a fierce pull of his hair, smiling twistedly as Lucius yelped, glaring at him in contempt.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Weasley,” Malfoy said slowly, lifting his head defiantly, his eyes filled with cold calculation and – something else. There was something else.

Ron released him roughly with an angry grunt, stepping away from him without giving him a view of his back. He knew enough that enemies always attacked you on the back. And even if Lucius Malfoy was tied up to a wooden chair; things happened. He wasn’t about to take a chance with that man. He kept his wand pointed at him partly, his wand hand lying on the side of his upper thigh, wanting to give him the impression that he really wasn’t going to hex him come the time he escape, if he found a way to untangle himself first.

Malfoy stared at him, a small twist of his lips the only indication that he heard what Ron had said.

“So, a Weasley, dead? About time. There is too many of -” He was cut off by a sharp slap landing across his cheek. Ron leaned over him, his knees brushing against Malfoy’s, his face red, his blue eyes glittering with anger as Lucius rightened his head again.

He then did something very unexpected that had Ron reeling from the surprise. He laughed. A loud, cold, harsh cackle that rang through out the chamber. Ron was stunned for only a second before the anger came back full force. He wanted to slap him again, slap him silly, till his cheeks were tinted pink, till they held evidence of a hand print. Till he winced. Ron didn’t do anything of that sort, instead resigning to ball his hands into tightly coiled fists, an inner silent voice telling him that slapping Malfoy would only make him laugh harder.

“SHUT UP!” He roared, his gaze going momentarily hazy as he glared at the wretched man. He pointedly aimed the wand at Malfoy, the tip so close to his chest that he could just jab it into his chest and murmur an Avada Kedavra and be done with him forever. Again, a silent voice, more of a nagging jab in his chest, told him that he didn’t possess enough hate to kill the man.

Malfoy stopped laughing as fast as he started and raised an amused eyebrow at the seething Ron.

“Why don’t you…make me,” he said in a dangerously low voice that was asking for trouble.

Ron didn’t know what possessed him, he really didn’t have an utter clue. He found himself taking the last step forward, more of a baby step, before claiming Malfoy’s lips in an angry kiss, his wand hand twining into the silvery strands of his long hair, his wand twisting around the hair, his other hand grasping Malfoy’s jaw tightly, sure to leave an angry bruise behind. Malfoy wasn’t joking when he vocally insinuated something from Ron. He gave as good as he got. It was a duel of lips and teeth and tongues. Ron yelped as his lip was pierced, a droplet of red blood smearing across his lower lip, before moaning as Malfoy took the opportunity to lick his bottom lip, tasting.

Lack of oxygen became a problem as they tortured each others mouths, neither one of them wanting to relent, to submit. Ron pulled his mouth away, gasping. He opened his eyes to see Malfoy’s lips, red and bloody and puffy, not bothering to look at him properly. Ron gasped again, a different release of oxygen. He took notice that he was straddling Malfoy’s lap, grinding his groin against Malfoy’s. And even more, both of them were hard.

Ron cursed, wiping his mouth against his shirt sleeve before climbing off Malfoy’s lap, almost turning around, before remembering that his back was better left unharmed, and instead turned halfway, giving Malfoy a view of his rigid profile as he glared down at his wand.

What the hell was wrong with him? Kissing Lucius Malfoy? Lucius fucking Malfoy! And getting hard. He gave an uncontrollable twitch as his cock pushed up uncomfortably against his pants.

He sat down on the lone chair a few feet away from Malfoy, holding his wand close to his chest, making sure the tip directly faced Malfoy’s chest. It was time to wait for Moody, and the rest of the Aurors. He just hoped they wouldn’t take too long in arriving. He needed to get out of there as soon as possible. As.Soon.As.Possible.

fin

Originally posted here, on April 29, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

Severus can’t seem to recall the start of his and Black’s – relationship, if it can be called that. All that he can recall is the sex, the angry pants and moans, the hateful words falling from Black’s lips, the fast and furious hands tugging on his robes. Severus remembers the smell perpetrating the air, the stale smell of sour firewhiskey as Black whispers acid words in his ear, promising to make him pay, promising him pain, promises, promises, promises. At the end he never goes through with them.

Severus closes his eyes at night, in his cold and dark dungeon, and remembers Black sucking him, his lips red from the exertion, lips glistening from Severus’ come and his own saliva. He remembers Black’s hands grasping his arse, pulling his crotch closer so he could take more of his cock into his mouth. He remembers so much, scenes playing out in his mind like a never ending movie. Some nights he takes out his pensieve and sits at his desk, staring into the murky depths, his hand twitching around his wand. He wants to drag the memories out and put them away and forget. Forget the sex, forget Black’s face as he comes. Forget the texture of Black’s hair as he pulls on the strands, urging him to suck faster, to finish it so he can leave. At the end he never goes through with it.

The memories dwell and fester and drive Severus mad. He wakes up sweating and gasping at night, his sheets twisted around his legs as he feels his come fall in revulets down his inner thighs.

Severus can’t seem to recall the start of his and Black’s – relationship, due to the simple fact that it never began.

fin

Originally posted here, on April 02, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

Shhh, don’t cry, it’s alright, I won’t hurt you. No, don’t move. I’ve got you. Your wrists are so frail, so small, no, don’t scream, I’m here, I’ll protect you. My beautiful butterfly. Just stay still now, it will only hurt for a moment. Yes, take a deep breath, look at me, do you see how much I love you? My beautiful, beautiful butterfly. Shhh, don’t cry out, I’m only biting softly, you taste so good, my small butterfly. Mine, all mine. Do you know how beautiful you are? Your skin so soft and pure and white, I want to–no, no, don’t struggle, please, you’re mine now, my pure little butterfly. Hold still, you don’t need these barriers, let me take them off now. Shush now, I want to see you. Yes, yes, lift your hips, let me, let me fill you, let me collect you. So beautiful. All mine. Don’t whimper, no, look at me, open your eyes, I love you, I need you, my beautiful boy, my butterfly. I will protect you, me, yes, me. Yes, sigh, let me kiss you, you taste like innocence, the sweetest innocence there is, all for me. Yes, yes, wrap your arms around me, hold me as I hold you. Let me keep you, let me cherish you. I’ve got you, open your legs now, yes, like that, shhh, it’s alright, don’t be afraid, it’ll feel good, so good, I promise. You’re so warm, so slick, mine, all mine. Yes, mine, all mine. Let me fill you. Shhh, it’s alright, don’t scream. You’re so tight, so small, let me kiss you, yes, yes, hold me tight, I’ve got you, my sweet butterfly. I’ve got you.

fin

Originally posted here, on March 28, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

I can feel him standing behind me, his breath hot against the nape of neck. I shiver as I dice the onion, my eyes tearing up as I gaze unblinkingly at the white bulb. My heart beats faster as I feel him move, reaching over my shoulder and opening the cupboard above my head, his body leaning heavily against my back. I start panting softly as he rummages through the cupboard, looking for god knows what, his body rubbing against mine almost as if he’s fucking me; up and down, down and up.

I almost moan when his free hand falls upon my hip, just a feather touch. My hand stills on the knife’s handle as I feel the heat from his palm seep through my trousers and onto my skin. It doesn’t take long to get to my groin.

“Aha, here he is, the little bugger,” Sirius murmurs softly against my ear, his hair tickling my cheek, making me shiver again.

He’s holding a squirming brown kneazle in his hand and I watch as he rubs its soft fur with his thumb. I swallow a gasp as he starts rubbing my hip with his other thumb, timing the strokes with the rubbing of the kneazle’s fur. I grasp the knife handle tightly as he stops rubbing my hip and spreads his open palm against it, the heat scorching me. A bead of perspiration forms on my forehead.

I sigh in semi-relief and disappointment when he steps back, my back unbelievably bare and cold. He keeps his hand on my hip for a second or two, and I can feel him watching me as I resume dicing the onion. His hand slides away from my hip slowly and then he’s walking away, whispering soothing words to the kneazle as the kitchen door slams shut.

fin

Originally posted here, on January 26, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

You come down on my cock slowly, your thighs straddling my waist as you take me in and then pull out fast, faster, fasterfasterfaster. You fuck yourself on me. I sneer as you moan, your breath on my neck, your clammy hands on my forearms. This is what you want. The power. Power over me, power over yourself. You want to lead and I will willingly follow you. You keen in lust, an orgasm rocking through you and your vocal cords decide to betray you. You scream and shout, and for once I get to see a wild, untamed, loud Remus. I watch as your eyes glaze over. Your hands are bruising my arms and I smirk.

We never kiss. It’s a dance, you see. You glare at me in the hallways and I sneer back. We dance around each other like two bloody idiots who have nothing better to do. We’re creating a masterpiece, you and I. The artists is what we are.

You pull out with a low grunt and sprawl down next to me. I stare at the darkened ceiling above us. My body is sticky with sweat and your bodily fluids, which rained down on my navel as you let yourself go, stroking your full and throbbing cock as you rode me. I chuckle softly, no amusement present. It’s funny in a non-amusing way, the fact that I never find absolution with you. This dance, this game between us started with me as the master and you as the puppet. When did it all change? When did you turn the tables on me? I honestly can’t seem to recall.

I turn my head to the side and look at you. You are staring at me as if you have never seen me before. As if I am a stranger. And I am. And you never will know me. I don’t even know myself. I sit up, and stare at my limp cock. I’m not hard anymore. It’s unbelievable how my arousal can just disappear in such a short period of time without finding release. But of course, I rarely find release when you take control over the situation. You’re selfish, needy, you don’t care about anyone’s needs but your own. It’s not as if my cock stays aroused for long. It never does with you. Just enough for you to use it. I chuckle again, hollowly, without any emotion. My cock is a thing now. Here for your own pleasure.

You sit up beside me and you’re staring at me through my curtain of dark hair. Did you know that I washed it before you came? I always wash it before you come for another of our random interludes. Did you know that I burned my skull, rubbing it frantically, the water so hot that I almost got first degree burns? I cleaned it violently, just for you. I’m doing so many things, just for you. But my hair is filthy now. I’m all filthy now. I glare at your sorrow filled face from behind my curtain of fear. Pity someone else. I’m not a pity case.

Your hand brushes against my hair and I flinch. Don’t touch me. I don’t want to be contaminated even more with your filth. I notice with an inward smirk that your eyes become brighter, darker, sadder. Am I hurting your fragile ego? You are probably feeling elated, victorious. You have used the infamous, sullen faced, greasy haired Severus Snape yet again.

Why don’t you leave now? Go tell your fucking bloody Gryffindor mates on how you have used me. How you came down on my cock yet again and rode it. Tell them how I never came. Tell them how you loved using me, tearing me to pieces, breaking me. Go ahead. I know it’s burning within you. It’s always burning within you.

You stand up abruptly, and put your clothes on in a frantic rush, jerking, shaking in…excitement? It can’t possibly be anger, can it? Why would you be angry? You’ve used me yet again. You sit and put your trainers on and try to knot the shoe laces, but your hands are jelly. You curse under your breath and leave your shoes as they are, untied, messy. You stand up and reach for your cloak, which is laying on a chair, and as you put it on, I stare at my cloak, folded neatly underneath where your cloak was previously. I shudder. My cloak must be reeking with your smell. I must ask one of the school elves to wash it tonight.

Oh, Remus? Don’t forget your wand. It’s right beside me. Grab it before I do and curse you. You bend and snatch the wand, sending me a glare. And I sneer. This is the last night we will be spending together. Do not corner me, and I will not corner you. You turn to me at the door. What in the bloody hazes are you looking at? Go on your merry way now. Just go already. You make me sick. You make me feel filthy. You make me filthy. You turn and I sigh in relief. Yes, leave, leaveleaveleave.

I am alone now, surrounded by your smell, and the smell of sweat and cum and sex. I will probably see you in this room again soon, won’t I? Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. Maybe someday I will find absolution with you. Someday. For now, I find it in myself. Because that is the only absolution there is.

fin

Originally posted here, on January 17, 2006, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

Warm fingers are sliding through his hair, caressing his face. It feels like the kiss of a feather, like the soft wind when it rustles through his clothes. He smiles. It’s a nice feeling. He feels loved, secure. The fingers are touching his closed eyelids, caressing them so very softly. They travel down to his nose and Harry wrinkles his nose without thought. The warm fingers pause for only a second and then go down to his lips, which he parts. The fingers are gone suddenly and then a hand is on his jaw, shaping it, caressing it. He feels the pressure of a palm, and then the fingers are back, spidery fingers which move with graceful grace and slow precision, as if tormenting him on purpose. The fingers are sliding down his throat so slow, too slow, and Harry frowns and squirmes under his sheets. His sheets feel like hot coal. They’re burning his flesh. He can’t breathe. The fingers are gone all too sudden, and his neck is left bare and cold, so cold, and Harry shivers, but his flesh still burns. He’s hot and cold. Is he delusional? Is he dreaming? Who do the fingers belong to? They feel like the fingers of Sirius, but Sirius is gone.

Harry opens his eyes, and they find gray one’s. The hand is back on his face and Harry smiles, for he’s looking up into the face of someone he misses and loves and desires. He doesn’t know if it’s real or not, maybe he’s dreaming, or imagining things that are not there, but he doesn’t care. The touch of those fingers feel real. The emotion in the grey eyes are real. They pierce through Harry’s soul. So bright and tender and there. They are caressing his face as if memorizing every imperfection and blemish.

“I’m not here, Harry,” Sirius whispers and his voice sounds so far away, like an echo.

Harry smiles and leans into the touch. “Yes, you are. You have to be. Your fingers, so warm…Sirius,” Harry whispers softly, his eyes closing, saying Sirius’ name with a touch of want and desire.

There’s a sharp catch in Sirius’ breathing and his fingers are not so feather light anymore, but hold pressure. They are sliding roughly down his face to his throat and shoulder blades, which stick out through his thin white cotton t-shirt. It feels sticky against Harry’s chest and Sirius’ fingers are burning through the cotton, searing his chest, just like his blankets are burning his body.

“I’m not real, Harry,” Sirius whispers into his ear, leaning over him, and Harry doesn’t want to believe him. He’s there, so real, so warm and hot, so there. Harry can feel him breathing against his ear, holding his body tense above his own, not moving, just there, driving Harry slowly mad.

“Say it, Harry,” a low whisper against his ear, Sirius’ warm breath tickling his earlobe, sending electric shivers down his spine, which reach his cock, hardening it. Harry groans softly and thrashes his head from side to side, shutting his eyes tightly, not willing to accept that he isn’t real. He’s there, he’s there. It’s not a dream. It’s not a delusion of a depressed 16 year old boy. Sirius has come back, somehow, he’s there, with him.

Sirius’ warm breath leaves the vicinity of his ear, leaving it bare and cold. The big, warm looming body leaning over him moves away and Harry whimpers at the loss of the warm cocoon. He reaches out blindly, his eyes not willing to open. His hand collides with Sirius’ and he tugs him forward with force he doesn’t know he has. There’s the feel of his bed dipping, and he opens his eyes just enough to see that Sirius is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him, his gray eyes glowing in the darkened room. Harry finds himself entranced by those luminous eyes. Without thinking, without a second thought, he brings Sirius’ hand to his mouth and sucks on his index finger, never taking his eyes off of Sirius’. He watches as Sirius opens his mouth wantonly, his eyes turning even brighter, a look in his eyes that sends hot tingles of anticipation coursing through Harry’s veins and his cock is getting even harder. Harry wonders only for a moment if he can orgasm by watching the look on Sirius’ face. Sirius swallows thickly and tries to control his breathing. Harry can’t have any of that. He punishes Sirius’ hand with licks and bites and open mouth kisses and he’s making love to Sirius’ hand, sucking and licking each finger, coating it with his desire, wetting it, and Harry knows he’s real. He has to be.

“I’m not real.” It’s a statement said through clenched teeth and tightly shut eyes.

“You’re not real.”

Sirius’ hand slides away from Harry’s mouth, leaving a trail of his saliva on his cheek. Sirius brings his own hand to his mouth, his eyes hooded, and sucks on each of his fingers, tasting Harry’s desire, mixing his own with Harry’s.

Harry doesn’t know what comes over him then. He’s climaxing, soaring, flying. His hands clench at the sheets as he leaves and comes back slowly, arching his back as spasm after spasm courses through his body. When he’s finally sedated and spent, gasping, his body humming, his eyes slowly open.

The silhouettes of his mates sleeping peacefully on their beds, the soft moonlight coming through his window, and shadows greet his eyes.

Sirius is gone. And Harry wonders. Was it real or was it a delusion?

fin

Originally posted here on October 25, 2005, with original comments included. Please direct all comments there. Thank you.

It takes time to heal, to understand, to know how much you can take, how much you can let out. It’s what you know you can do, it’s what you know you shouldn’t, it’s what you hate; the time, the way it moves endlessly, never stopping, never beginning. And it’s at that moment in time, with him standing beside you, looking into the fire, his body tense, his eyes thoughtful, that you realize that time has taken it’s time for so long and it’s finally stopped, for a second, for a minute, or it could be for an hour or day, a year, or forever. It’s when you realize that you have finally found that place, found that thing that completes you, that you know time would never be able to carry away in it’s wings, something that is yours and yours alone.

“I-” you begin, your voice breaking, stopping, unable to voice out what your heart desires to let go.

He turns toward you, his eyes dark, and he looks at you and you know, you know, and he knows, he knows. And it’s something so intangible, so deep, so…you can’t stop now, time has started moving again, and you feel you’ll lose him forever if you don’t move. You look into those eyes, those eyes filled with secrets, with fear, with tangles of unimaginable things you would never quite understand, but that you could see, and hear. You take a step closer and he steps away. He’s running away with time, he’s leaving, flying away.

You take a giant step, a giant leap of hope, of love, of everything dwelling inside of you, things you need to say, things you need to show him.

You kiss him and it’s like hitting that chord that makes you know, makes you understand that you’ve finally hit home, that you’ve finally understood the meaning of it all.

You need to have him with you in that place in time, so you look at him, and your forehead falls onto his and you look at him. It’s the simple things really, the simple things you love about him. His eyes, the way they can look into your soul, the way they express what he feels, what he needs to say.

“I need…” you begin yet again, but you know there’s no words to express what you’re thinking. There’s no need to say it really, because he knows. His hands wander slowly to your face and he touches your cheek, a feather of a touch, the kiss of a promise. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your hands. It’s erratic and you know he feels what you feel, you know he wants what you want, and it’s so natural, so natural that you turn your head and kiss the palm of the hand that is caressing your face.

He breathes in sharply, and his eyes never stray from yours, just as yours never stray from his. You love each other and it’s time that has finally let it happen, it’s time that’s finally found a way to bring it all into focus. He leans in and you lean in and your mouths find each other and it’s the promise of a new beginning, a new beginning filled with a promise of everything and nothing, a promise with a beginning and end. And you know.

fin