Extra Special Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ACCIOSLASH!
Trying New Things
~~~*~~~
Professor
Granger walked the familiar path to the dungeon, her green robes billowing
behind her as she rounded corners at a steady clip. If she didn’t hurry, she would be late for
her weekly tea with Professor Snape, who had taken the new Transfiguration
professor under his wing shortly after Hermione had come to fill the position
Minerva had left to become the Headmistress.
Hermione
slowed to a sedate walk as she neared Snape’s office, and calmly knocked on the
doorjamb of the open door. Snape was
just sitting down in front of the fire, a steaming pot of tea, two cups, a
sugar pot and a cream pot sitting on the table between their customary chairs. He gestured for her to join him, and Hermione
smiled as she sat across from him.
Without
asking, Snape began to prepare her tea, but Hermione stopped him. “No milk, please,” she said.
Snape
handed her the cup with black tea and sugar, his eyebrow raised. “You’ve never wanted it that way before,” he
commented.
She
shrugged. “Our lives have changed so
much since the end of the war,” she said.
“I was thinking that it was time to try a few new things.”
Snape made
a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, a sound similar to a hum, and
sipped at his tea.
“Think
about it, Severus,” she pushed. “Isn’t
there anything you would like to try, anything at all?”
Snape
didn’t answer, and changed the topic to the upcoming Christmas holidays. But in the back of his mind, he could think
of at least one thing he would like to try, now that he had the time.
~*~*~
The club
was packed with men. Mostly young men,
probably University students, but there were a few older men there, too. They mostly stayed at the tables, watching
the pretty young men dance to the pounding music that had undecipherable lyrics
buried beneath too much base.
Snape sat
in the corner, and shifted uncomfortably in his tight black leather trousers. He had often heard his Muggle-born students
commenting on how he looked like someone out of a “Goth club,” and he had been
silently curious about these clubs for a handful of years. While he had been chatting with Hermione two
weeks earlier, it had seemed like an excellent idea to give it a try.
But as he
leaned forward, feeling the skin exposed by his net shirt stick to the leather
of the booth, he found that this was not one of his better ideas. In fact, he was ready to place it on the list
of Bloody Stupid Moves, right under joining the Death Eaters. Snape sighed irritably; there really was no
point to his being there. He would just
leave.
“Snape? What are you doing here?”
Snape felt
the blood freeze in his veins. Of all
the gay clubs in
The young
man’s black hair was gelled into dangerous-looking spikes, and his eyes were
heavily lined with black kohl, covering the lids of his eyes, and coming out
into long points that nearly reached his temples. He didn’t wear his eyeglasses anymore, but
since Harry didn’t seem to be having any trouble seeing, Snape assumed he must
have had them fixed somehow. But that
wasn’t what drew Snape’s attention.
Potter was
shirtless, his long, lithe limbs glistening with some kind of oil that
reflected the pulsing, multi-coloured lights around them. He wore what might have been trousers, except
the legs of the black leather garment were little more than a handful of
inch-wide horizontal straps held together by long vertical straps that ran down
the sides of his legs, stopping past the tops of his shining black combat
boots. The almost-trousers hung low on
Potter’s hips, held up by a black belt studded with metal grommets.
Harry
smiled, his crimson-stained lips stretching in a predatory curve. “Would you like to dance?” he asked. Or at least, that’s what Snape thought he asked. Either way, he heard a little voice in his
head that sounded disturbingly like Hermione, reminding him that he was there
to try new things, after all. And for
some reason, he decided to listen to the voice again.
He stood,
and followed as Harry found them a space amid the crush of bodies on the
floor. Snape joined him, and began
reluctantly moving to the pounding music.
Potter seemed perfectly at ease, bending and curving his body in ways
that Snape was pretty sure should be illegal.
Gradually,
Snape’s movements relaxed, and he decided that he was not going to be out-done
by Harry Potter. He began prowling
around Potter, rolling his hips in time with the beat. Harry moved closer, and Snape felt bold
enough to reach out and run his hands over the young man’s bare torso.
Harry wound
his arms around Snape’s neck, and began undulating against him. Snape could feel Harry’s breath hot against
his neck, and he shivered as the sensation was sent directly to his groin. He felt Harry shift, and Snape turned his
head to look at his dance partner.
Potter
swooped in, pressing their lips together in a crushing kiss. Surprised at first, Snape responded quickly
by opening his mouth, their tongues meeting between the clash of teeth. Their dancing was momentarily forgotten as
they clutched at each other, fighting for dominance of the kiss.
The music
changed, slowing to a carnal beat. Harry
stepped back, breaking their kiss as he grabbed and tugged him in the direction
of the table. Snape resisted briefly,
but Harry turned around, and smiled at him as he leaned in so that his mouth
was beside Snape’s ear.
“I don’t
know about you,” he shouted, “but after that, I need a drink or four. Besides, red really isn’t your colour.”
Snape
scowled as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, trying to get rid
of the lipstick smears Harry had left behind.
But he stilled followed the enticing sight of Potter’s arse as Harry
wove his way off the dance floor. Harry
lightly kept hold of Snape’s wrist, like a not-entirely necessary leash that he
used to lead Snape back to the booth.
Miraculously,
the booth was still empty. Harry raised
an eyebrow at Snape; no available seating would be wasted in a club as busy as
this. Not without some help, that is. Snape smiled, not bothering to look innocent
as he made a sweeping gesture of invitation to Harry.
Once
settled, Snape turned to Harry. He
wasn’t sure what he was going to say; after pawing at the young man while said
young man had his tongue in Snape’s mouth, Snape felt a bit uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if this was something he did on
a regular basis, after all. But Harry
held up a hand, surreptitiously casting a spell so they wouldn’t need to shout
to be heard.
“Oh, no,
Snape,” he said. “There’s a two-drink
minimum tonight. You have to have two
drinks for every question you ask.
Payment in advance.”
Snape
raised an eyebrow, but sat back as he let Potter conjure up something called
Goldschlager and two shot glasses. Snape
had a bad feeling about letting Harry chose their drinks, but considering how
his list of Stupid Things He Had Done Tonight was filling up, he decided he
might as well add to it while he was on a roll.
He reached for a shot glass, and noticed Harry was holding his up in a
salute.
“To new
experiences,” Harry said, and downed it in one go.
“What do
you mean?” Snape demanded. But Harry
didn’t answer him. Instead, he lifted
the bottle and waved it lightly in the air between them. Snape saw small golden flecks in the clear liquid,
catching the lights much like the oil on Harry’s body had. He frowned, and threw back his shot, planning
to have another right away.
Instead,
the sudden, burning sensation of artificial cinnamon blazed a trail from the
back of his tongue and down his throat.
Snape coughed slightly, and shook his head as his sinuses cleared
abruptly. Harry chuckled.
“Good?” he
asked.
In
response, Snape poured them each another shot.
“Two drink minimum, remember?” he asked.
His voice was lacking the planned venom, but he blamed the tingling the
alcohol had left behind.
Harry gave
a hard smile, challenge flashing in his eyes as he reached for his shot. Snape finished his first, not so much as
flinching now that he knew what to expect.
“What are
you doing here?” Snape immediately regretted wasting his question.
“Trying to
have a good time,” Harry retorted. “What
about you?”
“At
present, I am engaging in some sort of bizarre drinking game with a young man
who looks like he left his leash and collar at home.”
Harry gaped
as Snape hid his discomfort by pouring two more shots. His elbow nudged his empty whiskey glass from
earlier as he set the bottle back down.
Perhaps this was not the best of ideas; he thought absently as he closed
his eyes, tilted his head back, and leisurely swallowing the spicy-sweet
alcohol. He thought he heard a squeak
from Harry, but when he looked over, Snape only saw Harry taking his own shot.
As he
straightened, Snape noted a languid feeling in his limbs. It had been a long time since he had gone
drinking, and here he was, well on his way to getting pissed with Harry Bloody
Potter. With the care of someone who
does not want others to know they are into their cups, Snape placed his glass
on the table.
Harry
poured them each another shot, his eyebrow quirked. “I would ask if you want another,” he said,
“but I suppose you’d tell me it was a foolish question.”
“And you’d
be right,” Snape said, and reached for his glass again.
This drink
went down even easier than the previous three, and Snape found himself enjoying
the bitter-sweet liquor. He rolled a few
drops of the cloying taste around in his mouth before turning back to
Harry. Snape had wanted to interrogate
Harry, but the glazed look in the young man’s eyes that was not entirely due to
alcohol chased away whatever he was going to say.
“Come here
often?” he asked instead.
Harry shook
his head. “My first time,” he said,
slurring slightly. “But you look pretty
comfortable here.”
“Actually,
I’ve never been here before,” Snape said, and reached for the bottle.
“Hey!”
Harry protested. “That wasn’t a
question.”
“Well
then?”
Harry
chewed on his lip, and leaned a bit closer to Snape. “So,” he said slowly, “you like boys, too?”
“Not boys, Potter,” Snape said evenly. He gave Harry a slow, appraising look. “Men.”
Harry
flushed slightly, but it was barely noticeable in their dim little corner. He waved at the bottle. “Pour away,” he said.
Two more
shots later, four if you added all the servings together, Snape smiled. It was a loose, easy smile, and it would have
given Harry a start if he weren’t already grinning sloppily himself.
“So,” Snape
said, “Harry. Where did you learn to dance like that?”
“Ginny
Weasley,” Harry answered. “She wanted
someone to practice with, and Ron’s got two left feet.”
Snape
shuddered slightly at the image of the mentioned siblings dancing like he and
Harry had. Shaking it off, he waited
expectantly for Harry’s question, but Harry was engrossed in a study of how the
golden flecks floated in the alcohol left in the bottle.
“I wonder
what happens to the gold bits we drink,” Harry murmured.
“Likely you
don’t want to think about it too much,” Snape said. “Your question?”
This time,
Harry’s blush was easily noticed. “It’s
more of a request,” he said so quietly that Snape had to lean in, despite the
sound-dampening charm around their table.
“Then ask
it, and I will see if I can grant it,” Snape said.
“Well, what
I was wondering is,” Harry said, and paused.
“Will you kiss me again?”
He should have
said no, Snape knew. But he instead
rationalized that the purpose of tonight was to do things he wouldn’t normally
do. “Yes,” he said, and moved to grasp
Harry’s chin. Harry was ahead of him,
and he turned to meet Snape’s mouth with his own.
This time,
their kiss was slow and languorous.
Snape coaxed Harry’s mouth open, and gently slid his tongue along
Harry’s. Harry’s mouth tasted like a
Muggle candy Snape had once tried, something Albus had called ‘Hot Reds.’ In passing, Snape wondered if he tasted the
same, but then Harry moaned into his mouth and clutched at Snape’s net shirt.
Somehow,
Snape’s arms had wound around Harry; one was behind Harry’s back, his hand
curved around Harry’s narrow waist, and the other hand had a firm grip on
Harry’s leather clad thigh. Harry moved
closer to Snape, lifted his hips as he did so, and groaned as his erection
brushed against Snape’s forearm. Snape
bit back a groan at the feel of Harry’s heated length, more aware than ever of
the growing and unbearable tightness in his own trousers. Withdrawing his tongue, Snape nibbled at
Harry’s lips, and then moved to work his way along the underside of Harry’s
jaw.
“I want to
touch you,” Harry gasped. “That’s not a
question,” he added.
Snape
smiled against Harry’s neck. “Then do
so.”
Slowly at
first, Harry slid him hand down Snape’s chest, lightly raking his fingernails
over Snape’s nipples. Snape moaned, and
pulled Harry closer. Growing bolder,
Harry moved his hand lower, resting it on the straining leather covering the
evidence of Snape’s arousal.
Snape
tightened his grip on Harry’s waist, his fingers digging into the flesh, and he
brought his other hand to press Harry’s hand more firmly against his erection.
“Touch me,”
he rasped in Harry’s ear, flicking his tongue lightly along the shell of his
ear. “Don’t tease.”
Harry
fumbled with the fastenings of Snape’s trousers, the alcohol and his eagerness
getting the better of him. Snape
responded in kind, releasing Harry’s belt as quickly as he could one-handed, and
opening the button at the top with a flick of his fingers before sliding down
the zipper. His fingers met with hard flesh
immediately, and Snape grinned as he latched onto the soft skin at the base of
Harry’s throat, gnawing lightly; it seemed he wasn’t the only one who decided
pants would not work with tight leather trousers.
Gasping as
he felt Snape’s fingers curl around his erection, Harry redoubled his efforts
in opening Snape’s trousers. Finally
reaching his goal, Harry grasped Snape’s length, and firmly stroked his partner
several times before suddenly stopping to tease the taught patch of skin just
beneath the head. Snape moaned, and
tightened his own grip to just the pleasurable side of pain.
“What did I
say about teasing?” he demanded, swiping his thumb over the slightly leaking
tip of Harry’s erection.
“That...
was a question,” Harry gasped, but resumed stroking, his grip firm as he moved
his hand up and down Snape’s length.
Snape did the same to Harry, but alternating the degrees of pressure as
he stroked.
“Kiss me
again,” Harry demanded, and Snape was happy to comply.
They
kissed, their panting breaths mingling between them, hissing out around their duelling
tongues. The harsh beat of the music
gave them a rhythm for both the kiss and their touches. Harry’s hand began to falter as he neared
orgasm, and he stopped altogether as he arched up into Snape’s hand. He stopped breathing for a handful of seconds
and froze as his warm, white ejaculate arced up past Snape’s fingers, and
splashed onto Harry’s abdomen.
After a few
moments of lazily returning Snape’s kiss, Harry pulled back and slid beneath
the table to the floor, kneeling between Snape’s legs. Quickly, he took Snape into his mouth,
swallowing as he worked the full length as deeply as he could, and not stopping
until his nose brushed the dark curls at the base of Snape’s erection. He bobbed his head up and down several times,
pausing occasionally to swirl his tongue around the tip before going back down
again.
Snape’s
head hit the back of the booth with a dull thud, and he groaned at the
beautiful heat of Harry’s mouth around him.
Disjointed words flitted through Snape’s mind -- sinful, natural, heavenly, don’teverstop, more. He was so close, and he could feel the
tightness building. All he needed was
just something more to push him over the edge.
As though
reading Snape’s mind, Harry deep-throated him again, and hummed deeply. The vibrations made Snape’s back teeth
tingle, and that was all he needed. He
grabbed at Harry’s heavily gelled hair, holding him in place as Snape bit his
lip to keep from shouting during his release.
Harry
continued licked and sucking until Snape was completely spent, and then he
climbed back up to his seat, licking his lips.
He missed a bit on the corner of his mouth, and Snape leaned over to
lick the white drop away, tasting a strange mixture of salt and cinnamon. Harry smiled, and lazily kissed Snape for a
few seconds before sitting back in the booth.
“Hermione
was right,” Harry said suddenly.
“I beg your
pardon?” Snape scowled, but the effect was ruined by the sated smile that kept
threatening. “Why is Miss Granger the
first thing you think of?”
“Oh.” Harry laughed when he realized how it
sounded. “It’s just something she said
to me a couple of days ago.”
“And that
is?”
Harry eyed
the bottle on the table, and then reached out to push it a bit more out of
reach. “She said that I really ought to
start trying new things. She even
suggested this club.”
“Of course
she did,” Snape said, losing the battle against the smile. He was going to have to buy that young woman
something very nice. “Well, now that we
have the time, I imagine there are quite a few new experiences ready for the
trying.”
Harry
looked at him. “Oh, really?” he
asked. “And what new things would you
like to try?”
“I would
have to say that that is for me to know,” Snape said, grinning, “and for you to
find out.”
~~~*~~~
~fin~