The Lovers' Circle, Part Five
"He's asleep," Ron informed them darkly, as they quietly entered the apartment.
"How is he?" Hermione asked, moving across the room to enfold her fiancé in a languid embrace.
Ron chuckled, kissing the witch's head and settling her over his lap. "Someone's been a busy little teacher," he told her, though his eyes—hooded with anger and arousal—were staring at the Potions master.
Disquieting, Severus thought, to be subject to that gaze.
"He'll be fine, I think, if you've managed to talk some sense into him," the wizard replied, directing his response at Hermione. "Tired, then? Go curl up with Harry. The Professor and I need to chat."
It surprised Severus a great deal to see how meekly the woman obeyed Ron. But then, assertiveness is one thing, and masterdom quite another.
"Look, we're not friends. I don't even much like you, but you're a good man, I think, under it all, and Harry wants you, so—"
"Why is it," Severus interrupted, taking a chair, "that you feel free to arrange his life? Harry is not a child, not weak. He is perfectly capab—"
"He's my best friend, Severus, and I think you have at least a partial understanding of what he means to me, what he and Hermione mean to me—what we mean to each other."
"I'm an intruder then—or is it I'm just an amusement, someone to discard when I no longer amuse the members of your little harem?"
"Sod it, but you're the worst kind of prat! You know how Harry feels about you—and I can't believe you'd suggest that anyone could tell either of them what to do!"
Severus smirked at that, but then stiffened a bit. He was discomfitted by the discussion and the man with whom he was having it. "You are accusing your intended of being a bossy bottom, is that it? And Harry of being . . . what, exactly?"
"I'm not making any accusations. I just trying to explain. We don't think about it like that. We didn't plan on being . . . so close, it just happened."
"After what the three of you have been through, that is not surprising."
"You were there for a lot of it, too. I can, I do, respect that. Shit, Severus, do you think I have any idea what to do, here? I've loved both of them since . . . well, I don't actually know how long, and now you—and what happened—it's confusing, and I just want us all to be happy. Even you, when it comes right down to it," Ron said, running a hand through his hair in consternation.
It was something of a comfort to find the younger wizard as flustered by their situation as he was, and Severus felt grateful that he would deign to share such a thing with him, after . . . . "Mr. Weasley—"
"Ron. I have no counsel to offer you. I have none to offer myself."
"Well, here's the thing. We're not big planners."
The Auror grinned and continued. "We've always just taken things as they've come, you know, and now you've come, so . . . so I guess what I want to know is where does that leave us?"
"'Us'? You and Hermione and Harry?"
"And you. Yeah. I think you've already guessed that we don't have a problem sharing."
"Indeed. Imagine my shock. It is a common Slytherin preconception that Gryffindors are honor-hogging prudes."
"You've met my future wife, yes?" Ron replied in a speaking way.
Severus flushed. "'Met' her, yes, you could say that. I find it difficult to accept that you can share her so freely. Were she mine . . . ."
"I know what you mean. Oh. Were she yours. So, you don't share, then?" Ron asked, his brows wrinkling in concern.
"I'm not certain what I do, to be honest. It's never been an option."
"What, no free love among the snakes?"
"I'm certain your house has its own preconceptions. As a student, I saw more study than sex in Slytherin, and that led to . . . . Best just say it led to activities in which I would never have participated willingly later, and leave it at that," Severus told him, leaning back defensively in his chair, lest the other man take it into his head to thrash him again for his vague admission.
But Ron only looked sad. "Merlin," he breathed more than said. "It must have been . . . ."
"Nearly impossible. Were it not for Albus, I would have . . . well, fled, killed myself, done something incredibly stupid and falsely heroic in order to get myself killed. There are many things, in the past, that I would undo if possible."
"I always respected Professor Dumbledore, but I—if I'd known—I'm not sure I could have."
"You're a chess-player, as well, Mr. Weasley."
"Yeah, but my pieces aren't people."
"Aren't they?" Severus asked bemusedly, rubbing his fingers along the arm of his chair. "I do not pretend that, given a choice between us, I would be first in Harry's desires."
"You haven't been listening to me, Snape."
"Severus." It's ridiculous to stand on any sort of ceremony, now.
"Fine, then. Severus. Harry is in love with you, not me or Hermione. He wants to be with you."
"But your . . . friendship with him is stronger than anything I could offer him."
"It's just different, is all. And you get to have a say in how things go."
"Yeah. And you get a say."
"Would you stop doing that? Would I be out here with you instead of in there with them if you didn't?"
The image of the three Gryffindors, naked and laying together, moving together, caused Severus to shift in his chair.
"You like that idea," Ron said, his voice suddenly heavy with an emotion the other wizard knew well. "You like the idea of the three of us together. . . . What about the four of us?"
"The four of us?" Severus asked hoarsely, thinking, I was just getting used to the idea of sharing one of you.
Apparently, "these things" did happen to him, were happening to him, as Ron rose from his chair, his arousal evident, and stalked toward the Potions master to kneel and splay his large, hot hands across the man's thighs.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to decide if I like you."
"I never do anything I don't want to do, Severus," Ron told him, making short work of buttons of the wizard's trousers.
Even in a subservient position, he's a top. "Oh," he gasped, as the man's mouth enveloped his cock, which decided it liked the attention very much indeed. And as long as I'm engaging in a surreal . . . comedy of sex, I might as well—"yes, like that—Christ."
Ron's laughter vibrated along the length of Severus' shaft, teasing him harder, and any further internal protests went unmade. The younger wizard wasted no time; he sucked and hummed and swallowed until Severus' balls were tight against his body, his hands roughly grabbing Ron's hair, and he was shuddering through his release.
He is a gentleman, the man thought, as Ron tucked his spent cock carefully back into his trousers and fastened them up again.
"I do like you," he said, grinning sheepishly.
"Embarrassment does not suit you. . . . Come here."
Pulling Ron into his lap so that his back was leaning against his chest, Severus reached around and unzipped the boy's jeans, freeing his prick and then reaching for his wand.
"What are you—"
"Hush. You'll like this, I promise you," the wizard told him, before bending Ron's arms behind his back to fold them carefully in between their bodies and muttering one of his two favorite spells.
Delightful, wicked it was to feel Ron begin to struggle helplessly against the restraint charm he had cast. Erotic, delicious, to feel how his body quivered as the invisible stroking from a spell of Severus' own, lonely design began to coax the younger man toward orgasm. But not quickly. Oh, no—I want him to need it before he gains his release, he thought, discarding his wand and trailing his fingers over Ron's chest, occasionally tweaking his nipples through the soft cotton of his shirt.
"Ungh, oh, yea—fuck—please, please, please let me . . . co—ome!"
"I think not, Mr. Weasley. I rather enjoy having you at my mercy," Severus told him, biting the boy's neck, licking his ear, ghosting his hands over Ron's sides to suddenly squeeze his thighs and then cupping his balls and shifting up a bit to tease his hole.
"I can't, I can't, I can't take it—please!"
"'Please', what, Mr. Weasley?"
"Letmecomeletmeohunghyea—yeah, God! It's too . . . too . . . much, Professor. Please."
A silken laugh rolled out of Severus from somewhere too deep to name at Ron's use of his title. Fuck! I shouldn't like hearing that half so—
With great amusement, and not a little bit a raw lust, Severus hissed, "You want to come, do you? Is that what you'd like to do?"
Ron screamed inchoately as the wizard added his own fingers to the those he knew Ron already felt working his prick, stroking him off at a more rapid pace, hand over hand, until the boy—for holding him thus, Severus could not help but think of him in that way—was struggling to breathe and shriek his release in tandem, whimpering as the spell continued to torment his spending member.
Severus did not end the incantation until his magic had forced another orgasm from his captive.
"Shh," he whispered, caressing Ron's hair after ending the spell. "I think I like you, too, Mr. Weasley," he purred, turning the boy's face toward him and claiming his mouth in a demanding kiss. "Mmm," he murmured, "I like you very much, indeed."
Chest heaving from his exertions, Ron muttered, "Show off."
"Show me," a bewildered voice asked from the edge of the room.
Harry, Severus thought, starting and clasping Ron more tightly to prevent himself from tossing the young man to the floor.
"Hey, Harry. C'mere," Ron said with remarkable calmness, pushing himself off of the Potions master gently and shakily standing and opening his arms.
Severus watched the two wizards embrace each other, his heart skipping trepidatious beats in time with his rapid breaths.
"I saw. I saw how he touched you."
"Yeah? Did you like it?"
"I want it," Harry said, turning to look at his older lover. "I want you like that, Severus."
"I . . . don't know if I can," the man replied, his earlier doubts coursing through him in a crash of fear. "I don't want to hurt you."
Harry approached him and stood, one hand outstretched. Severus took it, and responded to the young man's tugging by standing up into a hug.
"You didn't hurt Ron."
"God, no," the redhead affirmed. "Best trick ever."
"Is that so, Ronald Weasley?"
The three wizards turned to look at Hermione, all of their eyes widening a bit to see that she was wearing nothing more than a hastily wrapped sheet around the generous curves of her body.
"Dear Playwitch Forum," Ron said, "I never thought this kind of thing would happen to me, but . . . ."
"I don't think Playwitch Forum takes these sorts of letters—girl parts, remember?" the witch asked, shimmying a bit. "Been having fun without us have you?"
"Come on, let's leave these two alone," Ron answered, striding across the room and tugging playfully at Hermione's linen.
She gave a surprised yelp, and dashed off with the wizard in close pursuit.
"Tag," Harry said meaningfully, when a feminine yelp echoed through the flat.
"You're it," Severus replied, bending down to kiss him.
Sometime later, and much shakier, Harry asked, "Can we?"
"I don't know."
"Well, could you maybe just fuck me, then, to start? I want to feel you inside of me, Severus—your prick, not just your fingers or your tongue."
Stalling, the wizard said, "You never seemed to mind shagging me."
Harry leaned his head against his lover's chest and sighed. "I know you're . . . concerned—"
"No, the word you want is frightened. I don't want to hurt you, as I've said, and—"
"You don't want to feel that power again, do you? Except I think, well, maybe you do."
"That power"—the control, the dominance, Severus thought, repressing a shudder. "It's too close to the other, to the ra—attack. I had no control. I had none, and I hurt you, and I liked it."
"But you're not under any sort of enchantment, now, and I trust you. I want, I need you to be more dominant, Severus. . . . I don't actually like to top."
"No. I did that for you. And . . . and I don't always like everything so . . . romantic and restrained, either. I watched you with Ron. I know that you have those same . . . urges. I want you to slake them with me."
"What, exactly, do you mean?" the Potions master asked, guiding Harry to the sofa and settling into the cushions with him. "Before we can explore . . . other aspects, I want to know precisely what you will accept and what you won't."
A burst of laughter—and what sounded like wood snapping—erupted from the direction of the bedroom.
"Are they always like that?"
"Well, they do have an audience of sorts."
Severus snorted. "Free love and exhibitionism—no wonder none of you performed better in your scholastic enterprises."
"Um, I don't think that's fair to Hermione."
"Had she not had you lot to deal with, she would have been tops in all of her classes."
Harry yawned, stretched, and buried his head into Severus' armpit, nipping at it playfully through his clothing.
"Teeth. You like teeth, don't you?"
"Sometimes biting's good," Harry said quietly, glancing down at his hands.
And then Severus remembered how Harry had first responded to being bitten. "Fuck. I am an idiot. I'm sor—"
"Don't be. Stop being so sorry that you won't . . . do things."
"I'll try. Why don't you tell me more about what you want."
"I want you to shag me. I, um, I think it'd be nice if you maybe . . . held me down."
"Held you down?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice rough. "Hold me down and fuck me, Severus. Kick my legs apart and watch my face, see how taking your cock makes me feel. God, I'd . . . I'd like that."
A stirring in his groin caused the older man to consider granting his lover's request immediately, but he restrained himself with effort. "What else?"
"I like that thing you did to Ron. Do it to me."
"And?" Severus asked, his breath coming faster.
"I like being fucked against walls and over chairs and in the water and . . . and tied up."
Severus repressed a groan, as the images of taking Harry in those ways rose in his mind. "Ron Weasley did not do any of those things to you."
"N—no," Harry replied hesitatingly, as if he feared Severus' jealousy.
"Don't stop. Answer the question."
"Which one? The one about what I want, or the one you aren't asking?"
"I don't have to know who." But I'd like to. I'd like to rip his head off—their heads off, he thought, not pausing to consider it odd that failed to include Ron in that list of Harry's previous, would-be dead lovers. "Sharing only goes so far with me, apparently," he said diffidently.
"I want you to tell me what to do," Harry responded, returning to their earlier conversational thread. "I want to feel you in control, you taking care of me."
Severus shuddered. He wanted the same thing. It was, after all, his usual method of dealing with the world, its irritants, and his lovers. "More."
"Yeah, more. That's what I want. More of you—all of you, in fact," Harry said, his mouth curving into a beguiling smile. "Now seems like a good time."
"You would like an audience, as well?" Severus asked indulgently, stroking his lover's hair and pulling him close, close enough to feel his arousal. "Why am I not surprised?"
"You are taking all this pretty well," Harry admitted, rubbing a teasing hand tantalizingly over his prick.
The affect of his self-stimulation causing his voice to tremble, Harry said, "Whatever you tell me to be, I'll be. Whatever you tell me to do, I'll do—tell me what to do, Severus. Please."
When it came right down to it, there was no way for the Potions master to resist such an impassioned plea, not from his Harry. My Harry, he thought, shifting his position so that he could bestow a possessive kiss on the younger man and also knocking his hand away from his cock. If this is what he needs . . . I can give it to him. "I'll tell you what to do," he breathed against Harry's lips, "but I won't—I can't—tell you who to be."
"Deal," Harry whispered, pressing his mouth to Severus', only to whimper when the man pulled away.
"Now, now, Mr. Potter, I believe you just requested that I provide you with . . . direction," Severus said smoothly, purposefully pitching his voice low and promising. "First direction: stand up and strip off. I want to see you," he ordered, leaning back on the sofa to watch. "Not. So. Fast," he said, allowing his tone of command to darken his words.
Harry hesitated, barely, but it was almost enough to make the Potions master rethink his promise, which the young man perceived immediately.
"It's all right. I—"
"Will not speak again until requested to do so. Slowly now, peel off that ridiculous shirt of yours."
Blushing, the young man glanced down at his "Wizards' Knobs" tee shirt, which had been a gift from Fred and George Weasley on his last birthday. I love that band, he thought, starting as Severus barked out another order.
"Hesitate again and it will be punishment, rather than direction, that you will receive."
He's really taking to it. Not surprising really, Harry thought, curling his fingers underneath the hem of his shirt and taking his time about raising it over his head. He thrust his hips out as he did so, wanting his lover to understand how much he desired him and what he was giving. "Direction," God yes.
Severus was both aroused and relieved to find Harry responding so well to the new dynamic between them. He was still nervous, but this feeling decreased as the boy threw his shirt casually to the floor, dropped his arms, and drew his hands up to the waistband of his jeans by way of his inner thighs. Fuck, he thought, seeing the way Harry's hands framed his erect prick before slowly unbuttoning himself. The little tease.
It occurred to him that he need not wait to gratify himself, given the circumstances. An obedient Harry would allow himself to be shagged through the sofa. But that isn't what he wants. Not to be used—to be loved, cared for, taken—patience, man! he ordered himself. "Nicely done, Mr. Potter. Now kindly remove the boxer shorts—no, wait—allow me," he said, retrieving his wand and casting, "Dissolvo!" and fighting a smile at Harry's reaction to finding his sky blue boxer shorts beading down his thighs.
"Hey! I liked those shorts."
"Mr. Potter, I believe that those utterances of yours constitute speech. What did I tell you about speaking out of turn?" the Potions master asked, standing up and circling the naked man. On his second pass, because Harry had not responded and also because he wanted to, Severus casually smacked the Harry's cock. "I did ask you a question."
"Y—yes, Sir. You said not to speak, Sir."
"Yes, and you did," the man purred into the nape of Harry's neck, nipping it once for good measure before looking down into his eyes. "Do. Not. Forget. It. Again. Do I make," he said, lightly twisting the head of Harry's cock to punctuate his words, "myself clear?"
It isn't fear. It's excitement. . . . But to be certain, the wizard instructed, "Should you desire to suspend any activity, you have only to say, 'Salazaar', and it will end. Further, I will bespell any . . . impediment to your speaking to remove itself should you truly wish to end anything. Do you understand?"
A flicker of amusement lit Harry's eyes, but he merely responded, "Yes, Sir."
"You will address me as"—Oh hell, why not?—'Professor' at all times."
"Very good, Mr. Potter," the Potions master praised him, thrusting his curled fingers down Harry's shaft before he spread and cupped them to tickle his balls.
The noise that issued from Harry then might have been called a giggle, except he had not taken in sufficient air to support any kind of laugh, and he quickly controlled himself. Rigid, quivering, and wanting, he stared imploringly at Severus and waited.
Dominance requires clarity, does it not? "You will, of course, need some correction for you verbal infraction, Mr. Potter, and I believe I know a suitable method of reminding you how to behave," Severus said, stepping back to consider his submissive. "But I want to hear you, so I'll not entirely silence you. Accio Harry's school tie!" he cast, and reached out to snatch from the air the red and gold slip of fabric that floated obediently from the bedroom. Handing it to the other man, he said, "Gag yourself—wrap it twice around your head—and secure it tightly."
Harry obeyed him at once.
"Better. Not enough, however," Severus replied, noticing the Fire Ficus in the corner of the room.
He murmured a spell that stretched the thick fronds of the plant and caused them to wend their way across the floor toward Harry, to climb his body and wind about his legs, his torso, and his arms before stretching toward the ceiling and pulling the boy up on his toes. In response to another whispered direction, one tendril slid around Harry's eyes to blindfold him, and another rose to twine itself around his testicles and bind them fast. His constrained prick visibly pulsed as the blood flowing into it was trapped, and pearly drops of fluid welled up to decorate his regnant head.
Severus thought he might sway as his own blood rushed to his cock. Patience, patience, patience, he repeated, meditating on his mantra until he had himself under more control. "Now then, you said you liked my treatment of Mr. Weasley, did you? I'm glad of it, for I've something equally as amusing in mind for you."
The masturbatory enchantment that he had employed on Ron was a simple manipulation of air and pressure that was meant to anticipate the needs of the person upon whom it was cast; it did not, however, have to be focused on only one part of the body. Severus cast it more liberally, circling Harry to admire the indentations rippling across the boy's calves, his thighs, his back, lips, and nipples—and groaned in sympathy with the frustrated wizard, who struggled helplessly against the relentless, incomplete "friction" of the spell as it drove him mad with want.
"What was that, Mr. Potter? I don't believe that I understood you," Severus purred, stroking his prick lightly through the damp wool of his trousers. "Do . . . do you . . . perhaps mean to thank me for this lesson? Of course you do. Clearly, despite . . . the enthusiasm you . . . and the members of your house display toward sexual matters," the wizard breathed against his captive's neck, taking a moment to lay a chain of sharp bites up the end of Harry's spine and into his hair before continuing, "no one has ever taught you that your . . . skin deserves just as much attention as your . . . cock," he concluded, circling in front of Harry to smack the boy's distended flesh for good measure.
Severus laughed. He could not help it, did not wish to help it, and hastily removed his clothing before spelling the tendril over Harry's eyes to fall away. The sheer, helpless longing in his eyes made the man move to fall back upon the sofa, his legs spread, as the heat from Harry's gaze on his cock made it jump needfully.
"I'm . . . I'm going to allow you the freedom to move, Mr. Potter," he said, pointing his wand at the struggling body before him, "but when I do, you will crawl toward me, slowly, ass in the air, high, and come to kneel between my legs. You may not, however, touch me or yourself unless I tell you to do so."
Harry swooned, throwing his head back and keening something incoherent through the tie.
"Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps—"
"Mmrmph!" the boy uttered fiercely, raising his head so that he could favor the Potions master with a desperate gaze.
"Oh, very well," Severus replied with false casualness, as he ended the binding incantation.
The Fire Ficus lowered the boy slowly to his knees and receded, and Harry immediately assumed the ordered position and crept forward, though it was obvious from the light gasps he was uttering that he was having difficulty focusing on his task as the pressure spell continued to play across his flesh. His sweat caused his straining muscles to glisten with the effort of restraining himself, but he did not violate the terms of his release.
Severus removed the tie and gently rubbed at the redness around Harry's panting mouth. "So beautiful," he murmured, "so wanton, so very obedient." He withdrew his hands and reached again for his wand, transfiguring it into a long, tapering, rubbery plug and holding it up in front of his lover's face. "I think you know what I want you to do with this, don't you, Mr. Potter? You may answer," he said, handing the object to him.
"You want me to pre—prepare—to prepare myself for you with it, Professor."
"How wonderful to see that your powers of observation have not been dulled by your punishment. You may climb up to straddle my lap, using one hand to steady yourself on my shoulder, and one hand to work yourself with my gift."
Harry nearly fell in his haste to obey.
"No—stand. I want a better view," Severus said hoarsely, leaning his head back to watch as the boy did as he was told. "Lick it. Yes, that's right, fellate it before using it on yourse—oh, God, just like that," he said, one hand moving to clamp down around the base of his turgid prick, as Harry drew his tongue in delicious strokes over the plug. "That's enough," he ordered, reaching up to spread the cheeks of his submissive. "Put it in. Twist it in. . . . Yesss, that's right. Good, Mr. Potter."
Harry did not speak, and Severus did not begrudge him the delightful, heady whimpers he made as the toy slowly disappeared into his hole, or the yelp that escaped him as the invisible fingers of the spell pinched his nipples.
Stretching up to knock the boy's hand away once the plug was firmly inserted, Severus instructed Harry to place his hands on the wall before him and not to move, and then he whispered his next surprise.
"Ahh! Oh, errm, ah!"
"Yes, the vibration is welcome, is it not?" Severus asked, reveling in the display of restraint and power that was his lover's shaking legs. "But it's still not enough, is it? No, not enough by half. Tell me what you want, Mr. Potter."
"Professor! God, so many . . . so many hands. Please, Professor—I want . . . them on . . . to touch my—oh! Oh, Professor, I need—oh, let me, please."
Pulling roughly on the lush tangle of hair at the base of Harry's prick, the wizard said, "Let you what, Mr. Potter?"
"Suck me—fuck me—more! Hands, prick, anything, God, please, Professor!"
"Tsk. That was not a question," Severus replied, running his hands up Harry's calves toward his thighs and digging his thumbs into the tender flesh just under his balls, allowing his knuckles to barely graze the heavy sac above them.
The scent of sex and want was close to overwhelming, but the Potions master needed to drive himself as wild as Harry before he could contemplate what came next, so he murmured for the return of his wand, and the young man cried out a demanding protest.
"Patience, boy. Surely you're not tired of your lesson, yet?"
"N—n—no, Professor," came the strained reply.
"Good," Severus said, altering his wand into a nubbly device with a handle and stuffing it into Harry's ass.
His knees buckled, but he managed to prevent himself from collapsing. "Fffffohhh."
"Yes, your hungry hole likes that, doesn't it?"
"Y—yes, oh, yes, Professor!"
With a twist, Severus found Harry's prostrate, mercilessly sliding it over the spot in rapid strokes and taking the boy's prick into his mouth and the same time, suckling it hard.
"Fuck! Yes, pleaseohGodyespleasepleasepleaseawFUCK!"
Severus greedily took every last drop of Harry's release down his throat and then, with a growl, threw his wand aside, pulled the quivering boy down to his knees before flipping the boy over on his belly, raising his hips and spearing himself inside of Harry with an easy thrust. So good! "Push back on me, Mr. Potter—ohfuckingChristyes!" he cried, his fingers pressing into Harry's hips hard enough to bruise as he fucked Harry as deeply as he could.
It did not take long for either of them to come.
Giving into the heat and friction and sliding and Harry, Severus bellowed his release.
"ProfessorProfessorProFESSOR!" Harry screamed, as another orgasm ripped his mind from him and he fell forward in a sweaty sprawl across the sofa, laughing and crying and begging for the torturous magical hands to stop their ministrations on his sated body.
But Severus, who had fallen atop the boy, was not yet done with him.
"Oh, I can't, I can't take—no more, oh, oh, oh! OH! OH!" Harry shrieked, as Severus, shaking himself now, reared up to roll the boy onto his back, grabbed his wrists, and pinned them above his head into the cushions, choking out a command for his spell to work its way inside of Harry's body, to tease its way across the spasming muscle of his entrance, to dip inside his writhing body and massage his prostate, to bite his nipples, to caress his lips, to wrap itself around his cock and fist it toward hardness again while playing with its slippery slit, and to slither and vibrate all over his flushed skin, forcing Harry to convulse in a wave after wave of soul-shattering pleasure.
Severus, using all of his strength to prevent the boy from bucking him off of his inflamed body, helped himself to hardness again with another useful spell, and kicked Harry's legs apart so that he could enter him again, pounding into the clenching flesh around him until, just as he was barking out his own screams of release, with a final frantic keening cry, Harry went utterly limp beneath him.
Sated, spent, and thoroughly redeemed, Severus collapsed on top of the boy and fell instantly to sleep.
When he woke, warm gentle hands, some big and rough, some small and soft, were running themselves all over his body—and Harry's.
Eyes closed yet, he heard Ron gruffly ground out, "Fuck, if I'd known you could do that, I'd've studied more."
"Me, too," Hermione added.
Severus opened his eyes and rolled toward the back of the sofa, pulling Harry's sleeping body next to his, kissing his eyelids, his cheeks, and his lips. He made no protest when he felt the cushions beneath him stretch to widen into a bed, and Ron and Hermione—the witch first, to lay against Harry, and Ron following, to spoon against his fiancée—insinuated themselves into the afterglow.
Harry awoke to the feel of warm bodies and the sound of soft words. He was dazed, disoriented, and so very satisfied. "Wh—what happened—Professor?" he added.
I'm amazed he remembered, Severus thought, smirking. "There's no need for that now, Harry. Lesson's over," he told him, kissing him and gently thrusting his tongue along the boy's own.
"That was sodding bloody brilliant!"
"Yeah, mate. I'm jealous—ow!"
Hermione laughed. "You got yours."
"Mmm, so I did."
"Accio blankets!" Severus cast, shifting a bit to arrange them over himself and the others. "There will be no foolish canoodling on this sofa while we are trying to sleep," he said, filling his voice with warmth to counteract his tone of mock-severity.
"Yes, Professor," the three Gryffindors sang out obediently.
Severus laughed. "Go to sleep, you greedy little lions. There shall be another lesson in the morning."
Hermione uttered a faint roaring sound to the amusement of the others, and the Potions master decided that he was too tired to consider how it was he found had found himself in a such an . . . unexpected circumstance.
"We shall begin with you, Miss Granger," he promised, drawing Harry toward him so that he could rest his head more fully on his chest.
"And then Ron," the boy murmured, anticipation curling through his voice.
"And we'll end with Harry," Hermione added sleepily.
Yes, with Harry, Severus thought, tenderness flaring through his body at the thought as he drifted off to sleep.
No one dreamed.