Title: Urgent Correspondence
Word Count: 1300
Summary: Harry sends Severus a letter that brings him right back home.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling, and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by the posting of this fic.
Author's Notes: Written for alisanne, who was desperate for Snarry of any sort. Thank you, alisanne and fodirteg, for beta'ing. If you ever read my old Buffy fic, you may find the letter a tad familiar.
Harry was young, and Severus supposed that some part of him was still too used to the dormitory to be able to refrain from being silent in bed. Even with an Imperturbable Charm, he'd always gritted his teeth through a wank's orgasm while huddling behind his bed curtains; it didn't surprise him that Harry was so quiet.
Still, I want to hear him.
His whimpers were pretty and desperate, Severus thought, but they weren't enough. He'd begun to feel that perhaps Harry didn't enjoy their love-making as much as he did, that perhaps Harry even regretted being with him. It was ridiculous to feel that way given how Harry's entire body flushed in response to Severus' whispers against his skin, given how Harry could never be still under an onslaught of touching, no matter how securely bound—yet Severus continued to doubt his worth in Harry's eyes, so much so that he'd picked a fight about the issue just as he'd been about to leave for the annual Confederation of Potions Masters conference.
He wouldn't even look at me before I left. He just kept scrawling into his blasted journal!
Disgusted with himself, Severus prepared his notes for his first panel, trying without success to banish thoughts of Harry's leaving him.
It wasn't as if he had any real rights to him, after all, especially as he'd never permitted Harry to tell anyone about them.
Bastard. Ungrateful, foolish bastard!
Being with Severus was challenging; he needed so much, all the time. But it's worth it, Harry told himself, posting his letter.
He felt like an idiot for having written it at all, but he knew that what he'd written was something that Severus needed to know.
Hear. He needs to hear it. I wish that I could say it.
Sighing, Harry returned to the castle, determined not to worry about it. He had lesson plans to complete, and they required all his concentration. They always did.
The owl found Severus as he was about to move to the podium. Not caring about the current speaker, he gave the owl a treat and quietly unfurled his letter.
Dear Severus,Severus had never had an erection on stage before. With hammering heart, he hissed an excuse to the speaker sitting next to him and Disapparated.
You asked me why I couldn't tell you what I wanted in bed, why I was so quiet all the time. I don't think that's quite fair because we both know that I'm not quiet, but I think I understand what it is that you want. So here's a fantasy, something I dream about, something I want. I hope it'll be enough. Imagine me with you as you read this, imagine doing this and telling me these things. That's what I want.
You, with your hands in my hair, stroking. You, with your voice like liquid sex, speaking warmly against my ear.
"What? What do you want? Tell me."
Me, restless against you and afraid to speak.
"Open your eyes," you say, and I do.
"Look into mine," you tell me, and I do.
Our bodies, naked and pressed together, your cock against mine, us, twitching, just at the edge. This is how we are, what I need. What I want, even if I can't say it.
"Tell me what you want," you insist, nudging forward, one finger tracing my lips, two pinching my nipple, and I can't speak because you're too much, to breathe you in and feel you so close is too much. Too good.
I can't ask for more. I could drown in the warmth we make. I could get lost in the darkness of us, with no idea what's coming and no care at all because you can have anything that I can give.
You rake your nails in a path over my body from this overwhelming feeling in my heart to the leaking prick between my legs, scratching lightly at my skin and touching everything underneath of it there is to me. With a dry mouth and nipples so hard they hurt, shaking so much I could slide off your strong thigh, I know that I want you inside. I want you to fuck me. I want your love—hard, fast, and unrepentant—I want you to fuck me until I am without rhythm, without sense, without anything but that sensation of need that you make me feel, that you've always made me feel.
It's completely yours, this feeling. My prick is yours, the hot pulsing of it. The squeeze of arse, muscles undulating around your cock—that's yours, too. As I yield to your kiss, my lips bruising under their urgent, tender press, my body, this feeling, our moment together, all are yours.
I want you inside me. I want you to take me. I want you to force all the air out of my body in a deep throaty scream. I want you to make me give you everything that is already yours to you again and again and again—and I don't want you to ask; permission has already been given.
From the first time I saw you see me, see my raw, naked need, you had that permission.
Your voice in my ear, asking, "Is this what you want? Is this what you need?"
Yes. Yes, it is. It's you, you that I want and need.
"Talk to me. Tell me what you want, or I'll stop."
I stop breathing to hear this.
"Tell me that you need me," you urge. "Tell me you love me. Tell me to fuck you, or I'll stop."
You say all this, but you don't stop. You never stop. And I like that you don't.
"Is that it? Is it, Harry? Is this it? Like this? Tell me."
I'll try to tell you, Severus, I will. It's just hard, but I want you to have everything that's yours. All of me is yours. I need you. I wish you were here so that I could show you.
I love you, however quietly. I do.
Harry was hunched over his desk half-asleep when a voice growled against his ear, "Don't speak."
The next thing he knew, he was naked and sprawled on the bed, and Severus was laving his arse with his wet, wide tongue. When he bucked in response, gasping, Severus demanded, "Be still!" before returning to his work—only in addition to Severus' tongue, Harry could now feel one of his thick fingers pressing in and out of him in a welcome rhythm.
"You . . . you got . . . my let—"
"Don't speak," Severus ordered, pulling Harry up onto his knees.
Harry shuddered, coming too quickly in response to how masterfully Severus was behaving, and he felt himself being gentled by one of Severus' large hands rubbing up and down his back.
Harry's voice was a mere whisper as Severus thrust home.
Severus didn't give him any time to adjust or breathe, and it was glorious.
"Please, I—oh, fuck!" That's not the usual lube spell.
Cold, hot, tingling—the sensations played out in order repeatedly with every thrust of Severus' prick inside of him, and all Harry could do was gasp, plead, and shout incoherently, finally coming with an open-mouthed scream as he felt a flood of warmth spreading inside of him and Severus collapse on top of him.
When his shaking subsided, Severus hid his grin against Harry's shoulder. I knew that I could make him scream for me.
He turned Harry over, kissed him slowly, caressed his slick skin.
Harry was his; he'd been a fool to doubt it.
"Write more letters. I love . . . your letters."
Harry was old enough to know better than to say anything in response to Severus' declaration and merely sighed happily to be in his arms.