by Halrloprillalar

It's the third time before Snape realises. The third time Percy comes up to him and asks if Snape could use some help, "with marking or clearing up or anything." It's his persistence that gives Percy away, that and the faint flush creeping up his neck.

This time Snape looks at Percy and sees the flush, the rapid blinking of his eyes, the way his whole body is leaning in, tilting towards Snape. All Percy needs is the slightest tug and he'll overbalance, fall, and it's Snape, it seems, whom he wants to pull him down.

Snape would be all set to tell him no and sweep away, perhaps pausing to take off ten points for general annoyance, were it not the week that three first years spilled a vat of acid onto the dungeon floor. The same week that a completely unhumourous drawing of Snape was found tacked up in the south corridor, the week Harry Potter talked back to him three times, the week his aspidistra died. After all this, Snape feels he is owed something.

"Three o'clock, in the dungeon," Snape tells Percy and then sweeps away, before Percy can add a stammer to his symptoms.

Snape is half-minded to simply make Percy work, set him the most tedious and dirty tasks and watch him at it to see if Percy will fall to pieces under Snape's eye. But Snape can do that with any student. And the week has been exceptionally unpleasant.

He does give Percy a stack of second-year homework to sort out though; there is order and method even to seducing one's student. Percy bends his head and shuffles parchment intently, glancing over once at Snape, then away as soon as he catches Snape's eye.

Snape watches Percy and thinks about the body just underneath those prim school robes: the freckled shoulders and the long white back, the slim young thighs and rounded buttocks. The things that he will not see, even now, because when Percy stands, arms full of scrolls, Snape waves his hand and the lights go out.

The scrolls rustle and there is a soft "oh" from Percy. Three strides and Snape is there. "Put them on the table," he says and Percy does. Snape can hear it, can feel the movement in the air.

He can feel the anticipation too, the stretched out moment when they both know what will happen and the thought of it fills the room like the sound from a struck bell, ringing in the ears and vibrating on the skin. This is the best part, Snape thinks, and lets it stretch a little longer.

Then he puts his hand on Percy's neck. Percy swallows and his tendons move. Snape's fingers touch the soft hair at Percy's nape, and under his palm, Percy's pulse is beating beating beating. With his other hand, Snape unhooks Percy's glasses and sets them down. Percy is still, except to breathe. He's cautious, Snape thinks. He doesn't want to make a mistake.

Snape leans in and presses his cheek to Percy's. The skin is carefully smooth and smells faintly of soap. Attention to detail. He runs one slow finger down Percy's sternum and his robes fall open. Then Snape waits, hand still on Percy's throat, thumb moving slowly over his trachea.

Now Percy has to move and he does, shrugging out of his robes. His wand clatters on the stone floor. Snape touches Percy's shoulders, his arms, all over gooseflesh and shaking. He pushes up Percy's vest, slides his fingers down Percy's back, up his chest. When he brushes Percy's nipples, already contracted and sharp, Percy gives another "oh" and clutches at Snape's arms, jams his forehead into Snape's shoulder.

It's all there under Snape's hands: fear and desire, flesh and bone, action and reaction. He moves his hands down, over thin cotton, and cups Percy's buttocks through his pants, pulls Percy close. Percy's arms go around Snape and his erection is hard against Snape's thigh. Percy raises his face and Snape lets the boy's lips find his neck, his cheek.

That whole young body strains against him, and maybe this is the best part, to feel that urgent press, that hungry mouth. "Turn around," he whispers and Percy shudders at the sound. He pulls away, slowly, and turns. Snape opens his robes and puts his hands on Percy's hips, thumbs pushing at the waistband of his pants. "Take them off," Snape says, a little louder than before. Percy pulls them down and kicks them away.

Snape runs one hand down Percy's back, then slips it up between his thighs. "Relax," Snape says, and pushes slick fingers inside the boy, to make him ready. Percy contracts against him. "Sorry," he says, "sorry." But soon the salve does its work and there is no resistance.

A few strokes of his own hand and Snape is ready as well. He bends Percy over the table and thrusts into him. Percy gasps and Snape begins to move, fingers curving around Percy's belly. The table creaks and skin slaps against skin and Percy sighs with every rock of Snape's hips. Snape remembers how that felt, living weight above him, slick wood under him, pierced and breathless in the dark.

It's that thought that pushes him over the edge, fingers tightening, heart pounding, streaks of false light in his eyes. And when it's over, it's that thought that makes him pull Percy back against him, one arm around his heaving chest, and let him, make him come.

Snape's cheek is against Percy's temple. The boy's skin is hot, he must be flushed. Snape fishes in his pocket for a pastille and lets half of it dissolve in his mouth. Then he turns Percy's face and kisses him, pushing the pastille past Percy's lips. Percy takes it eagerly, sucks at Snape's tongue, reaches up to touch Snape's face.

Snape waits a moment to disengage him. The charm is done now, they will neither of them speak of this to anyone else. It is not a strong compulsion, more a suggestion, but necessary, for their own good, Percy's as well as his.

A flick of his wand, and they are both bath-clean. Snape closes his robes and goes back to his desk. When he judges Percy has dressed, he lights the lamps again. Percy is standing, glasses on, wand in hand, staring at the table. His hair is ruffled, standing up in the back. As though he sees with Snape's eyes, he reaches up, smooths it with his fingers.

"You may go," Snape says, not unkindly.

Percy does, slowly, not looking at Snape. But when he reaches the door, he turns and their eyes meet. He'll be back, Snape knows and that, that is the best part.

After the door closes, Snape summons the pile of homework and fails all but three of them.

The week is getting better.


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