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To the victor go the spoils. This was the phrase swimming in Severus’s mind as he unzipped his pants.
New York City. Summer. 1999. He’d been forced to attend some cloyingly peace-oriented international Wizarding council with Minerva, Potter, Weasley, and Granger. Long, boring days, but the evenings were free. And he was on the rebound from 20 years of unflinching restraint.
This was how Severus Snape found himself at an underground Wizarding gay bar, with his cock shoved through a hole in a bathroom stall.
To the victor go the spoils.
A fitting turn of phrase for the circumstances. The expression originated here, in the United States. Severus was the victor. And he was altogether spoiled, these days.
The recent moniker of “war hero” was a bit much for his tastes. Waking up in the mortal realm after his attack wasn't the best news he'd ever received. He’d never sobbed quite so hard as he did into Minerva’s arms that day.
Merlin, how his head hurt the next morning. Eyes red and puffy, violet circles beneath them making it look like he had on that stupid eyeshadow his female students were so fond of. Not to mention the pounding in his temples. Even his spine cried out in agony from the exertion of his sobs.
Potter had brought him an elixir of some sort, an opaque yellow potion which was sweet and salty all at once. Severus swallowed the room-temperature liquid eagerly, glass after glass. Of course, it turned out to be a Muggle electrolyte drink for children, but Severus was too exhausted to care. He was no spring chicken anymore.
As he recovered, he began to realize that he’d never been much of a spring chicken in the first place. He’d gone from Hogwarts to Darkness then crawled right back into the womb of the very castle that had tried so hard to abort him the first time. The site of it all. Where it all went wrong. He'd embraced the asceticism, limited himself to simple pleasures like Quidditch spectating and shouting liberally.
People apologized to him a lot, these days, as he was dragged to meetings and Wizengamot hearings and given awards. For what he'd “been through.” People claimed he’d never fooled them at all. That they’d always liked him.
Only Potter said the opposite outright.
“You really had me going there, Professor,” he’d said with an arrogant smirk.
Alright, maybe it wasn’t completely arrogant. Maybe it was a bit of a tender expression. Maybe he'd softened toward the boy, lately, ever so slightly.
But Severus would never admit that.
He did, however, begin to accept that he was alive. Not only alive, but untethered. He owed nothing to anyone. In fact, maybe the world owed him…
The mouth wrapped around him was fucking delicious. He couldn’t see much, of course, but the lips sucking at the head of his cock felt plump and pink.
Yes, he was drunk enough to sense color.
Severus bit his lip as the hot mouth took more of him in, sucking firmly. At halfway, the mystery man bobbed his head, getting himself used to the sensation. Severus, long and thick, was no easy task.
The man laved at Severus’s shaft, making his tongue broad and flat. Severus felt a smooth, hard bump, and just as he realized it was one of those ridiculous tongue piercings, the bit of metal turned ice cold. Young gays and their ridiculous inventions. This had to be an American.
“Ah!” Severus bit his fist to keep from saying more—He had a distinct voice, and he’d already been recognized at the bar.
Unable to communicate verbally, Severus shoved his hips forward, flush against the wall of the stall. His hipbones ground painfully against the wood, but he didn’t care, he needed more.
The insolent man on the other side actually dared to pause and laugh at him before putting his mouth back where it belonged. Severus’s face was growing red with desire and frustration.
He pulled back, thrusting into the man’s mouth. A fist wrapped around his cock. He wondered for a moment if this was a threat, but the man squeezed him soothingly, and wrapped his lips around the tip once more, rubbing the icy ball of metal along the sensitive skin. Slowly, he worked his mouth down the shaft, meeting his own hand.
Severus could only growl to himself as he felt the other man flex, opening his throat, and swallowing Severus all the way. Accepting him as deeply as he could.
Because Severus deserved this. Severus earned this.
The mouth felt feverish around him, especially compared to that tantalizing chill running up and down the length. He was being sucked so deep, the man’s lips were against Severus’s pubic hair. What few sounds he could hear over the muffled music—gags, disgustingly wet slurps, grunts of effort—had Severus’s knees wobbling.
The wet heat pulled off him, then ran that rough tongue and smooth, cold metal up the underside of his cock. And once again, eager lips wrapped around the tip, bobbing, working the edge of the head in and out of his mouth, hitting that bit of ice on every downstroke.
It must be reiterated, Severus was no spring chicken, and he was not used to being spoiled.
He knocked on the wall of the stall to indicate he was already about to finish. The mouth only went further onto his shaft. So be it.
Severus moaned into his elbow as he released, emptying his pleasure into that hungry throat. He felt the man swallow around him, and when he was spent, the man grabbed Severus's reddened cock in his fist again. He painted his soft lips with spit and semen from the sensitive head.
Pulling his length from the hole, Severus waited a moment to see if the man would slip his own dick through for reciprocation. Secretly, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if this opportunity presented itself; He had never done anything of the sort before, and he was sure his performance would be downright shameful compared to the master he’d just encountered.
And yet, when the other man merely cleared his throat and exited the bathroom, Severus could swear the feeling in his gut was disappointment.
If Severus could see straight, he’d have taken the stairs. But he couldn’t, so he didn’t. There was a commotion in the lobby, and he aggressively fingered the “close doors” button, but it was no use; a tan arm flung itself between the metal doors just in time. They parted to reveal Potter, Weasley, and Granger, all flush and giggling.
“Snape!” Potter said brightly. His glasses were tilted, exacerbating his drunken gait.
“It’s Professor Snape,” Granger snapped.
“No, it isn’t,” Weasley said.
“Mr. Snape?” Potter said.
Severus cringed.
“No good?”
“Just…don’t address me, Potter.”
The boy rolled his eyes. He wiped his lip, and his finger came away red.
“Damn it,” he muttered, sucking the blood.
“What on Earth have you idiots been doing?!”
“Nothing!” The three of them cried. The elevator doors opened, and Granger and Weasley ran off to their room. Sneering, Snape exited the elevator at a much more leisurely pace.
“Why are you bleeding, Potter? Do I even want to know?”
“Er…Well, don’t tell McGonagall…”
“Professor McGonagall.”
“Her either.”
Snape was shaking his head in disgust at the state of the child, fumbling with his room key, asking, “Don’t tell her what?” when he saw it. His heart skipped.
Potter was sticking his tongue out at him.
And on that glistening pink tongue was a ball of metal.
“You’re so old fashioned,” said Harry, mistaking Snape’s raised eyebrows, wide eyes, and slack jaw for prudishness.
“When…When did you…?”
“A few hours ago.”
Severus swallowed.
“Surely you can’t…” Suck cock? “Er…Eat, or anything, with a pierced…” Tongue. Severus couldn’t even bring himself to say tongue, it sounded like a dirty word thanks to the one that had bested him.
“I got it done at a magical parlor, so I can do pretty much anything right away.”
“Then why are you bleeding?”
Harry smirked, proud of himself. Severus’s sneer was increasing by the second.
“Well, I was a little rough on it even so…”
Coincidence. It was mere coincidence. It had to be.
He had to know.
The words tumbled out of him before he could stop them. Severus had absolutely no idea how he’d gone so many years as a covert operative, his lips were loose these days—Not as loose as Potter’s, that is.
“Potter, tell me you weren’t at an establishment called Wand Quality tonight.”
Potter’s eyes widened, and he stepped back instinctively.
“I…What’s it to you?”
Severus’s eyes drifted down to the lower half of Potter’s face: those lips…
Well-shaped, plump, but not overly so. That tongue darted out, licking them nervously, and Severus’s cock twitched. Not an hour ago, those lips had been coated in his spend. They were just as flawless as he’d imagined.
A twinge of rage flexed, white-hot, in Severus’s stomach.
Damn the boy. The stupid, perfect boy.
Potter.
No sound reached Severus’s ears as he watched those lips form the shape of his name: “Snape?”
With a start, Severus realized he had leaned in rather close. Potter’s breath was on his face, sharply scented with clear liquor.
Severus turned to his door, burying the key in the lock—Fuck, that imagery—and retreated into his hotel room, slamming the door behind him just as Potter put the pieces together.
Severus had no excuse this time.
He was perfectly sober. It was broad daylight. Yet, here he was.
Grimmauld Place. Summer. 1999.
He’d been convinced to come here, talked into it, he told himself. But it was no consolation.
He wanted it. There would be no talking him into it if he didn’t.
“Want” was, in fact, too weak a word for his desire. It was more of a constant, pulsing ache. Like it was inevitable. Like this had to happen.
“I think, at this point in time,” Potter concluded, finally finishing up a rambling soliloquy, “The two of us are probably the only people in the world who truly understand the other.”
“Speak for yourself, Potter,” Severus said, shaking his head. He walked along the bookshelf in the drawing room, pretending to peruse the titles.
Severus felt a hand on his shoulder. He allowed himself to be turned around.
“I know you, Professor.”
“If you really think that’s true, you’re a fool.”
“Even a fool like me knows what you're doing here, though. If you didn’t want this, you wouldn’t have come.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Snape breathed. Since when was Harry this tall…?
“Whatever you have to tell yourself…”
And then those lips were on his, that sweet tongue in his mouth, toying with him, mocking him.
It was a whirlwind from there; how they ended up on the couch, Severus had no idea. Even less apparent was how he’d ended up on top of the young man, kissing him like his life force was buried in Potter’s mouth. Though, come to think of it, he didn't value his life nearly as much as he did Harry’s delicious tongue.
Potter was an instigator, ripping away at Severus’s clothes, wrapping his legs around Severus’s middle, burying his hands in long black hair.
Potter’s entrance was just as pink and hot and, thanks to a charm, wet, as his mouth. Though it was much tighter. Severus’s moans were choked as he tried desperately to hold them back, sinking deeper and deeper into Potter’s heat.
They exchanged no words as Severus fucked him, hard and fast, hiding his face in Harry’s shoulder, listening to the young man’s desperate whining. Always whining, nothing ever good enough…
No. Try as he might to maintain his hatred, it was breaking down. Harry’s wordless begs were grateful, pleased, honored. His strong legs pulled Severus in as deep as he would go. The boy was drowning in him, and loving it.
Severus’s head kept hitting the arm of the couch, but he didn't care. He felt his lips part of their own accord and attach themselves to Harry’s tan, muscular throat, sucking hard. The young man shivered, his back arching more than ever. He jerked his shoulder, forcing Severus’s head up, and captured his mouth again. He shoved his tongue up against Severus’s, holding Snape’s head in place by his hair.
A flick of blazing heat. That metal could, apparently, become molten as well as frozen. Severus moaned, shamelessly running his tongue along Harry’s, savoring that searing pain.
Hot seed painted Severus’s shirt. He'd fucked Potter to completion, swallowed the his scorching tongue as the boy climaxed around his cock. Delirious, he found himself wishing he’d disrobed, so the semen would have landed on his pale skin. On this thought, he followed suit, releasing into Harry’s tight ass. Harry moaned anew at every twitch of Severus’s cock.
They lay entangled for a long while, frozen, silent except their panting.
Severus's bones felt like jelly. He hadn't had a good fuck in a long while—long enough to wonder whether he even had it in him anymore. Regret threatened to grow in his chest, but it was beat out by pride. Not only had he pleased his opponent, but Potter actually came first. That was something.
So maybe he wasn't a totally useless old man. Maybe Severus was more than a relic of a time gone by, a portent, an unpleasant reminder to others.
Maybe.
“Are you hungry for Chinese, by any chance?” Harry said. His tone was casual, but he was still short of breath.
Severus lifted his head from the boy’s chest, peering at his mussed hair, his enraging face. Into his eyes.
“Yeah,” Severus said.
“Takeaway it is, then.”
Harry smiled. Severus searched desperately for the arrogance, the smugness. The smile was the same as usual, and yet Severus couldn’t find the qualities he'd long associated with it. The boy looked almost…Charming.
Severus, triumphant, found himself drifting down, claiming Harry’s mouth for himself once more. Conquering it. Savoring that flash of searing heat. His reward for it all.
To the victor go the spoils.