A/N: I don't know what this is, I liked the banter, I like this pairing. I'm sorry. AND BE WARNED YO THIS IS SOME UNDERAGE SEXUAL SHIT HAPPENING.

One, Two

"Now, shouldn't you be out with the other boys your age, harassing the girls, breaking rules, of the like?" Severus Snape asked the boy tiredly. Harry made a face over his shoulder. During their feigned detention sessions, Harry liked to pace around the small room and touch every potion book, jar, and instrument, while the man lounged on his couch and forced himself to grade the many essays he had the habit of assigning.

"The other guys in my dorm like to talk about sex," Harry said, twiddling about with a bag of standard potion ingredient, "but I think sex sounds disgusting and messy."

"But kissing's okay?" Snape asked, recalling a previous conversation, as well as noting how often their conversations turned toward this subject. Well, he was 16.

"Yeah, it's okay," Harry said flippantly.

A teenage boy without the slightest inclination to have his cock shoved into holes. "Have you ever masturbated, Harry?"

"Boring," Harry said, examining a jar from his personal shelf. "And yes."

"Cheeky brat," Snape muttered.

"Have you?" Harry asked.

"On occasion," he answered.

Harry looked around the room with the jar hanging at an angle in his hand, as if trying to guess where such an act would take place. He then asked, "What do you think about? You know, when you get off."

"Various, disgusting things."

Harry rolled his eyes. "All right, who do you think about?"

Snape thought about it for a moment, letting his quill swipe across the essay in hand. "Madame Hooch," Snape decided, rather offhand. "She has a good body. I've thought of her a few times."

Harry's eyes bugged. "Wait, a... you're into Quidditch bodies?"

Quidditch bodies? Snape's lips twitched into a half-smile. "I suppose. It doesn't matter; It's merely a fantasy. I've also thought of – oh, what's his name – that singer from Weird Sisters. He was hell-bent in seducing me back at Yule Ball."

"Who doesn't think about him?" Harry snorted. He fingered the jar in his arms. "You're not lying about that, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

Harry began to toss the jar between his nimble fingers. "Have you ever been in love?"

"That's got nothing to do with sex," Snape countered, wondering how long until the jar got dropped on the floor.

"It's just a question." Harry abandoned the jar back to the shelf and sat on the couch near him.

Snape's red quill bared down with a vengeance. "I never dated anyone of interest."

Harry scooted closer. "Sometimes people don't understand why I hang out down here."

"I wonder the same, myself." Snape also wondered what direction Harry's mind was spiraling toward, but didn't feel much bothered enough to take a peek himself. He was also sure he wouldn't like what he'd find anyways. Harry meanwhile couldn't seem to resist peeking at the essay in his lap.

"It does nothing for your grades to spend so many hours down here," Snape said in Teacher Voice. "And I really should count off for copying off Granger's essays. At least attempt to reword here and there"

Harry yawned near his teacher's ear. "Everyone does that though, it's not just me. They copy from the textbook, you know."

"I'm well aware. And if you're tired, leave. I don't need company while grading."

Harry instead hooked an arm around his neck and kissed the man full-on (hardly the first time), displacing the parchment in his lap, and sliding his small frame easily onto the man's lap who seized him brutally, crushing their bodies together. Harry wriggled uncomfortably, stilling entirely when Snape's hand trailed down his front and lighted on his erection. Harry yanked his hand away.

"Who's touched you?" Snape rasped against the boy's throat.

"N-No one."

Harry's hand relaxed his grip when they resumed kissing, finding his entire body rather horizontal, parchment flying to the floor or jabbed between them, and Harry quickly found both arms pinned above his head, his heart beating rapid-fire with alarm. Snape's fingers danced across his lap, stroking against the taunt fabric with intent. And clearly Harry didn't expect this either.

"Do you want me to stop, then?"

Harry shivered, Snape pinched the outlined erection, then moving away, Harry grabbed at him wildly.

"Don't leave, please don't-"

"Was it your uncle? Cousin? Aunt? A neighbor?" He rattled off, intent for an answer, then softened at the fear in the boy's eyes. "Harry..."

Harry choked on his sobs. "No, no, it wasn't – it wasn't anybody! I'm just scared, okay?"

"For Merlin's sake, why? Are you afraid of me?"

"I just don't want you to leave. I know I bother you and you let and I just want that, okay. That's all I want. I'll- I'll do anything, I'll-"

"Shh stop crying," Snape kissed his forehead, deliberately against his scar. "I don't require sexual favors from you. I... will be here for you as long as you're alive." And that seemed an easy enough promise with the risks he was constantly taking.

"Okay," Harry whispered in a small voice, sounding relieved.

"Good."

"C-Can we still kiss?" Harry asked, rising onto his elbows. "Just kiss?"

"Brat," Snape muttered, pushing him gently back. "I pledge you my life and you still want more, do you? Why do you even want to kiss me?"

"I just like it."

"Isn't there someone else you'd rather kiss?"

"Just you."

With an exaggerated sigh, Snape coaxed him forward, and kissed him far more gently this time. Harry seemed entirely satisfied to let his dick alone whether it pressed against his trousers for attention and leaked unseemly. Snape held himself in check for this game of Harry's, concentrating on mundane subjects rather than the soft press of his lips, his tentative tongue exploring his own, his uneven breathing. No, he thought about the boy in his arms and whatever propelled him to seek his friendship so forcibly and further, his sexuality.

It didn't take a genius to guess that the boy was far beyond damaged in the dysfunction environment he'd grown in, but Snape had never known how much damage was inflicted until this point, six years later, until he watched him shrink away from intimacy, but flirted with it with the – he guessed – only person the boy felt safe in doing so. Who hid behind cheek and sarcasm and had mostly convinced himself out of deep emotion.

And Snape thought of his entrusted guardians and his self-picked friends and of his dead godfather and the non-committal wolf boy and the old headmaster finally and wondered why himself of all people should be the one to take the boy's confidence, why he'd been the only to succeed with the long list of credentials stacked against him. And, indeed, why he, a man full of regrets and mistakes, but who could just as easily molest a student if he was impatient about getting the truth pulled out – why he, above all, held his trust.

"You don't mind doing just this though?" Harry asked faintly when their lips were properly sore and he'd broken the kiss.

"I'm servant to your every whim," Snape murmured, shifting his legs. "I'm also not keen in molesting teenage boys, if you must know. I prefer consensual situations."

Snape found it was better not to dwell on those type of questions anyways –on how he felt for the boy, how he might feel for him, why he let Harry into his life – even just a little, why the hatred had trickled away into something like empathy. Or even as simply as did he, in fact and in some part of him, want the boy? But he supposed he'd never understand it.

He supposed they'd continue to have these strange nights until one or the other died and the questions wouldn't matter any more now then they would later.