Snape couldn’t remember a time when it had been this frantic. Couldn’t remember a time when Harry couldn’t keep his hands off of him for more than a few seconds at a time. Couldn’t exactly recall how they had made it home with Harry’s new touching habit or how they’d made it up to their flat, Harry groping him, holding Snape close as he pressed open-mouth kisses on the parts of his neck not covered by his work shirt and jacket. Snape vaguely remembers opening the door with shaky hands, moans flowing easily from his lips.
He remembers trying to stumble to the bedroom, too. Remembers that clearly and he can almost remember the protests he put up when Harry just grabs him and pushes him against a wall in their flat while he unbuckled Snape’s belt. He knows at that point Harry latched onto his mouth, kissing him hard while his hands pushed down Snape’s trousers and pants.
Snape also knows that at some point during that frantic kissing, Harry got his own trousers and pants down to his knees because that’s where they are now.
“Harry… we have to… the bedroom…”
It’s probably useless at this point to protest, considering Harry’s got him pinned against the wall now, front brushed up on the wall and Harry plastered to his back. But there are things they need to do this properly. Not condoms because they got rid of those some time ago, but lube would be nice.
“Got it covered,” Harry says and he sounds as out of breath as Snape is.
Snape looks behind him and Harry’s waving around a tube of lube and Snape looks at him, confusion clear on his face.
“Where’d that come from?”
“My pocket,” Harry says as if that’s logical.
As if it’s perfectly acceptable for Harry to have lube in his pocket even though they’ve just come home from work.
“Why’d you have that in your pocket?” Snape asks, slightly out of breath.
Harry’s still behind him, trousers now down to his ankles, mouth basically licking at the high part of Snape’s neck. His hands are clinging tightly to Snape’s hips and Snape feels as if he can’t breathe he’s panting so hard.
“Rainy day,” Harry says as though that were some sort of explanation.
Snape probably would have argued if Harry hadn’t chosen that moment to move his lube covered fingers to Snape’s entrance and push. No teasing, just Harry’s fingers, persistent and needy and blunt, and Snape’s hands scratch at the surface of the wall in front of him.
The stretching goes pretty quickly, too, and Snape wonders when Harry has ever been one for quick. He’s always telling Snape to slow down when they’re in bed, but they aren’t exactly in bed, now, are they?
They’re up against a wall. They’re up against a wall and Harry has at least two fingers up his arse that are stretching him. Snape knows what he’s getting him ready for and it makes Snape groan just a little bit.
“God… I want…” Harry whispers in his ear.
Snape would have said something back to him, but the needy fingers inside him keep pressing against his prostate make it pretty much impossible for him to do anything but moan. Harry seems to know that, though, and he keeps pushing, keeps thrusting.
“Please… Harry, please.”
Snape isn’t sure how long they’ve been pressed up against the wall, it probably has only been a few minutes, but it feels like forever and seconds all at the same time. His body is a frenzy of feelings. His hips push back against Harry’s fingers and the word ‘please’ flows from his lips like a chant.
And suddenly, Harry’s fingers are gone and Snape barely has time to protest the loss before something much bigger than fingers is pushing inside him, practically arching him off the wall.
Harry is eerily quiet throughout the whole thing, hands gripping Snape’s hips tightly as he pushes in hard and pulls out again only to thrust in ever harder. It doesn’t matter, though. Snape’s making enough noise for the both of them, mewls and moans and groans and screams emitting from his lips.
There are words, Snape knows there are because he can hear them buzzing in his ears, but he figures it’s him, considering how quiet Harry’s being. Snape can’t quite make out what he’s saying and it may not even be in English, but it’s really not important. Not as important as Harry fucking him or holding on to the wall in front of him even though there’s not really much to hold on to. He’s just scratching at it really and by the time this is over Snape’s not only going to feel it in his arse, but his legs and his hands as well.
But that’s okay, everything’s really fan-fucking-tastic because Snape doesn’t really only have to hold onto the wall. There’s always the option of holding onto Harry. His arm reaching around him to grip Harry’s hip and Snape really would have liked it more if Harry were naked because then he’d feel smooth skin instead of a slightly wrinkled shirt that used to be smooth before Snape started grabbing at it.
And Harry… Harry keeps thrusting quietly, the occasional groan falling from his lips, angling his hips until he’s brushing against Snape’s prostate with every thrust. His hand comes around to Snape’s cock in time with his thrusts and it doesn’t take that many thrusts after that for Snape to come all over Harry’s hand and possibly the wall, but Snape doesn’t really know for sure.
The first real noise Harry makes is when he comes. Snape can feel his cock pulsing inside him, feel as Harry looses control and just comes for what feels like forever. A long drawn out ‘fuck’ coming from his lips and Snape thinks it’s loud enough that the neighbors can hear.
He laughs as Harry comes down, shuddery breaths passing through his lips, and he knows Harry’s going to be looking at him weirdly when he pulls out and turns Snape around. He’ll probably say something funny like, ‘Why are you thinking about the neighbors while we’re fucking?’ or anything else that will be witty and undeniably Harry. Snape doesn’t think he’ll mind being mocked. . .much.
It takes forever for Harry to move away from him and he’s still panting when he turns Snape around, his eyes a little hungry and desperate and Snape doesn’t think he can go another round. At least not right at that moment and not up against the wall again. Maybe in bed.
Harry leans in and kisses him, hard and demanding and a little bruising, and Snape moans into his mouth. Harry’s hands slide under his shirt and Snape really wishes they could do this all again, but without the clothes this time.
“Hey,” Harry says when he pulls away.
Harry stares at him for a few seconds, eyes still wide and glassy looking, and Snape smiles at him.
“So… what was that about?" Snape asks, laughter in his voice.
“Just… couldn’t help myself,” Harry says in his most charming voice.
Snape’s tempted to roll his eyes at him and pester him until Harry tells him the truth. He could probably bug him enough to get it, too, but it’s not as if they’ve never gone through this before, during hard cases or hard personal issues, and Snape knows enough to know that, when Harry’s ready, he’ll tell him the truth.
All the gory details and then they’ll have slow, sweet sex, the kind that lasts forever and is done in bed. Not the fast kind that’s up against a wall or on the floor or the couch or with one of them bent over the kitchen table or possibly perched on the kitchen counter. Snape will hold Harry afterwards and tell him everything’s okay and Harry will believe him because it’s Snape telling him so and Snape knows that that’s enough for Harry.
But for now Snape will let Harry hide behind his charm and laid back attitude. Won’t ask him anything more and will be glad that they’ll be able to make it to the bed now. Because though Snape does love the frantic sex as much as anybody would, he’s not getting any younger and one of these days it just won’t be as fun, no matter how much he hopes those days are far off into the future, though.
“Yeah sure, because I’m so damn irresistible,” Snape says in a slightly smug tone.
It always makes Harry roll his eyes and then look at him seriously. Look at him like he’s the only thing Harry ever sees.
“You know you are.”
Snape laughs at that. It’s almost like they’ve got this whole thing memorized, but Snape doesn’t mind.
It’s all part of the routine.