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Snape sighed and let his head fall back against the cushion. Warm breath stirred the hairs at his groin; wet heat embraced the tip of his cock while cool fingers skittered up and down the shaft. His eyes drifted shut and his hands fitted themselves to the hard curve of a skull; silky hair slipped between his fingers. A slow, sweet pleasure was quietly gathering between his legs and rolling outward like a steadily rising tide.

Then the wet heat was suddenly removed.

"Can we try it again tonight?" came Harry Potter's young, eager voice.

Snape opened one eye in irritation. "Are you developing a fetish, Potter?" He met the wide green eyes and sighed inwardly. "Because I don't want to be sitting in some sex therapist's office this time next year, explaining how you're unable to make love unless we—"

"Oh come on. And it's not a fetish. It's just really nice."

"'Really nice.' Such a high recommendation—tell me, if you were standing under the Sistine Chapel or before the Hagia Sophia, do you think you could do any better than 'really nice'?"

"Shut up. Are you going to let me or not?"

"I will 'let' nothing. You do require my active participation, you'll remember."

"Well, someday I'll be good enough at it not to."

"Lovely. A wonderful world of being mentally molested in my sleep or on public transport awaits me, I'm sure." Snape sighed in resignation. "Fine. It is your nativity we're celebrating, so I suppose I have to do as you ask."

Harry's broad smile was utterly guileless. "Brilliant. You start." He closed his eyes.

Snape let his own eyes slip shut and reached out with his mind through emptiness until he touched the warm, humming surface of Harry's thoughts.

"Keep touching me," he muttered as he peeled back the outer layers of Harry's mind and delved inside. He was rewarded with the return of Harry's mouth to his cock—and this time, he could feel the tremor of arousal that ran through Harry's awareness in addition to his own. It was shockingly intense, almost too much, until he accustomed himself to the echoing ricochet of feelings that Legilimency produced if done during sex.

Harry was excited, exquisitely so, and Snape could actually feel the fullnes of his own cock in his mouth as clearly as if he were the one doing the sucking. It was a little uncanny, the feeling of sucking oneself, and he knew Harry was experiencing the same thing. He withdrew his thoughts a bit from Harry's—if minds were permitted to become too entwined, it could produce an extremely unnerving facing-mirrors effect in which feelings were reflected to infinity. People had gone mad that way, in fact. He was skilled enough not to let that happen, but the lush intimacy of being inside Harry's mind was always so alluring that he was tempted to lose himself in it every time. That was the real reason he preferred not to do this too often.

He admitted that it felt bloody wonderful. Somewhere, there was a chuckle, and he realized that Harry had heard him. Brat.

His thoughts lost their articulation as the mouth on his cock went from a lazy caress to aggressive suction, and his eyes rolled into his head as a tongue, rougher than the liquid slipperiness of the rest, swept across the head and explored the slit. His back arched as a deep moan vibrated through the length of his cock, and he knew that Harry was reacting to the intense sensations Snape was radiating at him. Nothing could quite equal the strange pleasure of experiencing someone else's ecstasy; suddenly, he wanted in on that, too.

Before things could advance too much further, Snape moved to shift their positions so that his face was over Harry's groin and his cock was driving down into Harry's mouth. He swiftly uncovered Harry's cock and swallowed it down…and nearly collapsed under the wave of intense pleasure that shook him to the tips of his fingers and toes. He'd been right—nothing could equal this feeling. He couldn't tell which feelings were his own and which were Harry's; everything merged into a single, swelling crescendo that seemed to lift his body off the earth, floating it in space as it was buffeted by sensations from either side like waves crashing together in a tidal zone. He thrust his hips, and felt Harry thrust his, and together they seemed to make the decision as one. He knew that Harry wanted him to use his tongue on the underside of his cock, and so he did, and the resulting satisfaction was equally his. This was truly what the poets were describing when they spoke of two souls joining together as one—he and Harry had become extensions of one another, giving and receiving pleasure as a single gesture, the one man feeding and merging into the other like a snake eating its tail, caught in a circle of satisfaction that need never end.

But it did have to end. Snape summoned the strength to pull back a bit, and managed to discern the edges of his own person just before orgasm hit them both like an enormous wave, wiping awareness away like figures in the sand, blasting apart their individual selves in a nova of pure feeling, a hot, liquid birthplace that was as close as Snape expected he'd ever get to something like heaven. 

When he came back to himself, his mind was safely back in his own body and Harry's in his. Orgasm always had that effect—almost as though their minds had a circuit breaker that wouldn't permit the union to become too total, breaking them apart when the feedback loop of sensations became too overwhelming. Snape's secret fear, as well as his secret hope, was that someday, that wouldn't happen, even though such an event would be as good as death. He sighed, a rather anticlimactic sound, and placed a kiss on the damp skin of Harry's inner thigh.

"Well," he said, "happy bloody birthday, Potter."


"Eloquent as always."

Snape lifted his head. Harry looked completely shattered. His hair stuck out in every which direction, and his open eyes had a glassy, startled look. He was smiling an utterly idiotic smile.

"I have a question…" Harry murmured once some of his composure had returned. Snape grunted in acknowledgement. "How come…you call me Harry in your mind…but Potter when you speak?"

Snape had been wondering that himself. He knew he sometimes had a need to insert some distance between Harry and himself, especially right after those moments of extreme intimacy, when he felt blown open and exposed and completely vulnerable. Like now, for instance. "Because, Potter, someone in your life ought to take a firm hand with you and draw a few lines," he replied, gathering his dignity around himself like one of his thick black cloaks. "You'd sit in the queen's lap if given half a chance, I'd wager."

Harry laughed. "Bet you're right," he said sleepily. "Thank you for a marvelous birthday, Severus."

"You're quite welcome. As you are certainly aware, it was my pleasure."

"What do you want to do for yours? I know it's not for another six months…"

"Yes, well…I have plenty of time to think of an answer to that question, then."

"Maybe I can convince you to do this again. I know you like it, even if you won't admit it."

"As always, you assume that my desires are yours. And that, as you know, is only true when we are doing it, which I must insist be reserved for special occasions, including"—he raised a hand to forestall Harry's inevitable objection—"my birthday, possibly. If I so choose."

Harry pouted. "Not before?"

"Special occasions, Potter. Can you think of any special occasions between now and my birthday?"

"Well, there's Christmas, Hogmanay, Halloween…Guy Fawkes Day, All Saints' Day, Boxing Day…there's market Saturdays, washing days…there's Tuesdays…"

"You realize, of course, that if we do this too often, it will cease to be special and lose its appeal. Rather like if you had Christmas every day of the year."

"I'm willing to take the risk."

"I'm hardly surprised."

"And anyway, this is better than Christmas."

Snape humphed, and allowed himself to feel a bit smug. People might turn their noses up at his looks, but they didn't realize what they were missing not having sex with a Legilimens.

"We'll see," he replied noncommittally, a clear cue for Harry to drop the subject. Moments later, Harry was cuddled up at his side. As he was drifting off to sleep, he batted away a tendril of Harry's mind reaching out to stroke him tentatively, and heard a soft chuckle. Clearly, he'd created a monster.