Minced Ivy

Note:A ficlet for the amazing Djin7's birthday, with apologies for downright sappiness. The Irascible Ivy has been borrowed, with thanks, from Chthonia. This fic contains adult situations that may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised.

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Severus Snape tiptoed into the bedroom, intent only on a bath to rid himself of the smell of concentrated elderberry infusion that clung to his robes and skin. He paused when his eyes fell on the bed.

Harry Potter lay sprawled out, his naked skin flushed with the heat from the fireplace, legs lewdly parted and his arms thrown wide over the fur coverlet. His prick nestled half-hard against his thigh as if he'd fallen asleep playing with it. Snape could not quite blame him for trying to amuse himself while his companion pursued his obsessions in the potions laboratory. Without glasses, Harry's lashes were surprisingly dark against his cheeks, vulnerable in sleep where puppyish energy animated him during the day.

Almost against his will, Snape detoured to the side of the bed and ran two fingers over the long curve of Harry's hip, still sharp and boyish even in his early twenties. Snape observed the familiar knotted scars on Harry's left thigh and stomach, and made a mental note that his stock of Essence of Murtlap needed replenishing. He'd start on it as soon as his current creation was perfected and bottled for evaluation with the British Institute for Potions Research.

Potter's prick twitched once in response to Snape's touch, but his breath didn't quicken. Scolding himself for a sap, Snape straightened up and turned towards the bathroom.

"Did it work, then?" Potter's unexpected question startled him into a flinch, and he scowled down at the green slits that peered out from heavy-lidded eyes.

"It took a sprinkle of minced Irascible Ivy to galvanise the elderberry infusion into reaction," Snape replied, unable to hide his pride at his innovative solution. "Yes - it worked."

"Irascible Ivy..." the brat mused, one side of his mouth curving up. "That's a pretty in-character choice, I'd say."

Potter's grin melted into a moan as Snape's hand shot out and wrapped tightly around his cock. Snape felt it jump and swell in his fist even as Harry pushed up his hips, greedy for more. Although Snape knew that granting Potter refuge at Spinner's End to hide from his memories of the final battle and the hero-worship of the wizarding world wasn't in the boy's best interest, he couldn't bring himself to regret that it had brought the shameless little creature into his bed.

He massaged the pretty prick for a moment, flicking the head with his thumbnail until Potter's eyes fell shut and his fingers dug into the fur coverlet. Then he let go.

The boy's eyes snapped open. "What-" he gasped.

Snape smirked down at him, slow and evil. "I'm planning to take a bath, Potter."

He registered Potter's petulant glare, the way his hand crept down to attend to his neglected prick himself, and flicked his wand in a split second. Potter yelped as his wrist was caught by a twisting tendril of light, pulled behind his head and joined there with his other wrist at the headboard. Open-mouthed, Potter stared down at his disgruntled prick that kept hardening further when he tugged at his restraints.

Snape allowed himself a satisfied smile. Indeed, this evening was proving to become a success in more ways than one. "You may petition me to attend to you once I've rid myself of potions fumes, Potter. You would do well to use that time to come up with a properly convincing approach."

He opened the bathroom door, throwing one last look over his shoulder. Potter was trying hard not to grin through his professed outrage. "It's always imprudent to provoke the ire of a Potions's master."