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Severus Snape, in the years following the war, had developed a fondness for indulgence.
Whether it was fine aged whiskey, long, steaming showers, mind-blowingly rough sex, or decadent multi-course meals, he allowed himself pleasures he had long denied.
And above all, there was one person with whom he loved to indulge in every desire: Harry Potter.
A history built on endless arguments, pointed glances, and the occasional begrudging cooperation during dangerous situations, fostered something new: outside the school, away from prying eyes, their interactions had grown more intimate, more charged.
Severus, usually reserved, controlled, with an iron grip on his emotions, found himself uncharacteristically vulnerable around Harry. His energy and warmth, almost like his own personal sunshine, broke down the walls Severus had so carefully built over decades.
Harry, on the other hand, was drawn to Severus’ intelligence, depth, and the rare moments of tenderness beneath the stern exterior.
Harry loved when Severus challenged him intellectually and emotionally, while Severus found an almost intoxicating thrill in letting someone see him truly undone—by desire, by pleasure, by his own human weaknesses.
Even in moments of chaos or embarrassment, the underlying connection between them remained undeniable.
Years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry returned to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, stepping into a position that allowed him to guide the next generation of witches and wizards.
He quickly fell back into the rhythm of castle life—but this time, he wasn’t alone.
Severus had continued to teach Potions with his usual meticulous precision, but Harry’s return had deepened their connection.
Over time, Snape discovered that pleasure did not always mean indulgence or recklessness. It could be subtle: the warmth of Harry’s hand in his, the taste of chocolate shared in the quiet of the library, the soft laughter that slipped through when Harry teased him gently.
Even so, shadows lingered. Some nights, Snape would wake with nightmares, his hands trembling, his chest tight. Harry would be there and Snape would learn again that survival did not require constant control, that life could exist beyond pain.
One evening, Harry placed a hand over Severus’ in the dim firelight of his office. “You’re allowed to enjoy this,” he murmured. “Allowed to feel something besides guilt.”
Snape’s lips parted, a flicker of a smile crossing his face. “I… I am learning,” he admitted, voice low, cautious. “Though it is… difficult.”
Harry pressed closer. “Good. That’s all I ask. That you try.”
Now that Severus had discovered how intoxicating pleasure could be, he could not believe he went his whole life without it. He would seek it out whenever the moment allowed.
He craved it, chasing the fleeting sensation that seemed, however briefly, to fill the hollow space inside him, to make him feel whole again. Even when it left him trembling afterward with guilt and shame, he returned to it like a moth to light.
He secretly cherished the small offerings Harry brought him.
Harry would bring him little sweet treats from Hogsmeade, whether it be a pastry or some butterbeer. His sweet tooth was a guilty pleasure he could not resist.
At first, he would refuse, citing “excess sugar,” yet inevitably he would lift the cup to his lips, eyes closing as the warmth spread through him. It was a private indulgence he would never acknowledge aloud.
He began taking moments to slow down.
He set out to go on walks through the Hogwarts grounds. He let himself notice flowers nodding in the breeze, and bent down to inspect them, sometimes collecting them for a small gift for Harry, or a potions ingredient.
Normally, he would rush past, consumed by tasks or thought, but with Harry at his side, he lingered, enjoying the cool wind on his face and the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Or a soft rain dripping onto his hands or face became a sensory delight he had never allowed himself before. It made him feel startlingly alive.
Even his baths became occasions of indulgence. Rare and luxurious, with scented oils or salts, he would sink into the warm water, closing his eyes, letting the heat seep into his muscles.
Pleasure made him feel guilty and indulgent—but also alive in a way he had long thought impossible.
And then there was Harry.
Severus craved his affection like air. The brush of a hand through his hair, the gentle squeeze of his hand, a palm resting on his back—each touch unraveled layers of isolation he had carried for decades. He melted into every embrace, astonished at how touch-starved he had been, and how desperately he needed it.
With Harry, he discovered the edges of his own physical pleasure. The man unlocked sides of him he had never admitted: a deep, submissive desire beneath the carefully maintained control.
It thrilled him when Harry took the reins in their intimate encounters, though he could not resist asserting his dominance in subtle ways even as he surrendered.
He loved the moments where he lost himself in pleasure, being pushed beyond his limits until he had nothing left to give, multiple orgasms washing through him, leaving him trembling and breathless.
Severus also delighted in acts of service from Harry, and Harry offered them willingly, almost joyfully. Severus could not help but revel in the sensation of being both cared for and cherished.
Each moment of indulgence, each taste, touch, or surrender, was a small rebellion against the years of denial he had imposed on himself, a reclamation of the life and joy he had once thought forbidden.
Tonight, Harry has outdone himself. Their small shared Hogwarts kitchen was filled with the rich, heady aroma of spices as Harry moved with practiced ease, chopping, stirring, and tasting as he went. Tonight, he had planned something special—a full Indian feast, carefully crafted to delight the senses.
He started with an appetizer: samosas, golden and crisp, stuffed with a fragrant mix of potatoes, peas, and aromatic spices, lightly fried to perfection. The scent of cumin and coriander filled the room, curling around him as he arranged them on a plate, garnished with fresh cilantro.
Next came the mains. He prepared a creamy butter chicken, the sauce a luscious blend of tomatoes, cream, and ghee, simmered with garam masala, turmeric, and a touch of fenugreek. He added an extra splash of cream and dollops of ghee, knowing Severus would never resist the indulgence—even if his stomach might protest later.
On the side, he made a rich paneer makhani, cubes of soft cheese bathing in a spiced tomato-cream sauce, heavy on both dairy and chili, just enough to be pleasurable… and slightly mischievous.
For accompaniments, he baked garlic naan, brushed with melted butter and sprinkled with nigella seeds, and a fragrant saffron rice, each grain separate and delicate, infused with cardamom and cloves.
He even prepared a cooling raita, thick and creamy, flecked with cucumber and fresh mint, as a counterpoint to the richness and heat of the dishes.
As he arranged the table, every detail mattered: the gleaming brass plates, the small bowls of chutney and pickles, the flicker of candlelight reflecting off the polished cutlery.
Harry smiled to himself, knowing Severus would admire the effort—but also aware that the extra cream and spice would likely test the limits of his lover’s constitution.
By the time Severus arrived, the room was a symphony of aromas, warm and inviting. Harry poured them each a glass of Firewhisky, leaning close to whisper, “I may have made it a little… indulgent tonight.”
Severus arched a brow, suspicious but intrigued. He had no idea that Harry’s careful attention to spice, fat, and cream was less about flavor and more about a playful, wicked experiment. Tonight’s dinner would be exquisite—but it might also have consequences.
Severus settled at the table, his eyes scanning the spread Harry had prepared. The golden samosas called to him first. He picked one up, feeling the warmth through the crisp pastry, and bit into it. The spiced potato filling melted on his tongue, the cumin and coriander dancing with a hint of heat that made him pause just long enough to savor it.
“Mhmm” Severus moaned sinfully, “that’s… excellent,” he murmured, eyes flicking to Harry, who was watching him with a quiet, knowing smile.
Severus moved on to the mains, starting with the butter chicken. The sauce was decadent, thick with cream, the spices bold yet balanced. He scooped it onto his plate with a naan and ate slowly at first, allowing the flavors to coat his palate.
Then, as Harry watched, he abandoned his restraint. He spooned more onto his plate, layered it with paneer, and tore off pieces of naan to scoop it all up.
He moaned softly at the creamy richness, the way the butter chicken clung to the naan, the soft, spiced paneer melting in his mouth. “Harry…” Severus’s voice was low, almost a growl of approval. “This… this is exquisite. Absolutely perfect.”
Harry’s smile widened. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, deliberately casual, though there was a glint in his eyes that suggested more than culinary pride.
Severus leaned back slightly, savoring a bite of saffron rice, the fragrance of cardamom and cloves making his senses hum. He added a dollop of raita, letting the creamy, cooling yogurt contrast with the richness and spice of the other dishes.
He ate heartily, plate after plate, until the dishes were nearly empty.
Harry occasionally refilled his glass of Firewhisky, and Severus accepted it without hesitation, letting the warmth of the liquor complement the heat of the food.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” Severus said, finally leaning back in his chair, rubbing his full stomach. He was warm, satiated, and more than a little dizzy from indulgence. “I’ve never… I’ve never had anything like this.”
Harry’s hand brushed against Severus’s as he reached for the last of the naan. “I knew you’d enjoy it,” he said quietly, his tone teasing. “I might have… added a little extra something for you.”
Severus’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity and suspicion flickering across his face. “Oh?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And what might that be?”
“You’ll see,” Harry said, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. “In time.”
Severus laughed softly, shaking his head, blissfully full and completely unaware of just how “in time” the consequences would arrive. He leaned back, letting the warmth of the meal and the wine settle through him, completely lost in the indulgent, decadent pleasure of it all.
Severus felt his composure cracking. The indulgence of the food, the firewhisky, and Harry’s gaze had stirred something he hadn’t allowed himself in years. Heat pooled through him, steadily drifting downwards. He wanted Harry’s attention, his closeness, his touch, more than he had realized.
They were sitting together on the couch after dinner, both sipping a few fingers of Firewhisky while playing a vicious game of wizard’s chess set up on the coffee table.
Severus was about to develop his king’s knight when his stomach began to churn. He brushed it off as digestion—he had inhaled far too much dinner too quickly.
Severus pushed back from the table slightly, the warmth of the meal and the firewhiskey settling in a haze through his system. He tried to stretch, hoping the discomfort would pass. Instead, the bubbling sensation intensified, a gurgling pressure deep in his gut that made him shift in his seat.
Harry’s eyes darkened slightly, the corners of his mouth tilting into a faint, mischievous smile. “You enjoying yourself?” he asked softly, voice low, teasing.
Severus’s lips pressed into a thin line, a flush creeping across his cheeks. “I… I am,” he admitted, though there was a tautness to his voice, a tension in his posture that betrayed more than indulgence. “The food… was… exceptional.”
But Harry didn’t look convinced. He leaned closer, quiet, watching, waiting. That look—it unsettled Severus far more than any pain ever could.
A dull bloating and cramping sensation settled low in his abdomen as his body filled with gas. Subtly, he tried to release it in small, quiet spurts. Unfortunately, just as it seemed to ease, more replaced it.
Focusing back on the game, Severus smirked up at Harry and captured his rook with his queen, putting him in check. Harry scowled.
“Want to resign already, Potter?” Severus taunted.
“Not a chance, you git!” Harry exclaimed, feigning irritation before a small smile crept back onto his face.
Amused, Severus took another sip of Firewhisky and refocused on the game, silently hoping—by Merlin—that it might help settle his stomach.
Harry’s hand rested lightly against his thigh.
Severus closed his eyes for half a second.
If he moved now, Harry would notice. There would be concern, questions, that soft, careful look Severus found far more unbearable than mockery. Worse—there would be interruption. A break in the moment he had allowed himself to want.
He straightened instead, schooling his expression into something controlled. Unbothered.
Later, he told himself. I can endure this a little longer.
The decision settled as firmly as the discomfort had.
If nothing else, he could stop this.
The thought arrived fully formed, calm and precise. He could stand, excuse himself, retreat behind the safety of a locked door and dignity salvaged by timing. He had done so countless times before, quietly, efficiently, without witnesses.
He did not move.
Harry, already turned on by the anticipation, looked at Severus with heat in his eyes. He leaned across the couch, pulling Severus close and crashing their mouths together in a heated kiss.
Their kissing turned desperate. Severus responded instantly, opening his mouth and moaning into Harry’s as desire flared through him.
Their hands roamed over each other’s bodies greedily, and it didn’t take long before they were grinding together.
Harry settled himself on top, straddling Severus, whose legs spread further at the action.
As he was now beneath him, Severus tried to focus on the mounting pleasure. But he couldn’t stop concentrating on releasing his gas slowly and quietly. The pressure of Harry moving against him made him nervous—even though it felt so good.
How embarrassing would it be if Harry heard him pass gas?
Severus kissed Harry again with renewed urgency and asked for more. “Please, Harry. More… h-harder,” he breathed.
Harry complied, setting a harder, faster pace and pressing Severus’s hips up as he ground down against him.
At that moment, Severus’s stomach rumbled loudly. Pain flared through his abdomen, and he clutched it, grimacing. He knew with sudden certainty that waiting is no longer possible.
But he did nothing. He wanted Harry far too much to stop.
Harry froze, concern flashing across his face. “Severus, are you okay?” he asked, trying to catch his breath as he lifted himself off of Severus gently.
Annoyed and flustered that the moment had been ruined, Severus rolled his eyes and sneered. “I was much better when you were rutting against me like a bitch in heat. Why did you stop?”
“You just look like you’re in pain,” Harry said gently. He lightly traced his fingers over Severus’s stomach. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I am fine,” Severus growled. He tried to maintain composure, straightening as best as he could on the couch, and letting out a soft, measured breath. “I… I suppose I may have… overindulged,” he admitted, voice low and laced with an unusual mixture of irritation and embarrassment.
Concern now long forgotten, Harry’s eyes glinted, dark with amusement and something more. “Overindulged?” he repeated softly, leaning closer across the table. “You make it sound like it’s your fault.”
Severus’s lips twitched, a flush rising across his cheeks. He opened his mouth to retort, but the bubbling sensation shifted sharply, forcing a small, quiet spurt free. His hand moved instinctively lower, pressing subtly against himself, trying to manage the sensation.
There was a spark there, almost imperceptible, a thrill that made Harry’s pulse quicken. He couldn’t help but study every twitch, every subtle change in posture.
Harry’s gaze flicked downward for just a heartbeat, then back to Severus’s face, the corners of his mouth twitching with quiet satisfaction. “Mm,” he said, a low, approving hum. “I think it’s agreeing with you… in more ways than one.”
Severus’s breath hitched, his posture stiffening as he tried to keep the reaction contained. Every movement, every subtle twist of his body seemed to amplify the sensations, and yet there was an undeniable thrill in being watched so keenly.
His hand lingered over his lap, pressing, trying to control both the pressure in his stomach and the raging heat pooling lower.
“You’ve… you’ve done this on purpose,” Severus murmured, voice strained, a mixture of accusation and desire. His eyes met Harry’s, dark, searching, and raw with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show.
Harry’s grin deepened, slow and deliberate. “I might have,” he admitted, voice low, almost a whisper. “But I knew you’d enjoy it. You always enjoy yourself… don’t you?”
Severus’s lips parted in a shuddering breath. “I… I do,” he admitted, though the words were laced with tension. The meal had been exquisite, each bite a delight, and yet now the very indulgence that had brought him pleasure was creating a deliciously torturous conflict in his body.
Harry said nothing, letting the words hang. He could see the way Severus’s hand unconsciously pressed against his stomach, how his jaw tightened just a fraction as another spasm of pressure rolled through him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—but to Harry, it was deliciously obvious.
Severus then pulled Harry’s hand down toward the obvious bulge in his trousers. Harry palmed him roughly through the fabric, and Severus moaned deeply, his eyes rolling back. It already felt incredible—he needed more.
Impatient, Severus reached for his wand and vanished their clothes with a sharp flick. Harry huffed out a laugh as he changed his position to kneel on the floor between Severus’s legs. Grinning up at him, he never broke eye contact as his fingers slid up and down Severus’s painfully hard, bare, length.
Severus’s stomach now held a torrent of sensation—both excruciating and electrifying—raced through him. He knew their actions would lead to sex, but he also knew what would come after.
He tried to release a bit of gas to ease the building ache, he felt something shift. A hot, insistent liquid pressed against his sphincter.
He clenched his entire body, forcing his expression back into something resembling composure, though the thrill of it was making his head spin.
Feeling daring, Harry leaned in and licked the tip of Severus’s cock. He savored the salty bead of pre-come, his own arousal spiking at the knowledge of what was building inside his lover. To break that composure further, Harry took him into his mouth. After a few firm strokes of his tongue, he swallowed Severus down, holding him there before pulling back.
“Ah,” Severus cried out, the sound caught somewhere between pleasure and agonizing pressure.
"Alright still?" Harry asked, his voice a devilish purr. He knew damn well he wasn't.
"M-more.. H-harry" Severus whimpered. Sweat slicked his skin, his heart racing as his stomach clenched violently. The urge was overwhelming now, a burning pressure that demanded release. Still, he couldn't stop himself from thrusting as hard as he could into Harry's mouth, mouth wide open crying out.
Harry carefully watched the expressions crossing Severus's face, his pupils blown wide with desire. The sound of his lover's strained moans was intoxicating. He knew Severus was at the breaking point—in more ways than one.
One more touch and he knew Severus would come. Deeply aware that this was the moment, he couldn't stop himself. Desperately wanting to see his lover completely undone, he pulled Severus free and pressed his tongue to the tight rim of Severus’s ass and sucked hard while fisting his length furiously.
That was the push towards the point of no return.
Severus cried out again, a raw, guttural sound, and jolted away.
He clenched every muscle in his body, and willed himself to stand, before he flew to the bathroom, leaving a triumphant Harry in his wake.
Severus crashed the door shut but didn't notice it hadn't latched. He nearly slammed his ass onto the toilet seat and exploded immediately.
Painful, fiery-hot liquid sprayed into the bowl with a vengeance. A dark red, thick fluid shot violently from him, accompanied by loud, extended, wet farts that echoed in the small room.
Severus couldn't stop. More and more kept coming, and all he could do was bear down, clutching his stomach in a mix of agony and profound, shameful release.
Sweat rolled down Severus's face as his intestines cramped painfully as even more expelled from him, each spurt accompanied by involuntary moans.
He had no idea how so much could possibly come out of him.
After several minutes of smaller spurts and wet farts, Severus finally felt as if he might be done. Shaky, sweaty, and weak, he wiped the terrible mess from his ass. Splashback from the violent expulsion had coated the toilet bowl—and him.
He looked down, shivering, at the bowl, fuller than he had ever seen it.
Turning his attention back to cleaning himself, he prepared to flush. By some miracle, the toilet swallowed every trace of his expelled demons. But as he stood up, his stomach roiled again. A new wave of cramps hit him, and he groaned, slumping back down to the seat.
Recently, all Harry could think about is how much he wanted Severus to lose control. To lose his very carefully crafted composure.
He knew it was gross and wrong, but his most recent desire was to hear him moan and explode wet shit into the toilet of their shared chambers.
Harry wanted to push Severus to his limits and then piece him back together again.
So naturally, he cooked Severus the meal of a lifetime, making sure to add copious amounts of dairy and spice, knowing it would create the desired result.
As soon as Severus had slammed the door, he ran over to listen.
Standing right outside the bathroom door, he could hear everything.
Harry was beside himself in arousal.
He couldn’t help himself, and immediately took his cock, already hard, and started jerking himself vigorously. Hand flying over his length, he was already so close.
Every sound Severus made was like putting a live wire to Harry’s cock.
He couldn’t last and quickly came hard shooting ropes of cum onto the bathroom door.
He was so aroused his cock never softened. Still working himself hard and fast, fucking his hand, he could feel that was working himself up again.
The sound of his wet cock in his hand was obscene complimented by the noises Severus was making in the bathroom.
Harry especially liked hearing Severus’ pained moans and the particularly gassy bursts of poop.
He recalled the glorious musky, primal scent every time Severus thought he was inconspicuously releasing his gas, especially pungent, as Harry blew him.
He pictured the sight of Severus, so utterly undone, a slave to the violent demands of his own body, being the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He desperately wished he could be in the bathroom with him to experience it all.
Harry continued to furiously wank, face full of exertion and need.
His second orgasm hit so hard it brought him to his knees as he furiously fucked his hand to completion, imagining it was Severus’s filthy ass.
Harry had to bite his hand so he wouldn’t moan out loud. Then he crumpled to the floor, heart racing and out of breath. He laid there until he heard Severus flush the toilet.
Not wanting to be caught, he ran back to his seat on the couch and pulled out a book to make it look like he was reading.
Severus sat down on the toilet again and diarrhea poured relentlessly out of him, accompanied by even more gas. It continued until his body had nothing left to give.
When it was finally over, he sat there trembling, ruined. He flushed the toilet again, then stood slowly, still shaky, and moved to wash his hands.
His body—treacherous, weak, contemptible—had betrayed him in the most humiliating way possible. Of course it had. It always did.
Severus stared at his pale, sweat-slicked complexion in the mirror. He curled his lip at the sight, disgust roiling in his stomach. Cursing the fact that he had bolted into the bathroom naked in the midst of his activities with Harry—and therefore couldn’t even leave with his dignity intact.
Activities with Harry.
The realization hit him in a wave of absolute horror.
Harry was still in the living room. And he hadn’t used a Silencing Charm—not against the awful, vile sounds his body had produced.
Harry must have heard everything. Severus flushed a furious red. Merlin, fuck everything. Fuck it all.
The flush that burned across his face felt like a brand. Severus pressed his hands to his face in shame. I chose this. There was no depth he could not sink to, no degradation he could not achieve. How many times could someone witness his weakness before it curdled into disgust? Merlin, damn it all. Damn himself.
He had to go back out there and face Harry. What could he say?
He thrust his hands beneath the scalding water, scrubbing them with near-manic thoroughness, reapplying soap again and again as though cleanliness might erase more than physical filth. As though filth were not something that clung far deeper than skin.
When he finally raised his head, the mirror showed him the truth in full: a disgusting, ugly, unlovable excuse for a human being.
How could Harry ever love something like me?
Tears burned at the backs of his eyes, unwanted and humiliating. He tilted his head upward, jaw clenched, refusing them the satisfaction of falling. He felt flayed open—reduced to exposed nerves and rot, with nothing left to shield himself from the world.
He felt raw.
Breathing through the tightness in his chest, he fumbled through the bathroom cabinet until his fingers closed around a stomach-soothing potion. Then another. He swallowed both without pause, uncaring. He splashed cool water onto his face and drank from the sink like an animal, throat aching with dryness.
A barrage of cleaning charms followed, frantic and excessive. He combed his hair into place, though it felt laughably pointless. Appearances meant nothing when the truth underneath was so irredeemably foul.
Still, his body settled. Marginally.
Now, all he wanted—pathetic, desperate want—was to lie beside Harry. To feel arms around him, not in desire but in reassurance. To hear soft, meaningless words that might, just for a moment, let him forget what he was.
He applied a venting charm to dispel the pungent odor in the bathroom.
Severus drew one last, shuddering breath, forced his face into something passably composed, and pulled the door open.
He found Harry lying on the couch, a book open in his hands. Hearing Severus' approach, Harry glanced up at once, polite concern softening his features.
“How are you feeling?” Harry asked—already knowing the answer, not just from Severus’s pallor, but from the hour he had spent locked away in the bathroom.
“Better now,” Severus replied quietly, too exhausted to summon anything stronger than honesty.
Harry set the book aside and opened his arms. “Come here.” Severus hesitated only a moment before stepping into them, careful, tentative. Harry held him without question, steady and warm.
“I… I can’t believe I let myself do this,” he muttered, voice low and taut. “All that… indulgence… I—” He shook his head sharply, as though shaking away the memory of the feast could undo it. “I’ve disgraced myself.”
His pride, always a shield, felt shredded. He couldn’t meet Harry’s gaze; the flush of shame was too deep, burning hotter than any spice in the meal. “I—what if I… what if I—” He broke off, groaning, curling inward slightly as another wave of stomach discomfort surged. “I feel… weak. Pathetic.”
“You’re not weak,” Harry said softly, reaching out to place a hand over Severus’s. “This… tonight… is about indulgence. Trust. Pleasure. You’re allowed to feel it. You’re allowed to want it. I know it doesn't feel like that right now, but this—this is just temporary. Your body is reacting to an extraordinary meal. That’s all.”
Severus’s chest tightened at Harry’s words, but the comfort didn’t reach him fully. “Temporary?” he whispered, almost bitterly. “Harry… I can’t even bear to look at myself right now. I feel… disgusting. I feel as if all the control I’ve ever prided myself on—gone. Obliterated. By a meal. By… by you.”
Harry’s eyes softened, but there was still that spark of mischief mixed with care. “I did it because I knew you’d enjoy it. I wanted you to let go. To allow yourself to feel pleasure without the walls you always put up. You didn’t disgrace yourself—you let yourself live.”
“You must think I am… unappetizing now,” Severus murmured, the last words barely audible. The shame hit once more. Tears welled, hot and unwelcome, and he hid his face against Harry’s chest, feeling painfully exposed.
Harry’s arms tightened around him in response, grounding, protective, and Severus found himself melting into the embrace despite himself.
“No. Never, Severus,” Harry said firmly. “Nothing about you repels me. Not your body. Not your vulnerability. None of it.”
Severus pressed his face into his hands, shoulders trembling slightly, caught between mortification and the quiet, stubborn pull of trust he felt for Harry.
The meal had stripped him bare—not just physically, but emotionally. He had indulged, lost control, and allowed himself to be vulnerable.
And now, as much as he wanted to deny it, he needed this moment. He shook his head with the thought that Harry's comforting presence was both unbearable and necessary.
“You don’t disgust me,” Harry continued gently. “And I don’t want you to be embarrassed. It doesn’t change how I see you.”
Severus had finally caught his breath, and the mood changed slightly when Harry admitted, “You… have no idea how much this turns me on, it’s not… it’s not gross to me. I’ve always… liked this.” His voice went husky. “In fact…” Harry then reached for Severus’ hand and slid him down south, settling on the iron hardness that lay there between Harry’s legs.
“Do you feel what you do to me? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but that was so insanely hot. I can’t explain why, but I get so turned on when I hear stuff like that, it doesn’t disgust me.”
“Fuck, Harry,” Severus breathed in amazement, as he explored the hardness further, already feeling his own body start to react to his lovers arousal.
“You don’t disgust me.” Harry said once more. “You have a very sensitive stomach and things like this can happen.” Harry said gently.
He smiled faintly, trying to lighten the heaviness between them. “Though perhaps I won’t make Indian food again quite so soon.” A quiet breath of laughter escaped Severus before he could stop it.
Harry pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’ve always been appetizing to me,” he said softly. “If anything, loving you like this only makes it more so. I love you, Severus.”