Bloodwork by seeker

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It had taken years for him to find peace. Years of spying on Voldemort, killing and torturing and holding and spilling secrets, over a year after Voldemort was finally defeated then another year after the dregs of his followers had been crushed into dust. Years of watching Harry Potter grow from a child with James' face to a man with Lily's eyes, years of patience to understand that Harry's secrets were all his own, years to accept that the man Harry had become wanted the man Severus Snape was.

All that peace, shattered in two breathless words, whispered at the height of passion.

"Cut me."

Followed by another, one he seldom heard, seldom needed in their bed.

"Please."

In an instant all was still, from his hands on Harry's body to his heart in his chest to his eyes locked on Harry's pleading face. The need in those deep emerald eyes was like a dagger to his lung, catching his breath, strangling his denial before it could be spoken.

"I ..." can't, he wanted to say. But he could, and Harry knew it. Which is why Harry had never asked it of him. Never asked for the one thing Severus would hate and wanted above everything else to do to him.

Mark him.

Make him his, below the skin, in the blood, where even magic couldn't follow.

Still frozen, he could do nothing but lie there as Harry kissed him, gentle lips biting fire along his jaw, his throat, down his neck, to his nipple, then further down his torso, to latch onto the end of his prick and suck, all with the mind-destroying tenderness that always marked their lovemaking. Severus blinked, finally, when his eyes began to burn, and lowered his gaze to see Harry looking up at him. Sucking him. Pleading with him as he pleasured him. The words echoed in Severus' brain until they were all he could hear, as all he could feel was Harry skillfully, sweetly, softly bringing him to orgasm.

As he came, fingers tangled in thick rough hair, he screamed his answer. He meant to say no. He did.

"Yes!"

To everything.

The smile Harry gifted him in return for his submission was blinding. Severus shivered and lay, open and receptive, as Harry crawled up his body, sharing his taste with him, settling between his legs and entering him carefully. Not that care was needed, as open and relaxed as he was, but that was the way it was between them, always. A delicacy to the touch they gave one another that they showed to no one else.

An outsider would not have understood how such a request would fit in their self-contained world. But it made perfect sense to Severus, such perfect sense he'd been avoiding it rigorously since the first time his fingers had ghosted over Harry's soft skin. For there was nothing so deep, nothing so intimate, as the first touch of honed steel to flesh, the first crimson well of fluid, the first coppery taste smearing his lips. The first thin scar marking that flesh as his.

Nothing so tender as the first cut.

Harry thrust harder into him, and Severus wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders, tangling his fingers in the thick hair at the nape of Harry's neck. Sweat-slick, it clung to his hands, holding him in an ephemeral embrace no less binding for all its impermanence. This is what he remembered when he was alone, what he dreamt when they were apart, this was what bound them. As close as they could be, without the finality of death.

Or the living warmth of blood.

With a final thrust and a deep groan, Harry emptied himself into Severus, hands clutching hips hard enough to bruise, then shuddered against him. Severus lowered his arms, sliding his hands down the trembling muscles lining the long spine, coming to rest round the muscular buttocks, still quivering with aftershocks of climax. He petted and soothed, his tongue darting out to taste the sweat dripping down Harry's temple, and Harry turned his head, catching his mouth in a kiss that spoke more honestly than words ever would.

Not tonight, Severus thought, gathering his exhausted lover in his arms and settling them both down to sleep. But soon.

He hated the thought.

It sang to him.

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Over the next several days, that whisper came to him again at the most inconvenient times. Whilst lecturing the idiot sixth years on what they should have had memorized two years before. At dinner, watching over the Slytherin children, trying not to think of the depletion in the ranks and the silence of the survivors. As he dressed in the morning, leaving Harry sleeping behind him, shaking his head at the oddity of a morning person and a night owl fitting so well together.

Every time he picked up a knife to slice or mince or chop, with every potion he made.

Harry didn't ask again. Severus knew he wouldn't. Their lovemaking continued, with the depth of tenderness it always carried. The green eyes shimmered at him, the strong hands drove him insane, the feel of that warm body covering and entering and conquering him melted him nightly.

But the question remained.

More urgently, the need remained.

Unspoken it might have been, but it was heard regardless. Louder, and louder, with every touch between them, every kiss, every muffled cry. Every time he wrapped his arms around Harry and buried his face in the thick dark hair, every time Harry held him, every time he rose from their bed without giving Harry what he wanted.

What Severus dearly wanted, and was terrified, to give him.

He didn't know how long it would have continued, but Harry was a Gryffindor, and bravery combined with foolhardiness was his trademark. One night as Severus stood by their bed, robes neatly swept over the back of the chair, Harry turned to him. Smiled sweetly.

Offered him the knife.

Severus stared at it for a very long time. Harry's free hand reached out and stroked the erection Severus couldn't control, even as he stared at the shining silver blade. Slowly, so slowly his eyes ached, he tore his gaze from the knife and stared, instead, at Harry's face.

"Yes," Harry answered the questions Severus couldn't ask. Really? Truly? Forever?

Mine?

All of them. One word to answer all of them.

As his fingers wrapped around the hilt, Severus' spine arched, and his prick leaked. Harry leaned forward, licking the end, hand wrapping gently around the base, holding him still. Severus stared at the reflection of light off the slim blade as Harry expertly sucked him, until he could no longer hold his eyes open, closing them as he came.

He shuddered, and blinked, and looked down to see Harry. Hard. Lying back. Licking his lips. Offering himself.

To Severus.

To the knife.

It was almost enough to make Severus erect again, and he silently blessed Harry for having the foresight to take the edge off, or he'd never get through this. He needed control; it had been a long time, years, since he had done this, and the frisson up his spine warned him it would be as heady as it ever had.

Moreso.

All the more reason to take it slowly. Draw out the pleasure and the pain. Wring every drop of sensation from it until all that remained was the blood binding them both.

He traced the pattern first with his tongue. The hollow between pads of muscle that lay over Harry's heart. The thin skin along his ribs that rose and fell unsteadily with each breath he labored to take, control tested with each taste. Over the rise of the pelvic bones, to the heat of him, the veins just beneath the surface. Bypassing the thick curls to find more heat, swollen, engorged with blood. Hungry for the touch of Severus' mouth.

Hungry for the knife.

A taste, no more, and Severus pulled back. He stared down at Harry for a long moment, memorizing the smooth expanse of flawless skin, his canvas. His to claim, claiming him in the moment before irretrievable motion. A final chance.

"Severus."

His eyes flew to Harry's face, reading understanding, sympathy and hard need overriding both. Harry knew what this would do to him. The floodgates it would open. The desires so fiercely denied that it would refresh in his mind. It sang to him.

"Cut me."

Not a question. A command. One Severus was powerless to deny. Bringing to mind other times, when he'd been powerless, and the taste was the same, the need was the same. Only the motivation was different.

As would be the outcome.

The first shallow cut traced the line of his breastbone, crossing the slight rise to score directly over his heart. Harry gasped, but stayed still, eyes following the knife as Severus watched him. A single delicate slice, then a second, a third, a fourth ... a latticework beginning to form beneath the blade, tiny bubbles of blood rising along the thin red lines.

He bent, retracing his steps once again with his mouth. This time the taste was intense, as copper and magic burst over tongue. Above him, Harry moaned; the end of his prick brushed wetly against Severus' arm as it pulsed. A lick, then another, and Severus straightened to stare as the droplets welled again in the wake of his cleaning.

The blade flashed as his hand moved surely, a thin line tracing along the lower edge of Harry's ribs, streaks of blood slowly trickling over the pristine skin. Harry moaned again, deeper this time, as the burn set in from the previous cuts, joined now by the line of fire beneath his ribcage. Every expansion of his lungs caused further blood to well, and Severus watched, entranced, until his free hand reached out, fingers tracing in the dark red liquid.

Harry's hand reached for his wrist, brought the stained fingers to his mouth, and closed his lips over them. Severus fought for breath as Harry's eyes sank closed, his jaw working as he sucked his blood from the skin, moaning around the fingers Severus now pressed against his tongue.

Leaving his hand where it was, Severus raised the knife again, tracing a mirroring line along the lower edge of ribs bisecting Harry's torso. The moan this time was muffled by the fingers Harry still sucked, but Severus was breathing more heavily himself now, and their needful sounds harmonized. He bent over, hair dragging over the seeping line, blood catching at the ends of the strands, and lapped along the fresh cut.

Life, and magic, given freely, for the pleasure of both. Not taken, wrenched away for the pleasure and the power of another. For the first time Severus allowed himself to sink into the sheer drugging envelopment of what he was doing, the scent of Harry's skin and sweat and blood and musk, the taste coating his lips, stinging his tongue, the powerful suction around his fingers and the slow unsteady writhing of Harry's body beneath his.

So close to perfection. Severus was hard again, prick leaking over Harry's thigh, barely hotter than the rivulets of blood that splattered the tip as they dripped from the furrow along Harry's side. Blood and sweat and seed and heat. He'd almost managed to forget how addictive this was.

How much more addictive it was with a willing partner. A new experience, and all the more inebriating for it.

The final cut was the most delicate yet, as he traced the knife along the thinnest skin, along the upper edge of Harry's shaft. He pulled his hand from Harry's mouth and used it to steady Harry's prick as he worked, eyes intent, movements precise.

Harry screamed as the blade bit along the side of his prick, but he didn't move. He sobbed with every gasp, and cried "Yes!" with every breath out, but he didn't move. Severus spiraled the blade along the shaft, lightly over the heavy vein along the front, until the tip of the blade lay against the center of the glans. The point was aimed at the slit, and he glanced, once, up to Harry's face.

"I love you," he whispered, and Harry convulsed, body spasming, spunk jetting over the blade now moving to pierce as Severus held him tightly, cream and crimson blending as fluid slid over Severus' knuckles, down his prick. One quick, perfectly aimed score, and blood flowed side by side with semen.

The scream that echoed through Severus' mind probably came from Harry, although he couldn't be certain, comprised as it was of his own endless screams, the screams of his victims, the screams of his lovers; it washed away to silence as he lowered his head and covered the bleeding, streaming, pulsing cock with his mouth. Over his tongue, salt and sweet and alive unlike anything else, ever, with anyone, and Severus came helplessly as he swallowed.

He lay there for some time, Harry's prick hot and wet in his mouth, gentle hands stroking his hair, their harsh breathing in counterpoint to the otherwise complete silence in the room. Eventually Harry moved, his stomach rising and subsiding beneath Severus' cheek, and Severus reluctantly pulled back.

Harry had his wand in his hand, and Severus watched dully. He'd never had one survive his bloodwork, and he didn't know what Harry would do next. Heal himself, probably, wipe away the lines, the blood, the marks, as if it had never happened. Severus closed his eyes, knowing he didn't want to see it, knowing an erasure would break something in him, between them.

Another shift, and an arm came about his shoulders, urging him up until he lay beside Harry, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, Harry's blood still slowly seeping to stain Severus' skin. Butterfly kisses ghosted over his eyelids, and he opened his eyes hesitantly. He was rewarded with a kiss, sweeping over his mouth, sampling the blood and seed still coating his tongue. Harry made an appreciative sound.

"Watch," he whispered.

Severus did, unable to do otherwise. Harry moved his wand over the bleeding cuts, and thin pink lines appeared. Wincing, smiling, he touched the wand to the head of his cock, back arching, moaning involuntarily as he did. Severus was torn between watching the ecstasy on Harry's face as the magic flowed into the wounds on his prick and seeing when Harry would stop.

Soon enough, he did. Only soon enough to still the blood. Scarify the skin. Leaving the marks, thin pink lines raising the fragile skin, the depression in the glans remaining. Severus leaned forward and lapped at the mark with his tongue.

Harry cried out, a spurt of cream washing over Severus' tongue. Severus worried it until Harry was humping uncontrollably into his mouth, before having mercy and swallowing him down, tongue tracing the upraised scars as he went.

When there was nothing left to take, and Harry lay nearly insensate beneath him, Severus lay back down next to him and gathered him in his arms. He felt oddly light, as if a deep wound had been lanced, or a yoke taken from his back. He traced the fresh scars along Harry's torso idly with one finger, wishing he could find a way to tell Harry how he appreciated this, how the shadows had lightened, but he couldn't.

A soft kiss against his ear brought his head up. Harry's hand caught his hair and held him still, then Harry kissed him. As gently as always, but this time, with an undercurrent of understanding he'd never felt. When the kiss finally ended, Severus looked into Harry's eyes and knew he didn't need to find words.

It was already there, between them, in the tenderness and the blood.

END