The Morning Mail
by
for bethbethbeth's
birthday
Date: 6 Aug 2006
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Snape, Harry, tabby cat
Word Count: 3425
Warnings: highlight between brackets if you prefer story warnings:
[ wanking, voyeurism, wanking, mail abuse, wanking (no really), char death (not SS or HP), a smidge of anal play, lots of semen]
Disclaimer: All the characters are Rowling's. The situations they're in are mine. No profit was made.
Summary: Snape develops a unique method of dealing with unwanted mail after the war and his acquittal.
Author's notes: a little something I wrote for bethbethbeth....many happies, lady!
bethbethbeth is a gas. Being around her makes you smile and relax and feel at home. That's the nicest thing I can say about anyone.
On Thursday, there were 88 letters, not all of them howlers, but they
all went into the mailbox anyway. The delivery owls were all trained to
automatically dump mail into a Wizarding mailbox if the addressee had
one. Snape's was set on the stoop outside his kitchen door under a sign
that read "morning delivery ONLY."
88 was rather a lot, but he might get two out of it, he thought as he
put the mailbox atop his chair and slid up his grey nightgown with one
hand to caress his tackle.
He did this until he began to gently thrust his hardening cock forward
and then took himself in hand, the other scratching his bollocks for a
good long moment before reaching back to scratch his arse. Snape
sighed.
As he stroked he began to count out loud. At every decade his thumb
would circle the puckered skin at the end of his cock and slowly worm
his way under the prepuce to the highly receptive skin below. Snape
would tremble, and then keep stroking and counting. He wasn't going to
last, he thought.
Sure enough at 44 he felt his bollocks tighten and by 49 he was
spattering semen all over the contents of the mailbox. He caught his
breath and watched with amusement as some of the spattered howlers
tried to fly up in his face with outrage. Some actually looked
appalled.
He smiled. Then he closed the box.
Thursday afternoon, Severus finished a light tea and opened the box.
Immediately, smoking red howlers tried to exit, but they could not. He
could not hear them, either, that being one of the magical properties
inherent in a personal Wizarding mailbox.
Some of the howlers had already expended in a blaze of paper glory,
tiny bits of charred parchment littering the bottom of the box. He
shrugged.
He unzipped his jeans and pushed down his underpants and slid a firm
hand around his surprisingly eager cock. Having a reason to wank was
not a normal state of affairs for Severus Snape.
He grunted a little as he gave quick, furtive tugs to himself to get
properly firm, then remembered he'd left off at 49 and began counting
again. He didn't quite make it to 88, but he stroked himself twice more
after he'd come all over his correspondence... just to satisfy the
numbers.
Then he cast inflammare into the fireproof box and watched with
satisfaction as the whole lot burnt to mere ash.
Another day. Another wank. Plus one.
Friday morning brought only 72 letters and 3 howlers. He frowned.
Usually there were more howlers. He shrugged as he slid his grey
nightgown up and began to methodically wank. His thighs clenched and
relaxed and he found himself humming a mindless tune even as he kept an
idle count of his strokes. This was a nice lazy morning and it felt
good to spend it in the company of someone he genuinely cared for.
It took rather more than 75 strokes for him to reach orgasm this
morning and he gasped as he thrust his hips and the spunk squirt into
the box and onto the letters.
Eight for good measure, he thought with satisfaction as he drew in a
satisfied sigh and set the lot in the box on fire.
Friday afternoon, Severus considered the empty box and told himself
sternly that he did not need to wank.
Friday night, Severus tossed and turned before he fell into a fitful
sleep. He dreamt of Minerva playing an informal game of Quidditch with
Hooch against Potter and the Granger girl. The snitch was a howler that
kept calling out his name. They were all naked.
Severus wasn't entirely sure that Potter wasn't actually holding onto
his extended prick and not the broom handle. He woke up with his own
extended prick in hand and slapped it with his other hand.
Impertinence!
He would never wank to Potter playing bloody Quidditch. No
matter how fetching his arse looked perched on a broom.
Saturday there were 57 pieces of correspondence and 8 howlers.
Severus came after 14 strokes. After breakfast, he managed to make it
to 52 before absolutely deluging the post with come. He nearly passed
out, it felt so good.
He decided to save the remaining 15 for the morrow.
There was no post on Sunday. Even if there was, the owls could sit on
his clothesline until the next morning for all he cared.
Sunday night he brought the mailbox up to his bedroom and tipped it on
it's side, facing him. The contents shifted, but could not get out of
the box, another one of the enchantments on the box.
He smiled as he enjoyed a leisurely wank, thrusting his hips and
pushing his cock into his oil-slicked fist and far more than 15 strokes
later, spurting several healthy dollops of semen all over the
dispirited looking mail.
He fell asleep almost instantly, so he cast the inflammare when
he woke in the middle of the night to empty his bladder.
Monday morning brought 70 letters and 5 howlers. He scowled at the lot
and drank his viciously hot black tea.
Snape had a headache.
After supper Monday night he considered the mailbox and finally sighed
and set it on the floor in front of his chair. He sat with his knees
apart and rubbed himself through his jeans. A slight twinge met the
action after a moment and he stopped rubbing his tackle and began
rubbing his temple.
Bloody headache.
Tuesday morning brought 55 more letters and 12 howlers. Snape sighed
and half-heartedly worked up a stiffy, but it flagged as he considered
the size of the pile and he stopped.
"Okay, spurts count."
That said, his cock perked up a bit and he began to wank in earnest.
To his surprise, he reached 65 before coming. There were seven pearly
spurts in the box, so that made 72. Only 70 to go.
Tuesday's tea took care of another 27.
Snape was humming as he tidied the kitchen and headed out for his local
Tesco's.
Which was where he ran into bloody Harry Potter.
"You haven't answered my letters."
A muscle by the side of Snape's eye twitched, but he said nothing.
"I would have thought we were past any petty grudges."
Snape sighed and stared at the pyramid of loo rolls behind Potter's
shoulder. The boy really *was* rather short, wasn't he? Yet, he was
entirely appealing.
"Look, you don't have to answer me, but I really... I just really want
to say how sorry I am. You didn't let me do that. At the trial."
Snape issued a low growling sound and glared, and Harry frowned and
turned to see a pyramid of innocent loo rolls. They didn't seem
threatening to him, although they did have tiny blue bears
imprinted on them.
When he turned around, Snape was gone.
Severus appeared at his kitchen stoop and rushed into the house. He
barely got the box open, his trousers down, and his cock in hand when
he was already spurting, coming hard into the box with an agonized
groan.
He tried to stroke to gain more numbers, but the sensation was too much
for his sensitized organ and he only managed two before giving up and
just letting the post-orgasmic shudders go through him.
He clutched at the table with one hand, his cock with the other and
stared at the box. Then he put it on the table and cleaned himself up,
refastening his trousers and putting on some leftover porridge to heat,
as it was the only thing he had left to eat.
Early Wednesday found Severus going to the Tesco Express that was
rather further than his usual Tesco's, but they opened earlier and he
could apparate, which he did.
Laden with bags, he made his way behind the store and in the presence
of a nervous, new mother cat, a truly lovely orange tabby and her truly
adorable, soundless kittens, he apparated back to his home.
Some moments later, Snape returned with a bowl of milk and some bread
and a ratty old throw that he bundled against some pipes not too far
from the weary mother cat. Then he apparated again without a look back.
Wednesday evening, he dragged the box before his spread knees where he
sat in the kitchen and counted. There had been 43, now there were 68
plus 3 howlers.
He began to fondle his tackle through his trousers, staring only at the
box.
Harry Potter couldn't bring himself to knock. He just couldn't. For
some reason he did not want the door slammed in his face. He didn't
think he could take it. He respected the absolute hell out of Severus
Snape and feeling, heck, knowing the man despised him, stung.
Harry couldn't help it that he'd been wrong. It all had seemed so
obvious.
Snape killed Dumbledore and ran off with Draco. After a frustrating
summer, clues began to be received and when they were investigated, it
turned out to be Draco Malfoy providing them. Harry made a grudging
peace with the Slytherin which deepened into friendship and so he did
not question him by the next spring when Draco had urged him to meet at
a deserted field.
To his horror Draco had begun to change into a grim-faced Severus Snape
and he could not get away as a dozen Death Eater's surrounded them,
congratulating Snape. Harry had been livid.
He'd been horrorstruck to learn Draco had been dead for several months,
at the hand of his own father. His anger at the situation had helped
him survive the encounter, and it had only taken the unexpected
convulsions of Nagini to distract Voldemort long enough for Snape to
throw an astonished Harry his wand and begin to fight off the equally
astonished Death Eaters.
Snape had taken at least three bad hexes and that was all Harry had
been able to see whilst he fought Voldemort. It was Nagini's pleading
rasp to her master that had annoyed Voldemort enough to momentarily
turn to silence the snake when Harry had cast petrificus totalus
to fell the dark wizard.
He had then gone to stroke the dying snake's head and whisper how sorry
he was to her in Parseltongue. She could not help having been the
familiar of a Dark Lord; Voldemort had chosen her, not the other way
around. It certainly was not her fault her master was such a foul,
uncaring creature. He had not said any of that, though, merely
apologizing for what was happening to her, telling her she would be all
right soon, somewhere safe and free of pain and danger, not even
realizing tears were now dripping from his eyes.
Nagini had considered him with her own large unblinking eyes, and then
with a last surge of strength, bitten her master's neck, nearly
severing his head from his body. In the end it did not matter, since
the poison in her fangs would finish the job.
Harry had wept. More over Nagini than over the man who didn't have
enough love in him to even care for the fate of his familiar. He had
wept and wept and when the gasping Snape had lifted him like a child
and apparated them both to St. Mungo's, he'd been unable to stop him or
to say anything to the orderlies who came and held Snape at wand point
whilst Harry was dragged to an examination room.
He'd found out later that Snape was being held at the Ministry. He had
spoken on his behalf at the trial. He never mentioned Draco once,
testifying that Severus Snape had been helping the Order, because he
now knew that it had been Snape all along, not Draco.
He'd mourned the boy he thought he'd known, but never really had and
wondered if Snape did, also. He wondered if the boy he thought was
Draco, the boy he'd befriended, was really like Snape at all. Had it
all been a front?
He found himself walking toward the side of the small house now and
looking for a window to peer into. He wanted to see Severus Snape in
his own surroundings, see him without the robes and behaving like a
normal human. Maybe then he could finish accepting what he already knew
- that Snape was a good man, and one worthy of his friendship. And
maybe more?
Harry sighed as he rounded the house and remembered those moments with
'Draco' where the air had seemed almost electric. Those moments
he'd thought the other boy was going to touch him, perhaps even kiss
him. Those moments Harry had realized he didn't mind at all and was
actually looking forward to. It was all he could think about since
Snape's acquittal two weeks ago.
Snape pulled his cock and bollocks carefully from his trousers and just
held his genitals with his two hands. It felt wonderful - warm,
resilient flesh. He lifted his hands and smelt them.
Oh, yes...
He pushed his trousers down below his knees.
Harry could see the back door, but more importantly, there was a window
that revealed light from the kitchen. Maybe he'd see Snape having
supper.
Harry stepped closer and peered through the window where the curtains
gapped a bit.
Snape was slowly rocking, pushing his hips, his cock into his fist. It
felt so bloody good!
He moaned as he fondled his bollocks with his free hand, and then
lifted that hand to suck on a finger. Without hesitation he slid it
behind him and with a deep sigh, he gently pushed it inside himself.
Mouth open, Harry ogled the vision before him. Snape was wanking!
Not only that, but he was fucking himself with a finger.
Harry could not help it; he was only human and barely 18 to boot. He
was hard as a rock already and so filled with lust he felt slightly
crazed.
He bit his lip and began rubbing at his crotch.
Snape slowed his thrusts, feeling the tension in his muscles, his
spine. He needed 71 strokes and he'd only managed a dozen before his
bollocks were tingling. He thought of removing his finger from his
arse, but hesitated. It felt far too good and he wanted, no needed
to wank to Potter since seeing him at the bloody store.
He needed to imagine it was Potter's finger, Potter's hands, Potter's cock.
His hand stroked faster.
Harry gasped as he managed to fumble his achingly hard cock from his
trousers and gasped again as he clearly heard Snape cry out through the
thin pane of glass.
"Oh, Harry...!"
It was no good. He could not hold out any longer. 32 strokes were all
he had in him.
"Harry!" he cried out as he
pulled his finger from his
arse and clutched at his tightening bollocks, even as the kitchen door
flew open and the object of his fantasy rushed in, trousers opened,
tantalizing bits of pink flesh showing.
Potter rushed up to him (him!), falling to his knees and
displacing the box to pull him down by the hair and begin snogging him
thoroughly as he shuddered through a staggeringly powerful orgasm.
He could feel his semen soaking the boy's shirt and still he came,
sensitive cock head rubbing the soft cotton of the tee shirt Harry wore
and making him swoon.
He could have sworn Harry was calling his name, too, but couldn't tell
for sure since it was being uttered against his mouth.
Still, the kiss was good, it was what he wanted and so he ignored
whatever Potter was saying and gave in to it. He held on tight with one
hand on Harry's shoulder and the other still gripping his cock.
Suddenly Harry stiffened and pulled back and Severus thought the boy
had come to his senses and realized whom he was snogging, when he felt
the spasm and the bursts of semen that spattered onto his shirt and
lap. He held him as he came, catching his breath, watching that
exquisite face as Harry gave in to pleasure.
Dear sweet Merlin...
"Oh, Harry..."
Harry shuddered, too, clutching his cock with a death grip and holding
Severus by a hank of that greasy hair as if it was a lifeline. This had
Snape with his head slightly tilted, but he did not mind. If Harry
wanted to come on him whilst yanking on his hair, this sounded like a
fine trade to him.
The smell of come surrounded them, making Snape dizzy, reminding him of
the Slytherin dorm when he was fourteen and all his classmates were
constantly wanking every night and every morning and usually in between
classes during the day. He often wondered as a teacher how any of the
boys managed to get their assignments done at all. He could not
remember how he'd done it himself, remembering only the maddening,
almost constant need to grip his cock and stroke it until he could
think again.
"Oh, Severus..."
Snape blinked.
They were in his kitchen, holding each other, drenched in semen... and
the back door was open. He cleared his throat and wandlessly closed the
door. Then he turned to Potter who was catching his breath.
"So. You found my house."
"I've known where you live all along. The whole Order does. I didn't
know, but McGonagall had some people watching you."
Snape frowned.
"Not now, I mean... last year. She said she knew you weren't to blame
for Dumbledore. She didn't want anyone taking revenge on you in case
they knew or found out about this place. So she's had people protecting
you. I didn't know until after the trial."
Snape considered this and sighed. "I barely used it."
"I know. I think she had alarms put up to let her know if you were
here. I'm pretty sure she doesn't watch it anymore."
Snape nodded and Harry cleared his throat, settling back.
"Would you mind if we got dressed?"
Severus looked down and, to Harry's pleased surprise, blushed. He
merely nodded, though, and quickly stood to lift his trousers over his
slim hips and refasten them. Another quick wandless spell took care of
the semen spatters and when he looked to Harry, he was standing,
already dressed.
"Well..."
"Don't make a meal of it, Potter. It... happened."
"I'd prefer you call me Harry. I like how you say it."
Snape remembered when he'd called him that and blushed again, to his
consternation.
"Look... I--"
"It's okay. I don't expect you, of all people, to say anything about
how you feel. So let me just say -- I grew to care about you, Severus.
As Draco. I think I still feel that way. I wanted to come tell you. I
wanted to see if you felt the same. What I saw through the window... I
think that answered my question."
Snape sighed.
"That was just... weakness. Plus I needed to toss off. I had 71 to go."
Harry considered this, puzzled. "Seventy-one?"
Snape blushed a bit again, annoyed. "Just something I've been doing to
rid myself of the damn mail. After the trials, I didn't want to read it
nor hear the bloody howlers. I don't want smarmy well wishes from
people who before the trial would as soon spit on me than greet me. And
I certainly don't want to hear the death threats and inanity of
vengeance-seekers that can't be bothered to face me directly. So it all
kept building up and one day I looked at the boxful and said 'Fuck the
lot of you!' That's when I got the idea and it wouldn't leave. So every
morning, I get the box off the stoop and I, um, toss off over it. Each
bit of mail equals a stroke. I had 71 to go when I started."
"What do you do when you reach the number?"
"Spunk."
Harry blushed. "Ah."
"Except I do it on the mail. Then I burn the lot."
Harry nodded, then looked at the box and back up at Snape.
"How far did you get?"
Snape fought a smile.
"Thirty-two strokes."
Harry didn't fight his.
"Then we've got our work cut out for us, eh?"
Thursday morning the owls flew in circles behind the house on Spinner's
End and finally landed on the clothesline to rest before flying off
again, letters still in their grasp. Dozens were currently resting
there, staring at the door, but not approaching.
The mailbox sat in its usual spot, but it was utterly clean now, with a
warm towel inside it, upon which lay a sleeping orange tabby and her
nursing kittens. Next to the box was a saucer of milk and bit of
newspaper with half a banger on it.
~FINIS~
Posted: 6 August 2006