The Space Between Failing and Falling • Snarry •

Chapter 19: Insights and Intimacies

Whilst Harry pours them pumpkin juice, Severus rummages around for his gramophone.

"Did you bring the kitchen sink, too?"

Severus shuts him up by kissing him, before fetching his records.

"You know kissing me doesn't mean you've won the—oof."

He shuts him up some more, and decides to shut him up for the rest of the evening. Sunset isn't until seven, and it seems neither of them are in the frame of mind for exploring the island.

"Are you hungry?" Severus asks. His voice is rough, so he clears his throat.

"Nah." Harry pulls a chaise longue into the shade of the veranda, flops onto it, and pulls Severus down with him. It's a bit of a squash, not really built for two adults, yet they kiss like they are the only people left in the world, and every time Harry pulls away, he waits with bated breath for even a single extra kiss.

He enlarges the chaise longue, and soon Harry dozes, pillowed on Severus's stomach. It's not terribly late in Britain, but it's been an exhausting day.

Severus must have drifted off too, for he wakes to Harry rubbing his feet, haloed by the setting sun. "Let's go inside," Harry murmurs.

There are candles in the cupboard, and with a swing of Severus's wand they assemble in intervals around the perimeter of the room. He lights them with another wave, and their reflections twinkle in Harry's glasses as he blinks up at him. The look in Harry's eyes pierces through his defences, so Severus takes off his glasses and puts them on the bedside table.

Meeting Harry's gaze makes his chest go uncomfortably tight, makes him feel nude, as if there is nowhere to hide.

The bonding robes are rather more open-necked than he'd normally wear, and he shivers at the back of Harry's forefinger skimming over the start of his collarbone.

Surely Harry can feel his thrumming heart.

Something twists in Severus's gut as Harry stares at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He feels his own eyelids drift half closed. His hair dances around his face in the balmy breeze, so Harry reaches out to smooth it back, before crouching to untie Severus's boots and kicking off his own.

Harry grips his hand as he holds Severus's head and kisses across the outstretched neck and along his jawline.

Severus stands with his head held high, back ramrod straight.

"It's okay," Harry says, rubbing Severus's sides. "It's just me."

Now is not the time for nerves.

Severus reaches out a tentative finger to trace Harry's chin, the trajectory of his smiling cheek, who turns his face to kiss the fingertip. Harry locks his gaze with Severus's, and backs away. Severus's heart stops for a moment, then catches up as he comprehends. Harry settles in the parting of the mosquito net. The vast swathes of silver cloth engulf Harry and the bed. Severus kneels on the floor to remove Harry's socks and brush off the remaining sand. Throughout all of this, Harry looks at him, eyes very dark in his pale face. Severus moves to kiss him.

Harry's lips are soft. He savours the inner surface of Harry's lower lip, consumes the soft sound Harry makes in his throat, and shudders as their tongues touch.

Their clothes are an inconvenient barrier, and Harry tugs up Severus's robes, and with help he flings it to the ground. Severus kneels before him in just his underwear, and shivers as gentle fingers caress the hairs of his thigh upwards so that they stand on end. His husband's eyes are observant, careful, studious. Goosebumps appear as he feels Harry's calloused palm trace the planes of his chest, and Harry leans in to kiss a scar on his shoulder. The kisses are unhurried and almost disinterested, as though he's trying to calm a wild horse, and his hands drift up and down Severus's arms and shoulders. He pulls away to bestow a long kiss on Severus's Dark Mark, and another soft, slow one on the bonding ring.