The baker and the potion master

Chapter nine: bittersweet chocolate fantasies

Severus jiggled the front door handle, twisting the difficult key in the lock. The creaky door to dreary Spinner's End opened, revealing a dark and uninviting foyer. He clutched the Evening Prophet in one hand. Severus cradled his bakery box against his chest in the other.

The dilapidated house always depressed Severus. No matter how far he had gone in life, and no matter what he had achieved, Spinner's End reminded him that he hadn't made it all that far. Not really. He still lived in rundown and forgotten Cokeworth. Severus remained rooted in the same childhood home, haunted by domestic abuse and neglect.

In the past, Severus' poverty made it impossible to find a new home.

Now he was too stubborn to do so.

Severus set the paper and his purchase down on the small table by the door. He bent down, unlacing his boots. He toed them off, tucking them into their designated space underneath the table.

With a shake of his head to chase away drowsiness, he trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. He tugged on the stubborn door, and it groaned in protest as it unstuck. One of these days, he would fix it, or so he thought every time he fought with it. Severus shuffled to his bed and fell back onto it, its softness swallowing him. He threw his arms over his eyes, blocking the dim light. An exhausted sigh rumbled from deep in his chest as the house's silence enveloped him. Today had been strange. Who would have ever guessed that Potter, of all people, would visit his shop? It certainly had not been in his plans.

Severus wished he could relive it all again.

Closing his eyes, Severus conjured Potter's visit in his mind. His emerald robes hugged his body. The young man stood, arms clasped behind his back. His bowed head demonstrated a hidden submissive streak. A challenging spark flared in forest green eyes. Perhaps not so submissive after all. Good. It would not be as much fun to seduce him if he simply surrendered. That would not do.

A smirk quirked his lips. Potter said airily, "Again, sorry, sir. I'll keep my hands to myself."

All of his blood rushed south, his cock straining against the confines of his trousers.

While Potter had been there before him in the flesh, Severus had resisted all temptation. Now, however? He could indulge in a rich fantasy. What might have happened if Ron Weasley hadn't been there? Or if his shop had been closed for the day?

In the faint light of his bedroom, Severus shrugged out of his outer robes, kicking them away. He unzipped himself, freeing his hard cock. Thumbs slipped into trousers, tugging them down. Underwear followed. A firm hand stroked in languid motions.

In his fantasy, Severus closed the gap between them. A hand ran up one of Potter's hips. His nose brushed into the young man's messy dark hair. Rich sandalwood wafted into his nostrils. He purred, "I make no promises to do the same, Potter."

Both hands cupped and squeezed a taut arse. Small caresses accentuated the satiny feel of silk under his fingers. Their eyes locked, lust crackling between them. Audaciousness flickered in the emerald depths. Cheeky brat. He slapped Potter's arse sharply, echoing in the empty shop. A shudder ran through him, lips parting in a soft mewl.

"Sir, harder."

Severus jerked Potter closer, his grasp tightening on his waist. He hoisted Potter up and his legs wrapped around Severus. Their hips undulated against each other, cocks grinding. They fit perfectly together, made for one another. Teeth grazed an earlobe. He drawled, "Keep calling me sir, and I may give you what you want, Potter."

In the dimness of Spinner's End, a hand stroked faster, slick with precome. It squeezed the base to stave off the inevitable orgasm. Not yet. Not now. Hips stuttered as Severus threw his head back, gulping in air. It had been a while since he had indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. He needed to pace himself to savor the sensations and the illusion of a willing Potter.