Work Text:
Snip-pet
by JiM
The haircut hadn't been his idea at all. He simply didn't care about his hair particularly. But Harry did, apparently. So, one cold Saturday morning in Hogsmeade, he had grumpily accompanied his young lover to the barber shop. He had watched impassively as the barber did his best to tame Harry's unruly hair. He even grudgingly admitted to himself that the barber had done quite a good job and that Harry looked even better than usual.
The battle over Snape's hair was fierce but short. He lost, as they both knew he would. He submitted to the barber's ministrations with silent glares and a single finger tapping his thigh. Hanks of dark hair fell into his lap and tumbled from his shoulders until they were whisked away by the barber's wand. He steadfastly refused to look in the mirror at all, at least until he stood up and went to meet Potter. The look in his lover's face was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. With trepidation, he turned to look at himself in the mirror.
Short was the first word that came into his head. Dangerous. He ran his fingers through the damp, fine hair and watched it gleam like the pelt of some night-born thing. Dark.
"This was your idea, Potter. You pay him." He had known this was a bad idea, dammit.
Then all words failed as he saw Potter pay the barber more than twice the cost of the haircut. What...? His young lover was stalking through the shop towards him, stepping too close for polite conversation and saying in a low voice, "We need to go home now." He might have mistaken the tone for anger, but the sparkle in the green eyes couldn't be anything but lust.
"Mr. Potter, may I remind you that we just got here?"
"And now we're going to go home and fuck. Or would you rather take me against the wall of the alley?"
The words were a hot and mint-scented whisper against his face. Snape blinked. Harry ran one finger along the newly-bared pale skin at Snape's collar line. He shivered when Harry drew that finger back and slid it into his own mouth.
Then he was striding out of the barber shop, one hand clamped on the wrist of the most irritating, childish, beloved, sexy, and devilish lover he had ever had.
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