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If they only knew.

If they knew, I'd be laughed out of Hogwarts. I'd never hear the end of it. I would be a laughingstock.

And that would be from my friends. The rest of the school? It doesn't bear thinking about.

The great Sirius Black. Fifth year, top of my class in nearly every subject (except the dreaded Potions), Quidditch chaser for three years... and never been kissed.

It would be a scandal.

I hear James bragging about Lily, and how he's such an expert kisser. Even Remus has his stories, about a girl he met over the summer. Peter just hangs on the fringes, but then no one expects him to contribute. Frank Longbottom chimes in with his own story, and speculation turns to the upcoming Spring Ball, and who would go with whom, and how far they would get.

I know it must seem odd that I'm not participating. I'm usually one of the more vocal ones in this type of discussion. But the stories are getting more personal, and I'm uncomfortable with that. I pretend to be working on my Charms homework.

"Sirius!" James calls out, repeating himself more loudly when I don't respond.

"What?" I finally snap, hoping my attitude puts him off.

"We're talking about first kisses! Tell us about yours!" James says, and the others agree enthusiastically.

"Yes, come on, Sirius, knowing you I bet it's a great story," laughed Remus.

"I bet he went all the way with the first girl he kissed," added Frank. There was general laughter and cheering. That's what I get for always wanting to be the center of attention, I suppose. I've created my own reputation, and now it's screwing me.

"I would," I say arrogantly, "But I'm too nice a guy to put my housemates to shame." Well, it's a try. There is a general outcry, but it doesn't out them off. I have one more go. "Besides, I'm a gentleman. I never kiss and tell." Then I get up, dramatically, and go up to the dorm, hoping no one follows me.

They don't; they're obviously enjoying their speculation. I throw myself on my four-poster, disgusted with myself. I should be strong enough to tell them the truth. But I'm not.

There is a very important reason that I have never kissed anyone.

Up to last year, none of us really had the nerve or a very strong inclination to try. Then, somewhere in fourth year, the conversation had started. The flirting, and innuendo, and passed notes. And I was right in there in with it. James and Lily had always been an item, but now they were holding hands all the time. By the beginning of the fifth year, girls seemed to be all the rest of them talked about. I could understand at first; the girls were beginning to blossom, and there were a lot of very pretty girls just in Gryffindor. And they did seem to flock to me, commenting on how they were jealous of my long dark hair, giggling and waving to me during Quidditch matches, making eyes at me across classrooms. James had started to comment on my "entourage," as he put it. And they were fun to talk to; I always could talk to anyone. Maybe they saw it as flirting; I'm not sure. But... something was missing. I thought maybe I was just a late bloomer. I kept waiting for instinct to kick in. Sure, girls were pretty, and I loved attention, but sometimes their giggling was enough to drive me mad. And, even when they brushed against me, I soon realized it didn't do anything for me. No physical reaction. I started to think there was something wrong with me.

Oh, I still got aroused; fifteen-year-old boys don't need a reason to get a hard-on. I would of course masturbate, like everyone else did, I'm sure. But I never had an image of anyone in my mind. No specific fantasies. Until...

I knew I could do better in Potions class. It just bored the hell out of me, and I hated the smell of some of the ingredients. They stung my eyes and made my hair limp. And potion-making wasn't showy, impressive magic like transfiguration. I didn't have the patience for it. And my grades reflected that.

Then over the summer my parents decided to come down hard on me for it. They said that anything less than top marks in all subjects wasn't acceptable. They insisted on a tutor for Potions, and contacted the headmaster themselves. So, it was out of my hands, and I found myself assigned a tutor. To make it even worse, he was in the same year as me. And a Slytherin.

Severus Snape.

I didn't know him. Didn't know any of the Slytherins, really, they didn't mix with others much, let alone Gryffindors. But I knew who he was; the school wasn't that big. Dark, quiet, brooding and brilliant in Potions. In four years I'd never said more than two words to the boy and now I would be spending several hours a week in tutoring sessions with him. Wonderful.

Little did I know that I'd be learning a lot more than Potions from our sessions.

My classmates bemoaned how I would have to spend so much time with "that greasy git," as they called him. They told me all about how strange he was, how he had come to Hogwarts knowing far too many hexes and curses, and how they were sure he'd already gone bad. I definitely had their sympathy.

I went into the sessions prepared to dread every moment. Snape was taciturn and uncommunicative and clearly disliked the situation as much as I did. But he did know Potions. It took a while, but he did manage to drill a few things into my thick skull. And, slowly he began to act a bit more human. One day I looked at his hands. They were fine and pale and I suddenly realized they were shaking. I looked up at his face; he was busy explaining the uses of some obscure ingredient and he looked his usual impassive self. But his hands... they gave him away. I stared at them. Was Snape nervous? Whatever for?

A few days later I heard a few of the older boys laughing about something, and from the tone of their voice I could tell it was something salacious. With a teenage boy's curiosity, I drifted into earshot. They were speculating about someone's sexuality, that much was clear. Always one for a good bit of gossip, I focused in. They were definitely talking about a Slytherin. I soon gathered they were talking about none other than my Potions tutor.

"I bet he's Malfoy's boy," laughed one of them. Apparently they thought Lucius was gay as well.

"I wouldn't be surprised," the other one snorted. "Just look at him. Everyone knows. No wonder he gets such good marks in Potions, he's probably shagging the professor."

I backed away as quickly as I could, heart pounding. I wished there was someone I could discuss it with. But there was no one who I thought I could trust. Why would I be so fascinated with Snape? It wouldn't make sense.

Of course, I couldn't get it out of my head, and that was when the dreams began. I dreamed of Snape. I watched him every time I could, fascinated, looking for some sort of sign. I began to look forward to our sessions. His pale skin, dark hair and eyes haunted me.

And now when I masturbated I saw him. His face. His hands. Not much more, because I had no experience whatsoever, but it was enough. My climaxes became much more intense, and that much harder to muffle. I was torn between realization and horror as, as soon as saw Snape, I would start to get hard. Potions tutoring was a blessing and an agony; I could look at him yet I was distracted by my arousal. And I really wanted to learn the material now, in some perverse way wanting to please the other boy.

And during one session I noticed something. My hands were shaking.

It only took a few moments to put two and two together in my mind. Could Snape feel the same about me? My desperate mind grasped at the idea. I had decided to listen more intently for gossip about Snape, and had heard several references to rumours about him and the other Slytherins. Rumours were usually based on fact, weren't they? To my hormone-fogged mind, it made perfect sense. I decided to test my theory.

The next time we had a tutoring session, I made an excuse to slide closer to him, to point something out. I wanted to see how he would react. I "accidentally" let my thigh touch his and let my long hair brush over his hand as I leaned over. I pretended to be very engrossed in the textbook as I heard him draw in a long breath, shakily. He didn't move for a long moment and I fancied I could feel his skin burning against mine, through our pants. I had never been harder. I was certainly glad of my loose robes right then, in case I was wrong. But I didn't think I was.

Then he jumped away as if burned, stammering and blushing and I knew. Well, I was pretty sure. Sure enough that my fantasy that night was so clear that I must have woken up half of Gryffindor. I didn't know what I was going to do about it, yet.

But now, as I lie on my bed, I know what I *want* to do. I want my first kiss to be with Severus Snape. Just thinking about it makes my body react; the familiar throb of my erection spurs my thoughts on. What would his mouth feel like against mine? I have no idea. But I want to find out.

I don't let myself think of the consequences of my act if I'm wrong. I'm good at that, Gryffindor through and through. I know it would be bad, but I refuse to accept it. I won't fail. I decide to ask Snape for my first kiss when next we meet.

The next day, we meet in the Potions classroom. Snape is going to go over a few basic potions with me, and since we are usually alone there, I decide I am going to ask him today. I have butterflies in my stomach as I walk in; Snape is already there. I smile at him, and he looks at me suspiciously. I move closer, slowly. He backs away. I sigh and decide to wait a bit until he relaxes. But I will do this.

Snape, no, I must call him Severus now, patiently begins to explain the potion. I never would have thought him a patient boy, but when he talks about his potions, his eyes shine. I really try to understand, to listen, more seriously than usual and I think he notices. I almost see him smile, once, when I ask a perceptive question. A thrill runs through me and I edge closer, hoping I don't scare him again. I look at him, and try to remember how the girls look when they stare at me. He almost has that look. I glance around to make sure we're truly alone. It's time.

"Severus." He looks up, startled, at my use of his given name. "I really appreciate you helping me, I don't know if I've ever told you. My marks have gone up a lot. You're a great tutor."

I can see him flush, torn between wanting to believe my praise and distrust of a Gryffindor. He settles for a noncommittal "Thank you."

This is it. He's definitely reacting to me, and I have to hope it's in the right way. If I'm wrong... I won't think of that now. Just go for it. I don't want to be the only boy who's never been kissed.

I move just the slightest bit closer. I look down at him; I'm an inch or two taller than he is. I fix him with my eyes, that have been called startlingly blue. "Severus," I breathe softly.

He stares back and blushes, and suddenly I know I'm not wrong. He stammers, his voice completely unlike his usual velvet tones. "W-What?"

"I like you," I begin, hoping it doesn't sound too lame.

"What do you mean?" he demands, but he's bright red and I know he knows.

"I want to ask a favor of you," I begin, moving closer. "I... I've never been kissed."

He snorts then, clearly not believing me. "I find that hard to believe."

"It's true," I say, looking deep into his dark eyes. "I want you to be my first."

His mouth drops open, and I focus on it, his lips red against his pale skin, his tongue nervously flicking out to lick them. I'm sure he's going to issue a denial, push me away, tell the world, but then... "I've never been kissed either."

I let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Perfect. "Please, Severus," I plead, only inches from him now. "We don't have to tell anyone, no one else needs to know, I just want to kiss you." I lick my lips, and watch as his eyes take that in. "Please."

My heart pounds and I'm hard as a rock as I wait for his answer. But that doesn't matter, my whole being is focused, on this moment, the kiss, and nothing more. I wait.

His eyes flick away, taking in the room. We are alone. I see him consider. "You won't tell anyone?" he asks, clearly tempted.

I shake my head. "No. No one has to know." Please say yes... I want this more than anything, right now.

"Here?" he asks, and I know it, I've won. My confidence comes back, just a little.

"Why not? There's no one here," I say. "We can lock the door, or at least make it stick so we have warning." I can't believe I'm discussing this with Snape, but I want it so much.

He considers, then nods, once, quickly. "Ok." He bites his lip nervously.

I grin, casting a quick spell to make the door stick, then turn back to him. The Potions classroom, not the place I would have envisioned my first kiss, but I want to kiss Severus and I want to do it now. I step closer, and he backs up, almost against the wall. "Severus. Relax," I urge. "I don't know what I'm doing either."

That seems to help because he stops. He looks at me and whispers, "Sirius." I'm sure that's the first time I've heard him say my name, and I can't wait any more.

I step closer, our bodies not touching yet, only an inch apart, and I lower my face carefully. Severus' eyes are open wide, watching me approach. I feel awkward and clumsy and unsure and stupid, but there's nothing in the world I'd rather be doing than moving closer to his mouth. I see his eyes flutter shut finally, and I close my own. I can feel his hot breath against my lips. Almost there.

Then our noses touch, and I have to adjust. Damn. This is harder than it looks. But now we fit together perfectly, and I forget everything else except the feeling of his soft lips against mine, impossibly warm, perfect.

Whoever said Slytherins were cold blooded had obviously never kissed one; Severus' lips burned against mine, and I pressed closer, and I felt him moan softly against me, his lips parting ever so slightly.

Oh god, I know I am lost now, I never understood the appeal of kissing, two mouths pressed together but I didn't understand. This hot, moist, sublime joining of mouths is much more than I could have imagined. I part my lips, matching his, and I can't keep from letting my tongue dart out, against those lips, asking.

And he responds. His lips part farther, and I groan as he surrenders, and I slip my tongue inside, clumsily, as I raise my hands to his shoulders. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, but it feels right and then his tongue meets mine.

He tastes like mint, and heat; our tongues move together and I doubt I could have stopped kissing him right now even under Imperius. I realize I can still breathe as we kiss, and I want to climb inside. I don't even know I'm moving until I realize I've pushed him against the wall, and we're still kissing, harder than ever. I turn my head slightly and seal our mouths together even harder. I moan as I feel his hands on my back, pulling me closer, deeper, and our tongues move more confidently.

I must have been unconsciously holding my hips away from his, unsure; but now there's no more space between us and we're pressed together and my arousal presses against him. I wait for him to pull away, make me stop, but he rocks against me and I feel him, hard against me, as hard as I am. Now we both moan, vibrating in each other, and he buries a hand in my hair and I push him harder against the stone wall and there is only us, mouths, tongues, lips, need.

Then it happens; someone tries to open the door. We spring apart, panting, flushed, mouths kiss-bruised. Aroused, needing, wanting, interrupted.

The door opens and we're back in our places by the cauldron. Flushed, mussed, but not caught, as a teacher sticks her head in, in search of the Potions professor. Severus directs her to the staff lounge in a voice much steadier than I could have managed, and our eyes meet, dark to blue.

It isn't over. I won't let it be.