Fic: Big Time Sensuality
In celebration of the triumphant return of pornish_pixies, I come bearing porn. Het porn, so it's slightly incongruous, but what the hell. Hermione is 16 (and therefore underage) in this fic, but the crowning glory is that I wrote it when I was sixteen (and thus underage myself), so I felt that giving it it's first public airing now was an appropriate thing to do. :)
Title: Big Time Sensuality
Author: justholdstill
Pairing: Hermione/Snape
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Snape offers to teach Hermione a few things that the curriculum doesn't exactly cover.
Warnings: Underage Sex, very light bondage, teacher/student relationship
A/N: Pure, unabashed porn. No plot whatsoever, though I am particularly proud of the detail I put into thinking up the potions. Certainly not the smuttiest thing I've written, but probably the smuttiest thing I've let you guys see. :) Also, points to me for using four different words for "arse" within a paragraph. Title taken from Bjork's song of the same name.
“Miss Granger,” hissed Snape dangerously, peering dourly over her shoulder at her notes, “please see me in my office after class.” Though Hermione was startled by his abrupt request, she met his eyes fleetingly, so that she barely saw it, something liquid and smouldering in his expression. A gentle shiver of delight snaked up Hermione’s spine. She knew all too well what it was he wanted from her; something that she was all too willing to give.
“Maybe it won’t be that bad, Hermione,” Harry whispered, misreading the look on her face. “Snape’s been in a weird mood lately; he might go easy on you.”
“Yeah,” said Hermione thoughtfully, and busied herself with writing to hide her smile
*
“Professor Snape?”
“Enter,” he said, not looking up from the essays he was grading. A small mountain of parchment scrolls was neatly piled by his elbow, and Hermione noted with amusement that his fingers were stained with red ink from his quill. “Close the door, please.” She came in, her robes lifting and falling slightly in the draft as the door thudded shut behind her. Hermione settled herself in the high-backed wooden chair opposite his desk and regarding him with a mixture of gravity and insouciance.
His office, though far from welcoming, was not nearly as grim as one expected - a fire flickered warmly behind an iron grate; a glass-fronted cupboard ran the length of the far wall behind his desk, it’s shelves neatly lined with a dizzying array of colorful potions and tinctures in glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, each one labeled with his precise black scrawl. The walls didn’t seem to leak moisture as they did in the classroom and the dungeon corridors - the stone was dry, and several medieval engravings were spaced evenly around the room, depicting the gruesome effects of curses and potions; bodies writhed as if in agony or a wild ecstasy, and Hermione found she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away from them.
“May I ask why you’ve called me here?” she inquired. He scribbled for a few seconds more (viciously tearing apart a student’s well-intended research, no doubt), then cleared his throat and rose from his chair, moving around his desk to seat himself directly in front of her.
“Your essay on the properties and uses of the famed Elysian Orchid, Miss Granger.” Snape plucked a scroll from the top of the pile and handed it to her. “Well done, even for you.” She looked it over, noting how few red marks there were, and then tipped her head to the side, looking questioningly at him. It was unlike him to be complimentary, even in flirtation - if, god help her, flirting was what they were doing. “Well done,” he continued, “but for one - rather egregious - oversight.”
Hermione smiled. “Oh,” she said, “and what’s that?”
His eyebrow lifted, almost imperceptibly, at her tone. He stood up and began to move around the small room. “The Elysian Orchid is widely regarded in the field of potion-making as being one of the most powerful mood-altering substances known to the wizarding community. It produces powerful feelings of well-being in those who consume it, hence its wide - but contentious - use as an antidepressant. It can also bestow a calm, dreamy state of mind on the user, while keeping him in connection with reality; because of this, it may be given to people who have recently suffered through a traumatic event, or to people dealing with a high level of stress. In a medicinal capacity, the Orchid is often administered in a solution, very diluted, or in a low-dosage capsule form.”
Snape had been pacing, his robes swirling imposingly around his legs as he talked, but now he stopped in front of a round looking-glass, watching Hermione in it. “The crucial details you neglected to mention, Miss Granger, are the widely-known, little-discussed sexual properties.”
He turned suddenly, bidding her to stand up. “I’ll wager it wasn’t in your textbooks,” he said softly, “but you knew, didn’t you? You knew that, concentrated and distilled into a sweet liqueur, the Elysian Orchid is one of the most potent, intoxicating aphrodisiacs known to mankind.” Hermione nodded, her knees weakening under his gaze. He came closer, so she could smell the sweetish herbal scent clinging to his robes, but she thought he didn’t dare touch her yet.
“You knew that it produces intense, almost narcotic feelings of euphoria almost immediately. That the body becomes hypersensitive to touch. That it increases lubrication in females and heightens every sense. That it can prolong orgasm…significantly.” His fingers ever so lightly brushed her cheek. “Taken in that form,” he said, his voice barely more than a murmur, “the Elysian Orchid can visit upon a person the most erotic experience of their life.”
Hermione released the tiniest whimper of pleasure as his fingers stroked her lips; he gently pushed his thumb into her mouth and she curled her tongue around it, slave to her pressing desire. Snape allowed her to do that for a moment, then pulled away and began to pace again.
“In light of your error, I am afraid that I will be forced to assign you a failing grade. Unless…”
“Unless…?”
He turned back to her, and she thought she saw something like a smile steal across his face. “Unless you yourself can demonstrate for me a…shall we say…intimate knowledge of those properties.”
Hermione blushed, but couldn’t quite hide her grin. Snape strode across the room to the glass cupboard, unlocking it with a simple wave of his wand, retrieving a crystal decanter half-full of a thin, pale purple syrup, and a pair of slender champagne flutes.
He measured out the liquid, and handed a glass to Hermione, who accepted it with a smile and raised it in a wordless toast.
They drank.
*
Soon the drug began to wend its way through Hermione’s veins, her skin flushing hotly, indigo blooms exploding in her brain. She was on fire suddenly, weak with lust, unable to resist (even if she’d wanted to) as he laid her back across his desk, peeling away her uniform. He muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch, but a moment later he breathed, “just locking the door” as he was lifting her skirt and sliding his fingers inside her. She kissed him hard, catching his bottom lip between her teeth, catching him off guard and dragging an inadvertent moan from him.
“Please…please…,” she gasped, fumbling badly with the buckle on his belt in her haste.
Snape chuckled, but pushed her hands away.
“Such haste, Miss Granger. The purpose of the Orchid is foreplay. Not unlike the art of Tantra. You experience,” he sighed, pressing a line of tantalizingly soft kisses down the side of her neck, “and savour. The journey is the destination.” Hermione whimpered, but she allowed him to ease her across the desk again (the floor now a hurricane of papers and spilled ink).
*
He tugged off her knickers and her stockings, dispensed with her bra. He had an inflaming view of her milky exposed flesh, the small rounded swells with pink peaks, the creamy translucent skin that tapered to a soft mound thatched with dark down. Snape bent his head between her thighs to clean the moisture glistening on them, taking pleasure in the way her back arched, the way her lips parted and her eyes closed, brows knitted in an intense devotion that might have been mistaken for pain.
“H-how can you be so composed,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair, “why isn’t it affecting you?” He looked up from his ministrations.
“It is, Miss Granger, very much so. But you are a novice to the feeling - you learn to control it, to work with it instead of allowing it to control you.”
“Teach me…”
“I already am.”
Snape muttered something else, and a moment later her hands were firmly pinned above her head by some unseen force, leaving her at his sensual mercy. “In order to make you understand - truly understand - you must allow me complete and utter control. Tell me, Miss Granger - can you do that?”
“Doesn’t look as though I’ve much choice in the matter,” she said cheekily, “but,” breathily, as he did something that was unbearably delicious and illegal in several countries, “yes…yes, I think I can.”
His hands left her body for a moment, but when they returned it was to drizzle a sugary swirl of the elixir across her belly, dripping only a little on her breasts. Then his tongue was on her again, following the line he’d drawn - he noted that all the fine hairs on Hermione’s body were standing on end, and now she was watching him with curiousity, her chest heaving as if breathing was a great effort.
His tongue darted wickedly into her navel, and he nipped and kissed his way down her body again, suppressing a snort of most un-Snape-like laughter as she dropped her head back onto the desk with a resounding thunk.
“Ow,” she hissed, but the complaint quickly trailed off into a litany of impassioned curses and pleas, and it was his turn to wince as he noticed for the first time the uncomfortable tightness at the front of his trousers, only made worse by those cries of Hermione’s, urging him to continue doing those lovely things with his hands and mouth.
“Language, Miss Granger,” he reminded her absently, rather distracted himself by the splendid sight of her rocking, arching body helpless beneath him. He reached forward to tweak one of the pretty nipples, closing his eyes at the deep, guttural noise she made in her throat, and the renewed throbbing in his groin.
*
Hermione felt light-headed and almost sore, the way every nerve in her body seemed to be alight with sensation. Anywhere his elegant fingers ghosted, everywhere his mouth taunted her, a trail of fire was left burning in his wake.
He was not an attractive man, and yet she found herself as unable to look away from him as she had his engravings. As he removed his clothing she watched as his pale skin was uncovered (the man could definitely use some sunlight), his narrow, angular frame revealed. It wasn’t as though she could count his ribs, but he was spare and sharply defined; his hipbones jutted out - looking at them she recalled the countless times he had bruised her tender thighs with them -, and his legs were long and narrow, somehow lean but with a wiry muscularity.
His cock stood out from the black hairs surrounding it; Hermione eyed it with anticipation, and suddenly found herself begging, “please, sir, let me touch you…”
A wave of his hand and the invisible bonds were released. Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the desk and grasped his wrist (the arm bearing the dark mark, she saw with a shiver) to draw him closer. She tilted her face up to him and he met her halfway, bending to drop a light kiss at the corner of her mouth as she traced the lines of his body, scars and all, arousing him with her hesitant touches as much as he had inflamed her with his surer ones.
Eventually, her small hand slid around his cock, stroking him with a confidence he found agreeably obscene. He was unbearably hard now, and any measure of self-control he might normally have possessed was muted now by the effects of the Orchid; after only a moment he pushed her hand away, groaning, “Stop.” He distracted them both by engaging her in a long absorbing kiss, his hands wandering her body appreciatively, but upon seeing the vaguely desperate glaze in her eyes pulled away again.
“Hmm…bend over the desk for me,” he instructed hoarsely, his head momentarily spinning as she did as he asked, presenting him with a spectacular view of her lovely round bottom. Somehow they’d forgotten the skirt, and it was rucked up over her hips; Snape left it - it framed her arse nicely, and he liked the mischievous picture she made, the class brain draped so alluringly over her professor’s desk.
“Twenty points to Gryffindor,” he praised, struck with a sudden generosity.
“Just for showing you my bum? Why Professor,” Hermione teased, “I like to earn my points.”
By this point all the blood in Snape’s body had pooled in his groin, so it was understandable that it took him longer than it should have to advance on her and deliver a playful slap to that splendid rear. “Then earn them you shall.”
*
In less time than it took her to draw another heaving breath, he was inside her, stretching and filling. She was used to his size by now, but though it was a relief to finally have him inside her, she somehow felt more sensitive than she ever had before - the Orchid, she supposed - and a new fire flickered to life deep inside her.
He began slowly, giving her time to adjust, but the lazy push-pull of his thrusts soon proved to be more maddening than anything else, and she was cursing colourfully, casting aspersions on his name and his legitimacy in an effort to get him to move faster, to fuck her harder, anything to quench the blaze consuming her.
Snape seemed to be of the same mind, and complied with her requests; later Hermione would touch the bruises where her hips were slammed against the edge of the desk and wish she hadn’t been quite so frantic, but at the moment it was exactly what she wanted - just before he came he managed to insinuate a hand between her and the desk and touch her so that she dropped her head to her arms and shuddered violently, giving a long, low moan. It was dazzling; it was everything her cheap novels had always said sex would be, fireworks and flowers and wave after wave of pleasure battering her body. Hermione came so hard and so long that it felt like hours, or possibly several sunlit days, before she could open her eyes or even move.
Her body felt sticky with sweat, and her thighs were slick, and her hair clung to her face; Snape’s face was pressed between her shoulders, his rasping breaths cooling her skin. They lay together for a few long moments, catching their breath, before he moved off and away from her, locating his trousers somewhere in the mess they’d made of the floor. “Five points from Gryffindor for that display of appalling language, Miss Granger,” Snape said smoothly. Hermione marveled that he could be his usually snarky self so soon after such an incredible orgasm - but then, short recovery time had always been a particular strength of his. “But take another ten for being a most enthusiastic learner.”
He muttered a few incantations that left them as clean and dry as if their encounter had not happened at all, and with great reluctance Hermione got down off the desk and began to dress herself.
“Miss Granger.” Snape addressed her as he checked that he was decent, all his buttons buttoned and clasps clasped, his hair smoothed down, his boots laced, “I do not think I need tell you that you must not speak of this to anyone, is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” she said calmly, suppressing a grin as she tied her hair back. He said the same thing every time, and she really thought he ought to have known by now that she enjoyed their trysts, odd and spontaneous and unexpected as they were, as much as he did - which was too much to risk jeopardizing them. She was smart enough to know that Dumbledore would Avada them where they stood if he found out, and besides, nobody would believe she was attracted to her ugly professor had she run naked through the great hall screaming it at the top of her lungs.
“Good,” he said, and took a moment to look at her before he opened the door to usher her out. At the last moment he kissed the top of her head, so subtly she almost didn’t notice, and it kept her in thought all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, where Harry and Ron were lazing in front of the fireplace with their Charms textbooks open in their laps.
“Hi Hermione,” said Harry, looking concerned when he saw her expression, “was it horrible?”
Before she could answer, Ron interrupted with, “of course it was horrible, it was Snape! He infects everything he touches with horrible.”
“No, it wasn’t too bad,” Hermione found herself saying. “He just wanted to discuss the last essay with me.”
“The one on mood-altering potions?”
“That’s the one. He just wanted to correct me on a few points.”
“Well,” Harry said, looking relieved, “I’m glad he wan’t too hard on you.”
Hermione smiled to herself as she ascended the stairs to her dorm to change out of her uniform, wishing she could have seen the bewildered looks on Harry and Ron’s faces as she felt the soreness in her hips and amended, “Oh, I think he was just hard enough.”
*saunters away for a cigarette*
Hope I've made my fellow HG/SS fans happy. ;)
Title: Big Time Sensuality
Author: justholdstill
Pairing: Hermione/Snape
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Snape offers to teach Hermione a few things that the curriculum doesn't exactly cover.
Warnings: Underage Sex, very light bondage, teacher/student relationship
A/N: Pure, unabashed porn. No plot whatsoever, though I am particularly proud of the detail I put into thinking up the potions. Certainly not the smuttiest thing I've written, but probably the smuttiest thing I've let you guys see. :) Also, points to me for using four different words for "arse" within a paragraph. Title taken from Bjork's song of the same name.
“Miss Granger,” hissed Snape dangerously, peering dourly over her shoulder at her notes, “please see me in my office after class.” Though Hermione was startled by his abrupt request, she met his eyes fleetingly, so that she barely saw it, something liquid and smouldering in his expression. A gentle shiver of delight snaked up Hermione’s spine. She knew all too well what it was he wanted from her; something that she was all too willing to give.
“Maybe it won’t be that bad, Hermione,” Harry whispered, misreading the look on her face. “Snape’s been in a weird mood lately; he might go easy on you.”
“Yeah,” said Hermione thoughtfully, and busied herself with writing to hide her smile
*
“Professor Snape?”
“Enter,” he said, not looking up from the essays he was grading. A small mountain of parchment scrolls was neatly piled by his elbow, and Hermione noted with amusement that his fingers were stained with red ink from his quill. “Close the door, please.” She came in, her robes lifting and falling slightly in the draft as the door thudded shut behind her. Hermione settled herself in the high-backed wooden chair opposite his desk and regarding him with a mixture of gravity and insouciance.
His office, though far from welcoming, was not nearly as grim as one expected - a fire flickered warmly behind an iron grate; a glass-fronted cupboard ran the length of the far wall behind his desk, it’s shelves neatly lined with a dizzying array of colorful potions and tinctures in glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, each one labeled with his precise black scrawl. The walls didn’t seem to leak moisture as they did in the classroom and the dungeon corridors - the stone was dry, and several medieval engravings were spaced evenly around the room, depicting the gruesome effects of curses and potions; bodies writhed as if in agony or a wild ecstasy, and Hermione found she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away from them.
“May I ask why you’ve called me here?” she inquired. He scribbled for a few seconds more (viciously tearing apart a student’s well-intended research, no doubt), then cleared his throat and rose from his chair, moving around his desk to seat himself directly in front of her.
“Your essay on the properties and uses of the famed Elysian Orchid, Miss Granger.” Snape plucked a scroll from the top of the pile and handed it to her. “Well done, even for you.” She looked it over, noting how few red marks there were, and then tipped her head to the side, looking questioningly at him. It was unlike him to be complimentary, even in flirtation - if, god help her, flirting was what they were doing. “Well done,” he continued, “but for one - rather egregious - oversight.”
Hermione smiled. “Oh,” she said, “and what’s that?”
His eyebrow lifted, almost imperceptibly, at her tone. He stood up and began to move around the small room. “The Elysian Orchid is widely regarded in the field of potion-making as being one of the most powerful mood-altering substances known to the wizarding community. It produces powerful feelings of well-being in those who consume it, hence its wide - but contentious - use as an antidepressant. It can also bestow a calm, dreamy state of mind on the user, while keeping him in connection with reality; because of this, it may be given to people who have recently suffered through a traumatic event, or to people dealing with a high level of stress. In a medicinal capacity, the Orchid is often administered in a solution, very diluted, or in a low-dosage capsule form.”
Snape had been pacing, his robes swirling imposingly around his legs as he talked, but now he stopped in front of a round looking-glass, watching Hermione in it. “The crucial details you neglected to mention, Miss Granger, are the widely-known, little-discussed sexual properties.”
He turned suddenly, bidding her to stand up. “I’ll wager it wasn’t in your textbooks,” he said softly, “but you knew, didn’t you? You knew that, concentrated and distilled into a sweet liqueur, the Elysian Orchid is one of the most potent, intoxicating aphrodisiacs known to mankind.” Hermione nodded, her knees weakening under his gaze. He came closer, so she could smell the sweetish herbal scent clinging to his robes, but she thought he didn’t dare touch her yet.
“You knew that it produces intense, almost narcotic feelings of euphoria almost immediately. That the body becomes hypersensitive to touch. That it increases lubrication in females and heightens every sense. That it can prolong orgasm…significantly.” His fingers ever so lightly brushed her cheek. “Taken in that form,” he said, his voice barely more than a murmur, “the Elysian Orchid can visit upon a person the most erotic experience of their life.”
Hermione released the tiniest whimper of pleasure as his fingers stroked her lips; he gently pushed his thumb into her mouth and she curled her tongue around it, slave to her pressing desire. Snape allowed her to do that for a moment, then pulled away and began to pace again.
“In light of your error, I am afraid that I will be forced to assign you a failing grade. Unless…”
“Unless…?”
He turned back to her, and she thought she saw something like a smile steal across his face. “Unless you yourself can demonstrate for me a…shall we say…intimate knowledge of those properties.”
Hermione blushed, but couldn’t quite hide her grin. Snape strode across the room to the glass cupboard, unlocking it with a simple wave of his wand, retrieving a crystal decanter half-full of a thin, pale purple syrup, and a pair of slender champagne flutes.
He measured out the liquid, and handed a glass to Hermione, who accepted it with a smile and raised it in a wordless toast.
They drank.
*
Soon the drug began to wend its way through Hermione’s veins, her skin flushing hotly, indigo blooms exploding in her brain. She was on fire suddenly, weak with lust, unable to resist (even if she’d wanted to) as he laid her back across his desk, peeling away her uniform. He muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch, but a moment later he breathed, “just locking the door” as he was lifting her skirt and sliding his fingers inside her. She kissed him hard, catching his bottom lip between her teeth, catching him off guard and dragging an inadvertent moan from him.
“Please…please…,” she gasped, fumbling badly with the buckle on his belt in her haste.
Snape chuckled, but pushed her hands away.
“Such haste, Miss Granger. The purpose of the Orchid is foreplay. Not unlike the art of Tantra. You experience,” he sighed, pressing a line of tantalizingly soft kisses down the side of her neck, “and savour. The journey is the destination.” Hermione whimpered, but she allowed him to ease her across the desk again (the floor now a hurricane of papers and spilled ink).
*
He tugged off her knickers and her stockings, dispensed with her bra. He had an inflaming view of her milky exposed flesh, the small rounded swells with pink peaks, the creamy translucent skin that tapered to a soft mound thatched with dark down. Snape bent his head between her thighs to clean the moisture glistening on them, taking pleasure in the way her back arched, the way her lips parted and her eyes closed, brows knitted in an intense devotion that might have been mistaken for pain.
“H-how can you be so composed,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair, “why isn’t it affecting you?” He looked up from his ministrations.
“It is, Miss Granger, very much so. But you are a novice to the feeling - you learn to control it, to work with it instead of allowing it to control you.”
“Teach me…”
“I already am.”
Snape muttered something else, and a moment later her hands were firmly pinned above her head by some unseen force, leaving her at his sensual mercy. “In order to make you understand - truly understand - you must allow me complete and utter control. Tell me, Miss Granger - can you do that?”
“Doesn’t look as though I’ve much choice in the matter,” she said cheekily, “but,” breathily, as he did something that was unbearably delicious and illegal in several countries, “yes…yes, I think I can.”
His hands left her body for a moment, but when they returned it was to drizzle a sugary swirl of the elixir across her belly, dripping only a little on her breasts. Then his tongue was on her again, following the line he’d drawn - he noted that all the fine hairs on Hermione’s body were standing on end, and now she was watching him with curiousity, her chest heaving as if breathing was a great effort.
His tongue darted wickedly into her navel, and he nipped and kissed his way down her body again, suppressing a snort of most un-Snape-like laughter as she dropped her head back onto the desk with a resounding thunk.
“Ow,” she hissed, but the complaint quickly trailed off into a litany of impassioned curses and pleas, and it was his turn to wince as he noticed for the first time the uncomfortable tightness at the front of his trousers, only made worse by those cries of Hermione’s, urging him to continue doing those lovely things with his hands and mouth.
“Language, Miss Granger,” he reminded her absently, rather distracted himself by the splendid sight of her rocking, arching body helpless beneath him. He reached forward to tweak one of the pretty nipples, closing his eyes at the deep, guttural noise she made in her throat, and the renewed throbbing in his groin.
*
Hermione felt light-headed and almost sore, the way every nerve in her body seemed to be alight with sensation. Anywhere his elegant fingers ghosted, everywhere his mouth taunted her, a trail of fire was left burning in his wake.
He was not an attractive man, and yet she found herself as unable to look away from him as she had his engravings. As he removed his clothing she watched as his pale skin was uncovered (the man could definitely use some sunlight), his narrow, angular frame revealed. It wasn’t as though she could count his ribs, but he was spare and sharply defined; his hipbones jutted out - looking at them she recalled the countless times he had bruised her tender thighs with them -, and his legs were long and narrow, somehow lean but with a wiry muscularity.
His cock stood out from the black hairs surrounding it; Hermione eyed it with anticipation, and suddenly found herself begging, “please, sir, let me touch you…”
A wave of his hand and the invisible bonds were released. Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the desk and grasped his wrist (the arm bearing the dark mark, she saw with a shiver) to draw him closer. She tilted her face up to him and he met her halfway, bending to drop a light kiss at the corner of her mouth as she traced the lines of his body, scars and all, arousing him with her hesitant touches as much as he had inflamed her with his surer ones.
Eventually, her small hand slid around his cock, stroking him with a confidence he found agreeably obscene. He was unbearably hard now, and any measure of self-control he might normally have possessed was muted now by the effects of the Orchid; after only a moment he pushed her hand away, groaning, “Stop.” He distracted them both by engaging her in a long absorbing kiss, his hands wandering her body appreciatively, but upon seeing the vaguely desperate glaze in her eyes pulled away again.
“Hmm…bend over the desk for me,” he instructed hoarsely, his head momentarily spinning as she did as he asked, presenting him with a spectacular view of her lovely round bottom. Somehow they’d forgotten the skirt, and it was rucked up over her hips; Snape left it - it framed her arse nicely, and he liked the mischievous picture she made, the class brain draped so alluringly over her professor’s desk.
“Twenty points to Gryffindor,” he praised, struck with a sudden generosity.
“Just for showing you my bum? Why Professor,” Hermione teased, “I like to earn my points.”
By this point all the blood in Snape’s body had pooled in his groin, so it was understandable that it took him longer than it should have to advance on her and deliver a playful slap to that splendid rear. “Then earn them you shall.”
*
In less time than it took her to draw another heaving breath, he was inside her, stretching and filling. She was used to his size by now, but though it was a relief to finally have him inside her, she somehow felt more sensitive than she ever had before - the Orchid, she supposed - and a new fire flickered to life deep inside her.
He began slowly, giving her time to adjust, but the lazy push-pull of his thrusts soon proved to be more maddening than anything else, and she was cursing colourfully, casting aspersions on his name and his legitimacy in an effort to get him to move faster, to fuck her harder, anything to quench the blaze consuming her.
Snape seemed to be of the same mind, and complied with her requests; later Hermione would touch the bruises where her hips were slammed against the edge of the desk and wish she hadn’t been quite so frantic, but at the moment it was exactly what she wanted - just before he came he managed to insinuate a hand between her and the desk and touch her so that she dropped her head to her arms and shuddered violently, giving a long, low moan. It was dazzling; it was everything her cheap novels had always said sex would be, fireworks and flowers and wave after wave of pleasure battering her body. Hermione came so hard and so long that it felt like hours, or possibly several sunlit days, before she could open her eyes or even move.
Her body felt sticky with sweat, and her thighs were slick, and her hair clung to her face; Snape’s face was pressed between her shoulders, his rasping breaths cooling her skin. They lay together for a few long moments, catching their breath, before he moved off and away from her, locating his trousers somewhere in the mess they’d made of the floor. “Five points from Gryffindor for that display of appalling language, Miss Granger,” Snape said smoothly. Hermione marveled that he could be his usually snarky self so soon after such an incredible orgasm - but then, short recovery time had always been a particular strength of his. “But take another ten for being a most enthusiastic learner.”
He muttered a few incantations that left them as clean and dry as if their encounter had not happened at all, and with great reluctance Hermione got down off the desk and began to dress herself.
“Miss Granger.” Snape addressed her as he checked that he was decent, all his buttons buttoned and clasps clasped, his hair smoothed down, his boots laced, “I do not think I need tell you that you must not speak of this to anyone, is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” she said calmly, suppressing a grin as she tied her hair back. He said the same thing every time, and she really thought he ought to have known by now that she enjoyed their trysts, odd and spontaneous and unexpected as they were, as much as he did - which was too much to risk jeopardizing them. She was smart enough to know that Dumbledore would Avada them where they stood if he found out, and besides, nobody would believe she was attracted to her ugly professor had she run naked through the great hall screaming it at the top of her lungs.
“Good,” he said, and took a moment to look at her before he opened the door to usher her out. At the last moment he kissed the top of her head, so subtly she almost didn’t notice, and it kept her in thought all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, where Harry and Ron were lazing in front of the fireplace with their Charms textbooks open in their laps.
“Hi Hermione,” said Harry, looking concerned when he saw her expression, “was it horrible?”
Before she could answer, Ron interrupted with, “of course it was horrible, it was Snape! He infects everything he touches with horrible.”
“No, it wasn’t too bad,” Hermione found herself saying. “He just wanted to discuss the last essay with me.”
“The one on mood-altering potions?”
“That’s the one. He just wanted to correct me on a few points.”
“Well,” Harry said, looking relieved, “I’m glad he wan’t too hard on you.”
Hermione smiled to herself as she ascended the stairs to her dorm to change out of her uniform, wishing she could have seen the bewildered looks on Harry and Ron’s faces as she felt the soreness in her hips and amended, “Oh, I think he was just hard enough.”
*saunters away for a cigarette*
Hope I've made my fellow HG/SS fans happy. ;)