This Weird Dance
Title: This Weird Dance
Challenge: Trapped
Team: OotP if we write M. (Someone else if ootp don't.)
Rating: M...M I tell you!
Length: 13x100
AN: This is completely out of my comfort zone. I don't know if it is lemons, limes or clementines but it is citrus and I don't write citrus. I blame the exchange and the desire to work some writing muscles. It is long and un-beta -ed. But I don't think there are many mistakes herein. If you do find some, well, sorry but I know that if I didn't put it up straight away I would chicken out. So if it's pants, please tell me. I really would prefer the truth before I inflict pain upon some poor soul in the exchange with shoddy goods.
The heatwave had started in May and the entire country had endured searing temperatures for the last five weeks. Even Hogwarts, which had withstood fire, flood and seige had eventually succumbed
Usually, Professor Granger enjoyed the heat. It reminded her of the languorous days of childhood summers soaking up Provencal light, food and chilled white grape juice in roughly equal quantities.
But the Scottish Highlands were unaccustomed to these temperatures and the landscape only sharpened under the summer sun. The grass became spiky and harsh; the sky, a hard turquoise bowl overhead with the sun a resounding gong beating within.
All day the sunlight had streamed into the Charms classroom. It had seemed churlish to pull the thick brocade curtains against it - Heaven knows, it would be gloomy again soon enough. Her cooling charms could only do so much however, so, after checking that her precious books were well protected against the glare, Hermione had swung the long, square paned windows as wide as she could in the hopes of enticing a stray breeze into her domain. Disappointingly, despite being well above ground level in one of the furthest towers, not a breath of movement stirred the muggy air.
Dinner had been subdued. The students were fractious with the heat. The infirmary was full of headachey, sunburnt children and the staff were fraying under the difficulty of teaching dull, overtired students in stuffy classrooms. Professor Snape looked particularly drawn, as well he might, brewing over hot cauldrons every day.
She hadn’t seen him in days, the annoying man. It had become a sort of weird dance over the last year. Retreat, advance, circle around, smile, frown, retreat, advance. Tonight she was tired and in no mood. She would eat, and then she would escape the castle for a while.
It was past ten before she made it to the front steps. This close to the solstice the sun hardly set before it rose once more, but the sky had cooled and now was awash in shades of coral and jade. The trees of the Forest were exhaling a rich green breath. Hermione walked towards them, wanting nothing more than to wander within their cool, sheltering leaves.
He watched her go, understanding her desire for peace but unwilling to leave her unprotected on her night time walk. He would follow, not to intrude upon her, but watch over her only.
It was perhaps that awful year of being hunted that had given her an awareness of when she was being followed. She only became sure that it was Severus when it was apparent that the pursuit was utterly silent. No one else at the castle had that ability. She did not look around for him. She did not want to alert him to anything unusual. The new idea blooming within her, terrifying and amusing in equal parts required that he not know that she knew he was following her. It was a gamble and there was all to play for.
Now well out of the sight of the castle, Hermione paced along a narrow path where the trees and lake waters met. The air was hung with the scent of jasmine and the deeper note of warm wet earth. She paused to admire the reflected sky then picked her way to a small shingled beach, slipped off her shoes and dabbled her feet in the soothing water. Aware of her hidden audience she did not smile as she shed her clothes and soon she was oblivious anyway to anything other than the heavenly silk of cool water on her skin.
Severus had been a spy for over twenty years. He had endured torture, death and monsters both human, reptile and somewhere in-between but never had he felt more like running away in his life than when Hermione Granger had stripped in oblivious innocence before him. He had seen little more than her slim back and peach shaped bum before she entered the water sleek as an otter. She swam quietly, barely stirring the water. Then she turned on her back to look at the stars. Her breasts lifted to the surface, nipples taut. He hardened so fast he got dizzy.
He cursed. If he had run when she had started to swim, she would have been none the wiser but he doubted if he could move in safety now. He cast a Dis-illusionment charm. All he had to do was stay still. She would leave, he would wait until all was safe and tomorrow they could continue in their awkward friendship and neither would be embarrassed or hurt. This was an abberation. He would close his eyes. He would not watch like some lecherous pervert. But she rose from the water like a siren and he could not look away.
With iron control, she did not look directly at the slight shimmer where the Dis-illusionment betrayed his position. She murmured a drying charm and once again the warmth of the evening kissed her skin, refreshed now by her dip. She transfigured her robe into a small blanket, a few pebbles became pillows, then she settled down, still naked and made herself comfortable. She sighed in contentment as the wavelets licked the shore. It was getting quite dark but a blackbird sang desultorily in the thicket behind her. She felt strangely safe in his company and strangely free in his imprisonment.
She was going to be the death of him. Her beauty, her poise, her lack of self consciousness and most of all that sigh as she breathed out all the tension of her day. He wondered if she would sigh as he kissed his way across her shoulders, down her back, across her stomach. Would she gasp as he took her breast in his mouth, nipping, watching the flex of her muscle dip and quiver at his touch.
How long would it be before she would leave and he could… What in all the nine hells was she doing now?
This was it. He had the best seat in the house and it was showtime. She shifted a little, she didn’t want it to be gynalogical.
Stop thinking! Just do it. You do it often enough, thinking of him the entire time.
Slowly, she dipped her finger in her mouth and trailed it slowly across her breast, travelled over her belly and dipped between her legs in a slow, familiar rhythm. She heard just the faintest hint of a stifled groan and that was enough for her to relax and enjoy teasing him to within an inch of his life
Was there anything more beautiful in this world than this witch shuddering under her own hand? He ached for her and he could not move. He longed for relief and he could not touch. She squirmed and gasped, her lip caught between her teeth, back arching as her hand moved with exquisite precision within her, faster and firmer the closer she got to completion. His breath kept pace with hers, his eyes boring into her, he was with her here. He was caught.
“Severus!” she hissed.
His name upon her lips as she reached the height.
His name, his name.
*
Scottish summers are capricious things and Minerva watched the next morning dawn drizzly and cool. The blackbirds sang ecstatically in the hedges and parched grass relaxed under the wet. While over the breakfast table Professor Sprout fussed about the crisped leaves and damage waiting for her in greenhouse three. Trelawny was predicting snow storms in September and Hooch was mourning the lost of still air and perfect Quidditch weather. Two of her staff however, were casting glances of shy understanding at each other. Summer was capricious indeed but those two were not. She was glad they had finally got unstuck.
Challenge: Trapped
Team: OotP if we write M. (Someone else if ootp don't.)
Rating: M...M I tell you!
Length: 13x100
AN: This is completely out of my comfort zone. I don't know if it is lemons, limes or clementines but it is citrus and I don't write citrus. I blame the exchange and the desire to work some writing muscles. It is long and un-beta -ed. But I don't think there are many mistakes herein. If you do find some, well, sorry but I know that if I didn't put it up straight away I would chicken out. So if it's pants, please tell me. I really would prefer the truth before I inflict pain upon some poor soul in the exchange with shoddy goods.
The heatwave had started in May and the entire country had endured searing temperatures for the last five weeks. Even Hogwarts, which had withstood fire, flood and seige had eventually succumbed
Usually, Professor Granger enjoyed the heat. It reminded her of the languorous days of childhood summers soaking up Provencal light, food and chilled white grape juice in roughly equal quantities.
But the Scottish Highlands were unaccustomed to these temperatures and the landscape only sharpened under the summer sun. The grass became spiky and harsh; the sky, a hard turquoise bowl overhead with the sun a resounding gong beating within.
All day the sunlight had streamed into the Charms classroom. It had seemed churlish to pull the thick brocade curtains against it - Heaven knows, it would be gloomy again soon enough. Her cooling charms could only do so much however, so, after checking that her precious books were well protected against the glare, Hermione had swung the long, square paned windows as wide as she could in the hopes of enticing a stray breeze into her domain. Disappointingly, despite being well above ground level in one of the furthest towers, not a breath of movement stirred the muggy air.
Dinner had been subdued. The students were fractious with the heat. The infirmary was full of headachey, sunburnt children and the staff were fraying under the difficulty of teaching dull, overtired students in stuffy classrooms. Professor Snape looked particularly drawn, as well he might, brewing over hot cauldrons every day.
She hadn’t seen him in days, the annoying man. It had become a sort of weird dance over the last year. Retreat, advance, circle around, smile, frown, retreat, advance. Tonight she was tired and in no mood. She would eat, and then she would escape the castle for a while.
It was past ten before she made it to the front steps. This close to the solstice the sun hardly set before it rose once more, but the sky had cooled and now was awash in shades of coral and jade. The trees of the Forest were exhaling a rich green breath. Hermione walked towards them, wanting nothing more than to wander within their cool, sheltering leaves.
He watched her go, understanding her desire for peace but unwilling to leave her unprotected on her night time walk. He would follow, not to intrude upon her, but watch over her only.
It was perhaps that awful year of being hunted that had given her an awareness of when she was being followed. She only became sure that it was Severus when it was apparent that the pursuit was utterly silent. No one else at the castle had that ability. She did not look around for him. She did not want to alert him to anything unusual. The new idea blooming within her, terrifying and amusing in equal parts required that he not know that she knew he was following her. It was a gamble and there was all to play for.
Now well out of the sight of the castle, Hermione paced along a narrow path where the trees and lake waters met. The air was hung with the scent of jasmine and the deeper note of warm wet earth. She paused to admire the reflected sky then picked her way to a small shingled beach, slipped off her shoes and dabbled her feet in the soothing water. Aware of her hidden audience she did not smile as she shed her clothes and soon she was oblivious anyway to anything other than the heavenly silk of cool water on her skin.
Severus had been a spy for over twenty years. He had endured torture, death and monsters both human, reptile and somewhere in-between but never had he felt more like running away in his life than when Hermione Granger had stripped in oblivious innocence before him. He had seen little more than her slim back and peach shaped bum before she entered the water sleek as an otter. She swam quietly, barely stirring the water. Then she turned on her back to look at the stars. Her breasts lifted to the surface, nipples taut. He hardened so fast he got dizzy.
He cursed. If he had run when she had started to swim, she would have been none the wiser but he doubted if he could move in safety now. He cast a Dis-illusionment charm. All he had to do was stay still. She would leave, he would wait until all was safe and tomorrow they could continue in their awkward friendship and neither would be embarrassed or hurt. This was an abberation. He would close his eyes. He would not watch like some lecherous pervert. But she rose from the water like a siren and he could not look away.
With iron control, she did not look directly at the slight shimmer where the Dis-illusionment betrayed his position. She murmured a drying charm and once again the warmth of the evening kissed her skin, refreshed now by her dip. She transfigured her robe into a small blanket, a few pebbles became pillows, then she settled down, still naked and made herself comfortable. She sighed in contentment as the wavelets licked the shore. It was getting quite dark but a blackbird sang desultorily in the thicket behind her. She felt strangely safe in his company and strangely free in his imprisonment.
She was going to be the death of him. Her beauty, her poise, her lack of self consciousness and most of all that sigh as she breathed out all the tension of her day. He wondered if she would sigh as he kissed his way across her shoulders, down her back, across her stomach. Would she gasp as he took her breast in his mouth, nipping, watching the flex of her muscle dip and quiver at his touch.
How long would it be before she would leave and he could… What in all the nine hells was she doing now?
This was it. He had the best seat in the house and it was showtime. She shifted a little, she didn’t want it to be gynalogical.
Stop thinking! Just do it. You do it often enough, thinking of him the entire time.
Slowly, she dipped her finger in her mouth and trailed it slowly across her breast, travelled over her belly and dipped between her legs in a slow, familiar rhythm. She heard just the faintest hint of a stifled groan and that was enough for her to relax and enjoy teasing him to within an inch of his life
Was there anything more beautiful in this world than this witch shuddering under her own hand? He ached for her and he could not move. He longed for relief and he could not touch. She squirmed and gasped, her lip caught between her teeth, back arching as her hand moved with exquisite precision within her, faster and firmer the closer she got to completion. His breath kept pace with hers, his eyes boring into her, he was with her here. He was caught.
“Severus!” she hissed.
His name upon her lips as she reached the height.
His name, his name.
*
Scottish summers are capricious things and Minerva watched the next morning dawn drizzly and cool. The blackbirds sang ecstatically in the hedges and parched grass relaxed under the wet. While over the breakfast table Professor Sprout fussed about the crisped leaves and damage waiting for her in greenhouse three. Trelawny was predicting snow storms in September and Hooch was mourning the lost of still air and perfect Quidditch weather. Two of her staff however, were casting glances of shy understanding at each other. Summer was capricious indeed but those two were not. She was glad they had finally got unstuck.