Getting Past Broken: Part Three
She fancied that his eyes were midnight pools she might drown in, hypnotizing and just the slightest bit challenging. Then she called herself a fool for sounding like a romance novel when this was anything but. She was rather hoping that she wouldn't look back at this whole thing and grimace at the sordidness of it all-was she being hopelessly naïve and idiotic to believe that, of all the men she knew, this one would be the most likely to help her past her problem? She couldn't imagine asking anyone else. Just the thought of going through the excruciating process of explaining and then asking say Seamus or Dean was horrifying.
Severus Snape was almost obsessive-compulsively meticulous in everything he did; no stir of a potion, button on his frockcoat or misplaced comma in an essay was above his attention. If a man like that was unable to make her enjoy sex, who possibly could? Despite his misgivings about their age difference, Hermione was honestly glad. He was more patient, subtle and had nearly as much at stake as she; he wouldn't be bumbling or completely self-absorbed the way someone else would.
Still…her heart skipped a beat in trepidation as he rose, his familiar, dramatic teaching robes reminding her in no uncertain terms of her status as his student just two years earlier. She knew he was not that much taller than she, really, average height for a man, but he always seemed to loom in those robes. Particularly, she mused, when he stood as he was currently doing, and the Cuban heels of his dragon hide boots aided the effort.
"Come here, Hermione, and find out."
Feeling almost under compulsion, Hermione set down the mugs of tea in her hands and approached him slowly. "What…like this? Now?" Her voice cracked slightly, and she had to remind herself that this is what she had wanted. She had just told him she had found him attractive, and he certainly had been two days earlier, when she espied him in the garden. Now however, standing in front of her in his full, buttoned-up austere state, she couldn't help but feel horribly nervous.
His hands rose slowly and cradled each side of her face, tilting it up slightly. "Do you really want to do this? Truly? I'll not be offended if you change your mind, Hermione." His voice was a low, velvety rumble, and it seemed to ripple through her in a way that Ron's never had. His face was so serious; any emotions he might feel carefully concealed behind impassivity. She might have worried that he was utterly indifferent and cold to her, if he had not belied his concern already in the sheer gentleness of his hands.
Hermione swallowed, suddenly very sure, despite her nerves. She attempted to nod, but his palms still cupping her face restricted the movement to the barest of tilts in the affirmative.
"For my own peace of mind, Hermione, I would like you to say it out loud," he told her-his voice was so quiet it was nearly a whisper, his breath flitting across her face and making her shiver slightly in response. It was so very odd that such a small thing could impact her whole body.
"Yes," she whispered back, bridging the gap between them. "I want you to get me past broken, Severus. Show me how to stop being afraid of this." She thought he would kiss her then-expected it even-but instead he simply studied her for a moment longer, as if gauging her sincerity, and then dropped his hands back to his sides, breaking the contact.
"Go take a bath, and put on whatever it is you sleep in."
Hermione blinked, startled. "What?"
"You heard me. I want you to go take a relaxing bath, and then put on whatever it is you usually sleep in."
"It's almost one in the afternoon, Severus. Why in the world do you want me to take another bath and put nightwear on?"
A flicker of impatience lit his eyes, and he snapped, "I thought you were going to trust me?"
Hermione jutted her chin at him. "Trusting you doesn't mean I'm just going to blindly do whatever you say, Severus! I'm not one your Potions students any longer," she snapped back. "Explain what you want, and why, and I'm far more likely to cooperate than if you just order me about!"
His eyes widened and then lit again with the same little hint of amusement she had seen a couple days previously. "I want you to take another bath and then put on your night clothes, because you are currently vibrating with tension, and not the kind that we're looking for. When you come back out, I want you to be clothed in the most comfortable thing you own, which is, presumably, what you would sleep in," he arched a brow. "Unless you sleep naked?"
"No!" Hermione shook her head. "Uh, it's just an oversized shirt, honestly, not sexy at all. Are you sure…?"
To her surprise, he actually smiled, his lips tipping up slightly at the corners, and a hand reached out and brushed a thumb against her cheek so lightly she almost couldn't feel it. "Go do it, Hermione, be relaxed, and be comfortable. When you come back, we are going to sit and talk."
"That's all? We're just going to talk?" she asked, confused.
"To start. There are things to discuss; rules that need to be put into place. Talking them out so that we have boundaries has to happen before we progress any further. Furthermore, neither of us is entirely comfortable with the other right now. I will be attempting to remedy that before we continue. Trust me." His gaze was unwavering.
Hermione rather thought that being freshly bathed and wearing nothing but the oversized shirt and knickers that she slept in would make her feel more vulnerable and uncomfortable, not the other way around. She wavered, trying to decide what to do.
"Hermione," he said firmly, "You are not alone in this, I promise. Trust me."
Hermione found herself nodding uneasily, and heading for the bathroom. She ran the water as hot as she could stand and lowered herself into the tub with a slight hiss. After a few moments she found that she was biting her lip, and not relaxing at all. Not sure what else to do, Hermione grabbed her loufa and soap and began to wash herself, despite having done so only that morning. Rinsing off, she looked at her legs and frowned. The stubble there told her she should probably charm her legs smooth again, and probably re-groom her bikini line as well, especially if she was going to be naked in front of him.
The realization suddenly dawned on her in full force. A man was going to be seeing her naked; a man who was not Ronald Weasley. Severus Snape was going to be seeing her naked. Startled into sudden purpose, Hermione was suddenly enormously glad he insisted on her taking a bath and changing. It gave her time to fix what she hadn't thought would need fixing. Grateful she had left the bottle of Madame Cheveux's Magical Depilatory on rim of the tub the last time she had used it, Hermione set to work.
When she emerged from the bathroom, it was nearly forty-five minutes later. She was freshly washed, exfoliated, hair-free in the places she should be, her teeth scrubbed and feeling much better about the prospect of being seen naked. There wasn't much she could do with her hair without a whole lot more time and Sleekeazy, she thought critically, eyeing the tangled mess of curls in the mirror. Rubbing just a bit on her fingers, she finger combed the curls, attempting to make them look a little less…robust, before finally giving up, leaving them only marginally better.
Towel wrapped firmly about her, she crept back into her bedroom, relieved that he was apparently still in the other room, out of eyeshot. She eyed the short-sleeved men's button-down she typically wore to bed, feeling nervous. It was an unattractive sort of puce colour with a small tear in one shoulder, but it was so worn and comfortable after years of owning it that she hadn't been able to bear throwing it out.
Without her bra on she would be terribly vulnerable in it-why hadn't she lied and told him she wore sweats to bed? He wouldn't have believed you, anyway, the voice inside her head grumbled. Hermione tugged the shirt over her head through the already enlarged neckline, instead of unbuttoning it all the way, and then buttoned one of the buttons she usually didn't bother with, wincing a little as her damp hair soaked through the back of the shirt.
She dug through her underwear drawer, looking for the most "company-worthy" pair of knickers she could find, that she could also pass off as "sleeping-worthy", and finally settled on a bright blue pair trimmed with a little silver bow.
Feeling nervous and very half dressed, Hermione padded back out into the sitting room barefoot, praying her face wasn't as red as she felt. What she saw stopped her short, her jaw slackening slightly. He had removed his boots and they now stood neatly by the couch. His belt was coiled around them in a line of braided leather. Next to his boots and belt, folded in a neat pile, were his robes, frockcoat, and the white shirt she had seen him stripped down to in the garden. The man himself sat quietly on the couch he had been sitting on when she had left, still with his trousers on, but bare-chested. Their eyes met, and she thought she saw a flicker of answering uneasiness in his.
"You see?" he said quietly. "You're not going to be alone in this." He carefully set a previously unnoticed book aside, onto a nearby table, and straightened marginally, silently giving her permission to look and assess as she liked.
Almost against her will her eyes dropped back to his chest and studied him. He was lean and wiry rather than bulky, like Ron had developed into; even so, his muscles seemed to sit more firmly on his arms and shoulders, the definition in his abdominals less obnoxious somehow. He had a liberal dusting of inky-black chest hair that all but disappeared across his stomach, and then picked up again in a thin trail from his navel to beneath the line of his trousers.
Ron was completely hairless on his chest, and now Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he, too, used Madame Cheveux's Magical Depilatory. The contrast between his freckled, hairless skin with overly prominent muscle and Severus' rangier build was startling, and she found herself wondering what it felt like in comparison. Her eyes lifted back to his and found him staring back at her, waiting.
He held up a hand and beckoned her closer. "Come here, Hermione. Come sit with me and we'll just get used to being next to each other, touching each other, and we can also get some rules straightened out."
Hermione slowly walked forward until she was directly in front of him, and took his hand, feeling her breath hitch as the heat of it wrapped around hers. His rich, low voice hummed through her awareness, explaining softly, almost hypnotically as he tugged her into his lap. "I'm going to put my arms around you; just firmly enough to keep you steady, but loosely enough so that, if you show the slightest inclination of leaving, you will be able to get up easily." His voice didn't waver as he suited actions to words, and snuggled her into him.
His show of caution and clear respect for her comfort was relieving and slightly endearing; it made her that much more certain she had chosen wisely in this mad endeavour. She gave him a grateful look and tucked her head on his shoulder, concentrating on the feeling of him against her. He was warm, his heat seeping through the thin material of her shirt, slowly relaxing her.This is okay, she decided. Even though it's Snape. Maybe because it's Snape. Either way, I think this is going to be very okay, after all.
Feeling curious, and just a little daring, she ran a hand slowly over the part of his chest she was currently not laying against, exploring the unknown texture of his chest hair, his heavier, if leaner muscle, and catching the pad of her finger lightly across his far nipple. He let her explore patiently, his breath pausing only slightly when she ran her fingertips over certain areas. She traced several small and silvered scars-clearly old and long since healed, glancing up at him under her lashes to see if he minded. His gaze caught hers, and the low, simmering heat she saw there told her as clearly as words that he didn't. His free hand ran up and down her back in slow, steady strokes, soothing, rather than exciting.
This is actually rather heavenly, she thought dreamily, and continued to run her fingers over his muscle again. She was almost loath to ask, but he had mentioned rules, and that probably meant he had some sort of restrictions of his own, like Ron. Thank goodness he had the decency to be upfront about them, at least, instead of just getting upset when she unknowingly over-stepped. She sighed. "You mentioned rules."
His hand stilled on her back a moment, and then continued, along with his voice. She was delighted to find that she could feel it rumble through his chest, and had to stop herself from burrowing into him further. "Yes. I was thinking of using stoplight colours; it's an easy thing to remember and use. I'm told it's actually fairly common among those who enjoy a…rougher sort of play."
"Stoplight colours?" Hermione lifted her head and looked at him, confused, "Are you planning on being rough?"
"No, no, I think that would be the last thing you would need. I still think it is a good idea for you to use safe words, considering the situation. If you're uncomfortable with something, and you want to slow down, maybe even stop and discuss it, but not dismiss it entirely, you say 'yellow,'"
"Ah, I see. And if I want to stop all together, 'red.'"
"Exactly." His fingertips skated up her back again, this time continuing to trace her spine to the back of her neck, and knead a little. Hermione tipped her head forward and drew her hair over one shoulder to give him better access, groaning softly. "For instance, you don't seem to have a problem at all with me doing this-?" His breath whispered over the sensitive area just under her ear, sending a little shudder down her spine.
"No…none at all, green light there," she mumbled. He chuckled almost under his breath, and continued rubbing the base of her neck, running his thumb up to just behind her ear. She hardly even noticed when he used the motion tilt her head away from him; she was so immersed in the rather fantastic way he was making her neck feel. When he nuzzled the now-exposed line of her throat and kissed the tender area where it met her shoulder, she actually groaned aloud.
He continued dropping little, gentle kisses over her neck and shoulder, now supporting her head with his left hand, teasing her skin lightly with the edge of his teeth. The sensation seemed to shoot directly to the tip of the adjacent breast, stiffening the nipple into a taut, almost painful point under her shirt. Hermione pulled her breath in with a sharp gasp, and almost without realising she was doing it, angled herself into him more, attempting to rub the tip of it against his own chest.
His right hand had been resting comfortably high on her left hip, supporting her in his lap. Now it played and teased with the hem of the button-down shirt, his fingertips flirting with her bare thigh and stroking the skin softly. The combination of this and his nibbling, sucking kisses on the tendons in her throat were intoxicating. Her thoughts were unwinding in long, curling sensations of tingling pleasure; Ron had never been able to elicit this reaction so quickly from her, especially from so little.
Her response probably should have concerned her; she was not in love with Severus Snape after all, and wasn't she supposed to be in love with Ron? Her mental apprehension, however, was drowned in the absolutely delicious feelings he was creating within her. Hermione tilted her head upright again, and pressed her own mouth to his in a hot, seeking kiss of her own.
He seemed startled at first, almost breaking the kiss as his head jerked minutely, but then settled into it with her, his tongue stroking alongside hers sensually. His kiss was an altogether different thing from what she had experienced before. His mouth was firm and pliable, his lips surprisingly soft. Unlike Ron, he didn't kiss with a sloppy, roaming technique that left her feeling like half her face was being swallowed and slobbered on; nor did he have the authoritative confidence that Viktor Krum had employed.
Kissing him, she fancied, was rather like what kissing midnight would be like: dark, smooth and richly mysterious. Hermione decided that she didn't care if that sounded like a horrible romance novel any longer. His mouth seemed almost to play with hers-his tongue boldly pursuing only to tactically retreat, drawing hers into his mouth. His fingers wrapped in her hair, his other hand stroking her thigh under the hem of her shirt, teasing the insides just far enough that she couldn't help but feel like they were both being deliciously naughty.
His lips parted from hers on a deep breath, as if he was trying to catch it, and both of them opened their eyes again to stare at each other, inches apart. Their gazes remained locked for several seconds, before he cleared his throat.
"Rules. We were discussing the rules, and boundaries."
"I think I got the hang of it. Green light." She saw his eyes light with humour as she reached for him again, but he held her off, tilting his head slightly.
"Hermione," he chided, "this is serious. I would like to know ahead of time, if possible, what you know makes you trigger into flashbacks. I have no wish to confront that issue at all until you are comfortable with everything else, do you understand? I don't want to even approach yellow if I can help it."
"I was very comfortable with you kissing me," she said pointedly, then sighed. "I think…I think it's being held down, unable to move, to decide. I don't like feeling pinned. I don't like not being able to get away. All I can remember, when I'm being held down like that, is how afraid I was, how much I was hurting, and how-"
He frowned, waiting for her to finish. When she didn't after a while, he prodded, "How…?"
"I don't know, how humiliated and ashamed I was, I suppose. I would have done anything to escape, but there was nothing I could have done that would have saved me." Her heart constricted as an echo of the powerless feelings tried to wrap its way around her mind again. "I…I am not incredibly good at this," she admitted. "Ron says I'm frigid."
"Does he?" A dark eyebrow cocked expressively in disbelief, something she felt almost pathetically grateful for.
"Yes," she shrugged awkwardly in his arms. "I don't know that I'm really made to be a vixen," she told him seriously. His face went incredibly impassive, except his eyes. Hermione felt her own narrow, as she realised. Oh, he was laughing at her, the horrid, horrid man. "What?" she snapped crossly. "It's true. I'm skinny and unattractive and unresponsive."
"Now that is an absolutely absurd statement to make."
"Is it?" Hermione wondered, and found her chin caught in his hand and her gaze directed firmly back to his.
"Utterly." His thumb ran over her lower lip, and Hermione found herself pursing them to kiss the tip of it. His dark eyes went positively black for a moment, and the direction of his gaze dropped to her lips. "I'm going to kiss you again."
"Okay," Hermione found herself agreeing, before his mouth touched hers again. She liked kissing him, after all. Their kiss was less gentle this time, less exploratory. His hold was still undemanding and easily loose enough that she could push him away if she liked. His mouth, however, told a different story. It commandingly took hers-took her-once again submerging her thoughts into a haze of sensual delight and heat. Happily, Hermione twined her fingers into his hair and snuggled herself more firmly against him, gasping a little as his long fingers dipped daringly higher and further inwards on her thigh, not quite stroking her centre.
His right hand suddenly abandoned her thigh to join his left on her back, the two of them stroking up her back and around her rib cage until one of his thumbs brushed the tip of her breast. The choked sounding moan she made would have been embarrassing if she had not been thoroughly wrapped up in how blissful he was making her feel.
Hermione squeezed her thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache between them a little. How was it possible that he evoked such a strong response in her so quickly from just a few kisses and light touches? His thumb stroked again and electricity seemed to zing through her, causing her discomfort to intensify. Hermione squirmed, gasping against his mouth, feeling burned. He shifted under her, and then his lips broke from hers, ghosting along her cheekbone to murmur in her ear, "Straddle me."
Hermione took the opportunity to draw his earlobe into her mouth, nipping it playfully and enjoying the low growl it produced. She nearly fell out of his lap trying to do as he said, shifting in his arms and nearly kneeing him in the groin as she tried to get one leg over his thighs. He winced a little and then chuckled at her eagerness, supporting her with his hands on her hips until she managed to settle with one knee on either side of his.
"Alright?" he asked, pressing against her slightly. The motion shot little jolts through her, bowing her spine and pulling a soft whine from her. She took the opportunity of finally having full access to his chest and ran her hands up it, pausing to finger his nipples, and feel the texture of the wiry black hair that he had.
She lowered her mouth back to his with a muttered, "Green light. A very, very green light."
His hands were on her again, stroking the skin of her thighs in slow back and forth motions, each one drawing his fingers closer and closer to the cloth of her knickers-her now very sticky, very in the way knickers. Unconsciously she found herself rocking into him, rubbing herself over the hard ridge in his trousers and moaning into his mouth.
She knew that things would likely escalate soon and at that point the lovely anticipatory feeling would go away, swallowed up by the disappointing discomfort of actually having sex, but right now she felt absolutely lovely, burning from the inside out under his hands and mouth. It was worth the sex, she decided. If he could get her to a place where could at least not mind the actual penetration, she could definitely see herself even initiating sexual encounters just for all the lovely feelings that came first.
It would probably be bad form to ask Ron to take lessons from the Potions master, she mused. Pity. Hermione rocked her hips forward again, angling them just so, causing her clit to drag and be caught across the clearly strained fastenings of his trousers. She bit down on her lower lip, enjoying the pleasure that bolted through her as she made contact with him, and let her eyes drop to half-mast.
"That's right, lovely. Do what feels good right now, take your pleasure." His hand circled to stroke across her stomach, then dipped to thumb her clitoris through her knickers. He laughed, actually laughed in her ear as her eyes flew open wide and she ground into his fingers. The hand not occupied with stroking her down there found its way up her bare back again, drawing the shirt with it.
The mock sneer he gave her was reminiscent of the ones she had been subjected all throughout her school years, but the glint in his eyes made it somehow unbearably naughty and wicked. Her shirt caught on her shoulders as he attempted to remove it one handed, and when his hand started to abandon her knickers in order to help its mate, Hermione found herself protesting without thinking about it. She grunted inarticulately, and used her own hands demandingly to bring his back to its previous position, startling another laugh out of him. She helped him remove her nightshirt impatiently, continuing to try to widen her thighs around his to give his clever fingers better access to her sodden knickers.
"How can you possibly believe for one second anything that moron said to you? Look at you!" His free hand cupped one of her breasts and squeezed it gently, rolling the tip a little. Hermione arched her back and keened, uncertain of how to focus on the sensations coming from both her breast and her aching clitoris at the same time. One hand rubbed in firm, incessant little circles and the other stroked and taunted. It was driving her mad.
"You are not skinny. You are lithe, elegantly long and slender. Only an utter fool would look at this body, these perfect little handfuls and round arse and call you merely skinny." The hand on her breast circled around her back until his arm was just under her shoulder blades, then suddenly he was shifting forward, leaning her over his arm backward, even as she still straddled his thighs and helplessly jerked against his erection under the careful manipulation of his other hand.
"Still green, like this?"
"God-fuck-yes, Severus!"
His mouth closed on her breast at the same time that his fingers pressed hard; she tightened, and exploded with a scream that she couldn't hold in. Her mind shattered in hazy black ripples even as her body shuddered, naked in his lap but for those blue knickers that were probably ruined forever. It took her several minutes to come back to herself, she could feel herself pant with exertion and a line of sweat worked its way down her back to be caught by his bare arm, still supporting her.
He eased her back upright again, so that she was no longer arched backward, and brought her forehead to his, and said seriously, "You are stunning in your passion, Hermione. I have seen a woman pretending, and I know you felt that fire."
"Yes," she breathed, not wanting to say it too loudly, lest she break the moment. "That was...beyond anything I've ever…" She shook her head. "But it wasn't sex, not the whole thing. You…you didn't…"
His lips quirked. "No, not yet. I had planned to do away with these." His fingers stroked a line down her overly sensitised flesh through her knickers, making her shiver. "Then I was going to have you ride me."
"Ride you? You mean while sitting up on the couch?"
His brows quirked in amusement and his hips flexed subtly, grinding his erection up into her. "Indeed. You did say it was being pinned down that bothered you."
"Ron said…he said that it's not right-that he can't get off."
Severus' features twisted in clear annoyance. "Ronald Weasley is an idiot whose sexual knowledge would have no trouble fitting in a teaspoon."
Hermione was startled into giggles, before explaining, "I once said something very similar to him about his capacity for emotional depth."
"Minerva always did brag about how insightful you are," he responded generously.
Hermione grinned at him, and then her eyes narrowed. "What I'm noticing right now is that you are still left, ah…"
"Wanting?" he finished dryly.
Hermione felt herself blush. "Well, uh, yeah. Is…is there any reason why we couldn't, I mean, could I…?"
His eyes gleamed, "By all means, far be it from me to stop you."
Hermione felt herself grin. "I suppose that was a terribly stupid thing for me to ask."
He nodded solemnly. "I expect better from you forthwith."
She glanced down at the clear tent in his trousers, and touched him, stroking a little, glancing at him through her lashes again. His eyes had shuttered slightly, a faint smile tipping the corners of his mouth. He arched a brow at her, and leant all the way back on the couch with a smirk, allowing her better access to him.
Feeling a bit bolder, Hermione stroked him again, trying to trace the length and breadth of him with only a little success through his trousers. Her frustration must have shown on her face, because his long fingers suddenly joined hers, slowly unfastening the buttons on his trousers. The opening, rather unsurprisingly, revealed more black cloth beneath.
"No colour even here?" she teased, drawing a line down his now clearly outlined cock.
"What did you expect, the Union Jack?" he asked acerbically.
Hermione couldn't stifle a giggle. "Fred and George used to each have a pair of those boxers. Saw 'em once."
Severus sneered, and lifted an eyebrow in response. "I'm afraid you'll have to live with the disappointment that this is my undergarment choice, then," he said mildly.
Hermione smiled and glanced down again. He had come to her house knowing that there was a good chance they would end up in exactly this position, she remembered. It was not a stretch of imagination to think that he had possibly chosen his trunks with the same care that she had her knickers. She wrapped a hand around him awkwardly through the opening in his trousers and squeezed gently, drawing a hiss of breath from the man under her.
"I'm not disappointed in the least," she said honestly, and stroked him through his chosen trunks again, a little enthralled by the reaction. There was a damp spot in the cloth at the head of his still-concealed erection and Hermione rubbed a thumb over it, pleased to have found proof of his own desire. She tried to circle him and take his measure with her hands; actions he seemed to find thoroughly enjoyable.
His hips shifted under her slightly, thrusting up more firmly into her fingers, and Hermione was reminded of her own helpless shifting when he had touched her. Encouraged by this behaviour, Hermione stroked him again from base to tip, smiling faintly when his hips shifted again. She glanced at his face again, only to find his narrowed gaze firmly locked on her breasts.
Suddenly self-conscious, particularly of the scars she knew would be highly visible in this position, Hermione stopped touching him to hunch in on herself, wrapping her arms around her middle. The pause in her motions brought his attention back to her face, his eyes glittering darkly when they met hers, and suddenly his long fingers were wrapping around her hips again and pushing her off his lap. Startled, Hermione stumbled, only barely gaining her footing to keep from landing on the floor. He followed her to a standing position, his hands running up her bare sides to close over her breasts, palming the tips of them softly.
"You are lovely, Hermione," he told her quietly. A hand drifted to stroke along the long scar that ran from under her right breast to her hip. "Every inch of you is lovely. This is a badge of honour, the mark of a warrior, not something to be ashamed of." His hand travelled back to her right nipple, teasing it softly, even as his other rose to trace her other scar. This one was wide and jagged, crossing just over her left breast. "This one, too. You have nothing that should be hidden, least of all from a lover."
His palms closed over her breasts again and she found herself arching into them with a faint sigh. Ron had only ever given her unsubtle hints to see cosmetic Healers specializing in scarring or offered her potions from various apothecaries that were said to reduce the appearance of them. The longer Severus touched and stroked her, his dark voice wrapping around her like velvet, the more certain she became that Ronald had been horribly wrong, grinding salt into her wounds with his actions. She certainly was still traumatised, but not beyond hope, she suspected, not the way he had led her to believe she was.
The thought made her stretch up to kiss him again, capturing his mouth with hers and pressing into him. His skin was warm and firm under hers, the hair on his chest abrading her skin in a delicious contrast of textures. Her hands slowly travelled up the lengths of his arms, stopping here and there to explore and knead the muscle she found. He felt so delightfully strong and masculine without being overbearing; she felt like she fit with him.
His tongue suckled hers and his hands were now cupping her rear, lifting her slightly against him. She supposed she should feel embarrassed and awkward; she was nearly naked and she was kissing, touching, and rubbing against the very hard penis of Severus Snape. The terror of her youth had her wrapped up in his arms and was giving her more bliss than she had ever thought would be possible. If she wasn't feeling entirely drunk on the taste of him, she would have found the situation incredibly surreal.
Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and dropped her eyes to where the band of his trousers gaped. Her fingers itched to unwrap him the rest of the way herself, to explore the lower half of his body the same way she had his chest. "May I...?"
He smirked at her again, his mouth only barely tipping, his eyes conveying his amusement once more. His eyes not leaving hers, he took her hand, and firmly pressed it against the hardness straining his trunks. "Green light," he deadpanned and Hermione found herself grinning widely in response. She could feel him actually pulse under her hand, and the last traces of her timidity vanished.
Eagerly, Hermione fumbled with the waistband of his trousers, pausing to stroke his cock and grip his arse to pull him closer in turns. She tilted up her face to kiss him again and happily lost herself in his mouth, only remembering that she had been trying to get him out of his remaining clothes when his hands abandoned her to deal with the offending garments himself. She helped him then, running her hands down his hips to hook into the trousers he was attempting to remove, hindering more than helping the process. His chest shook a little with silent laughter and he held his hands aloft, allowing her better access. Once she had refocused, it only took a few moments to rid him of his trousers and trunks, sliding them down his long, lean legs.
He kicked them away with apparent impatience and reached for her again, suddenly stilling and holding himself rigid when he realised she was studying him as intently as she had ever studied one of her textbooks in school. His cock was as fair as the rest of him and proudly erect, curving upward and reddened in his arousal. Tentatively, she reached out and wrapped her hand around it, touching him for the first time directly. The skin there was silky smooth and soft, the tip weeping just slightly from her attention.
Hermione ran her hands down his length, feeling the weight of his balls and following the veins back up. Her finger lightly smeared the bead of moisture at the tip, smoothing it over the head of his cock. He was a bit thicker than she had anticipated, she decided with a slight frown. She supposed she had imagined that he would be shaped there the same way he was all over: long and sort of rangy. The additional width would probably make things a little less comfortable. Maybe she could get away with bringing him off with her hands or by sucking on his cock-it had worked with Ron before.
As if he could read her intent, Severus wrapped his hands around her wrist, urging them away. "If you do that, I'm not going to last. I was under the impression that you wanted to try riding?"
Hermione felt her cheeks heat. Caught.
His tone was non-judgmental, "Hermione, if you are not comfortable, you need to tell me. Say so."
"And if I'm not?" Her voice quavered a little.
His eyes glittered. "Then you say 'yellow,' and maybe we go back to what we were doing. We'll just sit on the couch and play a little bit, while I attempt to turn off that busy little brain of yours. Or maybe you stay standing just like this, while I try something different." The husky timbre of his voice promised heaven and Hermione's brain stuttered, wondering what he intended.
His long fingers cupped over her breasts again, thumbing her nipples until they were stiff, catching her breath and reminding her of the aching, rippling blackness she had dissolved into on the couch with him. His hands stroked slowly down her ribs, his feather-light touch raising anticipatory goose bumps on her skin. They hooked into the waistband of her knickers, and his eyebrows arched in challenge. "Green light?"
His look was one of pure, unadulterated carnality, and for a moment she had trouble breathing before she remembered to sigh out a low, "Yes." Permission thus attained, he smirked at her, and slowly drew her knickers down her thighs, lowering himself with them in front of her.
Hermione closed her eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face when he saw her completely bare. She was nearly shivering in anticipation; she knew what he planned. Despite never having experienced it first hand, she would be a fool not to read his intent, but it still caught her by surprise when his mouth suddenly closed on her. His large nose-how many awful jokes had been attached to it?-was nudging up against her, the flat of his tongue dragging through her folds boldly to finish in a flick just so on her clitoris.
Hermione choked on a moan, her knees starting to buckle, only to have him grip her hips to steady her and move to kiss the inside of her thighs lightly. His warm breath sighed and teased her sensitive skin, and she squirmed, only to have him ignore her silent request. His hands stroked her legs and teased the back of her knees, his mouth scattering small kisses across her hips and thighs.
Frustrated, Hermione widened her stance a bit and rocked her hips, trying to tell him without words what she wanted, only to have him trace her outer lips tauntingly with the tip of his tongue. He was almost, almost where she needed him; he clearly knew it and was pointedly denying her, the arse.
Hermione heard herself whimper slightly; he was driving her mad! She tilted her hips again and let out a breathy "please," only to feel him merely smile against her thigh. He blew a soft stream of warm air on her, baiting her, and Hermione snapped. Unable to take the tormenting any more, she fisted her fingers into his hair and forcibly tilted his head, bringing his mouth and nose firmly into contact with her quim.
He let out a startled chuckle, and it sent glorious vibrations zinging through her. Then, finally, he gave her what she wanted, licking and sucking and nuzzling until she could feel herself on the cusp of breaking apart as she had the first time. Then his fingers entered her, two of them, just as he sucked her clitoris firmly into his mouth.
Her vision tunnelled into that world shattering blackness, her knees collapsing under her. She didn't remember him breaking her fall, only that a split second later she was being hauled up in his arms, her legs winding around his waist and her head tucked into his neck as he carried her back across the room to the couch.
He fell backwards, landing with none of the grace she had come to expect from him, his mouth lunging upwards to take hers hungrily, his hips thrusting against hers so that she slid over his naked cock. He was hard and hot, ruthlessly stimulating her already hypersensitive and burning flesh. She hadn't thought it was possible to feel any more, to take any more, but the feel of him beneath her, naked between her thighs, his cock sliding against her was pushing her past rationality. "I want in you," his voice was harsh, strained. "Please, I'll make you feel good, I swear it. Let me in you."
Breathless, her mind still hazy with passion and the glittering shards of sexual fulfilment, Hermione nodded, unable to focus on anything but that hot length still rubbing against her, and kissed him again, arching her breasts into his hands and rolling her hips helplessly on him. He broke free with a harsh grunt and practically spat at her, "Say it-out loud!"
"Yes," she said impatiently, "Severus, yes. Green bloody light, just don't stop!"
He gripped her hips and lifted her, and then she was abruptly speared. Her eyes flew open wide in shock and her nails bit into his shoulders; both of them stilled a moment, staring at each other.
Full. Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. She felt so full. He was heavy and thick and ruthlessly unyielding, buried so deeply inside her she fancied she could feel him in her stomach. The angle was entirely new to her, and it felt somehow, impossibly more.
What she didn't feel, she realised, was pain. The thought dawned slowly, and Hermione let out the breath she was holding shakily, relaxing slightly as she became aware of it. She felt a bit odd, but she wasn't hurting, and she wasn't afraid. A little apprehensive, perhaps, but not afraid.
She looked at him again and noted with wonder his strained face; his throat and jaw were tight with the effort to hold still until she was comfortable. Experimentally, she wriggled a little in place, attempting to figure out how to use her newly discovered muscles. His head tipped to rest on the back of the couch with a low groan, and his own hips tilted up to thrust in unconscious response.
The friction it created had her eyes widening again, her mouth parting a little in pleased surprise. This was an altogether different feeling than when he had touched her or used his mouth. This was a deep, internal stroking of nerves she wouldn't have believed existed if she hadn't felt them just now. Encouraged, she shifted again, rocking against him as best she could with her minimal leverage.
"Hermione," he hissed, flexing under her again, "You have no idea…you feel…" His hands tightened on her thighs. Clearly, he really, really liked what she was doing. Hermione smiled, enthralled by the sight and sound of Severus Snape rendered wordless and moaning, and determinedly began to roll her hips.
He groaned; she sighed-he felt incredible inside her. This was not the painful and humiliating experience she'd had before; this was what all the fuss was about. Hermione tipped forward, trying to get more leverage, and found that it changed the angle inside her as well. Her lips parted on a gasp and she involuntarily tightened around him, shuddering slightly.
"Fuck! The profanity exploded out of him and his hands suddenly rose from her thighs to grip her hips, his own bucking under her, pushing himself deep. Hermione's breath caught on a low wail as he seemed to rasp along every nerve ending she had, setting off small explosions of sensation. She writhed against him instinctively, rolling her hips in answer. It was all the answer he needed.
His head snapped up and his dark eyes shot open to lock on hers. He began to thrust, driving himself up into her in a fast, incessant rhythm. Her world caught on fire as every fibre of her being focused on the heavy surge between her legs, the way her body seemed to weep and grip him in turns, and the delicious, consuming friction. She was somehow utterly out of control and unable to care. Nothing mattered but the building pressure that was threatening once more to explode out of her and the intense, dark glitter of his eyes.
Lost. She was utterly lost in them, in the rippling heat, in the sweat she could see on his face and the set of his bared teeth. The sudden urge to kiss him, to claim his mouth as surely as he was claiming her body overtook her. She leant forward again, pressing her mouth to his urgently. Their kiss was as wild as their motions, raw and powerful and, she suspected, just a little bit dangerous.
He was dangerous.
His hands had abandoned her hips to wrap around her waist, clutching her to him. Her legs were still around his waist, making it nearly impossible to do anything but let him control their movements. Hermione felt herself tighten like a drawn bow, her spine arching as the base of it seemed to suddenly ignite. She came with a scream that she couldn't hold in, not even noticing as he stiffened and joined her with a raw, almost feral sounding growl.
She slumped against him when she came back to herself; resting her head on his shoulder and shivering with minute aftershocks. They were both a bit sticky and slick with sweat; it took Hermione a moment to realise that tears were actually leaking from her eyes. She sniffled a little and smiled, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder, enjoying the simple feel of his skin under hers.
His head turned a little at the motion, one hand half-heartedly lifting to stroke her back. "You're crying."
"Yes." Hermione smiled into his shoulder, and then continued, "It's not a bad sort of crying. Relieved, I think."
"I didn't hurt you, at the end there?"
Hermione lifted up a little to look him in the eyes again and gave him a watery grin. "No. No, not in the least. Well. I suspect I might be a bit sore, I'm not used to this sort of thing, and you're…well a bit bigger than I thought you'd be."
His look was indignant. "You thought I would be small?"
"No, no, not at all," Hermione found herself giggling. "Just not quite that wide."
"Insufferable girl," he retorted, but he said it with more amusement than anything else. His hand stroked her back again, softly, then observed, "One would never suspect you lived a year out of doors once. You have the softest skin."
Hermione smiled up at him, pleased that he had noticed. "I exfoliated when you sent me to the bath," she informed him.
His eyes lit with humour and his lips quirked. "Only a Gryffindor would admit something like that."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely."
"Well then. In the full spirit of Gryffindor pride, I will also fully disclose that I picked out my knickers just for you, too."
The sound of his dark, rich laughter filled her living room.
A/N: Aloha! I am currently on the beautiful island of Maui, enjoying a last hurrah with Mr Song before our family becomes one bigger. So a shout out to all my Hawaiian friends and followers! Maybe I'll run into you on the beach on Maalaea! Thank you again so much for continuing to read and review-you guys make my day!
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Severus Snape was almost obsessive-compulsively meticulous in everything he did; no stir of a potion, button on his frockcoat or misplaced comma in an essay was above his attention. If a man like that was unable to make her enjoy sex, who possibly could? Despite his misgivings about their age difference, Hermione was honestly glad. He was more patient, subtle and had nearly as much at stake as she; he wouldn't be bumbling or completely self-absorbed the way someone else would.
Still…her heart skipped a beat in trepidation as he rose, his familiar, dramatic teaching robes reminding her in no uncertain terms of her status as his student just two years earlier. She knew he was not that much taller than she, really, average height for a man, but he always seemed to loom in those robes. Particularly, she mused, when he stood as he was currently doing, and the Cuban heels of his dragon hide boots aided the effort.
"Come here, Hermione, and find out."
Feeling almost under compulsion, Hermione set down the mugs of tea in her hands and approached him slowly. "What…like this? Now?" Her voice cracked slightly, and she had to remind herself that this is what she had wanted. She had just told him she had found him attractive, and he certainly had been two days earlier, when she espied him in the garden. Now however, standing in front of her in his full, buttoned-up austere state, she couldn't help but feel horribly nervous.
His hands rose slowly and cradled each side of her face, tilting it up slightly. "Do you really want to do this? Truly? I'll not be offended if you change your mind, Hermione." His voice was a low, velvety rumble, and it seemed to ripple through her in a way that Ron's never had. His face was so serious; any emotions he might feel carefully concealed behind impassivity. She might have worried that he was utterly indifferent and cold to her, if he had not belied his concern already in the sheer gentleness of his hands.
Hermione swallowed, suddenly very sure, despite her nerves. She attempted to nod, but his palms still cupping her face restricted the movement to the barest of tilts in the affirmative.
"For my own peace of mind, Hermione, I would like you to say it out loud," he told her-his voice was so quiet it was nearly a whisper, his breath flitting across her face and making her shiver slightly in response. It was so very odd that such a small thing could impact her whole body.
"Yes," she whispered back, bridging the gap between them. "I want you to get me past broken, Severus. Show me how to stop being afraid of this." She thought he would kiss her then-expected it even-but instead he simply studied her for a moment longer, as if gauging her sincerity, and then dropped his hands back to his sides, breaking the contact.
"Go take a bath, and put on whatever it is you sleep in."
Hermione blinked, startled. "What?"
"You heard me. I want you to go take a relaxing bath, and then put on whatever it is you usually sleep in."
"It's almost one in the afternoon, Severus. Why in the world do you want me to take another bath and put nightwear on?"
A flicker of impatience lit his eyes, and he snapped, "I thought you were going to trust me?"
Hermione jutted her chin at him. "Trusting you doesn't mean I'm just going to blindly do whatever you say, Severus! I'm not one your Potions students any longer," she snapped back. "Explain what you want, and why, and I'm far more likely to cooperate than if you just order me about!"
His eyes widened and then lit again with the same little hint of amusement she had seen a couple days previously. "I want you to take another bath and then put on your night clothes, because you are currently vibrating with tension, and not the kind that we're looking for. When you come back out, I want you to be clothed in the most comfortable thing you own, which is, presumably, what you would sleep in," he arched a brow. "Unless you sleep naked?"
"No!" Hermione shook her head. "Uh, it's just an oversized shirt, honestly, not sexy at all. Are you sure…?"
To her surprise, he actually smiled, his lips tipping up slightly at the corners, and a hand reached out and brushed a thumb against her cheek so lightly she almost couldn't feel it. "Go do it, Hermione, be relaxed, and be comfortable. When you come back, we are going to sit and talk."
"That's all? We're just going to talk?" she asked, confused.
"To start. There are things to discuss; rules that need to be put into place. Talking them out so that we have boundaries has to happen before we progress any further. Furthermore, neither of us is entirely comfortable with the other right now. I will be attempting to remedy that before we continue. Trust me." His gaze was unwavering.
Hermione rather thought that being freshly bathed and wearing nothing but the oversized shirt and knickers that she slept in would make her feel more vulnerable and uncomfortable, not the other way around. She wavered, trying to decide what to do.
"Hermione," he said firmly, "You are not alone in this, I promise. Trust me."
Hermione found herself nodding uneasily, and heading for the bathroom. She ran the water as hot as she could stand and lowered herself into the tub with a slight hiss. After a few moments she found that she was biting her lip, and not relaxing at all. Not sure what else to do, Hermione grabbed her loufa and soap and began to wash herself, despite having done so only that morning. Rinsing off, she looked at her legs and frowned. The stubble there told her she should probably charm her legs smooth again, and probably re-groom her bikini line as well, especially if she was going to be naked in front of him.
The realization suddenly dawned on her in full force. A man was going to be seeing her naked; a man who was not Ronald Weasley. Severus Snape was going to be seeing her naked. Startled into sudden purpose, Hermione was suddenly enormously glad he insisted on her taking a bath and changing. It gave her time to fix what she hadn't thought would need fixing. Grateful she had left the bottle of Madame Cheveux's Magical Depilatory on rim of the tub the last time she had used it, Hermione set to work.
When she emerged from the bathroom, it was nearly forty-five minutes later. She was freshly washed, exfoliated, hair-free in the places she should be, her teeth scrubbed and feeling much better about the prospect of being seen naked. There wasn't much she could do with her hair without a whole lot more time and Sleekeazy, she thought critically, eyeing the tangled mess of curls in the mirror. Rubbing just a bit on her fingers, she finger combed the curls, attempting to make them look a little less…robust, before finally giving up, leaving them only marginally better.
Towel wrapped firmly about her, she crept back into her bedroom, relieved that he was apparently still in the other room, out of eyeshot. She eyed the short-sleeved men's button-down she typically wore to bed, feeling nervous. It was an unattractive sort of puce colour with a small tear in one shoulder, but it was so worn and comfortable after years of owning it that she hadn't been able to bear throwing it out.
Without her bra on she would be terribly vulnerable in it-why hadn't she lied and told him she wore sweats to bed? He wouldn't have believed you, anyway, the voice inside her head grumbled. Hermione tugged the shirt over her head through the already enlarged neckline, instead of unbuttoning it all the way, and then buttoned one of the buttons she usually didn't bother with, wincing a little as her damp hair soaked through the back of the shirt.
She dug through her underwear drawer, looking for the most "company-worthy" pair of knickers she could find, that she could also pass off as "sleeping-worthy", and finally settled on a bright blue pair trimmed with a little silver bow.
Feeling nervous and very half dressed, Hermione padded back out into the sitting room barefoot, praying her face wasn't as red as she felt. What she saw stopped her short, her jaw slackening slightly. He had removed his boots and they now stood neatly by the couch. His belt was coiled around them in a line of braided leather. Next to his boots and belt, folded in a neat pile, were his robes, frockcoat, and the white shirt she had seen him stripped down to in the garden. The man himself sat quietly on the couch he had been sitting on when she had left, still with his trousers on, but bare-chested. Their eyes met, and she thought she saw a flicker of answering uneasiness in his.
"You see?" he said quietly. "You're not going to be alone in this." He carefully set a previously unnoticed book aside, onto a nearby table, and straightened marginally, silently giving her permission to look and assess as she liked.
Almost against her will her eyes dropped back to his chest and studied him. He was lean and wiry rather than bulky, like Ron had developed into; even so, his muscles seemed to sit more firmly on his arms and shoulders, the definition in his abdominals less obnoxious somehow. He had a liberal dusting of inky-black chest hair that all but disappeared across his stomach, and then picked up again in a thin trail from his navel to beneath the line of his trousers.
Ron was completely hairless on his chest, and now Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he, too, used Madame Cheveux's Magical Depilatory. The contrast between his freckled, hairless skin with overly prominent muscle and Severus' rangier build was startling, and she found herself wondering what it felt like in comparison. Her eyes lifted back to his and found him staring back at her, waiting.
He held up a hand and beckoned her closer. "Come here, Hermione. Come sit with me and we'll just get used to being next to each other, touching each other, and we can also get some rules straightened out."
Hermione slowly walked forward until she was directly in front of him, and took his hand, feeling her breath hitch as the heat of it wrapped around hers. His rich, low voice hummed through her awareness, explaining softly, almost hypnotically as he tugged her into his lap. "I'm going to put my arms around you; just firmly enough to keep you steady, but loosely enough so that, if you show the slightest inclination of leaving, you will be able to get up easily." His voice didn't waver as he suited actions to words, and snuggled her into him.
His show of caution and clear respect for her comfort was relieving and slightly endearing; it made her that much more certain she had chosen wisely in this mad endeavour. She gave him a grateful look and tucked her head on his shoulder, concentrating on the feeling of him against her. He was warm, his heat seeping through the thin material of her shirt, slowly relaxing her.This is okay, she decided. Even though it's Snape. Maybe because it's Snape. Either way, I think this is going to be very okay, after all.
Feeling curious, and just a little daring, she ran a hand slowly over the part of his chest she was currently not laying against, exploring the unknown texture of his chest hair, his heavier, if leaner muscle, and catching the pad of her finger lightly across his far nipple. He let her explore patiently, his breath pausing only slightly when she ran her fingertips over certain areas. She traced several small and silvered scars-clearly old and long since healed, glancing up at him under her lashes to see if he minded. His gaze caught hers, and the low, simmering heat she saw there told her as clearly as words that he didn't. His free hand ran up and down her back in slow, steady strokes, soothing, rather than exciting.
This is actually rather heavenly, she thought dreamily, and continued to run her fingers over his muscle again. She was almost loath to ask, but he had mentioned rules, and that probably meant he had some sort of restrictions of his own, like Ron. Thank goodness he had the decency to be upfront about them, at least, instead of just getting upset when she unknowingly over-stepped. She sighed. "You mentioned rules."
His hand stilled on her back a moment, and then continued, along with his voice. She was delighted to find that she could feel it rumble through his chest, and had to stop herself from burrowing into him further. "Yes. I was thinking of using stoplight colours; it's an easy thing to remember and use. I'm told it's actually fairly common among those who enjoy a…rougher sort of play."
"Stoplight colours?" Hermione lifted her head and looked at him, confused, "Are you planning on being rough?"
"No, no, I think that would be the last thing you would need. I still think it is a good idea for you to use safe words, considering the situation. If you're uncomfortable with something, and you want to slow down, maybe even stop and discuss it, but not dismiss it entirely, you say 'yellow,'"
"Ah, I see. And if I want to stop all together, 'red.'"
"Exactly." His fingertips skated up her back again, this time continuing to trace her spine to the back of her neck, and knead a little. Hermione tipped her head forward and drew her hair over one shoulder to give him better access, groaning softly. "For instance, you don't seem to have a problem at all with me doing this-?" His breath whispered over the sensitive area just under her ear, sending a little shudder down her spine.
"No…none at all, green light there," she mumbled. He chuckled almost under his breath, and continued rubbing the base of her neck, running his thumb up to just behind her ear. She hardly even noticed when he used the motion tilt her head away from him; she was so immersed in the rather fantastic way he was making her neck feel. When he nuzzled the now-exposed line of her throat and kissed the tender area where it met her shoulder, she actually groaned aloud.
He continued dropping little, gentle kisses over her neck and shoulder, now supporting her head with his left hand, teasing her skin lightly with the edge of his teeth. The sensation seemed to shoot directly to the tip of the adjacent breast, stiffening the nipple into a taut, almost painful point under her shirt. Hermione pulled her breath in with a sharp gasp, and almost without realising she was doing it, angled herself into him more, attempting to rub the tip of it against his own chest.
His right hand had been resting comfortably high on her left hip, supporting her in his lap. Now it played and teased with the hem of the button-down shirt, his fingertips flirting with her bare thigh and stroking the skin softly. The combination of this and his nibbling, sucking kisses on the tendons in her throat were intoxicating. Her thoughts were unwinding in long, curling sensations of tingling pleasure; Ron had never been able to elicit this reaction so quickly from her, especially from so little.
Her response probably should have concerned her; she was not in love with Severus Snape after all, and wasn't she supposed to be in love with Ron? Her mental apprehension, however, was drowned in the absolutely delicious feelings he was creating within her. Hermione tilted her head upright again, and pressed her own mouth to his in a hot, seeking kiss of her own.
He seemed startled at first, almost breaking the kiss as his head jerked minutely, but then settled into it with her, his tongue stroking alongside hers sensually. His kiss was an altogether different thing from what she had experienced before. His mouth was firm and pliable, his lips surprisingly soft. Unlike Ron, he didn't kiss with a sloppy, roaming technique that left her feeling like half her face was being swallowed and slobbered on; nor did he have the authoritative confidence that Viktor Krum had employed.
Kissing him, she fancied, was rather like what kissing midnight would be like: dark, smooth and richly mysterious. Hermione decided that she didn't care if that sounded like a horrible romance novel any longer. His mouth seemed almost to play with hers-his tongue boldly pursuing only to tactically retreat, drawing hers into his mouth. His fingers wrapped in her hair, his other hand stroking her thigh under the hem of her shirt, teasing the insides just far enough that she couldn't help but feel like they were both being deliciously naughty.
His lips parted from hers on a deep breath, as if he was trying to catch it, and both of them opened their eyes again to stare at each other, inches apart. Their gazes remained locked for several seconds, before he cleared his throat.
"Rules. We were discussing the rules, and boundaries."
"I think I got the hang of it. Green light." She saw his eyes light with humour as she reached for him again, but he held her off, tilting his head slightly.
"Hermione," he chided, "this is serious. I would like to know ahead of time, if possible, what you know makes you trigger into flashbacks. I have no wish to confront that issue at all until you are comfortable with everything else, do you understand? I don't want to even approach yellow if I can help it."
"I was very comfortable with you kissing me," she said pointedly, then sighed. "I think…I think it's being held down, unable to move, to decide. I don't like feeling pinned. I don't like not being able to get away. All I can remember, when I'm being held down like that, is how afraid I was, how much I was hurting, and how-"
He frowned, waiting for her to finish. When she didn't after a while, he prodded, "How…?"
"I don't know, how humiliated and ashamed I was, I suppose. I would have done anything to escape, but there was nothing I could have done that would have saved me." Her heart constricted as an echo of the powerless feelings tried to wrap its way around her mind again. "I…I am not incredibly good at this," she admitted. "Ron says I'm frigid."
"Does he?" A dark eyebrow cocked expressively in disbelief, something she felt almost pathetically grateful for.
"Yes," she shrugged awkwardly in his arms. "I don't know that I'm really made to be a vixen," she told him seriously. His face went incredibly impassive, except his eyes. Hermione felt her own narrow, as she realised. Oh, he was laughing at her, the horrid, horrid man. "What?" she snapped crossly. "It's true. I'm skinny and unattractive and unresponsive."
"Now that is an absolutely absurd statement to make."
"Is it?" Hermione wondered, and found her chin caught in his hand and her gaze directed firmly back to his.
"Utterly." His thumb ran over her lower lip, and Hermione found herself pursing them to kiss the tip of it. His dark eyes went positively black for a moment, and the direction of his gaze dropped to her lips. "I'm going to kiss you again."
"Okay," Hermione found herself agreeing, before his mouth touched hers again. She liked kissing him, after all. Their kiss was less gentle this time, less exploratory. His hold was still undemanding and easily loose enough that she could push him away if she liked. His mouth, however, told a different story. It commandingly took hers-took her-once again submerging her thoughts into a haze of sensual delight and heat. Happily, Hermione twined her fingers into his hair and snuggled herself more firmly against him, gasping a little as his long fingers dipped daringly higher and further inwards on her thigh, not quite stroking her centre.
His right hand suddenly abandoned her thigh to join his left on her back, the two of them stroking up her back and around her rib cage until one of his thumbs brushed the tip of her breast. The choked sounding moan she made would have been embarrassing if she had not been thoroughly wrapped up in how blissful he was making her feel.
Hermione squeezed her thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache between them a little. How was it possible that he evoked such a strong response in her so quickly from just a few kisses and light touches? His thumb stroked again and electricity seemed to zing through her, causing her discomfort to intensify. Hermione squirmed, gasping against his mouth, feeling burned. He shifted under her, and then his lips broke from hers, ghosting along her cheekbone to murmur in her ear, "Straddle me."
Hermione took the opportunity to draw his earlobe into her mouth, nipping it playfully and enjoying the low growl it produced. She nearly fell out of his lap trying to do as he said, shifting in his arms and nearly kneeing him in the groin as she tried to get one leg over his thighs. He winced a little and then chuckled at her eagerness, supporting her with his hands on her hips until she managed to settle with one knee on either side of his.
"Alright?" he asked, pressing against her slightly. The motion shot little jolts through her, bowing her spine and pulling a soft whine from her. She took the opportunity of finally having full access to his chest and ran her hands up it, pausing to finger his nipples, and feel the texture of the wiry black hair that he had.
She lowered her mouth back to his with a muttered, "Green light. A very, very green light."
His hands were on her again, stroking the skin of her thighs in slow back and forth motions, each one drawing his fingers closer and closer to the cloth of her knickers-her now very sticky, very in the way knickers. Unconsciously she found herself rocking into him, rubbing herself over the hard ridge in his trousers and moaning into his mouth.
She knew that things would likely escalate soon and at that point the lovely anticipatory feeling would go away, swallowed up by the disappointing discomfort of actually having sex, but right now she felt absolutely lovely, burning from the inside out under his hands and mouth. It was worth the sex, she decided. If he could get her to a place where could at least not mind the actual penetration, she could definitely see herself even initiating sexual encounters just for all the lovely feelings that came first.
It would probably be bad form to ask Ron to take lessons from the Potions master, she mused. Pity. Hermione rocked her hips forward again, angling them just so, causing her clit to drag and be caught across the clearly strained fastenings of his trousers. She bit down on her lower lip, enjoying the pleasure that bolted through her as she made contact with him, and let her eyes drop to half-mast.
"That's right, lovely. Do what feels good right now, take your pleasure." His hand circled to stroke across her stomach, then dipped to thumb her clitoris through her knickers. He laughed, actually laughed in her ear as her eyes flew open wide and she ground into his fingers. The hand not occupied with stroking her down there found its way up her bare back again, drawing the shirt with it.
The mock sneer he gave her was reminiscent of the ones she had been subjected all throughout her school years, but the glint in his eyes made it somehow unbearably naughty and wicked. Her shirt caught on her shoulders as he attempted to remove it one handed, and when his hand started to abandon her knickers in order to help its mate, Hermione found herself protesting without thinking about it. She grunted inarticulately, and used her own hands demandingly to bring his back to its previous position, startling another laugh out of him. She helped him remove her nightshirt impatiently, continuing to try to widen her thighs around his to give his clever fingers better access to her sodden knickers.
"How can you possibly believe for one second anything that moron said to you? Look at you!" His free hand cupped one of her breasts and squeezed it gently, rolling the tip a little. Hermione arched her back and keened, uncertain of how to focus on the sensations coming from both her breast and her aching clitoris at the same time. One hand rubbed in firm, incessant little circles and the other stroked and taunted. It was driving her mad.
"You are not skinny. You are lithe, elegantly long and slender. Only an utter fool would look at this body, these perfect little handfuls and round arse and call you merely skinny." The hand on her breast circled around her back until his arm was just under her shoulder blades, then suddenly he was shifting forward, leaning her over his arm backward, even as she still straddled his thighs and helplessly jerked against his erection under the careful manipulation of his other hand.
"Still green, like this?"
"God-fuck-yes, Severus!"
His mouth closed on her breast at the same time that his fingers pressed hard; she tightened, and exploded with a scream that she couldn't hold in. Her mind shattered in hazy black ripples even as her body shuddered, naked in his lap but for those blue knickers that were probably ruined forever. It took her several minutes to come back to herself, she could feel herself pant with exertion and a line of sweat worked its way down her back to be caught by his bare arm, still supporting her.
He eased her back upright again, so that she was no longer arched backward, and brought her forehead to his, and said seriously, "You are stunning in your passion, Hermione. I have seen a woman pretending, and I know you felt that fire."
"Yes," she breathed, not wanting to say it too loudly, lest she break the moment. "That was...beyond anything I've ever…" She shook her head. "But it wasn't sex, not the whole thing. You…you didn't…"
His lips quirked. "No, not yet. I had planned to do away with these." His fingers stroked a line down her overly sensitised flesh through her knickers, making her shiver. "Then I was going to have you ride me."
"Ride you? You mean while sitting up on the couch?"
His brows quirked in amusement and his hips flexed subtly, grinding his erection up into her. "Indeed. You did say it was being pinned down that bothered you."
"Ron said…he said that it's not right-that he can't get off."
Severus' features twisted in clear annoyance. "Ronald Weasley is an idiot whose sexual knowledge would have no trouble fitting in a teaspoon."
Hermione was startled into giggles, before explaining, "I once said something very similar to him about his capacity for emotional depth."
"Minerva always did brag about how insightful you are," he responded generously.
Hermione grinned at him, and then her eyes narrowed. "What I'm noticing right now is that you are still left, ah…"
"Wanting?" he finished dryly.
Hermione felt herself blush. "Well, uh, yeah. Is…is there any reason why we couldn't, I mean, could I…?"
His eyes gleamed, "By all means, far be it from me to stop you."
Hermione felt herself grin. "I suppose that was a terribly stupid thing for me to ask."
He nodded solemnly. "I expect better from you forthwith."
She glanced down at the clear tent in his trousers, and touched him, stroking a little, glancing at him through her lashes again. His eyes had shuttered slightly, a faint smile tipping the corners of his mouth. He arched a brow at her, and leant all the way back on the couch with a smirk, allowing her better access to him.
Feeling a bit bolder, Hermione stroked him again, trying to trace the length and breadth of him with only a little success through his trousers. Her frustration must have shown on her face, because his long fingers suddenly joined hers, slowly unfastening the buttons on his trousers. The opening, rather unsurprisingly, revealed more black cloth beneath.
"No colour even here?" she teased, drawing a line down his now clearly outlined cock.
"What did you expect, the Union Jack?" he asked acerbically.
Hermione couldn't stifle a giggle. "Fred and George used to each have a pair of those boxers. Saw 'em once."
Severus sneered, and lifted an eyebrow in response. "I'm afraid you'll have to live with the disappointment that this is my undergarment choice, then," he said mildly.
Hermione smiled and glanced down again. He had come to her house knowing that there was a good chance they would end up in exactly this position, she remembered. It was not a stretch of imagination to think that he had possibly chosen his trunks with the same care that she had her knickers. She wrapped a hand around him awkwardly through the opening in his trousers and squeezed gently, drawing a hiss of breath from the man under her.
"I'm not disappointed in the least," she said honestly, and stroked him through his chosen trunks again, a little enthralled by the reaction. There was a damp spot in the cloth at the head of his still-concealed erection and Hermione rubbed a thumb over it, pleased to have found proof of his own desire. She tried to circle him and take his measure with her hands; actions he seemed to find thoroughly enjoyable.
His hips shifted under her slightly, thrusting up more firmly into her fingers, and Hermione was reminded of her own helpless shifting when he had touched her. Encouraged by this behaviour, Hermione stroked him again from base to tip, smiling faintly when his hips shifted again. She glanced at his face again, only to find his narrowed gaze firmly locked on her breasts.
Suddenly self-conscious, particularly of the scars she knew would be highly visible in this position, Hermione stopped touching him to hunch in on herself, wrapping her arms around her middle. The pause in her motions brought his attention back to her face, his eyes glittering darkly when they met hers, and suddenly his long fingers were wrapping around her hips again and pushing her off his lap. Startled, Hermione stumbled, only barely gaining her footing to keep from landing on the floor. He followed her to a standing position, his hands running up her bare sides to close over her breasts, palming the tips of them softly.
"You are lovely, Hermione," he told her quietly. A hand drifted to stroke along the long scar that ran from under her right breast to her hip. "Every inch of you is lovely. This is a badge of honour, the mark of a warrior, not something to be ashamed of." His hand travelled back to her right nipple, teasing it softly, even as his other rose to trace her other scar. This one was wide and jagged, crossing just over her left breast. "This one, too. You have nothing that should be hidden, least of all from a lover."
His palms closed over her breasts again and she found herself arching into them with a faint sigh. Ron had only ever given her unsubtle hints to see cosmetic Healers specializing in scarring or offered her potions from various apothecaries that were said to reduce the appearance of them. The longer Severus touched and stroked her, his dark voice wrapping around her like velvet, the more certain she became that Ronald had been horribly wrong, grinding salt into her wounds with his actions. She certainly was still traumatised, but not beyond hope, she suspected, not the way he had led her to believe she was.
The thought made her stretch up to kiss him again, capturing his mouth with hers and pressing into him. His skin was warm and firm under hers, the hair on his chest abrading her skin in a delicious contrast of textures. Her hands slowly travelled up the lengths of his arms, stopping here and there to explore and knead the muscle she found. He felt so delightfully strong and masculine without being overbearing; she felt like she fit with him.
His tongue suckled hers and his hands were now cupping her rear, lifting her slightly against him. She supposed she should feel embarrassed and awkward; she was nearly naked and she was kissing, touching, and rubbing against the very hard penis of Severus Snape. The terror of her youth had her wrapped up in his arms and was giving her more bliss than she had ever thought would be possible. If she wasn't feeling entirely drunk on the taste of him, she would have found the situation incredibly surreal.
Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and dropped her eyes to where the band of his trousers gaped. Her fingers itched to unwrap him the rest of the way herself, to explore the lower half of his body the same way she had his chest. "May I...?"
He smirked at her again, his mouth only barely tipping, his eyes conveying his amusement once more. His eyes not leaving hers, he took her hand, and firmly pressed it against the hardness straining his trunks. "Green light," he deadpanned and Hermione found herself grinning widely in response. She could feel him actually pulse under her hand, and the last traces of her timidity vanished.
Eagerly, Hermione fumbled with the waistband of his trousers, pausing to stroke his cock and grip his arse to pull him closer in turns. She tilted up her face to kiss him again and happily lost herself in his mouth, only remembering that she had been trying to get him out of his remaining clothes when his hands abandoned her to deal with the offending garments himself. She helped him then, running her hands down his hips to hook into the trousers he was attempting to remove, hindering more than helping the process. His chest shook a little with silent laughter and he held his hands aloft, allowing her better access. Once she had refocused, it only took a few moments to rid him of his trousers and trunks, sliding them down his long, lean legs.
He kicked them away with apparent impatience and reached for her again, suddenly stilling and holding himself rigid when he realised she was studying him as intently as she had ever studied one of her textbooks in school. His cock was as fair as the rest of him and proudly erect, curving upward and reddened in his arousal. Tentatively, she reached out and wrapped her hand around it, touching him for the first time directly. The skin there was silky smooth and soft, the tip weeping just slightly from her attention.
Hermione ran her hands down his length, feeling the weight of his balls and following the veins back up. Her finger lightly smeared the bead of moisture at the tip, smoothing it over the head of his cock. He was a bit thicker than she had anticipated, she decided with a slight frown. She supposed she had imagined that he would be shaped there the same way he was all over: long and sort of rangy. The additional width would probably make things a little less comfortable. Maybe she could get away with bringing him off with her hands or by sucking on his cock-it had worked with Ron before.
As if he could read her intent, Severus wrapped his hands around her wrist, urging them away. "If you do that, I'm not going to last. I was under the impression that you wanted to try riding?"
Hermione felt her cheeks heat. Caught.
His tone was non-judgmental, "Hermione, if you are not comfortable, you need to tell me. Say so."
"And if I'm not?" Her voice quavered a little.
His eyes glittered. "Then you say 'yellow,' and maybe we go back to what we were doing. We'll just sit on the couch and play a little bit, while I attempt to turn off that busy little brain of yours. Or maybe you stay standing just like this, while I try something different." The husky timbre of his voice promised heaven and Hermione's brain stuttered, wondering what he intended.
His long fingers cupped over her breasts again, thumbing her nipples until they were stiff, catching her breath and reminding her of the aching, rippling blackness she had dissolved into on the couch with him. His hands stroked slowly down her ribs, his feather-light touch raising anticipatory goose bumps on her skin. They hooked into the waistband of her knickers, and his eyebrows arched in challenge. "Green light?"
His look was one of pure, unadulterated carnality, and for a moment she had trouble breathing before she remembered to sigh out a low, "Yes." Permission thus attained, he smirked at her, and slowly drew her knickers down her thighs, lowering himself with them in front of her.
Hermione closed her eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face when he saw her completely bare. She was nearly shivering in anticipation; she knew what he planned. Despite never having experienced it first hand, she would be a fool not to read his intent, but it still caught her by surprise when his mouth suddenly closed on her. His large nose-how many awful jokes had been attached to it?-was nudging up against her, the flat of his tongue dragging through her folds boldly to finish in a flick just so on her clitoris.
Hermione choked on a moan, her knees starting to buckle, only to have him grip her hips to steady her and move to kiss the inside of her thighs lightly. His warm breath sighed and teased her sensitive skin, and she squirmed, only to have him ignore her silent request. His hands stroked her legs and teased the back of her knees, his mouth scattering small kisses across her hips and thighs.
Frustrated, Hermione widened her stance a bit and rocked her hips, trying to tell him without words what she wanted, only to have him trace her outer lips tauntingly with the tip of his tongue. He was almost, almost where she needed him; he clearly knew it and was pointedly denying her, the arse.
Hermione heard herself whimper slightly; he was driving her mad! She tilted her hips again and let out a breathy "please," only to feel him merely smile against her thigh. He blew a soft stream of warm air on her, baiting her, and Hermione snapped. Unable to take the tormenting any more, she fisted her fingers into his hair and forcibly tilted his head, bringing his mouth and nose firmly into contact with her quim.
He let out a startled chuckle, and it sent glorious vibrations zinging through her. Then, finally, he gave her what she wanted, licking and sucking and nuzzling until she could feel herself on the cusp of breaking apart as she had the first time. Then his fingers entered her, two of them, just as he sucked her clitoris firmly into his mouth.
Her vision tunnelled into that world shattering blackness, her knees collapsing under her. She didn't remember him breaking her fall, only that a split second later she was being hauled up in his arms, her legs winding around his waist and her head tucked into his neck as he carried her back across the room to the couch.
He fell backwards, landing with none of the grace she had come to expect from him, his mouth lunging upwards to take hers hungrily, his hips thrusting against hers so that she slid over his naked cock. He was hard and hot, ruthlessly stimulating her already hypersensitive and burning flesh. She hadn't thought it was possible to feel any more, to take any more, but the feel of him beneath her, naked between her thighs, his cock sliding against her was pushing her past rationality. "I want in you," his voice was harsh, strained. "Please, I'll make you feel good, I swear it. Let me in you."
Breathless, her mind still hazy with passion and the glittering shards of sexual fulfilment, Hermione nodded, unable to focus on anything but that hot length still rubbing against her, and kissed him again, arching her breasts into his hands and rolling her hips helplessly on him. He broke free with a harsh grunt and practically spat at her, "Say it-out loud!"
"Yes," she said impatiently, "Severus, yes. Green bloody light, just don't stop!"
He gripped her hips and lifted her, and then she was abruptly speared. Her eyes flew open wide in shock and her nails bit into his shoulders; both of them stilled a moment, staring at each other.
Full. Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. She felt so full. He was heavy and thick and ruthlessly unyielding, buried so deeply inside her she fancied she could feel him in her stomach. The angle was entirely new to her, and it felt somehow, impossibly more.
What she didn't feel, she realised, was pain. The thought dawned slowly, and Hermione let out the breath she was holding shakily, relaxing slightly as she became aware of it. She felt a bit odd, but she wasn't hurting, and she wasn't afraid. A little apprehensive, perhaps, but not afraid.
She looked at him again and noted with wonder his strained face; his throat and jaw were tight with the effort to hold still until she was comfortable. Experimentally, she wriggled a little in place, attempting to figure out how to use her newly discovered muscles. His head tipped to rest on the back of the couch with a low groan, and his own hips tilted up to thrust in unconscious response.
The friction it created had her eyes widening again, her mouth parting a little in pleased surprise. This was an altogether different feeling than when he had touched her or used his mouth. This was a deep, internal stroking of nerves she wouldn't have believed existed if she hadn't felt them just now. Encouraged, she shifted again, rocking against him as best she could with her minimal leverage.
"Hermione," he hissed, flexing under her again, "You have no idea…you feel…" His hands tightened on her thighs. Clearly, he really, really liked what she was doing. Hermione smiled, enthralled by the sight and sound of Severus Snape rendered wordless and moaning, and determinedly began to roll her hips.
He groaned; she sighed-he felt incredible inside her. This was not the painful and humiliating experience she'd had before; this was what all the fuss was about. Hermione tipped forward, trying to get more leverage, and found that it changed the angle inside her as well. Her lips parted on a gasp and she involuntarily tightened around him, shuddering slightly.
"Fuck! The profanity exploded out of him and his hands suddenly rose from her thighs to grip her hips, his own bucking under her, pushing himself deep. Hermione's breath caught on a low wail as he seemed to rasp along every nerve ending she had, setting off small explosions of sensation. She writhed against him instinctively, rolling her hips in answer. It was all the answer he needed.
His head snapped up and his dark eyes shot open to lock on hers. He began to thrust, driving himself up into her in a fast, incessant rhythm. Her world caught on fire as every fibre of her being focused on the heavy surge between her legs, the way her body seemed to weep and grip him in turns, and the delicious, consuming friction. She was somehow utterly out of control and unable to care. Nothing mattered but the building pressure that was threatening once more to explode out of her and the intense, dark glitter of his eyes.
Lost. She was utterly lost in them, in the rippling heat, in the sweat she could see on his face and the set of his bared teeth. The sudden urge to kiss him, to claim his mouth as surely as he was claiming her body overtook her. She leant forward again, pressing her mouth to his urgently. Their kiss was as wild as their motions, raw and powerful and, she suspected, just a little bit dangerous.
He was dangerous.
His hands had abandoned her hips to wrap around her waist, clutching her to him. Her legs were still around his waist, making it nearly impossible to do anything but let him control their movements. Hermione felt herself tighten like a drawn bow, her spine arching as the base of it seemed to suddenly ignite. She came with a scream that she couldn't hold in, not even noticing as he stiffened and joined her with a raw, almost feral sounding growl.
She slumped against him when she came back to herself; resting her head on his shoulder and shivering with minute aftershocks. They were both a bit sticky and slick with sweat; it took Hermione a moment to realise that tears were actually leaking from her eyes. She sniffled a little and smiled, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder, enjoying the simple feel of his skin under hers.
His head turned a little at the motion, one hand half-heartedly lifting to stroke her back. "You're crying."
"Yes." Hermione smiled into his shoulder, and then continued, "It's not a bad sort of crying. Relieved, I think."
"I didn't hurt you, at the end there?"
Hermione lifted up a little to look him in the eyes again and gave him a watery grin. "No. No, not in the least. Well. I suspect I might be a bit sore, I'm not used to this sort of thing, and you're…well a bit bigger than I thought you'd be."
His look was indignant. "You thought I would be small?"
"No, no, not at all," Hermione found herself giggling. "Just not quite that wide."
"Insufferable girl," he retorted, but he said it with more amusement than anything else. His hand stroked her back again, softly, then observed, "One would never suspect you lived a year out of doors once. You have the softest skin."
Hermione smiled up at him, pleased that he had noticed. "I exfoliated when you sent me to the bath," she informed him.
His eyes lit with humour and his lips quirked. "Only a Gryffindor would admit something like that."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely."
"Well then. In the full spirit of Gryffindor pride, I will also fully disclose that I picked out my knickers just for you, too."
The sound of his dark, rich laughter filled her living room.
A/N: Aloha! I am currently on the beautiful island of Maui, enjoying a last hurrah with Mr Song before our family becomes one bigger. So a shout out to all my Hawaiian friends and followers! Maybe I'll run into you on the beach on Maalaea! Thank you again so much for continuing to read and review-you guys make my day!
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