tarie
in
sunandsmut
Gift fic for KerryMDB!
TO: kerrymdb
FROM: ANONYMOUS
TITLE: Reflections
PAIRING: Snape/Luna
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: The war ended 5 years ago and Luna's still telling it like it is, Snape is still having temper tantrums; does anything ever change? At least one thing does.
WARNINGS: mild inebriation, May-December coupling and creative use of a mirror
DISCLAIMER: JKR owns all. I'm just borrowing for shits and giggles.
AUTHOR NOTES: I took a bit of license with your list of kinks, so I hope I managed to hit at least marginally on 1 or 2 of 'em, kerrymdb! Many grateful thanks to my beta.
Reflections
As a child, Severus Snape could not wait to be an adult. Adulthood meant freedom; freedom from his father and everyone else who could assert some kind of authority over him. There was nothing he coveted more than his freedom, with the one exception of power. So it was with a dry irony that he acknowledged, at the ripe old age of 43, that his bleak and fettered childhood should be shaping up to be the least miserable period of his life.
Harry Potter had faced his destiny and triumphed, and Voldemort was five years dead, finally and truly dead. Snape had done his part, just as he'd promised Dumbledore all those years before. He'd kept the others off Potter's trail, feeding false information and doling out useless hints to those he knew were gullible enough to believe them. In his new position as Voldemort's right-hand man, it hadn't been very difficult. Only the craftier ones like Bellatrix and Lucius were in any position to question him at all after what he'd done for their Master. And considering what both Lucius and his sister-in-law owed him, they had wisely chosen to hold their tongues.
The difficult part had come later. Potter's self-righteous proclamations of vengeance still echoed in his memory, bringing with them the same bitter taste and the familiar flare of hatred. Snape had endured it all as best he could. He hadn't even gloated - much - when Potter's thick brain had finally absorbed the fact that he and Snape were on the same side. And then-adding insult to injury in true priggish, inconsiderate, Gryffindor-like form-Harry Potter had failed to do him the proper courtesy of ending his life. Snape hadn't thought it possible to hate the spawn of his childhood nemesis more than he had when he was the boy's professor. He'd been wrong.
He was also in the overwhelming minority. Everyone else loved the Hero who saved the world from You-Know-Who, not once but twice! Of course, Snape didn't fool himself into believing that his less-than-gracious opinion of Harry Potter was the reason he now found himself ostracized from all but the most questionable company. Regardless of the evidence that had cleared his name, Snape had still been the instrument of Albus Dumbledore's demise. No logical summation from Hermione Granger, no thin-lipped apology from Minerva McGonagall, not even a grudging declaration of forgiveness from the Golden Boy himself could save Snape from his life as an outcast. Snape had always appreciated his solitude, but that had been when it was a choice. Now, he realized without humor, he wouldn't have been much worse off in Azkaban.
Causing discomfort in those around him had become one of his only pleasures. Since his role in Voldemort's extermination was well-known, the most jeering he received was poorly-disguised whispering and some very dirty looks. No one ever refused him service, even when he half-wished for the excuse to lose his temper. Rosmerta would plunk his drinks down roughly and bustle away, her lips pursed into a tight knot. Snape couldn't stand to be in the Hog's Head: Aberforth bore too close a resemblance to his brother. So most evenings found Snape in old Tom's patronage at the Leaky Cauldron, which is where he was when a soft, feminine voice interrupted the staring contest he was having with his fourth scotch of the night.
"Hello, Professor Snape."
He winced and then snapped, "I'm not a professor anymore."
Glancing in the speaker's direction, he took a moment to see if he could recognize her. The blonde hair and grey eyes didn't ring any particular bells, but those ridiculous vegetables hanging from her ears did the trick. He didn't bother to mask a scoff.
"Miss Lovegood."
"I suppose you're right," she continued, unperturbed by his brusque manner. "You're not a professor anymore. But that's just as well. You were quite horrible."
His lip curled almost involuntarily, half in drunken amusement and half in irritation.
"The feeling was entirely mutual. I hated being a teacher."
"That's a shame. You weren't such a horrible teacher. It was everything else about you that was horrible."
For a long while, Snape stared at her and tried to suppress the insane desire to defend himself to this-this-former student. He would not justify himself or make excuses for the benefit of someone who could not possibly understand his reasons. Better to scare her off and have done with it.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice a deep and menacing purr. He trained a dark eye on her face, glaring at her from beneath his brow. His glare faltered only slightly when she climbed onto the stool next to him at the bar.
"Oh yes. You were positively rude. And rather more sadistic than any teacher I've ever had. Not to mention your blatant favoritism of Slytherin House. I'm afraid that made you even more unpopular with everyone else."
Snape sneered at her. Sometime during her last comment, Tom had slid a glass of gillywater onto the bar in front of her, and now, she regarded Snape with interest, twirling the stick of cocktail onions with her right hand. Apparently, she was another of Tom's regulars, although Snape couldn't recall seeing her in the Leaky Cauldron before.
"Do you honestly believe I cared the slightest bit what anyone at that school thought of me?"
"Of course you did," she said, wide-eyed. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have gotten so upset over things like Neville's boggart."
Had he not been slightly inebriated, Snape would have made a scathing remark or two and ended the conversation right then. As it was, he snorted derisively and consulted his scotch.
"If I seemed upset over that incident, it was only because of the lack of respect due to me as Potions Master, nothing more."
When she did not respond, Snape glanced in her direction. She was staring at him impassively, though her large eyes held the glimmer of something he did not like.
"You think I'm lying?" he spat.
"Well," she sighed, using her teeth to tease an onion from the end of its skewer, "I can't blame you for lying to me if you're lying to yourself in the first place."
That had done it. Snape pushed away angrily from the bar, his stool creaking loudly against the floor. Once he was sure he could remain upright, he grabbed his drink and snarled at the girl.
"I don't need or want your pity!"
Luna watched him storm over to an empty table near the door and sit with his back to the bar. Sighing again, she downed the remains of her gillywater in one go, stood, and made her way around the bar, disappearing down the hallway to the lavatory.
Snape heard her get up though he was too busy fuming to register that she hadn't left altogether. How dare she? She couldn't be more than-what, 20 years old-and here she was analyzing him, presuming to understand him, pity him; it was preposterous, and more than he could bear. Finishing his drink, he rose from his chair and headed for the lavatory, determined to sober himself up a bit before hunting down the little bird and burning off a few of her feathers with some good, old-fashioned Snape vitriol.
The sight that greeted him upon opening the lavatory door stopped his heart in his chest. Luna Lovegood lay in the middle of the lavatory floor with her skirt hitched to her waist, her knickers around her ankles, her knees bent, her legs parted, and the fingers of her right hand buried in the straw-colored curls of her mound. As he stood in the doorway, frozen in place, he watched her rub her fingers over her genitalia in small, leisurely circles. Breathy little moans and sighs escaped her lips. Her left hand drifted up from her stomach to grasp her left breast through her clothing, and she moaned again, the pace of her fingers below quickening. When her knees parted a bit further and she reached down to slip her middle finger into her opening, Snape's breath caught in his throat with a short but very audible gasp.
Withdrawing her hand, Luna lifted up slightly from the floor, propped herself on her elbows and eyed Snape with a languid, unconcerned expression. She did not move to cover herself up.
"Could you close the door, please?" she asked quietly, as if asking him to pass the salt during dinner.
He thought, I should slam the door shut and leave as fast as I can manage. I should alert Tom on my way out. Instead, what he did was gently pull the door closed, leaving him standing less than a yard away from a half-naked girl sprawled across the small, age-worn rug on the lavatory floor.
"What do you think you are doing?" he hissed when she said nothing.
"I'm touching myself," she answered, without a trace of embarrassment.
"So I can see," he sneered, allowing his gaze to linger over her exposed sex. "Why are you doing so in the bathroom of the Leaky Cauldron?"
"This is where I got the urge."
He was beginning to find her unwavering stare disconcerting, but the increasing tightness of his pants kept him rooted to the spot. And at her next statement, all question of when and how he should leave evaporated.
"It would be better if you joined me."
Then she smiled.
"Excuse me?" he stammered, trying his best to sound offended, although he knew his mutinous body would refuse point-blank any and all attempts to deny his arousal. Still smiling, she stood up from the floor and shuffled the few steps over to him.
"I was thinking of you," she said. "But it would be much better if I didn't have to imagine it."
For perhaps the first time in his life, Snape could not think of a single insult or cutting remark to make. Luna seemed to be waiting for just such a thing and when it never came, her smile brightened. She slid her hands up against his chest, causing his breath to catch in his throat again. It was the first time that anyone had physically touched him, without intending to do harm, for longer than he could remember.
"You're a child," he muttered tersely, his brain making a futile attempt to distract his body with a piece of reasoning. Her hands slid up further still, reaching behind his neck.
"I'm 22 years old," she admonished, rising up on her tiptoes to brush her lips along the tensed line of his jaw.
"You were my student," he tried again, wincing as his voice trembled unbecomingly.
"Yes. But I'm not a student anymore. Just like you're not a professor, remember?"
Not quite tall enough to reach his mouth without help, Luna placed a hand on each side of his face and guided him down into a kiss. He tasted a trace of the mild cocktail onion, an intriguing hint of sweet gillywater, and something else that was deliciously, indescribably feminine. The shock of the whole encounter was beginning to wear off, and Snape found himself returning her kiss with mounting fervor. Her lips parted easily for him and her tongue followed his in whichever direction he led her. Still standing on her toes, she leaned into him heavily for support and he could feel his burgeoning erection straining against his trousers.
But it was her hands on his face that was already threatening to undo him. Having gone so long without the touch of another person, least of all a pretty young woman, had plainly taken its toll on his resolve. When her hands finally left his face, he very nearly protested-until he realized that she was using them to remove his robes. He quickly returned the favor, tugging forcefully on the front of her blouse and sending buttons flying across the floor in all directions.
Luna had been more careful with the buttons on his shirt. Driving her hands beneath the fabric, she opened his shirt wider and placed a kiss in the middle of his bare chest. The subtle hint of suction on his skin elicited a shudder from Snape, who was fumbling impatiently with his belt buckle. He felt her shift from side to side and the pair of thuds that accompanied her movements told him she'd kicked off her sandals.
He was still having trouble with his belt buckle. Muttering a furious oath under his breath, he looked down at his waist and spotted a pair of crumpled pink knickers next to his left shoe. So she'd kicked off more than her sandals. He was absorbed so completely in the spectacle of frilly pink pants at his feet that he started when he felt hands on his waist. She coaxed the belt through its buckle with no more than the normal fuss and undid the button and zipper beneath. His trousers fell away easily and he toed them off along with his shoes.
Catching a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, Snape whipped around to face the door but it was still closed and no one else had entered. Then he realized he'd seen himself moving in the enormous floor-length mirror that dominated the wall behind him. Luna circled around him as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, and he was abruptly sobered by what he saw.
A young, blonde-haired girl in a plaid skirt and a pink bra dotted with little brown owls approached a dour, sallow-skinned, middle-aged man in black socks, white boxer shorts and a white shirt that was parted to reveal a thin chest flecked sparsely with dark hair. It was an almost comical contrast, though Snape was rather less than amused. When she noticed the focus of his attention, Luna looked over at their reflections in the mirror as well. Cocking her head to one side, she stated matter-of-factly,
"Opposites."
He did not answer. They both stood staring at their counterparts, Snape frowning heavily at himself and Luna gazing contemplatively between the two of them. She finally broke the silence with just about the last thing Snape expected to hear her say.
"Maybe that's why I want you."
Without waiting for a reply, Luna stepped between Snape and the mirror and pulled him down into another kiss. They sank slowly to the floor, Snape crouching over her as she rolled down onto her back. The feeling of her soft body beneath him, the bare skin of her legs and stomach brushing against his own nude flesh, her small, serene moan that sent a little shock of vibration over his lips and into his mouth; every sensation combined to intoxicate him far more than anything he'd had to drink. He tentatively pressed his renewed erection against her and when she opened her legs wider to provide him better access, he moaned into her mouth in return.
Leaning onto his left hand for support, he reached down and freed his cock from his boxers, rubbing the head over her clit and labia. Luna's breath hitched and poured from her mouth in another long, lustful moan. Kissing her deeply, he released himself and pressed against her again, his cock driving slowly into her until he was encased to the hilt. He began to move, rocking his hips forward and back, careful to keep his pace very slow and steady lest he lose himself too soon.
Their heads were mere inches from the wall and he cast an anxious glance at the door nearby, silently cursing himself for forgetting to lock it. Luna seemed to have no such concern, digging her nails into his back and wrapping her legs around his waist. The slight change in position afforded him even deeper purchase into her pussy. Groaning, he bent his head to kiss her again, still fighting to maintain his stride.
He broke the kiss and looked up, his eyes darting to the door once more. If the sight of Luna spread-eagle in all her half-naked glory had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest, he couldn't even begin to imagine what the sight of a bony, hook-nosed man on the wrong side of forty screwing a blonde, cherubic twenty-something on the floor of his lavatory would do to poor old Tom's ticker.
His eye caught another flicker of movement and he turned his head to the mirror. A low, guttural cry burst from his lips. There before him was the very picture he'd imagined; the flushed pink cheeks of his little cherub just visible beyond her shining blonde head, her hands and legs clutching almost desperately at his sides. Luna raised her chin and tilted her head back to see for herself, her grey eyes lost in a faraway look as she watched herself being fucked by her former teacher. She turned her gaze onto his reflection and he ground his teeth together, the urge to thrust into her with abandon growing into an overwhelming need. He couldn't refuse himself any longer; he began to pick up speed. But before he could find a new rhythm, she hummed and said breathlessly,
"Oh, I want to see."
He had no time to register her meaning before she'd pushed herself out from under him and sat up with her back against the mirror. He let her go, sagging back onto his heels. She'd confused him, and his expression must've shown it because she flashed him a reassuring smile before budging around on her knees to face the mirror. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the glass, confusing him even further until she repositioned her legs on either side of his and reclined back into his lap.
He gasped when the moisture from her entrance met his bare thighs, his cock throbbing from the pressure of her weight settling against his legs. Gently nudging her bum further back into his lap, she gripped her skirt, yanking it up and over her head and tossing it lightly to one side. Then she used the mirror to seek his gaze, an unspoken question bright and clear in the depths of her silvery eyes. In answer, he wrapped his right arm around her ribs and lifted her up, using his knees to spread her legs further apart and repositioning his cock beneath her.
As his hips jerked upward, he pulled her down on top of him, filling her again. They shared a soft, gratified sigh. She pressed her palms against the mirror to help steady herself and they both chose that moment to look up at their reflections.
Poor old Tom.
Snape watched Luna impale herself repeatedly on his cock and he knew he could not possibly last long in this position, with this view. He gripped her right hip firmly and reached up on the other side to free her left breast from her bra. She cried out her approval when he began to stroke and pinch the nipple, and she ground down on him eagerly with each thrust. His pace surged forward, the muscles in his legs and stomach beginning to flex and contract in anticipation of his release.
She drew her right hand away from the mirror and grasped his hand on her hip, directing his fingers to the moist folds just above the place where their two bodies were joined. He immediately obliged, rubbing his fingers over and around her clit in a frenzied mimic of how she'd been touching herself when he'd found her earlier. She began to squirm and writhe on top of him, whimpering piteously as he manipulated both her breast and her clit, and furiously drove his cock into her pussy.
He could feel her orgasm coming as surely as he could feel his own bearing down on him, and he looked up at her face in the mirror one last time to bring himself over the edge. But he couldn't capture her attention. Luna was wearing a spellbound, enraptured expression and staring at his cock as it disappeared inside of her over and over. With a deep whine, Snape lurched up and came, shuddering violently as he emptied himself within her. Luna was right behind him, biting down on her lower lip to muffle the cry that sounded her own climax.
When he felt steady enough to move, Snape reached forward and placed his palms on the mirror next to each of hers, surrounding her smaller frame in a strange kind of open embrace. They rested there against each other for several moments before Snape retreated, leaving Luna to settle back on her haunches.
He stole a few quick glances at her as he dressed, watching surreptitiously as she readjusted her bra and began to collect her clothing together. Her dreamy, faraway mien had returned, though the corners of her mouth now hinted at a contented smile. While she foraged around the lavatory for the wayward buttons of her blouse, Snape struggled to ignore the question that had been nagging at the back of his brain since the beginning of their little tryst. But it was no good; the question would not stay forgotten.
"You said…before…that you were thinking about me. Why?"
"Why shouldn't I have been thinking about you?" she asked as she pulled her skirt down over her head, her large eyes widening in surprise. He smirked unpleasantly.
"A great number of reasons. But more specifically, most young women your age don't have fantasies about men…like me," he finished lamely.
"Do you know a lot about the fantasies of young women my age?"
And again, she had bewildered him to the point of silence. He couldn't think of any answer beyond a scowl. She'd managed to repair the damage he'd done to her blouse in his haste to remove it and busied herself with doing up the buttons and tucking the hem into her skirt.
"I lied," she said suddenly as she hitched her knickers into place. He looked over at her, his brow furrowing in consternation and rising dread. She heaved another sigh and regarded him with a meek, apologetic expression.
"We may look like opposites, and I suppose in many ways, we are. But there's one thing we have in common, and I think that's why I wanted you. Why I'm attracted to you."
"And why is that?"
"We're each something of an outcast," she declared without looking at him, maneuvering her feet into their sandals.
His first impulse was to argue with her. She could not possibly understand the degree of his social exile. She was friends with Potter, for Merlin's sake. But then he considered; Luna Lovegood had always been judged as a freak, a weirdo. Loony Lovegood, they had called her. He recalled that he'd never seen her with anyone at Hogwarts prior to her induction into Harry Potter's little group of friends. He also recalled the mocking laughter and rolling eyes, even from her fellow Ravenclaws, and the mean-spirited jokes and pranks his own Slytherins had played at her expense.
What must life be like for her now, he wondered. With a jolt, he remembered that her father had been killed in the war; targeted for printing the story that alerted the wizarding world to Voldemort's return all those years ago. He felt a sudden rush of relief and gratitude that he'd had nothing to do with that affair.
In the end he said nothing, watching her briefly check her appearance in the mirror before turning to face him. She gave him a soft smile.
"It must be rather late," she said. "I imagine Tom will want to close up shortly."
He nodded. As much as he already wished to see her again, he resolutely clenched his jaw and kept silent. Their meeting was obviously a fluke, a clandestine encounter that would never repeat itself. He would not deceive himself into believing that she might want a relationship with him, not now that she'd satisfied her curiosity. He could live with a good one-night stand. It was more than he'd survived on before. Much more.
As she pushed the door open, she looked back at him and offered another smile. He did not return it, but she paused all the same.
"I'll see you tomorrow night…Severus," she lilted casually, leaving him standing in the middle of the lavatory and forcing himself not to grin.
FROM: ANONYMOUS
TITLE: Reflections
PAIRING: Snape/Luna
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: The war ended 5 years ago and Luna's still telling it like it is, Snape is still having temper tantrums; does anything ever change? At least one thing does.
WARNINGS: mild inebriation, May-December coupling and creative use of a mirror
DISCLAIMER: JKR owns all. I'm just borrowing for shits and giggles.
AUTHOR NOTES: I took a bit of license with your list of kinks, so I hope I managed to hit at least marginally on 1 or 2 of 'em, kerrymdb! Many grateful thanks to my beta.
Reflections
As a child, Severus Snape could not wait to be an adult. Adulthood meant freedom; freedom from his father and everyone else who could assert some kind of authority over him. There was nothing he coveted more than his freedom, with the one exception of power. So it was with a dry irony that he acknowledged, at the ripe old age of 43, that his bleak and fettered childhood should be shaping up to be the least miserable period of his life.
Harry Potter had faced his destiny and triumphed, and Voldemort was five years dead, finally and truly dead. Snape had done his part, just as he'd promised Dumbledore all those years before. He'd kept the others off Potter's trail, feeding false information and doling out useless hints to those he knew were gullible enough to believe them. In his new position as Voldemort's right-hand man, it hadn't been very difficult. Only the craftier ones like Bellatrix and Lucius were in any position to question him at all after what he'd done for their Master. And considering what both Lucius and his sister-in-law owed him, they had wisely chosen to hold their tongues.
The difficult part had come later. Potter's self-righteous proclamations of vengeance still echoed in his memory, bringing with them the same bitter taste and the familiar flare of hatred. Snape had endured it all as best he could. He hadn't even gloated - much - when Potter's thick brain had finally absorbed the fact that he and Snape were on the same side. And then-adding insult to injury in true priggish, inconsiderate, Gryffindor-like form-Harry Potter had failed to do him the proper courtesy of ending his life. Snape hadn't thought it possible to hate the spawn of his childhood nemesis more than he had when he was the boy's professor. He'd been wrong.
He was also in the overwhelming minority. Everyone else loved the Hero who saved the world from You-Know-Who, not once but twice! Of course, Snape didn't fool himself into believing that his less-than-gracious opinion of Harry Potter was the reason he now found himself ostracized from all but the most questionable company. Regardless of the evidence that had cleared his name, Snape had still been the instrument of Albus Dumbledore's demise. No logical summation from Hermione Granger, no thin-lipped apology from Minerva McGonagall, not even a grudging declaration of forgiveness from the Golden Boy himself could save Snape from his life as an outcast. Snape had always appreciated his solitude, but that had been when it was a choice. Now, he realized without humor, he wouldn't have been much worse off in Azkaban.
Causing discomfort in those around him had become one of his only pleasures. Since his role in Voldemort's extermination was well-known, the most jeering he received was poorly-disguised whispering and some very dirty looks. No one ever refused him service, even when he half-wished for the excuse to lose his temper. Rosmerta would plunk his drinks down roughly and bustle away, her lips pursed into a tight knot. Snape couldn't stand to be in the Hog's Head: Aberforth bore too close a resemblance to his brother. So most evenings found Snape in old Tom's patronage at the Leaky Cauldron, which is where he was when a soft, feminine voice interrupted the staring contest he was having with his fourth scotch of the night.
"Hello, Professor Snape."
He winced and then snapped, "I'm not a professor anymore."
Glancing in the speaker's direction, he took a moment to see if he could recognize her. The blonde hair and grey eyes didn't ring any particular bells, but those ridiculous vegetables hanging from her ears did the trick. He didn't bother to mask a scoff.
"Miss Lovegood."
"I suppose you're right," she continued, unperturbed by his brusque manner. "You're not a professor anymore. But that's just as well. You were quite horrible."
His lip curled almost involuntarily, half in drunken amusement and half in irritation.
"The feeling was entirely mutual. I hated being a teacher."
"That's a shame. You weren't such a horrible teacher. It was everything else about you that was horrible."
For a long while, Snape stared at her and tried to suppress the insane desire to defend himself to this-this-former student. He would not justify himself or make excuses for the benefit of someone who could not possibly understand his reasons. Better to scare her off and have done with it.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice a deep and menacing purr. He trained a dark eye on her face, glaring at her from beneath his brow. His glare faltered only slightly when she climbed onto the stool next to him at the bar.
"Oh yes. You were positively rude. And rather more sadistic than any teacher I've ever had. Not to mention your blatant favoritism of Slytherin House. I'm afraid that made you even more unpopular with everyone else."
Snape sneered at her. Sometime during her last comment, Tom had slid a glass of gillywater onto the bar in front of her, and now, she regarded Snape with interest, twirling the stick of cocktail onions with her right hand. Apparently, she was another of Tom's regulars, although Snape couldn't recall seeing her in the Leaky Cauldron before.
"Do you honestly believe I cared the slightest bit what anyone at that school thought of me?"
"Of course you did," she said, wide-eyed. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have gotten so upset over things like Neville's boggart."
Had he not been slightly inebriated, Snape would have made a scathing remark or two and ended the conversation right then. As it was, he snorted derisively and consulted his scotch.
"If I seemed upset over that incident, it was only because of the lack of respect due to me as Potions Master, nothing more."
When she did not respond, Snape glanced in her direction. She was staring at him impassively, though her large eyes held the glimmer of something he did not like.
"You think I'm lying?" he spat.
"Well," she sighed, using her teeth to tease an onion from the end of its skewer, "I can't blame you for lying to me if you're lying to yourself in the first place."
That had done it. Snape pushed away angrily from the bar, his stool creaking loudly against the floor. Once he was sure he could remain upright, he grabbed his drink and snarled at the girl.
"I don't need or want your pity!"
Luna watched him storm over to an empty table near the door and sit with his back to the bar. Sighing again, she downed the remains of her gillywater in one go, stood, and made her way around the bar, disappearing down the hallway to the lavatory.
Snape heard her get up though he was too busy fuming to register that she hadn't left altogether. How dare she? She couldn't be more than-what, 20 years old-and here she was analyzing him, presuming to understand him, pity him; it was preposterous, and more than he could bear. Finishing his drink, he rose from his chair and headed for the lavatory, determined to sober himself up a bit before hunting down the little bird and burning off a few of her feathers with some good, old-fashioned Snape vitriol.
The sight that greeted him upon opening the lavatory door stopped his heart in his chest. Luna Lovegood lay in the middle of the lavatory floor with her skirt hitched to her waist, her knickers around her ankles, her knees bent, her legs parted, and the fingers of her right hand buried in the straw-colored curls of her mound. As he stood in the doorway, frozen in place, he watched her rub her fingers over her genitalia in small, leisurely circles. Breathy little moans and sighs escaped her lips. Her left hand drifted up from her stomach to grasp her left breast through her clothing, and she moaned again, the pace of her fingers below quickening. When her knees parted a bit further and she reached down to slip her middle finger into her opening, Snape's breath caught in his throat with a short but very audible gasp.
Withdrawing her hand, Luna lifted up slightly from the floor, propped herself on her elbows and eyed Snape with a languid, unconcerned expression. She did not move to cover herself up.
"Could you close the door, please?" she asked quietly, as if asking him to pass the salt during dinner.
He thought, I should slam the door shut and leave as fast as I can manage. I should alert Tom on my way out. Instead, what he did was gently pull the door closed, leaving him standing less than a yard away from a half-naked girl sprawled across the small, age-worn rug on the lavatory floor.
"What do you think you are doing?" he hissed when she said nothing.
"I'm touching myself," she answered, without a trace of embarrassment.
"So I can see," he sneered, allowing his gaze to linger over her exposed sex. "Why are you doing so in the bathroom of the Leaky Cauldron?"
"This is where I got the urge."
He was beginning to find her unwavering stare disconcerting, but the increasing tightness of his pants kept him rooted to the spot. And at her next statement, all question of when and how he should leave evaporated.
"It would be better if you joined me."
Then she smiled.
"Excuse me?" he stammered, trying his best to sound offended, although he knew his mutinous body would refuse point-blank any and all attempts to deny his arousal. Still smiling, she stood up from the floor and shuffled the few steps over to him.
"I was thinking of you," she said. "But it would be much better if I didn't have to imagine it."
For perhaps the first time in his life, Snape could not think of a single insult or cutting remark to make. Luna seemed to be waiting for just such a thing and when it never came, her smile brightened. She slid her hands up against his chest, causing his breath to catch in his throat again. It was the first time that anyone had physically touched him, without intending to do harm, for longer than he could remember.
"You're a child," he muttered tersely, his brain making a futile attempt to distract his body with a piece of reasoning. Her hands slid up further still, reaching behind his neck.
"I'm 22 years old," she admonished, rising up on her tiptoes to brush her lips along the tensed line of his jaw.
"You were my student," he tried again, wincing as his voice trembled unbecomingly.
"Yes. But I'm not a student anymore. Just like you're not a professor, remember?"
Not quite tall enough to reach his mouth without help, Luna placed a hand on each side of his face and guided him down into a kiss. He tasted a trace of the mild cocktail onion, an intriguing hint of sweet gillywater, and something else that was deliciously, indescribably feminine. The shock of the whole encounter was beginning to wear off, and Snape found himself returning her kiss with mounting fervor. Her lips parted easily for him and her tongue followed his in whichever direction he led her. Still standing on her toes, she leaned into him heavily for support and he could feel his burgeoning erection straining against his trousers.
But it was her hands on his face that was already threatening to undo him. Having gone so long without the touch of another person, least of all a pretty young woman, had plainly taken its toll on his resolve. When her hands finally left his face, he very nearly protested-until he realized that she was using them to remove his robes. He quickly returned the favor, tugging forcefully on the front of her blouse and sending buttons flying across the floor in all directions.
Luna had been more careful with the buttons on his shirt. Driving her hands beneath the fabric, she opened his shirt wider and placed a kiss in the middle of his bare chest. The subtle hint of suction on his skin elicited a shudder from Snape, who was fumbling impatiently with his belt buckle. He felt her shift from side to side and the pair of thuds that accompanied her movements told him she'd kicked off her sandals.
He was still having trouble with his belt buckle. Muttering a furious oath under his breath, he looked down at his waist and spotted a pair of crumpled pink knickers next to his left shoe. So she'd kicked off more than her sandals. He was absorbed so completely in the spectacle of frilly pink pants at his feet that he started when he felt hands on his waist. She coaxed the belt through its buckle with no more than the normal fuss and undid the button and zipper beneath. His trousers fell away easily and he toed them off along with his shoes.
Catching a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, Snape whipped around to face the door but it was still closed and no one else had entered. Then he realized he'd seen himself moving in the enormous floor-length mirror that dominated the wall behind him. Luna circled around him as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, and he was abruptly sobered by what he saw.
A young, blonde-haired girl in a plaid skirt and a pink bra dotted with little brown owls approached a dour, sallow-skinned, middle-aged man in black socks, white boxer shorts and a white shirt that was parted to reveal a thin chest flecked sparsely with dark hair. It was an almost comical contrast, though Snape was rather less than amused. When she noticed the focus of his attention, Luna looked over at their reflections in the mirror as well. Cocking her head to one side, she stated matter-of-factly,
"Opposites."
He did not answer. They both stood staring at their counterparts, Snape frowning heavily at himself and Luna gazing contemplatively between the two of them. She finally broke the silence with just about the last thing Snape expected to hear her say.
"Maybe that's why I want you."
Without waiting for a reply, Luna stepped between Snape and the mirror and pulled him down into another kiss. They sank slowly to the floor, Snape crouching over her as she rolled down onto her back. The feeling of her soft body beneath him, the bare skin of her legs and stomach brushing against his own nude flesh, her small, serene moan that sent a little shock of vibration over his lips and into his mouth; every sensation combined to intoxicate him far more than anything he'd had to drink. He tentatively pressed his renewed erection against her and when she opened her legs wider to provide him better access, he moaned into her mouth in return.
Leaning onto his left hand for support, he reached down and freed his cock from his boxers, rubbing the head over her clit and labia. Luna's breath hitched and poured from her mouth in another long, lustful moan. Kissing her deeply, he released himself and pressed against her again, his cock driving slowly into her until he was encased to the hilt. He began to move, rocking his hips forward and back, careful to keep his pace very slow and steady lest he lose himself too soon.
Their heads were mere inches from the wall and he cast an anxious glance at the door nearby, silently cursing himself for forgetting to lock it. Luna seemed to have no such concern, digging her nails into his back and wrapping her legs around his waist. The slight change in position afforded him even deeper purchase into her pussy. Groaning, he bent his head to kiss her again, still fighting to maintain his stride.
He broke the kiss and looked up, his eyes darting to the door once more. If the sight of Luna spread-eagle in all her half-naked glory had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest, he couldn't even begin to imagine what the sight of a bony, hook-nosed man on the wrong side of forty screwing a blonde, cherubic twenty-something on the floor of his lavatory would do to poor old Tom's ticker.
His eye caught another flicker of movement and he turned his head to the mirror. A low, guttural cry burst from his lips. There before him was the very picture he'd imagined; the flushed pink cheeks of his little cherub just visible beyond her shining blonde head, her hands and legs clutching almost desperately at his sides. Luna raised her chin and tilted her head back to see for herself, her grey eyes lost in a faraway look as she watched herself being fucked by her former teacher. She turned her gaze onto his reflection and he ground his teeth together, the urge to thrust into her with abandon growing into an overwhelming need. He couldn't refuse himself any longer; he began to pick up speed. But before he could find a new rhythm, she hummed and said breathlessly,
"Oh, I want to see."
He had no time to register her meaning before she'd pushed herself out from under him and sat up with her back against the mirror. He let her go, sagging back onto his heels. She'd confused him, and his expression must've shown it because she flashed him a reassuring smile before budging around on her knees to face the mirror. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the glass, confusing him even further until she repositioned her legs on either side of his and reclined back into his lap.
He gasped when the moisture from her entrance met his bare thighs, his cock throbbing from the pressure of her weight settling against his legs. Gently nudging her bum further back into his lap, she gripped her skirt, yanking it up and over her head and tossing it lightly to one side. Then she used the mirror to seek his gaze, an unspoken question bright and clear in the depths of her silvery eyes. In answer, he wrapped his right arm around her ribs and lifted her up, using his knees to spread her legs further apart and repositioning his cock beneath her.
As his hips jerked upward, he pulled her down on top of him, filling her again. They shared a soft, gratified sigh. She pressed her palms against the mirror to help steady herself and they both chose that moment to look up at their reflections.
Poor old Tom.
Snape watched Luna impale herself repeatedly on his cock and he knew he could not possibly last long in this position, with this view. He gripped her right hip firmly and reached up on the other side to free her left breast from her bra. She cried out her approval when he began to stroke and pinch the nipple, and she ground down on him eagerly with each thrust. His pace surged forward, the muscles in his legs and stomach beginning to flex and contract in anticipation of his release.
She drew her right hand away from the mirror and grasped his hand on her hip, directing his fingers to the moist folds just above the place where their two bodies were joined. He immediately obliged, rubbing his fingers over and around her clit in a frenzied mimic of how she'd been touching herself when he'd found her earlier. She began to squirm and writhe on top of him, whimpering piteously as he manipulated both her breast and her clit, and furiously drove his cock into her pussy.
He could feel her orgasm coming as surely as he could feel his own bearing down on him, and he looked up at her face in the mirror one last time to bring himself over the edge. But he couldn't capture her attention. Luna was wearing a spellbound, enraptured expression and staring at his cock as it disappeared inside of her over and over. With a deep whine, Snape lurched up and came, shuddering violently as he emptied himself within her. Luna was right behind him, biting down on her lower lip to muffle the cry that sounded her own climax.
When he felt steady enough to move, Snape reached forward and placed his palms on the mirror next to each of hers, surrounding her smaller frame in a strange kind of open embrace. They rested there against each other for several moments before Snape retreated, leaving Luna to settle back on her haunches.
He stole a few quick glances at her as he dressed, watching surreptitiously as she readjusted her bra and began to collect her clothing together. Her dreamy, faraway mien had returned, though the corners of her mouth now hinted at a contented smile. While she foraged around the lavatory for the wayward buttons of her blouse, Snape struggled to ignore the question that had been nagging at the back of his brain since the beginning of their little tryst. But it was no good; the question would not stay forgotten.
"You said…before…that you were thinking about me. Why?"
"Why shouldn't I have been thinking about you?" she asked as she pulled her skirt down over her head, her large eyes widening in surprise. He smirked unpleasantly.
"A great number of reasons. But more specifically, most young women your age don't have fantasies about men…like me," he finished lamely.
"Do you know a lot about the fantasies of young women my age?"
And again, she had bewildered him to the point of silence. He couldn't think of any answer beyond a scowl. She'd managed to repair the damage he'd done to her blouse in his haste to remove it and busied herself with doing up the buttons and tucking the hem into her skirt.
"I lied," she said suddenly as she hitched her knickers into place. He looked over at her, his brow furrowing in consternation and rising dread. She heaved another sigh and regarded him with a meek, apologetic expression.
"We may look like opposites, and I suppose in many ways, we are. But there's one thing we have in common, and I think that's why I wanted you. Why I'm attracted to you."
"And why is that?"
"We're each something of an outcast," she declared without looking at him, maneuvering her feet into their sandals.
His first impulse was to argue with her. She could not possibly understand the degree of his social exile. She was friends with Potter, for Merlin's sake. But then he considered; Luna Lovegood had always been judged as a freak, a weirdo. Loony Lovegood, they had called her. He recalled that he'd never seen her with anyone at Hogwarts prior to her induction into Harry Potter's little group of friends. He also recalled the mocking laughter and rolling eyes, even from her fellow Ravenclaws, and the mean-spirited jokes and pranks his own Slytherins had played at her expense.
What must life be like for her now, he wondered. With a jolt, he remembered that her father had been killed in the war; targeted for printing the story that alerted the wizarding world to Voldemort's return all those years ago. He felt a sudden rush of relief and gratitude that he'd had nothing to do with that affair.
In the end he said nothing, watching her briefly check her appearance in the mirror before turning to face him. She gave him a soft smile.
"It must be rather late," she said. "I imagine Tom will want to close up shortly."
He nodded. As much as he already wished to see her again, he resolutely clenched his jaw and kept silent. Their meeting was obviously a fluke, a clandestine encounter that would never repeat itself. He would not deceive himself into believing that she might want a relationship with him, not now that she'd satisfied her curiosity. He could live with a good one-night stand. It was more than he'd survived on before. Much more.
As she pushed the door open, she looked back at him and offered another smile. He did not return it, but she paused all the same.
"I'll see you tomorrow night…Severus," she lilted casually, leaving him standing in the middle of the lavatory and forcing himself not to grin.