a/n: This is a muggle AU set at university! My first venture into muggle AU! I wrote this for my AMAZING alpha Mayghaen17. This girl has spent so many hours talking plot ideas and helping me develop some new stuff, she deserves all of the love.
Hermione sighed in relief as she saved the file for the fifth time and closed her laptop. She clasped her hands, stretching her arms high above her head and arching her back in attempts to remove some of the stiffness that had taken hold of her muscles over the last four hours.
"Done!" she said, smiling as she patted the top of her macbook. "Finally, done!"
"How many hundreds of pages did this 'short project' turn into?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, looking her red-headed best friend over with pursed lips. "I stayed within the maximum number of words allowed," she said.
"You understand that it's a poetry theory class, right? For God's sake, Hermione! You aren't Shakespeare!"
"Ginny, Shakespeare was a playwright. Not necessarily a poet, and Professor Lupin gave specific instructions to discuss-
"I don't know how you pay attention to what the assignments even are for that class," Ginny interrupted. "The only reason I agreed to take the damn class with you was to look at him."
"Stop interrupting me, you know I hate that." Hermione grumbled, "Besides, some of us take the class because we genuinely want to discuss the theories of poetry as a genre."
"If you wanted to write poetry, you could do it without taking the theory class. No one takes that class for the content, Hermione."
Hermione huffed out an irritated breath, "Maybe you don't. And I don't want to write poetry, I just want to have a better understanding of the development of the structural linguistics that poetry involves."
"The only linguis I care about in that class are the kind of the cunning variety," Ginny said, a smirk pulling at her features. "Just watching Professor Lupin's mouth move around those poems he reads at the beginning of class? God, I swear if I were single-
"Okay, I get it. You think he's attractive. It's not that he isn't but he's a professor, Ginny. Have some respect." Hermione snapped.
"If you had any respect for yourself, you would pay attention to the way he looks at you when you talk during discussions. I'm fairly certain that man would love nothing more than get you personally acquainted with Cummings." Ginny said, dodging the back of Hermione's hand.
"You're disgusting. And completely off base. Professor Lupin is a respectable man who is an excellent teacher. He would never sully his career by sleeping with students," Hermione reasoned, knowing the sentiment fell upon deaf ears.
Hermione stood as Ginny continued to prattle on about her attraction to their Poetry Theory Professor, going into a ridiculous amount of detail of the things she would like to do should she ever be trapped alone with him in a room for a few days. Hermione tuned her out, packing up her belongings and shouldering her heavy bag as they made their way from the Campus Library to their dorms.
Hermione hated living on campus, but it was a necessary evil. The commute to and from would cost more than it was worth and living at home while attending college just wasn't something she wanted to do. Listening to her parents complain over the weekends and holidays about how she hadn't followed in their footsteps and gone to school for Dentistry was enough. She was sure if she had to listen to them on a daily basis, she would lose her mind.
"An English Teacher! Hermione, you understand that teaching is hardly a lucrative career."
"You have so much talent! You could get through medical school in no time! Or even follow your cousin's footsteps and study law!"
Hermione had no desire to go through any type of medical or dentistry schooling. For one thing, she had a weak stomach, and the thought of the amount of blood and other things involved with being a doctor or dentist made her feel queasy. And studying law sounded dreadfully boring. She had been on the debate team in high school, but she wasn't dim enough to think that being a lawyer would be debating and arguing all the time. It would be massive amounts of paperwork and research and what if she had to defend someone she didn't believe was innocent?!
No, being an English teacher had been something she thought long and hard about. She wanted young people to be excited to learn, the way she had always been. She had good teachers to thank for that, teachers who fostered her ideas and pushed her to be hungry for more. Teachers like Professor Lupin, who challenged her to look past her realm of knowledge and take on something that might be terrifying to her.
Hermione was excited about the prospect of turning in this final paper. She was certain her arguments were persuasive enough to encourage at least a ninety percent. She had been looking forward to this final assignment from day one, when the syllabus had been handed out, and she was interested to see what remarks Professor Lupin would leave her.
He always leaves such thorough comments.
Over the course of the next two days, Hermione checked and rechecked her paper. She made small edits, made sure to create the perfect cover page, and triple checked her word count to ensure that she remained within the assignment guidelines.
It's okay that your views take on a life of their own, sometimes. I only ask that you try to remain within the maximum word count guideline. Professor had written the words on her last assignment and she had them memorized. No, she would not disappoint this time. Her paper would score high marks and it would remain below the maximum word count.
Without double checking, or checking for the fortieth time, if she were being honest with herself, Hermione put the document she had printed last night into the plastic slip and fastened it inside the thin binder she used to turn in all of her hard copies.
That was another thing she loved about Professor Lupin's class, it wasn't all digital. Instead, he insisted on hard copies, claiming that his eyes don't get quite as tired when he read physical papers as opposed to digital ones.
As usual, Hermione was the first to arrive. Professor Lupin was sitting at his desk already. Always on time, she thought. Just one more thing she loved about him- no, his class. He looked over the dark rims of his rectangular glasses that sat perched on his nose. A soft smile tugged at his lips, one that Hermione instantly returned with a bright one of her own.
"Good morning, Professor Lupin." she said, moving toward the usual spot at the front of the room.
"Good morning, Hermione," Professor Lupin returned. "You're a bit early, today."
"I am," she agreed. "I'm sorry if that crowds into your private time. I was just eager to turn my final paper in."
"I won't be collecting them until the end of class, you know that." he said.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her cheeks flushed a bit with embarrassment, "I know," she said. "But if I can be honest with you, sir, my roommate Ginny had her boyfriend stay over last night and I prefer not to be around when they finally wake up."
Professor Lupin laughed, "I can understand that. Coffee?"
Hermione nodded, setting her bag in her preferred seat and moved toward his desk, watching as he pulled a mug from the bottom drawer. From his bag, he pulled a thermos and poured some of the hot liquid into the mug, handing it to her.
"Thank you," she said.
"I have chocolate you can add to it, but I haven't got any cream or sugar, I'm sorry."
"I interrupted your few minutes of peace before a class, and you kindly offer me coffee from your personal thermos and then apologize for not having it exactly to my liking?" she asked, laughing a bit.
Professor Lupin's bottom lip sucked into his mouth, a motion that Hermione realized she enjoyed far too much. "Would you like the chocolate?"
She laughed, nodding and holding the mug out to him. "Yes, that would be lovely, thank you."
He pulled out a small square of chocolate and dropped it in her mug and then pulled the plastic spoon from his own mug, offering it to her. "I promise I'm not diseased," he said.
She chuckled, taking the spoon and stirring the quickly melting chocolate into the coffee. "Chocolate and coffee, sort of an odd mixture," Hermione commented.
"Is it?" He said, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her, watching, as she pulled the mug to her lips. "I like the effects of coffee, but I don't care for the bitterness. So I add chocolate, it seems to counteract it."
"I suppose it's not completely unheard of, afterall, mocha exists." Hermione reasoned.
"Mocha is not the same," Professor Lupin said, "This is much better, I promise."
She sipped at the chocolate coffee and smiled, he was right. It was delicious. They made small talk as the class time came closer, and Hermione finished her coffee, handing him back his mug and thanking him again. When other students began to filter in, she sat at her desk and pulled out her notebook and pen, eagerly taking notes of his lecture.
The weekend had come and gone and Hermione had been checking the classroom website constantly for the last two days. Professor Lupin was always quick to grade her work, and the fact that nothing had shown up in the box except an "Incomplete" had her stomach churning in on itself.
By the time Monday rolled around, she nearly sprinted across campus to the Liberal Arts building and took the stairs two at a time. She was early, as always, but instead of excitement, she was feeling nothing but nerves. Perhaps, she had forced the issue of the poem being too utopian and unrealistic in order to be used as an emotional anchor. Maybe he thought her theory was stupid? Maybe he thought she was being overly pragmatic instead of opening her mind to what the poem was making her feel. Was she not an emotional enough reader?
"Good Morning, Hermione." His voice rang her from her thoughts.
She set her book bag down at her usual spot and closed the space between her desk and his, "Why haven't you graded my paper yet? You always post the marks the next day and it just says 'incomplete!' Did I misinterpret the assignment? Was it terrible? I stayed within the writing guidelines, this time! I checked the word count seven times to be sure!"
Professor Lupin shifted in his seat, he cleared his throat as he looked at her. It was the first time she noticed how his eyes were ribboned with gold through the evergreen and she felt her cheeks grow hot under the gaze, "We'll discuss it after class, in my office, yeah?"
Hermione's heart began to thud against her ribcage. She must have royally messed this up. She must have offended him so deeply! It was an open assignment, she had given the poem she chose to use meticulous thought! She pulled one straight from the syllabus!
"Professor Lupin, I'm sorry if I…" She trailed off, half expecting him to interrupt her. When he didn't, it only caused her nerves to set on fire.
"If you what?" He asked, raising his chin a bit to look her over again.
"Did I- Did I write something that offended you somehow?" she asked.
Professor Lupin stood from his chair, rounding the desk to tower over her. His eyes flickered back and forth, searching her face. He drew in a deep breath, the movement causing his chest to brush against her shoulder. "You did not offend me at all, Hermione."
The tone of his voice made her breath catch in her throat and she swallowed, trying to move past the lump that was sitting in her windpipe. From where he was standing, she could smell him. He smelled of sandalwood and chocolate and something a little spicy- aftershave maybe? Did he even use aftershave? His facial hair was always closely cropped to his face, he probably wouldn't need to use aftershave. Maybe it was his cologne? But it smelled natural? A soap or a-
"Hermione, is after class okay?" he said.
"What?" she breathed, shaking her head lightly to pull herself from these asinine thoughts.
"I said we could discuss your paper after class, if that works for you?"
She nodded, "Yeah. Yes. Yes, after class would be fine."
The left side of Professor Lupin's mouth tugged up and his eyes danced over her another moment before he took a step back, leaving her in the space between his desk and her own as other students filtered in.
Ginny took the place beside Hermione, pulling out her textbook and pens, "Hermione, are you alright? You look a bit pale."
"I'm fine," she said. "Professor Lupin wants to meet with me in his office after class to go over my paper."
Ginny nearly squealed as she turned in her seat, her eyes heavy with mischief and a wicked smile on her lips. "Oh? Does he now?"
Hermione's eyes narrowed, "What is that look, Ginny?"
"What look?" Ginny said, her eyes going wide but the smirk on her face reeking of evil. "I haven't got a look."
"What did you do?" Hermione hissed, "Ginny! What did you do?"
"I have no idea what you're referencing Miss Granger," Ginny said.
"Ginny, did you mess with my-
"Hush!" Ginny said, cutting her off. "Professor Lupin is beginning his lecture."
Throughout the course of the lecture, Hermione couldn't help but fidget. She moved restlessly in her seat, tapping her highlighter against the spiral of her notebook, bouncing her leg up and down, running her hands through her hair repeatedly. And she felt like every move she made, Professor Lupin was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her through the entire class, even when she wasn't participating in the discussions.
Finally, when he dismissed the class, he asked her to stay behind so they could walk to his office together. Hermione obliged, even as her nerves constricted her throat so tightly, it was almost painful.
Hermione followed Professor Lupin to his office, which was on the top floor of the Liberal Arts building they were currently in. She was glad to see he had a private office, instead of one of the open format, cubicle-style offices that many of her other professors had.
"Perks of being tenured," he responded when she commented on it.
"You're tenured?" she asked, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "You never mentioned that… Most tenured Professors find a way to work it into every lecture."
Professor Lupin chuckled, pulling his glasses from his face and setting them upside down on his desk. "I've only just received my tenure last year. It still doesn't feel right to boast about it to students who really don't care."
"Some of them might," she suggested.
"Do you?" he asked.
"Do I what?"
"Do you care that I'm tenured?"
Hermione's brows furrowed together and she shook her head, "No, I suppose I don't. You're a really good professor, I don't think knowing you're tenured would make me think anything different. I'm more surprised by it, than anything."
"Well, you're quite young, aren't you?" she asked, "Most tenured professors seem ancient."
He chuckled, lifting a few files from his chair before placing them in a neat stack on his desk and taking a seat. He motioned to the chair next to her. "Sit please," he said. "And I don't think forty two qualifies as young, but I'll take it as a compliment."
"Forty two is hardly old!" Hermione chuckled, "besides, it's all in how you feel, isn't that what they say?"
"That's what old people say to make themselves feel better."
Hermione burst into laughter and the sound of Professor Lupin joining her with his own chuckles made her heart skip. His laugh was light and almost melodic and when she brought her eyes to his, she could see the small wrinkles around his brows, his face lit up. As their laughter died down, Hermione felt herself shift in the chair. She cleared her throat and worked up the nerve to ask about the paper.
"Sir," she began. "I really am not sure why the paper requires a one on one. If it's that bad…"
"It isn't," he responded, pulling the familiar binder from his briefcase and handing it to her. "I have to admit however, that I was a tad surprised. I wanted to let you look over the comments before I gave you the grade in the system, that's all. There hasn't been a time yet this semester you've utilized my office hours, and I wanted to be sure you knew where my office was. Take a look over, and if you'd like to meet with me again regarding it, my door is always open."
Hermione clutched the binder to her chest, nodding as she stood to take her leave. "Thank you, Professor Lupin."
He flashed another smile at her, placing his glasses back onto his nose. "No, thank you, Hermione."
Hermione was going to murder Ginny.
She wasn't sure how just yet, but she was certain the only way she would ever be able to absolve herself of the embarrassment of what was inside that thin, red binder would be to brutally and painfully kill her best friend.
The poem inside was decidedly not the poem she had chosen from the syllabus to write her final paper on. Her eyes scanned over it, again and again, and her cheeks felt hot as she read the words.
"...with bare throat made to bite…
...And her face was honey to my mouth…
...Splendid supple thighs…"
This was absolutely not the poem she had picked. No, this was an erotic poem. A poem of sex and night and absolutely not the poem she had written this paper on! This paper that now, instead of arguing a utopian phrase uttered by poets from the victorian era, made her seem as if she wanted nothing more than to have the things in this poem for herself!
And even more mortifying was the remarks written in a neat, red, scrawl on the very last page. "The curiosity you possess to the image created by your thoughts on this work are astounding. If you would like to discuss the work of Swineburne, please remember my door is open to you anytime."
When Ginny finally entered their shared dormitory later that evening, Hermione was nearly beside herself with irritation.
"I can not believe you Ginny Weasley!" Hermione shrieked, throwing the binder across the room and clipping Ginny's arm with it. "How could you?! Have you any idea how embarrassing this is?!"
Ginny opened the binder and flipped to the back page, her eyes widening as a smirk stretched across her lips.
"Why are you smiling?! Do not smile! I am furious with you!"
"Hermione," Ginny said, her fingers tapping lightly on the binder. "I did you a favor."
"Did you?" Hermione spat. "Oh please, please enlighten me on how you've done me any favors with this!"
"Did you not read what he wrote? He obviously likes you."
"He is a Professor-
"He is a human man! An extremely fit one, at that. He is a human man who spends far too long looking at you during his classes and offers you his weird chocolate coffee and-
"He would do that for anyone, Ginny! He's a professor!"
"See, that's where you're wrong." Ginny said, "I went to class early more than once and never got a coffee from him. More than once in this semester, I've been alone in that room with him and I've even gone to his office for help on assignments! Not once has he offered me chocolate and coffee. He likes you, Hermione. Or at the very least, he's attracted to you. You're just too absorbed in the content of the syllabus to see it!"
"I can see when a man likes me, thank you very much, and I have no problem with-
"Oh really?" Ginny interrupted. "That's coming from the girl who dated my brother. Have you any idea how long I had to listen to Ron complain and carry on that you weren't picking up on any of his passes? Or what about Cormac? His lips were on yours before you realized he liked you! You had sex with Theo before you even thought he wanted anything to do with you, and that was after months of him pining after you!"
Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to find words to argue against her friend but she wasn't wrong… Hermione knew she wasn't the most observant when it came to the opposite sex. She didn't always pick up on when her past boyfriends had wanted to start a relationship with her. She had been dreadfully unaware that they saw her as something more than friends.
Was Ginny right? Did Professor Lupin see her in that light?
No. Of course not! That was ridiculous!
"You shouldn't have messed with my paper, Ginny." Hermione grumbled.
"I'm sorry I changed the poem, but you still got an A, and I won't apologize for opening that door for you. I think you need to make an office call to him and see what he says."
Ginny was right, and Hermione hated when Ginny was right. She would never hear the end of it. After talking with Ginny and agonizing over every possible meaning to the words left on the paper by Professor Lupin, Hermione had decided to send him an email and request a time to meet privately. The response from him had been almost instant.
The next day, Hermione had a free day with no classes, so she scheduled the meeting on Professor Lupin's schedule. He had a packed day, so they ended up meeting in the evening. It wasn't uncommon to see a professor in their office in the evening, there were evening classes after all, but Hermione still felt nervous about what this meeting would imply.
Her hand came to the door and dropped four times before she finally got the nerve to knock. She could feel the heat of her nervousness blushing her chest and neck and she instantly regretted the thin-strapped, low-cut sundress she had let Ginny talk her into wearing. Finally, she squared her shoulders, told herself she was being ridiculous, and rapped her knuckles against the door.
She waited several moments, the door unanswered.
Just as she had convinced herself she must have misread this entire situation and had made up her mind that she was, in fact, going to murder her best friend, her phone chirped with an alert. She pulled the phone from the pocket of the dress and saw she had an email.
Running a bit behind, go ahead and wait in my office, it's unlocked. Sorry!
She realized that the email had been sent from his private gmail account, not the given account from the university, and that he had signed it using his first name.
Maybe Ginny didn't misread the signals, Hermione thought, pushing open the door to the office.
When she entered, her hand fumbled against the wall for a moment before finding the lightswitch. The bright, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and she closed the door behind her. She slipped her phone back into her pocket and she crossed the room, taking the time to look at the office.
Professor Lupin- Remus, had a large bookshelf that covered most of the far wall. Every shelf nearly sagged under the weight of the books they held. Hundreds of different books ranging from poetry to modern fiction to historical biographies lined the shelves. They were organized alphabetically and by genre and Hermione felt a swell of appreciation for the man. His space was tidy, and very organized. Everything from the fern on the stand in the corner to the pens lined up on his desk, was clean and straight and in its place. There was a small crystal dish on the front left corner of his maple wood desk that was nearly overflowing with tiny, individually wrapped chocolates.
Behind his chair, hanging on the wall, was a large abstract painting and next to the painting were several framed certificates, all indicating the level of schooling he had completed. On the opposite side of the painting were several framed pictures. She walked closer to look at the pictures, a small smile on her face. A younger Remus Lupin smiled up at her, a book in his hand while two boys, both with dark hair, one with glasses, stood next to him wearing rugby jerseys. Another boy, fair haired with a round face stood off to the side, smiling brightly.
"They were my best friends since I was a child. We met in primary school, remained friends for years."
Hermione startled, his deep voice catching her off guard. She spun around, her hand to her chest.
"Didn't mean to frighten you," he said. "Sorry I'm late."
"It's okay Prof-
"Remus, please." he said, "Call me Remus."
"Remus," the name came from her mouth in a breathy sigh, her smile brightening. "You said you were friends with them, are you not anymore?"
"They died," he answered, his smile faltering a bit. "When we were twenty they were in a bad accident. Hit by a drunk driver. James, he's the one with the hair sticking up, and his wife Lily died on impact. Sirius, the other dark haired one, and Peter the one on the other side of him, died a few days later in hospital."
"Oh," Hermione whispered. "Remus, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."
Remus shrugged, "It's been twenty years. I've made my peace with it. Besides, as you said, you didn't know."
Hermione felt awkward now, like she didn't know what to say. She shifted her weight from foot to foot.
"I've gone and made things uncomfortable now, haven't I?" Remus chuckled, "I've found I'm rather good at that."
"Making people uncomfortable?" Hermione asked, a breathy laugh pushing through her lips.
"More like, ruining what could be a good moment." he said.
"You haven't ruined anything," Hermione reassured him.
"That's good to hear," he said, smiling.
Hermione moved from where she stood, taking a seat at the chair in front of his desk and watching as Remus moved past her, setting his briefcase on the top of his desk and sitting in the seat behind it. He bent low, rifling through the bottom drawer before pulling out two mugs. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a bottle of Cognac.
"Would you like a drink?"
"Do you typically drink with students?" she smirked.
"I don't typically invite students to my office after hours, so no. But seeing as this particular student wrote a very interesting paper on an erotic poem as her final and is very pretty, I'll make an exception."
Again, Hermione's face felt hot as it flushed. "I think I should explain-
He held up a hand, cutting off her next words. "If I'm misreading this, you can tell me. Otherwise, I'd like to continue as if it weren't Ginny Weasley who switched the poem on your paper, and that you turned it in with the intentions of testing a theory."
Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling very dry. "A-a theory?"
He poured the cognac into both mugs and handed her one, raising his up slightly in a salute before taking a sip. "Mhm," he nodded, "A theory you have, I believe. That opens the question to just how mad you can drive me by calling me 'sir' as often as you can."
Hermione nearly choked on the swallow of cognac that was burning her throat. She sputtered a bit, patting at her chest before answering. "Drive you mad? Sir, I don't-
"That," he breathed, his gaze intense and dark as it fell onto her. "That moniker is exquisite coming past your lips. You have no idea how difficult it is to keep myself in control in front of a class of twenty young adults when you call me 'Sir'."
Hermione shook her head, blinking several times as she looked at the man sitting in front of her. Ginny had definitely not been wrong, Professor Lupin- Remus was interested. And she knew, by the heat that was pooling between her thighs, so was she. Remus stood from his seat, moving to stand in front of where she sat. He looked down at her, his eyes darkened.
Slowly, he stooped over her, his hands clutching the arms of the chair she sat in, effectively caging her in the seat. The closer his head dipped to hers, the more she could smell that intoxicating blend of his spicy cologne, the hint of chocolate on his breath. His nose brushed the side of hers, his breath tickling her lips as he spoke.
"Lying asleep between the strokes of night, I saw my love lean over my sad bed, Pale as the duskiest lily's leaf or head, Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite," he whispered the lines of the poem, "Tell me, Hermione, is your throat made to bite?"
A small whining sound that she didn't recognize pulled from her chest as Remus smirked. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. She sighed at the contact, causing her lips to part. Remus' tongue quickly swept over her bottom lip, diving into her mouth and flavoring it with chocolate laced cognac.
Before she could stop herself, her shaking hands rose from their place in her lap, twisting into the sandy blond waves that hit the nape of his neck. He leaned forward, pressing into her, deepening the kiss and roaming her mouth. She felt dizzy from it, his lips were soft and the stubbly hair on his jaw scratched her face.
She had never been kissed like this before. Not by Ron, not by Theo, certainly not by Cormac. This kiss was deep and sensual, it was writing poetry of its own into her mouth, tracing refrains onto her tongue and building a silent soliloquy through her lips. She arched her back, pushing her chest into his and begging for more contact. Her heart was racing, she was certain he could feel it in her throat.
As if to test that theory, his mouth dropped from hers, his lips moved against her jawline before pressing searing kisses into her throat. Sucking at the tender skin of her pulsepoint, his teeth lightly nipping at it. She gasped as his tongue trailed up the column of her throat and landed just below her ear, his lips pulling her earlobe into his mouth as he lightly took it between his teeth.
"And all her face was honey to my mouth, and all her body pasture to mine eyes," Remus' voice was gravelly and thick with heat as he whispered the lines of the poem in her ear. "Although, I believe you taste even sweeter than honey, Hermione."
Hermione let out a low moan as her head fell to the side, his mouth continuing its assault on her throat, moving lower to her collar bone. Somewhere in her mind, it registered as he dropped down to his knees, continuing to press scorching kisses to her flesh. She briefly wondered how utterly inappropriate this was, wondered if he could get in trouble, if he-
"Your thoughts are loud," Remus whispered, his lips pressed against the base of her neck. "If you want me to stop-
"No!" Hermione said. Her outburst gifting her with a low chuckle from Remus as he smiled into her skin. "No, I- I don't want you to stop."
"Thank the Gods," he mumbled, "Because I have been dreaming of this for far too long."
"Mhmm," he nodded, "Darling, I haven't been able to take my eyes off you since the moment you walked through the doors of myclassroom and sat in that desk."
Hermione smiled, "Good."
His mouth left her chest to claim her lips again, this time one of his hands left the arm of the chair and sank into her curls, cradling the beck of her head. The other landed on her thigh, just below the hem of her dress. She felt a shiver tear through her skin as his fingers traced invisible patterns into the skin above her knee. Her hands moved over his chest, nails raking at the stiff material of the button down shirt he had on.
She never did this. Never got caught in a predicament that would have her lip locked with a near-stranger, no drunken nights at frat parties or pubs just off campus. No one night stands from the men she danced with at the clubs Ginny dragged her to. And never in her wildest dreams would she have thought here, in Professor Remus Lupin's office! Well, maybe in her wildest dreams. But then again, she supposed, he wasn't a stranger. Not really.
Hermione was ripped from her thoughts as her fingers undid the top button of that perfectly pressed shirt. Remus smiled against her mouth and she felt as he pushed into her, sinking her back into the chair as his hand left her hair and rested on her other thigh. His fingers gripped her flesh, pulling her to the edge of the seat before resting between her knees. Slowly, he pried them apart, settling between them.
Never had she been in this position, with a breath-takingly beautiful man on his knees between her thighs. She felt her face go hot again and she pulled back from his mouth, assessing their position. He quirked an eyebrow at her and her face ran hot, her eyes looking away from his intense gaze.
His hands gripped her thighs, his thumbs pressing to the insides. He was eye level with her chest, her unsteady puffs of nervous breath painting his forehead and she was suddenly very glad she had let Ginny talk her into wearing the lacy number that was under the skirt of her dress. This man was experienced, he was going after what he wanted, rendering her a puddle of need in the chair before him. It would have been simply ridiculous for his hands to find the floral, cotton knickers she usually wore.
Her mind blanched at that. Did she want him to see her knickers? Did she want him to know how ruined the lacy scrap of material that was resting against her right now was? Did she want him to know that even though she would never in a million years tell Ginny, every single time she left his class she was uncomfortably damp and she thought about him frequently when she was left alone to take care of her needs?
Yes, God, yes.
She seized forward, burying the nerves and deciding to just relish in the fact that her fantasy has somehow become reality. Hermione's hands cupped his face, her fingers digging into his scalp behind his ears. Remus chuckled into her mouth, God that laugh, and she felt his hands move further up the insides of her thighs. When the outstretched finger of his right hand traced her through the damp lace, she nearly sobbed.
"Aren't you sweet?" Remus cooed against her mouth, "So wet for me already, ever the model student, aren't you?"
He pulled his face away from hers, pressing his lips down her jaw, throat and chest. His finger tracing over her knickers, ever so lightly. She rolled her hips forward, her breath stuttering at the increased pressure. His eyebrow arched, his smirk broadening as he pulled away from her chest, his eyes practically dancing with mischief.
Remus pushed the skirt of her dress up to her hips, sighing as he revealed the red lace his fingers were pressed against. "Did your homework, did you?" he whispered, "How did you know red is my favorite color?"
"Lucky guess," she answered.
"Very lucky, indeed." Remus said, "But I have to admit, I have a theory that my favorite color may change."
"Another theory?" she breathed.
He nodded, his head moving forward, his nose nearly touching the apex of her thighs, his breath hot against the slick saturated material. "Yes. I think whatever shade of pink that lies beneath this scrap of lace will very soon become my favorite color."
If she didn't know without a doubt that her own mind was incapable of supplying the filthy words Professor Lupin was saying to her, she would have thought she imagined it. Because even in her dreams, her fantasies, Remus Lupin had not spoken to her like this. She found she rather liked it.
"I can't imagine you'll be disappointed, then." Hermione whispered.
"No, I don't think I will."
Remus' index finger curled around the lace, pulling it to the side. Hermione hadn't felt so exposed before, having someone stare into her as she sat spread before them, she thought she should feel embarrassed. The thought was fleeting as his finger made contact with the delicate skin of her folds, trailing through them before landing at her entrance. He surged forward, his mouth landing on her, the flat of his tongue pulling up, before pressing his lips against her clit, sucking lightly on it.
Hermione jolted forward, nearly bucking him from her as her hips rolled against the chair. She felt her hands dig into the cushion of the arm rests, her fingertips going white and her nails bending under the pressure.
Remus continued to devour her, and when his teasing finger finally slid inside of her, crooking upward and stroking her inner walls, she felt her breath hitch, her toes curling as one hand left the chair and dug into his scalp. She felt him smile against her before flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves while slipping another finger inside of her, effectively shattering her in a matter of seconds.
She felt her walls flutter and clamp down onto his fingers as her head fell back, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. When Remus moved, pulling his face up to hers, his eyes half lidded, his stubble glistening with her slick, she nearly fell apart again.
Remus captured her lips, the taste of her diluting the chocolate and cognac on his tongue. His knee landed between her thighs and he pressed forward. Hermione pushed up from the chair, nearly falling forward into his chest as he backed against the wall. She could feel his length, hard against her hip as his tongue, that glorious tongue, massaged the inside of her mouth.
Hermione's hands dragged over Remus' torso, her nails scraping over him. She felt him shudder and she smirked against his mouth, her palm resting against his hardened cock. He hissed as she stroked him over his trousers and she soon found her hands fumbling at his belt, unbuckling it and pushing the button of his trousers through the loop.
"You don't have to…" he whispered, the first hint of uncertainty she had heard from him all evening.
"I know," she said, her mouth falling from his and pressing against the front of his throat. "I want to."
A low sound rumbled through his chest, almost a growl, and Hermione wondered briefly if she could destroy her knickers any more than they already were. When his hand pressed gently to the front of her throat, she realized that she could, indeed.
Hermione's hand slipped into the opening of Remus' trousers and under the elastic of his boxers, her hands closing around his length, stroking it a few times and smiling at the hissing groans he breathed into her neck. His hands fell from her throat and hair and pushed up her dress again, thumbs hooking into the lace and dragging it down her thighs. She shimmied, kicking them off from around her knees and launched herself up, climbing him like a tree.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her ankles hooking to anchor her hold on his hips. She reached between them, freeing him from the confines of his trousers and positioning the head of his cock at her entrance. He rocked against her gently, teasing her, and she wondered how much control this man had that he could feel her wet heat against him and still tease her.
The question was answered fairly quickly, when he pushed forward, sheathing himself inside of her. She gasped, her elbows dug into the tops of his shoulders as her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands sinking into his hair and fingernails scraping along his scalp.
"There has never been a feeling more magnificent than you wrapped around my cock," he groaned, his words coming out in panting breaths.
As her body adjusted to the feel of him, her walls stretching around him, he began to rock into her, his thrusts slow and deep. He whispered filthy words into the kisses he seared into her throat, his teeth grazing over the skin as his hands gripped the round of her rear, holding her in place. She met each thrust with a roll of her hips, her gasps soon falling into moans of pleasure and prayers to ancient Gods.
"Please," she begged, needing the excruciatingly slow pace he had set, to intensify.
"I intend to," he rasped, his hips bucking harder into hers. "The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south. The bright light feet, the splendid- supple- thighs…" His hands wrapped around her underside of her thighs, his fingers digging into the juncture where her thighs met her buttocks and spreading it apart, punctuating each word of the erotic poem with a hard thrust into her.
Hermione's head fell back, smacking against the wall as her moans turned to cries. Her hips rolling against his over and over, the room filling with the mantra of slapping flesh, pleas, and prayers. She felt his pace pick up again, and her own hand dove between them, her fingers swiping furiously over her clit as he pumped into her relentlessly, his teeth sinking into the crook of her neck.
She shattered, the coil behind her navel bursting apart. She yelled out, unable to stifle the loud cry as her body clenched around him, begging him not to leave and bringing him to his own end. Her hand dropped to her side, her other hand still twisted in his hair. Slowly, his hips stilled, his cock softening inside of her and slipping out. She unhooked her ankles from their hold on his waist and she stood, pressed between Remus and the wall, thankful for the support as her knees felt as if they would buckle under her weight. Her hands rested on his chest, her eyes closed as she collected her breath. She heard the zip of his fly as he tucked himself back into his trousers.
Remus leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. When he pulled away, she opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her.
"For future reference, Hermione, any time you want to discuss any theories, my office door is open."
a/n: The poem referenced is called Love and Sleep and it is by Algernon Charles Swineburn!
I hope you liked it! Please remember to review and check out Mayghaen17's stuff as well! Girl writes some of the best goddamn muggle AU you'll ever read. Also, if you're interested, I have a FB group: Mimifreed Writing
Thanks for reading :)