Ha! A little summer treat for you all. Betcha weren't expecting that, eh? ;-) I'm off away tomorrow and will probably have little or no internet so I thought I'd better get this up (as Lucius said to ... whomever you so choose ...). But, I also have good news on the original writing front, which would never have occurred if it wasn't for all of you. The other me, Demelza Hart, has a new book out. It's called In Service to the Senses and is available in all the usual places with the help of Google. If you like my writing, please consider getting it. It's only the price of a cup of coffee and, believe me, it's got a lot of Laurielove smutty goodness but with some smouldering romance too, and a hero you'll adore.
In the meantime, Severus is as busy as ever. I have long imagined a story with him and Hermione in the woods. I like bluebells and I like buttons and I like Severus' vulnerability and wonder at what is happening here. But when he gets into it ... oh yes. A post-war story. Snape has miraculously survived and Hermione is not far off twenty.
'You will touch only the required substances and you will not stray from the path. Is that understood?'
'Yes, Professor Snape.'
'Good. Then we can proceed. Follow Professor Sprout. I will bring up the rear.'
He motioned for the class to walk ahead of him through the forest. They all did. Except one. He clenched his jaw in frustration. How predictable.
She had not gone on with the others but hung back, studying a formation in the bark of an oak tree.
She was bending from the waist, intent on the object which had captured her attention. 'Have you seen this, Professor? I can't believe this is a natural development. It must be related to the enchantment in the forest. I've never seen growth like it in any –'
'Miss Granger, did you not hear me?'
She turned around, her face at last registering awareness. 'Hear what?'
'I instructed you and the rest of the class to walk ahead with Professor Sprout.'
'Oh, yes, I did hear, but I'm not exactly part of the class now, am I? I'll catch up with them, don't worry.'
He tutted audibly. 'I'm not worried, Miss Granger. You do not cause me worry in any shape or form, I can assure you, but I still expect you to conform to my demands as your teacher.'
The Granger girl raised herself up and crossed her arms. He'd incurred her annoyance, clearly. But then, that wasn't difficult. She relished any opportunity to exert her opinions and sense of superiority, the aggravating chit. Despite her experiences, she retained her headstrong, bloody-minded approach to all she did. It infuriated him.
'I am, may I remind you, not just your student anymore, Professor, but your assistant. Professor McGonagall made that very clear. I may be here finally to conclude my NEWTs, but my experience and skills are to be put to good use to aid others, both students and staff.'
He narrowed his eyes and glowered down at her, mirroring her stance with crossed arms of his own. 'Your arrogance really is quite astounding, isn't it?'
'Is it?' Her jaw jutted out defiantly. 'I suppose you'd know, as it's surpassed only by your own.'
His lips tensed and his mouth opened. Words of rebuke formed on the tip of his tongue, but as she stared hard into him with those ridiculously large brown eyes, none emerged. He spun on his heels. 'Come! We must at least appear to be part of this banal expedition.'
'It's just a field trip, Professor. And it's not banal. I like getting out of the castle into the forest.'
'You would,' he muttered morosely, striding purposefully ahead of her. For once, she followed.
'What was that?'
'Nothing. Walk, don't talk.'
The others had gone further ahead and were now gathered in a little circle while Professor Sprout lectured them on faerie fungi. Snape rolled his eyes. Fungi were of great use in potions, which was the main reason he had been press-ganged into joining this trip, but his colleague's delivery made him numb with boredom. She clearly had no need for him. He hung back and glanced behind him. Granger was a way off from him down a slope, once again intent on her own interests. He paced back down towards her.
'The class is up there. You should be with them,' he declared as he approached.
'Oh, never mind them. I know all that anyway. I studied it when we were camping out in the Forest of Dean last year.'
She walked on deeper into the woods. It was April and there was a covering of bluebells everywhere he looked. Granger walked purposefully through them. He followed with a growl of aggravation. She bent down in front of him. Were the school skirts supposed to stretch so tightly like that? The girl indicated some indentations in the ground. 'These centaur tracks are interesting, don't you think? Look. Two have been here. It looks like they were mating. Can you see how the tracks are close together here, and there are only six hoof prints. Clearly the male was mounting the female at this point and –'
'Really, Miss Granger! Must you?'
She looked up, eyes wide with surprise at his interruption. 'What?'
'Is it entirely necessary to discuss such matters?'
'Oh, for goodness sake. It's nature, Professor! Nothing we don't know about.'
'You're supposed to be studying fungi and their use in potions.'
She stood up, stepping closer to him and smirking. 'Oh but even you must think lusty centaurs are a far more interesting topic, hey, Professor?'
It had suddenly become very warm. 'Not … really.' He didn't know where to look. She was staring straight into him. It had a rather curious effect on his lower parts.
'Professor Snape, you've suddenly gone rather pink.'
He felt colour flooding his cheeks. He was sure he'd now gone rather scarlet.
'It's a hot day, that's all.'
'It is.' Her eyes dropped to his torso. 'And yet you insist on wearing your full robes. Why don't you take them off?'
'Umm …' His brain felt as if it wasn't working properly. All his blood seemed to be flowing elsewhere.
Granger stood, arms crossed again, a teasing half-smile on her face. Her tongue flittered out momentarily to dampen her lips. He really wished it hadn't. It didn't help the blood flow situation. 'Umm …' was all he could manage again.
'Come on, Professor.' She leaned in closer and quirked an eyebrow before whispering conspiratorially, 'I won't tell if you don't.'
Then, without hesitation she brought her hands up to his robes. Taking hold of them at the shoulders, she started to push them off. He could barely breathe and took an instinctive step back.
'What are you doing?'
'Trying to make you more comfortable.'
'Teachers are expected to wear their robes when teaching.'
'Well, in case you hadn't noticed, your class is nowhere to be seen. You're not really doing much teaching, are you?'
'You're in my class.'
'We've already discussed that. I don't count.'
'You do to me.'
He wished he hadn't said it like that. For a moment she looked fully into him and her eyes widened as she lost her careful control. But she quickly dropped her gaze and returned instead to focussing on removing his robes. This time he found himself standing there as she pushed them back from his shoulders. He could feel her fingers, slight but remarkably assured, through the cloth of his coat, which remained underneath. His outer robes tumbled to the bluebell covered ground beneath him. His eyes returned to her.
'There,' she smiled. 'That's a start. You've still got that black frock coat on though. It must be ridiculously hot. The colour black absorbs the heat.'
At last he could regain the upper hand. 'Black is not a colour. It is the absence of colour.'
'Only with regard to light. But of course in this case I refer to a dye, a pigment. The black pigment in your clothing is most certainly absorbing the heat.'
His lip curled in annoyance but he soon forgot it. She was standing remarkably close. He could smell her perfume. He could see the faint little freckles dotting her nose.
'You must still be very hot, Professor? Are you?'
He was staring into those eyes again, and she was not averting them. He nodded, unable not to. He was so stupidly hot he couldn't imagine ever feeling cold again. Not if she was around.
'Why don't you take off your coat?'
Perhaps he was hot because he couldn't breathe. It hurt to breathe. His chest was so tight he wondered if something alarmingly medical was happening. But blood was certainly flowing now. It pounded through his head and then dashed to … Oh gods, right there. She'd see, surely? Please no, not that. He was losing all control. Should he move his hands to cover it? No! That would make it even worse. It would be bloody obvious if he did that.
She'd asked him a question. He'd have to answer. 'I can't.'
'Why not?' Why was her voice suddenly so soft and low? He felt as if she was caressing him with it.
'Because …' He'd have to think of something! 'Because … there are … too many … buttons.'
She gave another of those wicked little smiles which made his insides prance like a spring lamb. 'I noticed.'
'Yes.' Her voice was yet lower, her eyes deeper, her perfume more potent. 'I've noticed for quite a while. Your buttons are quite distracting, Professor Snape.'
His Adam's apple lurched. 'Are they?'
'For how long have you been distracted by … my buttons?'
'About three years.'
She nodded slowly, still looking straight into him. He swallowed.
'You didn't give me any indication that you found my buttons so distracting.'
'Well … that would have been rather awkward, wouldn't it?'
'Yes, I suppose it would have been.'
'But now that I'm nineteen and … your assistant –'
'Student …' he corrected although he didn't believe it himself. 'Student assistant … thing …'
'Now that I'm nineteen and your student assistant thing, I feel compelled to tell you that I find your buttons very, very distracting indeed.'
'So distracting in fact, that I can think of nothing else.'
He couldn't stop. 'I see … and … umm … how do you suggest extending your interest in … my buttons?'
'Well … I could … count them.'
'I suppose you … could.'
She placed her hands on his coat and slid them up to end at his collar. He sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingers curled around his top button.
'One.' She pressed it out of its eye. Her hands slid down to the next.
'Two.' Again, she undid it.
'Three.' He felt the tight material loosening at his chest.
'Miss Granger …'
'Six. Seven. Eight.'
'Miss Granger, really, you …'
'Nine. Ten. Eleven.'
It was too late.
'Twelve. Thirteen.' The last button succumbed to her fingers. His coat parted fully to reveal the white shirt beneath.
'Thirteen buttons, Professor. An unlucky number … for some.' She drew her hands up to his shoulders and peeled back his coat. He flexed his arms and knew that he was easing its progress off. The black garment fell to join his robes in the carpet of bluebells.
'Better?' she murmured, closer still. Her lips were dark and full, her eyes even more so. He couldn't move. He didn't want to move.
'Better,' he concurred. She was closer. Closer.
Her lips touched his. Soft. Warm. Giving.
When was the last time someone had given to him? It shocked him and he jerked back, breaking contact.
'What was that?' he asked, genuinely bewildered.
'What?' she murmured, her eyes averted at last, as if the reality of what was happening had registered.
'That … that thing … that mouth thing.' His fingers flitted to his lips and the memory of her touch, and he frowned, trying to find reason amidst the confused chaos of his soul.
'A kiss. It was a kiss. I kissed you.'
'You can't do that! I'm your teacher! You're my student assi –' He struggled to form words.
'Student assistant thing.'
'Yes! That! You can't! We can't!' He swayed back, clasping his head.
Her eyes were closed and she was shaking her head slightly, as if trying to force sense back to herself. 'I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't think. I'm sorry, it was stupid … I … I'll … go now.' She started to walk away past him.
His hand came out and grabbed her arm before she was beyond him. He pulled her back, so hard she was spun around and fell fully against him with a gasp of shock. He gave her no time to recover her breath. His hands gripped her head, turning it up to him, and his mouth crashed down onto hers.
Gone was any hesitation or shyness. Never had he wanted anything so much. Not since … He groaned, gripping her head tighter and opening her mouth with his. She was warm and dewy and she welcomed him in. Her tongue flicked to his and the delight of it was startling. Instinct overrode sense. It had been so long since he had kissed a woman but now he remembered himself as if it was yesterday. Her hands rose up, clinging first to his shoulders, then holding the back of his neck and tangling in his hair. He became dizzy with the rush of exhilaration and desire and had to pull back for air. He gasped in and she held him against her, nestling him in the crook of her neck and he knew then that it was the most comforting place in the world. He wanted to stay forever. But the blood flow situation was pressing on him, or rather on his groin. Desire ground it forward, pushing it into her. He feared she would flee but instead she pressed against it herself and he felt a jolt of pleasure. She had rubbed her hand against it through his trousers. She did so again, rhythmically and concertedly, before her nimble fingers sought out the buttons.
'Are you sure?' he muttered, his words changing to a moan of pleasure.
'More sure than anything, Severus.'
She had said his name. Spoken it aloud. Made their intimacy permissible. He let her undo the buttons of his trousers while he rid himself of his belt, socks and shoes.
He retained his underwear and she turned her attention to his upper body again, smiling and taking his shirt in her hands. 'I want to see you.'
Severus was gripped with a sudden hopeless inadequacy. He lacked the muscular definition of the young men she knew. Skinny, scrawny, he had been told in his youth. He spent hours closeted in the darkest parts of the castle, eschewing sunlight – his skin was pale and white, not the honed dark ripples of her contemporaries. His arms stayed rigidly by his side as she attempted to lift his shirt off.
Hermione smiled and kissed him again. 'I've waited for you. Let me in, Severus.' She tugged and the constant pounding at his groin gave him no choice but to lift his arms. She pulled his shirt over his head. He couldn't look at her, but as soon as his body was revealed, she dropped her head to the pale flesh and planted a myriad of kisses over it. Her hands flittered across his skin and she kissed and inhaled all he was. He held his hands to the side as she absorbed him.
'You are so, so beautiful,' she murmured. Years of working for Voldemort had hardened his lean frame, he knew that, and in the pale light of the woods, he exuded an alabaster sculpted smoothness which she now revelled in. He needed to see her as she saw him. His fingers fumbled at her shirt, not now with uncertainty but desperation. She helped, quickly tearing at the buttons and tugging the garment off. She pushed down her skirt and cast that aside next. Hermione Granger stood before him in a white bra and pants and she was perfect. What had he done to deserve her?
But now he had her, he would claim her. The self-possession he exhibited in the domain of Hogwarts and among the Death Eaters returned and he fixed her with dark eyes, quirking an eyebrow. 'Miss Granger … you are blatantly flouting the rules regarding uniform, and I must say …' He brought a finger under her chin and lifted it. 'It suits you most remarkably.'
Holding his gaze with stunningly confident flirtation, she took his wrist and pulled his hand closer to her. He needed no further guidance. His other hand took hold of the back of her neck, holding her to him, and, looking directly into her eyes, he slipped long fingers under the elastic top of her knickers. Her mouth parted a little in anticipation and he could see the neat little row of her white teeth.
He came across soft hair – all her – but he continued down, his fingers questing towards her very essence. There. Soft and smooth and warm and so very wet. For him. He found the groove of the middle and slid his longest finger down through it. Her eyes widened and her breath caught, but still he stared into her as his finger continued. He curled his finger up into the opening, absorbing that exquisite sensation of heat and woman before dragging it back up, then down again, ensuring he rubbed over the little bundle of nerves at the apex each time. Her brows creased, not with annoyance, but with pure pleasure. She was biting her lip now and little mewls escaped her every now and then. She was entirely his.
He wanted to give it to her. Pleasure. At his hands, one hand, one finger even, quickly and fully and now. He wanted to hold her in his eyes while she came for him. He could do it. Even him. For her.
Her eyes darted between his and her mouth opened again. She was close. Her shallow breath and pink cheeks told him that. He hadn't forgotten how to please a woman, and it caused a surge of pride and a swell of his already hardened cock.
That solitary, long finger continued to stroke and rub and dip in and out and around until she suddenly threw a hand up to grip onto his shoulder and she bucked on him, shaking, her eyes wide and unseeing, her mouth open and gasping.
She slumped against his shoulder, drawing long slow breaths of after pleasure.
His soul told him that was enough. To give to her was enough, but his cock had other ideas, and when her warm hand reached inside his underwear and took hold of it, he had to act. He pushed down his underwear, revealing his erection fully and without shame.
She glanced down and couldn't look away. Was he too big? Too long? It had been commented on before. But then she dropped to her knees and studied it. He stood tall and let her.
She licked. One long, slow lick from the root to the tip, and he could die happy. His eyes closed and his head fell back and he felt more. He was enclosed in the warm wetness of her mouth, and her tongue and lips – remarkably skilled (how many times had she done this before and to whom?) – sucked and licked unfathomable sensation from him. He forced his head down and gazed on her as she went at him, taking him deep before dragging her lips back up tight and tonguing the tip. Oh, sweet Merlin, he would explode!
With a supreme effort, he reached down and pulled her away from him. Her bra and knickers were soon off and they were both naked before the other.
He pulled her to the ground, crushing the bluebells beneath her. Her hair spread out around her like a halo of burnished softness.
'I have to be inside you. Hermione …'
He moved atop and pushed her right leg up, angling it out to open her for him. She let her arms fall above her head and waited. He placed himself carefully and then, when she looked into him, pushed in with a groan of intense pleasure. He pushed again and again, not stopping until he was fully and completely inside her.
She moaned now, once, a quick sharp moan of surprise. 'Oh God, that's full!'
'Tell me,' he said. Did he sound harsh? Demanding? It didn't matter. He wanted to hear all it was as well as feel it. He pushed up again, reinforcing his presence. Circe, she was tight. He swallowed hard to stem the raging glory of it.
'Move again. I want to feel you moving in me,' she said. He did. Slowly out, then sharply back in, pounding back up, making her back buckle, and eliciting another groan. 'That's it. That's incredible. Oh God, you're big. I love it. I love that feeling.'
'What? What? Say it.' He pushed back, harder yet and her cry was caught in her throat.
'The feeling of fullness, of completion, completion on you. Just you. Inside me, filling me, fucking me. Fuck me, fuck me.'
Merlin, Hermione Granger had just told him to fuck her. And he was. He fucked her now. His cock, harder and fuller than ever, went at her furiously, pounding into her, thrusting and ploughing his way through her glorious body. She clung to his back, urging him on.
'Yes, yes! Don't stop that. I want that. I want you.'
'How long? How long have you wanted it?'
'So long. Watching you, wondering, dreaming.'
He didn't slow his strokes. His questions came through groans and thrusts. Her flesh parted for him each time, enclosing upon him.
'In my class? Did you sit there in class and think about me? Think about this?'
'Yes. Nothing else. I wanted you, wanted your body, wanted your cock inside me. Like now. Fucking me. Fucking me so hard.'
He was frantic now. His body was damp with sweat, and words were abandoned as he pistoned through her. She clung on tight, as if he would disappear if she didn't. Her hands gripped the flexing, straining muscles of his back so hard she would leave scratches. Her body seemed fitted just for him and he worked her with instinctive skill, arching and angling his body and cock to nuzzle and build pleasure irrevocably. He pushed up on his arms at one point to gaze down at her, but one glimpse of her face, rapturous and devoted, and he had to bury himself in her neck again or he would finish too soon.
She had stopped talking but instead made little sounds of sweet abandon and rising rapture. He reached between her legs to find her clitoris and, in time with the insistent thrusting of his cock, he brought her to the edge.
She froze on him with a sudden intake of breath and he felt it. Her orgasm clamped around his cock ferociously and she shook it out wildly. She whined long and loud and her body juddered helplessly beneath him. He had to move through the end of it as his own pleasure couldn't be contained. He gripped her backside, pushing himself deeper yet through her flesh and plunging into her with blurring desperation. Pleasure grew, grew, grew then crashed over him, wild and unstoppable. He spewed all his affirmation into her, thick, long jolts of seed bursting into her body time and again, copious and hot. With it he groaned in that same low baritone rumble and she clung ever tighter to him.
When at last he regained sense, he lay atop her, heavily he knew, but neither cared. Her hand fell across his back and held him.
'You were made for me,' she panted. 'You were. Made for me. Perfect fit. Perfect man for me.'
He was thankful his head was still buried in her neck as he felt a strange prickling at his eyes.
'Are you alright lying there?' he managed at last.
She laughed as best she could. 'I have a blanket of bluebells.'
He lifted himself and kissed her. 'Beautiful girl.'
Her eyes widened suddenly. 'What if the others see? Shit. We'd better get up. They'll be finished soon.'
He groaned. 'Does that mean I have to come out of you?'
'Only for now? Promise me.'
'Only for now. I promise.'
With agonised slowness, desperate not to leave her perfect heat, he slipped out. Some of his seed slipped out with him and he fumbled in his coat for a handkerchief. 'Here. I'm sorry. Always a mess.' He'd forgotten.
She smiled. 'I've never been offered a handkerchief before.'
How many times before had there been, he wondered.
They dressed rapidly, aware of their precarious position. The midday sun was creeping through the canopy, casting patterns of dappled light on the blue floor. He had never seen a more beautiful sight as Hermione replaced her clothes, her hair more unruly than ever about her.
'Ah! Severus! Hermione! Wherever have you been? I've finished my lecture. I was expecting you to round it up.'
Professor Sprout was marching down the slope towards them with a trail of students in her wake.
'My fault, Professor,' started Hermione. 'I was distracted by some fascinating tree formations. You know your topic so well; our own knowledge is inadequate. We thought it best to allow you a free rein.'
Professor Sprout's eyes lit up at the compliment and her face relaxed. 'Ah well. I suppose you have a point. What exactly were you doing?'
Hermione glanced at him, a slight look of panic on her face.
'Studying relationships in nature. Harmony of the natural world,' Severus replied.
Pomona Sprout's nose wrinkled. 'It's not like you to come out with feeble clichés, Severus. Are you feeling alright?'
'Quite alright,' he retorted with his usual bite, shutting down further conversation.
Pomona raised herself up and shook off her confusion. 'Well then. I suppose we should be getting back. You two bring up the rear again.'
The class walked ahead, led by Pomona. Hermione and Severus followed them, hanging back a little. He felt something at his hand and looked down. Hermione had slid her fingers through his. No one had held his hand since …
He gave her fingers a little squeeze and walked on. He was replete with happiness. Perhaps he would re-evaluate his opinion of field trips after all.
Thirteen buttons. He'd never counted.
Still love him. Hope you enjoyed that. Thanks for sticking with me, and if you want to explore my original writing too, I would be thrilled. In addition, like my facebook page, Laurielove, for news and laughs.