Chapter 1: Muddy Waters
Hermione walked into the bar, not paying much attention to anyone or anything. Her day had gone from a mildly irritable to a shit storm in less than three hours and had managed to stay that way the entire rest of the day. All she wanted now was to forget the past 12 hours in a bottle of red wine and a crowd of people who didn't know her as the female member of the golden trio. The more people she could surround herself with, the more she would be able to distract herself into not thinking. And this bar seemed like just the place.
After opening a tab and thanking the bartender for his generous pour, she found herself at a table in the back of the bar, shielded from view by most and able to watch and listen to the steady drone of conversation around her. She thought it strange that, on a Friday night, there wasn't any sort of horrible dance music playing. As if on cue, the lights dim and a drummer, bassist, and guitar player walk out to the makeshift stage at the opposite end of the bar.
'Great, just what I need.' she thought. 'A sub-par cover band playing pop songs out of tune for the drunken revelers to relieve their glory days. Just add this to the rest of my day.'
She would stay until she finished her wine. It would be a waste to leave it mostly full; it really was a good red.
"Ooohhm" the first notes rang out into the bar.
Severus smirked to himself, hearing the crowds roar cease immediately. This was his favorite part. Let the intrigue grow before stepping out. He wanted all eyes on him.
"Ooohhm" as the second drop hit, he strode out, tambourine in hand. His eyes cut a sharp, severe picture, but that didn't mean he couldn't be playful.
Eyes cast downward, he attempted a slight smile. Soon he would reveal his gaze. He grabbed the microphone stand as the crowd clapped and cheered. Either the audience was pleasantly polite or there were a few in the crowd that had heard them play before. Stepping back, his tambourine kept pace with the drummer, flirting with the audience before raising his gaze and opening his mouth.
Hermione was stunned. This wasn't a shitty pop cover. This was actual, decent, music. She could feel the emotion through the bass at her feet. She could see the atmosphere of the notes as if she were in a dream. Her inner thoughts quieted as she sat, her undivided attention on the singer taking the stage. His stride matched the rhythm of the opening notes.
His first vocalizations rang out in the room.
We are kneeling at the river's edge and tempting
All the steps to follow closer right behind
Is it only when you feel a part is empty
That it’s gnawing at the corners of your mind
Hermione was unable to move. She would recognize that voice anywhere; the sultry notes, the deep grovel. Surely she must be mistaken.
He sang as if it were a story he was telling; maybe that's because it was. It almost sounded self deprecating.
I will ask you for mercy
He smirked; it was.
I will come to you blind
What you’ll see is the worst me
Not the last of my kind
His songs never failed to transport him back in time. On his knees, sobbing, at the mercy of Dumbledore. Explaining his treachery, then later grieving the loss of Lily.
Lily. This next part was his imagination playing out her side.
In the muddy water we’re falling
In the muddy water we’re crawling
Holds me down
Hold me now
Sold me out
In the muddy waters we’re falling
Keep it moving, Severus.
The story was mesmerizing. The pain, the loathing, the hurt, all coming from a few simple words. It continued.
It is not clear why we choose the fire pathway
Where we end is not the way that we had planned
All the spirits gather 'round like it's our last day
To get across you know we’ll have to raise the sand
It took until the second bridge for Hermione to try to put context to the story. What was he pulling on when he wrote it? It sounded an awful lot like the memory Snape had given Harry as he lay, dying, in the Shrieking Shack. Somehow a memory didn't evoke nearly as much knowledge as the subtle caress of words coming out of his mouth or the blatant pleading leaving his throat.
Putting feeling in now, Severus let the chorus wash through him, accepting his actions, embracing the fact that he was never good enough for pure, sweet Lily. He looked up through the crowd, scanning for reactions. One face stuck out in the dim light and almost made him falter. Granger. He looked away, willing her not to have noticed his gaze. The next part would be difficult.
Not for the first time that night, she was thankful she was in the back of the bar. It felt as if she were intruding on something private. She hadn't moved the entire song.
Don’t fail me now
Put your arms around me and pull me out
I know I’m found
With your arms around me, oh save me now
She gasped. She shouldn't be here. Her vision was flooded with those pivotal moments in the Shrieking Shack, after Harry had ended the battle. She had gone back for him, unwilling to let him lay and rot. Leaning down over his body, she felt heat still radiating. She checked his pulse. It was weak, but still beating. With pure adrenaline and magic she didn't even know she possessed, she managed to take him to the hospital wing and make enough of a racket that Poppy had to prioritize stabilizing him. The only thing that allowed him to survive was the antivenom he had apparently downed after being summoned by Voldemort. She blinked rapidly. He had wanted to live, and they had almost left him there to die, anyway.
Did he know she was the one who went back for him?
He couldn't look at that entire side of the room as his last lyrics rang out. This part was for her. Did she know? He hoped she didn't. He hoped she did.
The rest of his set would be entertaining, to say the least. He was going to have fun. Immersing himself fully into the music, the final chorus rang out. The song finished with redemption. Who didn't love a happy ending?
Chapter 2: Lost on You
Lost on You - LP
Hermione grabbed at her glass and took a hearty gulp, desperate for the caress of alcohol in her bloodstream to lower her inhibitions enough to indulge in the sound her former professors voice. Well, not just his voice, she thought. You'd be blind not to notice his arse. Or those legs. The way his shirt was suggestively unbuttoned. Who knew Professor Snape looked like that under his billowing robe?
Feeling her cheeks warm, she took another sip.
To Hermione's surprise, although if she was being honest it really shouldn't have surprised her, the lead guitarist stepped up to his microphone and welcomed everyone.
"Thank you all for coming out," he addressed the crowd.
Snape was looking down at the ground. 'Never one to be social' Hermione's mind supplied, helpfully.
"Hope your Friday night is living up to it's expectations. If not, kick us out." There was laughter from the audience.
"That last song was called Muddy Waters. This next one is Lost on You." Taking a step back, the guitarist strummed the opening chords before his hands fell suddenly.
Severus 'Wait, when did I start thinking of him as Severus??' was at the mic.
"Uh, Hey," he said, coolly. "I'm not usually one for talking at the mic." The rest of the band and the crowd laughed. He looked surprised.
"Anyway, I'm feeling sentimental tonight." He paused. "I, uh, used to be a professor-" there were too many whistles and cheers to make Hermione comfortable. If you only knew, she thought, wryly.
Severus smirked at the crowd. "Consider this another lesson." He looked back at the band, obviously ready to start, when his bassist started frantically whispering to him. His body stiffened, hand still on the microphone, unaware that his voice projected throughout the room. "Why on earth would they come to that conclusion, you daft arse?"
It was Hermione's turn to grin. That was the Severus Snape she knew. The one that could publicly shame and humiliate you in four words, who could make your knees quake with one look. It seemed to be working on the bassist, as well.
Severus turned to address the audience. Tersely, he spat out "My bassist wants it clear to everyone that this song is not about a student. It's a lesson in life. Fuck love."
It was clear there would be no more discussion. The band began playing the opening notes.
His bassist was actually idiotic. There could be no other explanation. Why on earth would he write a song about a student? 'Current student' his brain clarified.
He looked through the crowd and then back down, moving in time with the beat, losing himself and his frustration in the music. This one was generally popular with crowds and he was feeling rather more freed than usual. There was no point in suppressing his pleasure. His hand was on his hip, he was relaxed. He licked his lips, and brought his eyes to the spot where he knew her to be.
When you get older, plainer, saner
When you remember all the danger we came from
Burning like embers, falling, tender
Long before the days of no surrender
Years ago and well you know
Hermione was frozen. He was looking straight at her, his unwavering gaze holding her down. Neither blinked. Those black orbs imprisoned her and penetrated the depths of her soul until his gaze lifted.
If he wasn't in the midst of a public performance, he would have legilmensed her. It was almost too tempting, despite his current predicament. What he would give to see a glimpse of her thoughts. He lifted his gaze, releasing her, and scanned the rest of the crowd.
Smoke 'em if you got 'em
'Cause it's going down
All I ever wanted was you
He smirked while he sang the next line.
I'll never get to heaven
'Cause I don't know how
Let's raise a glass or two
To all the things I've lost on you
People were dancing, feeling his music with their bodies. Good. His inner turmoil and pain for all those years was great fodder to dance to. The masochist roared in delight as the deepest parts of him became trivial pop ballads and Friday night dance music.
Hermione couldn't help but to try to decipher his song. It was convoluted, but she was fairly certain that the beginning was about the war. It sounded like a message specifically for her, but it couldn't be. He had no idea she would be here. And even if he did, this song was written obviously before tonight. It had to be a coincidence. Right? Why would he write anything to you? You were absolutely nothing to him but an insufferable know-it-all with buck teeth and an inability to critically analyze hugely complex problems. She shook her head, refocusing on her mission to analyze the meaning of his lyrics.
The second part was obviously about Lily. It was no secret that his heart held a never-fading flame for Harry's mother. He was a tragic war hero 'Who could sing like a demon,' she mused darkly, with a fatal flaw - to be destined to only have one love throughout his life. It really is sad, she thought, to never feel love reciprocated. Never have another to share his life with, who he loved and who loved him in return. She needed to stop this train of thought. It was too depressing for right now. She could mull it over later in the privacy of her own home. Or hotel room, remembering that the reason she was here tonight was due to the suitcase shrunk in the bag on her shoulder, holding all of her necessities - her life, neatly packed up, ready for a fresh start.
After the war, Ron had stopped beating around the bush and asked her out. She was thrilled and high on all of the energy and potential for the rest of their lives, Voldemort free. But after a couple of months, she quickly learned that the only thing they had in common was their loyalty to Harry and their desire to see the end of Voldemort. He talked for hours about Quidditch and whinged if she didn't make dinner. She was interested in finishing school, taking her NEWTs, and climbing up in her career. He wanted her to be a homemaker and to add to the Weasley line. She wanted him to have ambitions and stimulating conversation. And to pick up a damn book every once in a while.
These were all things that she resented, but couldn't convince herself were good enough reasons to leave him. Until she found him in their bed with Lavender Brown, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, his cock buried in her. Hermione laughed when she found them earlier this afternoon. The amount of relief she felt was insurmountable. Sure, she was angry and hurt. She was scared about what the future held. She was currently homeless, now that she thought about it. She was feeling guilty, mostly, for being glad it was over. Her pride was damaged, and her ego was sore, having someone like Ron cheat on you, so she stumbled into this bar tonight.
Right this moment, she couldn't bring herself to care, though. She ordered another glass of wine from someone walking past and settled in, drinking her fill of her former Potions Master as he gyrated his hips on the stage. As he sang, she couldn't help but pretend that the possessiveness he was putting into his song was for her. How would it feel for a man to love her that much, to be that fiercely possessive of her? Her heart fluttered.
Severus retreated into the music for the next couple of minutes. She was looking his way with a far-off look in her eyes. It intrigued him. This next part, he sang only for her.
So smoke 'em if you've got 'em
'Cause it's going down
All I ever wanted was you
Let's take a drink of heaven
This can turn around
His eyes pleaded with her from the stage.
Having her here tonight was something he never expected to happen. And then she stayed, surprising him even more. After the years of torment he caused her, he couldn't fathom why on earth she would be giving him the light of day, or listening to him sing sad songs about his part, and unbeknownst to Granger, about her.
He knew it didn't make sense, his obsession with her. He knew it was unhealthy and that it would be looked down upon. But if it helped him survive the war, and after, then he wasn't about to give it up now for propriety. In his classes, he greeted her infallible perfection with scathing remarks. Feedback on her essays dripped with contempt. He had loathed her as a student. But then she was gone. Off to hunt horcruxes, forced to live a thousand lifetimes on the run, and he selfishly missed feeling things. He missed the security of her hand whenever he posed a question in class. He missed her inability to keep her answers to herself, and her unwillingness to slack in any area of her studies. He missed his constant irritation and exasperation at her. Now her determination and brains were being used to help end a war. Anyone who thought Potter and Weasley could have survived a month evading capture, let alone hunting one of the most powerful wizards in history, was deluding themselves. She was the backbone of the whole mission, and he begrudgingly admired her for that. Sitting in his office alone at night, after keeping pesky DA members like Longbottom and Lovegood from being crucioed, he would think about the parallels of their lives. He would mourn her innocence being lost, and admire her courage and bravery, all at once. When he saw her again that night, he knew he was in over his head. He was right - she had matured. She no longer was naive in her assumptions of black and white. Her brain became more analytical rather than purely a fountain of retained information. Emaciated and battle scarred as she was, he couldn't help but notice her physical changes as well. Her hips had grown, giving her a more rounded figure. Her chest was more defined, her collar bones captivating.
As he lay on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, bleeding out, he thought he had hallucinated her there with him for his final breaths. She levitated him to the castle, but refused to stop touching him. Then, between bouts of consciousness, his eyes and his mind focused on her fingers. Touching him. It was not a hallucination. When had they become so soft, so nimble? He'd thought about them every night since. Sometimes they were tender, representing a love he would disillusion himself into being for him. Other times they were downright orgasmic, deftly running over his scarred and battered body, bring him pleasure he could only dream about. He would touch himself imagining it was her, bring himself to release, pretending his fingers were her own.
She was unsettled. Two songs in, she should not be re-evaluating everything she knew about the man on stage and trying to convince herself that her blown pupils and fast breathing were due to the alcohol in her system, not her rampant desire.
She wished she had a quill and parchment. It would make analyzing his lyrics so much easier. She grabbed a napkin and asked a waiter for a pen and began scribbling furiously, trying to distract herself from the responses her body was making to his every move.
Writing things only helped marginally. She could still hear his voice, a voice that was so wrought with emotions and passion, it was making it hard for her to concentrate. Her knickers were soaked. Her breathing was heavy. If she didn't control herself soon, so would be moaning, alone, in the back of a bar, to the voice of her former professor. The depravity only heightened the sensations. She was fucked.
The last half of the song was more about emotion than about lyrics. He scanned the crowd again, eager to see her face. Her head was down and she was... scribbling something on a napkin.
Was she taking notes? That chit! How dare she TAKE NOTES on his songs.
He was dumbfounded. He was irate. He was oddly turned on. He made up his mind right then to ask the sound guy to make sure she was in his dressing room when the set ended. He would give her a piece of his mind. If she wanted to play schoolgirl, he would give her a lesson she wasn't likely to forget for a long time. His mind gave way to images that he had to block immediately or face the embarrassment of being rock hard in front of an entire bar.
His frustration and desire poured into the song until its end, the last notes tapering out into melancholy.
Chapter 3: Recovery
Song: Recovery by LP
Stepping back, Severus took a breath and shut his eyes. When he opened them, his guitarist was looking intently at him, eyebrow raised in question. ‘Are you sure you want to do this song?’
He was asked every time. Every time he said yes. It was the hardest song to play for crowds; the lyrics were the hardest to speak aloud. His nerves were usually on edge, but tonight he felt added butterflies, explained only by the fact that one of the people referenced in this song was in the audience. This was it. He was laying his cards on the table if he gave his ascent. There was no way she wouldn’t know that it alluded to her. If she was still around after, he would seek her out.
He heard his guitarist say something to the crowd. “This is the last sad one, we promise. Then we’ll kick it up. Thanks for being with us tonight.”
He felt a flutter. It suspiciously felt like hope. He wouldn’t think about that. He closed his eyes again and nodded, waiting for the opening notes.
The room is dark, the blinds are shut tight.
And everything is still too much outside.
It may be over, but not tonight.
I may be older, but I still cry.
I can’t stop sleeping in your clothes
You can’t stop calling on the phone.
His eyes remained tightly shut, his hands white gripping the microphone. He took a shuddering breath.
Can’t you see, I’m in recovery?
Just let it be, I’m in recovery.
Opening his eyes, he chanced a glance in her direction. Their eyes met briefly before he looked away. He could see the pain and sadness in her deep brown irises. He still felt the pain of the bite. He felt the pain of his bite, too. She had been trying to care for him, but he drove her away. He acted like a trapped, wounded animal, lashing out at anything getting too close. She had been too close.
I’m holding on, I know I’m almost there
So don’t reach out and tell me that you care.
I’m finally sober, I see the light.
The worst is over, nobody died.
She swallowed thickly, her throat suddenly dry, her eyes stinging. Her breaths came in ragged. She felt him, she felt the emotions that he couldn’t express in the hospital wing. She felt the hurt, the anger, the despair. She felt the abandonment, and mostly, she felt his desire to not need anyone. His need to not rely on anyone. Even still, his stubborn, desperate independence, as if he couldn’t trust anyone. He probably couldn’t.
She felt the powerlessness he was conveying. His song telling her more than his words ever could. It washed over her. All of the feelings uniting in a cacophony of sound, a melody as haunting as it was captivating.
I’m still trying to let you go
Oh baby, please, leave me alone.
Oh. Oh. Oh. Could he -? No. Everyone knew his story. Everyone knew his heart belonged to her, forever. It was his driving force. Was he-? Was she-?
Wishful thinking, Hermione. Stop it.
Can’t you see I’m in recovery?
Just let it be, I’m in recovery.
I know you wanna say you’re sorry
But I don’t wanna hear that story.
I don’t wanna be your fool anymore.
Can you see, I’m in recovery?
Despite it, though, she felt a flicker of hope. Completely irrational, but she couldn’t help herself. She knew that being single for 3 hours wasn’t enough time in the public eye to pine after someone, but if she was honest to herself, she had wanted him for far longer. His mind enticed her. The way he could analyze things, tear them down in a blink of an eye. His creativity. Not only in the potions classroom, apparently.
His pulse was pounding. His nerves were on fire. For the first time since writing this song, he actually felt angry at Lily. He funneled all that emotion through the bridge.
Always thought you’d be the one
Who always needed me
My home, you’d be my home.
Suddenly, your memory
In time is like an enemy, so cold.
He was laying her to rest; saying his final goodbyes. Lily would no longer haunt him, dominate his heart. He let go.
She’d harbored feelings for him for years. She went back to save him. She went to the hospital to see him. Despite his anger and his insults, she couldn’t stop herself. His mind was fascinating. And now that she knew what he looked like out of his teaching robes, she would have an even harder time not thinking about him.
She had fantasized about those hands so many times. His strong, yet nimble fingers. The way his hair cascaded around his shoulders. The way it might feel running through her fingers. The way he would feel on top of her.
She shook her head. This was a sad song. He was pouring his heart out in a bar and she could only think about how satisfying his weight on top of her would be.
Get a grip, Hermione. She flushed.
But it felt like an end. It felt like hope. She looked at him, willing him to be able to read her thoughts, her feelings for him.
His eyes raised to hers and held them.
Chapter 4: Up Against Me
Song: Up Against Me by LP
Video is somewhat important.
--Sex in this chapter.
There would be no rumination, no pity. He expressly forbade it and didn’t give the audience a chance, immediately fastening a guitar and going into the next song.
He nodded along.
I wanted more, it went away.
I asked the Lord, she said maybe
Gone was his trademark smirk, replaced with a strange, yet very sexual other lip movement.
I wanna take us all the way
Don't ever change
He winked at her in the crowd. It was quick and subtle, his hair almost obscuring the gesture, but he knew by her face that she caught it.
Don't believe the government or anything you read
Nothing really matters when you're up against me
After the last song, he was feeling freer than he had in a long time, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy it.
He hadn’t been this carefree since, well… he couldn’t remember, exactly. At least not without the aid of many muggle drugs. Cocaine was a favorite. But he wasn’t on anything tonight, unless you counted the two fingers of whiskey he had before getting on stage.
What did it matter? Tonight was shaping up to be a great night. She had endured the last song and not bolted. He was taking that as a sign. He would flirt shamelessly, without immediate repercussions, and hopefully take more than his hand home with him tonight.
They didn't tell us what we're up against
I just want you up against me
Hermione bit her lip, stifling a laugh. The previous song had been heartbreaking, but his ability to rebound was astonishing and always something that she admired. He was resilient. And he was damn sexy.
I just want you up against me
Up against me
She blushed but couldn’t seem to admonish herself for the thoughts running around in her head. After all, she was just following the lyrics of the song. Her back, pressed tightly to his chest. His hands, currently sinfully stroking the strings of his guitar, being put to better use just a few inches lower, on her body. She could feel the heat rising, never once letting her eyes leave him.
Draining her wine, she stood. Surely, she could influence someone to dance with her. It had been a long time since she was the mousey haired teenager with teeth resembling that of a beaver. Her knees no longer wobbled. In their place were firm thighs, a curve to her waist, smooth shoulders, and a defined collar bone. She wouldn’t delude herself into believing she was the most attractive one in the bar, but she had learned how to tame her hair, and she never left someone without a phone number or two, despite being with Ron at the time.
With stellar timing, her bartender from earlier, with the generous pour, headed her way.
“Is this a professional run or are you free to dance?” she asked, with a slight raise of her eyebrows and bite of her lip.
“Well…” he pontificated for a second “…I suppose they could get on without me for a few. Just a mo, let me throw this in the back” he untied his apron and chucked it over the bar. Then he took her hand and let her into the crowd. Her eyes remained glued to the lead singer.
He admired her cheek. She never failed to get a rise out of him, that was for sure. If this was the game she wanted to play, he was more than willing. He took her action as not only acknowledging his advance, but goading him on, parrying with him.
A tiny war inside your head
That chips away and wants you dead
It's all about what Lennon said
Let's change the world from bed
His hips rocked with the song, his body feeling the beat. He smirked, watching her. It felt like an invitation to dance with her. But she was untouchable in the crowd. She knew how to play the game, but he wasn’t going to let such a small thing like distance stop him from dancing with her. Two could play this game.
He matched her movements from the stage, complimenting them, using his guitar in her place. Her move.
And don't believe the government or anything you read
'Cause nothing really matters when you're up against me
Hermione almost choked when she realized what he was doing. Merlin, not only his hips, but his range! In her fantasies, he had growled, and his voice went gravelly and deep when he came. But now… what would he sound like? Would his voice instead go high? Would he scream if she sucked him just right? If she hit his prostate perfectly? She was more than damp just imagining the possibilities.
They didn't tell us what we're up against
I just want you up against me
She brought her dance partner closer. She was not one for sultry moves, usually. She kept things proper, but imagining that Severus was behind her, it was his warmth against her, his cock grinding on the small of her back, made her forego her more proper manners and instead give in to primal desires. She turned in whatever-his-name’s arms and ran her hand along his cheek bone, through the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging roughly, pulling his head back, while she ground herself against him, pressing herself along his body, letting him feel the wave of her hips undulating against his. All the while, her eyes never left His.
I just want you up against me
I just want you up against me
Up against me
Sweet Merlin, his body felt out of control. It was all he could do to keep singing right now. She was teasing him, practically fucking the poor bartender on the dance floor. The boy didn’t stand a chance. Neither did he. The wanton-ness of her moves intoxicated him. Somehow, she still managed to keep her grinding from looking cheap, like half of the rest of the crowd. He shuddered as his guitar pressed against his rock hard cock. He groaned.
They don't know our kind of love
Just come on over, my love
They don't know our kind of love
Just come on over
His hips thrust again, the anguish of his zipper pressed against his hot flesh doing nothing to abate the feeling creeping up on him.
They didn't tell us what we're up against
I just want you up against me
She was breathless by the end. She kissed the poor boy’s cheek and left him dazedly staring after her as she made her way towards where she knew the stage entrance was. Her body was more than ready, and if she didn’t have him “up against her” as he so aptly kept crooning, she would combust. She was sure of it.
With fire in her eyes, she willed him to look at her standing just off to the side of the stage.
Severus Snape could not put the microphone down fast enough. He practically threw his guitar to the stage hand in his haste to leave the stage. Concert over. Tough that it was only four songs in. They could make do without him for the rest of the night. Jimmy on bass was great at singing covers. He had more important things to do. More importantly, he had a very important person to do. Because by god, if she didn’t let him touch her, he would explode. His nerve endings were alight. His cock reminded him how very impatient he was with every breath he took, with every step. Every time it grated against his zipper, he was that much closer to vanishing his trousers altogether. Ten long strides to reach her.
He wasted no time with pleasantries, grabbing her by the elbow with a strength she knew would leave a mark. In less than thirty seconds, he wand was out, blasting open a door leading to an alleyway.
Well, she thought, Not what I imagined, but this will do.
She moaned as the cold air hit her and suddenly, she had him pinned to the brick behind them. Her lips were on his in a flash. He tasted earthy, yet sweet. He smelled the same, mixed with sandalwood and smoke, as if from a fire. It assaulted her nose. She had never smelled anything as intoxicating. Her lips were rough and hard against his, battling for dominance. She reached for his hair, but he was quicker.
His strong fingers entwined themselves in her hair, pulling roughly. Her head had no choice but to follow. When she looked in his eyes, she saw the desperate desire she felt echoing in him.
“Miss Granger,” he growled lowly.
She bit her lip and moaned. “Ahh. Fuck. Please. Don’t- . Need you. Now.”
He ground herself against him, moaning louder as she felt the bulge in his trousers. Angling her hips, she did it again, rubbing herself on him, her clit pressed against the bulge. She could feel the heat emanating from him. It wouldn’t take her long at all to finish, to take her pleasure from him.
He clearly had other ideas. The sensation seemed to reawaken him. Growling, he flipped them, almost slamming her against the brick, pushing her up farther on the wall, so the only choice she had was to wrap her legs around him. Her arms made purchase around his neck and her thighs and calves squeezed his waist as he pressed against her again.
“What do you need, Miss Granger?”
He dipped his head, assaulting her neck with his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He was marking her. She could only moan, her brain foggy with desire. She pulled his head closer in, biting her lip to hold back a whimper.
“Did you think that you could tease me with that child and get away with it?”
Unable to stop it, she whimpered. “No. Merlin, please, Severus. I need you.”
He paused, his hips stuttering. She had called him by his first name. Instead of offended, he was turned on even more.
“If you have some misconstrued notion about virtue or are planning on teasing me and walking away, I suggest you tell me now, because I promise you, I will not stop after this moment.”
To answer him, she reached for the buckle of his pants.
“Oh, fuck, Granger.”
“Hermione” she cut in. “When you scream my name, you will use Hermione.”
His momentary lapse in concentration afforded her the opportunity she sought. Lowering her legs, she continued with her ministrations, unbuttoning his pants. There was a resounding clink as the button hit the undone belt buckle.
Before he could blink, she was on her knees in front of him. His breathing hitched.
She pressed her face to his crotch, unzipping him and taking in his scent through the soft cotton of his black briefs. The musty smell that always made her gag on Ron was heady and mouth-watering on him. She kissed him through his pants.
“oohh” was his reply. He didn’t know where to put his hands, settling for leaving them in fists against the brick on his back. His hips stuttered as he tried to hold them back.
She grinned, nipping at the cotton before shoving both trousers and pants down mid-thigh. The cold air hit his burning cock and he hissed, the assault on his senses overwhelming. Almost immediately, her warm breath was easing the frigidity.
Her mouth was on his cock, then. Licking from base to tip. She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, moaning a little at the salty taste of precum that had built.
She could do this all night, she thought. Never had she wanted anything more than to see the pleasure she was wringing from him on his open face. With the flat of her tongue, she gave the head another firm lick before swallowing him down. She took him as far as was comfortable, then eased a little farther so he could feel her throat muscles quiver. She breathed deeply, willing herself to remain calm. Saliva was building up in her mouth and her nostrils were straining for air. She slowly raised her head until she was almost off him before lowering her head once again. She kept up a slow pace for a few minutes before bringing a hand up to grip at the length she couldn’t fit in her throat.
She took his moans as encouragement and continued her ministrations. Her other than came up to fondle his sack. She rolled one ball in her hand, then the other. She tugged lightly, and then crept slightly past, pressing her fingers to the spot behind, touching his prostate from the outside.
Severus jerked and cried out, his cock jumping in her mouth. The fact that he had lasted this long was a miracle, but he knew that twenty more seconds of this torture and he would spend embarrassingly into her mouth.
“Her- Hermione. Stop. Uhh. So close. Uhhhh. Stop. Please please please stop.”
His waist was bent, willing her to pull off.
She looked up at him, feeling the tightening in his sack. She pressed her finger to his perineum once more and just as he cried out, wrapped her hand painfully tight around his cock and pulled down on his balls.
His cry grew stronger, frustration and relief at war. She blew lightly on his cock, one final tease, before moving back up, letting him see her watery eyes. Her red, used lips. She kissed him, letting him taste himself in her mouth.
“The next time I tell you to stop, you stop.” He growled in his most intimidating voice. Previous to tonight, it would have her quaking where she stood. It had brought her to tears more than once in her school days, but right now, it made her already wet knickers even wetter. Her nipples, never ones to be overly sensitive, stood proudly at attention, begging for inspection.
He flipped them over and tore her shirt open. He ripped her bra apart and she briefly remembered that this hadn’t been the goal of tonight, so her knickers and bra didn’t match, nor were they particularly sexy. He didn’t seem to care, though.
She thrust her chest out, begging for him to touch. She reached for his hand and directed it to her nipple.
Playing along, he allowed her to grab his hand and place it upon her breast. He smirked as he flicked a nipple with his thumb and she gasped. Bringing his face down to chest level, he took her other in his mouth, biting and licking, soothing the wounds before sucking gently.
The hand previously on her other breast moved down with the other, undoing her jeans before realizing the incompatibility of their clothing choices. Murmuring into her skin, she felt suddenly bereft of clothing on her lower half. He had vanished her pants.
Grinning predatorily at her, he sank down, his face directly in front of her mound. She bit her lip, a sudden sense of self-consciousness overcoming her.
His large nose parted her folds and he sniffed.
He inhaled deeply and nuzzled into her before allowing his tongue the first tastes. She felt as well as heard him whimper. It was almost enough to make her come right there. She spread her legs wider, willing his tongue to slide farther down, into her begging hole.
As if he heard her pleas, he flicked his tongue a few more times against her clit and moved down with long, luxurious licks, to her waiting entrance. His eyes met hers as he slowly rolled his tongue and pressed against her. His nose hit her clit in time with his tongue’s thrusts.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” She cried. Her hands found his hair and she grabbed at it tightly, alternating between pulling at the roots and pushing him deeper into her.
He let her use him for a while, enjoying the depravity of being her own personal sex toy, before he moved his head slightly, his tongue falling out of her core to move once again to her clit. He used fast strokes that made her body tremble. He felt the tremors build and plunged two fingers into her aching center. She cried out as he brushed them against the front of her wall. His other arm wrapped around her hips as her hands pressed into his shoulders, his fingers never stopping their assault.
She screamed as she climaxed, her world going dark. It was never ending and she felt liquid gushing out of her in time with the throbbing of her inner walls against his fingers. She whimpered release and looked down, seeing his hand, wrist, and sleeve covered in liquid.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry. That’s never happened before. Shit.” She worked herself up as he slowly pulled his fingers out of her, looking amazed.
His eyes turned feral as he looked up at her and suddenly, with an apology frozen on her lips, he had her again pressed against the brick, this time grinding his long-neglected cock at her entrance.
“Do. Not. Ever. Apologize. For orgasming at my hand.” He ground out, bringing his soaked fingers to his lips, licking them of her juices.
“It is not your fault your lovers have been…neglectful.” He drawled.
Taking his fingers from his mouth, he traced her lips before bringing it down to guide his weeping cock to her entrance.
Without further ado, he entered her with one quick thrust, both of them gasping.
“Severus…” she sighed. The sensations were just shy of overwhelming. He fit her perfectly, hitting spots than Ron never had. Having him inside her made her feel complete.
He paused after his first thrust, getting used to the sensation. He hadn’t realized how close he was until he almost completely lost control entering her.
“Hermione…” he pleaded. His hand went to her clit, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time.
Even without moving, his cock twitched dangerously. Feeling her around him, the way she clenched when he flicked her clit a certain way, feeling her attempt to thrust on him… it was all too much.
“Fuck, I’m sorry… I can’t… I need to-“ he whimpered, his eyes shut tight, trying to deny his body what he desperately desired.
She ran her nails down his back. “Please!” she moaned.
That was it. He could no longer hold back. He thrust hard and fast into her, feeling her slam into the brick. He took his hand away from her clit and put both against the wall behind her, slamming into her, his face buried in her neck. He would make it up to her in a second. He was too far gone now.
A dozen earth-shattering thrusts later and he was screaming his release. “Aaahhhh!” his head was raised back his eyes shut tight.
“HERMIONE” he shouted into the night.
She felt him throb inside of her. She brought her fingers down to her clit and with barely two brushes against her sensitive nub, she followed him, her scream lost in her throat, her pleasure silencing her.
The spasms of her release goaded more and more out of him than he thought possible.
Finally, wrung dry and with her boneless against him, he lowered her to the ground.
He rested his head against hers and panted, breathless.
They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, until she felt a draft on her ass.
“Severus…” she whispered. “Did you vanish my pants?”
He opened his eyes and saw her sparkling back with humour. He laughed, then. Completely free and exalted.
“Here. Let me fashion you some new ones. It wouldn’t do to have you walking around pantsless. I dare say, I would get too jealous.” Taking out his wand, he mended her bra and transfigured her ripped shirt into a form-fitting dress. He left her knickerless. Looking at his handiwork, he smirked down at her.
Her indignant look was worth it.
Innocently, he looked down at her. “I can’t create jeans out of thin air. It was the best I could do in the moment. Unless you’d rather wear mine?”
He magicked his trousers and pants up and refastened them, looking as dignified as he did on stage, minus his kiss ripened lips and dilated pupils.
She blinked slowly at him, but did nothing to move away.
Suddenly self-conscious, he ran his hand through his hair. “Miss Granger,” he started, “I understand if this is a one time incident.” He began.
The look he received shut him up immediately. “Unless you were looking for a quick fuck, Professor, I suggest that you either invite me back to yours or take me to…” Her forehead wrinkled in a frown. “Well, currently, I suppose a hotel would do. Walk me home or take me home and invite me for coffee tomorrow.”
“And for fucks sake, stop calling me that.”
“Hermione, I have no intention of making this a one-off. I just wished to forewarn you that I am very possessive of what I desire. If you are to enter a relationship with me, I will not tolerate any side shows. I do not share.”
“I am not an easy man to be around. I am moody. I often lash out. I am petulant and intolerant of ignorance.”
“Fine, erm, I keep odd hours. I am often busy in my lab. I do cook, but I confess I’m not domestic other than that.”
“Okay. But you should know, I am also possessive. I cannot promise you this-“ she pointed to their current whereabouts “-will not happen again if I find you acting as you did on stage.”
His eyes widened.
“I read more than I speak. I am often quiet for long periods of time. I can be moody. I’m told I’m bossy. Some even call me an insufferable know-it-all.” Her eyes glittered.
“I’m not done. I don’t cook. I will tidy up after myself, but not after anyone else. I will not tolerate messes. I keep my books ordered in a specific way. Other than that, I am also not domestic. Oh. Also, I have a cat. Crookshanks.”
“Okay, then.” She looked around. “Where does that leave us?”
“Do you have things you need to pack?”
He harrumphed. “Yes, pack. I’ve just finished telling you I am very possessive. What I want is you, with me. I will tolerate if you have a flat alone, for now, but I would much prefer if you were to move in to my house. I have a spare room for you, should you so wish.”
“Oh. Uhm, no, I have everything with me.”
“..You have everything with you?”
“Well, let’s just say, I am completely unburdened and without ties. I’ll tell you later. I want to see this house.”
“I’m not saying I’ll move in. But I will stay for the night. I need to think about it. Weigh the pros and cons.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And I would like to repeat this little performance horizontally this time.”
He smiled, a genuine smile, and grabbed her hand, twisting on the spot.