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Baker's Joy

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Severus stamped his feet outside the kitchen door in an effort to keep them warm and frowned at the afterimage of banana batter splattered over almost every surface of the kitchen. He was not going in there. If he did, Hermione would insist upon his help baking whatever . . . experimental thing she was attempting. He still couldn't bring himself to eat jam after the culinary fiasco of the previous month.

And I have no intention of learning to despise bananas, he thought, turning to make for the pub.

Before he got far, however, a loud crash emanated from the kitchen, followed by an even louder moan. In spite of his better judgment, Severus looked inside again.


Hermione was now leaning against the counter with her back to the door; her skirt was hiked up to her waist to reveal her arse—and at intervals, the banana that she was sliding between her legs.

Severus was immediately too warm to care about his feet. His hand clenched the doorknob as the end of the banana appeared and disappeared, and he could imagine exactly how lightly Hermione was teasing herself with the smooth skin of it as she slid it over her sex without plunging it into her—

"Fuck!" Hermione shouted, her legs visibly quivering now.

Beads of sweat broke out on Severus' forehead, which he'd leant against the pane as he groaned in frustration. The end of the banana began appearing more rapidly now, and Severus began stroking himself in time with it. He'd come with her and then go—it was only recently that he'd got the last of the jam off his wand from the fruit bar disaster, after all.

"Severus, pl—please!" Hermione stuttered, sliding to her knees before the counter and thrusting out her arse as if in offer.

Imagined or otherwise, Severus didn't refuse it and Vanished the door in his haste to get to Hermione, jerk her up from the floor, and press her into the counter with his prick. Hermione's gasping, grasping, dripping welcome only made him pound into her harder until he'd come faster than a banana flying out of its peel in the hands of a competent chef.

"There . . . there goes . . . another door," Hermione said, after, as they lay crumpled against the counter being periodically pelted by the currants that were coming unstuck from the ceiling. "Where do you . . . suppose they go?"

Severus snorted, not giving a damn about the doors and pleasantly resigned to how he'd be spending the remainder of his evening. "I'll replace . . . the door while . . . you go for . . . take away."

"But I've got to finish baking the—"

"I'll bake the banana . . . bread, was it?" he asked, smirking as Hermione nodded, "as well. Apparently, fruit isn't safe in your deviant hands."

Hermione turned to grin at him. "But you love my 'deviant hands', don't you?"

"You've no idea how much," Severus replied, kissing her deeply while ignoring the fact that his wand had fallen out of his robes and into a blob of banana batter on the floor.


Meanwhile, outside the Three Broomsticks, Ron was trying to explain to his irritated girlfriend, that, no, he had no idea why green doors with lion's head knobs kept appearing near him at unexpected and inconvenient moments.

"It's probably George. You know how he's always joking. Lav, come on, it's just a door. Lav? Lavender, come back here! Please?"