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A Sweet Triumph

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A Sweet Triumph

It had started, Hermione reflected, as a fling. Then a mutually-passionate relationship. Then a joke.

Three months after her rather explosive beginning with Severus Snape, Hermione had had the man tied to her narrow bed with ropes and had been making him make all sorts of interesting noises when she had slipped her lips from his cock with an audible pop.

He had whimpered, glaring down at her, his cheat sweaty and heaving.

"Severus?" Hermione had said questioningly. "We should move in together."

"Fine," was the snapped reply, accompanied by an impatient thrusting of his hips.

And that was that. Hermione had pleasured him into a screaming orgasm that still made her hands tremble to think about, and he had reciprocated as soon as his legs had gone back to functioning.

A few weeks of home-hunting and they had found a nice house with a shed, a spare bedroom, a yard for ingredient-growing and Crooks to chase gnomes in, space for a library, and a basement (he had quite the naughty toy collection, it turned out, to Hermione's pleasure and his), and they had moved in. He had even insisted on keeping her narrow twin bed for its...uses.

Days were spent at work, taking lunch together when their schedules allowed, and nights were spent at home. They talked, did arithmantic and logic puzzles, brewed a bit, cooked, and of course spent an inordinate amount of time naked.

Ron and Harry had even taken their relationship with good grace: disbelief, a hint of disgust, and finally a resignation that it was what it was and please could Snape not visit her at work during lunch they hadn't needed to see that thank you very much.

And they never asked why she always wore perfume that made her smell like cake or cookies.

Smart boys, sometimes.

A mere four months ago, Harry had been telling Hermione about the annoyances of wedding-planning. He had mentioned cake, not knowing of Severus's sweet tooth or that the man was within earshot.

No sooner had Harry left their home than Severus had appeared in the doorway with a container of his own vanilla honey buttercream leftover from last week's cake and one of the wickedest looks in his repertoire.

"Wedding planning doesn't seem to suit Potter much," he had said slowly before dipping one long finger into the frosting and laving the digit clean. Hermione had licked her lips reflexively.

"I'm told it's fairly complicated," Hermione remembered saying. Then the topic had turned to why, and as she had listed the annoyance of cake-testing, Severus had crossed the room to her and offered her a finger of frosting.

"They give you samples of all of their cake?" He'd purred, letting her suck the sweetness from his skin. "We should plan a faux wedding of our own, perhaps. Take advantage of such an offer."

They had laughed, kissed, and then set about over a thousand cake-tasting appointments.

Apparently Severus rather liked the bit of pudge she was developing, and she still clung to his slight love handles as he fucked her into the mattress and other various surfaces.

But it had been a joke. A lark. A ploy for free exquisitely-crafted cakes with little to no effort on their part.

Their first tastings had been at Muggle shops. At each they had sat close together, knee to knee, hands clasped and making up details of a wedding that didn't exist. They hadn't dared to venture into the Wizarding world in order to avoid the papers' notice.

Each trip or appointment found the two of them at home, his face buried in her cunt until she trembled and begged. He licked her to orgasm after orgasm, turned her legs to jelly. She would push him down, straddle his hips, and tease his cock before fucking him mercilessly.

The taste of frosting would linger on their lips between deep kisses, some occasionally smuggled out from cake shops and smeared places it probably shouldn't go.

To say that they made liberal use of Cleansing Charms was putting it mildly.

All in all, it was utterly enjoyable for them to indulge the urge for wedding cake.

Right until Potter's actual wedding.

Severus stood in a dark corner with a plate of cake, waiting for the bridge and groom to take the first bite so he could partake himself. Hermione shook her head, amused.

“Molly made it,” Hermione said quietly. Her lover quirked an eyebrow at her attempt to distract him.


She smiled and cheered appropriately when Ginny and Harry took their first bites. Next to her, there was the sound of cutlery on china, and then Severus groaned aloud, the deep sound rolling over her. She looked up at him, surprised.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted back. Really, the man was a bit of a hedonist in private, even in the scant bit provided by the corner. Slowly, his eyes opened, dark and intense.

“Taste it,” he urged, another bite on his fork and held out to her. She obliged him, holding his gaze as her lips closed over the fork.

Oh, Merlin. It was good!!

“That's the best cake yet,” Hermione whispered when she had swallowed. Severus bent and kissed the decadent chocolate frosting from the corner of her mouth, his hair, slightly greasy despite the fact she knew he had washed it less than two hours ago, fell forward curtained his actions from prying eyes.

“I agree,” he murmured, kissing her jaw to her ear. “It must be magic. Much like yourself.” She could smell the chocolate on his breath and was a little ashamed to admit that it turned her on. His teeth sank into her lobe and she whimpered, nearly dropping her cake. Severus pulled back. “Finish your cake, Hermione.”

She knew that look, and would have complied as quickly as possible in order to find a more private corner and take advantage of his heated gaze, but the cake was simply too good. She savoured each bite, a foreplay in eating. Severus licked the tines of his fork, leaving chocolate streaks melting on his hot tongue. In reply, Hermione let the frosting colour her lips. His nostrils flared and they taunted each other with exchanged bites, lips and tongues caressing the moist cake.

Finally, the last morsel was scraped away, the plates Banished to the nearest table, and Severus bent with a growl to kiss the chocolate from her lips.

“Not here,” she moaned between kisses, fingers digging into his formal robes. “Severus...”

He gave her a hard kiss and pulled away. Taking her hand, they threaded their way through the merrymakers, making small talk as they passed to mask the urgency building in their veins. Hermione stopped as she saw the kitchen door of the Burrow occupied by a trio of men she didn't recognize laughing and drinking.

Severus cursed under his breath and instead dragged her into the shadows of Arthur's shed. With a quiet laugh, Hermione used her weight to push him into the side of the shed with a thump. She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, swallowing his moan.

Pressed this close to him, she took shameless advantage of the fact that she could feel the hard length of his cock through his robes and rubbed against him. Severus cupped her arse, grinding into her.

“Be quick,” he said breathlessly. Hermione nodded, tugging at the line of tiny buttons on his trousers. “Good girl... I don't think I can wait any longer...”

That was a lie and they both knew it. No matter how desperate they grew, they always managed to slow themselves down and ensure the other was pleasured as well.

Hermione freed his cock from his confines of his clothing just as she bit his neck; his moan reverberated through her body and made her even wetter. Severus lifted her dress enough for his fingers to seek her cunt, delving deep. She whimpered, clenching her muscles around him. She loved this.

“I want to lick that frosting off your cock,” she whispered, her voice rough as he found both her clit and the spongy place inside. Severus gave her a scorching kiss, working her higher despite their awkward position. Hermione panted and moaned, stroking his cock and kissing and nipping at his neck as it grew harder to think of all the deliciously naughty things she wanted to do with him. “Close! Severus, I'm so close...”

His fingers left her bereft and she felt the tingle of his magic: a levitation charm. Eagerly, she wound her arms around his neck and he lifted her easily, leaning against the shed wall for support. With almost agonising slowness he lowered her over the thick heat of his cock, and they groaned in unison.

“Yessssss,” he hissed in a ragged tone. “That's it...I'm going to fuck you, Hermione, until it drips from you...”

She swore quietly, moving with his strokes as her teeth sank into her lip. Neither of them had cast any privacy charms.

“I want to strip you naked and bend you over the kitchen table,” he muttered in her ear. “I'll slather you with frosting and lick it from your skin before I spank your arse cherry red.” His silken voice flowed over her nerves as he panted, his thrusts going deeper and becoming rougher. “When we get home, I'm going to tie you to your old bed and lick your sweet cunt. I'll make you beg for it, Hermione, beg for me to let you come...”

“Severus,” she moaned. His rhythm was steady and she needed more. “Please...”

“Always,” he groaned. “I'll always please you.”

One of the hands on her arse shifted and she inhaled sharply as one long finger found its way into her arse. “Fuck, please...!”

“Good girl,” he whispered again, and paused in his thrusting to collapse to the ground with her in his lap. They both shifted until they found the right angle, moving together a little less awkwardly. “Better; there, Hermione, that's it...ride my cock...”

She nodded vigourously, his length pistoning in and out of her with his finger working in counterpoint. It was quickly becoming too much and she bent to kiss him, both of them panting and working themselves into a frenzy. The far-off sounds of the wedding kept the thought for silence in her head and when she began to whimper, growing lightheaded as her toes curled, she buried her face in his shoulder, sinking her teeth into his shoulder with a muffled cry.

Severus inhaled sharply as he sped up and followed her orgasm a few heartbeats later with one of his own, thrusting gently through the aftermath.

Hermione sat crumpled against him as she fought for breath, and he pressed a kiss to her sweaty temple, heedless of the way her frizzy hair was surely tickling his prodigious nose. She hummed happily in response, kissing where she had bitten only moments earlier.

They listened to the tinkle of music and far-off murmur of conversation, carefully extricating themselves and casting the necessary charms. Severus was first to his feet, extending a gracious hand to her. She took it with a smile.

“Are you going to do all that when we get home?” she asked, a wicked smile playing on her lips. Hermione brushed a stray blade of grass from her skirt.

“Perhaps,” he replied as they strolled slowly towards the festivities as though they had been doing so the entire time. “If...”

She took the bait. “'If'?”

“If you will look at Wizarding bakeries with me.”

Hermione laughed. “Of course I will!”

Chapter Text

A Sweet Triumph

Wizarding bakeries, as it turned out, were so far above their Muggle counterparts that it was almost laughable.

Their first few forays into cake tasting, they used various disguises to avoid unwanted press, giving false names and taking home samples. Then they moved on to looking for bakeries with discretion, not wanting to remove charms before they could properly act on their need for physical intimacy.

It quickly grew lackluster, however, as the bakeries all seemed to be using the same recipes. The cakes were good, no doubt, but they were quickly losing appeal and fun.

But then there had been Farton Featherbee's Cake Creations. Despite the owner's name--which still sent Hermione into fits of giggles--the magical bakery had had a cake so moist, so fluffy, so sweet, that Hermione had moaned at the very first bite. It reminded her so much of the airy sugar quills that had started her fascination with Severus to begin with.

Then Severus had tried a bite, and Hermione had watched avidly as his sharp cheeks flushed and his eyes grew dark and lidded. His sharp inhale, slowly released, was potent as sex. His tongue curled around the tasting fork, questing for every last morsel.

Of course, the chocolate layer had been just as good. As rich and fudgey as their first night together, along with something...elusive. Hermione had taken a second bite and was puzzling it out when Severus had rasped: "Cumin. Interesting choice."

His gaze practically scorched her. "This is the cake for our wedding.."

Hermione, her tastebuds still dazzled by the flavours, had agreed.

Rather dazedly she followed him out of the shop and home, each of them carrying a box with leftover samples. Mister Featherbee hadn't thought that they should decide with just a single bite or two and sent them away with each variety of frosting and filling and cake his shop carried.

“Severus?” Hermione set her box down on the kitchen table.

He turned, one eyebrow lifted questioningly.

“ you...” She hesitated, then blurted: “Did you mean it?”

He frowned. “Did I mean what?”

“'Our wedding',” Hermione replied.

“Of course I did.” He looked perplexed as he crossed to her side. “Why else would I have said it?”

“I just...I hadn't realised...It started as a lark...”

“Ah.” Severus looked away uncomfortably, and now he hesitated. “I had thought that...”

“It's just, you've never said that, well,”

“That I feel for you that way?”

Hermione nodded.

“You haven't either,” Severus pointed out, his lip curling. “It's not as if you're going to scare me off by saying it, Hermione. You haven't run me off with anything else you've said.”

She flushed, thinking of just some of the things—fantasies, really—she had mentioned to him, as well as some of her more violent rants about her job. He snorted and embraced her.

“Hermione Granger, you are incredibly daft if you have not yet realised that you love me as much as I love you. And since I refuse to believe that the most intelligent witch I've ever known isn't fully aware of her feelings, then I can only assume that you are fully aware of them. Therefore,” he said, kissing the top of her head as she clung to him. “I love you, and we will simply have to get married and have a very large cake.”

With a strangled laugh, she looked up at him. “That's the oddest proposal I've ever heard.”

“It had best be the only one you've heard,” he replied with a scowl. From this angle, his hooked nose was more prominent than ever.

“And no ring?”

“You don't care much for jewelry,” he replied evenly, his expression guarded. “I assumed a wedding band would be preferable to some opulent engagement piece you wouldn't even wear.”

“You're impossible,” she said. A warm glow suffused her, replaying his words over in her mind until she realised how stiffly he was holding himself. “But yes, I love you, you git. When did you want to get married?”

Severus relaxed and bent to kiss her, tasting of passion and relief and cake and love.

Hermione stood in front of the mirror, trying desperately not to cry because the dress didn't fit. She jabbed her wand at the zip, hoping the sartorial charm Ginny had taught her would work. Nothing happened. “Damn it!”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing!” she called back, feeling a bit panicky.

The curtain was pulled back rather dramatically and she covered her breasts out of habit despite the fact that she was covered and he saw her naked regularly. Severus scowled at her. “'Nothing' my arse.” He swept into the tiny changing room, flicking a hand to close the curtain behind him. “What's wrong?”

“It won't zip,” Hermione muttered, flushing. He bent to examine it. She felt no shame at his scrutiny, and pointed out exactly the bit of pudgy belly fat stopping the zip from ascending as intended.

“It's too small, that's all,” Severus said. “They do come in larger sizes. I can acquire one for you.”

She blinked back tears. “Too small? But I've worn this size for years...”

“Wedding gowns—especially the Muggle sort—run small,” Severus said quietly. At her questioning look, he actually looked rather embarrassed. “I may have researched it a bit. You were becoming frustrating and you are unbearable when you are frustrated. I am the one who lives with you when you're in that state.”

She smiled. “You're not exactly the best to be around, either.”

Severus smirked wickedly. “Precisely why I prefer your company.”

Hermione bent and kissed him. “Thank you. Go get some more sizes, will you?”

He looked at her reflection consideringly. “I will. I may even bring some for you to try. There is one with a rather delectable row of buttons that you seem to have missed.”

In the end, Hermione finished her dress shopping alone while he was occupied with a delicate potion order.

She went to boutique after boutique in Muggle London until she found the perfect dress: a tea length gown with a sweetheart neckline and a demure lacy overlay the exact shade of a sugar quill. She had seen it in the window and rushed right in. They had had her size in the shop, and she had declined tailoring, since there were charms better suited for it, and now she turned in front of the mirror as the clouds drifted across the darkening enchanted bedroom ceiling. She couldn't wait to show Severus. He was going to love it.

Especially once he caught sight of the row of buttons from neck to hem.

Carefully, Hermione pinned up her hair into a loose collection of curls, then set about lighting candles. He would be home soon, annoyed and tired, and she smiled wickedly to herself as she thought of his reaction.

Touching perfume to her throat, Hermione was just adding the final touches to the room when she heard the front door slam open; Severus was home.

She hurried to seat herself at the foot of the bed, hoping to look demure and appealing. She listened as Severus greeted Crookshanks in a grave tone, and to the thump as he discarded his boots, the snick of the closet door as he hung up his cloak. She knew his tread upon the stairs, and the creak of their bedroom door.

And she knew what drop the sharp inhale meant as he saw her.

“I see you found a dress,” Severus said. His voice was a confection, like molten sugar. Hermione smiled in what she hoped was a sultry manner.

“Do you like it?”

“It becomes you,” he replied, and she heard the heavy sound of his frock coat landing on the chair by the bed, then his trousers. “Stand up and turn around. I want to see all of it.”

Hermione obliged, the lace hitting her calf as her toes found the floor, and she spun slowly, carefully in place.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice pained. “Don't move.”

Oh yes, he liked the buttons. She was nearly giddy with triumph.

His fingers were gentle as they swept aside the ties of her blindfold and ran along the tiny buttons. “For me?”

Hermione leaned back, tilting her head for him to kiss her. His mouth was soft and searching. “For us,” she replied huskily. “I thought perhaps you would like to get used to the dress before the wedding.”

“Wise,” Severus murmured. His lips caressed her jaw, her neck. “It wouldn't do for the groom to run off with the bride before the ceremony could properly begin.” He nipped at her skin. “I see by what you've laid out that I can do as I please?”


The single word tore a groan from his throat. “What's the word?”

Merlin, the thought that he thought she may need one turned her blood molten. “Stop.”

She felt him shrug in acceptance, and his hands left her back to caress her small breasts through the lace and satin. He cupped them, kneaded them gently, before he tugged on her nipples, rolling them in his fingers until she moaned.

“Ternum.” He breathed the spell he had created just for her across her skin and she writhed as the twisting, rolling sensations of his fingers became a steady pressure, remaining even as he moved his hands away. Hermione's head fell back with a gasp. “That's right,” Severus hissed as his hands wandered lower, across her belly. He pulled her back into him, and she felt the row of buttons on her dress digging into them both. “I love this dress.”

“Good.” Hermione tried to keep the smile from her voice. “I was hoping you would.”

“Indeed.” Severus's hair brushed against her shoulder and upper arm—lifting his head, perhaps? “On the bed with you.”

“Back or stomach?”

“You are a wicked witch to tempt me with such a choice.” She heard the smirk in his tone. “On your stomach, for now.”

Hermione complied, Severus's wandering hands aiding her to arrange her dress while managed to distract her.

Soon she lay on her belly, her arms stretched forward, and felt the cool silk she had placed on the bed tying first one wrist and then the other to the headboard. The sensation, when coupled with the steady phantom pinching of her nipples, was enough to send a tremor through her.

“Back,” Severus ordered, and she shifted carefully. “If we rip the dress we can fix it,” he said in exasperation. “On your knees for me.”

Hermione obeyed until she was kneeling, her arms stretched out and away, and he carefully tied her knees open where she knelt. The position was strained and yet oddly comfortable. Severus's hands ran over her skin, checking his knots.

“Very good.”

She smiled, but then he flipped her skirt over her arse and spanked one cheek. “Oh!”

Severus chuckled, a low sound. “And no knickers. You'll have to recreate that at the wedding.”

“Whatever you say,” Hermione replied. She wriggled at him and he slapped her other cheek. She twitched and jumped as he did it again and again until the flesh under his hands grew warm and he ran his fingers over it soothingly.

“Like this you look rather like an ice cream sundae. All I see is this mound of white and a bright,” slap, “red,” slap, “cherry.” Slap.

Hermione moaned.

“And you know how I love sundaes. Especially on special occasions.”

“Yes,” she said with a whimper.

Something cool ran over her buttocks and she clenched in surprise. “You should have expected that,” Severus said reproachfully. “I can see everything all laid out, Hermione.”

“Yes,” she said again. Now the liquid – chocolate, she surmised, from the smell, was dripping down her cleft and mixing with her own wetness.

“Beautiful,” Severus said. She hissed and wiggled as his tongue began following the trail of liquid over her tender, reddened arse. He nipped her in warning. “Don't move.”

“I'll try.”

She heard him snort behind her and his hair tickled her thighs as he licked more of the chocolate away. She giggled.

“Do I need to gag you?”

They both knew it to be an idle threat, and Hermione merely wiggled again. Severus finished dragging his tongue across her cheek and swatted her lightly.

“Perhaps I should give you a reason to writhe,” Severus said, his velvet voice dark with promise. The bed creaked with his weight, and she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

Hermione held very still, not even daring to breathe, as she waited to see what he would do.

He did nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Hermione wriggled again, but he didn't even slap her buttocks.


“Beg me,” he whispered, his breath moist and warm against her ear. She jumped, straining against her bonds. He laughed, low and wicked.

“Please,” Hermione said.

He slapped her thigh, but gently. “I said beg, my pretty bride.”

“Pleaaaaase,” Hermione tried again, and it came out breathy and low.

“Much better.” The mattress dipped and she was rewarded with the slick sensation of his tongue at her folds, of his thin fingers spreading her open.

“Oh, please!” And this time her voice came out high, a true plea.

“That's my good girl,” Severus murmured, and his voice was absolutely sinful as it rumbled through her. Calloused digits plucked at her clitoris and his tongue curled inside her, tasting. He muttered a curse and set about being true to his word, making her writhe and beg for more.

Too quickly, Hermione found herself straining against the ropes binding her to the bed, her voice calling and rising as she pleaded with him for more and more and more, despite the fact that the man was practically insatiable when it came to licking the proverbial cream from her proverbial cauldron.

His nose was made for this, with her arse in the air. His lips sealed around her clit as his fingers kept her exposed for him, and the hook of his nose probed her entrance teasingly. She didn't think it was intentional, but if it was the man was a filthy-minded genius. It was maddening and she was so hot and needy and just a bit more oh, please, oh, please, keep going, just a little bit more, yes, like that, like that, right there—“oh!”

The startled squeak as the air left in her lungs after the litany of pleas was his only warning as she shuddered in an orgasm so intense she drenched him.

Hermione moaned in both embarrassment and ecstasy as her body relaxed.

Severus was quiet, save for the sound of him cleansing his fingers with both mouth and wand. Then his hand caressed the line of buttons on her dress. “It's all right,” he soothed. He was always soothing after, always seemed to know when he had pushed her almost too far. “You did well.”

She nodded against the bed as his Finite ended the spell on her nipples.

“And we're not done yet,” he added deliberately. “However, I want more of you.”

The knot of the blindfold was tugged free and she blinked fuzzily into the candlelit room as Severus began undoing the ropes. He always did so without magic, and she wasn't fully certain if it was the tactile sensation, the control, or the need to make certain she was alright that made him do it. Possibly all three, knowing him.

Apparently appeased with her well-being, Severus moved to kneel behind her and pulled her back against him. She could feel the tickle of his chest hair through the lacy overlay of her dress's back, feel the buttons pressing into his skin. Kneeling astride him this way was familiar, and he shifted his hips, his cock nudging and probing until he found her entrance. Slowly, he teased her, calming her even as he built the fire again.

When he sank inside, deep enough that she could feel the coarse hairs at his groin against her arse, it was heaven.

“Lean back,” he instructed, a hand guiding her until her head rested against his bony shoulder. “Better?”

“Much,” she whispered. When Severus bent his head for a kiss she returned it eagerly. The shallow thrusts he was making were driving her absolutely mad. There was, after all, something to be said for both of them being ambitious and over-achieving in everything: they had quickly learned just what the other liked, how they liked it, and abused the knowledge shamelessly.

“I love this dress,” Severus whispered hoarsely, his hands roaming and caressing.

“And I can't wait to see you in your suit,” Hermione gasped. She was quickly moving towards another orgasm and was finding it hard to concentrate.

“Only you could stuff me into a suit,” he muttered sourly, one hand delving under her skirt and between her legs to find her clit.

She laughed, because it was true, and moved her hips faster. She loved this position with him, loved the depth and the way his cock rubbed against her just so and how Severus said her muscles nearly strangled his cock in slick heat.

“Incredible,” he said in her ear, his voice rough in a way that told her he was close. “Hold on, Hermione, I'm almost there...”

The admission actually brought her closer than she had been, fire catching and raging, her stomach tight with tension and the need to come.

“So good,” Severus said, speeding up. She could feel his fingers caressing his own cock between strokes even as his thumb did deliciously naughty things to her clitoris. “So close, Hermione, so close, so close, oh fuck-!”

He roared the last word, triumphant and sated, and she followed him over the edge with a cry. They both nearly toppled backwards off the bed.

Later that night, after dinner was devoured and her wedding gown not only repaired but cleansed, they curled together on the sofa, reading, with Crookshanks in her lap.

Hermione looked up at him; he caught her gaze, and smiled.

Chapter Text

A Sweet Triumph

The wedding had been perfect.

The wizarding guests had behaved, the Muggle guests had been blissfully unaware of the magic going on under their noses, the papers had stayed out of it, the ceremony had gone without a hitch, her bouquet didn't fall apart on the toss, the food had been positively divine, and the cake, well, the cake had been the showpiece.

Especially watching him eat it.

Even better, no one had questioned why they had had a six-tiered cake for a guest list of forty-seven. Stasis charms were truly magnificent.

Severus had still loved her dress, if the fingers trailing down the buttons during their first—and only—dance had been any indication. He also couldn't keep his eyes off of her hair, which she had pinned up and decorated with two fluffy sugar quills in lieu of flowers, charmed to avoid being sticky or breaking prematurely. Tantalizing her groom was part of the fun, after all.

“Finally,” Severus growled, pushing her into the wall before the pop of their joint Apparition had faded.

Hermione laughed, kissing his nose. “So impatient.”

“I have tolerated your need for a ceremony, and now I have you” He punctuated each word between kisses.

“The ceremony was your idea,” she reminded him. “You wanted the excuse for a cake. However...I believe I promised you something.” His eyes glittered and he allowed her to push him to the wall instead. Hermione knelt before him with a wicked smile, sinking into her tea-length dress like it was a meringue. “Still up for this?”

“Yes,” he hissed in a way that she knew meant that he had been ready for hours. She couldn't blame him; she knew this was one of his favourites. And hers, too.

Really, they both deserved it after all of the wedding planning and execution.

“Accio,” Severus murmured as Hermione tugged at the smooth warm leather of his belt. She heard the bottle smack into his hand just around the time he inhaled sharply when she freed the prongs, dropping the ends of the belt with a faint jingle.

She moved her fingers to the buttoned fly.





She flicked each button smoothly from its hole, then laughed as his eager cock nearly leapt out of his trousers. Like her, he hadn't worn underthings today. Hermione patted the spongy head and continued to free him. Shoving his trousers down his pale hips to puddle at his ankles, she smiled happily. Despite the passage of time, their initial passion remained unchanged. The sex was divine, the home life perfect—and snarky, with plenty of heated discussions: he well and truly was an arse—and, well, she couldn't be happier. Hermione gave him a gentle caress as he stepped out his trousers and began to unbutton his shirt. She breathed across his length but didn't touch him.

“Tease,” he chided, his heavy breathing giving the lie to his words. He loved this and they both knew it.

“And you wouldn't have me any other way.”

“No I wouldn't....Wife.” He divested himself of the top half of his suit, the jacket, waistcoat, and shirt disappearing in an impressive act of wandless magic.

She inhaled sharply at the proprietary tone. “Very well, husband.”

Hermione would never know if that low, rumbling moan of his was from calling him that or from taking him into her mouth. His hands wound into her hair and she pulled away. “No touching,” she commanded. The muscles in his neck twitched and he nodded, withdrawing his touch. “Hands against the wall, Severus.”

He obeyed her as easily as she obeyed him. “Good,” Hermione breathed. Keeping her eyes on his—so dark and lidded and burning with a fire she was well familiar with—she kissed the tip of his erection and down the length. Her tongue was next, her cheek nuzzling the silken, heated skin of his balls. He had gone bare for her, for her plans.

With that thought, Hermione drew back to his head and began to suck him, extending her arm take the bottle from his clenched hand. It took hardly any effort to flick the top open, pull back, and drizzle caramel over his saliva-slickened flesh.

Capping it once more, she tossed the plastic bottle aside. Merlin, but he looked beautiful with the rich caramel over his pale skin. This never failed to make her think of the chocolates he had brought with him to the cafe so long ago, and the rivulet he had chased down his wrist with his tongue.

Smiling, Hermione looked up at him to find him scowling.

“Cease your ridiculous perusal and get on with it,” he snapped. He looked thoroughly disheveled, his hands splayed and his finger knuckles white against the wall in an attempt not to touch. His hair was lank against his flushed cheeks, and she smiled wider at how far down the colour went.


“No you're bloody not.”

“Quite right.” She let him set a moment more, entirely unrepentant.

His hips thrust impatiently. “I'm going to drip caramel all over the floor.”

She gave a mock gasp. “You wouldn't dare.”

“Oh yes I wo-shite!” His words ended on a choked gasp as she took him into her mouth and she heard his head thunk against the wall as he whined. “Fuck!”

Hermione ignored him and reveled in the mix of Severus's salty skin and the rich, buttery caramel. She rubbed her tongue along his length, swallowing around him. It was an absolutely delicious combination and she idly wondered if butterscotch would be as good; she would have to suggest it later.

As pleasant as sucking on Severus Snape was, Hermione's favourite part was hearing him come undone. His silky voice went high in frustrated bliss when she stopped, it turned to a low rumble when she hit the right spot, and the roughness of it as he begged her for more made her belly clench with lust. Absolutely intoxicating.

Feeling rather wicked, Hermione slipped her hand behind his balls to caress the soft skin between them and the dark pucker of his arse.

Fuck.” The word was breathed from him, and she licked the caramel from his bare balls, sucking each delicately into her mouth until he shuddered.

She felt his bony knees tremble, the muscles in his thighs straining as his hands left the wall to tunnel into her hair.

“Hermione,” he moaned, and it was a warning and a plea all in one.

Gently, she released him, leaving him quivering and panting above her, his chest flushed as red as his cheeks, oily locks of hair sticking to his neck.

“I think I've got it all,” she said, feeling rather impish.

Severus let out a harsh laugh and pulled her to her feet. “Perhaps.”

He caressed her cheek and she leaned into his touch, smiling. Severus bent to kiss her, his hair tickling her bare shoulder. He still tasted of chocolate, which meant that he had sampled another slice of cake before they left. Hermione squeezed a love handle happily. He tugged a sugar quill free from her hair, tapping it against her nose as he pulled back. She barely even felt the fluff.

“These have tantalised me all evening.” The quill whispered over the curve of her jaw. “Cancel the charm so I can devour it...and you.”

Hermione murmured a Finite between kisses as the fluffy quill tickled her cleavage. Their kisses grew more heated, and Severus's hands wandered over her waist and down, cupping her arse to pull her against him. They both moaned, and she heard the faint snap as the quill broke in his grip. Apparently, his thoughts of eating the previously preserved quill were long gone.

Their hands wandered, his fisting in her skirt or skating along the row of buttons, and hers roaming over his skin. She caressed the lean muscles of his arms, the crisp hair on his chest, and the pudge of his hips. She absolutely adored him still. That cafe had been the best thing to ever happen to her.

Severus lifted her and she squeaked in surprise. Her dress crinkled in his grip as he deposited her on their bed. He leaned over her, crawling over her body to kiss her over and over again. As always, her eyes drifted to the enchanted ceiling, which tonight was clear and cloudless, full of a sparkling stars.

“Dress on or off?” she asked between breathless kisses. He shrugged, moving his mouth to her neck, his nose nudging her ear. “Mmm, that's nice.”

His lips caressed the shell of her ear. “I know,” he told her in a silky tone that made her shiver. “I know precisely what you like, wife.”

She smiled at the possessiveness in his tone, raking her nails against his scalp as he nipped her shoulder. He groaned, his teeth sinking in deeper, and she gasped in delight. He tugged at the neckline of her dress to free her breasts. Hermione bit her lip, heat pooling between her legs. Tonight felt special and sublime now; she felt treasured and worshiped and wanted, laying with her legs splayed in her white dress and him nestled between them, his cock prodding her through the fabric.

“You were beautiful tonight,” he told her, the stark honesty in his voice sending a thrill to her core. “Radiant.”

She ran her hand through his hair and cupped his cheek. “And you were handsome, as you always are.”

Severus snorted and kissed her breast, just over her heart his lips lingering for a moment before he vanished her dress with a mumble. It reappeared in the closet, and Hermione sighed at the warmth of his skin against hers. He melted against her like chocolate, his hands languidly exploring her breasts and his lips followed.

Hermione let her own hands roam his back and shoulders, moaning as he pulled a nipple into the heat of his mouth. There was a sensuality to his pace; he lingered until she cried out with each suckle, feeling an answering pull between her legs.

The burn built slowly, turning into a conflagration as he stroked and caressed every inch except for her needy core where she burned for him to touch. Her own attempts meant he moved her hands gently away from her clit, and Hermione was writhing, gasping, near to begging him for more.

He knew exactly how to touch her, to tease her, and she reveled in the attentions showered upon her. Finally, finally, Severus's hand slid down to test her wetness as he crawled back up her body. Hermione kissed his brow as he groaned in delight at finding her slick and ready for him.

They looked at each other, something about this moment, their first time as husband and wife special. Severus guided himself into place, holding her gaze. There was a sizzle, some moment of connection as he pushed in, his girth stretching and filling her. Hermione gasped; she hadn't felt so tight around him since their first few times together.

“My wife,” Severus said in a molten voice, his tone rather wondrous as he slid all the way home.

Scorched, Hermione melted under him. “Husband.” She craned her neck to kiss his forearm where the remains of his Mark lay on his skin, and raised her hands to tangle with his. “My husband.”

“Yessssss,” and it was drawn from him in a hiss. His hands gripped hers tightly, their wedding bands digging into their fingers, as he began to move.

Somehow, she felt...closer to him. Maybe it was the magic of the moment, Hermione reasoned before reason left her.

Severus knew just how to angle his hips to make her brain turn to mush. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her breath coming in great gasps as she drew close. Blood thundered in her ears, her body clenching and tightening as she came. He grunted, stopping, and rolled them carefully.

Hermione soon found herself atop him, straddling his hips.

“You didn't come?” she asked in some disbelief. He'd been so riled and ready to go after the caramel...

“Took a potion,” was the answer.

“Oh.” She flushed, thinking of just how wonderful the night was going to be. When she'd whispered the fantasy of being shagged senseless over and over again into his ear last week, she didn't realise he'd do it tonight. It was going to be the most memorable wedding night in history, she was certain.

“I want watch you ride me,” he told her in a rough voice. His hands slip up her torso to cup her breasts. He pinched her nipples and her hips jerked. “Yesssssss, just like that...”

Hermione began to move, circling her hips as she rode him. He abandoned tormenting her nipples into stiff peaks in favour of grabbing her hips. He controlled her rhythm, thrusting up as he pulled her down. Her belly jiggled, her curls tumbling free from their pins with every thrust. Severus groaned beneath her, a lusty sound, which turned into something fierce and feral as the last Sugar Quill fell as well, one curl wrapped around its stem the only thing keeping it from falling to his chest.

She leaned back with each thrust so the tip of his cock struck her g-spot over and over again. It was growing more and more difficult to concentrate on any rhythm as she strove to reach the pinnacle. His fingers bit into her hips, pulling her down harder and harder. Her world narrowed to the bounce of her breasts, his grunts on the downstroke, her body spiraling until it felt like the stars themselves lit her from within.

The scream was torn from her as she stiffened and came hard, pulsing around the hard length embedded inside her.

“Fuck,” he said, twitching. Hermione finally relaxed, panting, and met his eyes. Severus smirked at her almost wickedly, guiding her up and off of his lap.

“Bend over,” he purred.

Hours later, they were both thoroughly worn out, the sugar quill long-devoured, and they lay boneless in their bed. Comfortable with her back to his hairy chest, and his arm around her breasts, Hermione bent her head and kissed his sweaty hand, which was clasped in hers.

“I love you,” she told him sleepily, her voice full of happiness.

“About bloody time you said it.” His nose nudged her neck as he brushed a kiss against her curls. Severus sighed in contentment.

The End.