Chapters 101-110

Slake My Thirst

Hermione hovered near the door, discomfited and worried. He had needed her help to reach the bathroom. Even so their progress had been slow and unsteady. She nervously sucked on her lower lip. She understood his need for privacy. But what if he collapsed in the bathroom?

Her stomach roiling, she paced. Window, door, window. Door.

‘Hermione? I—I think I need—’ She winced at the undertone of bitter disgust in his voice. But she didn’t hesitate for a second and simply opened the door, keeping her head down.

‘Can I help you with something?’

‘I am…a little stiff.’

She snorted, taking refuge to sarcasm. ‘An understatement if ever I heard one.’

She looked up, meeting his familiar scowl. His forbidding expression made her feel better instantly. Freshly showered, his hair still damp, Severus sat on a thick green towel that covered the toilet lid, holding onto the washbasin with his left hand. He was wearing only his pyjama bottoms. The bruises on his front had faded to pale shadows, while the ones on his back still stood out in stark contrast, green and black splotches on sallow skin.

His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘Would you prefer me to whine and wail?’

But the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch ever so slightly.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. ‘You? Whine and wail? As if you’d ever. But it’s good to hear you gnash your rather formidable teeth and snarl at me again.’

She stepped forwards and took the jar from him. ‘Allow me, please.’

Wordlessly, he leaned against the washbasin, placing his forehead onto his arms. His black hair fell forwards like a curtain, hiding his face.

Hermione scrutinized his back. She swallowed hard.

Each vertebra was clearly outlined, pale skin stretched tight over the bones. The graceful curve of his ribs was painfully visible. The bruises and contusions had dulled compared to the previous day, but the discoloured marks that liberally spattered his back still indicated clearly that someone had done his level best to beat Severus Snape into a pulp. Hermione took a deep breath and scooped up some bruise balm. When her fingers made contact with his skin, Severus gasped and flinched.

‘Sorry,’ she cried, afraid she’d hurt him even with that light touch.

But he shook his head. ‘No, no—it’s all right. Go ahead.’

This bruise looked like the imprint of a boot. Others, at his lower back, must be marks left by fingers clawing at his flesh. The spots near his neck might be wand marks. But the bruise balm was strong. The contusions faded visibly right under her fingers. Severus’ breathing grew easier with each careful stroke. Indeed, judging from the way his breathing evened out, he seemed to enjoy her touches. Hermione began to lose herself in her task, rubbing and stroking with gentle, soothing fingers. She barely noticed when she was done, and medicinal ministrations turned into caresses. Only when he shivered under her hands, she jumped, mortified.

‘I’m sorry, you must be cold, you need to go back to–’

For the first time since she’d begun, he raised his head. He captured her gaze. His black eyes were burning, his cheeks were flushed, his lips slightly parted. He licked his lips slowly, before he spoke, enunciating each word carefully, ‘I am not cold.’

Even more embarrassed, Hermione dropped her gaze—and brought her head up sharply, when she was confronted with unmistakable evidence that he was indeed not feeling cold at all. He reached for her and clasped his hands around her wrists, drawing her towards him, until she was barely an inch away. ‘Not cold at all.’

His hands slid around her waist, almost circling her slight girth. Now it was her turn to gasp. The blaze in his eyes intensified, but he made no move to pull her closer still.

‘Unfortunately you are right. I think I should go back to bed.’ A wry smile flickered over his lips and he groaned, obviously suppressing a yawn in spite of his arousal. ‘And just to sleep, I’m afraid, for the time being.’

Although her heart was pounding and her insides were almost liquid with desire, Hermione nodded. She lowered her head towards him and brushed her cheek against his. Their sighs mingled, soft and desirous.

‘Sleep, dearest, and heal, and wake again to the sun’s smiling.’

‘If I just wake to your smile,’ he murmured, his voice blurring with fatigue, ‘I’ll be content.’

oooOooo

When Hermione woke the next morning, she found him watching her. She allowed herself to become mesmerized by his intense black stare—she enjoyed the way his gaze caused an instant jolt of desire to erupt within her. Something changed in the depth of his eyes. As if a new spark struck smouldering embers. Her heart seemed to skip a beat before it resumed a frantic rhythm that pulsed in every fibre of her body. He shifted closer to her, until they lay just an inch apart. Like a wave, the warmth of his body flowed against her.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked worriedly.

An elegant black eyebrow quirked with amusement. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?’

‘Hmpf.’ Her hands crept up to hide cheeks that burned with embarrassment, just to be curled away by long and nimble fingers.

She gasped at his touch. But she was still concerned. ‘Are you really sure that you…’

He scowled a little, but the effect was ruined by the way his lips were already parted, ready to kiss her. ‘Trust me, Hermione. A man knows if he is able to do what I have in mind to do to you now.’ His right hand slid into her curls and to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Closer. Closer. Until he was only a breath away from kissing her.

‘I feel a terrible thirst for you, Hermione. I cannot wait any longer.’

‘Then don’t,’ she breathed.

A heartbeat later his lips covered hers.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

In Your Love

(Part 2 of “Slake My Thirst”)

When Hermione’s lips parted in a soft sigh, Severus deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside her mouth. Gently he teased and twirled in liquid caresses, while his fingers massaged the back of her neck, rubbing the base of her skull in tiny circles.

He seemed to enjoy her hair, because he thrust his hands into her riotous curls, and twisted and twined them around his fingers in endless strokes and swirls.

She felt as if she was floating, when he drew away from her lips at last. A small sound of protest escaped her. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses. They were the strangest mixture of silk and steel, soft and demanding at once. Hermione inhaled deeply. He smelled of sweat and bed, and the special fragrance of his home-made shower-gel and perfume underneath: vetyver, nutmeg, cypress, rosemary, bergamot. Her stomach quivered, desire and delight squeezing her insides in desirous anticipation.

‘I love the way you smell,’ she whispered.

Her hands went to his face, cupping his cheeks, smoothing his skin, trailing the lines that the ordeal of the last weeks had deepened so harshly. His hair was tangled and slick after a day and a night spent in bed, but she couldn’t care less. She drew herself up on her knees, so she could reach him better, while his hands travelled down to her shoulders, to her waist, stroking her, kneading her. With a quick, determined movement she slid onto his body, carefully steering free of his erection—yet.

For a moment she halted, hypnotized by his fathomless black eyes.

Then she bent down. First she brushed a feathery kiss across the bridge of his nose, wishing to ease the frown-line there. Then she moved lower, exploring his nose with her lips until he sneezed and glared at her.

‘Stop that,’ he growled.

He narrowed his eyes and squeezed her sides with a clever twist of his long fingers. She squealed and squirmed. The movement shifted her lower and her giggle turned into a gasp as she felt him pressed against her. For a moment neither stirred. The grip of his hands around her waist loosened. If she had wanted to, she could have moved away.

But she didn’t want to.

Desire coiled and uncoiled inside her, tightening her womb in anticipation. She could feel how the sensitive places between her thighs were growing slick with need. Hermione inhaled deeply, then pushed down lightly, nerves and need spurring on her Gryffindor courage. A moan from Severus was her reward. She lowered her head again. His eyes were so black that she couldn’t make out where the pupil ended and the iris began.

His lips beckoned, the fragile curves of his upper lip, the fuller softness of the lower. He had such a sensitive, expressive mouth, Hermione decided. But all too often tight or thin with anger or unhappiness. She slid her lips over his, barely brushing skin against skin. His hands moved along her hips, her thighs, to the hem of her nightshirt. Emboldened, she nipped at his lip. His hands moved underneath her shirt. Now it was her turn to moan.

‘Let me see you,’ he murmured, his voice rough. He bunched up the fabric around her hips and pushed it higher. Obediently, she lifted her arms. His hands stroked upwards and to the front of her body, until they cupped her breasts, the silk of her nightgown spilling over his hands and arms. Quickly she reached down and pulled the shirt completely over her head.

She was not prepared for the expression on his face.

Nature and necessity had conspired to force Severus to carefully guard the façade he presented to the world. Hermione was used to his countenance appearing enigmatic or unreadable, with the various shades of darkness that his eyes presented to the world and the slightest movement of his lips the only signs that might on occasion betray his thoughts or feelings.

Now, suddenly, the veil had lifted, and his emotions played painfully clear over his face.

Need.
Desire.

And something she couldn’t define, something infinitely more gentle, almost like tenderness mingled with disbelief.

Hermione leaned into his touch, pressing her breasts more fully into his hands. Severus groaned and involuntarily kneaded the sensitive tissue, until Hermione arched her back and gasped in surprise at the powerful feelings that surged through her body. Suddenly she did no longer want to sit above him. She needed more. More of his scent, his lips, his hands on her body. More.

She wanted to feel him closer, preferably all over her.

As if he had read her mind—and he might have, after all—his hands slid to her sides again. Gripping her firmly, he pushed against her, while turning around at the same time. A moment later she lay on her back on the duvet, with Severus lying halfway across her. His erection pressed against her stomach, hard, insistent, and hot even through the fabric of his pyjama bottoms. Her stomach quivered, as she realised that he would soon be within her. Her heart thudded almost painfully.

But she had no time to grow nervous, since he was already kissing her again, slowly, sensually, sliding over her lips, her jaws, down her throat, along the wide angle of her collarbones. When he twirled his tongue around her suprasternal notch, she distantly registered that it was her voice which was producing those high-pitched sounds of pleasure.

Further down: kisses for her breasts. Chaste at first, then his clever tongue toyed with one nipple while his hand massaged the other breast. The lightest touch of teeth. And a pleased, predatory smile at her choked moan.

Reaching her navel, he raised his head. When he was sure that she was really looking at him, he gave her a wicked grin and bent down, puffing and blowing into her navel until she convulsed in a helpless spasm. But he allowed her no respite. His fingers reached down and found the curls above the apex of her thighs. Hermione fell back on the bed with a powerless gasp. His fingers moved in slow circles, gradually drifting lower, while his mouth returned to her collarbone, travelling upwards this time.

Instinctively Hermione spread her thighs to allow Severus easier access. At first his fingers feathered over her, scarcely grazing her skin. Her flesh seemed to pulse with her need for him. He kissed her the moment he slipped one of his long fingers between the wet folds of her sex. He began to slide his finger along the curve of her, brushing her mouth with his at the same time, in a twofold seesaw motion. The intensity of the dual caress was almost too much, and she barely recognised her voice as she chanted his name.

Then his adroit finger found what he’d been looking for: the tiny pearl of her clitoris. Round with arousal, it was sensitive to the lightest touch. Hermione discovered that just as Severus could stir a potion to perfection, he could do the same with her desire. He teased her with silken caresses, slowing down and speeding up in a completely unpredictable rhythm that was driving her out of her mind.

She needed three attempts until she managed to rasp, ‘Severus, please!’

She didn’t even know what she asked for. That he stopped teasing her and started fucking her? Or that he would keep torturing her with his hands, his lips and his tongue and the spicy scent that went straight to her head?

‘Very well,’ he sighed against her lips. His voice was hoarse, intense, tense. For a moment he cupped her pulsing flesh. Then he brought the pad of his thumb down on her swollen nub. The broader surface, the slightly rougher skin, an infinitesimal increase in pressure—her body tensed against him, coiled—ready—the salty taste of desire flooded her mouth—and…Her release pulsed helplessly against his thumb. She arched against him, she cried into his kiss, she shuddered in his arms.

He gave her no time to recover her equilibrium or to grow apprehensive. With a swift movement he stripped off his pyjama bottoms and positioned himself over her. She had just a moment to look down and see him, hard, erect, a drop of white crowning his tip, before Severus lowered himself between her thighs.

Then she saw only his eyes, felt his lips—Before a short, sharp pain ripped through her womb, making her cry out in shocked surprise.
He didn’t move, just held her close and watched her, until she caught her breath and relaxed in his arms again.

Hermione met his black eyes and felt herself flush again, even at this singular and significant moment.

‘That was it?’ she asked, her voice breathless.

He inclined his head slightly.

‘That was it,’ he agreed, his voice throaty, his eyes glazed with concentration.

‘Ohhh,’ Hermione sighed.

With that exhalation her body seemed to adjust to his presence within her and she wanted—needed—to move. Instinctively she bucked against him, a tiny spasm that created a new kind of friction within her. She gasped with delight.

Taking his cue, Severus lowered his head and kissed her once more, in a slow, demanding kiss, before he began to move within her. His rhythm was slow, almost soothing, but inexorable. Once the initial pain receded, Hermione’s universe almost imperceptibly shifted and changed.

She’d never felt like this before. Filled. Complete. One half of a whole.

Then there were his arms around her, his hands stroking her, his lips on her mouth, and again and again his eyes, so deep, so dark, but not cold anymore, no, not even dark in the ordinary sense of darkness, but filled with a strange, primeval fire…

His steady thrusts assaulted the coherence of her thoughts, fraying her consciousness, until all that was left was a gentle, rocking motion, an ever increasing need for proximity, his breath at her throat, his scent enveloping her, and somewhere, far away, sweet sighs of pleasure that couldn’t possibly be hers…Until she had no knowledge anymore of where she ended and where he began…

His rhythm claimed her.

Soon he was the only thing left of the world. There was only his rhythm inside her, the delicious friction that brought her closer and closer to that last, painfully sweet moment of tension again…

Black eyes…Black hair…In sweaty tendrils…

Those beautiful lips.
That spot.
OH GOD.

She convulsed around him, clinging weakly to his body as she cried out in her delight. But he held her tightly, as he silently thrust into her.

Again.
Again.

She could feel it as he spent himself within her, deep thrusts dissolving into slow, languid movements. At last he sank down on top of her. A moment later he made a move as if to roll off. But she twined her legs and arms around him, unwilling to let go, unwilling even to let him withdraw from her body.

Only when the sweat grew cold on their bodies and Hermione shivered from the cold, Severus slipped out of her body, soft now, smaller. Just as it had caused her pain when he had sheathed himself within her first, she now experienced a curious pang of pain at losing his touch from within her. As if only with him inside her she could ever be complete.

Somehow they managed to shift and squirm without letting go of each other until they lay in each other’s arms under the duvet. Hermione turned onto her right side. She twined her left leg around his. Her left arm went over his chest. Her head nestled into the crook of his arm. It couldn’t be at all comfortable for Severus, but he did not protest, and merely tightened his hold on her. Thus they fell asleep.

At peace with each other.
At peace with the world.

At last.