Let's Get Physical: Five years after the war, and Severus Snape still doesn't feel like his own master. Can Hermione Granger help him see his Freedom? Rated M SS/HG
Disclaimer: This small fanfic is based off of the Harry Potter series, written by JKRowling. I make no money; I just enjoy writing from time to time. Somewhat compliant with the DH, but I had to save my favorite professor.
WARNING: Rated M for a reason. This is a HG/SS story, if you don't like this pairing, you don't have to read. This takes place several years after the war, meaning, Hermione is well over the age requirement.
WARNING #2: Opening chapter has mild adult action. So…If you wish to skip, I will have a quick clean recap somewhere in Chapter 2. *rubs hands together*
There were four bare walls, a small dingy bed, and window that overlooked the streets of Diagon Alley. The window obviously hadn't been cleaned in years. Not only were there chips and cracks in the glass panes, but the thick layer of dust almost hid the large decorative cob web in the lower corner. Almost. The yellowed bulb from the street lamp below, gave the room a haunted and barren feel. It was a small room, with little comforts, but it served its purpose. The smell of booze and sex filled the air and the candles were always left untouched. He hated candle light on nights like this.
He had her bent over the foot of the bed with her skirt hitched up, and her knickers around her ankles. His robes were splayed open and his trousers hung down below his ass. He preferred it this way. Fully clothed, no light, and silence; other than their erratic breathing, and the music coming from downstairs. He never made eye contact. There weren't any pleasantries; No words of compassion or cuddles. It was a quick release.
He reached around to the front of her low cut top, and yanked down the fabric, exposing her large saggy breasts to the dim light coming from the window. Latching on to her right breast, he roughly pinched her delicate skin. A sharp intake of breath and she slammed her foot down, coming close to stomping on his dragon hide boots. The moisture around his member increased and he squeezed a little harder. He was a cold, harsh man, who remained distant during the act; but he wasn't entirely selfish. She was enjoying it. His free hand grabbed her by her brown locks, jerking her head back - his hips never losing his rhythm. He focused on her breathing as his eyes rolled back, and he growled as he neared release. Letting go of her taunt nipple, his fingers dug into her hips and she let out a yelp.
"Ah! Buggar that bloody hurts. Loosen up, will you?" she pleaded.
"You got your gold. Now shut up and take it," he growled, opening his eyes. He never occupied a room for very long for these trysts. He needed not the emotional comforts of a relationship or the mental struggle of Russian-Roulette during a menstrual cycle; to hell with that. No. His interest, were simply physical. He tended to his needs, and when a solo performance wasn't good enough, he indulged. He didn't make a habit of these evenings; once, maybe twice a year. How long had it been? His lips thinned as his hands loosened slightly on her hips.
She turned her face toward him, but he kept his eyes on the window, focusing on a small insect trapped in the cobweb. He felt her head lean back, and became rigid when he felt her breath on his sensitive scared neck.
"Don't," he hissed, pushing her back towards the bed, causing the witch to lose her footing. With her hips resting on the footboard, and her feet flailing slightly in the air, he placed both hands on her hips, and began to ram his member deep inside the struggling witch. The silence was broken by her muffled moan, as she forced her own face deep into the mattress. She knew he liked his silence, but she enjoyed a good scream every now and then. A sharp pain across her ass, and she moaned again. Yes, hit me again.
As if he could read her thoughts, he raised his hand again and smacked her other cheek. She wasn't the tightest witch he'd ever paid for, but she was responsive. He could smell her sex, and he could feel her moisture on his sack, as he pounded into her from behind. His knees were getting sore, and he stared out the window as his balls began to tighten. Time to end this. Clenching his eyes shut he placed his large hands on her ass, feeling the small whelps he had given her as a reminder of their evening.
When his release came, he pulled back from the witch careful to catch his own seed in his fist. He would not become some bug trapped in a forgotten cobweb. The prophet would run wild with that headline, "War Hero Knocks up Prostitute". Reaching for his wand, he silently casted a cleaning spells on himself and his partner, and in three long strides he pulled up his trousers, buttoned and zipped his pants and fled out of the room.
The music and commotion from down stairs was surprisingly a welcome to his ears, as he felt the delusion charm drop from his form. He rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to get his pupils to dilate and adjust to the halls brighter lights. The rose and tulip wallpaper, slowly came into focus as he latched his belt in place, before heading down to the pub.
It had been five years since the war, and the crowd at the pub was just as large, if not larger, than last year's gathering. He was hoping for a quick escape without being noticed, but his black orbs met her cinnamon brown eyes, and his face went stiffened. She held his gaze, and for a moment, the two stared at one another as if daring the other to look away. A red head, no doubt a Weasley, blocked his view from the woman, and he quickly took his leave.
AN: I guess you would call this my first fanfic (or at least the first posted fanfic). Sorry for the short chapter. I wanted to give our Professor a quicky before this takes off. It might be a while before he gets to indulge again, we shall see. Please feel free to point out any errors. Let me know if it flows well. After you read it five or six times, it becomes redundant and errors are harder to catch. :P