Author's Note: This is, as you can tell, basically a smutty romp and I am so very not sorry.
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.
"Did...do 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?"
"Yes."
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.
"Severus?"
"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.
If you're curious as to Hermione's dress, I fell in love with Alfred Angelo's style 8556. It's adorable and perfect.
