JUST ONE NIGHT
CHAPTER TWO:
ONE KISS
DECEMBER 2009
He adjusted his body on top of hers, flattening himself against her, one hand on her upper thigh, the other lost in the tangled curls of her shoulder-length hair. His mouth met hers again... and again... and again... His tongue slipped into her mouth, his teeth scraped over her bottom lip... He was drinking her down... again... again... again.
She groaned into his open mouth, feeling tipsy from the hot cinnamon whiskey taste on his tongue.
They'd been sleeping together for over a year and, until tonight, he'd never kissed her, nor had he let her kiss him, at least not on the mouth. He'd run his tongue over her breasts and used it to explore between her legs, sucked on the side of her neck and bit the back of her shoulder, but his lips never met hers and when she tried to capture his he'd turned his head, nonverbally rebuking her attempt.
Tonight, for reasons unexplained, was different.
He was different.
And she didn't know why...
But she liked it.
It was four days before Christmas, one day before he would leave Hogwarts to head home for the holiday to spend time with his wife and younger daughter, and six days after the 12th birthday of his older daughter.
She brought him a bottle of Firewhisky as a Christmas gift, even though doing so might be crossing a line. He sat at his desk, as usual, with portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses behind him. He tilted back in his chair, regarding her carefully, as he twisted the cap of the alcohol. Upon summoning over two tumblers, he poured them each a generous glass, passing one across the desk to her.
"I do not usually drink during work hours, Headmaster," she said, but she took the glass, letting her fingers brush against his.
He inclined his head in the direction of the window, through which moonlight streamed.
"It may have escaped your notice, Minister, but we are outside the usual working hours."
She nodded but did not lift the glass to her lips. He, on the other hand, downed nearly half in one gulp.
They discussed the school, the Ministry, the Daily Prophet, and the weather.
"Your new staff members seem to be settling in," she said.
"As well as to be expected," he agreed. "It must be challenging at the Ministry at present, given the attempted resurgence of the Knights of Walpurgis."
"They are keeping us busy." She shivered in the chill of the castle, even though his fire was roaring. "It has been a cold December."
"Yes, very," he agreed. "I heard the Ministry has contracted a couple Charms Masters with the hope of developing a new, more effective warming charm."
"Yes!" She brightened. "We have the two exceptionally talented Charms Masters working together with a small team of retired house-elves who are willing to share their magic in order to develop a better one. The benefits are two-fold – not only will such a charm be a plus for witches and wizards, but it gives a sense of purpose and legitimacy to the elves who no longer serve their masters. Additionally, it is a way to remind us all that being non-human does not make a magical creature lesser..."
Conversation flowed more easily from there, but did not delve into personal waters.
She was prepared to depart at half past eight, an hour after arrival, not having taken a single sip of the spirit she'd gifted him. He stood and walked her to the door, thanking her for stopping off at the school even though both knew there was no reason for her to have come; they'd just had an official meeting in late November.
He put out his hand and she took it to shake, but as she attempted to pull away he jerked her forward. Her chest crashed against his, her forehead hit his shoulder, and she gazed up at him with a vague look of surprise as his free hand went to her hip.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she continued to stare up at him. Aside from the very first time, none of their encounters had happened organically. On the contrary, at the end of each of her visits, be they professionally necessary or not, he'd either bid her adieu or ask if she'd like to retire to the sitting room, which was code for sex. Sometimes they'd end up in his bed. Sometimes she'd stay for hours. Twice in these last fifteen months she'd remained with him until sunrise.
Most of the time, though, he threw her onto the couch or bent her over the table and fucked her hard and fast, seeking nothing but his own satisfaction, though it usually resulted in hers, too. She could not discern in advance what kind of night they would have, whether she would leave Hogwarts in the evening feeling empty and aching on account of his apparent lack of interest, or whether she'd end up panting and writhing under him, listening to his deep, calm voice in her ear demanding she fully give in to him.
Tonight he'd bid her adieu.
Adieu meant she would be leaving aching and empty.
So what was this?
She continued to stare up at him, her bright brown eyes meeting his inky black ones, scarcely able to breath, when she suddenly realized his face was drawing closer to hers. His right hand released hers and, a second later, she felt his palm against her face. Gently. More gentle than he'd ever been with her. The pad of his thumb ran back and forth against her cheekbone, tender, purposeful. His head tilted. Her eyes closed.
He was going to kiss her.
But... was he going to kiss her?
He'd never kissed her. Never allowed her to kiss him.
And then...
His lower lip brushed against both of hers, first her top, then bottom, as his mouth opened slightly. When their lips met, his were parted, hers were not, but he made no further attempt to deepen this kiss. He kissed her as a couple might on their wedding day – with enough passion to express the longing and attraction behind it, but with the reverence necessary when in the presence of witnesses... which they were.
"She's married," said the scolding voice of Minerva McGonagall from her portrait, hung directly beside that of Dumbledore. "She's married and so are you."
Hermione felt the familiar weight of guilt heavy on her chest, making her feel as if she was being buried under stones, but when Severus sucked her bottom lip between his, holding more tightly to her head and her body, she felt her knees buckle. He acted as though he hadn't heard his former boss; he was highly adept at tuning out both the woman and Dumbledore, who often voiced his own disapproval of the situation. Hermione found doing so more difficult, but tonight, she was determine to block out any distractions.
They'd been sleeping together over a year and in all the times she'd fantasized about being kissed by him, she'd never imagined it quite like this. So soft. So sensual. Full of longing. Arousing.
Perfection.
Now her lips parted, granting entrance to his tongue, as the hand on her hip went to her lower back and the hand on her cheek threaded under the back of her plaited hair. He tasted of Firewhisky and smelled of clean cotton and she couldn't help emitting a whimper into his mouth when she felt the evidence of his growing erection against her abdomen.
When his lips finally left hers she felt empty and incomplete, but only for a moment. He kissed her cheek and her temple and the spot just before her ear, and finally her upper body remembered how it worked so she wrapped her arms around him, unwilling to let him let her go.
"Not my sitting room," he said in a low voice, directly into her ear, which caused a tug in her lower belly and sent a flood of warmth between her legs. "In my bed. I need you in my bed tonight."
"Just one night," she whispered, which had become their mantra whether that night lasted an hour or eight.
"All night," he specified, sending another shiver through her as his hand gripped her arse. "I intend to use my mouth on you in any way you'll permit me, to ravish and ravage you, to capture your tongue and drink you down, to taste you with my tongue – to taste you everywhere – and to do so all night."
This statement made her brain go fuzzy. It made her pussy clench and her toes curl and her heart race, and the best response she could manage was a nod just before his lips against captured hers in another searing, sinful kiss. His voice could bring her to orgasm – he'd done it before – and the anticipation of what was to come was nearly enough to make her weep, to make her go weak with want for him. Now she was the one with her palm to his cheek, her head tilted just so, lapping and sucking at his tongue and nipping at his lower lip and wondering whether he'd have to carry her to the bedroom, as she wasn't certain she had the strength to walk.
As if he'd read her mind (or perhaps he had indeed read her mind), he lifted her with one arm around her back and the other looped under her knees. She closed her eyes and didn't open them again until she felt her back sinking into his soft mattress. His hands went to her hair as he sucked her lower lip between his, running his tongue along it until he'd freed her frazzled mane from the confines of its braid. She moaned as his fingers threaded through her tangles and curls, while his other hand ran down the length of her body, over her breast, down her midsection, to her hip, to her thigh... She bent up her legs, allowing him to nestle between them, his groin against hers. He was hard and she couldn't keep herself from thrusting against him, wanting his cock unrestrained from his trousers, wanting it throbbing hot in her hand, jerking into her mouth, buried deep in her quim... anywhere.
He adjusted his body on top of hers, flattening himself against her, one hand on her upper thigh, the other lost in the tangled curls of her shoulder-length hair. His mouth met hers again... and again... and again... His tongue slipped into her mouth, his teeth scraped over her bottom lip... He was drinking her down... again... again... again. She groaned into his open mouth, feeling tipsy from the hot cinnamon whiskey taste on his tongue.
"With which part of my body shall I fuck you first, Minister?" he asked in a low growl. "And in which part of yours?"
She relished this, how he talked to her during sex, how he asked questions and made demands, how he could switch from vulgar, dirty talk to sensual, almost-romantic words of endearment, how he could call it fucking and reference her cunt then call her brilliant and worship her vulva all in one breath, making her simultaneously feel like a lady and a whore, conflicting sensations she loved when combined.
"Keep kissing me," she asked, knowing to do so was a risk, as she might inadvertently wake him up to this presumably unintentional new intimacy and make him regret having given into it. To her pleasant surprise, he obliged, drinking her down just as he'd promised.
He undressed her slowly as their lips met over and over. He took his time with every tiny black button on the crimson and navy blue dress she wore, one she hoped made her look professional and approachable at once, for as the Minister she wanted to convey that she was in charge, but also that she was on an equal plane with her people.
"You are an uninspired dresser," said Severus as he pushed the material off her shoulders, having unbuttoned it from collar to hem and removing it from her like a coat. He tossed it carelessly to his floor, not caring whether she returned home rumpled and wrinkled.
"I don't dress for you," she said, glaring defiantly down at him as he sunk his teeth into the center front band of her bra, between her breasts. But she arched her back into his touch when he brought his hands up over her chest, palming each over the lacy silk before dipping this thumbs under the cups to bring her nipples to hard peaks.
"Don't you?" He glanced up at her with one eyebrow raised as he fingered the lace trim of her moss green bra. Her panties, green silk with lace sides, matched, and she felt her cheeks go pink at the realization he knew she'd worn this under her dress with the hope he'd be seeing it later. "You put this on with me in mind. You needn't have. I'd suck your tits regardless of what lingerie you use to cover them... but I appreciate the symbolism."
"Symbolism?" she asked. She lifted her back from the mattress, allowing him to unclasp the bra, which he slid slowly off and tossed to the floor to join her dress.
"Slytherin green hidden under Gryffindor maroon."
"The dress isn't quite maroon."
"You keep this part of yourself hidden..." His mouth wrapped around her areola, sucking hard, and she couldn't fight back a loud moan when his tongue flicked back and forth across the hardened bud in the center of her nipple. His hand went between her legs, rubbing her over the damp silk protecting her clit from his calloused fingers, and she bucked against him.
"I... keep nothing hidden... there is no symbolism here..." It was difficult to get the words out. His mouth left her breast and, without going to the other as expected, traveled down to the waistband of her knickers. His tongue darted under the material, running along her lower belly, dipping down to the top of her mons... freshly waxed in anticipation of this last meeting before the end of the year, leaving her with little hair and even less credibility in her assurance that she hadn't dressed or groomed with him in mind.
"Why must you lie to me, Minister? Did you not run on a campaign of honesty, transparency?"
"That extends to my political life, Head... Headmaster..." She pressed her arse against the mattress, gripping the pillow beneath her head, as he sucked her clit through the green silk. "Not my personal life, as you well know."
"Admit it, Minister: this is my true Christmas gift," he said. "The Firewhisky was but an aperitif, to momentarily quench my thirst while stimulating my appetite in preparation for the upcoming feast."
"You're feasting on me?" she asked, fighting the urge to wrap her fingers in the back of his hair and grind his face between her legs until she exploded like a fizzy drink that's been vigorously shaken before opening. She groaned again as his fingers joined his tongue. One slipped under the material of her knickers, rubbing between her folds, before being removed far too soon. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched as he sucked that finger into his mouth, his hunger for her evident in his dark eyes. They made eye contact. She could not blink.
"Would you like to taste yourself on my tongue, Minister?" His hands went to the lacy sides of her knickers, pinching the material between his thumb and forefingers before drawing them slowly down her legs and off, to join the rest of her clothing on the floor. "Do you know how delicious you are?"
Before she could answer, he buried his tongue between her lips, gripping her inner thighs to keep her legs open, sucking her clit and causing a cascade of wetness to pool between her legs. Though he'd pleasured her before in a number of ways, this, like the kissing, was different tonight. He seemed more intent on bringing her pleasure for the mere sake of doing so than usual, and when her orgasm overwhelmed her he rode it out, letting her legs grip his face instinctively, lapping her up as if she were as thirst-quenching as that Firewhisky.
As her climax ebbed, he moved like a panther back up her body and captured her lips against with his, slipping his tongue into her mouth, making her taste herself for the first time, even though, by this point, she'd been married nearly ten years.
After several seconds of snogging, he fell onto his back beside her, the usual visual representation that whatever had happened between them was now over, but she would not accept this tonight. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and let her hand make its way slowly from his shoulder to his abdomen to his hard cock, still confined by his clothing. She chewed her bottom lip and looked at him. He could read her even without Legilimency. He knew by the way her tongue ran along her bottom lip what she intended to do.
"You don't need to," he said.
"I do," she argued. "You've done for me. I owe you."
"You've already done for me more than you know," he said. She wanted him to elaborate but both knew full well he wouldn't.
"I like the way you taste," she said, her hand working over his erection. His manhood twitched beneath her hand and she smiled. "I like the taste of your tongue. Like cinnamon."
"That would be the Firewhisky." His hand came up to rest upon her cheek again. Her hair hung down, creating a curtain around them, as she leaned forward. "I apologize for not getting you a gift."
"No apology necessary." (Fuck, she wanted to kiss him again, but she wasn't certain he'd allow it.) "You still want me to stay the night? All night?"
He nodded, brought his hand up to cup her cheek as she was doing to his, and drew her down to him. Just before their lips met, he murmured, "After all, it's just one night."
And then he kissed her. Or she kissed him. Neither could say who closed the gap.
It didn't matter, though.
It didn't matter.
It was just one kiss.
A/N:
Thanks to all those who have decided to Follow this fic, left reviews, and/or added to Favorites!
Each chapter will have a different date and purpose, through which the details of their 'relationship' and what's happening with their marriages (plus everything that's occurred since the war ended) will slowly be revealed, so it's structurally a bit different than my other, more linear fics.
I hope you enjoy!
-AL
