VI. La belle dame sans merci

The mattress creaked noisily under their combined weight before Severus rose again, sliding his arms out of the torn shirt and stepping out of his open trousers. Taking her by the hips, he slid Vivienne up to the pillows before covering her body with his, tongues sliding around each other, teeth nibbling as he traced his mouth to the sensitive curve of her neck before lowering his hot mouth between her breasts. Before he could continue his assault, she bucked her hips in a defensive move she learned in Auror training, throwing him off balance enough to flip their positions as she began her own torturous descent down his body with her mouth.

"If you'd wanted to trade," he said breathlessly, "you need only have asked."

She smiled and continued working on exploring his scarred sinewy chest. Flicking her tongue over his nipple, she nipped it lightly as she pinched the other one before trailing her hands down to his hips. His hands came up to her hair, clutching at her as she lowered herself, swirling her tongue and laving it in his belly button, sliding it down to the darker curls as his member twitched against her throat in a bawdy salute. She raked her fingernails up his thighs, contrasting the sensation with soft kisses on his shaft as he groaned and cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer against him. Exhaling as she took all of him into her, Vivienne relaxed her throat muscles and moaned over him. Now writhing fully he began bucking against her, a small taste of salty semen dripping from the tip as she began sliding her mouth up and down. Dipping her hand back to cup his balls, she felt behind the sac and began pulsing the spot as she sucked harder while he thrust into her mouth, groaning and writhing as he tensed, crying out as he shot into her wet willing mouth. She swallowed the tart taste of him as he pulled her up, rolling her over and taking her into another simmering kiss.

His hands then mirrored her gesture, raking up her thighs and connecting right at her center as he thrust two fingers into her opening, sliding them in and out and around her folds. Lazily, he swirled his thumb over her still swollen nub, pulsing inside her as his other hand massaged her breast, tweaking her nipple as she bowed up, straining against his hands and overwhelmed with the sensations he was causing all over her body. Her knees pulled up, her legs spread wantonly, she bucked again and again thrusting against his skilled fingers, his thumb now pulsating against her clit as she moaned, clutching at him and clawing nails down his back, she came with a scream and fell back spent, unbearably aroused still as she watched him suck the juices from his fingers before leaning in to kiss her, knowing this night was far from over.

***

She woke the next morning as she rolled over and felt a man's bare chest under her palm. Having forgotten where she was, her eyes snapped open to see him gazing at her intently. "Good morning," he ventured. "Sleep well did you?"

"Morning?" she repeated still bleary, then bolted straight out of bed looking around. "Zut! Sacre! Suis en retard! Quel heure est-il? Pourquoi tu ne m'es reveill pas?" After a moment's search, she located her trampled robe, shook it out and was pulling it on before she looked up and saw the utterly amused look on his face. "Qu-est-ce que la problme?"

"Try that in English, won't you?" he replied, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth and an eyebrow raised as he slid leisurely out of bed and pulled his trousers back on.

"What time is it?"

"Barely seven o'clock."

"You are certain?"

"Quite," he said, gesturing to a wall clock.

"Ah. You might have said."

"I may have, had I known what all that French gabble was," he countered.

"I will have to relieve Tonks by eight," she said, now feeling as though she ought to make some sort of explanation for leaving abruptly. "I will, perhaps, see you at breakfast?"

"Certainly." Already quite close, he took a step forward as she backed up, straight into the ottoman. Her knees buckling at the contact, he caught her as she fell. Clutching the front of the robe, his fingers brushed across her cleavage and she uttered stifled gasp as she lost balance again and landed against him. The distance between them now gone, he swept his fingers up to cup the back of her neck while her gaze focused on his mouth. Leaning down his lips met hers, parting them, a brushing tease before her tongue dipped in, laving against his own in a light lazy dance. She swept the tip of her tongue once over his bottom lip before nipping it gently as he cupped her elbows and stepped back, breaking the contact.

"If that keeps up," he said, swallowing hard, "you'll be quite as late as you thought you were."

"Oui. Right. True." She turned, nearly tripping again over the ottoman, thankful her back was now to him and he could not see the blush creeping up. She Flooed straight into her bedroom and sank to her knees. Not in years had she felt so deliciously used. The man was definitely a wonder, she thought. Despite all his harsh looks, there was quite a bit of tenderness there, not to mention a solid reputation from anyone she had talked to in the past week for being a wealth of knowledge and skill. Not to mention the unqualified bravery and strength it took to act as a spy in Lord Voldemort's own camp. Yes, she reasoned, using the post of her bed to pull herself up, there was a lot more to this mystifying man than she had perceived at first. And if there is one thing she loved, it was an enigma.

As she stood shakily in her own room pondering the mysteries of Severus Snape, the man himself paced while fumbling with the buttons on his newly repaired shirt. She was definitely a minx, he considered, wincing a bit as the linen came in contact with his scored back. Not that he minded having a randy red-head clawing at him, especially when she was also moaning in ecstasy, but she was no mere trollop, that was for certain. She was good enough at her job that the French Ministry had sanctioned her as an aide-de-camp, and in fact, she came very highly recommended according to Dumbledore. Simply being an Auror was no small feat; their training was legend and at times rumored to be almost brutal. That move she had used last night was a good indicator, he thought smiling to himself. Not many Death Eaters could pin him and he had been--though vulnerable at the time--bested by the woman. And yet, he considered it highly amusing that such a venerable witch had flushed like a school girl after a midnight romp and one searing morning kiss. Knowing this, and being fully aware of her flaming temper and razor's-edge wit, Severus considered himself lucky that dear, sweet Bella had made such a blazing foul-up. Bless her. With that thought in mind, he nipped back a swig of the untouched firewhiskey and strode out the door to the great hall.