Finished exams at long last – but have been so busy celebrating that I fear I have neglected my loyal readers! Apologies – hope this makes up for it!
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The constantly candlelit room was still; the two occupants lay in exhausted stupor on the low bed. As the small storage-cupboard had no windows, and therefore no natural light, it was impossible to tell what the time was from within. The days merged into nights, which then merged back into days, and the couple inside were none the wiser. The only noise to be heard was the soft sighs and snuffles of the pair's breathing; for such passionately vocal people, the room was indeed oddly quiet.
The peace did not last long however; Hermione wriggled in her sleep, falling into the deeper realms of dreams. Her breathy moan shattered the silence; she was having one of those dreams.
She was walking down a dark corridor, a passage that twisted and turned, bronzed brackets held aloft candles to light the way. The scenery was almost gothic in taste: gilded mirrors at the end of each twist, showing the path behind, the candles leaning down to her as she drew near.
She was following him. Not stalking, but following. He knew she was there; he was leading her. She would sometimes catch the flicker of his dark coat, as he rounded a corner ahead. Always just out of reach, she sped up her walk to a jog, and then a run.
He turned to her slightly as she drew closer, and she saw a flash of white on black. His mask almost seemed luminescent against the curtains of jet-black hair. His eyes were so black, and yet they seemed to glitter and spark in the almost pitch-black of the tunnel.
She kept on running, holding the skirts of his dress high.
The cloaked figure ducked around another corner
She sped around it and collided with him.
He caught her in his arms, swiftly bending to tie the cords around her wrists. In one confused motion she felt control being swept from under her feet; her hands were drawn up into the air, tied above her head. All the lights were extinguished around her, except for a softly lit spot-light on herself. She could not turn, could not move; she was at his mercy.
Shivers ran through her frame ash she felt gloved hands encircle her waist very slowly from behind. One finger traced a line up her side, and under her chin, the leather cool against her flushed skin. She could hear her breathing loud in the sudden silence, felt her heart race as his other hand slid up to cover her breast. Leaning her head back slightly, she felt the hands slide up her neck, dance over her temples, and bury themselves in her hair. She had never known such a gentle touch, such tender and knowing fingers.
Letting out a soft moan she felt one hand dip just beneath the low neck of her dress, sweeping lovingly over her breasts, with a simple but firm touch. The other hand in her hair tilted her head sideways, exposing her neck to him. She felt the warmth of his lips on his neck, as he branded her skin with the lightest of kisses. His lips left a butterfly-trail across her exposed skin, as though trying to mark her as his own. He never tried to speed up his actions, always careful and gentle with his touches. Hermione was melting from his deft but simple ministrations; she wanted nothing more but to press her body hard against his, to quench that aching thirst deep inside of her. But he was insistent, drawing her body to a slow, but very pleasurable state. Building on each touch with another, drawing out relaxed mewling noises from her with each kiss. He never touched her mouth, never went further down than her waist, and used nothing but his hands and mouth. She never even saw his face, but by Merlin, Hermione was more turned on than she had ever been.
Desperate to sate this tension building inside of her, she uttered a simple command, between moans:
"Your mask – take it off"
She felt his hands leave her body with reluctance, as he came around to face her under the spot-light. Slipping the cool leather visor from his brow, she stared into his eyes, and knew his name at once.
Unconsciously Hermione uttered the name from her dreams in a deep groan:
"Severus..."
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Snape awoke with a start; he had been surfacing from a particularly nasty dream about cold high voices and bubbling cauldrons, when he felt something. There was something underneath his arm... and it was wriggling... violently. Cracking open one eye, he peered through the gloomy light at the disturbance. He was shocked to find that it was a certain Miss Granger; he remembered the night before and falling into a death-like sleep next to her, but how had his arm got there?
He stared at his pale forearm clutched in her grip, his robes and sleeve had been thrust aside as she gripped his scarred wrist. She had his arm in such a hold that he couldn't extract himself without waking her. She needs the rest he thought desperately, why shouldn't I just let her sleep on?
His question was soon answered. Hermione appeared to be dreaming, and she must have thought that his arm was part of it, for she began to move it. Snape watched in shock, as she pressed his hand to her waist, before drawing it sensuously up her side and under her chin. He watched as she ran his limp fingers through her bushy mane of hair, before sliding it down her temples and across her cheeks. She brushed his fingers across her lips, and he felt the plump swell of warmth beneath his sensitive fingertips. He sighed softly, as he imagined how it would feel for her to allow him to do this to her in a conscious state of mind. He even closed his eyes slightly as he reveled in the sensation, allowing his imagination to wander.
It was then that he received a pleasant shock; Hermione slipped his fingers into her mouth, and sucked hard on them. It was so unexpected, that Snape actually gasped aloud in pleasure, his mind whirling. This pleasure only became greater as Hermione acted out what her dream-self longed to do to her masked-man. She flicked her tongue across his fingertips and sucked them further in to her warm, wet mouth.
Snape groaned at the sensation; all his senses were on fire at this simple, yet deliciously erotic act. In the height of her excitement, she cried out a word that shocked and delighted him.
"Severus..."
His mouth fell open at the sound of his name. It was there... on her lips... his name... his given name... in her throes of passion. He couldn't help himself; it was like she was calling to him, and who was he to resist? Bending over her, he swiftly pressed his lips to hers, swallowing the last syllable of his name as it died on her lips.
His kiss was insistent, yet ever so gentle, his lips only just brushing over hers, before he added a little pressure and sealed them together. He did not attempt to deepen the kiss, or push his tongue past her lips; he simply wanted to feel her at her most relaxed. He wanted to taste the scent of her skin, burn the feel of her lips into his memory forever; their warmth, their softness, and the feel of hers on his. The fluttering movements of her body under his arm were like the wings of a butterfly against him, heavenly and soft.
Eventually, he had to break the connection between them, as he could no longer hold up his body on his other hand, and feared he might squash her otherwise. As he drew away, he stared down at her still sleeping form, and sighed. He had never seen anything more lovely; her hair was tousled from sleep and his hand, her lips plump and glistening from his kiss, a rosy blush glowing in her cheeks. He knew he was not deserving of any of this, but just for now, for tonight, he could pretend that she felt something for him.
In this protective bubble of sleep and a locked room, he could pretend - just for a moment - that she was his. However selfish that sounded, he could not regret it; though she would never want him in life, in sleep, she could give him the false hope that he yearned for. How many years had he been subservient to both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord; how many times had he risked life and limb for the cause; how long had he cast himself into loneliness. Just this once, he told himself, he deserved some small ray of hope in his life.
Staring down at Hermione, he realised that before him, lay his hope. This chattering, bushy-haired know-it-all had somehow worked her way through the darkness of his soul; she had reminded him that, underneath, there was still a heart beating its weakened rhythm against the dusty drum of emotion and love. It had been a long time since Severus Snape had felt the rush of blood through his body, or the racing of his pulse.
Stealing himself to it; he leant down once again and pressed one more tender and brief kiss to Hermione's lips. He closed his eyes, basking in the short sensation of light and hope, before he once more drew away into the lonely blackness of the room.
He never saw Hermione's eyes flicker open.
Or the grin that spread across her features as she awoke to his endearment.
He never saw the tear that glistened in her eye as he retreated once more into himself.
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Thanks for the reviews guys – keep them coming – and I promise to update soon! I will pledge to make it longer next time – but I thought you might want this shorter one ASAP!