UNTOUCHED
A story by Anette S
Disclaimer: Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.
Author's note: Thank you all for your reviews, support and interest, they warm my sensitive writer's heart. This story has yet again been made better by the careful attention of my Beta Chris. This chapter is rated M. Yes, it's time. I eagerly await your comments!
Chapter 36
Coming home
Severus had an issue with nudity. It was a truth he knew well, but one he had rarely thought about before Hermione's reign over his life and heart.
He'd also developed a dangerous habit of losing the usual tightly held control over his emotions when in the company of aforementioned witch. For most of his life he'd learned to suppress any feeling; push it into the deepest recesses of his battered soul.
Now he found himself in a situation twice as difficult to digest, for he stood very much naked and even more nervous in the middle of his, their, bedroom. He could feel the tension running down his skin to the tips of his fingers and toes, and it was not a welcome feeling.
The witch standing before him wasn't faring much better.
But they'd made a pact, they even had a plan, and they were determined to follow through on it.
With a deep sigh and a trembling hand, Hermione interlaced her fingers with his and walked them those few short steps over to their bed.
Focusing on keeping his breath steady and his heart in his chest, Severus followed her.
There was no romance, no comfort in their tense beginning.
But there was spirit, and grit, and a healthy dose of courage.
Settling her knees into the middle of the mattress, she turned to him, and he joined her, mirroring her position. She raised a palm to his shoulder and let it slip just a bit, caressing his collarbone in silent reassurance.
With more bravery than her man possessed in this moment, Hermione took a deep breath and settled back into the pillows, stretching her shaking legs. She struggled to keep her gaze on him, to not hide her face in the pillows, despite her overwhelming feeling of inadequacy.
She reached for him, and it gave him the strength to follow her into her arms, their eyes connected, always communicating, always soothing.
Severus lay next to her, and his arm found the curve of her waist as they turned to each other.
She stroked his cheek and he exhaled softly, the warmth of her nearness calming him a tiny bit.
In the warm evening of this late spring day, ensconced in the privacy of their little safe harbour, their home… deeply hidden from anyone and anything but themselves and their thoughts and fears, they embarked on their most challenging journey.
It had been some time ago, after a particularly relaxing and sensual encounter, that they'd become free enough with each other to suggest and discuss an idea.
"It takes me a while after we begin, but I do feel great comfort from the touch of you, all of you," she'd said lovingly as she ran her hands down the sides of his naked chest, her palm curling to brush along his equally accessible hip. "What do you feel?" she asked as she felt his breath hitch, his lips brush the underside of her chin from their vantage point.
"Fear, terror, anguish," he began in his mellifluous voice, and she chuckled lovingly, her other hand sneaking into his hair, pulling him further into the soft pillow of her breasts."Peace," he added almost in a whisper.
Severus had found himself in her arms, helpless to the strong onslaught of emotions, the feeling of fragility. Settled between her legs, with the welcoming weight and warmth of her calves high on the back of his thighs, he was figuratively cocooned in her. A Heaven, a place where all his worlds ended and began.
She kissed him slowly, deeply, and pulled him to her, her bent knees making a cradle for him to settle in. His arms found their place around her, under her, as she was not alarmed when his thighs parted hers a bit more, the coarse hairs on his legs scratching the smooth silk of her skin.
Hermione yearned for their final connection, and he indulged her needy look, leaning over her to kiss her longingly before he slid down slightly, his chest sinking into the welcoming warmth and softness of her. She tangled one hand in his hair as her other hand settled atop his back.
With a sigh he rubbed his cheek along the milky softness of her breasts, filling his chest with the scent of clear skies and his heart with peace.
A week had passed since they'd embarked diligently upon their little exploration every night. What started as a spark of realization of mutual comfort in this most intimate embrace, had flourished into the idea that this could be their path, their private way into a deeper connection as lovers.
"Are you comfortable?" she asked him, gently rubbing her hands over him, soaking in his warmth, soothing his tense muscles. Her palms roamed slowly but gently all over his back, still staying above the magical line of his pelvis—but only for now.
He stayed silent for a while longer, his eyes closed, his body slowly relaxing over hers, letting her gentle ministrations ease him into their private dance.
"Yes," he whispered into her skin.
Hermione's hands slid lower with each curve they made on their path up and down his back. She focused upon welcoming his weight, feeling his warmth—not only the warmth beneath her palms, but the warmth of his body between her legs. It was particularly important to feel him there, to ease her still-shaking thighs, but her body had been learning. Now the warmth of Severus so close to her centre slowly eased her.
He knew to stay still, allowing her to hold him, to claim possession of his body. He knew how important for the rhythm of their exchange it was that she claimed him first. It was the only way she would be able to relax. Although he itched to be of assistance, he'd learned that his role right now was to be still and patient each time she reacquainted her skin with the touch and warmth of his.
He felt the moment her legs accepted his weight, and with no small amount of pleasure surmised that it had happened much more quickly than on the day they did this for the first time, a week ago.
Up until that night, their encounters were wonderful, sensual, but unsteady, cloaked in fear of a possible—no, quite probable surge of memories that would render her unresponsive and hurl her back into one of her many dark moments.
It was a night not unlike this one; only it ended the way this one began, in this comforting embrace. Slick with perspiration and with their minds frazzled by the passion they both felt after what seemed like an endless chain of heated kisses and embraces, it was the first time she was still with him in mind, with only her body tensing up.
"I want to kiss and lick and drink from you, I wish to open you to me and breathe in your scent, to rest my face into this place where your life force murmurs under the steady drum of your heartbeat," he whispered into her skin just below her navel, and she trembled. "I hear it, and I feel it is alive for you to hear again," he said softly, his lips so close to the small cleft of her pubis.
Wrapped in each other like a knot tightly bound, the two drops of energy meeting perfectly with their contrasting centres, she shook, but held his head where he'd lain it, shaking but listening, hearing his words.
As her legs lost control to the spasms of terror, her hands pulled him up and his eyes mirrored hers in wide wonder as he realized she was still present.
"I..." she groped at his shoulders, pulling herself into him—or was it the other way around?—but their eyes stayed connected. "...help me... stay... with... you..." she panted, and he at last shook himself into action as his body caught up with his mind.
"Oh, darling!" he exhaled, pulling her into his embrace, leaning down, his body slack with wonder, with relief. "My beautiful wonderful brave Hermione," he murmured as his lips travelled further down until they instinctively reached for her nipple. The connection of the pert peak of her breast with his hot tongue seemed to have given them both the desired anchor, for although she continued shaking, her hands wove into his hair and she pressed him there.
"Severus, stay with me," she begged, tears flowing. "Stay there, hold onto me," she kept repeating, and he kept reaffirming their connection with warm wet licks bestowed on her sensual peak.
It had been an epiphany, and the spark for the idea they'd been diligently applying themselves to each night since then.
He gently laid a kiss on the soft mound close to his warm lips, testing the proverbial waters, and she smiled. "I'm okay," she whispered.
He knew she was, as he couldn't help but sense the moment when she relaxed under him. His lips curled into as smile, a smile she felt as he nuzzled his face in the valley between her breasts.
She sighed, her hands never tiring of their exploration of his shoulders, his neck, his ebony hair.
He was a man quite unused to being touched so, and in a way that made him so vulnerable. She was too wise not to notice it, and when he'd laid his head so tenderly on her breasts that very first night, she knew it was in silent request; much as it was in comfort and surrender of the imagined power to her. She understood that he—just as much as she—needed to be held more than anything else. Touched, kissed, stroked, and caressed until his own skin accepted her, just as she needed to accept him. They were both unlearning the past and accepting the present, and the evenings were becoming quite wonderful in all their terrifying nakedness and raw emotional energy.
They would strip bare in front of one another, perfectly aware of the physical and emotional blocks they were chipping away each time an item of clothing fell onto their carpet.
They chose to undress completely tonight, chose to dance this little dance just as they had every evening since that first. It was an agreement made that first night, with his head resting on her belly and his body curled into a ball around her in a gentler imitation of their previous passionate embrace, their yin and yang being represented in that precise moment by the two bodies desperately seeking a new path to freedom.
"I like this," she sighed, as he continued kissing down her torso, his hands coming up from beneath her to stroke her arms. She felt an unexpected surge of power at the sight and sensation of the man she loved so devotedly worshiping her body, keenly aware of every moan and sigh of pleasure escaping his lips. She tingled, the surface of her skin transmitting more than just the physical warmth of his presence to her brain as he slid a bit further down and concentrated on her belly.
She could feel the tension as her thighs spread wider from the presence of his shoulders there, and he remained in his post like a faithful soldier, awaiting her signal to progress or hold his place.
"Too much?" he murmured, trailing kisses over her hip like a delicate string of pearls.
"N-no... not too much, but almost," she rasped, her voice heavy with anguish and uncertainty, but also desire.
It was the desire he latched onto.
"Guide me," he whispered. "Step by step, kiss by kiss, tell me," he implored as he locked his eyes to hers, then deliberately placed a long kiss into the small indent of her waist above the hip.
"That feels... good," she replied, her voice shaky from excitement. It was somewhat like a treasure hunt, and she revelled at the thought of reciprocating the favour in a short while.
He smirked and she felt an unexpected wetness soften her inner walls at the smouldering look on his face. He seemed ready to possess her, and she was—at last—not alarmed by it, as once she would have been.
"And..." his lips travelled an inch lower "... this?" he licked the seam of her leg and hip, causing her to buck slightly. A deep groan escaped her lips.
His cock twitched painfully into the mattress, trapped under the weight of its master and most displeased for being left out of the game.
"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" he said, and his eyes focused on her glistening centre. She was radiating heat, and the small lips, so carefully groomed, spoke the truth of her acceptance with their plump pinkness.
She looked down at him, at his hands stroking her hips as his eyes focused on her pussy.
His mouth filled with saliva at the expectation of her taste. He looked at her, asking silent permission to finally, after all these other sorts of intimacies, touch her at her most tender opening. Asking with the eyes of a man starving for his favourite fruit.
She took a deep, slow breath and closed her eyes with the exhalation. Her body relaxed into the bed, into his arms, where she knew she was safe, loved, treasured and respected.
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes yet again opening, seeking his, seeking this contact in the moment he leaned his lips to the smooth skin just above the slit that awaited his entrance.
His tongue darted out and he applied himself to worshiping the tender expanse of pale skin with his wet mouth, opened and slack in utter passion and anticipation. He pressed a deep passionate kiss into the centre of her mound, stroking it as his tongue explored its corners in final preparation.
All the time, with every stroke leading him further into her wet warmth, she sighed soft moans of encouragement, of confirmation, of desire.
At last, with palms confidently pressed into her hips and his lungs almost painfully constricted with the fullness of his chest, he leaned forward, inhaling her before the very tip of his tongue moved slowly but resolutely from the bottom to the top of her opening. One long, deep lick: the beginning of a new life for them. Picking up some of her wetness with the tip of his tongue, he lifted his face to swallow his first taste of her, his eyes on her face.
She was crying.
Crying, but with a smile on her face, her breasts heaving as she sobbed. She laughed, a small, almost surprising laugh, and then it burst forth, and she pulled him up to her, her palms firm on his arms as she expressed her wish.
He landed on her with his full weight, but it bothered her not when she pulled his head to hers and opened wanton lips to him, her tongue not waiting but pushing into his mouth—the mouth that still hummed with the taste of her.
She kissed him like a woman possessed, like a beast liberated from the confines, like a soul given air after an eternity without. Her tongue roamed and pushed and fought with his as he played with equal leverage, giving all she gave into this kiss, more than they had ever dared to give before.
Finally, after oxygen became more than a mere afterthought, he pulled from her, gasping for air, and hugged her to his chest, lifting her up from the bed as he buried his face into her neck.
They laughed, then wept; then she kissed him again, and with the same passion pouring from her eyes, she pushed him gently down at his shoulder.
"What have you done to me, Severus Snape?" she rasped, her voice hoarse from the passion springing deep inside of her. "What have you done?" she repeated as he followed the lead of her palm, his lips trailing once again down her body, this time more firmly, with more speed, rushing to taste her again, this time confident of his acceptance.
"Do you remember what I told you, not so long ago?" he asked as his lips again came in contact with her moisture. He pressed another kiss, deep and succulent, into that very centre of her body. "What I would do to you?"
"Yes," she replied, shaking, humming, losing herself in the firm press of his mouth. "Say it, tell me what you desire," she pleaded, and he moaned in desperate fervour.
"Insanity… you are the path to a sweet insanity, my goddess," he said, his brain addled with lust, with excitement, heat encompassing him as his mouth began to drink from her in earnest.
She stretched and moaned and bucked under him, her hands embedded in his hair as he relentlessly poured all of his passion for her into this intimate connection. His tongue took what he so longed for—without apology, without doubt, tasting her juices, surrendering himself to the mission of worshiping the body of his beloved.
With tiny little flicks he made her pant, the tip of his tongue teasing her, playing with that exquisite bud of nerves, then sneaking snugly into the tight passage holding the promise of a deeper pleasure.
Mindful of her comfort, always keeping it at the forefront of his mind, he caressed her thighs, easing the tension building there from the trusting position in which they were stretched.
They found a pace, and as he settled more comfortably into her, she found the courage to stretch her arms above her head.
The sight of her sensually arched back almost made him come, his seed building hot, deep pressure in the root of his own aching body. So trusting, so invested in her own liberation, she was a nymph, a magical creature previously unseen even in his most ardent dreams.
Unable to prolong his own desire, he once again lapped at her fully, sucking her soft flesh into the welcoming heat of his hungry mouth, nibbling, teasing, pulling at her lips softly while she slithered and undulated on the bed, lost in her own passion.
To know he was the reason for her abandon, to see and feel her body at last, and perhaps for the very first time, releasing the passionate creature lying dormant inside of her for her whole life—carrying the primal need up to the surface at long last... it was mesmerising.
She felt her silken essence spread over his lips and cheeks and nose, as her body sank into the plush softness of the bed as she felt him... everywhere. He was on her, in her, in her mind, in her blood, the place of their joining pulsing with wild fire, shaking her and turning her into a creature of pure wanting.
She never knew it could feel this way. She had no idea; her own teenage fumblings with her sex had never even approached the sensations his tongue and mouth now made her feel.
He sucked her clitoris between his lips and she hissed, the slight pain enough to warn her there were still places in her mind too close to leave behind. Her eyes opened and connected with hers, and he understood, saw immediately the drop of fear in the pools of passion that were her irises. He calmed his desire as best he could, slowed his pace.
Gently he circled her bud with his rolled tongue, soothing her with warm, slow strokes, all the time rubbing the tensed globes of her ass cheeks in his palms, taking his time, becoming again the epitome of patience.
His name flowed from her lips as a chant, a plea, a prayer... She felt the fire, she knew she was burning inside… still a dam of steel withheld from her the ultimate pleasure.
She was shaking, her whole body succumbing to lust, to anger, to frustration; her muscles tensed tighter, and he understood, slowing even more.
At last he felt her relax, and with a final deep taste of his lover, he slowly slid up her body, leaving a wet trail over the downy hairs covering her tender skin. He watched in fascination as the path of his tongue filled with goosebumps, and as soft tremors accompanied his ascent to her breasts, her neck, and finally her lips.
His cock slid over the moist and thoroughly sensitized labia and she yelped, but her hands found their place at his ass the moment he tried to break the connection. Instead she pushed him to her body, closer and upwards, until she could feel his hardness pressing into her belly, her navel quivering under the nervous twitches of its firm veins and muscles.
Finally their mouths melded again, and like two lovers who find each other after a long separation, their tongues danced the dance their bodies could not.
Her hands encouraged him to take his pleasure in the closeness of her body, and when he realized her intention, he broke the kiss, his eyes melancholy, troubled.
"I cannot..." he whispered, but she pulled him back into the kiss, her breath hot and brave, her tongue exploring, daring him.
"I could not," she said softly, as she left his lips for the secret alcove of his ear. "But you made it real for me. Tell me, show me what to do for you," she begged breathily, seductively.
He could scarcely believe she wanted to try this, but she was so open, so bare and vulnerable with him—she trusted him even if she didn't know how to trust herself. He groaned, taking her into his arms and rolling them until they lay on their sides, each pair of widened eyes reflecting the other. "Don't let me pin you," he rasped, and she heard the pain, felt the anguish in his voice. "Promise you won't let me..."
His eyes shone with the choice between fear and trust, between memories or the present.
"I won't… " she pulled him into her as much as he would allow, her leg finding an anchor over his hip. "I won't," she reassured him. "Let go, my darling, let go..." she cooed as she lowered her lips to his collarbone and rocked him against her, feeling his cock slide between their bellies, slick with sweat and their juices.
She kissed up his neck, licked the tendon desperately trying to break from under the pale skin, and another chip of his control cracked. With a ragged breath he threaded his fingers through her dense curls and directed her head, her lips toward his.
They shared a moment, a mere glance just before their mouths touched, and it was the last crack so needed in his armour.
Keening in abandon, he crashed his lips onto hers, his hips slamming into her belly as she pulled him closer and closer. Her tongue would not allow his brain to work.
They were a mass of limbs; he was her wonderful animal finally releasing his passion with her: his mate. She was dizzied again by the heady power of witnessing his wildness.
This wonderful, quiet, reserved man—the protector and keeper of her heart, the selfless lover and tender explorer of her body and soul—came undone, was falling apart in her arms, his passion overtaking him. His breaths were gasped in large whorls through his nose, because she did not release his mouth, even when he growled and pushed her so close to him that she feared for the loss of her own breath.
He was so tense, his shoulders pulling him backwards even as his whole body slid over hers, again and again, while his breath fought to enter his lungs. His brain was non-existent, gone, shot to hell with the motions of her tongue in his mouth. Twining and twirling, sucking him into her mouth with relentless abandon, she pulled away the carefully constructed layers of his subdued facade.
His groin ached and burned, his cock rock-hard and pulsating with energy that he was sure came from her as much as his own heat. Like a beast he snapped, and his lips tore from hers, his tongue seeking freedom as a roar quieted for decades broke out of his tormented body.
He was glorious, her dark God, her feral lover, her soulmate. It was she now who'd become his keeper, his protector, and to see him explode like this... his cries filled the room, as he wailed and panted and growled his release, his cock wetting their bodies and sheets with the spurts of his essence. To see this man, her Severus, with his head back, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gasped and jerked under the power of his release, filled her with such love, such ineffable tenderness and pride.
He slumped into her arms like a rag doll, as suddenly as he'd risen in his primal heat. Sobbing, he curled around her, burrowing his head into her breasts and latching onto her nipple, completely unaware of his actions, still functioning on some long-forgotten instinct.
"My love... my beautiful man," she cooed, stroking gently up and down his back, his poor hot and tired back, slick with sweat and passion.
"So wonderful, so amazing," she whispered, keeping him close, knowing in her bones that what had held him back so long had been as powerful as his escape from its clutches a moment earlier.
He wept, broken open, his fists clutching at her bountiful curls as she held his head pressed to her chest. She had to be his keeper now; she had to hold him up, above the waters of his memories, here with her. It was a long-awaited homecoming for this bruised and wounded man, and she vowed to keep him firmly in the present. Here where she knew now, with certainty, she had the strength to. Here in her arms. Home.